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Erik hastily rang the bell for a maid.
There was knocking at the door, "Can I come in-"
"Mlle., I want you to keep an eye on Mlle. Daae. I want someone to be watching her for the entire break." The maid peaked her head in the room and just stared at him, puzzling. Surely, many things were whizzing about in her little brain. So many, in fact, that she had to stop altogether!
"Erm, yes, that I can do," She quickly stated. Then, paused awkwardly and pursed her lips, "Anything else?" By this time, she had fully opened the door. Her hands were collapsed in front of her.
"That would be fine," Erik stated curtly. The girl shut the door, a scamper to get out.
Since he couldn't join Mlle. Daae, Erik thought it would be better to have someone keep an eye on her. He wouldn't want to scare her and her golden throat away, after all the work he put into putting the edge off his temper. It was a strenuous effort. It also would not do for her to run off or get hurt in any fashion.
It especially would not help if she uncovered his secret passages on day one. Or uncovered anything else, for that matter.
Amir had already invested so much into her closet. It would be a disservice to him if the collection couldn't be put to use.
He would have put the ever more trusted M. Giry in charge, but even he had to admit, she had better things to do. Her job was essential, the keystone of the entire operation. The operation of keeping the guests and workers on a strict timetable. And she was quite good, he had come to learn. She was especially helpful during his days at the opera. That was where he had "picked her up", so to speak.
As for the timetable, it also included meals. Erik never really was a great partaker in the act of eating, but at least he had her to remind him. He would be inclined to fire a few employees if he didn't have at least the option of lamb and curry.
In other words, he would be rather put out. It was better for everyone when there was not a state of duress.
So, Erik trusted in a low-level employee to watch over a liability. A liability who was...on his mind lately, but a hazard to his way of life, certainly. He hoped that he wouldn't come to regret it. But for now, he would enjoy his tea on the roof with no one to disturb him.
He waited for a few quiet moments and departed once he could ascertain that his drink of choice would be waiting for him.
A little while later…
Christine marched back to her little bench outside the study and checked the time. It happened to be about eleven o'clock. Drat. She had an entire hour left to go before she could finish her singing and speaking. During her lunch, she had taken M. Laurent's advice and drank a great deal of water.
She wasn't sure, however, that she could fully cut out caffeine. Once a month, on days that she slept less than her usual five, she would treat herself to a caffeinated beverage. Coffe and the like. It gave her a hearty jolt to start the day, and one of her few luxuries.
Surely this grand house could possibly have some, but now she knew, they weren't going to offer any at all!
But, she trusted his judgment for what she should and shouldn't consume. For some odd reason, she felt a desperate need not to disappoint him. From what she could figure, It was out of the worry he would throw her back onto the streets.
She trusted him also because he seemed to enjoy her voice. Yesterday, he had look struck by lighting. He wouldn't want any harm to befall something he enjoyed. Christine was worried that she was hanging by a thread, dangling over the abyss, even though she had managed to secure a spot at the house.
She sighed deeply, overcome with a wave of exhaustion from her figuring. Attempting to figure a future that might never come to pass was a useless exercise of time. But, now, she had nothing to think of but the future.
She paced through the first floor, attempting to note exactly where everything was, so she would not get lost later. Still, she was having problems navigating. It didn't help that the wallpaper was the exact same everywhere she wandered!
It felt a little odd walking around the hallways without anyone to guide her. She might have also felt odd because that was the third time she had passed a red beaded floor lamp. Was she going in a circle or did he not have any variance in taste? She did not know, but the similarity of the color scheme certainly pointed to the latter.
Everything seemed to be a dingey black, grey, or red. With the occasional splash of oblivion to spice things up. Even the windows, which had a small portion of stained glass on some to provide variance, were a sad color. Shame too, they were the only well-illuminated light source in the entire blasted house.
Not that she could complain. At least she was in a house.
Now that she thought about it, it was incredibly odd that her room had not been decorated in this fashion. Maybe he had guests who complained. She would forever be beholden to whoever decided that a cloud would be better than a crypt.
Christine peered out of the lengthy windows and observed the foot traffic below. The fashionably dressed, handsome ladies, out for a stroll. The dashing men, dashing to their desired destinations. She could almost compare to them. Only in looks of course. The looks of her dress. Her face, however, was as plain as the clothes she had left behind.
The garden below was barren, but still beautiful nonetheless. She had a feeling, it too would be red and dismal shades of black and grey. Now, it was the only grey. A housekeeper was shuffling her rake, pushing the gutter doused, once brightly colored leaves into the drain.
She found it all very fascinating, now that she wasn't in the action. Christine admired the peaceful procession from a little alcove she had stepped into, very dreamily.
"Mlle. Daae! Mlle. Daae!" A maid dashed down the hall, huffing as she went, grabbing the hemline of her skirt. She had her hand raised a waving, in order to alert on Mlle. Daae. She continued to dash, unaware that Christine was in the alcove right beside her!
"Ya?" she called out, a touch belated.
"Oh." the maid made eye contact, "Where were you?" she asked angrily.
"I was 'ere." Christien gestured around.
"We've been looking for you everywhere! What do you do when your responsibility runs off? Ay." She wrapped her arm around her's in a tight hold.
"Where are we goin'?" The maid released her arm from her elbow. Christien rubbed it.
"I suppose since you didn't get yourself into trouble…" she narrowed her eyes, as though she were expecting Christine to run off into the trashbin, "You can stay here. As soon as I find you a chaperone!"
She looked at Christine the entire time she went down the hallway.
"Don't move," She shouted as she turned the corner. Christine wasn't going to move anyway. After a few long seconds of tapping her fingers on the windowpane, a second maid came in. She was a greying vision of a firm, no-nonsense matron.
"Oh, hello dearie! It's a good thing you haven't moved!" she spoke in a tone just as firm as she looked. Her voice was strained.
"I 'aven't."
"And that's good." She gave Christine a hearty pat on the back. She coughed as a result.
Christine spent a few more moments carefully observing the world outside the window. A carriage being pulled by a group of beautiful white horses rode past. She put a hand to the windowpane, leaning closer to the scene. She was rather engrossed in watching.
The maid's foot tapped once against the floor. It shook her slightly. She resumed her musings.
Then again! Tap. Tap. Tap. She ignored it, choosing to hear the neighing of a horse or the chirping of a bird or the chatter of the gentlefolk-
Tap tap tap. Christine bit her lip tightly. Horses. Birds. Chatter-
The lady coughed artificially. She spun around, knowing that no one created that much commotion unless they wanted to be seen.
"Ya?" Christine paid her the attention but crossed her arms annoyedly.
"Wouldnt you like to go outside?"
"Outside?" What did the outside have to do with anything?
"Yes, outside! You could be enjoying the view from the garden instead of standing in the window."
"The garden in the front?"
"No, the garden in the cellar," she said straightly, "Yes, the garden in the font! Being daft doesn't suit you."
"Fine let's go to the garden in the front." Christine had no idea what she had done to this woman to bring such ill will.
"Good. My back is killing me." Ah! No wonder she was so irritated. She had known many good people rendered a grumbling mess because of their back.
The woman moved quickly through the halls and finally showed Christine out a small side door. The passage was direct in leading her out. It would be good to remember its location if she even needed fresh air.
Speaking of the fresh air- it was cold!
"It's 'old!" Christine yelped, trying to cover more of her arms with her hands.
"What did you expect? A warm breeze with a side of sunshine? You were the one looking out the window." She noted the woman's doubled layered wool blouse and felt a pang of annoyance. Christine was struck with a thin cotton one. She frowned at her but sat down on a stone bench wordlessly.
"Much better, see?" The maid sat down on a bench across from hers. She did have to admit that it was better, even if the cold bit into her skin. They sat in silence for a few moments.
"Do ya 'ave to watch me?" She wanted to be left alone, or at least not be watched every waking moment.
"Yes, I do, Mlle. Daae," She furrowed her brow, " M. Laurent wanted to make sure you didn't get into any sort of trouble." He seemed to want to control where everyone was at all times, going as far as assigning her an attendant. Maybe he was just worried about her?
That was just too strange to consider, so she didn't ponder it anymore.
Instead, she thought about her father, and if he had received her letter, if he was writing back, etc. There were many things to consider in the scenario. Would she write every day like she thought yesterday? Or would someone get angry at her form using all the postage frivolously? Maybe every two days would be for the best.
She toyed a little with a little string on the lace bits of her sleves, admiring the dead bushes around her.
Eventually, after a nice, long time, the bells of a church began to signal the third quarter of the hour. Good thing, too. It was beginning to get boring without anything to keep her hands busy. Not even the little string could keep her entertained. Evidently, the maid was also bored. She wasn't bored to death, but she was sleeping soundly.
Christine contemplated waking her, but the clock decided for her as the loudest chimes dinged! In the distance. It firmly ratted the woman. She blinked rapidly, shaking off her sleep.
"Hem," she cleared her throat, which was slightly raspy, "Mlle. Daae, It would be best for you to remain indoors until your lesson. Where we have a clock." She nodded her head.
The maid practically pushed her back into the house. She affixed a hawk's stare to Christine.
She attempted to ignore it, as she made her way over to the little bench. It came as a surprise to her that she remembered exactly where it was! Going from one place to another in the labyrinth-like house was tedious.
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A little while beforehand...
The chimes for the quarter-hour sounded, stirring up the birds.
Erik leisurely folded up that day's newspaper and set it on the glass table, downing his still-steaming tea promptly. He took one last glance at the sweeping views of the city and began his descent. It was just down one of the regular staircases, that led off into a secluded side hallway.
The rooftop dining place had a great amount of privacy from any sort of prying eyes. In lieu of this discovery, Erik bought three table and chair sets from a local restaurant. The sets proceeded to be lugged up to the roof and placed where he could eat. He could have purchased any other sensible table and chair sets from popular retailers but decided against it.
In the proper lighting and in the proper seat, the one to the far left, there was an illusion of being in a deserted cafe. Just like anyone else would do. Something perfectly normal, yet forever out of reach.
Once, he became so engrossed in the little puzzle at the back of the newspaper (it took him a record three minutes, mind you), he forgot he was on his roof. So poor Erik was startled when his tea spilled on the floor after a gust of wind and reminded him of the setting. He was not in a cafe, but alone in his house. Soon, tears were spilling like his unfortunately-placed tea. He vowed never to play one of those stupid riddles again.
It had been a while since then, and still hadn't even glanced at the back of a newspaper.
For now, that heartache was forgotten, there were more important things awaiting him in the future.
Erik's steps were light, but not intentionally. He had somewhere to be, more delightful than the panoramic views of Paris.
He hurried off to his chambers and straightened himself up. His hair quite a mess, as it was after every lunch. The giant hat that shielded him from the sun always mussed it up. Erik picked up his wig and ran to his study through his concealed passages.
It was time!
He had visions of throwing open the door triumphantly, as his mood demanded a flair for the dramatic. But, he didn't want to appear overzealous, so Erik settled for not so much throwing but lightly swinging it open.
And Mlle. daae was exactly where he, definitely, knew she would be. After that distasteful episode this morning in which Mlle. Daae had to speak for long periods of time, he was glad to go about a more favorable course. The one of singing, that is.
"Mlle. Daae, come in," he waved her in, "I trust lunch had been well?" if it weren't, there was a line cook Erik had been noticing was slacking off. He could very easily take the blame.
"It was fine, thank ya," she was silent for a moment, but then her eyes widened liked she had remembered something, " and ya? 'Ow was ya lunch?" Mlle. Daae rushed out the last words and pressed her lips together. She was rather endearing in her flustered state. He looked away, back to his desk.
"It was fine," He stated with feigned disinterest. The fact that she had asked him about lunch was actually quite interesting, " It would do well for you to be seated while I explain."
"Will do." She sat down, but with an ounce more energy than what she had this morning.
"As you know, now I will now be tutoring you in your voice." He picked a sculpture model of the human throat.
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Christine was tense. Her knees were locked together. One of her fears was, in her mind, an inevitable failure on her part. She didn't want to disappoint herself, or more importantly, M. Laurent
"Alright." She barely choked this out. An unfortunate side effect of her nerves rendered her voice just above a whisper.
M. Luawnr was so composed, so collected, she couldn't help but envy him. He stared straight ahead like nothing was amiss. He didn't comment on her keyed-up state, like any true gentleman. He was perfectly fine!
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Erik was not perfectly fine. In fact, he had never been perfectly fine in his entire life. It was quite a leap of Mlle. Daae's judgment to assume this. At most, he had been in a floundering state of contentment. This was not one of those times. It rarely ever was.
No, he was teetering on the edge of oddly placed concern and restless excitement.
He was as keyed-up as Mlle. daae herself when it came to the prospect of her voice, and concerned about the woman. She had turned a startling shade of white. Or was it white? He could tell with the terrible lighting in his study.
"Mlle. Daae, if you would please stand." She did so. He went over to the piano and took out a few selections, "is there anything you would like to sing to warm up with?" He had a haunting fear that she would belt out a rendition of Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight. No doubt it would be lovely, but he would have to stop her the second she finished the first line.
"Sure."
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Christine knew a variety of songs, but they were in French. An added bonus was that she hadn't sung them in years, except to herself or occasionally to her father.
"Are you going to tell me the song?"
"Erm, ya don't know it." His yellow eyes became slivers.
"Really?" He asked, unveiling.
"...maybe ya do know it?" she burst out, "It's not in French."
"So what is it? Italian? German? Spanish? English, even?"
"Swedish." She squeaked out. His eyes widened.
"Well, yes then, Mlle. Daae your original assessment was correct," His composure was back once again. " I do not believe I am aware of what you are going to sing." She crossed her arms in triumph.
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Erik had a sudden great wave of shame pass over him. He would not apologize, it was not in his nature, but he did feel a great deal of self-consciousness.
He could have died of embarrassment. Many times, he had wished some void would have swallowed him whole, but also, it never managed to ake an appearance. He flet like the world's greatest imbecile. Second only to the Daroga, naturally. Of course, she wouldn't sing a song in any of those languages. She was from Sweden, and would rightfully sing a song in Swedish.
He leaned back against the piano. The cover was down, so he didn't accidentally create a cacophony of sound. Erik was on the edge of his seat waiting to hear Mlle. Daae's performance. He vowed not to show it, however.
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Christine started off on the simple little song, voice rising as she went. She couldn't look at M. Laurent's eyes now, harboring a bad case of stage fright. If you could call it that- she was performing for a riveting audience of one!
After her voice had trailed off after the final bit, she clenched her hands tightly and sat back down. She thought she hadn't done too bad. No worse than yesterday, at least.
"Well, Mlle. Daae, that was good, but I'd rather you remain standing." She was slightly taken aback. Good? After he lavishly threw praise like a king threw his subject's heads on the chopping block, Christine was expecting just a bit more from him. It had been doing wonders for her self-esteem.
She bit her lip, and the anxious feeling returned.
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Erik didn't want to overstep his bounds, he really didn't. The only reason why he had a reaction the day before was that he was totally unprepared. He didn't want to seem too...obsessed with the crystal timbre as he had yesterday. It was uncalled for and probably started the lady greatly.
So he just settled for a measly good. It was probably for the best she would never see him go on one of those tirades again.
Mlle. Daae stood back up and turned to him again.
"'Hat else do I 'aveta do today?" He shook himself out of his recollection.
"Just more scales," he paused, "when you get better at vowels, then we'll practice songs."
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She nodded her head dejectedly. Any moment now, he would rip away the rug, and she would be hurtling back to her shack.
But that moment never came.
She did the exercises, and everything appeared to be satisfactory. He never ordered her out or did anything out of the ordinary. She let out a breath of relief when finally, they had gotten through the entire vocal set and the repetition of vowels.
"...so ya aren't goin' to throw ma out, then?"
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Erik was taken aback. What was she suggesting? Did she want to leave?
"Whyever would I do that?"
"Well, has ma voice sounded worse?" She scraped her foot on the carpet.
"Not at all! Mlle. Daae, it was as wonderful as yesterday, perhaps even more so. What made you think that?" He wanted to pile her in blankets and chocolates.
"Ya called my singing good!" She sniffled out.
"Oh…" It dawned in him, "Oh! I'm terribly sorry Mlle. Daae, I never meant to offend you," he really didn't, "you were stupendous, I must say."
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"Thank ya for telling me that, you probably made my day." She smiled a little. It was true, though.
Christine felt very silly, crying over spilled milk, so to speak. She felt even worse having to have M. Laurent explain to her that she did not do terribly, but felt that it was worth it (little did she know, Erik was quite happy to assuage her fears). Now, she knew for certain he wouldn't kick her out .
If she considered it, she probably knew it when he got her the closet full of clothes. Those are hard to get rid of.
" M. Laurent, if ya 'scuse me I 'ave to get ready for dinner." She didn't really but wanted to write a letter to her father, she decided once every day for the first week and every other day after that. Christine waved at him and left.
She wrote a letter summarizing her day and remembered to include extra postage in the envelope for her father. After, she ate dinner in the dining room and attempted to find a novel in Swedish to no avail. There were just none in the house. There were some, and more, in the other languages, M. Laurent asked about earlier. He was definitely smarter than she thought.
Forget about learning five languages, she could barely manage two!
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Erik also had a solemn dinner, but it was greatly improved by his mood. He had never made anyone's day before.