"You must forgive me, my dear," he said with the quiet indulgent civility with which he always addresses me. "I'm afraid I have to go out for a little while. "
"Out?" I echoed. "Out of the house?"
"I'm not a total recluse, child… and I have an important appointment to keep. You're not afraid to stay here alone, are you?"
"I don't know, " I said. "Can't I come with you ?"
"I regret that is not possible."
Gentle still, there was an edge of unquestionable command about his voice now that made me bow my head in humble acceptance.
"You will… take care?" I whispered.
"If you wish, " he said gravely. He was looking at me steadily beneath the wide-brimmed hat and there was something in his glance that made me take an unexpectedly deep breath. As he began to walk toward me 1 found that I could not take my eyes off him. He moved with slow majesty, as though his whole body was informed by the rhythm of a music he alone could hear, and I was stunned by the breathless terror which seized me as he approached. As he put out one hand to trace the outline of my hair, my heart beat so rapidly in my throat that I thought I would suffocate.
But his fingers merely brushed the air against my cheek, then fell away, without touching.
"Wait for me here," he said abruptly, and a moment later the door closed behind him.
When I was alone, I sank down on the organ stool and tried to regain my breath; I was shaking all over with emotions I could not identify.
He had meant to touch me, I was quite sure of it. He had meant to touch me and then, at the very last moment, he had changed his mind.
I wasn't sure whether I was trembling now from sheer relief or unacknowledged disappointment.
I wasn't sure of anything anymore.
Here in his house there were only questions without answers.
Nadir was waiting for me on the far bank, and long before I disembarked I could see that his face was very grim. He waited only for me to set foot on the bank beside him before launching into his attack.
"Christine Daae!" he said severely and without civilized preamble. "Christine Daae, Erik?"
Hell! I had been afraid of this!
"What are you accusing me of now, Daroga?" I demanded guardedly. "Surely not murder!"
"I know that the girl has not been seen for the last two weeks. I also know that if anyone disappears unexpectedly around here, you're usually to blame for it."
"This is a theater." I shrugged. "Girls run off with their lovers all the time."
"Well, in this case it appears the lover has been left behind! You must know that the child is virtually engaged to the Vicomte de Chagny. Arc you intending to send him a ransom note too?"
I caught hold of Nadir's arm with a grip that made him gasp.
"She is
not
engaged to him!" I spat furiously. "Who is spreading such filthy, inaccurate lies about her? Is it the chorus… the press… the damned boy? Tell me!"
Nadir said nothing for a moment. He looked at me so oddly that I released him and stood back uncomfortably.
After a moment he said, very quietly:
"Let her go, Erik. This whole farce is quite unworthy of you."
"I don't know what you are talking about," I said coldly. "Are you actually trying to imply that I am keeping that young girl a prisoner in my house?"
"Let her go," he repeated patiently.
"Damn you!" I cried, suddenly aware once more of that warning pressure in my chest. "You know me better than that."
"Erik, you can't deceive me, I know that she is with you."
"Yes… all right… She's with me," I admitted with fierce resentment, "but I swear to you it's of her own accord. That's not inconceivable, is it, not utterly beyond all human belief?"
Nadir made a gesture of frustrated despair and turned away from me.
"Just let her go and we'll say no more about it. I don't suppose for a single moment that you would harm the girl. But this isn't Persia. You must know that by the standards of your own country this is not the way…"
He hesitated, as though wondering whether he dared to continue.
"Well?" I said in a strangled voice. "Go on—
say it
!"
He looked at me with undisguised pity.
"This is not the way for a gentleman to win a lady," he said with difficulty, "and whatever else you may have been in your time, Erik, you've always been a gentleman… haven't you?"
I stared at him.
And suddenly, without any warning, I began to cry.
*
Where is he? Why doesn't he come back?
Oh, God, I'm so frightened here without him! I can't bear the sight of this room now that it's empty, the gaping, silk-lined coffin on its carved platform, the tall black mourning candles, and the menacing pipe organ which seems to glare threateningly at me from the wall. It's like a room out of some horribly twisted nightmare.
I don't understand why I feel like this when for two weeks now I've walked calmly in and out of this chamber without blinking
—
God knows, I've even dusted it! And all the time he's been here I haven't dwelt on the terribly abnormal decor. The coffin is a cat basket because he says it is; if he told me the world was flat I think I should believe him. But now that he's not here it's a coffin once more… I'm shut up all alone in a house that was designed as a tomb, waiting frantically for a madman to return to me
.
It's a relief to write everything down; it calms me somehow, stops me flying into a hysterical panic now that I've discovered I can't find the outer door. It's very odd. For two weeks I haven't even thought of looking for the door and now suddenly I can't think of anything else. There has to be a door somewhere!
I feel a link calmer now that I've left his room and returned to my own. The strange pale-colored cat is sitting on my bed watching me with a sort of quiet contempt, as though she wonders why I don
V
simply curl up and go to sleep in his absence
.
My dear, it's the only thing to do, surely you realize by now that you and I exist only in his presence!
Perhaps it is because Erik speaks to her as though she were a woman that I imagine I hear her thoughts now. She's not quite so hostile as she was at first; occasionally now, when we are alone together, she permits me to stroke her, although
she studiously ignores me if Erik is in the room. She's really very beautiful, very unusual,I've never seen a Siamese cat before. It seems fitting somehow that something so unique and lovely should belong to Erik. Apparently her collar was once the property of the shah of Persia. It's studded with huge diamonds, just like a necklace
—
it must be worth a fortune
…
I envy her-that calm, blissful animal ignorance, the inability to understand that Erik could die of a second seizure at any moment. Cats don't look ahead and contemplate the future, don't complicate their lives with doubt and uncertainty. They live only for the present; they know exactly what they want and they aren't afraid to take it.
I wish…
I wish I were that cat!
"Christine."
She came obediently across the drawing room and knelt beside my chair in silence, with her head bowed.
"I have to take you back above the ground tonight," I said slowly. "There is someone who knows that you are here."
"Raoul?'' Her head jerked up and her voice came alive with an eagerness that made my wretchedness complete. "Is it Raoul?"
"No." It was suddenly very difficult to continue, almost impossible to maintain my ironical calm in the face of that instinctive response. "No… someone else. Someone who knows me and has promised to make difficulties if he is not satisfied that you stay here of your own free will."
"I see." She looked grave and rather troubled.
"You've never asked me to take you back, Christine. Do you want to go?"
"I don't know." She sighed. Her head drooped lower and lower until it almost rested on my knee… almost, but not quite. She's never touched me of her own accord and I knew she was quite unaware that her hair was brushing my hands now. Intolerable sensation, that soft, unconscious caress! I sat back in my chair to be free of it, aware that fear was gathering like a knot in my throat.
"You're very unhappy. Is it because you don't want to be here with me?"
She shook her head.
"I'm so confused!" she whispered. "I want to go back— but I want to be here too. And I don't understand why, Erik… I don't understand what I feel for you."
The vague fear became sickening dread, but I knew I could not hide from this moment any longer.
"Perhaps it is only pity you feel," I suggested, "pity… and fear."
She looked up in surprise.
"I'm not afraid of you, not now."
"Oh, Christine"—I sighed—"you should be. You should be very afraid indeed."
And I proceeded, with calm and dispassion, to tell her why.
I did not spare myself and I did not spare her; she had to know—she had the right to know before she made her choice.
When I had finished my grim confession she sat very still, staring into the hearth. No tears, no hysteria, just… acceptance; perhaps in her heart she had always known.
"If I don't come back you will kill Raoul."
It wasn't a question, it was a statement. I knew from her tone that she did not expect an answer and so I did not trouble to give one. Instead I got up and went to fetch the small casket that I kept on the mantelpiece.
"Tonight we shall attend the masked ball at the Opera together. In your room you will find a selection of theatrical costumes. Choose the black domino… It is what they will expect you to wear."
"They?"
"You will write a note to the Vicomte de Chagny asking him to meet you at the door that leads to the rotunda. During the course of the evening you will explain that you can never be his wife and tell him that you wish to devote your life to furthering your career under my guidance. I shall wait for you behind the mirror in your dressing room, and if you choose to come back to me it will be apparent to all concerned that you return of your own free will."
I offered her the casket and she took it from me with obvious hesitance.
"Inside this box," I continued, "you will find the key to the gate that leads from the underground passages out into the Rue Scribe. The other object—which you will not recognize—is also a key… my front-door key, if you will. Before we leave here tonight you will understand exactly how to operate the mechanism."
"Why do you give me these things?" she demanded uncertainly.
"I have given you the means to betray me to your young man, Christine. If I return to this house alone tonight I shall expect to find him waiting for me—and I shall expect him to be well armed."
So now I know what lies beneath the mantle of gentle courtesy and almost fatherly affection. Those graceful, sensitive hands, which are so beautiful to watch, are the hands of a man who is capable of killing without a qualm of conscience when provoked.
I'm not shocked. Merely surprised that I should have been too naive to perceive this for myself. For somehow this veiled undercurrent of threat is the final missing piece in the jig-
saw of his alluring mystery; it is part of an awesome power that excites as much as it terrifies.
I think in a strange way I'm deeply relieved to know just how dangerous he really is.
It gives me an acceptable motive for coming back to him; and it spares me the agony of examining my hopelessly muddled feelings.
Heaven knows, it wasn't easy telling Raoul about Erik. We met, as arranged, at the masked ball, and when I'd stumbled through my feeble explanations he was as pale as his white domino costume. I was relieved I had chosen a deserted private box on the pit tier in which to talk to him.
"The man is obviously quite insane, " he said ominously. "I think this is a matter for the police. "
"No!" I breathed in horror. "Raoul, if you involve anyone else in this I shall have to deny everything. Why can't you just try to understand?"
"
Understand what
—
that you're in the hands of some unscrupulous hypnotist who has determined to take advantage of your innocence for his own ends? I tell you this, if I knew where to find him I'd damned well call him out and put an end to this miserable farce once and for all. "
I shivered and clutched his sleeve urgently.
"Don't even think about challenging him, you wouldn't stand a chance."
"Oh? Good at duels, is he? I thought he was supposed to be old enough to be your father and likely to drop dead with any undue physical exertion!"
I turned away miserably.
"7
haven't lied to you, Raoul. "
"Oh, well, I'm truly privileged tonight, aren't I? You're in the hands of some unprincipled maniac and I've been
honored with the truth! Where is he, Christine? I demand to be told!"
I backed away from him.
"I won't tell you, it wouldn't be safe. I swear if you ever approach him, Raoul, you HI be dead before you can take aim to fire. For God's sake promise me you'll never try to find your way down there alone!"
"Now, look here—"
"Promise me!" I screamed. "Promise!"
He stood back in alarm at my raised poke; he suddenly looked so young and frightened that I wanted to cry.
"All right, " he said, in a low, strained tone, "there's no need to shout like that. I know I don't have any right to ask questions… I don't have any rights at all, do IV
A moment more we stared at each other, like two children who had fallen out and had no idea of how to go about making up; and then, in an excess of hopelessness, I replaced my mask and fled out into the crowded public rooms.
For an hour or so I wandered up and down the
grand escalier
searching for the spectacular Red Death costume in which Erik was disguised
.