Thanks everyone for reading!

Enjoy!

Christine

Chapter 37

The Plan

The plan was thus:

Vaillancourt kept his dog with him everywhere he went. According to former servants he'd fired and prostitutes he'd patronized, that dog was the only creature, human or beast, that he'd loved. And if he couldn't take the dog into an establishment due to societal rules - such as into a full theatre - then he'd leave the dog outside with the servant in charge of the dog. An underpaid, mistreated servant. Stupid, really, considering this was his most prized possession that the servant was in charge with. Vaillancourt's disregard for those he considered beneath him was his fatal mistake. His undoing.

One of Vincenzo's men, having been given money from Raoul as well as the "general fund" built by Vincenzo's thieves, would approach the servant and ask to purchase the animal. The man would say:

"No, sir, this is my master's dog."

And the thief would say:

"Name your price."

"This dog is not for sale, sir."

"Will this do?"

And the thief would name a number higher than the man's actual annual salary. And the servant would consider his options - flee with that money or continue as normal. For him, normal was not so pleasant...so the choice would be obvious.

While this occurred, Vincenzo would leave a note for Vaillancourt, detailing the fact that both the dog and the girl had been taken, and where to find the kidnappers. The implication would be that the kidnappers were Erik and Franklin, prepared to ransom for the dog.

The dog would be handed off to the mistress of a brothel, Madame Giry, at the Pink Silk Inn.

And Grace, smuggled by yet more thieves out of Vaillancourt's home, would come to our apartment. The poor girl would be scared to death but would come willingly due to the thieves claiming - and proving - to be friends of her father. They knew his name, place of work. Not the most convincing details, but to a twelve year old girl, homesick and desperate for her parent, it was enough for her to take a chance. To a sheltered child, what could possible be worse? What could she imagine was worse?

She arrived on our doorstep, backed by two strange men, ten minutes after we ourselves came back home. It was only Papa and me here - Erik was with Franklin, and Ibrahim went to his sister. It was best for Grace not to be too overwhelmed. She was being taken to a place she didn't know, to people she'd never met. The fewer unfamiliar faces, the better.

I opened the door alone. Papa was in the kitchen, preparing enough tea for three. In the light that poured onto the doorstep, Grace stared up at me with terrified eyes. In fact, she looked like the feminine, younger image of Franklin. Same eyes, same facial structure, same thick brown hair; though while his hair was styled short, hers fell in waves just past her shoulder.

One of the men asked, "Mme. Perrault?"

"Yes," I said.

The men glanced at each other, nodded, and were gone, walking briskly back into the night. Task accomplished, apparently.

Grace - for, truly, it had to be Grace - watched the men walk away. Her hands gripped her skirt tightly. The material was well-made, and she appeared clean and healthy, so it didn't appear that she'd been abused or neglected. But I knew bruises and scars could be invisible.

Her eyes went back to me, and I smiled kindly. "Mlle. Knight?"

"Yes?" Unlike her father, she lacked an accent. Much like how I didn't have my own father's Swedish accent. She must have been born in France, or at least moved from England very young.

I brought my hands together in front of me, continuing to smile. "My name is Christine Perrault. I know your Papa."

Her eyes widened further and went behind me, searching for someone who wasn't there. "Is he..."

"No, darling, not here. But you'll see him soon." Franklin, I knew, couldn't come straight here for fear that Vaillancourt would follow rather than go to the Cat's Eye. "You'll see him soon."

"Where is he?" Her voice was a gust of cold wind - urgent, quiet, and quick. "When will I see him?" Shallow breath. "Where am I? And how do you know my Papa?"

My heart cracked in my chest. I knew exactly what this was like. "Your Papa has to make sure it's safe to see you, Grace." At the mention of her name, she calmed a fraction. Her shoulders lowered. "You'll see him soon. Before morning. My husband is a performer at his theatre, and this is our home. You're safe here, dear. I promise."

I extended a hand. She stared at it a moment, then took it. To my relief, the frightened girl allowed me to pull her inside.

"My own Papa is making us tea-"

"No, thank you," she said quickly, releasing my hand. She stared at the ground. "I'm not thirsty."

I bit my lower lip. If she didn't want tea, I'd certainly not push it on her. Her existing suspicion would worsen and she'd likely panic. I recalled my fear of eating or drinking anything the first day at Erik's palace chambers.

"Would you like to sit?" I offered, gesturing to the couch.

She shrugged, still not looking up.

"Stay here," I said.

Grace nodded.

I went to the kitchen, whispered to my father that she was here but didn't want tea, telling him I'd let him know if and when she was calm and comfortable enough for another new face. He merely kissed my cheek and told me he understood, that he'd sip his tea and read at the kitchen table.

I went to my bedroom and picked up my sketchpad. I brought it out to the parlor and found that Grace had, indeed, taken a seat - but that she was tucked to the side of the couch and at the edge of the cushion, making herself a mouse, small and able to get up and run.

"Grace?"

She looked up and eyed the sketchpad. "What is that?"

"My drawings." I went to the couch and sat, giving her a wide and respectful berth. "Do you like to draw?"

She shook her head no.

"Do you want to see any of mine?"

A long pause, where she merely stared at the sketchpad. Her eyes were wary, sad.

"You can say no, love," I said softly.

She inhaled, then shrugged again. "No - all right. I will look. Just to...pass time." She blushed. "That was rude - excuse me. I am interested."

"It wasn't." I handed her the pad. She accepted it. "Your mind is on other things. I understand. Hopefully, by the time you're done looking, your Papa will be here."

Another nod. This time, with more hope.