Author's note: Thank you so much to those still reading! I'm currently editing a novel, hence the gaps between updates, but I hope to be back soon with a longer chapter.

Thank you for all your support! I hope you enjoy.

Chapter Sixteen: Dressing for the Night

"So…" said Erik, turning away from Christine to pace across the stage, his hands clasped behind his back. "Let's see if I've got this right. Your viscount…"

"The viscount."

"The viscount wants us both to sing in his aunt's sitting room? As the after-dinner entertainment?"

Christine hesitated. "Well…yes. That's more or less correct."

"So, after the guests have finished their desserts, we'll perform as an aid to the digestion?"

"You make it sound like an insult." There was an annoyed edge to her voice.

He whirled round to face her, arms folded. "That's because it is an insult, Christine. I've spent enough evenings in the homes of aristocratic fools in the name of entertainment. Back then I had no choice in the matter, so why should I want to put myself through it voluntarily?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. He realised she looked tired. "Erik, I don't think you quite understand. We wouldn't just be providing the entertainment. We're invited guests. We'll have dinner, and then afterwards anyone who would like to perform will. It's like the salons I used to attend in Paris. A way to share music. Even Raoul will perform. He plays the piano…"

"Oh, well, if Ra-oouul will perform, how can I possibly refuse?" He knew his tone was childish, but he didn't care. He was tired of hearing about the viscount and his innumerable charms.

"Very well." Christine sat on the piano stool with a sigh. "I knew you would be averse to the idea. I'm not going to force you."

"Oh." Erik was surprised that Christine had given in so soon. Perhaps she was not keen on the idea, either. "Well, I think it's the right decision…"

Her eyes were fixed on the sheet music. "You don't have to go, Erik. But I do. I promised Gerard."

Erik stared at the floor. "Well, of course, if you want to go…"

"I don't particularly want to. And certainly not alone."

"Oh." Damn. It was like that dreadful night at the tavern all over again. "You don't have to go either, Christine. Let Gerard sing for his own supper."

"It's not as simple as that." Her expression was sad. "I want to say goodbye to Raoul before he leaves for Paris. And I think it might really help the music hall."

"I see." Erik wandered towards the wings. He did not want Christine to see how unnerved he was. Logically, he knew he should not feel threatened by the viscount, for Christine had explained that they were now friends. But an insidious voice in his mind told him that perhaps, if Christine attended the salon, it would remind her of her old life in Paris. A life of acclaim and money and glamour and parties. A life from which he was so far removed. He did not belong in the viscount's parlour.

Erik looked out at the auditorium, and a new thought occurred to him.

He was a performer. A good one. Perhaps this was his chance to prove, once and for all, that he was worthy of Christine, that he did fit into her world. He would go to the salon and play the part of a perfect gentleman. He would be suave and genteel, and he would out-perform the lot of them. He would be better company than Raoul ever was.

Yes. If they were expecting a novelty act, he – Erik – would show them that he was so much more.

He turned to face Christine. She looked worried.

"Why are you smiling like that?" she asked.

Erik stopped smiling. "I think, on reflection, that I would quite like to go after all."

"Oh?" The worry turned to surprise. "Are you sure?"

"It will certainly be…interesting. And as you say, it will help raise the profile of the music hall."

"That's…excellent news, Erik. I'm glad you'll come." She was still frowning. Why was she frowning? Did she not want him to go with her? "We've been told to wear evening dress. Is that all right?"

Shame flared inside him. Perhaps this was not such a great plan, after all. "Christine, I'm sorry, I don't own anything…so formal."

"Well," she said, smiling, "we can quite easily do something about that."

2.

Two days later, Erik met Christine outside the theatre. But instead of heading in their usual direction, towards the coffee shops and bakeries, she hailed a cab.

The cab took them away from the familiar, narrow streets of Spitalfields. Soon, the roads widened and the buildings grew increasingly tall and grand.

"Christine? Where are we going?"

"The West End," she said. "To buy you an evening suit."

"Doesn't the East End have evening suits?"

"I'm going to a place Gerard has recommended." She looked out of the window. "Ah, let's stop here."

They alighted on a wide thoroughfare flanked by enormous, grand department stores. Erik found himself drawn to the window of a shop called Fortnum and Mason, where he paused to stare at a mountainous centrepiece made up entirely of candied fruit.

Christine tugged at his arm. "Come on."

"But…"

They passed a bookshop, the largest bookshop Erik had ever seen, all dark polished wood and emerald green carpets. Erik paused again.

"Look, Christine. Books!"

But she didn't stop. She just kept on going, right past the bookshop. What was wrong with her?

Erik sighed, and hurried to catch up.

Finally, they turned down a side street filled with small, elegant boutiques. Christine stopped outside a gentlemen's outfitters. In the window, tall mannequins modelled fine day suits, and evening wear.

"This is the place." Christine smiled and reached for the door handle. "What's the matter?"

Erik stood frozen on the payment. "It…looks awfully expensive."

"Gerard's given us something from the costume budget."

"Gerard's paying for my suit?"

"Yes…is that a problem?"

Erik glanced away. God, this whole experience was humiliating. "I'm just…not sure how I feel about someone else paying for my clothes, Christine."

"Oh, don't be silly." She reached for his hand and practically dragged him into the shop. "Come on."

Inside, the shop was narrow and warmly lit. There were clothes rails filled with suits, and displays of fine cloaks and coats and hats.

"How can I help you?" A smiling young man had appeared from behind a curtain, wearing a fine suit of his own. His smile flickered slightly when he caught sight of Erik, but the mask of professionalism only slipped for a moment.

Erik found that he had no idea what to say. He felt cornered. He wanted to run out the door and all the way back to the bookshop.

Christine stepped forward, her own winning smile in place, every inch the prima donna. "My friend here requires an evening suit for a party."

The man's smile widened. "Excellent. You've come to the right place. Do you require a tailor made suit, or one off-the-peg?"

Perhaps Erik was imagining it, but the assistant seemed to lower his voice slightly at the words 'off-the-peg'.

"If you have a readymade suit, it would save some time," said Christine. "The party's next week."

"Excellent. Would you like to come this way?"

Christine nodded encouragingly, so Erik followed the man towards the back of the shop.

"This will only take a moment, sir." The man had brought out a tape measure. He measured Erik's height, across his chest, around his waist. Erik stared down at his worn clothing, simmering with embarrassment and annoyance. This whole thing was ridiculous…

"All done, sir," said the enthusiastic assistant. "I think I may actually have the perfect suit for you."

He turned towards the clothes rails and began to search through what appeared to be a hundred identical garments. Christine smiled at Erik from the front of the shop. Erik glowered back at her.

"Here you are." The young man handed Erik a full evening suit, together with a dress shirt and white bowtie. "Please, the changing room is just back there."

Grateful to hide for a moment, Erik did as instructed. He pulled the heavy brocade curtain across the front of the cubicle, and began to change.

He knew one thing: he was quite determined to resent every single second of this. Stupid Gerard and his ridiculous schemes…

The evening suit was jet black, and made from the finest material he had ever seen. The weave had a delicate, swirling pattern, and he wondered if it was silk. The jacket had a black velvet collar, satin lapels, and extravagant tails. He had never worn a tailcoat before. The waistcoat was made from silver fabric. Erik had softened slightly around the waist since meeting Christine and eating better meals at more regular times, and his old waistcoats had become slightly tight. This one fit beautifully. In fact, the whole suit did.

His curiosity piqued, he took a deep breath, and turned towards the mirror.

He actually looked…smart. Not handsome. Never handsome, but suave. Elegant.

Perhaps his plan might actually work, after all.

"Erik? Are you all right?"

Christine's voice.

Erik smiled. Then, unable to resist a touch of the theatrical, he pulled the curtain aside with a flourish.

"Well?" he said.

Christine's eyes had gone very wide. She was quiet for a long time.

Erik felt his confidence start to wither. Perhaps he had it wrong. Perhaps he looked ridiculous…

"I'll get changed…" he said, turning towards the booth.

"NO!" Christine stepped forward. "I mean…no, not yet. That's…perfect. You look wonderful."

His cheeks grew warm beneath the mask.

"You'll need a coat, too," said Christine.

"Might I suggest a cloak?" asked the assistant. "As it's a formal occasion?"

"I have a cloak," said Erik.

"Oh, Erik, look at this!" Christine pointed to a mannequin. A long, voluminous, black cloak hung from its shoulders.

"An excellent choice," said the assistant. "That's very fine wool, lined with silk. Please notice the jet bead detailing on the shoulders and back. You can try it on, if you wish."

Erik was staring at the price tag. "It's very expensive…"

"There's enough money in the costume budget," said Christine. "Try it."

He carefully removed the cloak from the mannequin and swept it around his shoulders.

"Yes, that's perfect," said Christine.

The assistant nodded approvingly, and indicated another display. "Perhaps the gentleman would also care for a hat?"

Erik eyed a particularly stylish hat with a broad brim; a sharper, silken version of his own felt hat.

Perhaps the gentleman would, he thought.

3.

Christine reached her dressing room door, her mind still swirling with wonders.

Erik had introduced three new illusions, each one more beautiful than the last. Her favourite had been the origami birds, which Erik had made sing with even more precision than his Mechanical Nightingale. One small paper bird had flown over the heads of the audience, singing as it went.

Erik had been in a much better mood since their trip to the emporium three days earlier. He actually seemed to be looking forward to Raoul's party. They had already rehearsed the duet they planned to sing on the night, and he was in good voice. They both were. Perhaps it would be an enjoyable evening, after all.

As she opened her door, she felt something slide across the carpet. She looked down and saw that an envelope had been slipped into the room.

She recognised the handwriting, and suppressed a sigh.

Raoul.

Inside the envelope, she found two sheets of stave paper covered in the viscount's careful musical notation, and an accompanying message.

My dear Christine,

My aunt and I are looking forward to the pleasure of your company at our party next week. I am so pleased you're able to join us.

There's something I've wanted to give you since my arrival in London. But it never felt like the right moment, and to be quite honest it has taken me some time to pluck up the courage. Please forgive the furtive means I've adopted to send it to you. I fear I would lose my nerve if I was to give it to you in person.

I enclose the aria from Act Two of my opera. I always promised I would show it to you, when it was ready. You're the first person I've shared it with, as I trust your musical judgement.

I hope you like it. Perhaps, one day, you would do me the great honour of singing it for an audience. But in the meantime, it is yours, to do with as you wish.

I remain, your friend,

Raoul

Christine placed the letter on her dressing table, and read the music. Something squeezed her heart.

Oh, Raoul.

Why, after everything, did he have to reach out to her like this, with music?

She would return it. It was the only sensible thing to do.

She folded the pages and slid them carefully back into the envelope, before tucking it into her reticule. Then she changed out of her costume, and went downstairs to meet Erik.