Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine

by Theodora Bruns

  “Do you think Madame Giry is behind all of this? She seems to be the only one delivering notes to us. She’s also the only one who admits to hearing a ghost,” Firmin stated.

  Armand, while picking up a chair and looking under it, responded, “I don’t think she has the brains to come up with such a scheme. But I definitely think she has something to do with it. I would peg her as a dupe being used by Poligny and Debienne.”

  “Well, whatever the case, Armand, I’m getting tired of this and we need to put a stop to it. I say we fire her and put someone in her place that will be faithful to us and not our pranksters.”

  Firmin’s words triggered my angry thoughts and started that evening’s events in motion, but Armand’s response would be the one to make those events disastrous.

  “I agree with you completely, and I know just the one to take her place. I have a lady friend who wants a position here at the opera house. She would love this opportunity, and she would definitely be faithful to us. I have a ticket right here in my pocket for tonight’s performance that I’d planned to give her this afternoon. It will be the first opera she’s attended, and a perfect way to celebrate her new job. I could tell her about the box keeper position when I see her. What do you say?”

  Firmin was pleased with the thought, but, needless to say, I wasn’t. I wouldn’t allow them to discharge my reliable Madame Giry—I wouldn’t. I didn’t know how I would stop them right then, but I would somehow.

  I listened to them congratulate themselves on such a perfect plan and their decision to have dinner after the performance to celebrate. They laughed and talked about sitting right there in my box and then where Madame Giry’s replacement would be sitting. They were happy and laughing, but I was the furthest thing from it; I was fuming. So, groaning low and to make a statement, I raised and then lowered the light in the box slowly. They looked around and then into each other’s eyes. They shook their head in unison, dismissed my actions as a coincidence, and left my box, but they wouldn’t be able to dismiss my actions that night as a coincidence.

  By the time they’d left my box, I was dizzy with a splitting headache again and feared trying to move very far, so I entered my box again and took the same position I’d found so comfortable earlier.

  I lay back in the chair, telling myself not to be angry but to think of a way around all the events that had transpired during my absence. I listened to more of the rehearsal, closed my eyes and opened them, and then I looked around the auditorium that I’d had a hand in building. I looked at the red velvet stage curtains that held a special place in my theatrical heart. I studied the sculptures, the columns, the paintings on the ceiling, the chandelier, and the seat right under it where the new box keeper would be sitting.

  I relaxed and entered a sort of fog with the chandelier as the backdrop for my creative mind. My headache lessened, my anger calmed, my thoughts cleared, and, in those moments, the rest of the day’s events were written just as clearly as the score for that night’s performance.

  The rehearsals ended, and I watched Christine leave the stage, looking so dejected. She wasn’t even talking to Meg who was by her side and chattering continually. My heart broke for my angel, so I entered the column and headed for her mirror. Once there, I found her sitting at her dressing table writing in her diary. Her eyes were dry, but her face was drawn and tired. I didn’t know what to expect from her after leaving her that way for so long, so I watched carefully for her reaction.

  “Christine, I’m here.”

  She jumped up, sending her quill to the floor. Then her hands went to her chest, her eyes filled with tears, and she sobbed, “My Angel?”

  “Yes, Christine, your angel.”

  “I thought you’d left me for good. I thought I was no longer worthy of you. Why did you leave me alone for so long?”

  “I apologize for my absence, Christine, but I was called away on an urgent matter.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said softly.

  Then I watched as her countenance changed. Her shoulders sloped and she stepped back and sat in her chair with her head down.

  “I . . .” she began to say.

  When she didn’t finish, I encouraged her. “What is it? Why are you so downhearted?”

  She looked at her two drooping roses before she gave an explanation. “I never thought my angel wouldn’t be here for me, and it frightened me.”

  What had her counterfeit angel done this time? How was he going to fix this latest blunder? “Even your angel has his limitations, Christine. But I’m here now, so rise up and don’t despair. I can’t explain right now, but my delay had nothing to do with your worthiness. You’re perfect in every respect, and I’m sorry for your pain. This is not the time for me to explain everything to you, but I will and soon. We’ll talk for as long as you wish tonight after the performance, and I’ll explain everything to you then. I’ll be watching you tonight, my angel, so sing for me.”

  “I always sing for you, but my role tonight is nothing special, so you needn’t bother to attend.”

  “You’re wrong, my child. The role doesn’t make the performer special; the performer makes the role special. Do your utmost tonight to make the role you perform special, and I’ll be pleased. Then when you come back to your room, I’ll have something special for you.”

  We talked for a few more minutes, and then I left the house and caught a brougham. My first stop was a bookstore to find a good book to read to Christine by the fire. I wanted it to take us into a world of fantasy, without touching any tender nerves. A story that would stay clear of anything that would make her think about her father and feel sad. I wanted something that would make her laugh and feel excited.

  It took a while, but, after reading several forwards, I found one that sounded like what I wanted. It was titled Jacob. The forward described the book as intriguing, funny, mysterious, adventurous, and touching. It was the story of a man who traveled the world in search of adventure, going to places from the North Pole to the South Pacific Islands. His trips included sailing on ships, and rides through jungles on the backs of elephants. The book was hailed as a must read for anyone with an adventurous heart, and I thought it sounded like a safe entertainment for both Christine and me.

  In that same shop, I bought her a lavender feather pen and matching stationery, along with a dusty rose diary. Since I knew how much she liked to chronicle her thoughts, I wanted that set in my home for her use when she was there.

  Once back in my waiting brougham, I scratched the book off my mental list and went on to the next one; the antique furniture store she’d frequented. There I bought her the dressing table, matching mirror and chair she’d admired. Then I arranged for it to be specially delivered to the props department at the opera house. I had them attach my note to it: “Not to be opened until 1 January, 1900.” I figured that would keep the workers away from it until I could get to it.

  My next stop was a specialty shop where I outfitted my bedroom to be fit for a queen. Christine’s favorite color was lavender and my favorite color on her was blue, so I bought a plush comforter in those colors with a hint of peach. I bought new sheets, pillows, and towels all in the same color scheme, as well as a new painting that coordinated with the room.

  Three doors down from there was a woman’s fashion shop. I wanted to buy her a complete wardrobe, but I only had enough energy and time to buy her a few things; a powder blue silk nightgown trimmed in cream lace, a matching robe, and a lavender dress for the travel to my home.

  Again, I was back in the brougham, surrounded with packages and heading toward the florist. There I bought all the flower arrangements they had and asked them to get as many more as they could before that evening. I arranged for them to be delivered to the back entrance of the opera house at five, thinking there would be so much going on at that time that a few more flowers wouldn’t be noticed. Right next door was a candle shop, where I purchased several dozen candles in varying colors, as well as bath crystals and creams for
my Christine’s pleasure, most of them in lavender scent and color.

  One of the things I wanted to do for Christine was to make her fine meals every day, but, in my current condition, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off without letting on that I was ill. So for the first night anyway, I purchased only fresh bread, cheese, and some fruit and nuts. I also bought two boxes of English sweets, one for Christine and one for Madame Giry.

  Once I was back in my waiting brougham with all my purchases, my next challenge was getting them down into my home. By the time we reached the opera house, I hadn’t come up with a solution, so I had no choice. If I wanted to have any strength left in me, I had to have help. So, for the first time during all my years of living there, I had to find someone to help me down to my home—well, to the lake anyway.

  I told the driver to take me south toward the poorer neighborhoods. Then, as we rode down a dirt road with muddy potholes, we passed boys playing in the street with a stick and a rock, so I had the driver stop. My only thought was to find willing hands and strong legs to help me, so I hadn’t given much thought beyond that.

  But my actions became painfully clear to me when I stepped down from the brougham and approached the boys. They stopped playing and stared at me, and their expressions made me realize what I must have looked like. There I was, a tall man with a black mask, hat, cloak, and clothing, and limping with the aid of a black walking stick. And what made it worse, I was about ready to tell them that I would pay them if they took a ride with me and helped me. What was I thinking? Was I crazy?

  I looked down at the mud puddle in front of me and sighed, and then I looked at the brougham, full of my packages and shook my head. Then I looked at the boys and knew I had to make a quick decision, since some of them were scurrying away to their homes. Without further delay, I told them the truth.

  “Hello. Can you see all the packages I have in my carriage?” I asked while motioning toward them. “I bought those for a special lady, but I have no way of getting them downstairs to my home because of my injured leg,” I said as I stomped my walking stick beside my foot. “I’ll pay whoever helps me. With the money I give you, you can buy real toys. It won’t take too long. Who of you wants to help me?”

  There were eight of them by then, ranging from perhaps six to eleven years of age, but then, one by one, they started backing away and then running away until there were only two left. They looked at each other and then me for some time; during that time, three mothers came out of their homes. With the thought of their fathers being the next to appear, I was ready to give up that idea as a bad one and get back in my brougham. I was in no condition to fight anyone. Then I rebuked myself. Erik, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

  Twenty

  Finally, one of the boys still standing in the street spoke up.

  “Sure, Roland, let’s do it. We need a ball.”

  “Good,” I responded quickly before they changed their minds or before an angry parent changed it for them. “Jump on the back of the brougham. As you can see, there isn’t enough room inside.”

  They gladly complied and laughed nearly the entire trip back to my home. However, I was far from laughing. I felt so sick and in so much pain, but, worse than that, I was anxious and expected to see a mounted officer stop us and accuse me of kidnapping, but that never happened. Once we reached the back of the opera house, I loaded my young helpers with flowers and Christine’s gifts, while giving them instructions.

  “You go first,” I said to the largest boy, “and when we get to the doorman, don’t say anything unless he asks you a question. He probably won’t, but if he does just tell him you were given orders to deliver these gifts to the performers. Then keep walking until you get to the first corridor on your right. Turn there and I’ll lead the way from there. Do you understand?”

  “Yes! This is exciting! I feel like a spy!” he exclaimed.

  I let him lead the way through the iron gate while I took up the rear, holding a large bouquet up in front of my face. As it turned out, the doorman didn’t say anything. I didn’t think he would, since he’s used to seeing flowers delivered on a regular basis.

  Once around the first corner, I took the lead. They became quiet as we made our way through one passage after another, and then, once we began descending the stairs toward the lake, their eyes widened, and I could see their fright in them. To keep their minds busy, I started asking them questions. I asked about their brothers or sisters, mothers and fathers, games they liked to play, animals they liked, their friends, anything and everything I could think of until we reached the lake.

  Once we were by the lake, they completely changed. They were no longer frightened; they were amazed and awed. They started talking to each other and to me excitedly.

  “This is great! I had no idea there was a real lake inside this building,” the larger one, Obert, remarked.

  “Me neither,” Roland added. “I’ve wanted to go inside the opera house, but my mom always says maybe next year. Wait till I tell her what I saw. She won’t believe me.”

  I smiled. My lake and opera house, that I took for granted by then, was something special for them to see, and they started asking me questions. But I was feeling poorly, so I made them a deal.

  “I’ll tell you what. As you saw, there are many more packages to bring down here, but I can’t make that trip again. So will you go back up and get them? When you’re finished unloading the coach, I’ll pay you and answer all your questions.”

  They looked at each other, nodded, and began running back up the stairs. When they were gone, I loaded my boat with the gifts and then unloaded them in my docking room. Then I went back to the wharf and waited for the boys. They made two more trips before they had everything down by the lake, so I paid them enough to make their eyes pop out of their heads. Then we sat on the wharf, and I willingly answered their questions.

  “How do you get all this water in here?” Obert asked.

  “We don’t. It comes from an underground stream. It was an architectural blunder to begin with, but it’s now useful in different ways. It’s used as part of the hydraulics to lift the sets and scenery up above the stage where they’re stored and then lowered during the productions. It’s also used to water the horses in the stable.”

  “Stable?” Roland asked. “You mean there’s also a stable inside here along with a lake?”

  “Yes, there is.” I gestured toward the arches above our heads and continued, “It’s two stories above us, and they have beautiful horses there that are used during some of the operas. There’s what you might call an entire little city above us. There’s a carpenter’s shop, a seamstress’s shop, something like a clothing store, and so much more. They can make almost anything you want up there, from small feather pens to life-size elephants.”

  Their eyes and mouths were wide open, and I smiled again. They asked many more questions and I answered them completely, perhaps too completely. In the process, I thought, I should be a tour guide. This is fun, and I’m good at it. I should be good at it, since I’d had a hand in constructing parts of everything that sat around us.

  When it was time for the remaining flowers to be delivered, I offered them that job as well. They were happy to comply. Then, while their young and healthy legs trekked back up the stairs, I took the packages I had and crossed the lake. I was suffering in the extreme by then, so I gave myself another injection; then I sat for a bit waiting for it to take effect.

  It took my helpers six trips to bring all the flowers down to me, and it took me three trips across the lake to take them to my home.

  “I thank you both for your help. I never could have done this by myself. Here’s what I owe you for the deliveries and here’s a little extra so you can catch a coach back to your home.”

  They both stared at my outstretched hand holding more money, looked up into my eyes, and then at each other. They thanked me profusely for the extra money to get home. But, from the looks on their faces, I believe they�
��d already spent it on something they wanted.

  As I watched them run toward the stairs and then disappear, Doctor Leglise’s warning about losing my leg hit home hard, and I knew I had to take care of it soon. But first, I had to prepare for Christine’s visit.

  I decided to go to the set department first and find the dressing table I’d bought. It took a while, but I finally spotted a crate under a tarp. Upon examination, I found my note attached to it. It was a welcomed sight, and I immediately began shoving it toward my passage. The job was strenuous, and my weakness truly made itself apparent. It would have been a simple task before I was shot, but, right then, I seriously doubted if I could complete it. Several times, I had to hide and rest while stagehands came and went, and I was exhausted by the time I reached my passage.

  Once inside the passage, I put a rope around the crate and let gravity take it from there. I let it slide down each step, while I sat on a step behind it and pulled back on the rope. It wasn’t too long before I had it uncrated and in its place in what would be Christine’s room. I next hung the matching mirror above it and put the chair in its place. I then stood back and looked at it, remembering Christine sitting at it in the antique shop. I hope she’ll be pleased, was my main thought.

  After that, I excitedly started cleaning her room from top to bottom. I even had to relocate my eight-legged friends to a beam in my docking room. Then, when I remembered how Napoleon dismantled what he thought were unsightly homes during the restoration period, I felt like him when I dismantled their unsightly but carefully designed homes.

  I took all my belongings and put them in the other armoire in my music room and then put everything I’d purchased for her in what was now her room. I hung her gown and robe inside the armoire, but the lavender dress I wanted to take to her dressing room for her to put on before I brought her down to my home.

  I put her brush, comb, hand mirror, feather pen, diary, stationery, and box of English sweets on top of the dressing table and then put the two red roses in the slender vase there also. The lavender towels, bath crystals, and creams I put on the marble counter in the bath. All around the bedroom and bath I placed the lavender candles, and, even though they weren’t lit, they filled the room with their fragrance. I hung the colorful painting above the bed and laid the comforter over the bed. The room looked like a beautiful picture in a catalog, with only one piece of the picture missing—Christine.