REASSESSMENT

The auburn-haired woman slips off the narrow bed. Quickly pulling her petticoat up under her torn brown skit and adjusting her chemise under the blue cotton bodice, she gathers her woolen cape around her, covering a mop of disheveled hair with the hood. Glancing around the dark room, a sliver of moonlight coming in through the heavy drapes providing the only illumination, she notices the man's pants hanging off the edge of the bed. She spits on his bulk before exiting.

Georges Robert Boudreaux groans and rolls over, falling on the floor, bumping his head on the small bedside table. "Sacre bleu." It takes him a moment to remember where he is.

Examining his prone body, he notes that his drawers are wet with what he presumes is jism, a remnant from a sex act he cannot recall experiencing. The pain in his groin confirms that he has been handled. Using the edge of the bed for support he pulls himself up to his knees, then struggles to his feet, staggering to the small dresser for a drink of stale water, to clean his mouth bitter and gummy from dried saliva. After relieving himself with some difficulty in the chamber pot, annoyed at the fact that it has not been emptied from the day before, he curses, "Damn maid." He surveys the room.

Finding his trousers on the edge of the bed, tugging them over his broad thighs and hips.

"Bitches and whores." Had he drunk that much? Where was the woman? Prim and proper little thing she was. All sweetness and coy, not the prettiest face – too wide for his tastes, with a pug nose. But her hair – long, hair the color of fall leaves – oh, that lovely hair – how he wanted that hair.

Well, that was one mistake he would not make again. No more drinking with them. Once the little songbird was under his control, he would not have to deal with the women at the inn. The stupid vicomte thinks he will be able to have her back again. All those nobles were stupid. The fool was actually going to escort him to the private party and hand her over to him.

Did he really think he was going to kill the money man? The freak, for all his evil ways, was his way to the money he needed. No, the soprano would serve him well.

"Giselle, are you all right?" Darius asks the petite woman as she runs toward him from the building he believed to be a barn. Taking her by the hand, they race to the waiting coach where he helps her climb into the carriage. "Henri," he says into the lovers' phone, "quickly back to Giselle's apartment, I think she may be injured."

"I am fine," she insists, trying to catch her breath. Taking a moment to adjust her clothing to make it more comfortable, she removes the cape and smooths her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail, securing it with a piece of fabric torn from her petticoat. Her gray eyes take in Darius and his concerned look. "I am all right, honestly."

"Did he…? I could not find you…" His pale brown eyes beseeching.

"No, he did not. Oh, he wanted to and he certainly tried, but the laudanum and some sleight of hand on my part took care of that," she smirks.

"You know magic?" Darius asks.

"Magic?"

"Sleight of hand – magic tricks – making things disappear?"

Her laugh is rough. "Something like that."

Darius finds his face flush, not clear on what she mean, buts chooses to not pursue the discussion. "Oh."

An encore of the coarse laugh. "I cannot wait until I meet with him again," she says. "Have Henri take us to the office, there are things I must tell MM Saint-Rien and Kahn."

"Care to tell me, too?"

"Of course, you and Henri must know – the idiot was so drugged, he did not realize he was being interrogated."

Darius pulls down the phone again. "Henri, drive to the Opera House instead. We are to have a meeting – Giselle has information to relay, more than just where our M. Robert lives."

Giselle folds her cape over her lap for the time being. Folding her hands on her lap, she examines Darius, her focus falling on his astrakhan hat. "Interesting chapeau."

"It is called an astrakhan. I am a Muslim from Persia," he replies.

"A friend of M. Khan?"

"In a manner of speaking. I was his servant, then he and M. Saint-Rien offered me the opportunity to work for the security business," he replies. "And you? I have seen you backstage, but was not aware that you were employed as a guard."

'Nothing so glamourous as living in another country," she says. "Former dancer with the ballet until I broke my leg. I was given a job with the stage crew – my father taught me carpentry and fisticuffs. He wanted a son," she laughs. "When the security was started at the Opera House, I asked Mme. Giry if I could apply for a job."

"You appear to have proved their wisdom in hiring you."

"It is certainly more exciting than building scrims.

Both of them disengage from the conversation and observe the road taking them back to Paris.

"Darius?"

"Yes?" His attention returns to Giselle.

"Are you…involved with anyone?"

Darius' eyes widen, he shifts in his seat. How is this happening? In two days, two women have indicated interest in him as a man. An unexpected and unusual warmth fills him as he recalls Meg's welcome approach – he admittedly had an attraction for her. A tiny, blonde faery with eyes as blue as the evening sky – he caught himself watching her more often than was professional, he knew. The offer of friendship was something he hoped for.

The rose-colored dress complemented her delicate complexion and brought out the depth of blue in her eyes and the pink tint of her cheeks. "You look lovely in that color." He was completely taken with this girl, which surprised him. All the years in the harem never had him taken with anyone male or female. Most of the other eunuchs never achieved a mature look. His face and body continued to mature to manhood. He often wondered if his castration was incomplete, he had been older than the other boys – his voice was moderate, neither high nor low in pitch. A beard grew, not thick, but a beard, nonetheless. Still he never went so far as to test his masculinity beyond working to maintain his strength and the muscles in his upper body. Had he engaged with one of the women – any woman – wife or slave, he would have been killed. Other eunuchs held much power, but for him, his complete and total usefulness to the Shah was to be a safe guardian of the harem - period. Perhaps it was the freedom he had now. Whatever the reason, he was intrigued with this new element in his life.

"Thank you. Christine picked the dress for me."

"Yes, I remember you wore it to the wedding." A small bouquet was presented to her with his words.

"Flowers, how lovely," Meg said, taking the nosegay of violets. Standing on tip-toe, she gives him a light kiss on the cheek.

"Shall we go? I thought the little café just up the street would be comfortable for you to walk, if that suits you."

"Perfect, I should like to spend some time out-of-doors."

Darius watched as she engaged the locks on the front door and followed her down the stairs to the street. Neither of them spoke as they walked onto the street.

"Dar…"

"Meg…"

They both laughed.

"I…"

"I…"

More laughter.

"You first…"

"You first…"

Darius stopped walking and took Meg by the shoulder and kissed her upturned lips.

"Oh, my," she said, "I have never been kissed by a man before." Her cheeks took on more of the rose coloring of her dress. "That was quite nice."

"I am glad," Darius muttered. "I have never kissed a woman before. Perhaps now we have something to talk about."

Meg grinned at him and took his arm. "Or we can kiss again."

Returning his focus to Giselle, he finds himself uncomfortable at her question. No doubt he admires her courage, the last thing he wants to do is insult her, though, she is a colleague now. "Yes…I am…involved with someone," he replies.

"Hmmm, too bad – she is very fortunate. The men I have met are uncomfortable with my skills, you seem different," Giselle sighs, returning her concentration to the landscape outside her window.

You do not know how different.

Christine pulls dress after dress from the armoire, holding each one against her body, examining how each looks in the cheval mirror then tossing them onto the bed. In every instance, the waistline is too small. All of the gowns had been too loose when Erik first showed them to her, now, none fit.

"I have nothing to wear," she cries, tears form in her eyes as she flops down in frustration. "Stop being such a spoiled brat," she mutters to herself. "You never had any new clothes at all, now you complain when the beautiful new dresses do not fit. Fix them, lazy girl. Use your sewing skills or have you forgotten, little princess?"

"Are you talking to me, my dear?" Erik calls from the sitting room.

"No, just telling myself what a harpy I have become since I married you."

Standing in the doorway, he frowns. "Are you saying that I am a bad influence on you? What have I done? I shall change that behavior immediately."

"No, silly, if anything you are too kind, but that is hardly a flaw," she smiles, pushing herself up to a sitting position, gesturing for him to come sit next to her.

Joining her on the edge of the bed, he puts an arm around her shoulders.

Leaning against him she explains her plight. "I have all these wonderful clothes, but nothing fits, except for the lingerie – and even that is getting tight." She tugs at her dressing gown. "How could my body have changed so much, so quickly? Do I look different to you?"

"Um."

"Oh, dear, you are umming again." Her tears begin to flow in earnest. "I am becoming fat and ugly and you no longer want to have special loving with me."

"That will never happen – you are perfection to me," he croons, bringing her closer to him. "I actually, um, like some of the changes," he says with a level of caution.

"You do?" she sniffles. "Like what?"

"Like your breasts – while deliriously lovely before, now they are even more so."

"And?" She snuggles closer to him.

"And your belly has become an adorable bump. I love that there is a sweet baby growing there."

"And?" Her head finds his shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

"Your hips are a joy to behold and to hold."

"More." His ear is nibbled.

"And you glow. You are and always will be the most beautiful woman I have even known – still, now, you have an aura about you that is likely because of our child. I am the most fortunate man to have such a beautiful woman as my wife."

Nose scrunching in a sniffle, she kisses his cheek, then looks for something to wipe her eyes – Erik hands her his handkerchief. "My clothes still do not fit," she pouts.

"So you shall have some new clothing. That is easy enough to resolve." Kissing her on the forehead, he stands and picks up each of the discarded dresses, one by one to examine the seams. "Some of these have enough fabric to let them out several inches – would you want to do that, or just maintain them as they are for the future?"

"I think both, perhaps, alter some and keep the rest for later. I may need dresses that are much larger in the waist and…in the bodices – as you have observed," she giggles. "If we can, perhaps a dress or two made specifically for women who are with child."

"Then that is what we shall do," he says. "Would you wish for me to accompany you or, perhaps Meg or Adele? This is a resting day for them."

"No, I think I would prefer your company," she says. "Much as I hate to admit it, your taste is better than any of ours. Meg would want pink and Madame takes after you – she likes black. Hmmm, maybe I should go alone," she teases.

Erik laughs. "It is done then." Holding some of the dresses over each of his arms, he asks, "Which one seemed to fit the best?"

"The blue and green plaid, I think."

"Then the blue and green plaid it is." He puts that day dress on the edge of the bed and picks out three dresses with the most excess fabric and returns the others in the armoire. "I must go up to the office for a short time. Would you like to join me or wait here?"

"Oh, definitely join you – no sense in you making two trips, beside I want to know what is going on."

"I promised Phillippe de Chagny some plans for his home that I want Andre to deliver. Also, Darius, Henri and Giselle are supposed to be giving us a report on M. Robert."

"Giselle? Who is Giselle?" Christine jumps on the name.

"Nadir hired her. She worked with the stage crew and applied to work with security. Nadir thought having some women would be a good idea and – please do not tell him I said so – may have turned out to be a superb idea," he says. "Let us get you dressed and we shall go. I shall explain more on the way."

Raoul paces the room, his shirt untucked and hair mussed from running his hands through it. "I do not see why Monique cannot stay here," he argues.

Phillippe sits at his desk, hands folded, watching his brother's latest temper tantrum. "You cannot just keep moving women into this house on some whim of romantic love," he replies calmly. "The Daae woman left you for the man you were certain was going to kill everyone. He has turned out to be one of the sanest people I have ever met."

"You think I am crazy?" Raoul asks, throwing himself on the settee.

Phillippe rolls his eyes. "No. I think you are still in pain from those events," Phillippe answers. "You tried to kill someone and yourself, Raoul. I am happy that you have met someone who cares about you, but I am not sure that bringing her to live, even temporarily is good for either one of you."

"This man kidnapped her and raped her," Raoul argues.

"You are making my point for me," Phillippe says trying hard to maintain his calm. "She has been through an extreme trauma herself. She feels safe now where she is – why uproot her from that?"

"You think she is a whore."

"No, I do not – you told me of her background. She hails from a good family," he responds. "I believe I may have even met her father. He should know of this, by the way, but that is not my concern."

"You know the Baron?"

"I might have met him – which is not knowing him," Phillippe corrects him. "That is not the point. I am concerned about both of you, believe it or not."

"Then what shall I do?"

"Think of a way that you can see her that does not involve disrupting her life and ours here at the house."

There is a knock on the door.

"Enter," Phillippe calls out.

"There is a delivery for you, M. Le Comte," Stephan, the major domo, advises, "from M. Saint-Rien – a boy named Andre says he has some plans."

"Show him in," Phillippe tells him, rising from his chair.

Andre walks briskly into the room holding several rolls of paper, almost matching his height. "M. le Comte, M. Erik asked me to give these to you personally."

Phillippe takes the plans and lays them on a sideboard, pushing aside the books stacked there.

"You work at the Opera House?" Phillippe asks.

"Yes, sir, M. Erik is also teaching me to sing and play the violin and piano," Andre announces proudly.

"Indeed," Phillippe smiles. "You are a man of many talents."

Andre bends his head and shuffles his feet. "I am trying. I work to help my Maman."

"Your father?"

"Died in the Siege." The wide smile on his face fades.

"You were just a baby…"

"Yes, but things are better now." He brightens again. "M. Robert took Maman, but M. Nadir helped her, then we stayed with M. Erik and Mme. Christine and he gave me clothes, and Mme. Christine sings songs with me, then Mme. Giry and M. Erik gave Maman a new job and she drew pictures of M. Robert. Oh, and M. Erik gave us a new place to live…and we bought shoes." He takes a deep breath, "And I got a kitten – her name is Erika, she is black and white and has a black patch over one eye like M. Erik's mask."

"Indeed?" Phillippe laughs. "That is quite a story."

"You say that M. Robert took your mother?" Raoul sits up straight, reaching out to turn the boy toward him.

"Yes, M. le Vicomte." The boy nods briskly. "We were going home from the Opera House and he grabbed her. He had a mask on, but Maman is sure it was him."

"But he let her go?"

"He pushed her out of the carriage after hitting her."

"Do you know why?"

"She was not Mme. Christine – at least that is what I heard the grown-ups say. Maman was wearing a dress and cape that Mme. Christine gave her."

Raoul exchanges a look with Phillippe. "I am concerned for Monique's safety. I intend to continue seeing her, but if there is some chance he sees me with her, then both of us are in danger as well. Do you still believe that my idea is crazy?"

"I suppose not," Phillippe sighs. "Talk to Stephan and have him set up a suitable room for Mlle. Du Bois."

"I shall drive you back to the Opera House if you would like, Andre," Raoul tells the boy. "Just allow me to get my jacket and hat." Turning to his brother, he says, "Thank you."

Phillippe waves a hand at him. "Andre, I would like you to deliver a note to M. Erik. Please have a seat while I compose it and Raoul gets ready."

"Yes, Monsieur." Andre frowns as he sits on the settee, "You are not angry with M. le Vicomte because of me? I only want to help."

"No, young man," Phillippe says, pulling a sheet of stationary from the top drawer of his desk. "You have been very informative." He completes his note, folds it and puts it into an envelope. Holding a stick of red wax over the envelope, he uses his lighter to melt some onto the back, then seals it with a monogrammed stamp. Standing up, he holds the envelope out to Andre. "Here you are," Phillippe says, then reaches into his pocket and offers Andre several franc notes.

"Thank you, M. le Comte, but M. Erik told me not to take any money you might offer – he said this was part of the service of Phantom Security."

Raoul re-enters the room. "Are you ready, Andre?"

"Yes, monsieur." To Phillippe, "I will be certain he gets this letter as soon as I get back. I think it would be all right if M. le Vicomte allows me to ride with him."

"I am certain that would be fine with him," Phillippe concurs.

Nadir sifts through the notes he has jotted on index cards related to Georges Robert Boudreaux. Darius, Henri and Giselle sit waiting for Erik. Giselle in Erik's chair, the men in the visitor's chairs. Nadir does not want to necessitate them repeating everything twice, so they wait. Their fatigue is evident in the repeated yawns, their exhaustion not being mitigated at all by the strong tea Nadir has served them.

Nadir starts at the voice whispering in his ear.

"Are you alone?"

"So, Darius," he says loudly, "how long did you say it took to drive to the inn?"

"Perhaps ten hours and ten to return – almost an entire day," Darius says, frowning.

"Right. Right. Well, let us wait a bit longer," Nadir says. "I am certain Erik will be here shortly."

"Christine and I will be there in a moment. We shall use the mirror in her dressing room."

"Refreshments, anyone?" Nadir asks, an uncomfortable smile on his face. He rises from his chair – preparing to fulfill any requests.

Each of them holds up a cup taking a sip of the tea.

"Of course…"

The door opens – Erik and Christine bustle in.

"My apologies for being late," Erik says, looking around for a place to rest Christine's dresses. "This office really is too small."

Darius jumps up from his chair and offers it to Christine. "Mme. Saint-Rien, please."

"Oh, Darius, I am Christine." She takes the seat and holds her arms out for the dresses. Erik lays them across her lap.

"Giselle Beauchamp and, you already know, Henri," Nadir says.

"Pleased to meet you, Giselle," Christine says. "I am told that you are a very talented woman and a great addition to the business." Observing the disarray of her clothing and hair, she continues, "Please do not think me rude, but you appear to have met with an accident. Are you injured?" She looks at Henri, raising an eyebrow.

The young carriage driver, blinks his brown eyes hard, his freckled cheeks turn bright pink and his normally charming gap-toothed grin fails him. "There was no accident, Mme. Christine, honestly. Mlle. Giselle rode inside the coach the entire time – with an extra blanket – that M. Nadir ordered for her. We…" he nods his head toward Darius, "took as best care of her as we could, I took extra time on the bumpiest parts of the road."

Darius takes up Henri's argument, looking at Giselle. "It was a long night for all of us, we have not slept. However, Giselle did suffer at the hands of M. Robert."

"What happened?" Erik asks, his fists clenching. "This was not my intention – when you were asked to assist Henri and Darius," he tells her. "There was to be no threat to you – they were instructed to intercede if the man was abusive."

"It was not their fault," Giselle says.

"What was not their fault?" Erik examines her more closely.

Her hair is still tied back with the bit of fabric torn from her petticoat – the petticoat hanging below the hem of her skirt. The bodice of her dress is askew and the cape is streaked with dirt.

"How is it that the two of you are still in pristine apparel, while this young woman looks as if she has been dragged down a road?" Christine demands of the two men.

"Because I was dragged – not down a road, but across a floor," Giselle remarks. "As I said, it was not their fault. I was only supposed to engage M. Robert in conversation at the inn as directed, but things took a different turn."

"You are a pretty little thing – such beautiful hair. My mother had beautiful hair," he said reaching to touch her locks.

"Monsieur, you are too kind," she replied.

It was apparent that he had already consumed a sizable amount of whiskey, his breath stank and his clothing, although rich in quality, was dirty and wrinkled, his words slurred. Her knowledge of alcohol consumption, gained from working with the stage staff at the opera house, informed her that he would be talkative, but might become amorous and, if rebuffed, abusive. Caution must be taken. Moving closer to him, she removed the vial of laudanum she carried to deal with the residual pain from her broken leg from her reticule. To distract him, she allowed her reticule to fall to the floor – as he bent to pick it up, she dosed his whiskey.

"Thank you, I am so clumsy," she said, taking the purse from him. "Why is such a fine looking gentleman as yourself staying at this inn? I would think you would prefer the hotels in the city."

"Since I have business in Rouen and travel back and forth, I purchased this inn to provide me with accommodation when traveling, it has suited me well. I did not become a successful business man by squandering funds on high-priced facilities." Throwing back the remnants of the whisky, he ordered another. "What was that you served me?" he demanded of the barkeep. "It was bitter."

"The whiskey was as you ordered, M. Robert," the balding man responded. His bulk was deceiving, he visibly shook as he answered his customer. "I shall open a new bottle to be certain that the taste suits you. For you, mademoiselle?"

Giselle shakes her head. "Thank you, no."

"So where was I?" he asked, leaning into her.

"Do you travel to Paris often?"

"Do you?"

Giselle laughed. "Actually, no. I live in a small flat – close to the Palais Garnier. I am employed there. This was a trip for family – I am returning home."

"A dancer?" he leaned back to observe her body, such as could be seen beyond her clothing.

"No longer – I suffered an injury. I work in maintenance – cleaning, that sort of thing."

The bartender delivered the fresh drink to M. Robert. "Will there be anything else, monsieur…mademoiselle?"

Giselle shook her head, "I should be leaving – I only wanted a rest-over during my journey. The meal was most excellent. I should like to take care of my bill."

M. Robert put a hand on her arm, "Allow me, mademoiselle…"

"Giselle," she smiled at him.

"Giselle," he repeated, "I should be pleased to cover your bill." To the innkeeper, "I will take care of it."

"Very well." He bowed slightly, then returned to his work behind the bar.

"So, do you know any of the artists at the Opera House?"

"Yes, some."

"The singer – Daae?"

"I see her there, yes, but I do not know her."

"But you would know where her dressing room is?"

"Of course. Why?"

"I am a great admirer of her singing and will be attending the reception after the performance, thanks to the Vicomte de Chagny. I had hoped to bring her a gift personally, however – before the show. So often gifts get lost or not delivered. I would need someone to help me locate her."

"I see."

He stood up, holding onto the table for purchase, "Come to my room, I will show you what I want to give to her."

"I really must return home," she argued.

"It will take only a moment, I shall not keep you," he insisted taking her arm, his fingers digging in.

She rose, taking a deep breath and followed him out the back door. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Darius watching their activity.

Shaking his head, he mouthed the word – no.

With a shrug of her shoulders, she disappeared out the back door into what turned out to be an enclosed passageway to another part of the building.

Throwing some franc notes on the bar, Darius ran to the back of the room to follow the couple, but was stopped by the innkeeper. "No exit. The door is for boarders only."

"My… customer left through that door – I have her carriage waiting outside. I must speak with her."

"She will return when M. Robert is ready for her to leave. I suggest you buy yourself another brew and wait." The man folds his broad arms across his chest, blocking the door.

Frustrated, he goes out to the carriage and lets Henri know what has happened, the runs around to the side of the inn – but saw nothing in the darkness to identify where she might have gone. The main building had another structure added that looked to be a barn. From where he was standing, all he could see was two windows that were dark. Rounding to the back of the building was a wooden door, bolted from the inside. The opposite side of the building was much the same as what he had already seen – two darkened windows, no other doors.

Once again, he returns to the carriage, letting him know what he found. "I shall walk around the building again and monitor that area. Keep a close eye on the front." Allah, please allow no harm to come to her.

Giselle asked, "Would you not wish to give her the gift yourself?" The hallway is pitch dark – she struggled to keep her footing. Keeping up the conversation helped her keep fear at bay.

"Oh, no," he replied. "Meeting her after the performance will be sufficient. I would, however, like to enter the theater before the performance to avoid the crowds and find my seat. I could meet you and once inside, I could give you the present to offer her. Reaching what appeared to be the end of the hallway, he unlocks a door and pushes it open. "Here we are."

Giselle notes another door a few meters from them before he pulls her into a small room. "It is not much, but I had this built for myself and to serve other travelers seeking overnight accommodations – there are four rooms. It is more private than the rooms inside the inn."

"Well, you certainly are a good businessman," Giselle said, rubbing her arm that he finally released.

Once inside, he lit a lantern, then walked to a dresser, opening the top drawer to remove a silver, heart-shaped locket. "It was my mother's," he said. "I thought Mlle. Daae would like it."

"She is Mme. Saint-Rien now, I believe, although she uses Daae as her stage name," Giselle informed him.

"Yes, the wife of Erik Saint-Rien," he said more to himself than to her. With a more congenial voice, he said, "He may not wish her to have this. That is why I wanted her to receive it before the opera, so as not to cause any embarrassment. Who would refuse the gift of a remembrance of a man's mother?"

"I would not know about that," Giselle told him – the rationale seemed odd to her, but she was not wont to challenge him. "You could give it to her yourself, you know. Just enter with the other workers or artists at the rear of the Palais. I will be expected to work and might not be able to meet with you."

"What about all that security business I have heard about?" he asked.

"Oh, that. It is mostly for the dancers. They are not so careful about the rest of the building," she replied. "La Daae has the first dressing room, so she does not have to walk too far."

"A princess?" he goaded her.

"The wife of the maestro – what would you expect?" Her voice filled with scorn, hoping to convince him of her allegiance to him.

"Well, I shall keep that as an option." That settled, he pulled her toward him again, forcing his lips on her.

Although anticipating something like this, he still took her by surprise. Damn. Fighting the bile rising in her throat, she allowed the kiss and his pulling down her bodice and grasping her around the waist. Losing her footing as she was dragged to the bed, she fell. He lifted her up and tossed her onto the mattress, stumbling over a rag rug, a minor attempt at decoration, and lost his own balance.

His movements were sluggish, his attempts to pull himself up were awkward, but he managed to position himself next to her, never losing his grip on her arm. The laudanum was finally working. Hoping to prevent his further abuse toward her, she became the aggressor – tugging at his trousers, the fly came unbuttoned. As hoped, he assisted her. Releasing her arm, he completed the task of pulling off the woolen pants, kicking them to the edge of the bed. With both hands free, she balanced herself with the left as her right hand grabbed his member. "Here, let me take care of you." The promise in her voice and the sensation of her touch evoked a series of low groans and an ugly laugh – she stroked and pulled – manipulating him to orgasm. A final sharp twist of his shaft and a hard squeeze to his scrotal sac elicited another moan as he passed out.

"Had I the presence of mind, and not concerned that he would rouse, I would have cut the thing off. We would have been done with the bastard." Lifting her skirt to remove the small ornate knife with a jeweled handle tucked in her garter, she holds it up to display the double-edged blade.

Henri swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobs as he shifts in his chair.

Christine draws in a sharp breath, covers her mouth and glances at Erik.

Nadir and Erik, folding their hands in front of them, side eye one another and then Darius, who maintains his perfect posture, looking straight ahead.

"Why did you not tell me this," he asks her – his voice cold.

"What could you have done? I allowed him to take me by surprise and did not put enough laudanum in his drink. He was a bull, I misjudged him."

"I might have gone back to deal with him – or help you deal with him."

"What, murder him? Then we would have been in trouble," she retorts. "The authorities would think I was just a prostitute and you my pimp trying to rob the businessman – killing him in the process."

Darius lowers his head. "You are correct," he sighs. "I just wish I could have stopped things from going as far as they did."

Giselle shakes her head. "I managed to acquire more information from him about his intentions. But for some roughing up and some torn clothing, I am well." Straightening herself to take in a deep breath, she tells him, "I was doing my job, just as you were – just as Henri was."

The room grows silent again as each of them assesses what they now know of M. Robert and his tactics.

Erik is the first to break the silence. "You raped him." Giving his head a sharp shake, he considers what was just told to all of them and chuckles. "Next to my beloved wife and my dearest friend, Adele Giry, you are, perhaps, the most amazing woman I have ever known. You are a formidable adversary. You were a formidable team." The last directed toward Darius. Staring at him with his golden eyes to be certain the man acknowledged him and understood what he was saying.

Darius nodded. "Thank you, M. Erik."

Nadir clears his throat. "I am not sure what to say. I am deeply sorry this happened to you. And, yes, I agree with Erik, you are quite an amazing woman." He shuffles the note cards. "It appears that he owns the inn. We can track that down," Nadir says. "It also appears to be the place where he took Monique. We would need some sort of authority to do any sort of search, but, perhaps Henri and Darius could return to do some further investigation – questioning neighbors."

"Excuse me," Christine interrupts. "Whatever the outcome and information you have gleaned from Giselle recalling the assault, it was still abuse directed at her and I think that she needs to be given some consideration here – both for her efforts and her physical wellbeing at the moment."

The eyes shift to her.

"I intended no insult to Giselle," Nadir argues. "In fact, I was attempting to finish this up so that she…they could go home."

"Our late arrival was my fault, I apologize." Christine mollifies her tone. "However, she needs to freshen herself and don some clean…new clothing," Christine tells him. To Giselle, she says, "I have three dresses here, newly made and never worn, of which you have your choice. There are new underthings in my dressing room that you may also have to replace your ruined garments." She stands up, handing one dress to Erik, one to Darius and holds the last one herself. "Choose the one you might like to have."

Giselle's eyes widen at Christine's offer.

Erik smiles at her and holds up the gray and green gabardine dress he had chosen for Christine many months before. Tipping his head at Giselle, he asks, "Does this please you – or the blue, or the brown?

"I believe I do prefer the gray and green," she whispers.

Christine puts the brown dress on the chair, takes the striped dress with the pleated white bib from Erik and holds out her hand to Giselle. "Come, you deserve some care."

Giselle rises and joins her. "A wash would be welcome."

As she opens the door, Christine finds Raoul and Andre preparing to knock. "Raoul. Andre. Come in," she tells them and continues with Giselle into the hallway. "Make notes, I expect to hear everything when we return."

Erik laughs and once again shifts the attention to himself. "That is my wife," he announces proudly. "Gentlemen, I am glad you are here. Mlle. Giselle told us quite a story and we need to discuss our plans – we may have to alter them or adopt two plans."

Andre tugs on Erik's jacket. "M. Erik, le Comte gave me a note for you. He asked that you read it at once," he says, handing him the fine stationary.

Erik breaks the seal with his elegant forefinger and pulls out the single sheet of paper. "Phillippe is offering us his assistance. He is willing to speak with the Inspector." He looks at Raoul. "What brought this about?"

"My brother is quite impressed with young Andre," Raoul replies.

"There is much to admire," Erik smiles down at the boy, who beams up at him. "Still…"

"He told us the story about his mother and how you and Christine helped them. Oh, and he refused a tip."

"Is that so?" Erik asks Andre.

"Yes, monsieur – as you instructed."

"Good man."

"And he is considering hiring Andre to tutor me," Raoul says.

Eriks looks at Nadir, who is chuckling.

Erik smiles, "A joke?"

Raoul smiles back. "Yes…well…maybe not entirely."

A/N Thank you to all of the wonderful comments I have received on this piece. Your reviews are so appreciated.