Page 78 of Angel's Fall
“Do you understand how absolutely insane you’ve gone?” Philippe thundered. “And that’s to say nothing of this idea that she’ll marry you! She has to be furious.”
“Raoul wouldn’t know, he’s too afraid to speak with her,” Sabine sniped. Shaya decided that he might like this woman. The bell rang at the door, and the butler cast Shaya one more tired look before going to answer.
“That could be Richard now,” Raoul snapped.
The parlor door flew open to reveal the siblings, who all looked equally put out to see Shaya. “Good day,” he grumbled.
“Please, Sabine, just do as you’ve been told,” Raoul added towards his sister. The woman cast him a look that would have wilted flowers on the vine before storming up the stairs.
“What fresh madness have you brought to wave in front of my brother, Monsieur?” Philippe demanded of Shaya, who puffed his chest defiantly.
The butler returned with what looked like a telegram on a silver tray and whispered something into Raoul’s ear. The younger man tore open the missive as he nodded at Shaya to speak.
“I’m here to warn you that I may have discovered something about your friend and Erik, a possible connection—” Shaya stopped, watching as the blood drained from Raoul’s face. “What is it?” he asked grimly, though he already guessed the truth.
“Antoine he... he’s been hurt,” Raoul stammered.
Philippe grabbed the telegram in consternation. “Let me see that. ‘Beast escaped. Too injured to pursue. He is coming.’ Dear God in heaven.”
Shaya sighed. “I—"
“Don’t you dare say you warned me!” Raoul growled. “We need a plan. Everyone in this house is in danger!”
“And the Opera,” Shaya added. To the shock of the men gathered in the foyer, the bell rang yet again.
“Nowthatwill be Richard, and he’ll certainly be happy to hear the madman who lives in his cellar is free again! And angry!” Philippe hissed. “Would you like to tell him, or shall I?”
Raoul swallowed, looking between Shaya and his brother desperately before his eyes cleared and his expression hardened. “This is better. No more charade of mercy or a trial for him. When he comes for her—”
“Are you suggesting another trap? At his opera?” Shaya balked.
“This time, we’ll have more men, and—” Raoul looked towards Philippe, as if he would encourage him.
“You’ll never convince Christine,” Philippe admonished just as Firmin Richard entered the foyer and took in the men’s grim faces.
“I see the news is not good,” Richard drawled, giving Raoul the most withering of looks.
“Not right now, but it will be. I swear it will be,” Raoul replied, and Shaya’s gut filled once again with the sense of doom.
––––––––
Christine refused torest in Raoul’s bed, so she had taken up a spot in one of the chairs to stare at the opulent wallpaper for the last hour. She had already memorized the intricate pattern by the time her stomach truly started to growl for food. The last time she had eaten had been yesterday, wrapped in the sheets with Erik. It had been an unpretentious meal, bread and cheese and some stew, but it had been warm and the simple pleasure of eating in their warm, safe room at the Inn of the Setting Sun had made the food all the better. She had imagined with great hope what it would be like to see the dawn with him.
Now she wondered if she would ever see him again at all. At least alive.
Christine jumped from the chair, her head in her hands, pushing away the terrible thought. It had to join the other fears and imaginings of what Erik was doing right now. Was he in pain? How filled to bursting was he with hate and vindication? Because he had been right about the dangers of leaving his home. Such ideas were impossible to escape here, in a room that Raoul had filled with evidence and testimonials (intended for the police, she assumed) of all of Erik’s crimes. All the reasons she could never escape.
The sound of the door opening was an unexpected shock, as was the fact that it was not Raoul who entered, but Sabine de Chagny with a maid in tow. She looked annoyed to even be looking at Christine.
“I’m sorry we’ve been so slow in attending to your needs, but I didn’t want to,” Sabine said.
“At least one member of this family is honest,” Christine muttered.
“Yes, well, my brother cares about you to the point of madness, so I have to get you dressed. Yvette.” Sabine sighed as the maid presented Christine with a plain, black dress as if it were a gift. “You’re too tall and round to fit anything of mine, this was from a housekeeper who left. I think it will do.”
“The clothes I have are fine. I’d like some food.”
“Dinner is not until seven, and this is at least better than your traveling clothes or whatever it is you have on.” Sabine looked Christine up and down.
