Page 104 of Angel's Flight
“Quite right, Edouard.I hear the minister of fine arts is already looking for a new manager, or considering eliminating the Opéra entirely,” Giles said with an incongruous laugh.Meg covered her mouth to keep from gasping.“No one thinks this sort of excess befits a modern state.This place was built for an emperor who was deposed, for God’s sake!”
“It’s the people’s Opéra now,” Moncharmin countered.“And the center of Parisian society.Everyone wants to be seen at the Opéra.”
“Wanted to.Before people started dying!”Edouard said.Meg tried to think back to the last few performances.Had they been sold out?She could remember empty seats, but the idea of the Opéra being in danger was absurd!
“Who is saying such things?”Moncharmin asked.“I assure you they are rumors.”
“Well, Raoul de Chagny is adamant about it,” Giles answered.“He’s the one who’s been pushing the minister from what I hear, not that he has much influence nowadays with his fortune depleted, though you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Of course he would be saying that,” Moncharmin groaned.
“If the Opéra is in such good condition, why are you soliciting us?”Edouard asked, and there was a certain cruel humor in his voice that Meg very much disliked.
“So that she can thrive, not merely survive,” Moncharmin answered with sincerity that Meg admired.
“We will consider it,” Giles said.“Only because I have heard from friends that you’re willing to introduce patrons to your cast forintimate performances.The ballet dancers you put on display today were quite the delicacy.”
Silence stretched out, and Meg wondered, sickly, how often Moncharmin, La Roche, or the other men who were supposed to be protecting them were called to act as pimps.
“The second act is starting soon.You should return,” Moncharmin answered quietly to Meg’s relief.
“Noted,” Giles replied sourly.Meg listened to the retreating footsteps and slam of a door before leaving her hiding space.
Moncharmin was bent over the iron railing around the chandelier chain, looking down at the auditorium below.He seemed so sad and exhausted.Meg found herself feeling pity, despite her complicated mix of anger and worry.
“Are we really in trouble?”Meg demanded, and the man jumped in surprise at her voice.“I can see why the minister might want to sack you, but they can’t close the national opera.”
Moncharmin sighed as he looked at Meg.She couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment.Maybe he had hoped she was a ghost; come to end his misery.
“You’d be surprised what politicians with grudges and no vision are willing to destroy, Mademoiselle Giry.”
“Things can’t be that bad!I know the audience has been slow to return, but—”
“It’s not just the audience, my dear,” Moncharmin sighed.“It’s this new ghost.Or someone who wants to be him – I can’t even tell.He’s robbed us in a way that hurts, at last.”
“Robbed you?”Meg echoed in horror.“Of what?His salary?”
“If only that were it,” Moncharmin replied, combing a hand through his hair and leaving it a mess.“Someone has been stealing from the office directly.The box office and the management.”
Meg blinked, confusion crashing through her head.She hadn’t thought the theft amounted to that much.This wasn’t right.This wasn’t righteous like this ghost seemed to be.The phantom protected his theater, he didn’t undermine it.“Why haven’t you called the police?Or told Shaya?”Meg demanded.
“After all that’s happened, we can’t afford any whiff of scandal!I should be trying harder to keep the attacks out of the papers, now that I think of it.If anyone that I have to answer to learns how bad things have been, especially in the last few weeks...”
“It’s not—” Meg bit her lip before she said more, and Moncharmin stared at her.She didn’t need to debate this with him.She could and would go to the source.
“Don’t you have a theory, young detective?”he asked, with a tired laugh.
“Worse: I have an idea.”
Coolaney
Erik resented the brightautumn sun as it fell on the little village of Coolaney.He resented everything he was experiencing at that moment, but the sun was of particular annoyance.His back hurt, his head ached, and the horses in front of him stank.He had thought being the one to drive the carriage to the village would make things easier.This way, they didn’t have to pay someone to wait and no one would notice the gagged woman in chains they were carting around.It also meant he had an excuse not to talk to anyone as it was Christine’s unfortunate job to watch Pauline.
It was hot and awkward, and Erik hated the tension between him and his wife, as well as the hard seat and deafening brightness from the sky.He’d spent the ride brooding, going through a hundred different scenarios of how to make this right and all of them ended with him absent from either Christine’s life or the earth.It had not been productive.Now, the sun was glaring in his eyes as he pulled the horses to a stop outside the village his mother had fled so long ago.
The autumn light made Coolaney look picturesque and deceptively lovely.The hills around the village rose boldly from the landscape, some forming dramatic bluffs, all covered in vibrant green no words could describe.Erik knew from past experience that, on a clear day like today, if you climbed one of them, you could see to the coast, following the path of little rivers and streams to the sea.The trees were old and wise, turning gold for the season, and the village buildings were humble constructions of thatch and stone that seemed built to endure storms and centuries.It was beautiful, and Erik had learned what could hide behind beauty.
He stretched and groaned as soon as he was on the ground, the bearded mask heavy and uncomfortable in the warm day.A thump sounded behind him, then a muffled cry of annoyance.He turned in time to see Christine exiting the carriage looking smug.
