DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS
CHAPTER 37
Although his heart still ached, Erik was walking in the clouds. Lavanya – above all reason and understanding – loved him. She had unabashedly and without remorse given her virginal body to him and had taken his with the same abandonment.
He stood before the mirror – still not finding it easy to rest his own eyes on his marred features – but he knew that Anya loved him despite his scars.
He was timorous about this poker game…every nuance of his being told him he had no desire to participate in such frivolous activities…but he was equally as eager to become a part of the normal activities of men in his class.
The slant of his cravat did not quite look right and he could not seem to get it to settle just right. He had been fighting with it for several minutes, when a quiet knock sounded on the bedroom door.
"Enter."
Tarrah stood there, looking lost and timid before him. She had not seen him since the night before…briefly…and he had been unresponsive toward everyone.
Tears were threatening to fall down her cheeks and Erik went to her in a mere four strides.
"Tarrah…I am so sorry for my behavior…I never met to imply that you are not able to make your own decisions concerning courtship and matters of the heart."
He cradled her in his arms…feeling every bit the father that he hoped she saw him as.
She pulled back, wiping the tears from her eyes and sniffling back the others.
"And I am sorry for what I said about you and your love for Lavanya…but she loves you Erik…it is so obvious to everyone but you."
He laughed; a full, flavorful laugh that took Tarrah by complete surprise.
"I know, Tarrah..." he smiled, and the power of it reached his eyes, making them a splendid shade of jade, "...I know. "
Her face could not have been more resplendent. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him so tightly that she felt she might have cracked his ribs had he been a slighter man. She pulled away, wiping tears of joy from her face.
"I am so happy for you both!"
With a flick of her wrist and assessing eyes, she fixed his cravat without being asked and then smiled up at him; not understanding the perplexing way he examined the cravat.
He looked back at her and took her hand, leading her from the room, down the stairs, and into the drawing room.
"Now, tell me about this man who has stolen your heart, but has yet to ask permission to court you."
Tarrah looked worried, scanned the confines of the room, and then stretched her neck to peek down the long foyer – as though looking for something, or someone, in particular.
"Tarrah?" Erik asked, with a wrinkled brow.
She jerked back toward him and bit her bottom lip.
"Where is Lavanya?"
"She went into town with Christine…they are doing..." he paused, looking for the right term, but could not find one, "...whatever it is that women do together…and some poor sap of a lad has been commissioned to accompany them…" he sighed with exasperation, "…Anya would not allow me to come along."
"Ahhhh…I see." Tarrah parried, looking only slightly more relaxed. "Why are you dressed as if you are going out?"
Erik once again looked down at his dark blue suit, and frowned woefully.
"I have been instructed to join the Viscount, his brother – the count; whose name is Phillip, I believe – and Phillip's Russian friend for a stimulating night of poker."
His tone was bored, but he could not avoid the hopeful lift he had in his voice.
Tarrah gasped at the mention of Phillip's name and Erik narrowed his eyes…realizing the blush that covered her cheeks and the softening of her blue eyes at the sound of his name.
"Phillip?" Erik repeated, with a daunting tone, a tilt of his head, and a lift of his dark brow.
Tarrah did not flinch, much to her credit, but Erik was an expert at reading emotions…and he knew she was hiding her true feelings.
"Tarrah…" he drawled, "...Phillip is the man you are interested in…is he not?"
She did not have to say a word; he read it in her eyes.
"You do realize that he is only a couple of years younger than I am?"
She shook her head and smiled, putatively.
"And you do realize that he is a titled member of the nobility?"
She nodded again, a smile daring to form on her lips. She grasped his hands and spoke softly.
"Erik…I know that you have your differences with the family…but I want your blessing and approval…I am in love with him and he with me."
Erik lifted his hand and tucked several wayward, soft strands of strawberry tinted hair behind her ears; he realized just how much she had matured in the last two years and knew that she was ready for whatever life brought her.
"Actually, I have nothing against the family or Raoul – with my feelings for Christine becoming clear to me and with my true love settled deep within my heart – I find that I actually like the impetuous young man."
Erik smiled humorously and leaned back in the chair.
"Tonight we will discuss how to corner these insipid cowards that tortured D'Ombre and thought to bring me to my knees….I have spent the afternoon talking to Blanche, Mr. Gibbs, and Mitzi…I have found out many interesting things that I will use to hunt them down."
Tarrah shivered from the heated loathing she heard in his voice…he was suddenly the dark, dangerous, Phantom once again.
"Erik…do not do anything that will land you in prison."
His brow furrowed thunderously over the bridge of his nose; he had donned the white half-mask, and looked every bit the debonair, dauntingly handsome gentleman that Paris had discovered him to be; but beneath the polished outer shell – hidden by the graceful cut of his gentility - beat the feral heart of a very dangerous, highly skilled assassin.
"I would not dream of it."
♠♥♦♣
Erik had never really played poker before; it wasn't that he did not know how, he had just never had the opportunity. He had watched the game unfold before him – several times – at the opera house, but he had never participated.
Of course, the evening was an endless source of entertainment. Phillip had yet to approach him concerning Tarrah – a fact that amused Erik to no end – and Raoul was actually the only competition Erik faced in the game.
Nikolai, a very verbal but humble man, seemed genuinely star-struck at meeting Erik. He had done nothing but talk about music throughout the evening and Erik was pleased to have someone who seemed as passionate about music as he was.
"I would very much like to exchange ideas with you concerning your operas and musical dramas which I have been honored to see…" Nikolai stated, admirably. "…I could learn a great deal from you and reference your genius in my published work."
Erik bowed his head, acknowledging the man's idea.
"I would be happy to do this, Nikolai, but I really could not accept any credit…I just want to live quietly – having local success enough to support my family – and be happy for once in my life."
Nikolai understood, as best he could, and they continued to speak casually through the next hour.
It was sometime later that Raoul happened to lift his gaze from his cards and notice the determined, yet faraway, look in Erik's eyes – which rested on Nikolai with interest.
"Erik…it is your bet."
Erik moved only his eyes and stared through Raoul with ease – then went back to Nikolai.
"What is it…there is something on your mind, Erik...what is it?"
Erik leaned back in his chair and flung his arm over the back…the cards in his hand – three aces and two jacks – completely forgotten.
"I had a chance to talk with Blanche, Norman, and Mitzi today."
Raoul sat back in his chair and nodded, ready to learn what Erik intended to do and offer his services and protection as a nobleman.
" Norman offered the best description of the perpetrator and the best interpretation of events."
FLASHBACK
"You saw them both?" Erik repeated.
Norman nodded. The first man he had described was Pieter…Erik recognized everything about him…but the second man was not so easy.
"He was only in here briefly…is that correct?"
"Yes Master, he came in after the first one had finished with us and I remember his evil smile…they spoke roughly to each other and then they heard you and Madam driving up."
Erik needed more.
"Who was the other man, Norman…think hard."
"I did not know him, Master Erik…but he spoke with a thick accent…very educated…like yourself."
Erik listened intently as Norman Tibbs went over the events of yesterday with him.
"What did he look like?"
Norman closed his eyes and pictured the man in his mind.
"He seemed rather tall, but not as tall as you are, Master. He had dark, graying hair and dingy blue eyes. He carried himself with regal grace…like nobility."
Erik sat in the chair next to the bed; his legs were crossed and his hands were in his lap. He looked relaxed; but in reality, his entire body was tense with fury.
"You said he had a thick accent…what sort of accent?" Erik asked, rubbing his chin in thought.
"It was a guttural accent, Master…not Western European – but Eastern."
"Like German." Erik offered.
Norman shook his head, "No…like Russian."
"What else, Norman…anything…even if it seems insignificant to you?"
Norman smiled and he realized that he remembered one thing of great importance.
"I heard the younger one call him 'Yves' and something about the Demidov family of Russia."
Erik was intrigued by Norman's details and knowledge of the language.
"I helped train a Russian housekeeper several years ago…I picked up a few words."
END FLASHBACK
"Demidov?"
All eyes turned to Nikolai, who had blurted the name out as soon as Erik mentioned it.
"Demetrius Demidov was one of the most notorious and brilliant members of Russian nobility."
Erik was listening…intently.
"In fact, the description you gave of the older gentleman with the Russian accent sounds very much like Demetrius Demidov." Nikolai paused, long enough to take a long draw from his cigarette and then he continued, "He had two sons from two different women…the first woman was his wife – a lovely woman but far too mousy – she balked under his abuse and turned a blind eye to his constant flow of mistresses."
"Why would a man who has a lovely woman at his side choose to have an affair – or multiple affairs?" Raoul asked and Erik grunted his agreement.
"He was a sick man…in many ways…anyway…" Nikolai continued, "…he doubted that the son she had given him was his and despite her constant insistence and the fact that the boy looked just like him – he had her beheaded for infidelity."
"What was the boys name and how old would he be?" Erik asked, disgusted with the details of Nikolai's story.
Nikolai shrugged his shoulders and stalled progress for a few moments.
"The name was never divulged and he would be in his early to mid-forties."
Raoul looked thoughtfully at Erik, "What would he want with you…it makes no sense."
"Approximately ten years after his son was born and before he became the lecherous womanizer that he was, Demetrius became intimately involved with a French courtesan…the most beautiful woman in all of France…or so they said..." Nikolai remembered hearing stories about the woman's beauty, "…raven black hair…opulent green eyes…sculptured, refined features that should have graced the canvas…"
Nikolai suddenly lifted his eyes…seeing the story come together, "…the courtesan became heavy with child and Demetrius – desperate to hide his indiscretion at the time – poisoned the woman in an attempt to make her abort the baby."
You could have heard a pin drop in the room, every breath stilled as he told the story.
"It did not work…as the lady did everything in her power to save the child. Demetrius had long since fled the scene and she birthed his bastard child by herself – no financial help and no medical help – she did not wish to leave a trail by which he could track her down.
"The child was a boy – healthy - save for the horrible scars to the right side of his face as a result of the poisoning…"
It was at this time that Raoul and Phillip both looked at Erik in shocked realization. Erik looked back and dared them to suggest what he knew they were thinking.
"What?" he asked with a sudden flair of anger.
"Who was your mother?" Raoul asked
He lifted his skeptical eyes and gave a stubborn lift of his chin, "I do not see as that information is pertinent to this situation…" his head cocked sideways and his eyes narrowed, "…why?"
"Humor us."
Erik realized the similarities…he wasn't stupid….but it could not be him.
"How old would the boy be now?" Phillip asked.
"Mid-thirties." Nikolai answered.
TBC