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charleygirlTitle: The Garish Light of Day 41/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 3591
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: 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...
ANGEL OF MERCY
“From what you’ve told me, Teddy, they sound like a bunch of oddballs and eccentrics. Ghosts in the rafters, falling chandeliers and a chorus master who wears a mask..! It all sounds like something from a penny dreadful!”
Theodora Merriman laughed. “In that case, Jimmy, I should fit right in!”
“You do yourself an injustice, girl. Crazy you may be, but eccentric you most definitely are not,” her companion told her gallantly, reaching for her hand and ostentatiously bestowing a kiss upon her gloved knuckles.
“James Patterson-Smythe, you are the most appalling flatterer,” she said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Must be why I like you so much.”
Patterson-Smythe leaned back against the squabs and regarded her with interest as the carriage rattled through the darkened streets. They’d had a dizzying evening of dinner and dancing, and though Theodora would have been quite happy to continue their revelry until the early hours she knew that her maid would be extremely disapproving if she crawled in after sunrise on a Sunday. Martha had been with her ever since she left home to join the Metropolitan Opera in New York, and saw herself as more than just an assistant; she usually took on the role of Teddy’s conscience and moral compass, much to her charge’s annoyance. It was a shame that Martha never had quite realised that her homilies and scoldings ran off Theodora like water from a duck’s back.
“Well, are you going to tell me how you feel about the place?” James asked. “I have read the papers while I’ve been here, you know – is that chorus master really a monster? Should I be fearful of your safety in my absence?”
Teddy’s smile vanished. “You should know better than to listen to gossip, Jimmy. Mister Claudin may be a bit forbidding but he’s an extremely clever man and I think I like him. There are lots of men who put up a front when they’re really terribly shy underneath, and if he’s had to withstand attacks like that one in Le Figaro who can blame him for erecting a few walls to hide behind? Besides,” she added, “Miss Daae thinks the world of him and gave up a viscount in order to marry him. She’s such a sweet girl that I can hardly imagine she’d take on a fellow who if you believe the press has all the qualities of Count Dracula, Quasimodo and Frankenstein’s Monster rolled into one. And I don’t mean the good qualities.”
“If you say so.” Patterson-Smythe shrugged. “Strikes me that the theatre seems to attract all kinds of strange people that you’d never find anywhere else.”
“Oh, it does. And that’s precisely what I like about it,” she said with a grin.
He rolled his eyes. “Well, you always were attracted to the weirder things in life. Just as long as I’m not leaving you to be - ” He broke off as the sound of shouting came from the street outside. “Hey, what the hell is that?”
Theodora was at the window immediately; as a streetlamp flashed past she thought she saw a group of men, and as fists flew she realised in horror what was happening. Grabbing Jimmy’s cane from his astonished hands she rapped on the roof of the brougham. “Georges! Georges, stop the coach!”
“What are you doing?” Patterson-Smythe demanded. “You’re not going to throw yourself into a brawl!”
“I will if I have to.” The carriage slowed and she was already turning the handle of the door. “You can stay here if you want but some poor individual is being battered into next week and I’m not going to sit and watch!”
“Jesus, you never change, do you?” he muttered, and she smiled grimly, knowing that he was following. She hopped down to the ground without waiting for Georges to scramble from the box to assist, looping her skirts up over one arm and taking a firm grip on her umbrella in case she needed to do some battering of her own. Trust it to be the one evening she decided to leave her pocket pistol in the drawer of the bedside table.
The tableau under the lamp became clearer as she set off towards it at a run, her heels ringing hollowly on the pavement. There were four of them, one holding a man who sagged against him as two others took it in turns to pummel him. She couldn’t tell from here if the fellow was dead or alive. In the shadows she thought she saw a fifth man lurking, observing the spectacle. “Hey!” she yelled as they became aware of her presence and turned their heads. “Yes, you! What in the name of all that’s holy do you think you’re doing? You think that’s civilised behaviour?”
The roughs, for so they were, unsavoury individuals in shabby clothes, their skin dark and swarthy, hair and beards as black as night, all started talking. Their language was harsh and guttural, and she couldn’t understand a word but two sounded agitated. One had a hoop of gold through each ear which gleamed in the gaslight. He had the temerity to laugh when he saw Teddy, hardly a threatening image in an evening gown, fur stole slipping from her shoulders, but then he evidently noticed Jimmy and Georges coming up behind her; Jimmy had drawn the thin, sharp blade that was usually concealed inside his cane and the coachman carried a stout cudgel which he slapped into his free hand with a satisfying thwack. The man being pinioned did not move, and as his attackers became slowly aware that they were probably not going to win a fight in such a public place the one holding him let go and he fell hard onto the concrete.
“I’d move if I were you,” Theodora announced. “My maid is already on her way to the nearest police station and the gendarmes will be here any minute.” It was a lie, but how were they to know?
There was a heated discussion, cut through sharply by the man lurking in the shadows. His voice was authoritative and the others seemed to obey him immediately. They slunk away, each only stopping to aim a kick at the prostrate figure on the ground; the last man, a dark shape in an overcoat, was hunched over as though in pain and Theodora hoped his victim had done some serious damage. He paused to spit at the fellow before joining his minions and vanishing into the night.
“Damn it, Teddy, what did you let them go for?” Jimmy demanded. “They’ll probably jump some other poor schmuck!”
“You’ve changed your tune! We couldn’t have fought them if it came down to it and I’m more concerned with this poor guy than rounding them up for the police.” Theodora crouched down at the side of the man sprawled on the pavement. He was face down but it was obvious he was unconscious; he made no reaction as James and Georges between them gently turned him over. Teddy instinctively supported his head and her glove came away slick with blood. The discovery didn’t shock her as much, however, as the sight of the unfortunate fellow’s face: the left side was bruised and cut, more blood running from a gash across his forehead, but the right... the twisted features could surely only belong to one person, and as her eyes ran over the tall, thin frame and the long, musician’s fingers of the hand that lay unmoving by her feet, she realised that it was Erik Claudin.
“Oh, God have mercy,” she murmured.
“What’s the matter, Teddy?” James asked. “Do you know this fellow?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could make a sound Erik groaned and she returned her attention to him. His eyelids flickered. “It’s all right; don’t move, we’ll get you to a doctor,” she told him, but he seemed not to hear her, falling still again. “Do you know where we can find one?” she asked Georges.
“They’d know, back at the house,” the coachman replied. “Better to take him there than to drive around looking for one.”
“Good. We’ll do that.” Theodora’s attention was suddenly caught by a high-pitched whine that was coming from somewhere just outside the circle of light cast by the streetlamp. The whine became a bark and she peered into the gloom curiously to see a shaggy chocolate brown spaniel crawl out of the shadows and approach the crumpled figure on the ground. It looked up at her with enormous dark eyes and bent its head to lick Erik’s hand, whimpering when the wounded man didn’t move.
“Teddy, you can’t be serious,” said Jimmy. “I know you want to help but you can’t take strange men into your home just like that, even if they have been beaten to a pulp!”
“This is not a strange man, Jimmy. This is the ‘monster’ we were discussing earlier, and if you think I’m just going to leave him here you’re crazy,” Theodora snapped. “Georges, do you think we can get him into the coach?”
“Christ.” Jimmy stared at Erik in disbelief. “That’s Claudin? What the hell did those madmen do to his face?”
Teddy clucked her tongue impatiently. “Never mind that now. Help Georges lift him; we can lay him down on the seat.” Erik cried out as the two men picked him up as carefully as they could. It was awkward; he was extremely tall and they had no idea how many other injuries he had suffered. Theodora gently cupped his cheek, running a soothing hand over his dishevelled hair. “Shh, it’ll only be for a moment,” she said. “We’re just going to move you into the carriage.” He must have heard her, even though he was fading in and out of consciousness, or was at least aware of her presence as he tried to lean in to her touch. He groaned again and his pained expression became a grimace. She reached for his hand, folding her fingers around it. “Hold on, sweetheart, just a little longer...”
“He’s a heavy son of a bitch,” James muttered. “How can someone that scrawny weigh so much?”
It wasn’t an easy feat to try and lift a badly injured man into a brougham; the doorway was narrow and even though Jimmy went in first to take Erik’s head and shoulders it was inevitable that they would have to be less than gentle. Teddy almost felt the pain herself when his battered body was jolted and a scream broke from Erik’s bloodied lips. She bent over him, her hand on his cheek again, trying to calm him. “It’s all right, it’s all right, honey,” she whispered, stroking his temple. “Oh, Georges, be careful... mind his head!”
Eventually they managed to get Erik into the carriage, though there was barely enough room to stretch him out on one of the seats. It would be cramped, and Theodora told James to ride on the box with Georges, taking the dog from him when he caught it as the poor thing tried to jump into the coach after them. He looked less than impressed with her suggestion, exclaiming, “What, and leave you alone with him?”
“What do you think he’s going to do: make an assault on my virtue?” She climbed in, sitting down on upholstery that was already stained with blood, and took the wounded man’s head into her lap. The spaniel settled itself on the seat opposite, ears drooping and tail making a half-hearted wag. “Just get up there and let’s get going,” she said, and James reluctantly went. A moment later the brougham jerked as the horses pulled it into motion. Theodora brushed a lock of dark hair back from the deformed side of Erik’s face and sighed sadly. “You poor man. Why would anyone want to do this to you?”
His response was just one word, barely a breath. “...Christine?”
________________________________________
“Oh, Miss Teddy, whatever have you got yourself into now?” Martha asked as Theodora emerged from the bathroom tying the belt on a frothy pink robe. The expensive evening gown, worn only once, lay in a ruined heap on the tiled floor, blood all down the front.
“Don’t scold, Matty,” she said, taking the seat beside the bed that the older woman had just vacated. In her absence Martha had cleaned up their unexpected guest, bandaging his head as best she could and laying cold compresses on the worst of the emerging bruises. He was still fully dressed, however, and it was obvious that she had not investigated any further injuries that might be hidden by his clothing. Martha still looked rather green around the gills but thankfully she had not fainted as Teddy had feared when it became clear that the damage to Erik’s face had not all been inflicted this evening. “I’m not some eight year old you’ve caught stealing apples from Old Man Mannering’s orchard. Has the doctor arrived yet?”
Martha tutted disapprovingly. “Henri’s on his way to fetch one now. You could have taken him to a hospital, you know.”
“And have the press discover his whereabouts? You didn’t see the crowd that was hanging around the theatre last week; the place would be under siege and I doubt if Mister Claudin or Miss Daae would thank me for it.” Theodora lifted Erik’s deceptively frail wrist from the bed and gently felt for his pulse; it was erratic, fluttering beneath her fingers, but it was there, thank God. “Has he woken at all?”
“No so you’d notice. That’s a nasty head wound.”
“I know, and that’s what I’m worried about.” Teddy regarded the unconscious man, taking in the cuts and bruises that littered the formerly undamaged side of his face. Reaching out she removed the cloth that covered his deformity, unsure whether Martha had placed it there to help the swelling around his eye or to hide the distortion itself.
“Should we contact this Miss Daae of yours?” Martha enquired.
Theodora’s face creased in frustration as she replaced the cloth. “I don’t know where she lives. Come to think of it, I have no idea where he lives, either. I won’t be able to find her until tomorrow morning at the Opera.”
“By then it might be too late,” the other woman said gloomily.
“Martha Speedwell, don’t you dare say such a thing!” Teddy exclaimed. “No one is dying in my house!”
Martha shook her head. “Well, he doesn’t look too clever to me.” She picked up the basin full of bloodied water and sailed off towards the bathroom to empty it. Teddy leaned over and began to unbutton Erik’s shirt; spreading it open she discovered a patchwork of darkening purple across his chest. He would be lucky not to have at least one broken rib, she reflected, and was about to lay a hand lightly on his torso to feel for any depressions when there was a scratching at the door and then it opened, allowing a bundle of shaggy brown hair to fly into the room, curly ears and banner-like tail streaming behind it. The spaniel barked, sitting down for a moment at Theodora’s feet and looking up as if challenging her before jumping onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed and from there to the mattress. The maid who had accompanied the dog tried to grab for it but with a triumphant yap it evaded her, lying down at Erik’s side.
“I’m so sorry, Mademoiselle,” the maid, out of breath from doubtlessly having chased the animal down the landing, gasped. “He just wouldn’t stop!”
Teddy couldn’t help smiling at the spaniel’s dedication. “It’s all right, Chloe. Thank you for cleaning him up. Where is Monsieur Patterson-Smythe?”
“Downstairs in the library, Mademoiselle. He said he wouldn’t leave until the doctor had been.”
“Thank you. Will you tell him that if he wishes to stay the rest of the night he is more than welcome? Make up the bed in the blue room for him.” Chloe bobbed a curtsy, an affectation Teddy hated for she was neither aristocracy nor royalty, and vanished into the hall. No doubt Martha would cluck at her for inviting a bachelor, and one to whom she was not related, to stay, but by now Teddy was past caring. She had known Patterson-Smythe since her debut and he had been a both supportive and efficient theatrical agent as well as a faithful friend. “Besides,” she told the spaniel, “I’m not going to tell anyone that he slept under my roof. Will you?”
The dog barked, which she took as agreement, and wagged its feathery tail. Getting up, it planted its front paws on Erik’s chest, licking his face in the evident hope that such attention might induce him to open his eyes. The creature looked so crestfallen when its idea didn’t work that Theodora didn’t have the heart to laugh. She picked it up, settling it on her lap, and began stroking its unruly coat. “Someone needs to give you a haircut,” she remarked. “You look as though you just crawled through a hedge.” Her fingers found the collar and the round disc that bore the dog’s name. “Ah, Bruno, is it? You were aptly named.” Bruno whined and tried to wriggle free, turning his head towards the silent man in the bed. Teddy sighed. “Yes, I know you want him to wake up. So do I. Unfortunately, as my old mammy used to say, we can’t always have what we - ” The spaniel twisted free and jumped back onto the bed, knocking the now almost dry cloth away and running his tongue over the deformed side of Erik’s face before she could stop him.
This time, much to Teddy’s surprise, her injured guest moaned and stirred, his eyelids flickering. She all but leapt from her chair, bending over him, as, with a supreme effort, his eyes, one pale blue, the other brown, opened and he was blinking up at her in confusion. He tried to speak but nothing emerged; she wondered whether it would be all right to give him some water and was looking around for the bedside carafe when he whispered in a voice like sandpaper, “...what... where..?”
“It’s all right, you’re quite safe,” she told him, taking the hand that lay nearest on the coverlet and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re in my home... well, the ostentatious box my advisors made me rent at least. A doctor is on his way; we’ll have you right as ninepence in no time.”
Erik looked even more bewildered by her rattling. His eyes fell closed again. “...Christine?”
“Do you want me to fetch her?” Theodora asked quickly. “Where does she live? I’ll send someone for her straight away.”
“Rue de...” Before he could finish the sentence he had faded away again, head dropping to one side and his hand falling limp in Teddy’s own. With a sigh she looked at Bruno who was panting, tongue lolling from his mouth.
“I don’t suppose you know Miss Daae’s address, do you?” The spaniel cocked his head to one side and whined. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was distracted by the sound of wheels on the road outside; hurrying to the window she peered out to see a cab pulling up at the front door. Henri’s little figure jumped out, followed by a tall man in a light overcoat and a bowler hat. “Thank goodness! The doctor’s here,” she told Bruno, who naturally didn’t reply.
Within moments, it seemed, barely giving her time to cover Erik’s battered face again, there was a knock at the door and Chloe appeared once more, escorting the man Teddy had seen below minus his outdoor clothing. His dark hair was brushed neatly back from his high forehead and he affected horn-rimmed spectacles and a Van Dyck beard. There was a Gladstone bag in his hand. “Doctor Lambert, Mademoiselle,” Chloe announced, and would have withdrawn but Theodora called to her to stay in case assistance were needed.
Teddy held out a hand to the newcomer. “I’m glad to see you, sir, and thank you for coming so promptly. We have something of an emergency, as I’m sure you are aware.”
“Mademoiselle,” he said, voice deep and authoritative, turning his attention towards the bed and its occupant. “Your boy did tell me something of the particulars on the way but as he was not directly involved the details were rather sketchy. He said that this man was injured in a brawl...?”
“More than that; I believe he was attacked in cold blood. There were four of them, using him as a punch-bag. Monsieur le Docteur, there is something you should know - ” Theodora began as he bent over Erik, fingers moving to the edges of the cloth that covered the wounded man’s face. Before she could finish the cloth was whisked away and Erik’s twisted features were revealed in all their questionable glory. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I wanted to prepare you - ”
Astonishingly, the doctor did not seem bothered by the ravaged face before him, gentle fingers probing the damage. Teddy supposed that he must have seen many gruesome sights during his career, but she was not expecting him to glance towards her with a slight smile and say, “It’s quite all right, Mademoiselle Merriman, I was already aware of the facial... irregularity. I have treated this gentleman before.”
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 3591
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: 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...
“From what you’ve told me, Teddy, they sound like a bunch of oddballs and eccentrics. Ghosts in the rafters, falling chandeliers and a chorus master who wears a mask..! It all sounds like something from a penny dreadful!”
Theodora Merriman laughed. “In that case, Jimmy, I should fit right in!”
“You do yourself an injustice, girl. Crazy you may be, but eccentric you most definitely are not,” her companion told her gallantly, reaching for her hand and ostentatiously bestowing a kiss upon her gloved knuckles.
“James Patterson-Smythe, you are the most appalling flatterer,” she said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Must be why I like you so much.”
Patterson-Smythe leaned back against the squabs and regarded her with interest as the carriage rattled through the darkened streets. They’d had a dizzying evening of dinner and dancing, and though Theodora would have been quite happy to continue their revelry until the early hours she knew that her maid would be extremely disapproving if she crawled in after sunrise on a Sunday. Martha had been with her ever since she left home to join the Metropolitan Opera in New York, and saw herself as more than just an assistant; she usually took on the role of Teddy’s conscience and moral compass, much to her charge’s annoyance. It was a shame that Martha never had quite realised that her homilies and scoldings ran off Theodora like water from a duck’s back.
“Well, are you going to tell me how you feel about the place?” James asked. “I have read the papers while I’ve been here, you know – is that chorus master really a monster? Should I be fearful of your safety in my absence?”
Teddy’s smile vanished. “You should know better than to listen to gossip, Jimmy. Mister Claudin may be a bit forbidding but he’s an extremely clever man and I think I like him. There are lots of men who put up a front when they’re really terribly shy underneath, and if he’s had to withstand attacks like that one in Le Figaro who can blame him for erecting a few walls to hide behind? Besides,” she added, “Miss Daae thinks the world of him and gave up a viscount in order to marry him. She’s such a sweet girl that I can hardly imagine she’d take on a fellow who if you believe the press has all the qualities of Count Dracula, Quasimodo and Frankenstein’s Monster rolled into one. And I don’t mean the good qualities.”
“If you say so.” Patterson-Smythe shrugged. “Strikes me that the theatre seems to attract all kinds of strange people that you’d never find anywhere else.”
“Oh, it does. And that’s precisely what I like about it,” she said with a grin.
He rolled his eyes. “Well, you always were attracted to the weirder things in life. Just as long as I’m not leaving you to be - ” He broke off as the sound of shouting came from the street outside. “Hey, what the hell is that?”
Theodora was at the window immediately; as a streetlamp flashed past she thought she saw a group of men, and as fists flew she realised in horror what was happening. Grabbing Jimmy’s cane from his astonished hands she rapped on the roof of the brougham. “Georges! Georges, stop the coach!”
“What are you doing?” Patterson-Smythe demanded. “You’re not going to throw yourself into a brawl!”
“I will if I have to.” The carriage slowed and she was already turning the handle of the door. “You can stay here if you want but some poor individual is being battered into next week and I’m not going to sit and watch!”
“Jesus, you never change, do you?” he muttered, and she smiled grimly, knowing that he was following. She hopped down to the ground without waiting for Georges to scramble from the box to assist, looping her skirts up over one arm and taking a firm grip on her umbrella in case she needed to do some battering of her own. Trust it to be the one evening she decided to leave her pocket pistol in the drawer of the bedside table.
The tableau under the lamp became clearer as she set off towards it at a run, her heels ringing hollowly on the pavement. There were four of them, one holding a man who sagged against him as two others took it in turns to pummel him. She couldn’t tell from here if the fellow was dead or alive. In the shadows she thought she saw a fifth man lurking, observing the spectacle. “Hey!” she yelled as they became aware of her presence and turned their heads. “Yes, you! What in the name of all that’s holy do you think you’re doing? You think that’s civilised behaviour?”
The roughs, for so they were, unsavoury individuals in shabby clothes, their skin dark and swarthy, hair and beards as black as night, all started talking. Their language was harsh and guttural, and she couldn’t understand a word but two sounded agitated. One had a hoop of gold through each ear which gleamed in the gaslight. He had the temerity to laugh when he saw Teddy, hardly a threatening image in an evening gown, fur stole slipping from her shoulders, but then he evidently noticed Jimmy and Georges coming up behind her; Jimmy had drawn the thin, sharp blade that was usually concealed inside his cane and the coachman carried a stout cudgel which he slapped into his free hand with a satisfying thwack. The man being pinioned did not move, and as his attackers became slowly aware that they were probably not going to win a fight in such a public place the one holding him let go and he fell hard onto the concrete.
“I’d move if I were you,” Theodora announced. “My maid is already on her way to the nearest police station and the gendarmes will be here any minute.” It was a lie, but how were they to know?
There was a heated discussion, cut through sharply by the man lurking in the shadows. His voice was authoritative and the others seemed to obey him immediately. They slunk away, each only stopping to aim a kick at the prostrate figure on the ground; the last man, a dark shape in an overcoat, was hunched over as though in pain and Theodora hoped his victim had done some serious damage. He paused to spit at the fellow before joining his minions and vanishing into the night.
“Damn it, Teddy, what did you let them go for?” Jimmy demanded. “They’ll probably jump some other poor schmuck!”
“You’ve changed your tune! We couldn’t have fought them if it came down to it and I’m more concerned with this poor guy than rounding them up for the police.” Theodora crouched down at the side of the man sprawled on the pavement. He was face down but it was obvious he was unconscious; he made no reaction as James and Georges between them gently turned him over. Teddy instinctively supported his head and her glove came away slick with blood. The discovery didn’t shock her as much, however, as the sight of the unfortunate fellow’s face: the left side was bruised and cut, more blood running from a gash across his forehead, but the right... the twisted features could surely only belong to one person, and as her eyes ran over the tall, thin frame and the long, musician’s fingers of the hand that lay unmoving by her feet, she realised that it was Erik Claudin.
“Oh, God have mercy,” she murmured.
“What’s the matter, Teddy?” James asked. “Do you know this fellow?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could make a sound Erik groaned and she returned her attention to him. His eyelids flickered. “It’s all right; don’t move, we’ll get you to a doctor,” she told him, but he seemed not to hear her, falling still again. “Do you know where we can find one?” she asked Georges.
“They’d know, back at the house,” the coachman replied. “Better to take him there than to drive around looking for one.”
“Good. We’ll do that.” Theodora’s attention was suddenly caught by a high-pitched whine that was coming from somewhere just outside the circle of light cast by the streetlamp. The whine became a bark and she peered into the gloom curiously to see a shaggy chocolate brown spaniel crawl out of the shadows and approach the crumpled figure on the ground. It looked up at her with enormous dark eyes and bent its head to lick Erik’s hand, whimpering when the wounded man didn’t move.
“Teddy, you can’t be serious,” said Jimmy. “I know you want to help but you can’t take strange men into your home just like that, even if they have been beaten to a pulp!”
“This is not a strange man, Jimmy. This is the ‘monster’ we were discussing earlier, and if you think I’m just going to leave him here you’re crazy,” Theodora snapped. “Georges, do you think we can get him into the coach?”
“Christ.” Jimmy stared at Erik in disbelief. “That’s Claudin? What the hell did those madmen do to his face?”
Teddy clucked her tongue impatiently. “Never mind that now. Help Georges lift him; we can lay him down on the seat.” Erik cried out as the two men picked him up as carefully as they could. It was awkward; he was extremely tall and they had no idea how many other injuries he had suffered. Theodora gently cupped his cheek, running a soothing hand over his dishevelled hair. “Shh, it’ll only be for a moment,” she said. “We’re just going to move you into the carriage.” He must have heard her, even though he was fading in and out of consciousness, or was at least aware of her presence as he tried to lean in to her touch. He groaned again and his pained expression became a grimace. She reached for his hand, folding her fingers around it. “Hold on, sweetheart, just a little longer...”
“He’s a heavy son of a bitch,” James muttered. “How can someone that scrawny weigh so much?”
It wasn’t an easy feat to try and lift a badly injured man into a brougham; the doorway was narrow and even though Jimmy went in first to take Erik’s head and shoulders it was inevitable that they would have to be less than gentle. Teddy almost felt the pain herself when his battered body was jolted and a scream broke from Erik’s bloodied lips. She bent over him, her hand on his cheek again, trying to calm him. “It’s all right, it’s all right, honey,” she whispered, stroking his temple. “Oh, Georges, be careful... mind his head!”
Eventually they managed to get Erik into the carriage, though there was barely enough room to stretch him out on one of the seats. It would be cramped, and Theodora told James to ride on the box with Georges, taking the dog from him when he caught it as the poor thing tried to jump into the coach after them. He looked less than impressed with her suggestion, exclaiming, “What, and leave you alone with him?”
“What do you think he’s going to do: make an assault on my virtue?” She climbed in, sitting down on upholstery that was already stained with blood, and took the wounded man’s head into her lap. The spaniel settled itself on the seat opposite, ears drooping and tail making a half-hearted wag. “Just get up there and let’s get going,” she said, and James reluctantly went. A moment later the brougham jerked as the horses pulled it into motion. Theodora brushed a lock of dark hair back from the deformed side of Erik’s face and sighed sadly. “You poor man. Why would anyone want to do this to you?”
His response was just one word, barely a breath. “...Christine?”
________________________________________
“Oh, Miss Teddy, whatever have you got yourself into now?” Martha asked as Theodora emerged from the bathroom tying the belt on a frothy pink robe. The expensive evening gown, worn only once, lay in a ruined heap on the tiled floor, blood all down the front.
“Don’t scold, Matty,” she said, taking the seat beside the bed that the older woman had just vacated. In her absence Martha had cleaned up their unexpected guest, bandaging his head as best she could and laying cold compresses on the worst of the emerging bruises. He was still fully dressed, however, and it was obvious that she had not investigated any further injuries that might be hidden by his clothing. Martha still looked rather green around the gills but thankfully she had not fainted as Teddy had feared when it became clear that the damage to Erik’s face had not all been inflicted this evening. “I’m not some eight year old you’ve caught stealing apples from Old Man Mannering’s orchard. Has the doctor arrived yet?”
Martha tutted disapprovingly. “Henri’s on his way to fetch one now. You could have taken him to a hospital, you know.”
“And have the press discover his whereabouts? You didn’t see the crowd that was hanging around the theatre last week; the place would be under siege and I doubt if Mister Claudin or Miss Daae would thank me for it.” Theodora lifted Erik’s deceptively frail wrist from the bed and gently felt for his pulse; it was erratic, fluttering beneath her fingers, but it was there, thank God. “Has he woken at all?”
“No so you’d notice. That’s a nasty head wound.”
“I know, and that’s what I’m worried about.” Teddy regarded the unconscious man, taking in the cuts and bruises that littered the formerly undamaged side of his face. Reaching out she removed the cloth that covered his deformity, unsure whether Martha had placed it there to help the swelling around his eye or to hide the distortion itself.
“Should we contact this Miss Daae of yours?” Martha enquired.
Theodora’s face creased in frustration as she replaced the cloth. “I don’t know where she lives. Come to think of it, I have no idea where he lives, either. I won’t be able to find her until tomorrow morning at the Opera.”
“By then it might be too late,” the other woman said gloomily.
“Martha Speedwell, don’t you dare say such a thing!” Teddy exclaimed. “No one is dying in my house!”
Martha shook her head. “Well, he doesn’t look too clever to me.” She picked up the basin full of bloodied water and sailed off towards the bathroom to empty it. Teddy leaned over and began to unbutton Erik’s shirt; spreading it open she discovered a patchwork of darkening purple across his chest. He would be lucky not to have at least one broken rib, she reflected, and was about to lay a hand lightly on his torso to feel for any depressions when there was a scratching at the door and then it opened, allowing a bundle of shaggy brown hair to fly into the room, curly ears and banner-like tail streaming behind it. The spaniel barked, sitting down for a moment at Theodora’s feet and looking up as if challenging her before jumping onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed and from there to the mattress. The maid who had accompanied the dog tried to grab for it but with a triumphant yap it evaded her, lying down at Erik’s side.
“I’m so sorry, Mademoiselle,” the maid, out of breath from doubtlessly having chased the animal down the landing, gasped. “He just wouldn’t stop!”
Teddy couldn’t help smiling at the spaniel’s dedication. “It’s all right, Chloe. Thank you for cleaning him up. Where is Monsieur Patterson-Smythe?”
“Downstairs in the library, Mademoiselle. He said he wouldn’t leave until the doctor had been.”
“Thank you. Will you tell him that if he wishes to stay the rest of the night he is more than welcome? Make up the bed in the blue room for him.” Chloe bobbed a curtsy, an affectation Teddy hated for she was neither aristocracy nor royalty, and vanished into the hall. No doubt Martha would cluck at her for inviting a bachelor, and one to whom she was not related, to stay, but by now Teddy was past caring. She had known Patterson-Smythe since her debut and he had been a both supportive and efficient theatrical agent as well as a faithful friend. “Besides,” she told the spaniel, “I’m not going to tell anyone that he slept under my roof. Will you?”
The dog barked, which she took as agreement, and wagged its feathery tail. Getting up, it planted its front paws on Erik’s chest, licking his face in the evident hope that such attention might induce him to open his eyes. The creature looked so crestfallen when its idea didn’t work that Theodora didn’t have the heart to laugh. She picked it up, settling it on her lap, and began stroking its unruly coat. “Someone needs to give you a haircut,” she remarked. “You look as though you just crawled through a hedge.” Her fingers found the collar and the round disc that bore the dog’s name. “Ah, Bruno, is it? You were aptly named.” Bruno whined and tried to wriggle free, turning his head towards the silent man in the bed. Teddy sighed. “Yes, I know you want him to wake up. So do I. Unfortunately, as my old mammy used to say, we can’t always have what we - ” The spaniel twisted free and jumped back onto the bed, knocking the now almost dry cloth away and running his tongue over the deformed side of Erik’s face before she could stop him.
This time, much to Teddy’s surprise, her injured guest moaned and stirred, his eyelids flickering. She all but leapt from her chair, bending over him, as, with a supreme effort, his eyes, one pale blue, the other brown, opened and he was blinking up at her in confusion. He tried to speak but nothing emerged; she wondered whether it would be all right to give him some water and was looking around for the bedside carafe when he whispered in a voice like sandpaper, “...what... where..?”
“It’s all right, you’re quite safe,” she told him, taking the hand that lay nearest on the coverlet and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re in my home... well, the ostentatious box my advisors made me rent at least. A doctor is on his way; we’ll have you right as ninepence in no time.”
Erik looked even more bewildered by her rattling. His eyes fell closed again. “...Christine?”
“Do you want me to fetch her?” Theodora asked quickly. “Where does she live? I’ll send someone for her straight away.”
“Rue de...” Before he could finish the sentence he had faded away again, head dropping to one side and his hand falling limp in Teddy’s own. With a sigh she looked at Bruno who was panting, tongue lolling from his mouth.
“I don’t suppose you know Miss Daae’s address, do you?” The spaniel cocked his head to one side and whined. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was distracted by the sound of wheels on the road outside; hurrying to the window she peered out to see a cab pulling up at the front door. Henri’s little figure jumped out, followed by a tall man in a light overcoat and a bowler hat. “Thank goodness! The doctor’s here,” she told Bruno, who naturally didn’t reply.
Within moments, it seemed, barely giving her time to cover Erik’s battered face again, there was a knock at the door and Chloe appeared once more, escorting the man Teddy had seen below minus his outdoor clothing. His dark hair was brushed neatly back from his high forehead and he affected horn-rimmed spectacles and a Van Dyck beard. There was a Gladstone bag in his hand. “Doctor Lambert, Mademoiselle,” Chloe announced, and would have withdrawn but Theodora called to her to stay in case assistance were needed.
Teddy held out a hand to the newcomer. “I’m glad to see you, sir, and thank you for coming so promptly. We have something of an emergency, as I’m sure you are aware.”
“Mademoiselle,” he said, voice deep and authoritative, turning his attention towards the bed and its occupant. “Your boy did tell me something of the particulars on the way but as he was not directly involved the details were rather sketchy. He said that this man was injured in a brawl...?”
“More than that; I believe he was attacked in cold blood. There were four of them, using him as a punch-bag. Monsieur le Docteur, there is something you should know - ” Theodora began as he bent over Erik, fingers moving to the edges of the cloth that covered the wounded man’s face. Before she could finish the cloth was whisked away and Erik’s twisted features were revealed in all their questionable glory. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I wanted to prepare you - ”
Astonishingly, the doctor did not seem bothered by the ravaged face before him, gentle fingers probing the damage. Teddy supposed that he must have seen many gruesome sights during his career, but she was not expecting him to glance towards her with a slight smile and say, “It’s quite all right, Mademoiselle Merriman, I was already aware of the facial... irregularity. I have treated this gentleman before.”
