Author's note: I just wanted to thank you for your support. It means very much to me!

Chapter Twenty-Five

November 6th 1895: Erik

In the end, Marcella and I did stay for dinner. I knew that Mme.Giry and Meg were against it, but I thought the children to be more important, and they wanted me to eat with them. I could only hope that neither them nor Marcella noticed the tense atmosphere.

Meg returned to the sitting room with a stony expression on her face, refusing to talk about what had been going on. All she said was that Christine had come home with a dreadful headache and that she had gone to sleep early and didn't want any dinner. The children were concerned, but Meg had assured them that their mother would feel much better in the morning if she wasn't disturbed by anyone now.

So we tiptoed into the dining room, not speaking a word, for that was what Philippe had told us to do. He was very worried about his mother. So was I, but at the same time, I couldn't help being a little gleeful about Christine's state. After all, if she came back with such a terrible headache, her meeting with the Vicomte could not have been that wonderful. If the man was anything like he had used to be, it was enough to give any woman a headache.

I was almost glad that I wouldn't see Christine tonight. I'd never have admitted it to anyone, but I had been a little afraid of meeting her. I could do without being exposed to that cold look she had given me, without hearing how close the Vicomte and she had grown. Perhaps it was indeed better for the two of us if we didn't meet for a while. We needed time to deal with all the changes, or an argument would be inevitable. I was willing to give her all the time she needed… as long as the result would be the right one in the end.

I could have slapped myself for entertaining such a thought. There was no right result, at least not in the sense I was secretly hoping for. Christine would not have a sudden change of heart, leave the Vicomte and come to me. It hadn't happened like that the first time she had gone away with him, and it would not happen now. All I could really hope for was that she and I might become something like friends.

Christine's absence hung over us as we settled down at the large table, leaving her usual seat empty on Philippe's order. The initial awkwardness of the situation vanished quickly, though, as soon as the food arrived. Mme.Gardé nearly dropped the bowl she was carrying as she saw me. I greeted her warmly. She had always been friendly to me, and I knew that she was friendly to Christine and the children as well. I was glad that she was still working here. She belonged to the family.

I was surprised not to see Jacqueline and Marielle, and Meg explained to me that they were upstairs, taking care of the twins, who had taken their evening meal earlier and were about to go the sleep. I didn't mind having missed them today. Dealing with little children was not something I had great experience in. Philippe had been lovely as an infant, but who knew what those twins were like? I'd still have plenty of opportunities to meet them later.

Time passed quickly while we sat there and ate the delicious meal Mme.Gardé had prepared. Meg mentioned in passing that there was a housekeeper as well, but the woman didn't turn up in the dining room. Apparently she wasn't interested in whether or not there were guests, and she didn't seem willing to help either. Mme.Gardé and a young maid called Marie had to do all the work alone.

Due to the excellent food, no one talked much during the meal, even though I knew Jean was eager to hear more of my stories. I was sure that he'd invite us to stay after dinner, but this time, Meg was faster. Exchanging a glance of deep understanding with her mother, she declared loudly that it was very late, well past the children's bedtime and that Marcella and I surely wanted to rest as well, after the long journey.

I was itching to disagree, but thought better of it. Mme.Giry and Meg lived in this house, and Mme.Giry had even promised to talk to Christine about the children and my right to visit them. If I turned them against me – even more so than they already were, that was – they could make my life rather unpleasant.

So I agreed to leave, kissed the children goodbye, promising to come back soon, and ten minutes later, Marcella and I were sitting in a coach, on our way back to the opera. It was only then that I realised how quiet the girl had been all evening. She had hardly said a word.

"Is there something troubling you, my dear?" I asked. I spoke Italian, for I guessed that she had heard more than enough French for one day.

She threw me am shy glance and shook her head quickly.

"No, no," she replied. "I'm fine… just a little tired."

I gave her a gentle smile. Of course she was tired. We had been travelling for most of the night, and instead of resting properly once we had arrived, I had spent hours visiting people she didn't know, dragging her along because I hadn't wanted her to stay alone.

"It was a little too much for you, wasn't it?" I said. "I promise that not all of our days will be quite as busy. But I just had to go and see Antoinette and Philippe today. You understand that, don't you?"

She nodded.

"You love them very much," she stated. "Especially the boy. I could tell from the way you looked at him."

"Yes, I love him," I admitted openly. I saw no need to hide my feelings from Marcella. I was sure that she understood them. "He's like my own son," I went on. "I've known him ever since he was born. I've taught him a lot of things he'll need. One day, he'll be my heir, you know. He'll take over my position at the opera."

Again, she nodded.

"Giovanni will be my father's heir," she told me. "He's my oldest brother, and the best of all of us… according to my father. He's very proud of him. But how can Philippe be your heir? He's not your son, is he?"

I gave a sigh. It was all so very complicated to explain to someone who had no idea of what had been going on between Christine and me.

"No, he's not my son," I replied wearily. "But he's the son of Christine, and she is… was… a very… a very good friend of mine. A long time ago," I continued hastily, eager to make up for my stammering. "I made a vow to look after him for all times. And that is what I do."

"But why don't you have children of your own?" she wanted to know. "One of them could become your heir. Surely you're old enough to have grandchildren already. Have you never –?"

"Enough!" I said sharply, before the conversation could become even more unpleasant for me.

Marcella jumped as if I had hit her.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, forcing myself to remain calm and friendly. "It has been a long day, and I don't want to tell you such a long story now. I'll explain everything another day."

She nodded, and I wondered how much of the entire story I'd really tell her. At least I didn't have to decide about that now.

Our conversation ended, and shortly afterwards, we reached the opera. Marcella seemed to be very tired now. She stumbled as I helped her out of the coach, and only my arm kept her from falling. I held her hand firmly as we walked down corridors, stopping only to fetch her luggage from where I had left it. All her possessions were crammed into a single bag.

With the bag in one hand and her cold fingers in the other, I made my way to the dressing room I had chosen for her. I knew from Philippe that it stood empty, for the previous owner had moved on to a different opera a few weeks ago. No one would mind if I took it. And if someone did mind… well, I had my trusted methods of persuasion.

When we arrived at the room, I led the girl inside and lit a lamp. The room was small and windowless, and the pieces of furniture made of dark wood made it look even smaller. An ugly wardrobe stood next to the door. On the opposite wall, there was a dressing table and a stool. A bed stood in the corner. There would not have been space for anything else.

Placing the bag in front of the wardrobe, I said:

"This is the room where you'll live. You should have all you need here. Clean sheets are in one of the drawers. Oh, and the bathroom is outside, the second door on the right. You can fetch water for drinking there as well. There's an empty jug on the dressing table. I'll come for you at… let's say, nine in the morning. That should give you enough time to sleep. There won't be any food here, for the chorus girls have to buy such things themselves, but I'll bring you something to eat for breakfast."

I looked around in the room once more, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was about to leave when something held me back. Glancing down at my arm, I realised that Marcella had seized my hand again and was clinging to it as if for dear life.

"You want to leave me here… alone?" she asked in a terrified whisper. She sounded as if I had threatened to leave her in the middle of a pack of hungry lions.

"Well… yes," I said slowly.

"But… but I've never slept alone in a room," she muttered miserably. "My sisters have always been with me. I can't stay here, I can't. What if something happens? What if there are ghosts here? Please, Signor Erik, take me with you! Don't leave me here! Please…"