Unmasqued

Christine clutched at the ruffled silk of Madame's bodice, which, instead of covering her bosom, inexplicably left a large expanse of skin exposed. She sniffled and composed herself enough that her voice, rusty and rough, at least came out audibly as she explained what had occurred since Erik snatched her from the Opera House stage the night before. Mon Dieu, only one night ago!

"Raoul claims he loves me, but this is not love." She began to sob again, scraping her hand across her nose and eyes. "He will keep me here. And-and the c-comte …"

"Yes, I know of the comte. He is a nasty one." There was relish in her voice that Christine could not understand; but somehow, with Madame present, she felt as if things were no longer so hopeless.

"How did you come to be here in this house?" Christine asked again.

"The third upstairs maid was once in the ballet corps," Madame told her quietly. "Pansy, but she goes by 'Rose' now. She injured her leg almost two years ago and could no longer dance, and the comte's housekeeper offered her a place here. I came here on the pretense of visiting her, and seeking employment. She writes to me of the happenings here, and I have given the news to Erik over the years."

"But surely they do not believe that Madame Giry, the famed ballet mistress, would seek household employment!"

Madame's soft laugh brushed her ear. "No, indeed, they would not… if they knew that I was the dance mistress of the Opera House. No, Rose has merely said I am an old friend of her mother's who is in need of a position. How should they know otherwise? None of the staff here has ever seen me at the theater; even the comte himself would not notice me when he comes backstage, for I am no longer one of the young, beautiful dancers who would capture his attention. And as a low-level member of his staff, I can assure you, he would pay me no attention at all. Thus, my position here is quite secret. But on to more important matters, Christine. Surely you know by now that Erik is the comte's brother, which was what I was sworn not to tell you before. But now you know."

Christine nodded, smelling lily perfume as her nose bumped Madame's throat. Her tears had dried. "Yes, they are brothers. How can that be?"

"The old comte, of course, had the same wandering lust that his sons do-oui, even Raoul, Christine, for all of his naive ways, he cannot resist a beautiful woman and expects to have what he wishes-and he got my cousin Amelie, who was working here on the estate, with child. Thus was born Erik, with all of his imperfections."

"So he was born with his face like that?" Christine asked.

"He was. The moment the comte laid eyes on the poor babe, with his horribly twisted cheek and sagging eye, he vowed never to look on him, never to recognize him. But shortly before Amelie died, he changed his mind and found a use for him. There are times I wonder whether it was heartbreak for her son and his future that caused her death."

"Was he raised here, then? At the chateau?" These were things Christine could perhaps have asked Erik… but he seemed so reluctant to answer her questions about the past. And talking about him now made her feel as if she was doing something for him, even if she was only assuaging her curiosity.

"Yes, after Amelie died, and not as a brother, you understand. Erik knew he was the old comte's son, but Philippe did not until later. They were of an age, you see, born within a month of each other, if you can believe the fate of it." Madame sighed, and beneath their bodices, Christine felt the press of her breasts against her own.

The strangeness of being breast to breast, bare collarbone to bare collarbone, reminded her all too much of Delia and her plump little hands on Christine's nipples, and she moved away. "Why does the comte hate Erik so?"

"I do not know all of it, only that the two were often together when they were young men, and that the comte and his friends would allow Erik to come with them when they went out in the evenings, only his face had to be covered, and he must do what they ordered. He lived with ridicule and castigation by them and by the entire household. He slept in the corner of the stables and was brought slop from the kitchens."

"But why would Erik go with him?" Christine's heart squeezed in her chest as she thought of the terrified, repugnant young boy he must have been, how he must have tried to be normal.

"Because his father ordered it. Because he required Erik to be Philippe's shadow, to follow after him and to clean up any untidiness the young comte might have left in his wake. And Philippe resented Erik's presence, of course, and so he created increasingly foul and disturbing predicaments for his half brother to attend to."

Christine was shaking her head. "I do not understand, madame."