She shared her meager meal of Red Egg and garlic sausage with one of the younger, smaller dancers, who obviously was in need of extra nourishment. She even gave one of her hair ribbons—a lovely scarlet one—to an ouvreuse for her daughter's new baby.
Perhaps that was part of the reason he'd fallen in love with her. Certainly, if it were just for her beauty and her singing voice, there were others who'd passed their way through the Opera House. Carlotta had once even been less jaded, more innocent. Beautiful.
But neither she—nor anyone else had never touched Erik's heart and soul the way Christine Daaé had. Lonely, sad, magnificent Christine.
And now… anger churned inside him. She was dining and associating with Raoul de Chagny and his brother, the comte.
Erik had not known whom she had left with last night after their interlude on the stage until he'd listened in on the foyer de la danse, when Raoul de Chagny had swept in and fairly carried her off. Until that moment, Erik had been merely indulgent, watching from his hidden knot high in the wall, as his protege shyly accepted the attentions of her admirers.
It was nothing more than he'd expected—of course one as gifted and beautiful, but still with that underlying innocence, would attract the attention of the abonnés. And Christine had given him no cause to feel any differently, for she was polite, and reserved, but seemed to single none of the men out. They were all the same to her.
Until Raoul de Chagny.
Her eyes had lit up and sparkled, and she swooned up to her feet upon his presence. And immediately took his imperious arm.
And then he'd swept her away, out of the theater, away from Erik, away from the Opera Ghost's stronghold.
Leaving Erik alone, with the darkness of his destiny and the taunts of his imagination.
Chapter Six
With the encouragement of the two managers, and her many supporters, Carlotta defied the Opera Ghost's warning, gliding onto the stage that night in full costume and regalia. She had determined that she would sing, and sing she would.
Feathers quivering from her ornate, glittering headdress, the train of her silk gown and yards of ruffles and gathers spilling onto the floorboards, the prima donna took her position in the exact front center of the auditorium as the beaming Moncharmin and Richard looked on from their places in Box Five.
"The ghost is late," chuckled Firmin Richard to his partner. "The performance has begun and he has not arrived to claim his seat."
"I am glad we did not let this box out tonight; I am looking forward to hearing La Carlotta's performance. She is not afraid of the ridiculous jokester ghost."
"I refuse to keep this box unavailable to our patrons any longer. Opera Ghost, indeed."
"And whoever it is… he shall not find any salary forthcoming from us," Moncharmin replied, laughing to himself. "We can put those twenty-four thousand francs to much better use."
The second act passed without incident, and during the intermission, the two managers left their box in order to greet La Carlotta backstage.
"You have never sung better, madame," Firmin Richard told her, bowing over her hand. "I am so pleased you did not disappoint your many supporters and comply with the threatening letter you received."
"Ridiculo. The Opera Ghost is nothing but a story made up by Christine Daaé's friends, trying to frighten me. Me, La Carlotta!" She humphed and preened, and the managers, well satisfied with the result of their foiling whatever plot had been hatched, returned to their box for the third act.
When they reentered Box Five, however, they noticed almost immediately that a box of candy had been placed on the railing.
"Where in heaven has this come from?" asked Moncharmin, pointing to the box.
"And these." Richard produced a pair of opera glasses that had not been there when they had left. "Call the ouvreuse and find out who has been here since we left. Someone must have put them here as a joke."
But when they questioned the ushers, they all indicated that no one had come along the staircase leading to the box. No one at all.
Richard and Moncharmin looked at each other uneasily, but settled into their seats as the curtain rose for the third act of Faust. It was only an instant later that a strange draft, eerie and unhealthy, began to seep through the box. Moncharmin fancied he could hear someone breathing, just behind him. The managers looked at each other, but remained silent, suddenly very attentive to what was happening onstage.
It was time for Carlotta's entrance. Richard realized he was holding his breath, twisting his fingers into the handkerchief he had somehow pulled from his pocket.
When La Carlotta made her third and final entrance of the evening, a great cheer arose from her supporters in the audience. A triumphant gleam in her eyes, La Carlotta raised her arms and began to sing Marguerite's response to Faust's entreaty.
No! 'Tis a princess I view!
A princess before me!
Suddenly, a most unnerving rumble sounded from… somewhere. Above, below, in front… later, witnesses were not able to agree on the location of the noise, but it was the sound of an angry growl or grumbling. Moncharmin choked audibly and Richard dropped his handkerchief. It fluttered to the seats below.
After the ominous rumble, Carlotta paused, hitching her breath, casting a wary glance behind her… but she was standing far in front of the backdrops, even in front of the proscenium, nearly upon the gaslights that studded the edge of the stage. She picked up and carried the next few notes, even as the grumbling sounded again and a flicker of a shadow blinked over the stage, sending her fuchsia gown into shades of dirty pink.
Faust approached her, and sang his lines.
Carlotta opened her mouth and began to sing her reply:
And a deep languid charm
I feel without alarm
With its melody enwind—
But—it was horrible!
The audience stood as one, gaping at the people around them. The managers turned to each other, clasping the other's forearm, their mouths wide with horror, eyes goggling, jowls shaking.
It was inconceivable… but the last syllable had come from Carlotta's mouth, not as a beautiful, clear note… but as the sound of the croak of a frog.
Her face was the picture of a terrified, bewildered woman. Her hands rose to her throat as if to ascertain whether it was still hers. She looked at Piangi, the man playing Faust, who was staring back at her as though she had grown a second nose.
"Impossible," Richard gasped to his partner. "She has just been singing so perfectly. All night."
"It was an inhuman sound. It must have been… it had to have been a mistake."
"She has sung the most intricate and beautiful notes… How could this be? She has never faltered, in all of her performances."
They turned back to the stage, holding their breaths. Moncharmin noticed to his dismay that the draft seemed to have gotten colder. More sharp and eerie. And the breathing… it was closer. Louder. He swallowed deeply and began to wish quite vehemently that they had not made those jests about refusing to pay the ghost's salary.
The orchestra began to play. The buzzing of the people had risen, and now ebbed back into silence. All waited expectantly.
Carlotta, looking not quite as triumphant as she had appeared earlier, drew in her breath to sing. Richard held his own breath, waiting…