Fantôme – Chapter 9, Part 2

The managers, that was who. Raoul took his leave of his partner-in-crime and ran, taking the stairs two-at-a-time, to the manager’s office. He was still wearing his hat and greatcoat, so his body glowed by the time he reached them, and the roaring fire he found them sat around did nothing to help the matter.

“Monsieur le Vicomte, you must have my seat,” said Firmin Richard, vacating it with a flourish and going to crouch down almost in the grate. Armand Moncharmin was sat, squashed into the very far left of the sopha, giving the greater portion over to a woman in a crinoline whose small legs, poking out from her dress, only reached the floor because of how delicately far-forward on the cushion she was perched. Around her neck hung a lorgnette whose powerful strength of magnification was evident even from across the room, and the short, neat fingernails on her calloused hands bespoke a care for godliness and propriety. Raoul, more than happy to give a hardworking woman the respect she was due, bowed low and kept his hat off; Madame Giry, for of course this was she, appreciated his manners and was certainly grateful for her turnaround in treatment.

“My good sirs, I will not detain you, I am simply concerned for the whereabouts of Miss Daaé and felt that you could assure me that she was not too affected by the… delicacy? which befell the Opera last night.”

Richard blinked twice, and went back to courting Madame Giry by the fire, for the Managers had begged for her return and he was terribly afraid to lose her once more were she not sufficiently mollified.

Moncharmin, too, was keen (for once) to be rid of the Peer, and so merely turned his neck to the doorway.

“She is, my Lord, taking holiday, for what we have been informed are health reasons.”

At this, Raoul stepped inside the room.

“Gracious! What did the doctor say?”

“Oh, worry not, sir,” Moncharmin called over his shoulder, “She is not in a condition to warrant a doctor. She will stay with her foster-mother this week, and perhaps Mr Gabriel will pay a visit some time to assess her fitness to sing.”

As Richard topped up Madame Giry’s teacup from the kettle that bubbled by the fire Raoul turned tail and almost managed to get his hat back on before he found himself bowing to Meg Giry, coat over her rehearsal clothes, behind him in the doorway of the manager’s office.

“Sir, may I walk with you?”

“Indeed, little one. Good day, Monsieurs et Madame!” He called back as he closed the door, but it was only Madame who so much as waved back. “Am I not detaining you from your business?” Raoul asked as he took Meg’s arm.

“Oh no, sir – I was only waiting for mama. But I heard you ask for Christine Daaé, and we are all terribly worried about her. Are you a friend to her, Monsieur?”

In truth, Raoul did not know how to answer this, except that he was sure Christine would not want a whisper of their history uttered in the Opera building. Diplomacy – that was what was called for in this strange situation, and Raoul was not quite sure how to navigate these strange, uncertain tides. As he paused, his pregnant mouth agape, little Meg’s belly rumbled, and the answer presented itself to him.

“Mademoiselle, have you come straight from your lessons? I should be no friend to Christine at all if I let you linger, hungry, in the corridor, waiting for your mama – here, Mademoiselle, is my card; we shall present it to La Sorelli, for my brother is her param… he is a friend of hers. She will accompany us for propriety’s sake, and I shall be the envy of all Paris if two such beauties should deign to lunch with me. Come, my child; my favourite restaurant just had a crate of garnet-apples delivered, and it is exactly what a dancer needs, quite health-giving and delicious and delicate to eat, the ballerina of fruits. I can only imagine how ravenous you must be!”

And so it was; the trio cut quite a dash. Raoul behaved as if he was a young girl’s uncle on her first outing as a lady, squiring her about on his arm and allowing her to practice her manners on the cab-driver and the waiters, giving her a banknote for her reticule that she might take a cab back to the Opera or her home when they were done. La Sorelli sat back, drinking her pomegranate in a sieved juice, as Meg (in borrowed gloves and her Christmas hat) poked at hers with a delicate silver pin and told the esteemed Vicomte de Chagny how her mother had been summoned by the managers to inform them all about the Opera’s ghost and that, despite how poorly they had treated her (though Mademoiselle Sorelli coughed gently at that, which caused young Meg to remember it isn’t really ladylike to spread somebody’s bad treatment around as gossip, even if one is offended for one’s mother) Mama had acquiesced because Meg and her poor dead Papa loved the arts, and her Mama was loyal and loving and fierce and would see that no further catastrophe would befall her daughter’s love or derail her hard work. Raoul, in turn, told the ladies of his great respect for Christine’s father, for he was certain that she would approve of that, at least, and hoped that it would answer why he felt such a protectiveness towards her. He was not as coy as he had hoped, for both ladies clearly saw his love for the singer, but for his kindness and honesty his secret was safe with La Sorelli, who was protective of her ballerinettes, and for his respect to her mama and then to her he had made an ally of little Meg Giry for life.