Christine did not even remember how she found her way through the maze of corridors back to her room on her own. Somehow she managed to find the right door, threw it open and flung herself upon the bed, sobbing uncontrollably until she felt she had no more tears left.
Her father was gone. She might never see him again and she had not even been allowed one last embrace, one last chance to tell him how much she loved him. How could this man, this Erik, be so heartless? Had he never loved anyone? Had he never feared to lose someone who was dear to him? How could he have done this to her?
She was already bitterly regretting her decision to stay. Yesterday he had almost thrown them out of the house without a second thought, only agreeing to let them stay once he realized he might get something out of it in return - although she still did not understand what exactly that might be - and then this morning he had been so angry with her when she asked about the west wing, yelling at her as if she were a disobedient child before coldly informing her that he had sent her father away without consulting her. Who did this man think he was that he presumed to have the authority to make decisions like that about her only family?
He did say that he had done it to give her father the best chance of survival, and maybe that was true, but he could at least have sent someone to wake her and given her the opportunity to say goodbye instead of telling her afterwards.
When her sobbing had died down and her breathing had evened out again, she took a moment to take in her surroundings. The room she had been brought to last night was bigger and more elaborately decorated than any bedroom she had ever seen. It was elegantly furnished, with a large four poster bed, two bedside tables, a wardrobe with beautifully carved wooden doors, and a matching chest of drawers. There was also a dressing table with a mirror, which was still hidden beneath a dust sheet. The servants must have forgotten to remove it in their haste to prepare the room for her on such short notice.
She could hardly believe all this space was meant for just one person. There was enough room for her to dance around if she wanted to, although she certainly was in no mood for dancing right now. She was in no mood to do anything, really, but she realized that she could not stay in bed all day, doing nothing but worrying about her father. He would not want that for her. There was nothing she could do to change the situation now. Better to stay busy and try to keep her mind occupied.
She got up, wiped her tears away and started unpacking her belongings, which had been brought to her room by one of the servants last night. Unfortunately that did not take half as long as she would have wished as there was not all that much to unpack: some clothing, a hairbrush, a sewing kit and a few personal items, including a small portrait of her mother and a book of Swedish fairy tales. It was a worn copy, read so many times that it was all but falling apart, but it was her favourite and she had never been able to part with it.
When she was done putting everything away, the only item that remained was her father's violin. She almost burst out in tears again when she saw the leather case sitting there on the floor, fearing that the instrument within might never be played again, but she managed to compose herself. She put the case at the back of the wardrobe, out of sight, but safe just in case.
Looking around the room she found there was not much else she could do there other than stare at the walls and drive herself insane with worry, so she decided to take Erik's suggestion and explore the mansion. If she were to live here for the foreseeable future, she might as well acquaint herself with the house and make sure she would not get lost anytime soon.
She wandered out into the hallway. Going right would lead her back to the staircase she had come from earlier, so she turned left instead. Opening the first door she came across, she was immediately struck by how dark the room was. After letting her eyes adjust for a moment to the darkness in front of her, she could see there were heavy black curtains covering the windows. With the little bit of light that was seeping through she could barely make out a table and a few chairs, and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
The entrance hall was not the only place in the house where the sun was intentionally kept out then. Maybe Erik had some kind of skin condition which meant he could not bear the sunlight. That might very well be the reason he was wearing the mask. She remembered that there had been sunlight streaming in through the window of his study earlier this morning, although his desk was positioned in such a way that he was sitting with his back towards the window, so the idea did not seem too far-fetched. She could just ask him the next time she saw him, but she quickly dismissed the thought, fearing another angry outburst if she again asked a question he did not wish to answer.
She continued along the corridor, looking into a few other rooms along the way, finding most of them as dark as the first one. Many rooms seemed not to have been used in a very long time, as the furniture was covered with dust sheets. That in itself did not strike her as very odd. After all, as far as she knew, Erik and his staff were the only people living here, and his behaviour last night had made it abundantly clear that he was not the kind of man who entertained a lot of guests. He had even admitted as much himself.
After wandering around the house for a long time, Christine decided to move her explorations outside, to the grounds surrounding the manor. The paths were still wet with last night's rain, but the heavy clouds had disappeared, leaving in their wake a clear blue sky. She walked around for what felt like several hours, admiring the beauty and variety of the extensive gardens. She recognized irises and roses and lavender, but she also saw several types of flowers she had never seen before.
Further along the path, she came upon a large plot of land full of fruit trees. She suddenly became aware of the rumbling in her stomach, which made her realize she had not eaten anything all day after refusing Madame Giry's offer of breakfast before seeing Erik that morning. Looking around to make sure no one was watching her, she plucked an apple from a low-hanging branch and hungrily sunk her teeth in it, relishing its sweet taste.
She continued to eat the apple as she walked along, taking in the beauty all around her. At one point she found herself walking through a topiary garden, with trees and shrubs shaped in all kinds of geometrical figures. In all her past travels with her father, she had never seen an estate as large as this one. How could all of this land belong to only one man? The gardens seemed to stretch out endlessly. She believed she could even spot a lake in the distance and wondered if that too belonged to Erik.
When she came upon a bench facing a large fountain with a statue of an angel at its centre, she sat down, closing her eyes and simply enjoying the peace and quiet, and the warmth of the sun caressing her face. She must have dozed off a little, because the next thing she was aware of was Madame Giry calling her name and telling her it was time to get ready for dinner.
She changed into a different dress – a rather plain-looking thing, but it was the most decent dress she owned – and was shown to the dining room by Madame Giry. Like most of the other rooms she had seen on her tour around the house, the dining room was large and beautifully decorated, with ornate furniture, obviously designed to host banquets and extravagant parties, but instead she found Erik sitting alone at the table at the far end of the room, with two footmen ready to wait on him.
Dinner was a quiet affair. She did not know if he was still mad at her after their last conversation or if he felt ashamed of his outburst, but Erik seemed intent on speaking as little as possible. When she tried making a few neutral comments about the weather or the food, she received either a one word reply or, if he did not feel like making even that small effort, a mere grunt, acknowledging that he had heard her, but was not planning on actually formulating an answer. Only when they had finished eating and the footmen were clearing the last of the plates away did he address her.
"Follow me to the music room. I want you to sing for me."
He did not even add a "please". For all he had insisted on her being his guest and companion, he seemed to treat her more like a servant. She had signed his contract, however, agreeing to sing for him when he wished it of her, so she supposed she did not have much choice but to obey him.
In contrast to the rest of the house, which, as far as she had seen, was immaculately clean, the music room was… well, not messy, exactly, but it felt more lived in. It was clear that the room was frequently used. Sheet music was strewn haphazardly across the top of the piano. When she drew nearer, she could see that some of it was hand-written in red ink, with music notes scratched out and hardly legible comments scribbled in the corners. A fire was already burning brightly in the hearth, and unlike the sitting room last night, the space was illuminated by quite a few candles all over the room.
"Stand over there by the fire," Erik instructed as he sat down in an armchair facing her. "You can sing whatever you like, in French or in Swedish, I don't care."
Well, he really was not the most encouraging audience, was he? She wondered how he even knew that the language she had sung in yesterday was Swedish. Did he understand it, or more than that, speak it? Did he somehow have a connection to her home country? There were so many questions she wanted to ask him, but now was certainly not the right time, and even then she doubted she would ever find the courage to ask him something personal like that.
She stored the little bit of information she had gained and the many questions it triggered away to ponder over later, when she was alone. Focussing on his request for her to sing, she chose another Swedish song, with a somewhat similar tone and story to the one she had sung last night. Whether he knew the language or not, he had appeared to enjoy the song, so it seemed a safe bet.
At first she looked at him while she sang, watching the glow of the fire reflect in his mask. Not wanting him to think she was staring however, and more than a little unnerved by his intense gaze, she turned her eyes away from his, which seemed to be looking straight through her, and looked instead at the carpet beneath her feet, wringing her hands nervously behind her back.
Before she had even finished the song, he told her to stop.
"That will not do at all," he said coldly. "Your breath support is terrible. No wonder, when you're standing there slumped over like that. Has no one ever explained to you the importance of proper posture?"
Christine valiantly tried not to show how much his cutting remark was affecting her, but she honestly did not know how much longer she could deal with his cold and rude behaviour. It had been an emotional day, and the last thing she needed now was Erik finding fault with her singing, which might lead him to dissolve the contract and force her and her father to fend for themselves again.
He must have noticed her stricken expression. He took a deep breath and when he spoke again, his tone was remarkably softer and more gentle than it had been before.
"I apologize, Mademoiselle Daaé," he said with a rather uncomfortable look, as if he was not used to having to offer apologies and did not quite know how to do so. "It seems I have been living on my own for too long with no one around who could take offense to the blunt way in which I voice my thoughts. My comment was not meant to hurt your feelings."
She nodded in acknowledgement of his apology, but, not knowing how to reply, did not say anything.
"Sing it again for me, but stand a little straighter this time."
By now Christine truly did not feel like singing anymore. Nevertheless, not wanting to upset him any further, she did as he asked. This time, he let her finish the song.
"See, that did not sound quite as bad as before," Erik commented. It was probably the closest thing to a compliment she would get from him. She did not want to admit it, but he might be right. She had heard the difference herself.
"Mademoiselle Daaé, I may not know much about polite manners, but I do know something about music. I recognize a talented voice when I hear one, and you have that, although you lack technique. It pains me to hear a voice like yours go to waste. I think you could be a great singer if properly instructed. If you allow me, I would like to teach you."
His offer confounded her. First he scolded and berated her, making it sound as if she were the worst singer he had ever encountered, and now he suddenly found her talented and wanted to be her tutor? She really did not understand this man. His moods changed so quickly, she never knew what to expect with him. Did she even have a choice? How would he react if she said no?
Reading the indecision in her eyes, he surprised her once again.
"I do not need you to answer me now. You can sleep on it, if you like."
"Oh, well, okay, I will," she stuttered. "Thank you."
"You may go now," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
Her head was spinning as she left the room. She had gotten up that morning hoping to find answers to her many questions about this place and the man who lived here. Instead, she went back to her room feeling more confused than ever.