I am fairly convinced that this upcoming quarter is trying to drown me. And while I'm sure I shall look back in eight weeks and laugh at myself for fretting (let's hope so at least!) for now I am overwhelmed and a quite... unhappy. *sigh* And my drop off in lovely reviews is not helping! Is everyone as busy as I am? That's an even more depressing thought...

But anyway! Erik and Christine are looking on the positives so I probably should too! Let's see how house hunting goes, shall we? Onward!


XLVI

Moving was a tedious process and Erik hated it.

Well, perhaps that was a bit harsh. But he hated how flustered and unhappy it seemed to make Christine, and that would always cause him equal distress. He tried to assure her that they could furnish their new home with whatever she desired to purchase, but she insisted that she was not about to leave Keane's baby things behind. Not when they were so very special.

Expediency was paramount, as while they could pretend they were moving for the sake of their future little ones that would require more space and beds of their own, it was never far from Erik's mind that the longer they waited, the more difficult it would be for Keane to adjust .

Never had he been more grateful for the Daroga's friendship as when he called upon the man to help him find a house. To his credit, he had not gloated when Erik painfully recounted the episode of taking their boy into the noonday sun, and instead he had shown nothing but sympathy.

"Of course I shall make enquiries for you. You three deserve somewhere special."

Erik had informed him that money was of little object and that the main focus should be on privacy and safety. The Persian had waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes. But do not remind me of your years of extortion. I know far too much about your less than savoury practices."

Perhaps he would have been more offended by the man's impudence except for the fact that he had come down to the lake the very next day with the details of a residence that seemed perfect for them.

It was just beyond the borders of Paris. Not so far that if he wished to continue his duties as Opera Ghost he could not do so—though the Daroga had glared at him when he had commented on that particular point.

They travelled by coach in the late evening, a sleepy Keane nestled in his mother's arms as they traversed the Paris streets. It was a château—one of the forgotten relics of the Revolution that had laid victim when its previous master had attempted to flee and had made a grisly end. At least, that is what the Persian had relayed from the solicitor.

The grounds were extensive and parts of the building would require extensive repairs, yet overall it was pleasing to behold. It was far smaller than many of the other grandiose structures that Erik had seen. The architecture itself was magnificent, but the relative size was not so large as to feel overpowering.

The last thing he wished was to purchase a home where he could not easily find Christine.

"What do you think, my rose? Would you prefer a small apartment in the city?"

He cringed even as he said it, but when Christine ran forward into his chest and waited none too patiently for his arms to enfold her and their son, his half-hearted worrying ceased. "I shall be a queen!"

Erik looked at her indignantly. "You have been a queen for quite some time, my lady. The entire Opera House has and forever shall be yours. Did you require a château to realise it?"

She nibbled her lip absently and then grinned at him impishly. "It certainly does not hurt."

He had rolled his eyes at her and kissed her soundly on the mouth for her impertinence, and then focused his attentions on precisely what would be necessary in order to ensure his lady would receive her manor.

As they were leaving however, something caught his eye. It was just a small catch in the middle of a dark wooden panel, and as he saw Christine cooing down at Keane about how many stars they could see when away from the Paris lights, he allowed himself a short investigation.

One press of the latch and a panel opened, showing a darkened tunnel beyond.

Perhaps this would prove an admirable home for him as well.

In less than a week it was theirs, and they would move as soon as they could pack up all of their essential belongings and the cottage was prepared. Christine appeared equally excited and devastated at the news. While he wanted her to enjoy her new abode, it still warmed his heart that she was truly so very fond of his underground achievement. "Some of my sweetest memories are here," she told him. "I know we must leave, but I will miss it."

It was satisfying that he was not alone. Knowing where they were to move was a blessing, and the fact that it was so secluded was a tremendous comfort. If he did not want visitors he had to but bar the gate and none could enter. The fence surrounding the property was high and had faced the test of time quite admirably—even if the interior of the home itself had not.

They had made arrangements to stay in one of the small cottages on the property that had not suffered quite so badly. It could do with a cleaning, and Erik had already employed a washerwoman to tend to it so that his wife could be spared the drudgery. They would remain there while the construction on the actual house was completed. Christine did not have to try to live in the midst of all the workmen and dust, and Keane would undoubtedly be annoyed at the constant disturbances.

Christine was currently repacking her trunk for the third time, fussing about every wrinkle and mussed skirt that would apparently be impossible to press later on.

Erik took her hand and considered dropping it once he received her glare, but pulled her gently to the sofa and sat down. "What has you so anxious, my Christine? You were so very excited earlier."

It was true. She had awoken full of life and energy and excitement for the move later that night. But as the day progressed her mood had darkened and Erik was nearly waiting for her to demand they cease the entire prospect of moving altogether.

Except they had to. That much was clear.

How it pained him when she cried! But she could not seem to stop as she flung herself into his arms and sobbed, her hands clutching at his lapel and mussing it.

Not that he would complain.

"Erik, I am frightened. You think I am healing well but I know that I am not! Every time I think about having all those workmen about and what could happen if you are called away and I am left alone with them..." She chewed at her lower lip to keep it from trembling, and he grew concerned that she would bite it off completely.

With a gentle hand he cupped her chin and tugged the abused lip from between her teeth and stroked it soothingly. He would like to have kissed it better but she was still crying and his heart felt heavy that she still should fear for her safety, even on their own property. "We have to leave, my rose, you know we must. They are building you a home worthy of your beauty, Christine. But I will not leave your side the entire time they are there if you should wish it."

She sniffled and shook her head. "I know you would not employ anyone... like... that."

He would like to be able to promise he would not, and while he had chosen a reputable man to oversee the work, that made for no guarantees. Evil could dwell in the heart of any man, even when they had all the appearance of goodness.

But to speak such things to his wife would only upset her further, so he simply stroked her curls and filled her head with all of the wonderful things they had to look forward to. "Remember, my Christine. We are doing this for that future daughter you promised me. It would not do for her to share with her brother. And you shall have a cottage all of your own that is far away from any prying eyes." He kissed her temple, willing her to believe him. "You will be safe, mon ange."

If she was not so obviously upset he might be insulted that not a week ago she had been the one to assure him of his capabilities as a protector. At one time his sensibilities might have been insulted that her opinion and confidence could be shattered so quickly, but some husbandly part of him understood. It was not truly about the workers. She was leaving all that was safe and familiar for the unknown. And if that prospect frightened him, surely it was distressing for her as well.

The Daroga knocked upon their bedchamber door, a fussy Keane in his arms. "I am sorry to interrupt but I believe this little one would like some supper before we depart."

Christine nodded and held out her arms for their boy, and Erik strode determinedly from the room with a slight push at the Persian to ensure she was afforded privacy. "She is nervous."

They had moved some of the furniture already to the cottage. Most of their possessions would be remaining down below—reassurance for both Erik and Christine that should the need arise to return to their sanctuary, it could easily be accomplished. But the heavily cushioned rocking chair that Erik had designed had been transported at Christine's insistence, and he was glad of it.

He could easily tell that she was pleased by his little gifts that he bestowed, but it still sent a thrill through him when she coveted them so jealously. He had reminded her that he could easily commission a new one, but she had glared at him fiercely. "I nurse our son in that chair, Erik. I will not leave everything behind."

He had not argued further.

While Keane nursed, Erik and the Persian took another trunk up to the waiting carriage. It had been borrowed from the stables of the Opera House as it would arouse fewer suspicions than to allow an unknown cab driver to watch them transport their luggage from the bowels of the theatre.

Dusk was already giving way to night, and the time to depart was quickly approaching. Their hope was that Keane would adjust more gently if he was allowed to awaken with the sun instead of thrusting him into more brightness than he had ever known, and it was passing his usual bedtime. A sleepy Keane was an unhappy Keane, and they certainly did not need the added strain of an exhausted little boy.

By the time they made it back down below his final evening meal was complete and he was already dosing in his mother's arms—who struggled between allowing her son to rest and needing to finish her third repacking.

"Will you finish? You are neater than I in any case."

Erik sniffed imperiously. "Quite true."

It pleased him that she finally made this allowance, not simply because he appreciated her acknowledgement that he took excellent care of his possessions, but because he was in fact far more capable of the meticulous folding necessary to ensure the least amount of creases in her more elaborate garments. She looked on in fascination, mumbling to herself about her wretch of a husband who surpassed her in skill at every turn.

He steadfastly ignored her, although he felt quite satisfied with himself when he managed to contain almost her entire wardrobe within the confines of the trunk, and he tried not to smirk too openly.

The Persian entered quickly and took up the final trunk, Erik's own wardrobe having been packed and readied that morning.

"Are you ready, my rose?"

Christine was still seated on the sofa and her eyes roamed over their bedchamber for what felt like the final time. They could always return—would return if life proved too dangerous for them above—but there was a finality that felt nearly overwhelming.

She was crying softly and adjusted Keane in her arms and kissed his forehead, reminding herself of why exactly they were leaving the home they both loved so much.

Erik thought he would feel worse about leaving. He had built this structure with his own two hands, and while he was leaving behind his most treasured instrument as the pipe organ could most certainly not be moved, he found that with the knowledge that the wellbeing of his wife and boy would only improve upon their relocation, he did not mind so very much.

He took her hand gently and helped her rise, pulling her into his embrace quickly. "We may return at any time, Christine. This need not be forever."

She sniffled and rested her head against his chest. "I want a bathtub just as large as this one. And a sitting room fire that is just as cheerful."

They made their way to the front door slowly, and when they were about to exit Christine gasped loudly and hurried backward. Erik grew concerned, but before he could enquire or even exclaim she was rushing back, her biscuit tin in one hand while Keane remained supported by the other.

"We will not change when we live aboveground, will we? You will still bake me sweet biscuits and help with our boy, and we will sing the afternoons away, will we not?"

He took the tin from her hand and returned her to his side, guiding her through their front door. "No matter where we are, we shall always be Erik and Christine." He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Remember, we are doing this for our little ones, present and future."

She took a shuddering breath and held Keane a little more firmly.

"And a garden. Where perhaps you can grow roses." She looked up at him almost shyly, and he could not help but kiss her in the darkness of the tunnel.

"A rose for my rose."

The knowledge that the Daroga was waiting to drive them to their new home made him pull away, though it was barely enough incentive. Kissing her soothed the ache of her temporary unhappiness, and reminded him of the joy that only she could bring.

As long as they were together, all would be well.

"I will not miss the darkness."

She was huddled against him and he almost agreed, aside from the fact that he quite enjoyed the way she would cling to him—he had from the very first time he had taken her through these same passages. And while at the time he had warred with himself over such desires, he now found it tantalising and wonderful.

Christine must have had similar thoughts for she burrowed further still—quite a feat given her already close proximity. "Soon we will get to walk like this on our land. There will be noonday picnics and lounging in the sunshine." She giggled, and it warmed his heart to hear something besides her tears. "Perhaps we will not be so pale any longer!"

He grimaced, knowing that his sallow complexion would not give way simply because of exposure to the sun, but he remained quiet. Erik suspected that Christine could only grow more beautiful as her rosy skin would only be enhanced by the occasional stroll in the garden. "Perhaps, my Christine. Perhaps."

The Persian was waiting for them when they finally emerged from the tunnels. "I suppose I should not complain that Erik will be forcing me to drive the carriage all alone in the night air."

Erik helped Christine into the carriage, ensuring she was settled properly before turning to glare at his friend. "You suppose rightly." And just because he was a foolish and impudent man, as soon as Erik was seated next to his wife he gave a rap upon the roof to signal his readiness for departure.

The Daroga's chuckle wafted freely from above.

The ride to their new home was pleasant enough. Erik never preferred carriages as the bumps and rumbling over the cobblestone streets could be jarring. Walking was far superior. He was in control of his movements, and any potential dangers could easily be circumvented.

But when Christine rested her head upon his shoulder and sighed deeply, he decided that this mode of transportation was not so very dreadful.

One of the benefits of travelling at this time of night was that few others were lingering about. The narrow streets were clear and so before long they were on the very outskirts, the large gate that guarded the entry to their new home standing proudly and ominously ahead of them. Christine had fallen asleep against him but stirred when the Persian hopped down to the gravel below so as to open the imposing obstacle.

The road to the cottage was even further than the château itself, and as Christine looked out at the moonlit grounds she eventually turned to her husband. "Who will care for all of the grass? It must be dreadful to maintain by oneself." It was true. What once must have been manicured lawns that would put any aristocratic manor to shame was now overgrown and shabby.

Erik shrugged. "I suppose we shall need to hire a flock of sheep to come and live with us. Should you like to be a shepherdess?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "No eating any of the lambs from my flock. They will purely be for tending to the grass."

He placed a hand quickly over his heart. "You have my word, my lady."

Erik had never much cared for lamb in any case, so it was an easy promise to make. And he had absolutely no intention of slaughtering anything.

Perhaps it seemed hypocritical as he rarely had much issue dispensing with human life, but animals were far different. They were not capable of evil. Stupidity surely, but not evil. That was reserved for fallen man alone.

As they turned the final corner and their cottage came into view, Erik felt the first twinges of excitement. It was amazing what a few weeks and relatively unlimited funds could produce. These small structures had withstood the years of relative neglect quite well, but he was not about to move into a home that did not have running water. The Daroga had searched out the very same workers who were beginning on the château and informed them of precisely what the consequences would be if they could not finish the endeavour in the allotted time.

He might have hoped that Erik would never have gone through with that particular threat, but the workmen apparently had no desire to find out. The money was good and times were difficult and they were happy for the work.

Erik helped Christine down from the carriage and ushered her through their temporary front door.

It looked homey. There was a fire already going from the earlier trip to deliver some of the furniture and trunks. This time the sitting room had a sofa, not a settee, and it looked quite welcoming for long evenings when the cool summer breezes filtered through their new home. Christine's rocking chair was situated next to it, and Erik could easily picture her tending to their boy there. There was a kitchen with an attached dining area with far less formal a table than they were used to, but it would serve its function admirably.

There was no separate nursery for Keane and Erik tried to reassure himself that this would not in fact impede his sensibilities. For more intimate activities they could make do with the very inviting sofa, or simply use one of his other bassinets so he might sleep peacefully in the sitting room.

Christine was smiling as she took in every detail that made this feel more a home. Erik had made sure that a plush rug had been placed upon the floor, and as she made her way to their bedchamber she saw a similar one waiting there for her as well. It was lovely to see windows again, with drapery hanging on either side for those days when she wished to sleep in and forget that the sun existed for a little while longer.

"Will this do, my Christine? Until I finish your château?"

She settled Keane into his bassinet in their room and hurried to throw her arms about her husband. "It will do perfectly."

And after they had shooed the Daroga away—Christine thanking him profusely while Erik glared—they were able to put on their nightclothes and climb into their new bed with its same bounty of pillows and fall asleep beside one another.

Perhaps moving was not so very bad. Not when his wife and boy were still near.


Sooo… Christine has banned lamb from the menu! As she should. *sniffs* One look at their wooly little heads peeping out of the shrubbery scattered across England and I knew that was the end of all lamb eating for me ever in life! My father is still rolling his eyes at my decision making skills. Cuteness is plenty enough reason!

Ahem. Anyway. So what do you think? Looks like they'll get to experience cottage life first before manor living. And Christine got emotional leaving their lovely little hole in the ground. Who thinks that Erik takes advantage of the poor Daroga? Only the greatest of friends offer to help move, so maybe it's more a sign of trust that he should be allowed to help! Erik is very careful with his things after all…

Please review!