Stirring the Pot

"What are your plans for the day?" Erik asks Christine as he knots the new raspberry and silver tie.

"You are going to wear it?" Christine enters the bedroom, having completed her toilette. Donning a gauzy pale green morning dress, hair tied back with a satin bow, she sits down at her vanity to observe Erik as he completes putting together his ensemble.

"Of course, it is a wonderful shade of…red. In all actuality, the silver does dominate the stripe – the raspberry…is it?...merely adds a dash of color."

"It is pink – but it looked so elegant against the silver."

"I rather like it – it will take some interest away from the mask." Slipping on the gray frock coat, he turns to face her. "There – how do I look?"

"Quite dashing – you are only missing one thing." Getting up, she sorts through a stack of handkerchiefs on the shelf of the armoire. "Did you see the matching pocket square? Where is it – I know I put it here last night?" Turning back to him, eyes narrow. "Did you…"

"Um."

"Erik?"

Digging into his trouser pocket, he pulls out the square and stuffs it into the breast pocket of his suit.

"Perfect." Christine laughs, putting her arm through his as they exit into the hallway to the sitting room.

"So – today?"

"I shall be setting up the nursery."

Erik's visible eyebrow lifts as his cocks his head. "The room is empty."

Snuggling next to him, she say, "Remember your comment about how few purchases I made yesterday?"

"Deliveries are being made today?"

"Precisely."

Erik sits in one of the library chairs and pours a cup of tea for himself and Christine, who joins him in the other chair.

"Do you need help?"

"Meybel will be here. I asked if she could add a day and she arranged it with Francoise."

"Does Phillippe know any of this?"

"She needs the work – they do not use her every day – so this helps her…and us."

"But does Phillippe know?"

"He saw her here at your birthday party."

"So he does not know that we employ her on her days off."

"Is that a problem?"

"It might be awkward if he thinks his personal business is being discussed," Erik says, picking up a croissant and tearing off a piece. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

Bending his head, looking down his nose as he clears his throat.

Well, no…" Christine tears apart her own croissant. "There is nothing to discuss."

"How do you know?"

"I asked." She swallows her pastry, then takes a sip of tea, green eyes twinkling over the rim of the cup.

"Do you suppose she has repeated anything to them – what goes on here?"

"She does our laundry, Erik."

"I am not certain that he would want us to know too much of his and Raoul's personal business," Erik says. "Particularly after our meeting yesterday."

"What do you mean? You never really told me what was discussed – to be honest, I find all of this gambling business confusing."

Despite their objections, the three woman were dispatched to shopping and luncheon. Their men left with Inspector Marquand and Count Phillippe to make sense of what first appeared to be the revenge murder of a cheating bet runner.

"I think it might be a good idea if we sorted through the information we have so far," Erik said. "Try to find some order. At the moment we have cacophony. I am certain I am not the only one frustrated by it."

"There are certainly some conflicting elements here," Marquand said, pulling out his notepad. "Just to be certain everyone knows – the assault, theft, and murder are my primary concerns from an enforcement standpoint. Gambling is, and likely always will be, one of those crimes the government chooses to not find criminal.

"That said, this is what I have on my list - feel free to fill in any blanks:

"1. Assault of Reynald, ostensibly for switching fake coins for real by the new Opera Ghost.

2. The theft of the Vicomte's cloak.

3. The murder of Gregor who may have been mistaken for Reynald.

4. The body covered by the cloak.

5. Persian coins hidden in the cloak.

6. Playing cards – all Aces, likewise hidden in the cloak.

7. Reynald's wife, who is the sister to one of the Managers, comes to his defense."

"Let us not forget Alex – Monique's brother," Darius said. "He turned up just as all of this was beginning."

"My own brother's possible involvement has me concerned," Phillippe said. "Although, he tends to attract more trouble than he actually creates himself."

I feel comfortable in eliminating him as a murder suspect – leaving the cloak with the cards and coins is simply too obvious," Erik says. "This, as much as anything has me suspect Alex – but he seems too sly. His feelings toward Raoul are quite intense. Then again, he is an actor. I would like to know what Giselle may recall about the cloak."

Resting his arms on his knees, Phillippe presses his face into his hands. "I cannot answer for her, but Raoul was not wearing a cloak that night."

"What?" The four other men in the room exclaim in unison.

"You were the one who told us what happened," Erik says.

"He was so insistent that it had been stolen, I actually began to believe him," Phillippe said. "We were running late – he was anxious about something or another." Looking to the ceiling, his eyes narrowed and he sighed. "That has become the rule." He shook his head. "I paid no attention to his grumblings and I seldom pay attention to what he wears. Once we reached the theater, I went directly to our box – I do not know where he went."

"You did not think to say anything sooner?" Marquand asked.

"I did not want to admit to myself that he could have harmed that man," he sighed. "After listening to Erik say it was unlikely Raoul would be so stupid, I was relieved."

"Well, I suppose we should thank M. Saint-Rien for that rationalization," Marquand said, putting an unlit cigar in his mouth. "I am not so certain – particularly now – with this information."

Phillippe's mouth dropped, the color leaving his face. "I was going to tell you in any event – Erik's comment simply made it easier."

"Edouard, let me hear your reasoning," Nadir said. "I am not so certain of his innocence either."

"I did not say he was innocent," Erik protested.

"You are emotionally tied to the man, my friend – as is le Comte," Nadir's eyes, though warm, were direct and firm. "You call Alex 'sly' – Raoul has held his secrets – cards, if you will, close to his vest."

"His cloak was found covering the body of a dead man," Marquand said, waving the cigar.

"A cloak we now know was not stolen," Nadir added.

"So either he placed the cloak over the body or may know who did," Erik said, rubbing his cheek.

"Then he is protecting someone – he is not a violent man," Phillippe argued, the blood returning to his face – his chin jutting out, lips a fine line cutting across his face.

"I would beg to differ with that estimation, Phillippe," Erik said softly. "Your memory has become short, I fear."

Phillippe met Erik's gaze and nodded. "Of course, you are correct," he said, taking in a deep breath. "Now that we are discussing him and his behavior – I must admit I am concerned about Monique."

"Indeed?" Erik says, leaning forward. "Why?"

"A hunch – brotherly concern – what happened with Christine." He shrugged. "As you have all reminded me, Raoul is troubled. I believe his obsession with her is unhealthy. What I have observed of Alex only increases my concern."

"Do you think she would influence Raoul to do something destructive – to himself or someone else?" Erik asked, frowning.

Phillippe pulled back, his eyes shifting from Erik to the Inspector, who sat tapping his pencil against his notebook. "I should not have mentioned it – I am just concerned about him."

"She saved my life, so I am somewhat partial to her and deeply grateful," Erik said, "but, as someone who has taken another's life, in whatever manner, for whatever reason, I can say, it changes you."

"Monique was changed before she shot Robert," Nadir said, getting up to pour himself a glass of water. "Anyone want refreshment – tea? Water? Brandy? No coffee, but I can send Andre."

A round of noes, has Nadir bringing his drink and the sugar bowl back to the desk, shuffling his note papers.

"Meg told me she has been going out at night – after Raoul leaves," Darius said.

"More information being held back?" Marquand sniggers.

"I was not aware that Monique was a suspect – or that her coming and going would be an issue," Darius barked, his face flushed.

Marquand quirked an eyebrow.

"Excuse me, Inspector, but Meg told me this because she was worried. I only mentioned it because others here are also worried."

"Alex again," Erik said. "Who else would she be going to see?"

"Unless something else points in her direction, I am going to leave Monique's nighttime jaunts off my list of concerns," Marquand said. "Anything else?"

"My list includes Harim, the Palace guard, meeting with Alex," Nadir said, biting on a sugar cube. "We know from Darius that gambling is likely going on at the café where they met. This, as we have discussed, is most concerning from a personal level. I do not believe in coincidences.

"Nor, do I, daroga," Marquand said. "Too many years dealing with criminals."

"The problem, as I see it," Erik said, "is that we are speculating about everything and have no facts."

"True enough," Marquand agreed. "Reynald, for the moment, is both victim and possible conspirator. Alex, however, has met with the Persian – and is most likely a gambler – but is that related to the murder?"

Nadir tapped his pencil on his own set of notes. "Darius – I think you must return to the café to determine why Harim is here, and what the connection is to Alex."

Darius' breath caught in his throat, his pupils dilated. "Are you sure?"

"Yes – I have thought this through. Your reaction is based on what happened in the past – we are all fearful of that, but this is not Persia." Nadir faced the younger man, his eyes soft. "If he does remember you, it will not be in connection with Erik. The Shah, himself, suggested I bring you with me when I left. You are known at the café, so why should you not patronize them?"

Darius sighed and nodded. "Whatever you wish – I shall do my best."

"I am unclear as to what my role is in this," Phillippe said. "I am appreciative of being privy to the investigation – particularly where it involves Raoul, but what can I do to help?"

"Spy on Raoul," Erik said. "And, with all respect to you, Inspector…Monique."

"Well, that is an assignment I am not certain I can help with to any great extent," he said. "My brother does not seek out my company, much less my advice, but I shall do what I can. You mentioned Giselle earlier."

"Ask what she knows about the cloak, if anything," Erik said. "We plan to appoint her stage manager – partly because she deserves it, from an employment standpoint. Partly because I want her eyes on everything that is going on here at that Palais Garnier. If she has a legitimate role – other than working for Phantom Security, it provides her more cover."

"So she may be too busy for personal outings?" Phillippe smirked.

"No more than the usual – I am in no position to regulate the personal lives of our staff."

"Fair enough," Phillippe laughed. "I can also check with some of my diplomatic contacts about our relationship with Persia and what may be happening in the community here from a political standpoint. It could explain the presence of this Harim person."

"Anything else?" Marquand asked the group

"Mme. Fairmonte's appearance piqued my interest," Erik said.

"You do not believe she is concerned about her husband?" Marquand snickered.

"You are beginning to know me," Erik said. "Adele did not either – judging from her report of their meeting. She and Veronique have been doing an audit on the finances of the opera house – as required by the State. I hope to have more information about that tomorrow."

"Alex?" Marquand asked. "Any idea how we can find out more about him?"

"Is he the new Opera Ghost, perhaps?" Erik said. "He is an enigma. For the moment, Raoul – and, therefore, you, Phillippe, might be our best route to knowing more about our redheaded dancing man."

"And the café," Darius interjected.

"And the café," Erik agrees.

"Alex? Raoul and Monique? Oh, Erik," Christine says. "Perhaps Meybel can help. I can ask her."

"No, she has been through quite enough – better I deal with Phillippe and you not cost Meybel her job by gossiping."

"We could hire her, if that happened."

"Do you want her to live here?" Erik asks finishing his croissant.

"No, not particularly – although I do enjoy her company and help."

"Even when the baby comes?"

Christine cocks her head, her brow furrowed, lips pursed. "No, but maybe she could come more than once a week – for cleaning and such. I would find it odd to have a stranger living here."

"Was it strange when you stayed at the de Chagney house?" He takes a sip of his tea.

"I have not thought about that in so long – it was a different lifetime."

"Mademoiselle, may I enter to assist you?"

"With what?"

"Dressing for the day, of course."

"I am already dressed."

"Oh, I am sorry I am late – I was not certain when you would rise."

"You need not help me dress – or undress."

"But it is my job."

"Strange job."

"I am simply following my instructions."

"Well, you may come morning and night, if those are your instructions. We can visit – but I shall dress and undress myself."

"Thank you."

"I have no wish to jeopardize your employment."

"And all this time, I thought you needed my assistance removing your clothes."

"Silly man – another reason I should not want someone else living here."

"Then it is best that we leave things as they stand right now," he says, getting up, gathering the tea things to carry them to this kitchen. "What time do you expect the deliveries – I shall have Henri return to be here."

"The delivery men can handle the furniture," she says following him.

"I have no doubt – still, I prefer for you to…"

"Have protection."

"Yes." Erik puts the tray of dishes on the counter, turning to her.

"Even if he is smitten with me?" Christine smiles up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"All the more reason – perhaps you can direct his attention to Meybel – then I will rest easy about you not running off with him."

"That is a thought…about Meybel," she says, kissing him on his chin. "You are becoming quite the matchmaker."

The doorbell rings.

Walking back through the sitting room, Christine stands behind him as Erik opens the aperture to find Meybel and Henri smiling at him.

"Ah, we were just speaking of you," he says, opening the door. "Enter, please."

The tiny maid, holding her buff-colored skirt, curtsies to Erik, turning to Henri, she says, "It was nice to meet you." Then giggling, she holds onto her straw bonnet and skitters past Christine to the kitchen.

"You made quite an impression in the lift, Henri." Erik says, quirking an eyebrow at Christine. "I may actually have reason to be concerned – Henri seems to have a way with women."

The sandy-haired young man, wrinkles his brow and scratches his head under his cap. "I do not know what I said to put her off like that."

"You did not put her off – she likes you," Christine says. "That is how girls act when they meet someone they find appealing."

"If you say so, Madame," he says. "Are you ready to leave, Monsieur?"

"Yes, are you alone today or is Stephane with you?"

"Actually, he is waiting downstairs. M. and Mme. Khan left very early this morning – so both carriages were not needed – he dropped them off and came to my house to pick me up."

"Excellent. Madame Christine is expecting the delivery of some furniture today and I hoped you could both assist her and Meybel – as well as keeping watch on the household."

"As you wish, Monsieur, I will be pleased to help in any way I can."

Erik turns to Christine. "So we are set." Bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek, he grabs his new dark grey bowler hat in and sets it carefully on his head, tipping it slightly over his, also new, flesh colored mask.

"You look so dapper."

"Somehow I fear Nadir will find me comical – and say so."

Erik knocks lightly on the door before entering Adele's office. "Am I disturbing you?"

Adele looks up from the ledger she is working on with Veronique. Stretching, she says, "Yes, thankfully so." Her dark eyes examine him from head to toe. "I see you are donning your new clothing."

"And?"

"Christine was correct – the color suits you. I was not sure you would agree to wear what both of us consider bold, I have to say, but you give me hope," she chuckles.

"For you or for me?" He removes his hat and sits down on the chaise.

Taking Adele's lead, Veronique stands up, leaving her pencil on the desk to massage her back. "Good morning, M. Saint-Rien. Would you care for some tea? I was going to freshen up our pot just now."

"Yes, thank you," he responds. "What time did you arrive this morning?"

"Early – too early," Adele says. "I wanted to get these books in order to show you and Nadir. I had a lovely holiday yesterday, but was not able to complete what I started when Genevieve stopped by."

"Is it serious?"

"I am afraid so, Monsieur," Veronique answers. "There are paid invoices for many purchased items, but shortages in areas that do not get much attention – cleaning supplies, make-up, fabrics – a little here, a little there, but adding up to a sizeable amount."

"Is this something under Reynald's control?"

"Not necessarily – he has access and does some purchasing – the issue is more with the Managers – before Madame Giry took over, the Managers kept the books."

"So Mme. Genevieve Fairmonte was not here about her husband, but her brother?"

"Quite so – or, at least, it appears that way. I would not swear to it, though."

"My money or the State's – I assume the shortages are not coming from their investment?"

"In a way, they are. They put in their contracted sum each month, and it is used to pay the bills – as always. The problem are these excessively high and unusual invoices. The largest amount, however, is in the payroll." Adele holds up the journal sheets. "There are payroll items for people we cannot identify – this affects the allocation from the State."

"Is this recent?"

"It appears to have begun when they took over."

"I have spoken to them about it, but…" Adele says.

"Yes, money is always difficult to discuss even when people are honest."

"There are rumors among the crew that M. Richard let his coachman go – he and M. Moncharmin ride together now." Veronique says, bringing the tea and some cookies to the desk.

"I am sorry this was not discovered sooner – the new show."

Erik waves off the apology. "As you said, this appears to be something very subtle. Embezzlement is a quiet crime and often takes a while to notice." He sits down on the chaise with his tea, taking a sip. "Ah, a good strong Ceylon." Sitting back and crossing his legs, he asks, "So how do you plan to use our stage manager to resolve these differences?

"He will be doing inventory. He is going to count everything in this building."

Erik chuckles. "No time for running his errands or sneaking nips during the day."

"Exactly," Veronique says. "He must report to me twice a day."

"Nadir and I have agreed that Giselle is to be the new stage manager – I do not know why we did not consider this sooner."

"She is agreeable?"

"Very – the idea of being in control appeals to her greatly – she was always fussing about the crew – now she can do something about them…and do her security work."

Do you suppose it has anything to do with the gambling issue here at the Palais?"

"We will not know for a while. He used to have free rein – now he must work in specific areas. We will watch who he comes in contact with.

"And the managers?"

"I suspect Genevieve will be visiting again."

Phillippe settles into his leather chair and prepares a cigar. The sound of the front door slamming shut, has him jump to his feet, rushing into the hallway. "Raoul?"

"Phillippe?" The Vicomte turns to face his brother. "What?"

"Could we talk?"

"We could – I am not certain I will be saying anything you care to hear."

"Please."

With a deep sigh, Raoul follows Phillippe into his den, closing the door behind him. "May I have a whiskey – or am I not allowed to drink alcohol due to my childish behavior?" He pours a splash of amber liquor into a small glass, carrying it to the sofa and flops down, holding his arm out to prevent spilling his drink. "And not a drop wasted."

"Were you with Monique today?"

"Yes, if you can call watching her dance being with her – however, I do have news."

"Good, I hope."

Raoul quirks an eyebrow. "I am not sure what you would consider good news."

Phillippe rolls his eyes. "Despite your belief to the contrary, I do love you and want you to be happy," he says. "Tell me your news…please."

"Monique has agreed to come back here to live," Raoul chuckles, looking up at Phillippe from under lowered lids.

"Seriously?" Phillippe smiles, drawing on his cigar, blowing out a circle of smoke.

The chuckle develops into a full-blown laugh, as Raoul nods his head vigorously. "I am in shock."

"Tell me more, if you will."

"Please come in – Meg has gone out for the day with her mother and Christine," Monique said holding the door open.

"I was not certain I would be welcome."

"Indeed – why?"

"You have been…well, not anxious to be with me since Alex returned to your life."

"We were apart for a long time."

"I understand – or I have tried to understand. He seems to despise me for all that."

"Oh, Alex, is just a jokester – I would not take too much of what he says seriously."

"Will you still wish to see me once you move in with him?"

"As it turns out – he is quite happy with his lodgings, so I wondered if your offer was still open…about moving back to your home."

"Truly – you wish to live with me – in your own quarters, of course, but in my house."

Monique nods. "I do love you, Raoul – I am sorry you doubted that for even a moment because of Alex."

"When do you wish to move house?'

"Perhaps tomorrow – I only have my clothing, but I would like to tell Meg. She and Madame have been most kind."

Alex, dressed in, yet again, another plaid suit – this one in shades of grey – more subdued than his usual choice of colors. He watches as the cab pulls away from Monique's apartment building. Stepping out from the doorway of the adjacent building, he waves at the figure in the window.

In moments, Monique exits the doorway, her pale blue cambric dress seeming to flow despite the stays and bustle, and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him on the cheek.

"You told him?"

"Yes."

"There was no problem – he accepted what you said."

"Raoul always accepts what I say. He loves me." Taking his arm, they begin to walk.

"Does he believe that you love him?"

"Why would he not? I do love him. I am happy I will be living with him."

"You confuse me, sister."

"I am safe with Raoul – that means you will be safe. It is much better this way."

"What if he wants to…"

"What? Make love to me?

Alex stops. "I do not understand."

"We are already intimate. What is there to understand?"

"But – what M. Robert did to you…"

"I killed him – M. Robert no longer exists," she says, looking out at the street. "So there is no need for your concern, Alex." Picking up the pace, she begins running down the street.

He quickly catches up to her, taking her arm. "You killed him? You did not tell me that."

"With Raoul's gun. In the back of the head. The shooting lessons we had as children served me well."

"I do not know you."

"No, you do not – not all of me," she snaps. "The difference between you and Raoul is he is fine with me however I am. I could be silent for a week and he would still be there for me."

"I did not leave because I did not care about you."

"But you left, nonetheless." Removing his hand from her arm, keeping it in hers, she starts to walk again. "Come, brother – let us have some dinner and enjoy our time together. You can tell me about your meeting with the Persian."

"Darius," the café owner says, his face breaking into a big smile when the younger man enters the café, holding his arm out as he walks to grab him around the shoulders. "Where have you been keeping yourself – we have missed you."

Shrinking from the unexpected touch, Darius steps back, looking around the moderately crowded room at the different groups of men, playing table games and drinking coffee. No one appears to have noticed his arrival or Massoud's greeting. "I am surprised you noticed my absence."

"Hardly that, my friend," Massoud says. "You are one of our best players – without you, the challenge has diminished for many."

"How so?"

The elder man, raises an eyebrow. "You do not know?"

"I come here for entertainment – to play and challenge my mind and my skills."

"You are an innocent, then," he says. "I suspected as much, but now you confirm my suspicions."

"I am still confused," Darius says.

"Do not concern yourself with my mutterings. Are you interested in playing tonight?" Massoud asks, walking Darius to the bar, indicating he sit down. "Coffee?" he asks, as he walks around to serve him.

"Yes – I have not enjoyed a good cup of coffee in some time."

"Tea, tea, tea – am I correct?" Massoud laughs, putting the demi-tasse in front of Darius with a plate of walnut cookies. "A former member of the Shah's household arrived recently from Persia."

"Indeed?"

"Do I recall you saying you once worked at the Palace?"

"No."

Massoud frowns.

"I did not serve the Shah in Teheran – my place was in Mazandaran."

With a sigh, the man's forehead smooths. "You may yet be acquainted. His name is Harim."

"The name is familiar to me."

"Excellent – he will be playing tonight."

Darius nods. "A game would be entertaining. As you say, it has been a while."

The sitting room is lit by the setting sun casting golden streams of light across the Aubusson carpets. Erik closes the door quietly behind him, removing his hat and mask – leaving them on a shelf in the armoire – he takes off his jacket, hanging it on a hook.

At first glance, the room appears to be unoccupied, but looking closely, he sees Christine leaning into a corner of the sofa, an embroidery hoop in her lap, a threaded needle half in, half out of a white linen handkerchief. Her full lips are open as she breathes the song of her dream.

As happens every time he sees her, particularly after being away – even for the shortest amount of time – his heart hitches and he is mildly amazed she is part of his life. Which of them is the dreamer?

Aware of his presence, the soft lips curve into a smile. "I must have fallen asleep." Slowly opening her eyes, she looks down at her lap and comments, "In mid-stitch at that." Sitting up straight, she puts her needlework on the coffee table and opens her arms. "Have you solved the crime yet?"

Joining her on the settee, he accepts her hug, kissing her on the forehead and says, "Today we had our individual tasks and the pot is being stirred."

"Your task?"

"Our managers appear to be embezzlers," he says. "How this fits into the gambling, if it does at all, I do not know." Resting his head against the back of the sofa, he laughs. "Ironically, my demand for 20,000 francs a month may have driven them to steal."

"But you paid the money back."

"Still..." he says, "On the positive side, if the only issue was money – that can be resolved fairly easily."

"You told me Genevieve was frightened, particularly insisting Reynald be kept on."

"So it is more than the French government we need be concerned about." Standing up, he offers his hand. "Let me see what magic you have created in our baby's room. I have need for some lightness and beauty."

The doorbell brings them to a halt.

Christine's brow furrows, "Who might that be?"

"A fellow pot stirrer, I imagine – sooner than expected." Erik sighs, patting her hand. "I am sorry."