Mariée en Fuite Chapter 1

Christine's feet hurt. Her new kidskin shoes had been bought ready-made, rather than to order. She had fled the burning Opera Populaire barefoot. The cuts on her feet had not completely healed.

In fact, everything Christine wore was new. From her dazzling hat, complete with emu feather, to her stylish dress, to the whalebone corset that laced her to a dizzying twenty- inch waist, everything was spanking new. Itchy. Unfamiliar. Christine was grateful to see that Mme. Giry still served the same Earl Grey tea with the little blue cornflowers. Some things should not change.

Mme. Giry had warmly welcomed Christine Daae into her new flat. Last night at the wedding rehearsal, Christine had been withdrawn and pensive. The wedding was to take place in two days' time. Tout Paris would surely attend, if only to watch the spectacle of a disgraced opera singer finally landing her big fish. In the absence of a father to walk her down the aisle, Christine had implored Mme. Giry to do the honors

"Oh, Madame, I have missed you so much!" Christine returned Mme. Giry's embrace with a more fervent one of her own. Mme. Giry examined the girl closely. "You look thin. Do the Chagnys not feed you?"

"No, the Chagnys are very kind," Christine replied listlessly.

Mme. Giry scowled as she detected Christine's wrist bones protruding from her sleeves. But it was normal for a bride-to-be to lose weight...

"So, my child, is everything prepared?" Mme. Giry inquired as she poured Christine a cup of tea with two spoons of sugar, just the way she liked it.

"I suppose it is. His people are handling all the details. All I have to do is show up." Christine sipped the brew gratefully, so happy to have something familiar.

Mme. Giry shifted in her chair. Her eyes darted to the closed door between the sitting room and her bedroom. 'Upright' and 'reserved' were two of the best ways to describe the ballet mistress, but Mme. Giry felt compelled to broach a new subject with Christine.

"My dear, as you have no mother to guide you, I feel it is my duty…Do you know what will be expected of you? As a bride?" Mme. Giry blurted out.

"I shall wear Raoul's ring and be his wife—oohh!" Christine blushed crimson to her hairline. "You mean—"

"Yes. The physical part of marriage. Do you know what will occur?" Mme. Giry gave Christine one of her patented penetrating stares.

A floorboard in the bedroom gave a heavy creak.

"I think I do. I must lie down…and my husband must…do what he will do."

"You don't know anything, do you?" The young woman shook her head in misery. For the next ten minutes, Mme. Giry slowly went over the facts of life with Christine, leaving nothing unmentioned. She would be nude. There might be pain and blood. He would probably fall asleep on top of her. But it was her duty as a married woman, and there would be children as reward and consolation.

As Mme. Giry concluded the lecture, she was dismayed to see Christine's eyes shining with tears.

"Now, now, mignon, it isn't as bad as all that. There is also desire. When Raoul kisses you, don't you wish him to keep doing so?"

"It's nice, but it feels so messy. Not like when…" Christine's voice trailed away, lost in reverie.

"When?" Mme. Giry's eyes bored into the girl's, intent on getting a truthful answer.

"When I kissed him. My angel."

CREAK! Went the floorboard again.

"Pay no attention, this house is always settling. What are you going to do, Christine? Can you marry a man you do not desire with all your heart?"

Christine got up from the little sofa and began to pace around the rented room. "I have no choice! My name has been ruined. Our home is gone. Where else can I go?" Christine grabbed the ridiculous hat from her head. " I mean, look at this! All of my clothes are gone, yours and Meg's too! We have nothing. When I am Raoul's wife, I can pay for this flat—you will be homeless if I don't! Isn't that worth being decked out like a fashion doll?" A wave of dizziness came over Christine and she clutched at the back of Mme. Giry's chair. The older woman sprang up to steady her.

"Sit down, petite, you are not well." Christine shook off the ballet mistress' helping hand. "I must be strong now. Please forgive me, I am late for the final fitting of my wedding gown." Christine fumbled on the sofa for her new lizard-skin reticule, and tottered toward the front door. "Damn these heels," she muttered under her breath softly.

Mme. Giry gave Christine a gentle embrace at the door. Outside, the luxurious de Chagny carriage with its matched bay geldings waited, footmen at the ready. Christine pecked Mme. Giry's cheek in gratitude. "I will see you on my wedding day?"

"Yes, my dear. One thing more. You must not lace your corset so tightly-it will ruin your breathing and destroy that heavenly voice."

True, deep sorrow washed over Christine's lovely visage. "It doesn't matter, Madame. I don't think that Raoul will ever let me sing again." And with that, she firmly jammed her hat back on her head and closed the door.

Mme. Giry exhaled a heavy sigh. To be so young and in such despair…She heard the door to her tiny bedroom squeak open, but did not bother to turn around.

"She's gone?' a husky voice whispered.

"Quite gone." A tall shadow loomed over the slender woman. Mme. Giry made a gesture toward the sofa. "There's tea in the pot if you want some."

"I think I need something stronger than tea, Antoinette."

"I think you will need your wits about you if you want to help this poor girl, Erik." Mme. Giry turned to look the Phantom of the Opera straight in the eye.

She found a shaken, desperately unhappy man before her. This man was disheveled, unwashed and hungry, with an anguish in his eyes that matched Christine's. Mme. Giry shook her head and clucked softly. How far, how far to fall, and for what?

Erik gave a strangled cry of frustration. "She is selling herself for security, not for love. I will go right into that church and seize her. I will carry her away like Lochinvar--"

"You mean like the tenor in a cheap opera. Erik, didn't you hear the girl? She has no choices. You took away her choices." With that, the Phantom collapsed on the sofa and hung his head in his hands. His shoulders trembled and his breathing became ragged.

"What shall I do, Antoinette? I can't…I'm lost…please." Erik raised his eyes to his oldest friend. His savior of old, always to be trusted, if not always heeded.

"You are a man, Erik. Start acting like one. Create a new option for this girl if you love her. Let her be finally free to make a choice." Mme. Giry's eyes were like an eagle's honing in on the prey.

"Even if she doesn't choose to be with me?" Erik drew in his breath. He was poised upon the knife-edge of despair, at a crossroads of his own making. "Yes," he mused, "I was the one who stole away my angel's future. I must restore it to her to do as she sees fit."

Mme. Giry allowed her ramrod posture to relax. Now, a plan must be formulated. There was much to do and not much time. The gaslight lamps burned long into the night. Dawn found two people exhausted, but full of hope.