Meg awoke early in the morning, feeling magnificent after a night in her plush bed. She stretched her arms over her head and looked toward the large window. The room was chilly, and she hadn't noticed how the temperature had dropped while she slept under the multiple layers of bedding.
She put the sheer robe back on, coveting Erik's thicker night robe. Quietly, she opened the door of her bedroom and glanced about. Erik sat in front of a blazing fire in the fireplace, on the very sofa that they had shared the night before. He did not appear to be doing anything, besides drinking from a teacup and watching the fire's animated glow.
On their dining table, another silver tray held a teapot, cream and sugar, another teacup and saucer, and what looked to be scones of some sort. She served herself, occasionally glancing at Erik, who did not turn or speak to acknowledge her in any way.
She moved toward the fire, choosing to sit in one of the armchairs that sat perpendicular to the sofa, closer to the fireplace. Erik, she now saw, was mostly dressed, wearing his white shirt, black slacks, and shoes. The sleeves were rolled up to the middle of his forearms; the vest and jacket were probably still hanging up. He sat leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and both hands on his own cup and saucer.
Meg wasn't much of a tea drinker, but she took small sips of the hot liquid, grateful for the warmth it gave her body.
Erik still looked straight ahead.
"Thank you for ordering the tea."
He nodded curtly, but paid her no other attention. She sighed and took a bite of the biscuit on her saucer. It was hard and mostly flavorless. She scrunched her nose in dismay and placed the unpalatable food back on her saucer. Her mouth was dry from the chalkiness of the cookie, so she sipped from her cup.
"You're supposed to dip it in your tea," Erik spoke up, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Meg looked at him in curiosity, but he was still focused on the fire. She did as he suggested, dunking the hard pastry with her fingers holding as little of it as possible. When she tasted it, the scone was a completely new experience. It was sweeter and softer. Much better. She finished the breakfast cookie, placed her empty teacup and saucer on the small table next to her chair, and sat back.
The silence continued, until a knock sounded at the door. Meg hurried to her room, not wanting to be seen in her nightgown. She heard Erik speaking English to whomever had entered. Soon after, there was a knock on her own door.
The woman from yesterday, Ms. Caron, gave her a smile and glided into her bedroom without waiting for an invitation. She held a new dress in her outstretched arms. She placed it upon the bed.
The assistant helped Meg into the new garment, a pretty lavender shade, with slim sleeves and a black jacket that fit snugly over the top of the dress. The skirt was not as full as the lapis blue gown, and the material was not quite as fine. The adornments of white pearl buttons and white ruffles on her neck and at the ends of the sleeves were understated.
Once Meg was dressed in her new outfit, undergarments and stockings included, Ms. Caron motioned for her to sit at her vanity. The woman brushed out Meg's tangles and set to work using pins everywhere upon her head, fastening the finger curls to the sides of her face and sweeping the majority of her hair into a low bun at the nape of her neck.
"Are…you…safe?"
Meg looked at her helper with astonishment. Before she could respond, Ms. Caron continued.
"My family…from France. My grandmother. I'm sorry. I know…little French."
Meg smiled at her effort.
"Yes, I am…safe."
The woman left the room and returned with a hatbox and a pair of white boots. She helped Meg put the boots on, closing up all the complicated buttons. The hat was black and plain, with a medium brim and a large black fabric bow on what would be the left side of her face. While she pinned it to her hair, Ms. Caron spoke in her broken French, again.
"Who is…the man?"
Meg hesitated, unsure of how to explain the situation. She smiled reassuringly.
"He manages me."
"'Manages?' What is…that word?"
"He writes…plays music. I dance. We work together."
The woman's eyes widened in surprise.
"You are…dancer?"
"Yes, I am a ballerina."
"Ah! Beautiful!"
Meg smiled brightly at the kind woman. She recognized that she was speaking French alone in her room to someone who wasn't Erik. The thought had quickly flitted through her mind to write or say something to indicate that she needed help, but she didn't want to endanger this poor innocent woman.
"He is…good? Nice?"
Ms. Caron looked deeply into her eyes, trying to read anything that Meg might say in between her words.
"Yes."
"What is…" the older woman struggled with what word to say next. Exasperated with her lack of fluency, she used her right hand to cover the left side of her face.
"Ah," Meg nodded in understanding. "The 'mask,'" she clarified.
"'Mask?'" Ms. Caron repeated the word, trying to pronounce it correctly. It sounded like she had never heard it before. When Meg nodded in encouragement, Ms. Caron continued her line of questioning. "Why?"
Again, Meg struggled with what to tell her. She could come up with something feasible, but she wished Erik had instructed her with what to say.
"It is from…fire." Meg gingerly touched her face in the area that the Phantom's affliction was. She mimed her skin being hot to the touch, then placed her hands in her lap and looked very saddened.
Mercifully, the inquisitive woman nodded and abandoned the conversation. She brought a pair of white gloves with small pearls on them to Meg, completing the ensemble. Meg walked to a full-length mirror in the corner of her room to admire her new look.
A knock sounded at the door, and Erik walked in, followed by the lanky Mr. Schmidt. The older gentleman applauded Meg's transformation; Erik nodded his assent.
The sales duo left, after speaking for a few more minutes with their male customer, and Erik and Meg were left alone in the sitting room.
Meg looked over to Erik, whose outfit looked mostly similar to what he had already worn, except for a new pinstriped black waistcoat, a black tie, and a black fedora. His shoes were black, as well, and they shined brilliantly.
"Ms. Caron knows some French," Meg said softly.
Erik's head whipped from the door to where she stood.
"Oh, really?" he sneered. "I should've known better than to leave you alone with her." He shook his head and strode over to his bedroom.
Meg's frustration grew, upset that he was basically accusing her without hearing her out. She followed him.
"Don't you want to know what was said?" she called out to him.
He went to his long gray jacket that was perched across a chair.
Arriving in his doorway, Meg glanced with surprise around the room. It was functional, but hardly lavish. The single bed was not as grand as her own, and there was no sitting area. He did have a small desk with one small chair, the same chair that held up his jacket.
He still had yet to respond to her, as he righted his attire and placed his signature skull cufflinks in their spots. Satisfied with his preening, he picked up the jacket and completed outfitting himself.
Meg took the pause in conversation as an opportunity to see the rest of his room. He had no window, and his bathroom was about half the size of hers. He had clearly seen both rooms and taken the lesser of the two. The fact struck a sympathetic chord in her heart.
Erik was finished, and he moved to leave his room. Meg grabbed his arm as he passed.
"Wait," she pleaded. She was no longer angry at his accusatory tone; she only wanted to clear the air. "Ms. Caron wanted to know if I felt safe with you and who you were to me."
He was glaring at her suspiciously. She had let go of him, once he had stopped to listen to her.
"I told her that you were my manager and that, yes, I was safe. Then, she wanted to know why you wore the mask."
Erik calmed, but his tone was still derisive. "Did you tell her that my business is my own?"
"Well, no," she admitted, regretting that they had never agreed on what to say in such a delicate situation. "I said there was a fire, and that you were burned."
He gave a single, tight nod. "Very well. If you must, use that explanation in the future, as well. But do not go into specifics. There is no need."
Meg smiled. She left his room and he followed.
"We are dressed to go out. Where are we going?" She hoped her transition would be well met and that Erik would, indeed, take her with him on this day.
Erik watched Meg, as if he was trying to read into her mind.
"There is a rather large park that was just built in the middle of this city. I've heard it's quite beautiful. Would you like to see it?"
"I would," Meg grinned.
He offered his arm, and she accepted it.
"Can we visit a bookshop, as well? I do want to finish Les Misérables, but I would love some lighter reading."
He nodded, not looking at her, as they left the room and made their way to the lobby. As it was the day before, stares followed wherever they went. Heads turned to examine the Phantom's stark white mask and the attractive young woman who was with him.
They took a hansom cab to Central Park, where visitors roamed the breathtaking paths at their leisure. Men tipped their hats to one another, some walking with canes, some without. Ladies promenaded past the manicured lawns, some with parasols, some concealed by hats with ridiculously large brims and fanning themselves. There were children, too, most with nannies struggling to keep them in line, running in the artificial wilderness. Every so often, a dog would trot by with its owner.
Meg's eyes lit up at the lively scenery, watching the society around her. Erik seemed less impressed and was obviously trying to avoid walking by the many strangers…as best as he could. They came to a bench in a secluded, relatively empty area. They sat and watched their surroundings.
"Isn't this beautiful, Erik? I cannot believe a place like this exists!"
"Mmm-hmm," was the only sound that he made.
He had been so cold to her. Ever since her refusal last night. He has no right to act this childish! I am being perfectly civil, she reasoned with herself. Did my standing up for myself really affect our relationship to the point that he will no longer be friendly to me?
She was in a gorgeous location, wearing delightful new clothes, sitting next to a fascinating, mysterious man whom she had enjoyed many conversations with. And, now, he stared at the flora around them with little interest.
Tempted to accuse him of acting like a child for refusing to engage with her, Meg remembered how she felt earlier, when she had walked out of his bedroom. She bit her tongue and let the awkwardness remain between them.
They left the park soon after, with Meg sorely disappointed not in the park's reputed beauty, but in the loneliness she felt while sitting next to someone whom she had hoped would enjoy the outing as much as she did.
In the cab on the way over, Erik had spied a bookstore that bordered the park. They walked together unhurriedly to the nearby location.
The store was quaint, and it stretched further to the back than could be assumed from its entrance. At the register, a man of about thirty, short and with dark blonde hair stood and waited to greet the possible new customers.
The man greeted them with a smile, but then his voice faltered, when he noticed Erik's masked face. He forced a smile and finished the latter half of his sentence.
Meg smiled, and the shopkeeper's attention was effectively drawn away. He smiled back at her pretty face, blushing a bit for good measure. She stepped away from Erik to look at the titles. Most were, of course, in English.
Erik looked to the young man and asked him something. He replied with only a few words; he then led them to the back of the store, where Meg finally saw herself flanked by French books on every side of the narrow room. She walked from case to case, trying to see if she recognized any of the authors. Eric stood nearby, but the room was too cramped to fit all three of them.
When the young worker left to greet another customer who had entered the store, Erik left the room, as well, staying close enough to see Meg, but far enough away to give her some privacy. She had found a few interesting titles, shorter reads, all of which centered around either dance or romance.
From the back of the room, hidden behind a bookcase, a narrow door opened to reveal the same short man who had escorted her and Erik to the French titles section.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle."
"You speak French?" Meg asked.
"I do. And I am happy that it enables me to tell you how beautiful you are in your own romantic language."
She blushed at the overdone compliment, surprised to hear him speak with such ease and confidence. It was a far cry from the conversation she had earlier with Ms. Caron.
"Thank you, sir. And thank you for showing us to your French section. We only just arrived to New York, and I have not yet learned English."
"That will come in time, I'm sure." He looked toward to where Erik had moved. Meg noticed that he was staying well out of her guardian's range of sight. "What is your name, beautiful?"
"I'm M-, um, Adelina," she forced out. I need to practice introducing myself with my new identity in a more convincing way. That was terrible!
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Adelina," he grabbed her hand, suddenly, bringing her gloved knuckles to his chapped lips. "My name is Roger. May I ask who you are with?"
"I am with my…guardian, Danton. He is my manager."
"Your manager? Your guardian? He looks too frightening to be worthy of your presence!"
She yanked her hand away from him and rested it upon the small pile of books that she held.
"That is a cruel thing to say, monsieur."
"I apologize," he replied insincerely. "What of yours does he 'manage,' then?"
"He is a genius composer, and I am to be the lead dancer in his new show."
"Ah," he smiled in smug satisfaction, as if he realized something. "You dance for him? If I had enough money to keep you comfortable, would you dance for me, too?"
Meg's jaw dropped in shock. She turned to find Erik, frustrated that her companion had been right: even if she was able to find someone able to speak French, she wouldn't necessarily find an ally.
Erik registered her coming toward him, but he walked away from her, to the register. The cashier reemerged from the back, meeting them both with a smile, as if he hadn't just insulted Meg moments ago. Meg wordlessly placed the three novels on the counter, refusing to make eye contact with the man ringing up the purchase. Erik placed an additional, larger book next to her own stack, then paid for all four items.
Carefully packaged in a parcel, Erik tucked it under one arm and led Meg toward the exit. She grabbed his other arm with both of her hands and pulled herself up against Erik tightly. He looked down at her with surprise, but her head was turned toward the shopkeeper and she glared at him sourly.
Outside, Erik questioned the odd interaction.
"What was that about?"
She cringed at how annoyed he sounded. "He had a back entrance into the room he showed us to, and he said some rude things to me." Her grip had loosened, but she still had both gloved hands on his upper arm.
Instead of showing her sympathy, he smirked sardonically at her, while hailing the service of a cabbie.
"My, my, another French speaker in the same day. Where is your determination to escape? You may not see odds like this, again."
She felt her heart drop in her chest, and her face fell along with it.
The ride back to the hotel was uncomfortably silent. They sat alongside each other, but their bodies only touched due to their cramped seating. No interaction took place, as Erik stared out at the passing buildings and Meg contemplated how to repair the even worse predicament she found herself in.
Once back in the privacy of their rooms, Meg walked toward her room to remove her gloves, hat, and jacket. Erik followed her and placed the parcel on the vanity, and then he left without a glance in her direction. She looked at the package in surprise. Had he not taken the book he purchased for himself?
She untied the string and ripped open the brown paper. The three smaller books were set aside; she picked up the remaining book and began the short trip to wherever Erik might be. As she walked, she flipped through the pages. It looked like drawings of fashion.
Not just fashion…these are costumes, she corrected herself. With instructions on how to draw them proportionally to a drawn form.
Erik had the same idea as Meg, returning to his room to remove his own accessories. She placed the book on his tiny desk and went to leave his room, not wishing to disturb him while he was in a foul mood.
"That is for you."
She stopped in his doorway.
"The book?" she asked, feeling like an idiot as soon as the obvious question came out of her mouth.
He handed the book back to her, and she looked up to him in confusion.
"Why-"
"You were sketching costumes on the ship. I assumed you might want to continue in that creative vein."
The thoughtfulness in his act left her dumbfounded, so, book in hand, she left his room to return to the comfort of her own.
They did not speak during lunch, nor during dinner. Meg felt she might scream to alleviate the awkward tension in the air, but she did not actually do so. In imagining the scenario in her head, she came up with multiple humorous responses that Erik might do or say.
At the end of the night, Meg changed out of her new dress and into her gown and robe. She picked up the copy of Les Misérables and peeked into the common room. No Erik. No fire. No light.
She took a taper candle in its holder and lit it in her bedroom, taking the light source and the novel to the sofa. She found a knit blanket in a basket beside one of the armchairs. Placing it over her lap, she shivered and opened the large book, trying to find where Erik had last left off.
Why can't he use bookmarks like every normal person? Her irritation grew with each attempt to find the correct passage. She saw plenty of familiar lines, but she could not figure out where they had stopped the story.
Meg looked over to Erik's shut door. Biting her lip, she thought about knocking and asking him to join her. No, she thought, I can't buckle after one day. If he is to take me and my affections seriously, I need to keep my distance.
Reluctantly, she rose from the sofa and took the candle and book with her, allowing the blanket to fall to the floor. She extinguished the lights in her room and jumped into her bed, wondering if her convictions made even a lick of sense.