EVOLUTION

Erik feels oddly content as he oversees this outing of his newly created family, which seems to be growing daily, necessitates the use of both company coaches for transport. Christine, Nadir, Adele and he ride in one carriage – Meg, Monique, Veronique, Andre and Darius in the other. Today everyone will be gifted with the new shoes promised as wedding gifts. The addition of Monique and Veronique are a natural extension to the original presents. Andre's needs have been taken care of thanks to Madeleine's trunk containing his boyhood clothing. Thankful to his mother? What a novel thought. Yet, there it was.

"There are so many shirts and trousers and jackets, Maman," Andre exclaimed as he examined the contents of the sacks that carried the clothing.

Veronique shook her head at the variety the boy would have to choose from. "Five pairs of shoes and two of slippers – all seemingly handmade. Stockings and undergarments," she amazed. "Some are too small for you – we can donate those to the church, I am certain that M. Erik will agree. The larger sizes we shall have for when you grow taller and fill out a bit more. "

"Monsieur Erik's mother bought so much. They all seem new, Maman," Andre noted.

"Yes, I see that." She picked through the clothes – they appeared to have been for different stages of growth. "I wonder why they have never been worn."

"I can ask him."

"No, my sweet boy – that would be rude. Best we just accept our good fortune."

The proprietor of the shoe store, a wiry man of about thirty years, dressed in the newest style of day suit in green plaid, greets the group at the door. The frown and smile appearing on his face simultaneously suggest he is both pleased and chagrined at the sight of nine people wanting his attention at the same time. That one man is masked could be the cause of a sharp intake of breath, before he greets the group.

"Bonjour, Monsieurs, Mesdames, Madamoiselles et jeune homme," he says, rubbing his hands together. "I am Claude Fouquet. How may I be of service?"

"The ladies and men are in need of new footwear – two pairs each. The boy and I are fine with our footwear at the moment. What do you have readymade?" Erik asks.

"Erik, I am fine," Nadir protests.

"Buy something you would not purchase for yourself," Erik responds. "It is a gift, accept it…please."

Nadir nods. "Thank you. I have always fancied some tall leather boots."

"Then you shall have them – and perhaps some colorful slippers to wear with your dervish hat for evenings at home," he says with a smirk, casting a side eye towards Adele.

Fouquet waves his right arm in a flourish, directing their eyes to the display racks that line the walls of the shop – each rack offers a specific type of shoe: ladies, men's, boots, dress, slippers and service. "We have many shoes that are for immediate wear, depending upon foot size – others can be constructed and delivered within a few days. Allow me to seek out my assistant so that we can obtain measurements."

With a slight bow, he retreats to the back of the shop and putting his head through a door covered with a black curtain. He returns with a younger version of himself, the boy carrying a measuring tool. They stand in wait for the party to make their choices.

Christine, Meg and Monique gravitate to the brightly colored fabric shoes.

"Oooo, look at these," Meg swoons. The boots that catch her eye are pale pink with a pattern of roses and vines embroidered up the sides.

"Pink, of course," Christine chuckles. "Look at these, Monique." She picks up a pair of pale blue satin booties, with a large fabric rosette decorating the heels. "They are the color of your eyes."

The girl smiles shyly, looking with longing at the delicate shoes. "They are beautiful, but it is too much."

"Nonsense. This is the first time I have seen a smile on your face – you must have them if only for that reason."

"Thank you," she says to Christine, taking the shoes from her.

"Pick something else – try on several pairs to see what you like the best."

"Meg – what about these?" A pair of burgundy pumps, one held in each hand, are dangled in front of Meg's face.

"Rose again?" Meg pouts. "I like pink. Light pink. Pink, pink, pink," she says laughing, dancing to her little song.

"Whatever you want," Christine says, shaking her head. "I give up."

Meg and Monique each choose several pairs. After measuring the shoes against their feet to assess the sizing, they scurry to the chairs available for the clientele to try on their finds. Christine turns back to the rack to find something for herself.

Adele and Veronique direct their attention to the more solid, heavier weight shoes able to withstand the wear and tear of everyday use. Although Adele does look longingly at a pair of red brocade booties with black stitchery separating the bottom of the boot from the top.

Erik walks up behind her and whispers in her ear, "Go ahead, Adele, they suit you."

She rolls her eyes at him, but removes them from the rack, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Erik strolls over to Darius who lingers at the doorway, acting more guard than consumer.

"Darius, you are not here to work. Please find yourself a pair of shoes and boots that please you."

The eunuch relaxes his posture, nods and joins Nadir at the racks displaying men's boots.

"Several of the ladies are current or former ballet dancers and the readymade may not suit or fit properly, or if my Persian friends do not find a boot they like – could you provide specially made shoes?" Erik asks as he approaches the store owner and his assistant.

He notices the choices that the women have made so far. "Two pairs each – so you can have pretty and plain or plain and pretty as the case may be. That means you, Little Giry," he says, before returning his attention to the proprietor.

"Of course, of course. We have a number of shoemakers available for custom shoes." Fouquet inclines his head towards the curtained door.

"Bien," Erik says. He waves his hand to get Christine's attention. "My dear."

One pair has caught her eye, she holds a pair of booties in eggshell white leather and satin with tiny bows aligned toe to ankle, with a small heel. "I like these," she says holding them out to the shopkeeper.

"Of course, Madame, please be seated and we shall see how they fit." To his clerk, he says, "Please help the other ladies if you would, Henri."

The young man bobs his head and hurries over to Meg and Monique, who have already discarded at least three pairs each. Adele and Veronique appear to be satisfied with their selections and are content to sit and watch the younger girls ponder their choices. Nadir and Darius are deep in discussion over whether brown or black leather was a better choice and how high the boots should ride on their legs.

Christine's ballet slippers are removed. "Madame?"

"I suffered a twisted ankle that also damaged my shoes…" Christine explains.

"We have a cobbler who can repair them, if you desire."

"No," Erik responds, "but, thank you."

The man nods. "You are also a dancer?" the man asks Christine. Despite the fine pale pink stockings that she wears, her misshapen toes are still apparent.

"No longer, but I fear that my feet will never been normal again."

Erik stands stiffly behind her, hands tucked under his crossed arms controlling his anxious fingers, looking off to the distance, away from her feet that he still finds oddly repulsive, primarily due to concern about the pain they must cause her, nevertheless he is glad that the damage is covered. Despite the reality of his own disfigurement, he has constructed his life to contain only order and balance – the eternal search for beauty. But then, if there was no ugliness – beauty could not exist.

He wonders if she sometimes feels that way about his face, even with her insistence that he not wear his mask when they are at home – the realization unsettles him and he determines to watch the process of measuring and fitting the delicate booties. He will not, however extend his tolerance to observing the fittings of Adele, Meg and Monique.

Leaving his ruminations, Erik returns his attention to Christine.

"These should fit Madame quite well, I think," Fouquet says as he slips the right boot onto her foot.

Christine holds her foot up, twisting it to the right and left. "I like them," she declares. "Erik, what do you think?"

"Are these the best quality that you have?" he asks.

"Indeed, Monsieur. Most of our more decorative shoes are created here on the premises. Madame has most excellent taste." To Christine, "Let me put the other boot on and then you must walk around to see how they feel."

Both boots in place, Christine saunters around the shop, taking time to lift her skirts to admire the boots in one of the several mirrors placed around the store between the racks. "They look well with this dress, do they not?" The day dress is a pale cream color with apricot embellishments on the bodice and edging the skirt. "They are a bit tight, but that will work out, will it not?"

"Indeed." He presses the point of the shoe to show her that there is room for her to wiggle her toes. "If you have been only wearing slippers for a period of time, your feet have spread. Wearing regular shoes will correct that."

"Very well, then, we will take this pair," she says. "I shall wear them."

Christine picks out two more pairs of shoes of the same size – a boot of deep blue silk with embroidered flowers and a black leather pump with a wide bow across the bridge of her foot. Slippers – one pair white, another pink – are added to her purchases. "That should do for now."

Erik understands in this moment that Christine will likely become one of M. Fouquet's best customers. While she has enjoyed the dresses and lingerie he has purchased for her, the enthusiasm in her eyes while trying on pair after pair of boots tells him what her heart lies. He makes a mental note to buy an additional armoire with shelving to house future purchases.

"We are going to walk along the shops to look for some furniture for our new flat," Erik tells the others, taking Christine's arm. "Take your time." To the shopkeeper, "I shall return to take care of the expenses for my friends, but here is the payment to cover the cost of the shoes Madame is wearing as well as her other choices. Please hold them for our return."

As he takes Christine's arm to escort her onto the boulevard, he sees Andre sitting in a corner, absorbed in play, dangling a string over the head of a black and white kitten.

Andre looks up at them and announces, "Maman says I can have her. M. Fouquet's cat had kittens and this is the last one without a home. I am calling her Erika. She has white on one side of her face and black on the other – and she wears a suit just like yours, M. Erik." He lifts up the kitten to show them. "See?"

A feeling of warmth overtakes Erik – tears form in his eyes. "Yes, I see, Andre," he murmurs. "Thank you.

"She is quite lovely," Christine says, squeezing Erik's hand. "I am so pleased that you have a new playmate."

Erik and Christine leave the store.

"How do the boots feel now that you are walking in them?" he asks her.

"They are very comfortable and light, it is odd wearing shoes after so many weeks in ballet slippers," she replies. "That was quite lovely, Andre naming the kitten for you."

"Yes."

"Are you crying?"

"Yes." Lifting his hand to his face, he brushes away some tears.

She offers him a lace-trimmed hanky from her reticule. "You are a sweet dear man and I love you – so do all those people in that store we just left – including M. Fouquet, you have paid his bills for a month, I am certain!" They walk in silence for a while before Christine asks, "Where are we going?"

Gathering his emotions, Erik clears his throat and tells her, "There are some shops that sell furnishings that I noticed as we arrived – I thought you might wish to see if there were some pieces you might like."

"I am so pleased that you feel so comfortable walking along the street like this – going into shops…"

He stops short to look at her. "Well, I was…until you mentioned it," he retorts.

Christine laughs, "I am so sorry. I am always worried about your concern, and now I am the one who caused your discomfort."

"It will pass," he assures her. "I was so distracted by the business with the kitten. And relieved at being away from confinement of the shoemaker's shop, I forgot I was in the public eye." Refusing to allow the newly formed tension to disrupt this venture, he stops at the storefront displaying the mirrored hutch and sideboard he admires. "Here it is. Shall we?" He ushers her to the doorway, but not before he notices a tall, bulky man turn quickly away when he sees Erik has observed him – or so it appears.

"You go in, my dear, I will follow momentarily," Erik tells her.

"Why?"

"Just a moment," he insists, holding up his hand to block her movement, and goes back to the street. Despite an examination of both directions, entering the boulevard to see if the man simply stepped off the walk, there is no one to be seen.

Christine waits anxiously in front of the shop. "What was it?" Her voice filled with concern.

"I thought I saw someone watching us, but when I tried to locate him, he was gone," he says. "It was probably nothing. Come let us look into the cost of these items – if you like them, that is. Perhaps they will have something else you prefer."

"Erik?"

"Let us not allow my nerves ruin our first day out shopping together." Opening the door to the shop, he ushers her in.

"If it was M. Robert, and if he was following us, he must have initiated his surveillance here at Adele's building," Nadir says, adding another lump of sugar to his tea, taking a bite of a meringue. "He knows me from our meeting in Adele's office and would remember Darius as the dancers' guardian. I doubt he knows where any of us lives besides Adele – and that only because he likely followed them home at some point. I picked you and Christine up, then we went to Adele's. Your agent was very clear that none of your tenants are aware of the owner of their residences, much less know where you live – I certainly was not."

"Nor I," Adele agrees.

Christine, Adele and Veronique sit with Nadir at the dining room table nibbling at the sweets, while Erik paces the floor. Meg and Monique sit on the sofa with their tea, a plate of macarons and meringues of their own on the coffee table, Andre sits on the floor next to them playing with Erika. Darius, unable to rid himself of the need to stand guard, is positioned at the door. The Girys and Monique have taken their shoes to their bedroom. The others have their packages close by, so as not to get them confused.

The small apartment is crowded, but, as Nadir noted, Adele's home is the center of the family, as they are coming to think of themselves, and all the members need to participate in a plan of action.

"I told the coachmen to return in an hour." Nadir continues. "Felt it was best to dismiss them in the event we were followed back here."

"Do you think he will try to break in?" Adele asks.

Nadir shakes his head. "I doubt he would attempt something so bold – Erik noticing him tells me he knows that we know who he is – again assuming he is shadowing us. If Erik's suspicions are correct, he is now the focus of Robert's attention."

"He is a coward," Erik declares. "He goes after the weak and helpless – or those he thinks to be. I doubt he would attack me directly, but, all of you – particularly you, Christine, are vulnerable. I am so sorry."

"For what do you have to be sorry?" Christine responds, her voice full of ire. "If he is who you believe him to be, he is the one who should be sorry. Look what he did to Monique and Mme. Dupree – and to a poor little dog. He is a vicious beast. I would kill him myself if I could," she continues, her breathing heavy, voice filled with passion, "how dare he threaten any of us, most importantly you, you who have done nothing to him. Nothing." She rises from her chair and rushes to Erik open arms. "We must stop him." Eyes filled with tears look into his. "We must stop him."

"We will, my dear. All will be well." Erik comforts her and walks her back to her seat. "Please sit down, you must not excite yourself so."

Adele shoots him a questioning look, raising an eyebrow.

Erik returns the look in kind – his golden eyes locking with her almost black orbs.

Her thin lips turn up at the corners.

"I have not seen him at the Opera House, M. Erik," Darius says, "The patrons who have asked to visit with the dancers have been most respectful and none fit the description I have of him."

"What about workmen?" Erik returns his attention to the discussion at hand. "He looks more like a scene-shifter than a gentleman."

"To be honest, I have not noticed – but I do not have much contact with them."

"Adele, could he be disguising himself as a member of the stage crew – you, Meg and Monique are the only ones here who have seen him up close?"

Adele sheds a deep breath. "I wish I could say yes, but had I noticed anything untoward, I would have known immediately. He may be hiding within the building or just walking in with the others and staying out of sight when I am present. That is not difficult, much of my time is spent in my office – allowing people to do their work."

"No alarms have gone off suggesting he has been exploring the tunnels."

"You still have them armed?" Nadir asks.

"Of course," Erik says. "I am still paranoid – possibly more now than ever before. With any luck, he will go the way of Buquet and we will be free of him."

"I might know him," Andre says. "I know almost everyone at the Opera House. I just need to see a picture. Maman…?"

"While I did not see him – his face was masked – I could draw him from a description of his face," Veronique tells them. "I just need some paper and a pencil."

"You are an artist?" Meg asks. "Oh, how wonderful. Do you have any of your work that we can see?"

"Unfortunately, no," Veronique answers. "Everything was destroyed in the fire, including my art supplies."

"I have some art paper in my room," Meg says. "I shall get it for you. I draw some myself – maybe you could teach me." She runs to her bedroom to get the requested items.

"What did the Comte say when you met with him?" Adele asks.

"Unfortunately, while the man's name does sound familiar, I cannot place him," Phillippe said.

"He claimed to be the owner of one of the beer conglomerates," Erik advised.

"Without seeming to be a snob, which I realize I can be at times, most of the nobility would not mingle with the working class – however wealthy they might be," Phillippe admitted.

"Yes, I understand."

"I am not sure that you do, but it is of no matter."

"Actually I am quite grateful for your adherence to those standards – I suspect it was a part of Christine's rationale for choosing a life with me rather than one with your brother."

"That is quite a revelation. Now I wonder which of us is the true snob," Phillippe smirks.

"I am an honest man in speech, for the most part – blunt some would say – and particularly adept at polite conversation. The life Raoul offered did not suit her on many levels, however comfortable he may have wished it to be. She told me of your objections," Erik tells him. "The point is now moot."

"Ah, yes, congratulations on your nuptials. Raoul was quite upset, but it is the best for all," Phillippe says. "You saved Raoul's life and I am indebted to you for that. He is very young, possibly more than other men of his age. I fear my sisters and I sheltered him too much."

"And now?"

"A commission in the Navy. He will learn discipline and responsibility – things that seem to be lacking in his life," Phillipe said. "He is a good boy – but a boy."

"Thank you for advising me of this, Christine will be pleased to know that he is doing well."

"I do not know that well is the correct word, but he has become reconciled to the situation with Madame Saint-Rien – or so it appears. His melancholy has lessened and he does seem anxious to begin his duty with the Navy, if only to put distance between himself and Paris."

Phillippe rose from the leather chair, a signal he had no more to say on the subject. "I shall speak to some of my associates about this Georges Robert – many of them have more knowledge of the business world than I. Visiting the ballet girls was not something I engaged in, but those who find it…rewarding may be willing to confide more…personal information, so long as they can maintain anonymity.

"That would be most appreciated." Erik rises to his feet, prepared to take his leave.

"One other thing, M. Saint-Rien…"

"Yes?"

"I understand that you and your partner are concentrating on this man at the moment, but I would like to speak with you about installing security precautions in my home. I am also prepared to recommend your services to the associates I referred to earlier."

"Thank you, Comte, I believe we can get something started – one must be able to balance many things in life, hmm? Let us set up an appointment where I can walk your house, draw up some rough plans and make a proposal. In the meantime, I would appreciate any information you might gather for me about M. Robert."

Christine and Nadir have moved from the dining table so that Veronique can have room to do her sketches – receiving descriptions from Meg, Monique and Adele.

"With Hannibal re-opening in a few days' time, things will be increasingly chaotic," Erik comments, "it would be advantageous to find out more about this man before then – particularly where he resides."

"I will be redirecting my attention from the rehearsal room to the backstage area," Darius tells him. "I have hired a number of other men as guards and checked their backgrounds with the help of Mme. Giry. All of the performers have been made aware of the security and have been introduced to the new men – they know who they can contact if they feel uncomfortable in any way. As a precaution, however, there are also guards who are not identified as such – they will work undercover – some are women."

"Perfect," Nadir says.

"Where have you been finding these new people on such short notice?" Christine asks. "I had no idea the new business had grown to such an extent."

"Many are men I knew from the markets – just living in the city. The war took a toll on everyone. Some were soldiers, other tradesman who lost their businesses, like Mme. Dupree, a number were wounded and can no longer do physical labor," Darius tell him.

"I hired a number of tradesman to build the doors, others are just waiting for assignments – carpenters, locksmiths – some are even educated in electrical work," Nadir adds. "There is a plethora of able workers in the city."

"Then it is more important than ever to rid ourselves of the likes of M. Robert – he is taking up too much of our time. Veronique," Erik calls, "once you finish your sketch to everyone's satisfaction, we can acquire the items you would need to create lithographs to be circulate to our new guards and perhaps post back stage. Would that be acceptable?"

"Of course, M. Erik," she says. "I am so happy to be of help. I know of another printer who would be able to help with whatever we need to make the reproductions. What little was left of our equipment, he purchased."

"That will be of great help – now and in the future," Erik says. "We will be needing artwork and printing for our business advertising and the Opera, well, the Opera will always need playbills. You trust his work?"

"Oh, yes," Veronique responds. "He and Jacques were competitors, but friends as well. Andre and I could not have survived without his purchases. I am not certain he was even able to make use of the press or other pieces, but he bought them in any event."

"A good man, then?"

"Yes."

"I will watch out for him, too," Andre pipes in.

"You may turn out to be the best guard of all," Christine tells him, riffling his hair.

The boy beams at her.

"It seems that we have a plan," Erik says. "Now I think it might be time to take our leave." He rises and helps Christine to her feet, gathering their packages. "Might we borrow a basket, Adele?"

"Certainly."

"Any word from Pere Mansart?" Nadir asks. "I know it is too soon, but…"

"Nothing yet, I used my agent's address for his reply, he will send a messenger if there is a post."

"Here are two for your parcels," Adele says. "They are your own baskets borrowed for the Dupree's move."

Erik loads the shoe parcels into the carriers. "Much better."

"Thank you, Madame," Christine says, leaning to give the older woman a hug. "You are so good to me."

Adele mumbles, "You are welcome." Then continues in a rush, "I am sorry I was so fussy with you the other day."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. You are simply Madame and I love you." She gives the woman a kiss on the cheek, then takes Erik's arm. "I feel the need of a nap, shall we go?"

They make their good-byes to the others.

"Let me know if you…" Erik and Nadir say in unison, then laugh.

Once outside the apartment, Erik says, "Why did you not say something – you were insisting that she was in love with me and hated you…"

"The hard feelings will end more quickly this way. I am just pleased she was aware of her behavior. It did not harm me, I knew she would come to her senses."

"I do not understand," Erik replies.

"You do not have to."

Their carriage awaits them at the curb. Erik assists Christine into the cab and places the baskets inside on the floor. Out of Christine's earshot, he asks the driver, "M. Khan explained our plan?"

"Yes, M. Erik. I will drive you and Madame to the Opera House – not the Rue Scribe house. You will escort her into the Opera House and I am to wait outside for your return."

"And?"

"And, I am to keep an eye out for a large man, tall and moderately stout – whether on foot or in a carriage, possibly a chaise. I must take note of the type of carriage, horse and the driver if there are two men."

"Excellent. Now let us be on our way." Erik gets into the coach and it makes its way up the street.

"What was that about?" Christine asks.

"Just some special instructions," Erik remarks as he pokes his head out the window, looking back at Adele's building. Seemingly satisfied at what he views, he relaxes back into his seat.

"Erik?"

"What?"

"What is going on?" She shifts in her seat so that she can turn his head to face her. "You cannot fool me, when do you intend to stop trying?"

"Um."

Turning again to her own window which faces the street, she sticks her head out to find what Erik was looking at. "I see our second carriage down the street," she harumphs.

Erik pulls her back from the window. "Was there another coach or cart between us?"

"Yes, one of those small carts…chaises, with one horse."

"Did the driver see you?"

"How do I know, you pulled me back in."

At that moment, the chaise pulls up beside them, then increases speed to pass. In moments, Nadir's carriage passes as well, following the smaller vehicle.

"Monsieur, what shall I do," the driver asks, speaking through the lover's phone.

"Follow as best you can – with caution."

"Did I do something wrong?" Christine asks, her eyes questioning and concerned.

"No," Erik snaps. "No." He repeats in a softer tone. "I should have told you what was going on. I did not wish to frighten you."

"Was that M. Robert?"

"Most likely…. Yes, I am certain it was he."

"It was intended that he follow us home and Nadir was going to follow him?"

"Something like that."

"Oh, dear, now what?"

"We hope that he does not realize that Nadir and Darius are following him. We will continue behind them, so long as the ride does not become reckless."

"I am so sorry," she reaches for his hands with hers.

He raises them up and kisses each knuckle to calm his frustration. "It was meant to happen as it happened, my dear. Do not let it worry you," he assures her. "We only wished to find out where he resides. No contact was intended. Anything more would have put you in jeopardy."

"What about you being in jeopardy?"

"I am very experienced in taking care of myself. Nadir was a daroga – a sheriff – and has been working as a private investigator. Darius was a palace guard." With the gentlest voice he can muster, hoping to mask any sort of irony, he says, "We have just formed a business to provide protection and security to other people."

"I know," she sighs, attempting to muster a smile, "I am just worried."

"Do not be, or try not to be. You are the most precious thing in my life, I have no intention of doing anything to risk that."

As they reach the Rue Scribe gate, they find Nadir's carriage parked in front. Their driver pulls up behind him and Erik helps Christine down – gathering up the baskets and placing them on the walk.

"What happened?" Nadir asks, jumping out of the coach. "Everything was going as planned. I know he did not spot us, his focus was directed on your coach. He never looked back once. Then, without warning, he just took off. We tried to keep up, but a small chaise like that – well, it was not worth the risk."

"I looked out the window to try to see what Erik was looking at," Christine tells him. "Robert must have seen me and panicked."

Nadir frowns, then smooths his brow, but not before Christine notes his displeasure.

Her fingers knot together, tears form in her eyes. "I am so sorry, but you should have told me." Her full lips flatten into a straight line as her back stiffens. " . .me. You do not tell me anything. You did not tell me about the doors. You did not tell me how the business is growing… Do you know how foolish I felt today?

A storm begins to rage as she faces Erik. "Stop treating me as if I am a porcelain doll. I lived outside for a good part of my life and I am not going to break – you, of all people should know that. I chose you because you treated me as an equal, not some fantasy creature who is set upon some pedestal, never to have a thought or opinion of my own.

"I can be better protected if I am allowed to help protect myself, and that includes telling me what you are planning. Maybe I could even help." With that she turns on the heel of her new booties and walks to the gate. "I should like to go home now," she says.

"Tomorrow?" Erik says to Nadir, as he scoops up the baskets and scrambles to the gate. His deepest wish at the moment is that the guidance Nadir gave him about women remembering, but forgiving is true. If that is so, he may just have a chance to acquit himself of these blunders.

"Tomorrow."

"My dear," Erik sputters. "I am deeply sorry that I have taken you so for granted in this. I promise you shall know everything I am…we are doing from now on." He leads the way through the tunnels, disconnecting and reconnecting the traps as they pass them. This is no time to forget precautions, however unsettled he is at this unusual outburst from Christine. Will she forgive him? Has he ruined the perfection his life has become in these past weeks?

She stands at the doorway, arms folded, lips in a pout, waiting as he opens the final lock to the door. She pushes past him into the kitchen, removing her bonnet, tossing it and her reticule on the counter. Rummaging through the larder, pushing cheese and eggs aside, a low growl escapes from her throat.

What is she searching for?

"Where is the herring? You said you would always have herring for me. Where is it?" Her eyes have changed from anger to entreaty. Tears lay heavy on her lids, ready for the dam to break if he is unable to satisfy her need.

"I, um, I…"

"No ums," she pleads. "Please, no ums." She flops into a chair at the small worktable, all the fight gone out of her. "Do we have herring or do we not?"

Erik looks helplessly around the kitchen and into the larder that Christine just ransacked. Glancing down at the baskets of shoes, one of which has tipped over – the contents spilled on the stone floor – he sees a jar lying alongside the cardboard boxes – a jar of pickled herring. Where? How? Adele. Bless her for knowing without knowing. "We do. We do." The words a song of joy. Could he dance, he would. The jar is picked up from the floor, grateful that it did not break, he opens it and hands it to Christine with a fork grabbed from the draining basket that sits on the counter next to the sink.

Greedily digging into the food that she claims to be the lifeblood of her people, she finds peace. "Thank you, darling," she says between bites.

"My pleasure, my dear," he responds, handing her a napkin to wipe the tears that have now begun to fall from her aquamarine eyes – the eyes that just moments ago, he feared would never smile for him again. "Is there anything else?"

"Macarons, please."

"Really?"

"Yes, and some of the strawberry jam."

"Of course." He feels his stomach churn, a bit of bile reaching his throat, but sets out a plate of the cookies and a pot of jam.

She forks some of the jam onto a macaron and takes one bite, then another, and another, finishing the treat, licking the crumbs from her fingers.

"Anything to drink? Tea?"

"No." She sniffles and wipes her nose with the napkin. "Erik?"

"Yes?" His tone tentative, still uncertain of what to expect, his fingers unsettled, playing against his thighs.

The herring jar is placed on the table, next to the plate of sweets, she taps the napkins against her lips, then tosses it on top of the plate. "May I have a kiss?" She holds her arms open to him.

Every bit of tension that has kept him on his feet disappears, his knees are so weak he can barely stand, but he manages the few steps to her chair before falling to his knees in front of her. "You may have all the kisses you want from this foolish man – although why you should want them, I do not know."

She removes his mask and wig, then cups his face in her hands and bends to kiss him. As always, her passion takes him by surprise. Her mouth presses against his, opening his lips with her tongue, sweet from the strawberries and cookie with the barest touch of fish – a combination of flavors that does not seem so terrible after all. He can hardly breathe. "Oh, Christine."

"Now I want the rest of you," she whispers, standing up, helping him to his feet.

"You are not angry?"

"Perhaps a bit, but if you keep your promise to tell me everything…besides, I know the perfect way to dispel my frustration," she assures him, grabbing his trousers by the waistband.

With the bit of sanity he has remaining and the realization he will never know what to expect from this enigmatic woman, nor caring about it one whit, he allows himself to be led to the bedroom.