Page 70 of Our Strange Duet

“The chandelier…” I murmured, trying to piece together my memories of that night. They were like shards of a broken mirror. Each one had to be handled carefully to keep myself from getting cut. “And Carlotta…and screaming…and…”

I focused on him, noting how terrible and raw he looked. His face was ashen. His usually pomaded hair sprang wild in a dozen directions, and he smelled nearly as bad as I did. I’d never seen him in such a state, and I felt my heart swell, ready to do whatever I could to make him smile. I reached out and cupped his tearstained cheek. “And I remember you…on the roof…You said you loved me.”

He nodded encouragingly. “When the chandelier fell, I thought I’d lost you. I’ve never been so scared before, Christine. I…” His voice broke, and I was stunned to see new tears wet his lashes. “I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”

“Is everyone else all right?” I tried to remember the chandelier dropping. There’d been so much running. So many screams. “Were there any…was anyone under the chandelier when it fell?”

Raoul’s face grew pained. “Yes.”

“Are they…” I didn’t want to finish the question.

He only nodded, and we sat together in tormented silence until the housekeeper brought over tea.

“You’ll feel much better after you drink this,” she promised, pushing the cup and saucer into my hands. “Monsieur le Vicomte sent his own physician to look after you.” Her voice lifted with pride as if pleased to work for such a compassionate employer.

“That was very kind,” I said, trying to catch Raoul’s eye.

He smiled, looking impossibly tired and wrung out. “Could you leave us for a moment, Madame Henry? I will make certain Miss Daaé finishes her medicine.”

With a bob of her head, the housekeeper hurried out of the room. The door closed with a soft click.

“Something else happened,” Raoul continued once we were alone. “Something I don’t think you knew about before…There was a stagehand who…” He sighed heavily. “There was an accident in the fly loft. One of the men became caught in the lines and fell. It happened while we were on the roof. Richard and Gilles told me after…well, after everything. They don’t believe it was related to the chandelier business, just a…just a tragic…”

“Accident,” I supplied, and the word felt hollow. How many accidents could befall a single theatre in one night? “Do you know who it was?”

His brow creased as he dredged up the name. “Buquet, I think. Joseph Buquet.”

I took in a sharp breath. I’d never liked the flyman, but I didn’t wish him ill. I couldn’t imagine the crew without him on it.

“Did they…did they say how it happened?”

Raoul nodded. “Several of his men admitted that he’d been drinking, rather heavily, before the performance began. They said he stumbled and became tangled in the ropes.”

I winced, and Raoul mercifully fell silent.

“What happens now?” I whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“With…with the opera, with the company?”

“Oh…” He frowned. “I suppose productions will be suspended for quite some time. The repairs are certain to be massive. Richard was already dancing around the subject of future donations.”

A strange sensation began to flutter in my chest. Without a theatre, there would be no performances. Without performances, there would be no reason to have so many people on the payroll. Management wouldn’t give money to dancers who weren’t dancing, nor singers who had nowhere to sing. The crew would surely be kept on as extra hands, assisting in the rebuilding, but the artists…I couldn’t picture any of us swinging a hammer or hoisting heavy bags of plaster.

We were—I was—out of work.

Raoul seemed to realize this at the same time I did. He took the cup from my hands and set it on the bedside table, leaving it untouched and forgotten.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began. “Do you remember when we went to La Closerie de Lilas?”

I nodded mutely, my mind too wrapped in the immensity of my troubles to listen to him just then. I had no income. There was a bit of savings, but nothing much. Not enough for rent. Not enough to get by on. Not enough for…anything, really.

What was I to do?

There were other theatres, of course. Though none were as illustrious as the Populaire, I could audition somewhere else and work there until the opera reopened.

But if they didn’t cast me…if I couldn’t secure a role…