Costumes and Filigree: A Novel of the Phantom of the Opera Read online

  He had never really believed in God, or at least never considered worshipping him—how could a God have allowed him to be born with such a hideous, demonic face?—but as he turned and started back down the stairs, the darkness did not seem so oppressive, and he thought, Thank you, God, for sending me such a beautiful, forgiving angel.

  Christine, having changed into her street clothes, ran a brush quickly through her hair, and, now that she had calmed down a bit, thought to check her reflection in the vanity mirror before leaving. When she walked to the door, she almost tripped on the bag of laundered clothes that one of the washwomen for the chorus had left during her absence. For a moment she wondered if she ought to go to the effort to put her clothes on hangers in the closet, where they belonged. Well, she reasoned, it’s a lot of work, and I need to get home—and anyway, in a few days I’ll just drag them all out again, so why bother? Besides, she needed to get out of the opera house altogether so that she could recover, and she certainly wasn’t going to wait around over something like tidiness. She just dumped the bag on an already-overloaded chair and briskly walked out into the hall.

  She had been missing for so long, she could only imagine how everyone would have reacted. Mamma Valerius would be so worried! And the managers would have called out a search party by now. Raoul had probably engaged the military in the desperate search for his kidnapped love! She sighed heavily. Perhaps it was easier to be in the chorus than to be a diva—no one cared what you were doing when you were just another faceless chorus girl. But what a wonderful thing it was to be worried about, sought after, constantly fawned over! Well, after a while, she supposed, that would begin to be irksome; but that was the price one paid for fame, was it not?

  Someone stepped in front of Christine, whom she didn’t notice until he spoke. “Where have you been?” demanded Raoul, running a hand through his perfect blond locks, the picture of confused relief. He pulled her into a hard, almost furious embrace, then pushed her back to arms’ length so he could demand, “Don’t you know how worried I’ve been? I had the whole city out looking for you! Where have you been?”

  “I was kidnapped,” she lied, expecting him to cry out in dismay, hold her tightly, then step back so he could kneel to propose. Ah, to be whisked off to Italy, away from lessons, away from monsters, away from lies and uncertainty—

  “I suspected as much!” he declared. “Are you hale? Did the dastard touch you? He didn’t—he couldn’t—”

  “No! He—he just…wanted…to teach the managers a lesson, that’s all. I barely even saw him.”

  “Oh—oh, good,” he said, seeming almost weak with relief. “But how juvenile! Oh, just wait, Christine, when I find him, he’ll pay dearly for this ridiculous scheme.” He paused, then prompted impatiently, “Well? Who was it, my darling little angel? Give me his name so that I might impale him on my sword!”

  “He—he didn’t tell me his name,” she said, stumbling over the words. She couldn’t let Raoul fight Erik. Not that he didn’t deserve it—imagine, lying to her, luring her down to his lair, and on top of it all, being so ugly!—but there was a horrible chance that the evil monster might defeat the handsome knight, despite what the faerie tales promised. She wanted to think things over and pray to the gods for guidance before she made any hasty decisions that could affect her future.

  “Then give me his description so I may exact revenge!”

  “Well, I didn’t see much of him, as I said—”

  “Christine, you wouldn’t try to protect something so vile?! I demand justice! Tell me it wasn’t that ridiculous specter I keep hearing about—”

  “No!” she exclaimed, panicking for a moment before a decent lie came to mind. “No, of course not—the Phantom doesn’t exist, don’t be absurd! This man was short—rotund—and had—light hair. I think he was one of the stagehands.”

  “I will have the entire city hunting for this dastard! Oh, my sweet, I’m so glad you’re safe…. Any man in his right mind would have snatched you after seeing your beauty—not that it excuses him from the retribution that awaits him at the tip of my blade! He’s one and the same as the outrageous man I heard in your dressing room, isn’t that correct, my rose?”

  “No! I mean, yes! Yes, it was!”

  “I thought so,” declared Raoul, sounding rather gratified at having his suspicions confirmed. “Just wait, my darling, my precious, I’ll soon have him at my mercy, and he’ll beg forgiveness for his crimes against you! Tell me of his whereabouts so that I may challenge him to a duel!”

  “I—well—I have no idea. We were somewhere outside the opera house,” she invented. “That’s all I know. I was blindfolded most of the time.”

  “Blast! But it doesn’t matter—I shall hunt him down and exact revenge, never fear!”

  Christine’s frightened, horrified thoughts of Erik seemed to dwindle and fade to the back of her mind in the light of Raoul’s brilliance. He must really love me, she thought happily, to so furiously want revenge! And to have the entire city out to find me! She momentarily forgot about everything else, caught up in the idea that so many people had been frantic over her disappearance. “Oh, Raoul—”

  Then she remembered that Erik was probably watching her, and his ominous words echoed in her mind: If you bestow your heart on earth, I will have no choice but to return to Heaven. Of course, he wasn’t the Angel anymore, but still—what would happen if she went back on her promise not to associate with Raoul? A shiver shook her body as she contemplated his anger…. Oh, Gods, she hoped that Raoul didn’t propose.

  Raoul actually laughed. “Oh no, my delightful little cream puff, where are you going?” He struck an even more dashing pose. “Wheresoever thou doth go, fair Christine, I shalt follow, and protecteth thee from harm. Thine kidnapper shalt trouble thee no longer!”

  The absurdity of this statement did not reach Christine; she was entirely taken up by the flattering thought that a vicomte would care so much about her. Raoul was so wonderful! He cared enough about her safety to offer to protect her! He was so gallant, and handsome, and kind….

  Then suddenly she realized that if Erik was watching, he would be able to see the look of adoration on her face. “Um—should we tell the police that I’m fine?”

  “Them? Why bother? They were completely useless. But darling, blossom, empress, what did he do? Surely he didn’t kidnap you just to have you sit in a corner and do nothing for five horrible days!”

  “Well, yes, that was about it, actually,” she said, reluctant to tell him anymore. But she needed someone to sympathize, to console her after the horrible week she had just endured. She could at least tell him a little, so he understood the horrors she had been through. “Come, walk me home,” she whispered, hoping that Erik wasn’t nearby.

  “Of course, mon ange!”

  They walked for a long time in silence, Christine shushing Raoul every time he tried to speak. He seemed rather annoyed by it, but was so thrilled to get her back that he finally walked along silently. When the Garnier was out of sight, she spoke: “Oh, Raoul, it was like a nightmare! He kidnapped me to keep me away from you—”

  “The ridiculous ruffian!”

  “—but when I saw his face—oh gods, that face!—it was just so horrible, I couldn’t help being afraid, and—”

  “And he realized that with such hideous visage he didn’t have a chance, and returned you to the opera house?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, burying her face in his jacket.

  “Oh, my poor little darling,” he said, holding her comfortingly. “What a harrowing ordeal! I’m so sorry I failed to reach you in time to spare you such a terrible sight!”

  “It was so horrible! He is beyond revolting! Beyond humanity! He was acting nice, but gods, that face—he’s so terrifying!”

  “Yes, my poor sweetling,” said Raoul, stroking her hair. “You must come to stay with me in my fabulous mansion immediately to keep you from further harm.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t!” she
exclaimed, quaking as she thought of how angry the Monster would be.

  “But my precious, it’s—” Raoul pulled back, suddenly making a connection. “So that’s why you wouldn’t submit to your obvious attraction to me…. He threatened you, didn’t he? Of course! Why didn’t I realize it before? Oh, my golden-voiced little songbird, nothing will ever keep us apart, not even this fiend.” After a moment, he added, “He probably told you that he’d kill me if you continued pressing advances on me. How very noble of you, my love. He’s jealous, yes…. Well, you needn’t worry. No asinine scoundrel will be the death of me!”

  Christine, conscious of how handsome and dashing Raoul appeared in the soft glow of the gaslight emanating from the street lamps, felt her the beat of her heart hasten. Even the wrinkled nature of his clothes—she imagined that he hadn’t bothered to change them since she had disappeared—couldn’t dampen his godlike attractiveness. She realized that she was blushing. He was so gallant, so genteel, so perfect…!

  “Oh, my precious,” he murmured, drawing her close to him, “you need someone to comfort you after your ordeal, to remind you of what kind of man you deserve!” Before she could react, he had her around the waist. Within moments, he was kissing her, and, after a moment of panicked struggling—it was so improper!—her heart started to pound and she almost fainted from the pleasure of the kiss. Warmth stole over every inch of her body, making her giddy and unable to stand. If Erik saw, then it was too bad for him. She was forced to cling to him, and he supported her weight easily, stroking her chocolate curls with gentle fingers. All thought of the Monster fled from her mind as lightheadedness overwhelmed her. Though the night was cool, she felt warm and feverish. She wanted nothing more than to stay like this, forever and ever—

  Then Erik’s face appeared in her mind, his pleading eyes holding in their glistening depths all the sorrow and anger of the world….

  Christine pulled away from Raoul with a cry, shaking and dizzy. As she reeled, Raoul grabbed her hand and steadied her. “I’m sorry,” he said, grinning devilishly, “I didn’t think you’d be so—”

  She jerked her fingers from his grip and ran down the street.

  Christine burst through the front door of her flat, crying and shaking. She closed the door behind her with a loud bang and thrust the deadbolt into place with undue force. Her legs could hardly support her weight, and she had to lean heavily against the wall to keep upright. It was all right. Erik hadn’t seen her. She had merely seen his face in her mind, that was all. What must Raoul think of me now? she wondered miserably.

  She could hear Mamma walking towards the kitchen, having heard the door slam. The familiar smells of simple food and old carpet comforted her and calmed her pounding heart. She hurriedly wiped the tears from her eyes before Mamma appeared, not wanting to upset the woman.

  Mamma Valerius swept her into a massive embrace. “Oh, mine child,” she cried, “I have missed you zho! Zhough I knew you vere being vith ze Angel, it vas very ‘ard for an old voman to bear, especially with ze turmoil over ze plague.”

  “Yes,” managed Christine breathlessly; she told herself that her out-of-breath state was due to Mamma’s crushing hug, but it wasn’t that at all. She could still feel Raoul’s warm, demanding lips against hers, and she knew her cheeks were flushed. “But it’s not a plague. Erik—I mean, people—people say it’s just an ‘epidemic,’ whatever that means.”

  “It is all ze same—a curse from God upon ze sinful. Thank goodness it ‘as not struck in France yet; zhough ‘oo knows ‘ow far it vill go before it ‘as finished vith its divine vork…?”

  It took a moment for Mamma to notice Christine’s condition. “Vot ‘as ‘appened to you?” she demanded, guiding Christine into the small kitchen and setting her down at the table.

  “I’m just tired,” she lied. “It was a long walk home, and it was dark and I was scared. So I ran.”

  “Poor child!” cried Mamma, fetching various plates from the counter and setting them before the quaking girl. “I di’ not expect you ‘ome zho zoon, but zhere is some supper left.”

  “Thank you,” said Christine. “I expected to stay longer too, but Erik thought—”

  The woman turned, eyebrows raised. “Who is zhis ‘Erik’?” she asked suspiciously. With her accent, she mangled the name into a barely-recognizable “Er-ek” that made Christine wince. “I vas thinking you spent zhose five days vis ze Angel.”

  Christine gave a strained laugh. Was it only five days? She felt as if a millennium had passed—a millennium of agony, of horror, trauma and strain. “Erik is the Angel, Mamma,” she explained wearily. “Sort of.” It was too complicated to explain. She didn’t want to ruin Mamma’s faith as her own had been so cruelly dashed.

  “Ze Angel has a name? Zhat is strange,” Mamma Valerius declared. “I haf never ‘eard zat he vas hafing a name. But you haf been vis ze Angel, haf you not?”

  “I swear by Thor’s Hammer that I was,” she said indignantly.

  Mamma, ardently Christian, frowned at her. “I thought you ‘ad promised me you vould not bring your father’s pagan gods under zis roof—”

  Christine regretted bringing Erik up, but interrupted with, “Don’t you want to hear about the Angel?”, hoping to avoid a lecture.

  “I vos speaking, Christine.”

  “It’s quite a story,” Christine hastened to assure her.

  “Vell, fine zen. Vot is ‘e like?” asked Mamma, filling Christine’s plate with sad, soggy string beans and a small amount of tough beef. Christine had always tried not to complain about the poor food that she ate—they both worked very hard for it, and Mamma gave her the best of everything—but it was just so depressing to think that she was living in such poverty.

  The girl told her the entire story, deciding to unveil that the Angel’s was really a monster in the hopes that Mamma would forget about the chastisement. Mamma would find out sooner or later that the Angel was a fraud anyway.

  “…And he led me back up the steps and let me return,” she finished some time later. Reliving her ordeal made her feel very foolish—she had been so easily duped.

  “Strange, child, very strange,” Mamma declared.

  Christine’s food had gotten quite cold while she talked, and she grimaced as she inspected a string bean and forced herself to eat. Throughout the remainder of the meal they were both silent; Mamma appeared to be musing over this new enlightenment, but Christine was brooding. How could she have been so stupid? But even worse, what was she to do now? A monster had access to her dressing room, and there was no real Angel to fight him off. Why was there no Angel? She supposed she still wasn’t worthy of his presence. Much as she hated to think such a thing—if anyone deserved the Angel, she did—it was better than doubting her father. He couldn’t be wrong. The Angel was real. He just didn’t think she was deserving enough.

  It was a terribly depressing thought. How would she escape the monster that lived beneath the opera house? Could she just quit? Live off of Mamma’s income for a while? No, it wouldn’t do any good; surely he would find where she lived. She thought for a moment about fleeing Paris—perhaps escaping France altogether—but it was hopeless. The monster would probably follow her to the ends of the earth.

  By the time supper was over, she had fallen into an inescapable pit of despair. She dried the few, cracked dishes automatically, missing spots and putting them in the wrong cupboards, worried about the future. What could she do? She couldn’t keep up the façade of accepting Erik; it had taken everything she possessed to keep from screaming every time he came into her sight. But she couldn’t let him know how horrible she found him. There was no telling what he would do.

  So distraught was she that she accidentally dropped a glass. It shattered into a myriad of sharp, shining pieces on the floor, and she shrieked in surprise and stumbled back from the hazardous area. “What will I do?” she wailed, wringing her dishcloth in agony.

  Mamma Valerius had started towards the broom, but turne
d at these words. “Vot do you mean, child?”

  “He’s a monster!” cried Christine.

  A pensive, troubled look crossed the Romanian woman’s face, and she was silent for a few long moments. “Christine—I zhink you are mistaken about zis man.”

  “What are you talking about?” she moaned, collapsing to the floor, picturing the horrible life before her, enslaved to a hideous fiend to whom she owed her career.

  “I zhink he is still ze Angel.”

  “No—he can’t be.” The words were very difficult to give voice to, and with every syllable she cursed her own stupidity. She’d tried to get herself to think of him as the Angel. But he was so hideous that the task was impossible.

  “But listen, child—I vos unsure at first, but it makes perfect zense. He is teaching you to zing, yes?”

  She nodded listlessly, too busy lamenting her terrible fate to pay attention.

  “Vell then!” Mamma declared. “He must be ze Angel! Perhaps zere is a mandate zat no mortal can zee an Angel’s face, so he must be looking zho terrible and ‘ideous—yes, Christine?”

  “I suppose…”

  “And it could all zhust be a test of your faith, my darling.”

  “Yes…”

  “Ah! Or per’aps, since ze two Angels in Sodom vere mobbed because zey vere zho beautiful, ‘e is in disguise to be able to complete ‘is task on earth.”

  “Yes,” Christine breathed, amazed that she hadn’t thought of it herself. But of course, it wasn’t her fault she had forgotten about Sodom and Gomorrah; she had never spent much time thinking about Christianity. “Of course! It’s brilliant! It’s wonderful! Oh, Mamma,” she cried, jumping up and embracing her guardian.

  “Thank you, child, but let go of me zho I can sveep up zis glass.”

  “I’ll do it!” Christine darted to the floor and began zealously picking up the shards. So great was her excitement that she forgot about the danger, and she quickly found herself holding a bleeding finger.

  “Oh, child!” Mamma exclaimed. “You haf ‘urt your-zelf!”