"The pink looks lovely on you, dear," Mme. Marchand says as she arranges the ruffles on the silk and organdy gown.
Christine's cheek flush as she giggles in response. Twirling around, she stops to face the chevalier mirror, examining herself. "So pretty."
The housekeeper chuckles. "Indeed you are very pretty."
"Oh, I meant the dress," Christine replies her color deepening.
"Christine is most modest," Adele adjusts herself on the raspberry-colored brocade upholstered chaise set in the bay window to glance outside at the garden. "There is a lovely view from this room, one might not have imagined this last night. Everything is so calm now…and bright. A lovely morning for a wedding."
Turning back to rejoin the conversation, she says, "Meg, would be primping and preening demanding more and more compliments."
"Oh, Madame, Meg is not so vain," Christine argues, lowering her eyelids. "She is quite the beauty."
"Beauty is as beauty does," Adele sniffs. "I suppose I have spoiled her."
"You have a daughter?" Madame Marchand inquires.
"Yes."
"She did not wish to come?"
"Oh, she will be quite put out when she finds out her desire to stay home to work on a new dance found her missing the wedding."
"No one knew we were to be married," Christine explains. "Even Erik and I were not certain."
"True. Nadir and I only came because he was concerned about le Comte Chagny…rightly so. The marriage was a surprise to us." Meg, of course, was going to be furious. For herself, she was happy to be here, even though the idea of Erik and Christine getting married was still a bit of a shock. This entire situation was like something out of a penny novel. Entertaining, but a bit discomfiting, to say the least.
"What are you going to do with him?" She asked. "I mean he cannot be locked in a room for the rest of his life, with the rest of us going on with life as if he does not exist."
"Pere Charles has advised Erik and me that he will tend to the comte," Nadir's response although firm was not full of conviction.
"You do not know either, do you?"
"For the moment he is being confined so as not to do harm to us or himself…apparently, he carries a complete apothecary with him and has been sedated."
"He cannot be sedated forever…" Looking Nadir full on, she gasps, "…or can he. Oh, Nadir…"
"Do not worry, he is alive, just asleep. Do you really think priest would commit murder? You are the Catholic, so tell me."
"I would simply let him have his apothecary, as you called it and let him decide."
"I am certain she will forgive all of you," the older woman says.
"What? Who?" Adele says, her reverie interrupted.
"Your daughter, of course. We were talking about how she would be upset," Mme. Marchand says as she adjusts the large bow set atop the bustle of Christine's gown. "I know Emilie will be pleased to know her gown is being put to use when we tell her. She never wore it herself."
"Emilie?" Adele leans forward on the chaise.
"Pere Charles' sister…M. Erik's aunt," Mme. Marchand explains.
"She is a nun," Christine adds. "Pere Charles told us she has similar deformities as Erik and joined the Carmelite order."
"I see," Adele says. "It would seem she and Erik share more than just facial issues."
"Madame?" M. Marchand says, stopping her fussing with Christine's dress.
"Just that both of them chose to hide from the world, mostly in silence. Although I doubt Erik has ever thought much about praying. Unless, of course, creating music might be considered praying."
"Music is very much like prayer," the housekeeper replies.
Adele sniffs. "You have not heard Erik's music."
"Oh, Madame, that is unfair. His voice is sublime and he is writing…um…calmer more lyrical pieces these days."
"I suppose one cannot blame him for taking out his rage at the world on his organ instead of seeking revenge in more violent ways."
"He is no longer that man," Christine insists, the flush on her face coming now more from anger than her earlier embarrassment. "You saw yourself how restrained he was with Phillippe."
"I should like to have been here to assist, Pere Charles told me Comte de Chagny was intent on burning the house down."
"Well, he did not succeed, thanks to all of us maintaining our wits," Christine says, raising an eyebrow at Adele, her nostrils flaring.
"Well, he is safely locked in the room formerly used by the house maid," Mme. Marchand says.
"Has he been restrained?" Christine asks. "Pere Charles did not say."
"I have no idea, my dear. All I know is what I just told you. The good father did not confide in me, except to tell me to avoid the room and why," Mrs. Marchand says. "He just said not to worry and to help you get ready for the wedding ceremony and here we are." With that, she makes a final assessment of the gown and how it fits on Christine.
"Perhaps it is best we not know too much else about our dear comte," Adele grunts. "You mentioned Erik's aunt."
"Emilie, yes."
"Can you visit her?"
"Oh, yes," Christine replies. "Once the new opera takes a break, Erik and I will go to visit her with Pere Charles."
"Erik must be overwhelmed with what this trip has become."
"Quite so. We only hoped to discover if he had been baptized." Whatever anger she felt earlier replaced with more excitement over the incumbent wedding.
"And you found an entire family…" Adele is only too happy to leave the discord behind as well. A nagging feeling about Phillippe and what was to come in the future is pushed aside momentarily. Best to enjoy this bit of happiness for Erik and Christine.
"Pere Charles could not be more pleased," M. Marchand says. "He has been quite lonely."
"I love him so much already and I know Erik is happy as well."
"Going from a recluse who hides in a basement to being a married man with friends and family is certainly a shock," Adele laughs. "I suspect he was mildly pleased to have Phillippe appear so he could claim to have an enemy to deal with."
"Madame Giry, enough!" Christine scolds. "Erik does not want to have enemies."
"My dear girl, Erik is simply more accustomed to arguing with people than having social chats. There are some of us who are not always at ease with loving relationships, especially when not feeling deserving of the love."
The housekeeper shifts her eyes back and forth between the two women. "Well, I, for one, am filled with joy and praise for our Lord bringing love and, in some instances, forgiveness when feeling the world has failed them."
"I take it this gown belonged to Emilie," Adele says.
"Yes, she never wore it, though."
"Why not?" Christine asks turning to face her. "I think I should have worn this gown at every chance I could."
"She always felt awkward…did not wish to call attention to herself."
"That is so sad, but I do understand," Christine says. "Erik covers his face as much as he can, although I do not mind his deformity. When you know someone and love them, their face seems to disappear…or at least does not matter."
"I agree with you about that, but then, contact with strangers does not offer that protection of love. She went into the convent because dealing with the outside world became too much for her."
Christine nods. "The world can be cruel even when you have a normal face."
"True enough," Mme. Marchand agrees. Clapping her hands, she walks to the vanity to pick up the veil of white lace. "Time is wasting, your groom will be getting anxious. Come sit down. Let me put this on you and then to the chapel."
"Merde. Merde. Merde."
Nadir ducks in time to avoid the cravat flying from Erik's hand across to the room where it lands on the four-poster bed. Gathering up the fine silk cloth, the Persian walks over to his friend who is now crouching on his knees in front of the carved walnut dressing table. "Tears my friend?"
"How can she possible want to marry this piece of damaged flesh," Erik says.
"Perhaps I should cover the mirror," Nadir offers, holding out his hand to help Erik to his feet.
"I have been avoiding mirrors my entire life," Erik replies. Withdrawing his hand from Nadir's, he pushes up the cuffs of his white linen shirt exposing heavily ridged scars on his wrists.
"Having been responsible for the addition of other scars on your body, it did not seem prudent to question other signs of brutality you may have suffered," he answers as he places the cravat around Erik's neck and quickly ties a knot to perfection. "There."
"Thank you," Erik says with a grim smile. "Anything to distract from this." Waving a hand at his face.
"Do you really think she cares about what you look like at this point?" the daroga asks as he retrieves Erik's tailcoat from the armoire designed in the same Louis Phillippe style as the dressing table.
"I care."
"Why? You do not have to look at yourself," Nadir chuckles. "Here, put this on."
"Very funny," Erik grunts. "The scars…on my wrists were self-inflicted. I was the first to attack myself for the horror of my face."
"I should have thought you would take one of your potions if you were serious about killing yourself. Slashing one's wrists is painful after all and a rather slow death." Nadir sits down on the bench at the foot of the bed.
"I was ten," Erik scoffs. "I did not learn of potions, as you call them until I was much older."
"Why then?" Taking a deep breath, Nadir wipes the beginning of tears falling from his green eyes. "Reza was ten when you helped him die."
A pained look crosses Erik's face.
Taking a deep breath, Nadir wipes the beginning of tears falling from his green eyes. "Ten years old."
"Are you angry still?"
Nadir shakes his head. "No, I was never angry…not at you, in any event. He was in pain. Death was imminent, I would not have asked your help were there any hope." With the barest of smiles, he says, "He loved you. Seeing you always brought him to life. He so wanted to impress you with new discoveries.
"I recall him telling me how he observed a caterpillar forming a chrysalis. You told him to watch the pupa every day and report to you what was happening. A diligent boy, you never knew how faithfully he watched, making notes and drawing pictures. When the butterfly emerged as you knew it would, he was overcome with such joy. Sick as he was – the journey of the butterfly gave him hope."
"We never really die, do we, Father? We just change."
"A wise soul in such a frail body."
"I loved him."
"Yes." Shaking off the memory, Nadir clears his throat. "But what of the ten-year-old boy who stands before me now as a man? What made you decide you did not want to die after all?"
"It was an accident." Erik's laugh is harsh. "My mother made cloth hoods…masks for me to wear. When I asked why, she said it was to protect my face. The explanation made a kind of sense. She was my mother, I trusted her and I could feel the strange texture of my skin. The one side of my face felt different from the other…and not at all like the skin on the rest of my body."
Nadir frowns. "What about when you washed up or went to bed at night. Certainly you did not bathe or sleep with a hood covering your head."
"There were no mirrors in my room or bath," Erik replies. "There were times at night when I would look out the window into the garden and could see a vague reflection…eyes, a nose, a mouth…but nothing was clear."
"Until you were ten…"
"Something alarmed me one night…a bad dream…a loud noise…I do not recall exactly." Eriks sighs and sits down on the bench in front of the vanity, the amber eyes focused on a point in the past. "I screamed and ran into my mother's room. She turned on a lamp. I saw a horrible face in the mirror above her vanity.
"I thought a monster had broken in…believed the person I saw in the mirror was what wakened me. I thought he was going to kill her…me…both of us."
"So you attacked him…the person in the mirror?" Nadir asks quietly.
Erik nods. "She was so angry. About the mirror. About the blood. About having to deal with my injury."
"I am sorry."
"At least I finally knew why she hated me so." A harsh laugh escapes his throat.
"You were a child. It was not your fault," Nadir says as he starts to rise.
Erik raises his hand. "No. Please do not attempt to comfort me."
With a nod of consent, he returns to his seat. "I wish you could have been here…with Pere Charles…with your father's family."
"If horse were wishes then beggars would ride or so the saying goes," Erik sniffs as he adjusts his tailcoat and cravat. "I wonder if it would have made much difference…Emilie wound up in a convent."
"Emilie at least experienced love and acceptance."
"Looking at the past serves no one and nothing…besides if I had been raised here I would not have lived such an adventurous life. Can you imagine me being a priest like my dear uncle?"
"Hardly, although I suspect Pere Charles has some darkness lying deep within him."
"Is that so?"
"When I suggested I look after Phillippe, he insisted I help you…told me he would deal with the comte."
"Did he now?"
"Said it was often necessary to restrain those who sought to take the donations made by parishioner during Mass."
"So that makes him a mass murderer?" Erik chuckles. "He is quite something. Did he say how he planned to deal with Phillippe while performing the marriage ceremony?"
"Sedation, I imagine, although Phillippe was quite drugged to begin with," Nadir laughs. "Perhaps, he might tie him up as well. After that, I cannot say."
"To be honest, I do not care." Taking his watch from the small pocket in his vest, he checks the time. "It is getting late…we must get to the chapel. I should not like to keep Christine waiting…she may yet change her mind."
"I doubt that would happen, but keeping a lady waiting is not a good idea under any circumstances." Nadir places a hand on Erik's shoulder.
Patting his friend's hand, Erik says, "Thank you. Coming here was a good idea. I feel blessed…a dream unlike any I have ever known."