Fantôme – Chapter 10, Part 2

Catch up with Fantôme from the beginning

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As he entered Madame Valerius’ city bower, although he expected her presence Raoul was filled with relief to see Christine, seemingly well. There was flesh back on her face and she wore a light, springtime smile which seemed to acknowledge him coyly. Raoul was well-bred, however, and although delighted to see the younger woman he turned first to her patron.

“Madame Valerius! How well you look. Perhaps it is the warming weather which agrees with you? I hope you take the air from time-to-time.”

The older woman smiled indulgently. “Yes, I do have my man take me to the park sometimes for a turn. Sit down, dear boy,” and she gestured to a handsome Louis XVI chair, upholstered in lilac silk, which was placed by her left hand, “and tell me how your good sister has been. I hear her salon will be graced by the Australian?”

Raoul sat neatly down.

“Madame was coaxed from England by the promise of a shopping trip with my sister. London might be cosmopolitan but their Houses do not bear the same mark of craftsmanship as ours, at least for ladies’ clothes. I believe the great lady is particularly fond of Monsieur Worth.”

“Ah! As it should be – a fine singer must wear beautiful clothes on stage, that she may be the feminine ideal.”

“Perhaps I can get you an invitation, madame?”

At that, Madame Valerius clapped her tiny, wrinkled hands together.

“Oh! Viscomte I should love that. I would gladly introduce your sister to anybody in Paris in return. Perhaps it is time to pass the torch of the city’s premier music lover?”

To the right of the old lady, sharing her sopha, was Christine. Ms Daaé sat quietly sewing. She had not so much as looked up since the Viscomte entered the room; the only evidence that she was aware of his presence was her expression and some spots of pink excitement in her cheeks, but she steadfastly stitched until Madame Valerius addressed her directly, seeming to enjoy the chatter around her.

“The Countess Élise is really the only person I could respect enough to pass my salonnierés on to, though I confess I myself could attend all sorts of gatherings. I just love music, and to be around others who love it as I do is heaven. You have seen our Persephone has returned?”

Raoul was earnest in his reply, “It is my honour to see you again, Miss Daaé, and I am sure you would not mind if I offered to kiss your hand, as you deserve?”

As she turned her needlepoint over, Raoul caught a glimpse of flashing silver on that fateful finger. He did not allow himself longer than a second of shock, but he could not bring himself to wish her well with such an idea of the danger she was in. So it was: he kissed her gently, chastely Christine kept sewing, and Raoul prattled on.

“Ladies, will you allow me the privilege of meeting you when you get the air next? I am at your beck and call, Madame,” and at this he genuflected to the old widow, “as you see by my haste in coming here today. I think nothing is so conducive to health as fresh, grassy air, and would be honoured to spend time outdoors with you.”

“Ah!” cried Madame Valerius. “Were it possible! But young Christine must return, soon, and I fear my strength will leave me when she goes forever.”

“Oh! You must not leave for the night once more, Miss Daaé! The bloom in your cheeks tells me that you are meant for daylight, and to deprive the Opera of your talent would be to forfeit a gift from God.”

Looking squarely down at her stitches, Christine replied, “I cannot promise not to go. Perhaps my gift is to be needed elsewhere?”

“Christine forgive my frankness, but you are in danger! I cannot let you venture back into that unknown whilst…”

At this, finally, the girl looked up. Her eyes were wide and she threw her hands forward as she spoke. “Do not! You cannot say such things!”

“Madame forgive me for being so forward, but you must see it too – how revived she looks since returning to you. Where have you been, Christine? What happened there to bring you so low?”

Madame Valerius pursed her lips and looked from one to the other – from the fear in the girl’s eyes to the heartfelt concern in the Viscomte’s.

“I must say, I question how any benign power can have affected your corporeality so.”

“I entreat you recognise, Madame – this ‘angel’ is an imposter, and I suspect he is the selfsame phan-“

A cry from Christine cut him off. Concern flooded into the eyes of Madame Valerius, who recognised the validity of Raoul’s fears.

“My dear, you have had your time with your Angelic tutor. Perhaps it is best that you stay with us, and never need tell us what passed?”

Raoul sighed in relief. “Promise to stay with us, Christine, and I will pry no more into this sordid matter, for your sake.”

Her response was pert, and quiet. “I cannot.”

Raoul tried to search Christine’s eyes, but she had cast them down once more to her needle. It no longer passed through the cloth, but she held it fast and looked nowhere else.

“Then I must press you more, Christine. For your sake! Where must you depart to? Can we provide safe haven, passage, nourishment for when you get there?”

Christine looked up, eyes bright with potential tears that had not yet fallen.

“That is the role of a husband.”

“You have none to protect you.”

“I will answer such questions only to a husband, sworn before a priest to protect me.”

“And whose ring do you wear on your finger? The man you will answer to?”

“That ring is a gift, nothing more.”

“Then whose voice gave you such ecstasy? Yes, I saw your ecstasy at the sound of his voice! Is he to be your husband or your angel? Your worldly possessor or your heavenly guide?”

Christine fell obstinately quiet.

“I say that he is not worthy of your love. This ring-giver, whatever man he be, uses not honourable methods of wooing your love. Christine, you deserve better – a respectable lover, a man who upholds your honour.”

“What hope can a humble singer have of such nobility?”

“It is what you deserve, Christine, and I do not think that is what this imposter gives you.”

“What know you of what he is or does?”

And, as though he was throwing his last trump card at a cheater across the table, Raoul rose and flung what he knew at Christine.

“I know in my beating heart, in my twitching sinew, in my crawling skin, that Erik cannot give you what you deserve.”

The room fell silent. Christine no longer volleyed words with him; instead, her face turned ashen and she looked up at him, her mouth fallen agape. Madame Valerius sat quietly on the sopha, hearing two hearts beat heavily in the hot room beside her. She took in Raoul’s pained look and Christine’s clear terror and began to speak, but her polite and demure ward regressed into a headstrong maiden before her very eyes.

“What…”

“You will be killed if you continue like this.”

More silence, broken again by Christine.

“Raoul, I…” her voice cracked as she tried to speak his name, but nobody moved until she gathered herself.

“Monsieur Vicomte, my eyes are open and I can assure you that I myself am not in danger. I can only beg that you keep your distance, do not become embroiled, or there may be more danger yet for all of us.”

“Christine I cannot let some unworthy man cause your demise.”

“And if I assured you that I am in control, just as I was in Sault?”

“Christine…” he looked to Madame Valerius, and trusted that what Christine had told him about her morals was true. “Christine, in Sault I was your husband, and I felt – I still feel! – that that is the role I was destined to play.”

In a whisper she answered him. “And I could not bear for you to be the victim of this dark business.”

There was silence for a beat. A lifetime. Then she said, “I will come back to the Opera, but I need you to swear that you will not come to my dressing-room unless I send for you.”

“Why…”

“Swear it!” She was intent.

“I swear it on the lavender fields of Provence. If I break my oath, I shall never use lavender again.”

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“In return, though, Christine, I beg you swear an oath of your own.” She raised a single brow. “I cannot be without you entirely, Christine. Please, swear on something that matters to you as much as the lavender matters to me that you will send for me, whether it is safe or not.”

For a moment, she said nothing, then, “I swear on the lavender, too.”

“Then I shall stay silent.”

“And then you will come.”

“If that is all, Madame, I believe I must take my leave from you now, and begin my exile from your presence.” He turned to Madame Valerius. “My good lady, I have imposed upon your hospitality today, much moreso than I intended. I have exposed my own sin to you and sinned once more by disturbing the peace. Please, expect a small posy of lavender from me as my apology – I know how much you love purple, and scented flora, and you know now how much lavender means to me.”

Then he strode out of the home, without so much as waiting for the footman.

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