A/N Thanks very much for the reviews! They keep me motivated and I enjoy hearing how people are liking the story. There'll be a few more chapters, and given the story started with a few chapters covering one night, I'm thinking the last few should follow a similar pattern. If you have any thoughts on what you'd like to see in the last few chapters, mention it in a review or PM and i'll see what I can do :)

Chapter Twenty-One

The Truth

It was Sophie's frantic knocking on the bedroom door that woke Christine. Her ears seemed to wake faster than her eyes, until she realized that it was still night. Sophie was already calling her in a strangely urgent undertone before Christine had struck a match to the candle by her bed, wrapped herself in a gown and unlocked the door. She opened it to find Sophie's wide-eyed face glowing above a candle flame.

"Sophie, what is it?" Christine hissed in fright, imagining that Mamma Valerius had been taken ill.

"Ma'amzelle, I am so sorry," the maid answered in a hurried whisper, "I told him to go away, but he insists he must see you. He is downstairs in the parlour. I could not make him go away."

Christine felt the back of her neck tingle, as if her hairs were standing on end. "Who is downstairs, Sophie?"

"The man, the man from before," Sophie tried to explain. "He said – oh, Ma'amzelle, he said, he is your husband," she stammered in confusion. "I did not know how to make him leave. He pushed past me through the door. He is very tall. Should I send for the police?"

"No," Christine said with authority, making the maid noticeably calmer. "Did he say why he is here?"

"Only that he must see you," Sophie shook her head. "But is it safe Ma'amzelle? He looks like an assassin!"

Christine had already handed Sophie her candle and was wrapping her gown about her more tightly. "I will see him, it is quite safe," she assured the girl, who was staring at her with earnest eyes. "Please make sure that Mamma is well, and then come down and let yourself into the parlour. I will let you know then if you need to do more."

The maid nodded, handed back Christine's candle, and then hurried away. Christine walked quickly to the stairs and followed them down to the first floor passage. It was about three o'clock in the morning, Christine noticed as she passed the grandfather clock in the entry hall, and opened the parlour door.

Inside, the room glowed softly under gaslight. The first thing she saw was the tall dark figure of a masked man, leaning on the mantelpiece. His back was to her. He was wearing an opera cloak, and a broad-brimmed black velvet hat. Christine wondered if she should speak or cough first to announce her presence. But before she had done either, she heard Erik speak without turning round.

"I am sorry to have woken you at such an hour," he said in a quiet, humble tone. "I hadn't thought to see you another time, but Life is such a mixed-up business, isn't it?"

He was looking at her now, his head tilted to one side, and his strange yellow eyes glinting at her from the midst of a black mask. It shocked Christine to be reminded of how tall he was compared to her slight frame. His gloved hands with their long tapered fingers were flexing nervously by his sides, and she remembered with a faint gasp how they had touched her.

"Why are you here?" was all she could think to say. Her voice betrayed no emotion.

Erik blinked, extinguishing the light in his eyes. "You never did have very good manners, my dear," he chided her in a voice that sounded like he was smiling. "Won't you ask your husband to sit down?"

With only the mildest confession of annoyance in her manner, Christine offered Erik the settee, and then sat down in an armchair opposite. She blew out her candle with a quick puff and set it down on a table by her. At that moment, Sophie entered the room, casting a furtive glance at Erik before asking her mistress if anything was wanted.

"Yes," Christine said, rising to Erik's criticism of her manners. "It's very late but I daresay our guest would like some tea?" she threw the question open to her husband. Erik nodded, and Sophie was dismissed, who cast a concerned at glance at Christine before disappearing behind the door.

Erik removed his hat, laid it on the settee beside him, and ran a hand through his thinning hair. He looked old, Christine thought, as he leaned back and slouched a little to one side, gazing at her with a kind of abstracted resignation.

"So," Christine said, folding her hands in her lap, and suddenly conscious of how underdressed she was. Only her nightgown covered her under the silk robe she wore. Her feet were tucked into the purple slippers Erik had bought her. She had never intended to wear them again, but she loved them so much, she had relented. Now she wished she had chosen a different pair tonight, so that Erik had not seen them. His thoughts must have wandered in the same direction, because he chuckled softly when Christine tried to draw her feet back under the hem of her robe. "Will you tell me why you are here?" Christine diverted him, in a clear, matter-of-fact tone.

She saw Erik draw a breath. "I never told you about the boy's death," he said without ceremony, and Christine's eyes flashed in surprise. She recovered herself in a moment.

"You drowned him," she told the masked killer, determined not to be drawn into any tricks.

"No, I didn't," Erik sighed, and raising an arm, grasped his head as if to steady his thoughts. Christine watched silently, wondering what lies he would tell next. Letting his arm drop beside him again, he leaned a little to his other side and shook his head at her. He seemed to be very tired. In what appeared to be an effort to distract himself from the burden of confession, he slowly began to draw off his gloves, tugging at each finger, one by one, loosening them little by little. "I did not drown him, Christine. That was your mistake," he said, looking down at his hands as they worked. "He was alive when I plucked him out of the torture chamber, the same as that silly old booby who led him there. He was alive. You saw that for yourself."

"Yes," Christine agreed faintly. It was true. Erik had laid Raoul on the couch in the Louis Philippe room, and she had run to him, and felt for his heartbeat. He had been breathing then.

"I could not let him take you away, not until we were married," Erik further explained. "After all, I had got your promise, but you women can be so capricious, how could I know you would not betray me?" He glanced up at her, questioningly, and Christine found herself nodding in agreement. "So there was nothing to do but keep him safe until after our vows had been made. I could not let him go; he would have taken you away."

"And so you put him in the dungeon," Christine submitted, remembering how Erik had declared he would hold her lover prisoner until after the marriage.

"Yes," Erik nodded, freeing one hand and laying the glove beside his hat. "I told you I did. And so I did, just as I said. I took him down to the dungeon on the fifth level, near to where the Communists buried their victims. But he was alive, Christine. He was alive when I took him there."

"So what happened?" Christine asked in quiet dread.

Erik drew a long breath and let it out slowly. He had already started working on the second glove. It was tighter than the other, and resisted him stubbornly. "He was such a troublesome peacock," the beleaguered man muttered, tugging at the middle finger. "I knew he might wake up and start making a noise. And there are people down there, Christine. You think nobody goes there, but they do. The rat catcher for one. He's not such a bad fellow but he would start interfering if he heard any noise down there. So I wanted to make him sleep. At least until I knew you really meant your promise! And so I gave him the smallest waft of a drug, Christine. Only the smallest waft, just to make him sleep. But it was too much," Erik concluded, drawing off the second glove and laying it gently with its fellow. "It was too much, in his condition, you see. He was already weak. And so when I went to check on him the next morning, he was dead."

Before Christine had a chance to respond, the door opened. Sophie entered, curtseyed to her mistress, and asked if she should toast some muffins also.