Author's Note: Welcome new followers! Thanks to all those who are reading, and those of you who have left lovely reviews. I really appreciate it.
For those of you wondering about Erik and Christine's respective pasts, don't worry. I will explore this fairly soon!
I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Thanks for reading.
Chapter Six: The Music Shop
"Listen to this!" said Gerard, jabbing the newspaper enthusiastically with his forefinger. "Erik, The Master of Dark Magic, makes a welcome return to London with some spectacular new illusions. But the highlight of the evening must be the glorious voice of Miss Christine Daae, newly arrived from Paris, who provides this revue with class and sophistication."
"As if we're not classy enough already!" said Sorelli. The company laughed.
It was a month since the start of the season, and Gerard had called his acts together on the stage. The show had received excellent notices, and word of mouth had obviously worked too, because the music hall had been packed to the rafters every evening. But on this occasion, Gerard was particularly excited because they had been reviewed by The London Times, something which had apparently never happened before. No one had any idea why the eminent critic had decided to visit the music hall, but the popular opinion was that he was an opera fan, and the lure of seeing Mademoiselle Christine Daae had been too great to resist.
Christine found this rather embarrassing. She had not wished to attract quite so much attention to herself, and she certainly hadn't wanted to take any credit from her fellow performers. But Gerard was absolutely delighted.
"Didn't I tell you?" he said, beaming. "Didn't I say we would have a great success?"
Christine glanced at Erik, who was standing in the wings, as was his habit. He smiled, a subtle expression half hidden by the mask. Christine smiled back.
As she had expected, teaching Erik was both a trial and a great privilege.
The first couple of weeks were the most difficult. Erik was shy and defensive, and given to dark moods, particularly when the lessons were going less than well. There had even been a couple of times when he had grown frustrated mid-lesson and simply vanished backstage. On these occasions, Christine had worried that he would not show up for his next lesson. But the following night he would be back, standing by the piano, staring at his clasped hands and muttering an apology.
The first time this happened, it seemed to come out of nowhere. Erik was halfway through a song when he suddenly stopped singing, uttered a cry of frustration, and threw the music onto the stage floor.
"This song is impossible," he moaned. "It has too many words beginning with P!"
Christine laughed at this objection, which struck her as absurd. "Why is that a problem, pray?"
He stared at her in silence. Then the hurt look in his eyes gave way to a dark glare, and he stomped off into the wings, leaving her utterly perplexed.
The following night he told her, in a halting voice which was barely above a whisper, that he found it more difficult to pronounce certain sounds because of the position of the mask.
She was mortified. Her hand flew to her mouth when she realised that he must have thought she was laughing at him. "Erik, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think of that. Can you forgive me?"
He looked at her sideways for a moment, then nodded. And so they carried on.
By the time they had been working together for two weeks, Christine had come to realise that Erik's moods were not directed at her. They seemed to come from some fear of being inadequate, or of doing something wrong and being ridiculed for it. Getting him to project his voice was a particular challenge. When told he needed to be louder, he would curl his arms around his chest for a moment, as if trying to hold his voice protectively inside.
Then, very gradually, something began to change.
She couldn't pinpoint why the change occurred. There seemed to be no real catalyst. But as the days went by, Erik started to relax. The tension seemed to melt from his posture even as he straightened his shoulders. He began to take her criticism and advice with good grace, and would even laugh sometimes at his own mistakes. He had a pleasant laugh, deep and melodic. It always made her smile.
Back in the present moment, Gerard was still addressing the company.
"Of course, ladies and gentlemen, we can't afford to become complacent. Audiences will soon be hungry for new wonders, new entertainments. You'll all have to think about updating and refreshing your acts in order to encourage return visits…"
A movement in the wings caught her eye, and Christine saw that Erik was now performing a sort of pantomime. He opened his mouth wide and waved his hand lazily in front of it in a theatrical yawn, and then allowed his head to slump against the side flat. Christine stifled a laugh.
"Erik? Is there something you wish to say?" Gerard was now peering into the wings too.
Erik stood smartly to attention and shook his head. "No, Gerard."
"Good. Because I mean your act, too."
"Of course, Gerard."
Having listened to Gerard's celebratory speech, the company began to disperse. Christine was about to leave for her dressing room when the impresario stepped in front of her.
"I have something for you, Miss Daae. I'm sorry it's taken so long." He reached into his pocket and handed her the largest sum of money she had seen in several weeks. "For reasons not entirely clear to me, Erik has asked if you'll choose some opera scores for him. Though, between you and me, I think it would be money better spent if you would choose them with your own performances in mind."
Christine thanked him, and tucked the money safely into her own pocket.
After the performance, she met Erik at the piano.
"Gerard has given me some money for the opera scores," she said.
"At last. I thought I would have to remind him." These words were delivered in a slightly sinister tone.
An idea had occurred to Christine before the performance. She decided to voice it now. "Would you like to come to the music shop with me and choose?"
Erik grew very still for a moment. Then he clasped his hands together in the gesture he seemed to make when something distressed him.
"Go…out?" he said. "With you?"
"It's your money. I think it's only fair that you should have some say in what I buy."
He lifted a hand to his mask. The small part of his face she could see – his chin and part of his lower jaw - looked even paler than usual.
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea. My mask…Sometimes it attracts unwanted attention."
And just like that, she had said the wrong thing. Again. "I'm sorry, Erik. Please don't give it another thought."
He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "But…I suppose we could go very early, just as the shops are opening? Before there are too many people."
"Really? And you would feel comfortable doing that?"
"I think it's more a question of whether you'd feel comfortable. I'm accustomed to being stared at."
Christine had no idea how she should respond. I'm sorry to hear that seemed terribly inadequate.
"Of course I'd feel comfortable, Erik. Please don't worry on my account." She paused. "Where should I meet you? Do you live nearby?"
He bowed his head and was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft she only caught one word: "…here."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, I live here."
"In the theatre?"
He nodded.
"Why? Hasn't Gerard found lodgings for you yet? I could have a word…"
"No!" He realised he had spoken sharply, and his shoulders slumped. "I like it here. It's…safe."
"You mean…safe from the unwanted attention?"
"Please, Christine, can we drop this?"
Christine was desperate to learn more, but she knew better than to pry. "Shall I meet you outside the theatre? At eight-thirty?"
"That will be fine."
"Perfect." She turned towards the piano. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Faust's first aria…"
2.
He must have gone mad.
It was the only logical explanation.
Erik waited beneath the theatre's iron canopy, standing as close to the wall as he possibly could. Wrapped in his long coat, his face half-concealed by the brim of his felt hat, he hoped he was as inconspicuous as was humanly possible.
He had no idea what was happening to him, but these last couple of weeks he had felt…different.
He actually looked forward to the shows, performing his illusions with a pleasure and playfulness which he had not known since he had first discovered his aptitude for magic.
He had developed a sense of humour, laughing at his own errors during the singing lessons.
He had no wish to set fire to anything, not even the odious Robert.
And most alarming of all, sometimes he would catch himself humming as he stalked through the theatre's passageways.
It was all very confusing, and now he had actually agreed to accompany Christine on a shopping expedition.
This was obviously a terrible idea. There was no sign of her yet; perhaps it wasn't too late for him to change his mind, to slip, unseen, back into the theatre.
"Good morning, Erik."
Too late. Here she was, striding towards him. She was smartly dressed in a green brocade gown, a tiny matching hat perched on her pinned hair. Feeling shabby in comparison, he smoothed his long coat with nervous fingers.
"Good morning, Christine."
She smiled, and he felt oddly warm inside. "Are you ready? Mrs Giry – my landlady – has recommended the most excellent shop."
She set off down the street at quite a pace. He followed her. What else could he do?
As they walked, he was careful to keep his head slightly bowed, his chin tucked into the high collar of his coat. Although it was early, the streets were already getting busy. Hopefully no one would notice his mask.
Fifteen minutes later, they had left the shabby, crowded neighbourhood which was home to the music hall. Christine turned onto a narrow street lined with small, well-kept shops.
Erik looked at one shop, then another. And then another. And although they were different shops, they were all selling exactly the same thing.
Books.
It was a street devoted almost entirely to bookshops.
He was fascinated. He had never seen so many books in one place.
One particular shop had a shelf of books displayed outside in a small cart. Erik paused to run his hands gently along the spines. He picked up a yellowed volume – some sort of guide to English wildflowers – and lifted it to his mask, sniffing it experimentally.
The warm, comforting scent of old paper tickled his nostrils.
"What are you doing?"
Christine had stopped several paces away, and she was staring at him, eyes narrowed and a slight smile on her lips.
"I…nothing." He quickly placed the book back in the cart.
She nodded towards the end of the street. "The music shop's this way."
"Right. Yes."
They walked past two more bookshops and a stationer's, before Christine paused in front of a shop with Petrie's Music and Instruments stencilled in gold upon the windows. Christine pushed open the door and was greeted by the loud jangle of a bell.
The interior was all dark mahogany furniture softly lit with oil lamps. There was a muffled cough, and Erik noticed a young man sitting at a counter in one corner.
"Good morning!" said Christine brightly.
The shopkeeper nodded in greeting, barely glancing up from the musical score he was studying. Erik was relieved; if the man had noticed his mask, he did not seem remotely curious about it.
Christine crossed to the other side of the room, where musical scores were displayed on high bookcases.
"Here we are. Every opera you could wish for."
Erik stared at the rows of leather bound scores. They were beautiful, and he didn't dare touch them.
Christine had no such qualms. She pulled a heavy score from the bookcase.
"Ah! This is lovely. It's called The Pearl Fishers, by Georges Bizet. Or maybe Verdi's Aida?" She looked at him and saw that he hadn't moved. "Erik? What do you think?"
Erik knew he was reliant on Christine's judgement, but her eagerness for his opinion finally gave him the courage to step forward and look through the scores.
One particular volume caught his eye: a score bound in red leather, with gold lettering stamped into the cover. "What about this one?"
"Don Giovanni? I played Zerlina once…Yes, it's a wonderful opera. Don Giovanni himself is a baritone. It would certainly stretch you…"
Fifteen minutes later, they had decided to buy all three of the scores. Much to Erik's relief, all three operas were accompanied by translated English libretti.
Christine also found the complete score of The Pirates of Penzance.
They were taking their purchases to the counter when Christine suddenly stopped in front of a display of musical instruments.
"Oh, Erik, isn't it beautiful?" Her voice was soft, almost reverent.
Erik moved closer and realised she was staring at a violin in an open case. He knew nothing of violins – he'd never picked one up, let alone played one – but he had to agree that it was a lovely instrument.
"Do you play?" Erik asked tentatively.
She nodded, and he couldn't help noticing the gleam of tears in her eyes. "I wish I still had my violin. I had to sell it years ago." She looked at the price tag. Her mouth twisted. "Well, that's hardly surprising…" She turned her back on the instrument and walked towards the counter.
Erik surreptitiously lifted the price tag, and saw a sum which represented four months of his performance fees.
They walked back to the music hall together, Erik carrying the opera scores which the assistant had carefully wrapped in brown paper.
Christine was quiet, far from her usual talkative self. Even when they said their goodbyes on the threshold of the theatre, she still looked a little sad, and Erik wondered if it had something to do with the violin.
As he climbed the stairs to his attic, his mind kept returning to the instrument, abandoned in the shop. Perhaps Christine was sad that she couldn't afford it.
Perhaps…
A new thought occurred to Erik, a way of repaying Christine for the kindness she had shown him. Perhaps he could buy the violin for her. Save a bit of his salary each week…
That evening, Erik decided to forgo his meat pie. Instead, he bought some bread and a thin slice of cheese.
It would take him a long time to save the money this way, but he knew it would be worth it.