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charleygirlTitle: The Garish Light of Day 47/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 4153
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Return to work.
THE WANDERER RETURNS
“That’s an awful lot of luggage you’ve got there, Monsieur. Are you sure you don’t need any help with it?”
“We’ll be fine, Georges,” Theodora said before either Erik or Christine could open their mouths. She beckoned to little Henri, who had been riding on the running board of the brougham during the journey from the Rue St Denis. “Henri will give us a hand, and there are plenty of big strong men lurking about in the corners of the theatre. Is that everything?”
“I think so,” Christine replied, reluctantly allowing Erik to hand her out of the carriage; he was still suffering with his ribs and she knew it should be her giving him assistance rather than the other way round but he was stubborn and a stickler for courtesy. Once on the pavement she surveyed the jumble of boxes and bags that sat outside the stage door, in the midst of which stood the Prima Donna, hands on hips. Teddy had insisted upon their using her brougham and on squeezing in with them to take Erik’s possessions back to the Opera; of course, she had no idea that the journey was more for appearances than anything else, to deflect attention away from the underground house. Over the past few days Meg, Christine and Madame Giry had gradually moved most of Erik’s portable belongings up the many flights of stairs and into the Girys’ flat; it had been slow going and Christine was reluctant to leave so many of the things she had gradually come to love behind to collect dust in the cellars, but eventually they had all of the items he requested packed and ready to be taken to his new home. Christine had yet to see it and she knew that he couldn’t wait to show her the building in which they would begin their married life, refusing with a gleam in his eye to answer any questions on the subject.
Georges looked unconvinced that the small and wiry tiger, who usually sat up behind Monsieur Patterson-Smythe when he drove himself around town, could manage to lift the heavy boxes, let alone carry them, but when he started to protest Erik shook his head slightly and reached up with a wince that he almost managed to conceal to put a coin into the coachman’s hand. “We will manage, Georges, but thank you.” A meaningful look passed between them and Christine knew that Erik’s gratitude encompassed more than just a drive to the theatre.
With a blink of surprise Georges stared at the coin. He touched his hat, smiling broadly, and said, “Well, bless you for a gent, Monsieur! It’s been a pleasure to assist, truly it has.”
“We’d better get these inside,” Christine remarked when the brougham had driven away and they were left surrounded by Erik’s things.
“Indeed. I’m sure that before too long we will attract attention for all the wrong reasons,” he agreed, and bent to pick up the case that stood nearest to him, the one that Madame Giry had packed so tightly with books that it had taken all three of them to lift it. Before he could do more than grasp the handle Theodora swooped down, batting his hands away.
“Oh, no you don’t, mister!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t watched you spend the last three weeks recuperating just to let you undo all the work we’ve done! You, sir, are to touch nothing: Christine and I will do it.”
“I am not allowing two women to do something of which I am more than capable!” Erik countered, bending down again and trying to hide the hiss of pain that escaped him.
Teddy just looked at him, a smile of triumph turning up her lips. “Oh, are you?” she asked. “Your ribs are saying otherwise!”
He shot her a glare from beneath the brim of his hat. “I refuse to let the two of you carry all of this,” he replied sulkily, his left arm pressed to his torso in a protective gesture that had become almost unconscious since he was allowed out of bed. “What will people say?”
“They will say nothing, because I am going to fetch some of our strong and muscular stage hands to do it. At this time of the morning they could use some exercise,” Teddy announced, turning on her heel and striding into the theatre, skirts sweeping elegantly behind her. Christine and Erik watched her, bemused.
“She is right, you know,” Christine said after a few moments. “If you go straining yourself you’ll just make things worse. Doctor Lambert said - ”
Erik touched a finger to her lips. “I am well aware of what Doctor Lambert said, thank you. That fellow is a nuisance, and an old woman.”
“Maybe so, but he does have a point. You suffered some nasty injuries, and you need to rest. I don’t know what I would do if you - ” she began, but he silenced her once more with a gentle pressure.
“Christine, I am only going to lead a rehearsal, not run a marathon. I will sit at the piano, and if you insist I will do no more than play a few notes, but I need to be here. We have got too far behind as it is.”
“All right,” she agreed reluctantly and he smiled. “But I will be watching you all the time and if you look as though it is getting too much I will make sure that you let Monsieur Reyer take over.”
He rolled his eyes. “Very well, if you insist, my little tyrant.”
As was usual for him, Erik had listened to the doctor’s advice and then promptly ignored it. Had it not been for the fact that he was too weak to put into action his initial plan to return to work the previous Monday he would have been directing the rehearsals for Die Fledermaus for a week already. Fortunately his body disagreed with his protestations that he was well enough to leave Theodora’s house; when he attempted to get dressed and leave his room the efforts exhausted him so much that he collapsed into the arms of James Patterson-Smythe, who had just arrived with the newspaper and a bundle of letters sent by Madame Giry. Frustrated and angry at his own frailty, it was all that they could do to get Erik back into bed; it took three of them with the assistance of Doctor Lambert and he fought all the way with his scant strength. It was only when the doctor told him in no uncertain terms that exacerbating the injury to his ribs could result in grave consequences with regards to his singing or playing an instrument that he subsided. Martha Speedwell, ever the voice of doom, had muttered that maybe he would be better off in a convalescent home somewhere outside the city or, her words implied, an asylum, a comment which earned her an outraged tirade from Theodora that apparently included some choice words Christine was glad she didn’t understand. Erik, having overheard, shot Martha a wolfish smile, teeth bared and face unmasked, which sent the woman scuttling from the room as though she feared he was about to eat her like Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother.
A few days later he was, thankfully, looking much better for his enforced rest. Madame Giry was grateful for the delay as well, as she had been given the task of furnishing the house that he had bought, a commission about which she was far from happy, added as it was to her daily activities of running her own household and keeping a string of ballerinas in line as well as the arduous job of removing the Phantom’s possessions from the fifth cellar. In the end, bored and annoyed at more time spent in bed, Erik had requested that Monsieur Patterson-Smythe procure him brochures and price lists from the establishments he intended to patronise and spent his days choosing furnishings and fixtures so that in the end Madame had only to do the actual ordering and organise delivery. The extra time was a relief all round.
“So,” Christine said, slipping her arm through Erik’s and looking up into the face that was once more half-hidden behind its mask, “When will I get to see this new home of ours?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know... this evening, perhaps?”
She gave an involuntary squeal. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course.” Something very close to a grin was twisting the side of his mouth that she could see. “I can hardly keep it a secret any longer, can I? And Bruno will need to be settled - ”
“I thought that you wanted me to find someone else to take him,” Christine reminded him slyly. “In fact, I distinctly recall you making me swear to have him out of your home by the end of that first week. Perhaps my memory is at fault, but I’m sure you said - ”
Erik cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, well, circumstances have changed. The house by the lake was no place for a dog.”
“Admit it, you have become fond of him,” she said, laughing. “He’s certainly fond of you.”
His smile became rueful. “Maybe I have,” he admitted.
“I knew you would. You were just being an old curmudgeon.”
“I am not a curmudgeon!” he exclaimed, scandalised. “And I’m not that old, either!”
Christine just giggled. “Is Teddy coming back, do you think?”
Erik opened his mouth, but it was the voice of Jacques that emerged. “What the devil are you doing this time, girly?” the old porter demanded. They both turned to see that he had emerged from the stage door and stood staring at the pile of luggage, scratching his head.
“Oh, Jacques, would you help us?” Christine asked. “We need to get all of this down to my dressing room.”
“Are yer moving in? Management won’t like that.”
She laughed. “No, not quite. These are Monsieur Claudin’s things; now that he’s here permanently he had them sent down a few days ago but Madame Giry doesn’t have space. We thought we’d store them here until his new house is ready.”
“A place of yer own?” Jacques shot Erik a pointed glance. “They must be payin’ you a bigger salary than any of the other voice men got.”
“Not really.” Erik smiled slightly. “It’s a very small house.”
________________________________________
Theodora returned a few moments later with two of the scenery-shifters in tow. As she bustled about warning them to be careful Christine found it hard to contain her amusement at the sight of the tiny well-dressed woman giving orders to a couple of hulking grease- and paint-stained stage hands, both of whom looked quite capable of picking her up and stowing her away in one of the larger boxes. The elder of the two, René, caught Christine’s eye and raised his eyebrows at Teddy’s superfluous instructions before hoisting the heavy case Erik had tried to lift onto one meaty shoulder and taking three carpet bags in his free hand.
Manoeuvring the bulky luggage through the labyrinthine passages of the backstage world proved tricky, especially when they met dancers and musicians coming the other way. Rumours had obviously been circulating about the nature and result of the attack upon Erik; Hortense and Giselle both shot him curious looks from beneath their lashes as they passed on their way to the ballet lounge, pointe shoes in hand, the latter risking a wide-eyed stare once out of his sight. Christine did not miss the slightly-too loud whisper Giselle directed at her friend before the pair of them disappeared round the corner: “He looks just the same! I thought you said he was definitely a monster now?” She hoped that Erik hadn’t heard it, but the tightening of his grip on the hat he held in one hand told her that his keen hearing had picked up every word.
“My dear fellow, you’re back! I am so pleased to see you!”
Erik and Christine both turned at the sound of Monsieur Reyer’s voice; the musical director had emerged from his office and was approaching with arms outstretched, a beaming smile illuminating a face that Christine was more used to seeing crumpled in a frown induced by too many long and fraught rehearsals. He took Erik’s hand, shaking it vigorously, and to her surprise Erik made no attempt to pull away, the expression on the visible side of his face one of genuine pleasure at the sight of his colleague.
“Eugène,” he said. “Thank you for the pastries you sent; it was a kind thought, and they were much appreciated.”
“Henriette made them; she will be so pleased to hear that you approve of her efforts.” Reyer looked the other man up and down. “I am glad to see that you appear to have suffered no lasting damage from such an appalling affair. To think that you had barely left my home when you were set upon... I feel in some way responsible, my friend, I really do. If only I had come with you - !”
“If you had there would have been two of us injured, possibly killed. None of it was your fault; I had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Reyer shook his head. “Still... that such a thing should happen! I do sometimes despair of the human race. Have they caught the miscreants yet?”
Erik grimaced, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Though he had eventually bowed to pressure from Teddy and James it was not until he was able to wear his mask again that he agreed to speak to the police about the attack. The young officer that was sent to the house made careful note of the deliberately sketchy account Erik gave and the witness statements from his two rescuers but admitted that after so many days it would be hard to find any leads worth following. “Due to the nature of my injuries I was unable to give any details for some time,” Erik said now, spreading his hands apologetically when Reyer’s brows rose in consternation. “The police have promised to do their best, but it is unlikely that the men who assaulted me will be found with any evidence at the scene long-since destroyed.”
“Deplorable... and we pay our taxes for this!” Reyer’s frown had returned, settling into its comfortable creases and folds. “I am of a mind to make a formal complaint, I really am. Where are the gendarmerie when you need them?”
“Erik, we had better make sure your things are put away carefully,” Christine said before the musical director could launch into a tirade against the state of society, tugging gently on her fiancé’s sleeve.
“Oh, yes, of course. I’ll see you in the auditorium, Eugène,” Erik told Reyer, who waved a hand in assent. By the time they caught up with Teddy and her helpers they were setting down the boxes and bags outside Christine’s dressing room; she wondered why they had not yet taken the luggage in before remembering that she still had the key in her purse. Taking it out, she excused herself and squeezed past René to reach the door only to find that it was already open.
Theodora laid a hand on her arm and pointed through the doorway, arching one of her delicately-plucked brows. With a start, Christine realised that her room was occupied: Signor Rossi was there, standing before the mirror and running his fingers around the frame. In his reflection his face was set in determination; it seemed that he had not noticed the little crowd on the threshold behind him. Christine’s heart leapt into her mouth and she turned to Erik, reaching for his hand. If Rossi found the switch that turned the mirror on its pivot and revealed the tunnel behind, the tunnel that led eventually to the lake and everything that lay concealed beyond it... Erik just put a finger to his lips with the tiniest shake of his head.
Teddy folded her arms and cocked her head to one side, watching Rossi with interest. “You know, Antonio, I though you gave all that up when half the corps de ballet complained about you trying on their tutus,” she remarked, making him jump. He gave her a sour look.
“Ah, I wondered how long it would be before you started telling ridiculous tales,” he said. “You have such a vivid imagination, Teodora.”
“Well, what are you doing in Miss Daae’s room?”
“A room that I locked when I left after Saturday’s performance,” Christine added. “How did you get in?”
Rossi ignored the question. “The game is up, Signorina,” he told her with one of those nasty smiles he had bestowed upon her before. “I have discovered your little secret.”
Christine clutched Erik’s hand tightly. “What secret? You are being ridiculous, Signor!”
“Not ridiculous at all. You think I do not know how you managed to rise from the back of the chorus to take my sister’s place?” Rossi stepped closer to her; she tried to move away but found her back colliding with someone behind. To her relief she realised it was Erik; his free hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
“Precisely what are you insinuating, Signor?” he enquired, his voice dangerously soft.
“I insinuate nothing; I know!” the tenor declared. “I know that the two of you conspired to get Carlotta out of the way so that you could manoeuvre into positions of power within this theatre. You wanted no one to know about your plans so you hatched them in secret, here in Signorina Daae’s dressing room. Carlotta told me that she and other members of the cast heard a man’s voice in this room but never saw him; you claim, Signor Claudin, to never have worked in the Opera before, but I know that you were visiting your protégé covertly.”
“Really? Do tell me how, and please have the courtesy to back your accusations up with hard evidence,” Erik said, his fingers tightening slightly on Christine’s shoulder when she parted her lips to object.
“I have just found my evidence,” Rossi retorted, returning to the mirror. His fingers ran along the side of the frame, right where the hidden switch was located, and Christine tried to stifle the cry of horror that welled up within her. “You have been using this mirror, and a passageway that runs behind it, to tutor this jumped-up chorus girl in secret!”
“Erik...” Christine whimpered, but he just squeezed her shoulder, holding her against him.
Theodora regarded Rossi wearily. “You really are pathetic, Antonio,” she said with a sigh. “First those accusations against the new tenor in the chorus at Covent Garden that you thought was stealing your thunder and now this. Leave these poor people alone, for God’s sake; they’ve done nothing to you!”
“They have insulted the honour of my family, made my sister’s life a misery and probably ruined her career. I will see them exposed!” Rossi declared. With a flourish, he pressed the switch and the mirror began to move. As it slowly swung round, René gasped, Theodora stared and Christine was near to tears. Only Erik made no reaction as the entrance to his underground world was at last revealed to those on the surface.
It seemed to take an interminably long time for the mirror to pivot right round. Christine could no longer watch, seeing in her mind’s eye the tunnel, down which she had travelled so many times into that realm of darkness and magic, defiled by Rossi’s presence. No doubt he was exploring it already, snatching up the lantern and matches Erik kept there and heading down towards the still and silent lake. She felt like falling to her knees and sobbing for the loss of something so precious and wonderful.
“Christine.” Her name was little more than a breath in her ear. “Christine, look.” She shook her head, not wanting to open her eyes, but Erik was insistent, his fingers lightly touching her cheek. After a moment she allowed herself to lift one eyelid and peer at the wreckage of her dreams.
“Well,” drawled Theodora, “that’s certainly interesting.”
“It’s a trick. It must be a trick!” Rossi exclaimed, his face a picture of bewilderment as he beheld what lay behind the mirror. Christine could not really blame him: she felt just as confused herself, for there was a wall standing where the tunnel had been only days before. The tenor walked up to it, knocking upon the bricks, but there was no echo, no hollow tap that would signify plasterboard or wood from a piece of scenery. It was solid, a wall where, quite rightly, under normal circumstances a wall should be. “It is an illusion - ”
“The only illusion is in your head,” Teddy told him. “Secret tunnels behind mirrors... I’ve never heard such rot! You’ve been reading too many fairy stories!”
“It was here... I was sure it was here...” Rossi looked at the mirror, and then back to the wall. “It makes no sense! Why would the mirror turn if all it conceals is bricks and mortar?”
“Who cares?” Exasperated, she stomped over and grabbed his arm, pulling him away. Perplexed, the tenor continued to mutter, offering no resistance as Theodora dragged him from the room. She offered a hurried apology to Erik and Christine as she pushed Rossi over the threshold; she could be heard berating him, switching from French to English to Italian and back again, her voice gradually fading as they rounded the corner.
Once they were gone, Erik signalled to René and his colleague to bring in the luggage and carefully closed the mirror. Christine could not relax until the stage hands had finished and been seen back to their usual work with fervent thanks and a couple of coins for their pains. Little Henri clutched his payment with a broad grin and ran off after his mistress. Once the door closed behind them Christine barely waited for her fiancé to turn round before crying,
“Oh, Erik, what has happened? The tunnel - ”
“Shhh, my dear, everything is still as it was,” he said quietly, enfolding her in his arms. He stiffened and held back a hiss of discomfort when she embraced him; realising that she was crushing his tender ribs she loosened her hold and he relaxed. “Nothing has changed, merely the perception of it.”
“You came back.” Christine pulled back and looked up at him; there was a smirk playing around his lips. “You sneaked out of Theodora’s and you came back here. How did you do it? You could barely walk until a few days ago.”
“I did it very slowly and with much fortitude,” Erik replied, adding when she looked unconvinced, “Antoinette told me that Rossi was snooping around in here; I had to do something to stop him finding his way into my cellars and obviously I was just in time.”
“But, the tunnel... how did you make it disappear like that?”
The smirk grew. “Now, Christine, you know that a good magician never reveals his secrets...”
“You are a very frustrating man sometimes,” Christine told him, straightening the pearl-headed pin that was sitting at a crooked angle in his tie.
“I thought that was what you loved about me,” he said, bending down to give her a swift kiss. “Man and mystery, remember?”
Recalling her first trip below, the seductive figure in black who had taken her through the mirror into his subterranean kingdom, across an impossible glass lake shrouded in mist, to a house that should never have existed but somehow did, she sighed. “I’m going to miss all of that,” she confessed, her gaze meeting that of her reflection. “The magic, the excitement. The wonder...”
Erik’s arm snaked about her shoulders and pulled her close again. He dropped another kiss into her curls, resting his unmasked cheek on the top of her head. “We’ll make our own magic,” he said.
“Do you mean that?” she asked, twisting around so that she could look into his eyes. They were soft, and so full of love that she believed him immediately.
“Of course. I’m not sure I can promise you our own private lake, but you and I have all the magic we need between us.”
Christine smiled, and stood on tiptoe to press her lips against his. “Thank you.”
Erik returned her smile with a genuine one of his own. “And now, it is high time we joined the rehearsal before either Reyer or Antoinette comes looking for us. May I escort you there, Mademoiselle?”
Laughing, she took his proffered hand, allowing him to lead her from the room. “You may, Monsieur, you may.”
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 4153
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Return to work.
“That’s an awful lot of luggage you’ve got there, Monsieur. Are you sure you don’t need any help with it?”
“We’ll be fine, Georges,” Theodora said before either Erik or Christine could open their mouths. She beckoned to little Henri, who had been riding on the running board of the brougham during the journey from the Rue St Denis. “Henri will give us a hand, and there are plenty of big strong men lurking about in the corners of the theatre. Is that everything?”
“I think so,” Christine replied, reluctantly allowing Erik to hand her out of the carriage; he was still suffering with his ribs and she knew it should be her giving him assistance rather than the other way round but he was stubborn and a stickler for courtesy. Once on the pavement she surveyed the jumble of boxes and bags that sat outside the stage door, in the midst of which stood the Prima Donna, hands on hips. Teddy had insisted upon their using her brougham and on squeezing in with them to take Erik’s possessions back to the Opera; of course, she had no idea that the journey was more for appearances than anything else, to deflect attention away from the underground house. Over the past few days Meg, Christine and Madame Giry had gradually moved most of Erik’s portable belongings up the many flights of stairs and into the Girys’ flat; it had been slow going and Christine was reluctant to leave so many of the things she had gradually come to love behind to collect dust in the cellars, but eventually they had all of the items he requested packed and ready to be taken to his new home. Christine had yet to see it and she knew that he couldn’t wait to show her the building in which they would begin their married life, refusing with a gleam in his eye to answer any questions on the subject.
Georges looked unconvinced that the small and wiry tiger, who usually sat up behind Monsieur Patterson-Smythe when he drove himself around town, could manage to lift the heavy boxes, let alone carry them, but when he started to protest Erik shook his head slightly and reached up with a wince that he almost managed to conceal to put a coin into the coachman’s hand. “We will manage, Georges, but thank you.” A meaningful look passed between them and Christine knew that Erik’s gratitude encompassed more than just a drive to the theatre.
With a blink of surprise Georges stared at the coin. He touched his hat, smiling broadly, and said, “Well, bless you for a gent, Monsieur! It’s been a pleasure to assist, truly it has.”
“We’d better get these inside,” Christine remarked when the brougham had driven away and they were left surrounded by Erik’s things.
“Indeed. I’m sure that before too long we will attract attention for all the wrong reasons,” he agreed, and bent to pick up the case that stood nearest to him, the one that Madame Giry had packed so tightly with books that it had taken all three of them to lift it. Before he could do more than grasp the handle Theodora swooped down, batting his hands away.
“Oh, no you don’t, mister!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t watched you spend the last three weeks recuperating just to let you undo all the work we’ve done! You, sir, are to touch nothing: Christine and I will do it.”
“I am not allowing two women to do something of which I am more than capable!” Erik countered, bending down again and trying to hide the hiss of pain that escaped him.
Teddy just looked at him, a smile of triumph turning up her lips. “Oh, are you?” she asked. “Your ribs are saying otherwise!”
He shot her a glare from beneath the brim of his hat. “I refuse to let the two of you carry all of this,” he replied sulkily, his left arm pressed to his torso in a protective gesture that had become almost unconscious since he was allowed out of bed. “What will people say?”
“They will say nothing, because I am going to fetch some of our strong and muscular stage hands to do it. At this time of the morning they could use some exercise,” Teddy announced, turning on her heel and striding into the theatre, skirts sweeping elegantly behind her. Christine and Erik watched her, bemused.
“She is right, you know,” Christine said after a few moments. “If you go straining yourself you’ll just make things worse. Doctor Lambert said - ”
Erik touched a finger to her lips. “I am well aware of what Doctor Lambert said, thank you. That fellow is a nuisance, and an old woman.”
“Maybe so, but he does have a point. You suffered some nasty injuries, and you need to rest. I don’t know what I would do if you - ” she began, but he silenced her once more with a gentle pressure.
“Christine, I am only going to lead a rehearsal, not run a marathon. I will sit at the piano, and if you insist I will do no more than play a few notes, but I need to be here. We have got too far behind as it is.”
“All right,” she agreed reluctantly and he smiled. “But I will be watching you all the time and if you look as though it is getting too much I will make sure that you let Monsieur Reyer take over.”
He rolled his eyes. “Very well, if you insist, my little tyrant.”
As was usual for him, Erik had listened to the doctor’s advice and then promptly ignored it. Had it not been for the fact that he was too weak to put into action his initial plan to return to work the previous Monday he would have been directing the rehearsals for Die Fledermaus for a week already. Fortunately his body disagreed with his protestations that he was well enough to leave Theodora’s house; when he attempted to get dressed and leave his room the efforts exhausted him so much that he collapsed into the arms of James Patterson-Smythe, who had just arrived with the newspaper and a bundle of letters sent by Madame Giry. Frustrated and angry at his own frailty, it was all that they could do to get Erik back into bed; it took three of them with the assistance of Doctor Lambert and he fought all the way with his scant strength. It was only when the doctor told him in no uncertain terms that exacerbating the injury to his ribs could result in grave consequences with regards to his singing or playing an instrument that he subsided. Martha Speedwell, ever the voice of doom, had muttered that maybe he would be better off in a convalescent home somewhere outside the city or, her words implied, an asylum, a comment which earned her an outraged tirade from Theodora that apparently included some choice words Christine was glad she didn’t understand. Erik, having overheard, shot Martha a wolfish smile, teeth bared and face unmasked, which sent the woman scuttling from the room as though she feared he was about to eat her like Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother.
A few days later he was, thankfully, looking much better for his enforced rest. Madame Giry was grateful for the delay as well, as she had been given the task of furnishing the house that he had bought, a commission about which she was far from happy, added as it was to her daily activities of running her own household and keeping a string of ballerinas in line as well as the arduous job of removing the Phantom’s possessions from the fifth cellar. In the end, bored and annoyed at more time spent in bed, Erik had requested that Monsieur Patterson-Smythe procure him brochures and price lists from the establishments he intended to patronise and spent his days choosing furnishings and fixtures so that in the end Madame had only to do the actual ordering and organise delivery. The extra time was a relief all round.
“So,” Christine said, slipping her arm through Erik’s and looking up into the face that was once more half-hidden behind its mask, “When will I get to see this new home of ours?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know... this evening, perhaps?”
She gave an involuntary squeal. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course.” Something very close to a grin was twisting the side of his mouth that she could see. “I can hardly keep it a secret any longer, can I? And Bruno will need to be settled - ”
“I thought that you wanted me to find someone else to take him,” Christine reminded him slyly. “In fact, I distinctly recall you making me swear to have him out of your home by the end of that first week. Perhaps my memory is at fault, but I’m sure you said - ”
Erik cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, well, circumstances have changed. The house by the lake was no place for a dog.”
“Admit it, you have become fond of him,” she said, laughing. “He’s certainly fond of you.”
His smile became rueful. “Maybe I have,” he admitted.
“I knew you would. You were just being an old curmudgeon.”
“I am not a curmudgeon!” he exclaimed, scandalised. “And I’m not that old, either!”
Christine just giggled. “Is Teddy coming back, do you think?”
Erik opened his mouth, but it was the voice of Jacques that emerged. “What the devil are you doing this time, girly?” the old porter demanded. They both turned to see that he had emerged from the stage door and stood staring at the pile of luggage, scratching his head.
“Oh, Jacques, would you help us?” Christine asked. “We need to get all of this down to my dressing room.”
“Are yer moving in? Management won’t like that.”
She laughed. “No, not quite. These are Monsieur Claudin’s things; now that he’s here permanently he had them sent down a few days ago but Madame Giry doesn’t have space. We thought we’d store them here until his new house is ready.”
“A place of yer own?” Jacques shot Erik a pointed glance. “They must be payin’ you a bigger salary than any of the other voice men got.”
“Not really.” Erik smiled slightly. “It’s a very small house.”
________________________________________
Theodora returned a few moments later with two of the scenery-shifters in tow. As she bustled about warning them to be careful Christine found it hard to contain her amusement at the sight of the tiny well-dressed woman giving orders to a couple of hulking grease- and paint-stained stage hands, both of whom looked quite capable of picking her up and stowing her away in one of the larger boxes. The elder of the two, René, caught Christine’s eye and raised his eyebrows at Teddy’s superfluous instructions before hoisting the heavy case Erik had tried to lift onto one meaty shoulder and taking three carpet bags in his free hand.
Manoeuvring the bulky luggage through the labyrinthine passages of the backstage world proved tricky, especially when they met dancers and musicians coming the other way. Rumours had obviously been circulating about the nature and result of the attack upon Erik; Hortense and Giselle both shot him curious looks from beneath their lashes as they passed on their way to the ballet lounge, pointe shoes in hand, the latter risking a wide-eyed stare once out of his sight. Christine did not miss the slightly-too loud whisper Giselle directed at her friend before the pair of them disappeared round the corner: “He looks just the same! I thought you said he was definitely a monster now?” She hoped that Erik hadn’t heard it, but the tightening of his grip on the hat he held in one hand told her that his keen hearing had picked up every word.
“My dear fellow, you’re back! I am so pleased to see you!”
Erik and Christine both turned at the sound of Monsieur Reyer’s voice; the musical director had emerged from his office and was approaching with arms outstretched, a beaming smile illuminating a face that Christine was more used to seeing crumpled in a frown induced by too many long and fraught rehearsals. He took Erik’s hand, shaking it vigorously, and to her surprise Erik made no attempt to pull away, the expression on the visible side of his face one of genuine pleasure at the sight of his colleague.
“Eugène,” he said. “Thank you for the pastries you sent; it was a kind thought, and they were much appreciated.”
“Henriette made them; she will be so pleased to hear that you approve of her efforts.” Reyer looked the other man up and down. “I am glad to see that you appear to have suffered no lasting damage from such an appalling affair. To think that you had barely left my home when you were set upon... I feel in some way responsible, my friend, I really do. If only I had come with you - !”
“If you had there would have been two of us injured, possibly killed. None of it was your fault; I had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Reyer shook his head. “Still... that such a thing should happen! I do sometimes despair of the human race. Have they caught the miscreants yet?”
Erik grimaced, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Though he had eventually bowed to pressure from Teddy and James it was not until he was able to wear his mask again that he agreed to speak to the police about the attack. The young officer that was sent to the house made careful note of the deliberately sketchy account Erik gave and the witness statements from his two rescuers but admitted that after so many days it would be hard to find any leads worth following. “Due to the nature of my injuries I was unable to give any details for some time,” Erik said now, spreading his hands apologetically when Reyer’s brows rose in consternation. “The police have promised to do their best, but it is unlikely that the men who assaulted me will be found with any evidence at the scene long-since destroyed.”
“Deplorable... and we pay our taxes for this!” Reyer’s frown had returned, settling into its comfortable creases and folds. “I am of a mind to make a formal complaint, I really am. Where are the gendarmerie when you need them?”
“Erik, we had better make sure your things are put away carefully,” Christine said before the musical director could launch into a tirade against the state of society, tugging gently on her fiancé’s sleeve.
“Oh, yes, of course. I’ll see you in the auditorium, Eugène,” Erik told Reyer, who waved a hand in assent. By the time they caught up with Teddy and her helpers they were setting down the boxes and bags outside Christine’s dressing room; she wondered why they had not yet taken the luggage in before remembering that she still had the key in her purse. Taking it out, she excused herself and squeezed past René to reach the door only to find that it was already open.
Theodora laid a hand on her arm and pointed through the doorway, arching one of her delicately-plucked brows. With a start, Christine realised that her room was occupied: Signor Rossi was there, standing before the mirror and running his fingers around the frame. In his reflection his face was set in determination; it seemed that he had not noticed the little crowd on the threshold behind him. Christine’s heart leapt into her mouth and she turned to Erik, reaching for his hand. If Rossi found the switch that turned the mirror on its pivot and revealed the tunnel behind, the tunnel that led eventually to the lake and everything that lay concealed beyond it... Erik just put a finger to his lips with the tiniest shake of his head.
Teddy folded her arms and cocked her head to one side, watching Rossi with interest. “You know, Antonio, I though you gave all that up when half the corps de ballet complained about you trying on their tutus,” she remarked, making him jump. He gave her a sour look.
“Ah, I wondered how long it would be before you started telling ridiculous tales,” he said. “You have such a vivid imagination, Teodora.”
“Well, what are you doing in Miss Daae’s room?”
“A room that I locked when I left after Saturday’s performance,” Christine added. “How did you get in?”
Rossi ignored the question. “The game is up, Signorina,” he told her with one of those nasty smiles he had bestowed upon her before. “I have discovered your little secret.”
Christine clutched Erik’s hand tightly. “What secret? You are being ridiculous, Signor!”
“Not ridiculous at all. You think I do not know how you managed to rise from the back of the chorus to take my sister’s place?” Rossi stepped closer to her; she tried to move away but found her back colliding with someone behind. To her relief she realised it was Erik; his free hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
“Precisely what are you insinuating, Signor?” he enquired, his voice dangerously soft.
“I insinuate nothing; I know!” the tenor declared. “I know that the two of you conspired to get Carlotta out of the way so that you could manoeuvre into positions of power within this theatre. You wanted no one to know about your plans so you hatched them in secret, here in Signorina Daae’s dressing room. Carlotta told me that she and other members of the cast heard a man’s voice in this room but never saw him; you claim, Signor Claudin, to never have worked in the Opera before, but I know that you were visiting your protégé covertly.”
“Really? Do tell me how, and please have the courtesy to back your accusations up with hard evidence,” Erik said, his fingers tightening slightly on Christine’s shoulder when she parted her lips to object.
“I have just found my evidence,” Rossi retorted, returning to the mirror. His fingers ran along the side of the frame, right where the hidden switch was located, and Christine tried to stifle the cry of horror that welled up within her. “You have been using this mirror, and a passageway that runs behind it, to tutor this jumped-up chorus girl in secret!”
“Erik...” Christine whimpered, but he just squeezed her shoulder, holding her against him.
Theodora regarded Rossi wearily. “You really are pathetic, Antonio,” she said with a sigh. “First those accusations against the new tenor in the chorus at Covent Garden that you thought was stealing your thunder and now this. Leave these poor people alone, for God’s sake; they’ve done nothing to you!”
“They have insulted the honour of my family, made my sister’s life a misery and probably ruined her career. I will see them exposed!” Rossi declared. With a flourish, he pressed the switch and the mirror began to move. As it slowly swung round, René gasped, Theodora stared and Christine was near to tears. Only Erik made no reaction as the entrance to his underground world was at last revealed to those on the surface.
It seemed to take an interminably long time for the mirror to pivot right round. Christine could no longer watch, seeing in her mind’s eye the tunnel, down which she had travelled so many times into that realm of darkness and magic, defiled by Rossi’s presence. No doubt he was exploring it already, snatching up the lantern and matches Erik kept there and heading down towards the still and silent lake. She felt like falling to her knees and sobbing for the loss of something so precious and wonderful.
“Christine.” Her name was little more than a breath in her ear. “Christine, look.” She shook her head, not wanting to open her eyes, but Erik was insistent, his fingers lightly touching her cheek. After a moment she allowed herself to lift one eyelid and peer at the wreckage of her dreams.
“Well,” drawled Theodora, “that’s certainly interesting.”
“It’s a trick. It must be a trick!” Rossi exclaimed, his face a picture of bewilderment as he beheld what lay behind the mirror. Christine could not really blame him: she felt just as confused herself, for there was a wall standing where the tunnel had been only days before. The tenor walked up to it, knocking upon the bricks, but there was no echo, no hollow tap that would signify plasterboard or wood from a piece of scenery. It was solid, a wall where, quite rightly, under normal circumstances a wall should be. “It is an illusion - ”
“The only illusion is in your head,” Teddy told him. “Secret tunnels behind mirrors... I’ve never heard such rot! You’ve been reading too many fairy stories!”
“It was here... I was sure it was here...” Rossi looked at the mirror, and then back to the wall. “It makes no sense! Why would the mirror turn if all it conceals is bricks and mortar?”
“Who cares?” Exasperated, she stomped over and grabbed his arm, pulling him away. Perplexed, the tenor continued to mutter, offering no resistance as Theodora dragged him from the room. She offered a hurried apology to Erik and Christine as she pushed Rossi over the threshold; she could be heard berating him, switching from French to English to Italian and back again, her voice gradually fading as they rounded the corner.
Once they were gone, Erik signalled to René and his colleague to bring in the luggage and carefully closed the mirror. Christine could not relax until the stage hands had finished and been seen back to their usual work with fervent thanks and a couple of coins for their pains. Little Henri clutched his payment with a broad grin and ran off after his mistress. Once the door closed behind them Christine barely waited for her fiancé to turn round before crying,
“Oh, Erik, what has happened? The tunnel - ”
“Shhh, my dear, everything is still as it was,” he said quietly, enfolding her in his arms. He stiffened and held back a hiss of discomfort when she embraced him; realising that she was crushing his tender ribs she loosened her hold and he relaxed. “Nothing has changed, merely the perception of it.”
“You came back.” Christine pulled back and looked up at him; there was a smirk playing around his lips. “You sneaked out of Theodora’s and you came back here. How did you do it? You could barely walk until a few days ago.”
“I did it very slowly and with much fortitude,” Erik replied, adding when she looked unconvinced, “Antoinette told me that Rossi was snooping around in here; I had to do something to stop him finding his way into my cellars and obviously I was just in time.”
“But, the tunnel... how did you make it disappear like that?”
The smirk grew. “Now, Christine, you know that a good magician never reveals his secrets...”
“You are a very frustrating man sometimes,” Christine told him, straightening the pearl-headed pin that was sitting at a crooked angle in his tie.
“I thought that was what you loved about me,” he said, bending down to give her a swift kiss. “Man and mystery, remember?”
Recalling her first trip below, the seductive figure in black who had taken her through the mirror into his subterranean kingdom, across an impossible glass lake shrouded in mist, to a house that should never have existed but somehow did, she sighed. “I’m going to miss all of that,” she confessed, her gaze meeting that of her reflection. “The magic, the excitement. The wonder...”
Erik’s arm snaked about her shoulders and pulled her close again. He dropped another kiss into her curls, resting his unmasked cheek on the top of her head. “We’ll make our own magic,” he said.
“Do you mean that?” she asked, twisting around so that she could look into his eyes. They were soft, and so full of love that she believed him immediately.
“Of course. I’m not sure I can promise you our own private lake, but you and I have all the magic we need between us.”
Christine smiled, and stood on tiptoe to press her lips against his. “Thank you.”
Erik returned her smile with a genuine one of his own. “And now, it is high time we joined the rehearsal before either Reyer or Antoinette comes looking for us. May I escort you there, Mademoiselle?”
Laughing, she took his proffered hand, allowing him to lead her from the room. “You may, Monsieur, you may.”
