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charleygirlTitle: Beyond the Green Baize Door 38/44
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1755
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Meg Giry, Raoul de Chagny, Christine Daae, Madame Giry, Erik the Phantom
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Help is at hand...
THE QUALITY OF MERCY
“You must understand, Madame, that this situation is highly irregular.”
Antoinette nodded as she followed the doctor into the tunnel, closing the gate behind them and locking it securely. Raoul led the way into the darkness once more, lamp held high. She was grateful for his assistance; had he not gone with her to Doctor Lambert’s house she feared she would have returned empty-handed, for the physician had been most reluctant to attend a patient in such circumstances. They appealed to his kind heart and good nature, Madame Giry reminding him of the great service he had once done one of her girls when she tried in desperation to rid herself of the child she was carrying; then he had been compassion itself, despite the sordid circumstances and the threat of scandal. The incident had never come to the ears of the gossipmongers who hung around the Opera, hungry for tittle-tattle about the patrons, and for that the doctor would always have her gratitude for she knew that the enemies of poor Collette’s high-born lover would swoop on the story and do considerable damage with it. Eventually the doctor agreed to come, but there was a chance they had wasted too much time; Antoinette dreaded what she might find when they returned to the subterranean house.
“I am aware of that, Monsieur, but as I explained before, this man urgently needs a doctor and I knew of no one else I could trust,” she said now.
Lambert cocked an eyebrow, glancing back at her. “I may not be able to afford to frequent the Opera as a spectator, but rumours have been circling for some time now, regarding this ‘Phantom’ and his exploits. Can you assure me that I am not to be involved in anything illegal?”
“You need not be concerned, Monsieur,” Raoul said before Antoinette could open her mouth. “I will pay your bill, and you make take my word that your reputation will not be affected by your help tonight.”
The doctor inclined his head. “I thank you, Monsieur le Vicomte, but that is not quite what I meant. One hears things, you know, and though I am aware that the press have a tendency to exaggerate and blow the smallest occurrences out of all proportion, there is the matter of the stagehand that was hanged above the stage during a performance, and the disappearance of Mademoiselle Daae... both were laid at the door of this Phantom.”
“The death of Joseph Buquet was an accident, nothing more,” Madame Giry said firmly. “The inquest settled that matter. And Mademoiselle Daae did not ‘disappear’, as the newspapers put it. She was with her maestro, her music teacher. It is he who is in need of your skills, and I must ask you to hurry, Monsieur, for he is in a very bad way.”
They began to walk again, much to her relief, Lambert acquiescing with the slightest hint of reluctance. Thankfully the route from the Rue Scribe entrance to the tunnels was a quicker and easier one to traverse than that which led from the interior of the theatre to the cellars. They had left the vicomte’s carriage two streets away and approached the gate cautiously and on foot to avoid attracting undue attention; Antoinette was glad that the nearest streetlamp was several yards from the entrance and wondered whether Erik had planned it that way. Two staircases, the second snaking round and round in a disorientating spiral, took them down to the fifth cellar, an innocuous wooden door leading into the cavern which housed the underground lake.
“Good Lord,” the doctor said, gazing around him. “Do you mean to tell me that this gentleman actually lives beneath the theatre?”
“He is a recluse, Monsieur,” Raoul replied, and Antoinette released the breath she had not realised she was holding, thanking him silently for continuing with their subterfuge. “My fiancée comes to him for her singing lessons. Though he may be isolated, he is a musical genius.”
Madame Giry knocked upon the hidden door, calling Christine’s name softly. A few moments later the door opened slowly, and the little soprano peered around it. Upon seeing the ballet mistress, Raoul and the doctor behind her, she breathed a long sigh of relief, standing aside to allow them to enter. When Antoinette asked after Erik, Christine clasped her sleeve, her face drawn and anxious.
“He won’t stop shivering, Madame. I’ve tried my best to keep him warm but he just shakes and shakes and his hands are so cold! I didn’t know what else I could do - ”
Madame Giry put an arm around her, drawing her into the bedroom after Lambert and the vicomte. Once there, the doctor immediately took charge, setting down his bag and calling for more light. They all waited while he made an examination, for the moment refraining from asking about the mask which was once more covering the Phantom’s deformity. It seemed to take forever, but eventually he turned to them and his expression was serious.
“I will need to operate immediately to remove the bullet,” he said, looking round at them all over his glasses. “The conditions here are deplorable, but I assume that there must be some solid surface I can use to lay him on while I work?”
“There is a table in the kitchen,” Antoinette said, and he nodded.
“I will need it moved into this room, and also as much light as you can possibly provide. Is there running water down here? Boiling water to sterilise my instruments is imperative.”
In a few moments they were all employed in satisfying the doctor’s demands. Christine and Meg set about filling a kettle and putting it over the fire in the bedroom, fetching bowls and cloths, lighting more candles, while Raoul assisted Madame Giry in carrying the heavy deal table from the kitchen. It was not an easy task, manoeuvring such an awkward piece of furniture through two doorways and down the hall, but between them they somehow managed it, setting it up to the right of Erik’s bed and covering it and the floor with as many spare sheets as they could find.
“I am grateful to you, Monsieur,” Antoinette said as they watched Lambert make his preparations. “Were it not for your help, Erik would not stand a chance.”
“I am doing this for Christine, Madame, not for him,” he replied. He kept his eyes averted from the bloody bandages as the doctor peeled them back. “I deplore what has happened, and I regret that I allowed myself to descend to his level and commit an act of which I am not proud. I should have been stronger, but he taunted me until I became no better than him. There is no honour in any of this.”
“Christine has it in her to feel compassion, to shed a tear for his dark fate. Do you really think he deserves the hell he has made for himself?”
Raoul sighed. “I am sorry, Madame. I wish I could say as much, and be the better man, but I cannot forgive him for the damage he has done to her.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, one which was broken only when Lambert, having laid out his surgical instruments and removed his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves, turned to face them.
“All is ready,” he said. “Would you assist me, Madame? I have need of a nurse, and I seem to recall your competent help when I attended Mademoiselle Collette.”
“Of course, Monsieur.” Antoinette shooed Christine and Meg from the room, though the former begged to stay by her Angel’s side. Hoping to distract her, Meg asked to be shown some more of the house, and led her bewildered friend away from the bedroom. Raoul made to follow them, but stopped when addressed by the doctor, who requested his help with moving the wounded Phantom onto the makeshift operating table.
As the two men began to lift him, he stirred, his eyes opening slightly. A glassy mismatched gaze moved back and forth over their faces before finally settling on Antoinette’s, and a frown touched the visible side of his forehead. He was laid back on his pillows and Lambert picked up a bottle, measuring out a dose of a sweet-smelling substance. Madame Giry recognised the scent of chloroform as she bent over Erik.
“Annie..? What are they... doing...?” His voice was barely more than a breath, and she had to lean close to hear it. She patted his trembling hand reassuringly.
“It’s all right, Erik,” she told him, “Everything will be all right.”
“Can the mask be removed?” Lambert asked, a pad of cotton wool in his hand. “He needs to be able to inhale properly, and it is obviously restricting his breathing.”
Erik started at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, his gaze swivelling towards the newcomer. Distress flared in his eyes and Madame Giry felt a twinge of guilt that she had caused his sanctuary to be invaded in such a fashion. He tried to lift his hand, no doubt to grasp the doctor by the throat and demand to know why he was trespassing, but before he could reach Lambert his strength failed and his arm fell heavily back onto the bed.
“Shh, Erik,” Antoinette said softly, stroking his hair as Lambert moved to the bedside, out of his line of sight. “Don’t worry, no one is going to hurt you.”
One blue eye and one brown glared up at her accusingly. “Judas...” he whispered. “...betrayer...”
“Never! Have I ever seen you harmed before? Now just relax, my dear, please. Just close your eyes...” She tried to make her voice as light and calming as she had often done with Meg when she needed comfort, but he was having none of it. As she gently removed his mask his eyes widened and he jerked upright for a moment before collapsing once more with a moan.
“...please, no... not that... anything but... that...”
Seeing that his patient was becoming agitated, the doctor stepped forward. Leaning over the wounded man and not even flinching at the sight of his face, he pressed the chloroform-soaked pad over Erik’s nose and mouth. The Phantom struggled for a moment but he was too weak to fight. His eyelids fluttered as the drug began to have its effect.
“That’s it, Monsieur, just breathe deeply,” Lambert said, watching as Erik’s eyes gradually fell closed. “Breathe deeply, and sleep...”
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1755
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Meg Giry, Raoul de Chagny, Christine Daae, Madame Giry, Erik the Phantom
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Help is at hand...
THE QUALITY OF MERCY
“You must understand, Madame, that this situation is highly irregular.”
Antoinette nodded as she followed the doctor into the tunnel, closing the gate behind them and locking it securely. Raoul led the way into the darkness once more, lamp held high. She was grateful for his assistance; had he not gone with her to Doctor Lambert’s house she feared she would have returned empty-handed, for the physician had been most reluctant to attend a patient in such circumstances. They appealed to his kind heart and good nature, Madame Giry reminding him of the great service he had once done one of her girls when she tried in desperation to rid herself of the child she was carrying; then he had been compassion itself, despite the sordid circumstances and the threat of scandal. The incident had never come to the ears of the gossipmongers who hung around the Opera, hungry for tittle-tattle about the patrons, and for that the doctor would always have her gratitude for she knew that the enemies of poor Collette’s high-born lover would swoop on the story and do considerable damage with it. Eventually the doctor agreed to come, but there was a chance they had wasted too much time; Antoinette dreaded what she might find when they returned to the subterranean house.
“I am aware of that, Monsieur, but as I explained before, this man urgently needs a doctor and I knew of no one else I could trust,” she said now.
Lambert cocked an eyebrow, glancing back at her. “I may not be able to afford to frequent the Opera as a spectator, but rumours have been circling for some time now, regarding this ‘Phantom’ and his exploits. Can you assure me that I am not to be involved in anything illegal?”
“You need not be concerned, Monsieur,” Raoul said before Antoinette could open her mouth. “I will pay your bill, and you make take my word that your reputation will not be affected by your help tonight.”
The doctor inclined his head. “I thank you, Monsieur le Vicomte, but that is not quite what I meant. One hears things, you know, and though I am aware that the press have a tendency to exaggerate and blow the smallest occurrences out of all proportion, there is the matter of the stagehand that was hanged above the stage during a performance, and the disappearance of Mademoiselle Daae... both were laid at the door of this Phantom.”
“The death of Joseph Buquet was an accident, nothing more,” Madame Giry said firmly. “The inquest settled that matter. And Mademoiselle Daae did not ‘disappear’, as the newspapers put it. She was with her maestro, her music teacher. It is he who is in need of your skills, and I must ask you to hurry, Monsieur, for he is in a very bad way.”
They began to walk again, much to her relief, Lambert acquiescing with the slightest hint of reluctance. Thankfully the route from the Rue Scribe entrance to the tunnels was a quicker and easier one to traverse than that which led from the interior of the theatre to the cellars. They had left the vicomte’s carriage two streets away and approached the gate cautiously and on foot to avoid attracting undue attention; Antoinette was glad that the nearest streetlamp was several yards from the entrance and wondered whether Erik had planned it that way. Two staircases, the second snaking round and round in a disorientating spiral, took them down to the fifth cellar, an innocuous wooden door leading into the cavern which housed the underground lake.
“Good Lord,” the doctor said, gazing around him. “Do you mean to tell me that this gentleman actually lives beneath the theatre?”
“He is a recluse, Monsieur,” Raoul replied, and Antoinette released the breath she had not realised she was holding, thanking him silently for continuing with their subterfuge. “My fiancée comes to him for her singing lessons. Though he may be isolated, he is a musical genius.”
Madame Giry knocked upon the hidden door, calling Christine’s name softly. A few moments later the door opened slowly, and the little soprano peered around it. Upon seeing the ballet mistress, Raoul and the doctor behind her, she breathed a long sigh of relief, standing aside to allow them to enter. When Antoinette asked after Erik, Christine clasped her sleeve, her face drawn and anxious.
“He won’t stop shivering, Madame. I’ve tried my best to keep him warm but he just shakes and shakes and his hands are so cold! I didn’t know what else I could do - ”
Madame Giry put an arm around her, drawing her into the bedroom after Lambert and the vicomte. Once there, the doctor immediately took charge, setting down his bag and calling for more light. They all waited while he made an examination, for the moment refraining from asking about the mask which was once more covering the Phantom’s deformity. It seemed to take forever, but eventually he turned to them and his expression was serious.
“I will need to operate immediately to remove the bullet,” he said, looking round at them all over his glasses. “The conditions here are deplorable, but I assume that there must be some solid surface I can use to lay him on while I work?”
“There is a table in the kitchen,” Antoinette said, and he nodded.
“I will need it moved into this room, and also as much light as you can possibly provide. Is there running water down here? Boiling water to sterilise my instruments is imperative.”
In a few moments they were all employed in satisfying the doctor’s demands. Christine and Meg set about filling a kettle and putting it over the fire in the bedroom, fetching bowls and cloths, lighting more candles, while Raoul assisted Madame Giry in carrying the heavy deal table from the kitchen. It was not an easy task, manoeuvring such an awkward piece of furniture through two doorways and down the hall, but between them they somehow managed it, setting it up to the right of Erik’s bed and covering it and the floor with as many spare sheets as they could find.
“I am grateful to you, Monsieur,” Antoinette said as they watched Lambert make his preparations. “Were it not for your help, Erik would not stand a chance.”
“I am doing this for Christine, Madame, not for him,” he replied. He kept his eyes averted from the bloody bandages as the doctor peeled them back. “I deplore what has happened, and I regret that I allowed myself to descend to his level and commit an act of which I am not proud. I should have been stronger, but he taunted me until I became no better than him. There is no honour in any of this.”
“Christine has it in her to feel compassion, to shed a tear for his dark fate. Do you really think he deserves the hell he has made for himself?”
Raoul sighed. “I am sorry, Madame. I wish I could say as much, and be the better man, but I cannot forgive him for the damage he has done to her.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, one which was broken only when Lambert, having laid out his surgical instruments and removed his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves, turned to face them.
“All is ready,” he said. “Would you assist me, Madame? I have need of a nurse, and I seem to recall your competent help when I attended Mademoiselle Collette.”
“Of course, Monsieur.” Antoinette shooed Christine and Meg from the room, though the former begged to stay by her Angel’s side. Hoping to distract her, Meg asked to be shown some more of the house, and led her bewildered friend away from the bedroom. Raoul made to follow them, but stopped when addressed by the doctor, who requested his help with moving the wounded Phantom onto the makeshift operating table.
As the two men began to lift him, he stirred, his eyes opening slightly. A glassy mismatched gaze moved back and forth over their faces before finally settling on Antoinette’s, and a frown touched the visible side of his forehead. He was laid back on his pillows and Lambert picked up a bottle, measuring out a dose of a sweet-smelling substance. Madame Giry recognised the scent of chloroform as she bent over Erik.
“Annie..? What are they... doing...?” His voice was barely more than a breath, and she had to lean close to hear it. She patted his trembling hand reassuringly.
“It’s all right, Erik,” she told him, “Everything will be all right.”
“Can the mask be removed?” Lambert asked, a pad of cotton wool in his hand. “He needs to be able to inhale properly, and it is obviously restricting his breathing.”
Erik started at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, his gaze swivelling towards the newcomer. Distress flared in his eyes and Madame Giry felt a twinge of guilt that she had caused his sanctuary to be invaded in such a fashion. He tried to lift his hand, no doubt to grasp the doctor by the throat and demand to know why he was trespassing, but before he could reach Lambert his strength failed and his arm fell heavily back onto the bed.
“Shh, Erik,” Antoinette said softly, stroking his hair as Lambert moved to the bedside, out of his line of sight. “Don’t worry, no one is going to hurt you.”
One blue eye and one brown glared up at her accusingly. “Judas...” he whispered. “...betrayer...”
“Never! Have I ever seen you harmed before? Now just relax, my dear, please. Just close your eyes...” She tried to make her voice as light and calming as she had often done with Meg when she needed comfort, but he was having none of it. As she gently removed his mask his eyes widened and he jerked upright for a moment before collapsing once more with a moan.
“...please, no... not that... anything but... that...”
Seeing that his patient was becoming agitated, the doctor stepped forward. Leaning over the wounded man and not even flinching at the sight of his face, he pressed the chloroform-soaked pad over Erik’s nose and mouth. The Phantom struggled for a moment but he was too weak to fight. His eyelids fluttered as the drug began to have its effect.
“That’s it, Monsieur, just breathe deeply,” Lambert said, watching as Erik’s eyes gradually fell closed. “Breathe deeply, and sleep...”
