A/N - Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. And I have to agree
with you about the twins. They are so adorable!! *He = he* I've never had
Erik be 'involved' with any child before. This should prove so sweet.
It's a hell of a bond for a man who went most of his life without love to
suddenly have. Like Jean Valjean, with his first paternal instincts for
Cossette. And I'm afraid to disappoint some of you guys, but Erik won't be
scaring the managers and revealing himself. He isn't that foolish.
(Though they'll still be hearing from OG, I'm sure.)
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Chapter Five: Growing Bonds
Christine hoped she wasn't too late to sign up for auditions. A little breathless, she swept into the Opera House, searching out the usually packed corridors where hopeful singers waited for their turn to show off their talents (or lack thereof). She was so much later than she had intended on being. It hadn't even been possible to exercise her voice before coming. A young man in the managers office was good enough to point out the correct hallway and practice room where the auditions were taking place, and she rushed in that direction without a thank you. She would give it later, if she were able to.
Sure enough, there were people in the designated hallway. But everyone seemed to be crowded around a practice room door. Usually, people line either side of the hallway, warming up their voices and practicing. Yet all was silent in the corridor, and Christine had to strain her hearing for a brief moment to find out what was going on. Floating from the open door was a voice so sweet and pure . . . even at the other end of the corridor, it was unmistakable.
"Erik!"
Smiling, she pushed anxiously through the crowd. Everyone was under the spell of his song. Some people moved aside easily. Others barely budged. It was soon recognizable to Christine that he was singing from what everyone knew was the Opera Ghosts favorite opera. It was even his favorite song out of the entire piece. There would be gaps of silence where - had there been three people singing as there was supposed to be - other parts took over his voice. And then he would take up where he was supposed to, never missing a single beat, keeping perfect timing in his head.
Once in the front of the crowd, she could see Erik standing in the center of the room, his shoulders squared and his back perfectly straight . . . obviously lost within the music as though he too were under the spell of his own voice. When he took a break where usually another male character would be singing, she walked quickly into the room, smiling mischievously. The song was beautiful with Erik alone singing it . . . but with only one out of three parts being sung, she recognized how empty it sounded at the same time. She counted the correct amount of beats before abruptly taking on the female role of the trio, watching Erik the entire time.
"It's the fiend! It's the fiend! DO you see? There in the shadow, His fiery eyes are staring at me! What does he want? Drive the demon away!"
She watched as Erik's body went rigid from shock at the sound of her voice, and smiled even more. Yet he never missed a single beat in the music. Even when there was a long break where the third missing vocal part occurred, he did not lose his composure.
"My God, Protect me now!" She sang eagerly, watching as he slowly turned to partially face her.
"Come!" He replied, his voice more powerful, more emotional than she'd ever heard it before. His eyes were gleaming at her sternly, but he seemed glad she was there.
"My God, I do implore you!"
"Away! Perhaps we still have time to save you!"
"Gather nigh, angels of love, Carry my soul to God above! Forgive me in Thy infinite mercy! Forgive, Almighty God, forgive me!"
By this time, there were no more breaks in the song, although a third party would still have been welcomed into the music. Yet no one tried to take up the third part. Perhaps there were no men in the crowd who sang bass. It wouldn't surprise her greatly. Few men with such low voices were able to sing very well. It was a difficult part to hold. Yet she wasn't really thinking about that at all. She was only able to concentrate on Erik's eyes, as they both held their arms out to one another, without either of them moving closer to the other.
It was a breath taking experience. To sing with Erik again. It was so easy for her soul to fly when her voice was joined with his. This was what she had missed more than anything, when he had for a time, become the frightening apparition who'd threatened her fiancée. Singing with him so that she could feel at last that her father had kept his promise to her.
When the song finished, she was dire3ctly at his side, and he clasped her hands tightly as the onlookers waited for a long, pulsing second of sheer silence. It seemed for that endless moment that no one ever wanted the sublime spell to end. For that moment, Christine agreed with them. Then, jarring her out of the trancelike state in which her joy at singing with Erik had brought her to, the onlookers broke into thunderous applause, and the managers leapt to their feet.
"Bravo!" They exclaimed, although it could barely be heard amidst the clapping and cheering. Erik and Christine smiled at one another, then both turned to look to the management. As Andre and Richard came up to them, Erik had a look of pleasure and . . . mischievousness . . . on his face. Yet Christine was the only one to notice the latter emotion.
"I think we have found our new principal tenor, and our leading soprano!" Richard announced as the crowd seemed to calm. Again, this only brought on a rush of fresh applause. Christine felt her cheeks grow warm, and she thanked them sincerely.
Erik chuckled, bowing formally to both men, then looked back down at Christine. She recognized the stern glint that returned to his eyes. While others moved about, speaking excitedly to one another, he was perfectly calm.
"You didn't warm up properly." He scolded in a soft voice that med her cheeks grow even hotter.
Suddenly, his balance was threatened by two small arms lunging at him at full force. With an exclamation of humored surprise, he looked down at the same time as the shocked Christine. There stood Marguerite and Fleur, the former with her arms wrapped tightly about Erik's leg. Smiling, he put arm down so that his inner forearm supported the back of her head, and his hand rested on the center of her back, between her shoulder bones.
"Monsieur Erik! I've never heard anyone sing like that! Are you an angel?"
Christine looked up to Erik, curious, as his face turned a bit red in embarrassment. He glanced to Christine, wondering about what to say. Slowly, she crouched down to face the little girl.
"Little ones, an angel gave Erik his voice so that he might sing like that." He told them quietly. Then, she looked back up at Erik. "Who are these pretty little ladies?"
"This is Marguerite and her sister Fleur." He introduced. "I met Marguerite a few days ago selling flowers, and have been helping her family financially. Her sister cannot speak . . . Ma petites, this is Mademoiselle Christine Daaé. She sang here as the understudy for the Prima Donna. although it seems she will now be the Prima Donna herself!"
Marguerite lifted her eyes to Christine's eagerly, her gaze bright with amazement and innocent wonders.
"Mademoiselle! Can I do that someday? Sing like that?" She asked excitedly, still holding onto Erik's leg tightly. Erik, finding the desire to be able to move without her tripping him up, leaned down to pick her up into his arms, balancing her easily on one hip. Christine had to wonder where he'd learned to do that. It seemed as though he'd been handling children his entire lifetime.
"If you practice a great deal, ma Cherie, you can do anything in the world that you wish." He told the little one gently. The managers were talking to the crowd by the door, asking them to return to the corridor so that they might continue auditions for the chorus. Erik and Christine silently took this as their cue to leave, and walked out together, with the children at their sides. "I am a music teacher, Cherie. I can teach you if you would like."
"Monsieur Erik, Mama would be so happy!"
Erik laughed again, shaking his head slightly. Oh, but this was delightful indeed. He wasn't even thinking about the audition anymore. He was only thinking about the precious little ones at his side; especially Christine. He still felt that aching love for her, but it was not so painful anymore. He knew that even if he loved none other, he would have a part of her that no one else had. That she would never abandon her maestro . . . and now . . . friend. They walked quietly out of the Opera House, amidst exclamations of congratulations and praise from the others waiting to audition . . . and those who already worked in the Opera.
"If you'll be good enough to excuse me, Erik . . . I promised Meg that I would see her today when she finished practice. I need to go." Christine smiled at Erik, and he took her hand, raising it gently to his lips to kiss her knuckles. He liked to see it made her blush, and glance around almost nervously. Oh, but she wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of people seeing him do this, and taking it the wrong way.
"I shall see you at rehearsal then, Mademoiselle." He said in a gently formal voice. Fleur was clinging to his side by this point, much like her sister. Yet she chose to be more aloof. Her gaze seemed more interested in Christine than in him. "Adieu, ma ami."
"Adieu, Erik." Smiling, she squeezed his hand in her own briefly, and then turned to walk towards the dressing rooms. Erik watched her go with a wistful sigh, and then looked to Marguerite as she sat in his arms. She was watching him with suddenly cross eyes, and he almost laughed. The little lady was jealous. That was an emotion he was all too familiar with.
"Come, ma petites." He said softly. "I think it is time I took you home."
"No, not so soon!" Marguerite protested, immediately forgetting her jealousy as a state of panic took over. "Please, Monsieur? Let us stay with you longer?"
"Ah, but I'm afraid I have things that I must do." He told her gently. "If you would like, I will come back to you tomorrow. I promise that we can spend the whole day doing whatever you please." He pushed the front door to the Opera House open, and walked out, leading Fleur by the hand so she would not get struck by it as it swung shut. It was far too heavy for such a small child to be able to push open. "Here . . . have you ever been on a carriage ride?"
"No, Monsieur."
"Then come." He offered. Pointing towards a cab down the street, all three of them could see it was open-air, and that they might sit high on the back of the seat, and see everything as they rode. Fleur gasped silently, jumping just a little bit. It was the first real excitement he'd seen her show all day. Marguerite, on the other hand, squealed, a sound that nearly deafened the ear her tiny childish lips were the closest to.
He waved to the driver of the cab, and the pair of horses pulling it came cantering up to the curb. Erik gently put Marguerite up into the carriage, and then lifted Fleur in after her, glad that she didn't insist on getting up on her own. The step was so high off the curb, she would have fallen face first onto it, and broken a tooth. Then, climbing in himself, he told the cabbie where to take them. At first, the man looked at him with surprise, but then only nodded. Apparently, he wasn't keen on the idea of going into such a neighborhood.
When Erik sat down, Marguerite crawled up onto the seat and snuggled herself to his side. Erik obligingly put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her gently against him, and watched as Fleur kneeled backwards on the seat on his other side, so that she was a bit higher than she would be sitting down, and looked about anxiously. Obviously, Fleur was far more excited about seeing (and being seen) the scenery pass than Marguerite. who was content to close her eyes and enjoy being coddled.
When they reached the shabby street where the children lived, Erik paid the cabbie, telling him not to wait, and then escorted the twins up to their third story apartment. When they went in, they left the door wide open for him to join them, and he could see that their mother was awake, a little boy fussing in her lap. His face was beet red, and was wailing up a storm. Meanwhile, Madeline was simply trying her hardest to calm him down, unable to find out what was making him so cross.
"Oh, Monsieur!" She greeted, giving him a tired, exasperated smile when she saw him. "I see they found you. I hope that they didn't cause you any trouble."
"Au contraire." He promised her. "They were like two little angels for me the entire time. I was delighted to be in their company." Moving into the room, he gently closed the door behind him. "Might I ask, what is bothering your son? And what is his name?"
"Gerard." She replied softly. "After his father . . . I can't figure out why he's crying. He doesn't sound right, though."
Erik walked over to where she sat on the bed. He'd taken a moment upon entering the apartment to inspect the single room, and found that several brand new quilts covered the single king sized bed, and other new blankets were tucked into a cradle. The bed had brand new pillows, an open closet door showed some new clothes. and he suspected that the pantry was probably filled to the brim with food. He was glad to know he'd been able to help them so much.
Kneeling in front of the woman, he reached out to gently inspect the child, his trained eyes and ears doing more for him than any doctors stethoscope. Sighing, he shook his head.
"I believe he may have colic." He told the worried mother. "I can come back this evening with something that might help cure it, if you'd like."
"I'd appreciate it." Madeline said simply. "You've done so much for us, Monsieur. Is there anything in the world that I can do for you in return?" He watched her face as she said this, and he almost immediately felt hot boiling rage in his mind. Yet he pushed it down. The woman had probably been forced to give 'payment' for a mans gifts before.
"You can do one thing for me." He finally said gently. "Tell me about their father. And why it is that you are in this place. I can tell that you weren't born a waif."
"No, Monsieur. You're right at that." She held her son against her as he began to calm down at least a little bit. "I was in a middle class family before I fell for Gerard the second. Well he was a trouble maker . . . at least to his upper class family he was. He wasn't to me. He was a charming prince. Well . . . their family simply didn't accept our relationship. We married, and he was disowned by his family. Cut off from all ties, he was unable to find work. So because I was married, and had no job myself, I had no income of my own coming in. Nothing to support us. But we managed quite well. Then, as I said, he died of cholera about a year and a half ago."
"I'm very, truly sorry." Erik said in a quiet voice, touching her shoulder in comfort. She smiled at him gratefully. "What did your husband do for a living himself, to support you?"
"Oh, he was a brick layer."
Erik nodded, and stood.
"Thank you very much, Madame." Turning, he watched as Marguerite and Fleur opened the door of a cabinet, and pulled out a small loaf of bread, tearing off a few pieces to chew on. "Do you still have plenty of money, Madame? Those blankets and dresses must have cost you a fortune." And he noticed then that Madeline was wearing a brand new dress herself.
"Oui, Monsieur. I put the rest of the money in the bank." She said proudly. "I haven't been able to do that before."
"I'll bring you just a bit more money when I come back with the cure for your son." He promised softly. "You never have to do anything in return. Just know that I will help your family in any way I possibly can. Your daughters are very sweet, and I adore their company. I hope you'll let me see them again."
"Of course, Monsieur!" She said quickly. "Marguerite adores you . . . told me so the moment you left that day. If you don't mind being a bit of a father to them . . . I'm sure that's probably why they like you so much . . ."
"I only wish I could really be their father." Erik admitted in a whisper. Bowing briefly to Madeline, he walked over to the small kitchen table, where the girls were still sharing their bread. "Here, ma petites. I'm leaving now. I'll come back tonight, and then again tomorrow. All right?"
"Adieu, Monsieur." Marguerite stood on her chair, holding her arms out to him. Smiling, Erik hugged her tightly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. He was truly startled, though, when he received a kiss on the cheek in return. Gently putting her down, he mussed her hair with his hand, and then did the same to little Fleur, who waved to him a bit shyly.
"Until tonight." He said to the family, before reluctantly stepping back outside. He knew right then that he would not let them continue to live in such a horrible place for much longer. Even if he had to repair the house beyond the lake so that it could accommodate all four of them and himself . . . he was willing to do it. For the sake of the children, if nothing else.
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Chapter Five: Growing Bonds
Christine hoped she wasn't too late to sign up for auditions. A little breathless, she swept into the Opera House, searching out the usually packed corridors where hopeful singers waited for their turn to show off their talents (or lack thereof). She was so much later than she had intended on being. It hadn't even been possible to exercise her voice before coming. A young man in the managers office was good enough to point out the correct hallway and practice room where the auditions were taking place, and she rushed in that direction without a thank you. She would give it later, if she were able to.
Sure enough, there were people in the designated hallway. But everyone seemed to be crowded around a practice room door. Usually, people line either side of the hallway, warming up their voices and practicing. Yet all was silent in the corridor, and Christine had to strain her hearing for a brief moment to find out what was going on. Floating from the open door was a voice so sweet and pure . . . even at the other end of the corridor, it was unmistakable.
"Erik!"
Smiling, she pushed anxiously through the crowd. Everyone was under the spell of his song. Some people moved aside easily. Others barely budged. It was soon recognizable to Christine that he was singing from what everyone knew was the Opera Ghosts favorite opera. It was even his favorite song out of the entire piece. There would be gaps of silence where - had there been three people singing as there was supposed to be - other parts took over his voice. And then he would take up where he was supposed to, never missing a single beat, keeping perfect timing in his head.
Once in the front of the crowd, she could see Erik standing in the center of the room, his shoulders squared and his back perfectly straight . . . obviously lost within the music as though he too were under the spell of his own voice. When he took a break where usually another male character would be singing, she walked quickly into the room, smiling mischievously. The song was beautiful with Erik alone singing it . . . but with only one out of three parts being sung, she recognized how empty it sounded at the same time. She counted the correct amount of beats before abruptly taking on the female role of the trio, watching Erik the entire time.
"It's the fiend! It's the fiend! DO you see? There in the shadow, His fiery eyes are staring at me! What does he want? Drive the demon away!"
She watched as Erik's body went rigid from shock at the sound of her voice, and smiled even more. Yet he never missed a single beat in the music. Even when there was a long break where the third missing vocal part occurred, he did not lose his composure.
"My God, Protect me now!" She sang eagerly, watching as he slowly turned to partially face her.
"Come!" He replied, his voice more powerful, more emotional than she'd ever heard it before. His eyes were gleaming at her sternly, but he seemed glad she was there.
"My God, I do implore you!"
"Away! Perhaps we still have time to save you!"
"Gather nigh, angels of love, Carry my soul to God above! Forgive me in Thy infinite mercy! Forgive, Almighty God, forgive me!"
By this time, there were no more breaks in the song, although a third party would still have been welcomed into the music. Yet no one tried to take up the third part. Perhaps there were no men in the crowd who sang bass. It wouldn't surprise her greatly. Few men with such low voices were able to sing very well. It was a difficult part to hold. Yet she wasn't really thinking about that at all. She was only able to concentrate on Erik's eyes, as they both held their arms out to one another, without either of them moving closer to the other.
It was a breath taking experience. To sing with Erik again. It was so easy for her soul to fly when her voice was joined with his. This was what she had missed more than anything, when he had for a time, become the frightening apparition who'd threatened her fiancée. Singing with him so that she could feel at last that her father had kept his promise to her.
When the song finished, she was dire3ctly at his side, and he clasped her hands tightly as the onlookers waited for a long, pulsing second of sheer silence. It seemed for that endless moment that no one ever wanted the sublime spell to end. For that moment, Christine agreed with them. Then, jarring her out of the trancelike state in which her joy at singing with Erik had brought her to, the onlookers broke into thunderous applause, and the managers leapt to their feet.
"Bravo!" They exclaimed, although it could barely be heard amidst the clapping and cheering. Erik and Christine smiled at one another, then both turned to look to the management. As Andre and Richard came up to them, Erik had a look of pleasure and . . . mischievousness . . . on his face. Yet Christine was the only one to notice the latter emotion.
"I think we have found our new principal tenor, and our leading soprano!" Richard announced as the crowd seemed to calm. Again, this only brought on a rush of fresh applause. Christine felt her cheeks grow warm, and she thanked them sincerely.
Erik chuckled, bowing formally to both men, then looked back down at Christine. She recognized the stern glint that returned to his eyes. While others moved about, speaking excitedly to one another, he was perfectly calm.
"You didn't warm up properly." He scolded in a soft voice that med her cheeks grow even hotter.
Suddenly, his balance was threatened by two small arms lunging at him at full force. With an exclamation of humored surprise, he looked down at the same time as the shocked Christine. There stood Marguerite and Fleur, the former with her arms wrapped tightly about Erik's leg. Smiling, he put arm down so that his inner forearm supported the back of her head, and his hand rested on the center of her back, between her shoulder bones.
"Monsieur Erik! I've never heard anyone sing like that! Are you an angel?"
Christine looked up to Erik, curious, as his face turned a bit red in embarrassment. He glanced to Christine, wondering about what to say. Slowly, she crouched down to face the little girl.
"Little ones, an angel gave Erik his voice so that he might sing like that." He told them quietly. Then, she looked back up at Erik. "Who are these pretty little ladies?"
"This is Marguerite and her sister Fleur." He introduced. "I met Marguerite a few days ago selling flowers, and have been helping her family financially. Her sister cannot speak . . . Ma petites, this is Mademoiselle Christine Daaé. She sang here as the understudy for the Prima Donna. although it seems she will now be the Prima Donna herself!"
Marguerite lifted her eyes to Christine's eagerly, her gaze bright with amazement and innocent wonders.
"Mademoiselle! Can I do that someday? Sing like that?" She asked excitedly, still holding onto Erik's leg tightly. Erik, finding the desire to be able to move without her tripping him up, leaned down to pick her up into his arms, balancing her easily on one hip. Christine had to wonder where he'd learned to do that. It seemed as though he'd been handling children his entire lifetime.
"If you practice a great deal, ma Cherie, you can do anything in the world that you wish." He told the little one gently. The managers were talking to the crowd by the door, asking them to return to the corridor so that they might continue auditions for the chorus. Erik and Christine silently took this as their cue to leave, and walked out together, with the children at their sides. "I am a music teacher, Cherie. I can teach you if you would like."
"Monsieur Erik, Mama would be so happy!"
Erik laughed again, shaking his head slightly. Oh, but this was delightful indeed. He wasn't even thinking about the audition anymore. He was only thinking about the precious little ones at his side; especially Christine. He still felt that aching love for her, but it was not so painful anymore. He knew that even if he loved none other, he would have a part of her that no one else had. That she would never abandon her maestro . . . and now . . . friend. They walked quietly out of the Opera House, amidst exclamations of congratulations and praise from the others waiting to audition . . . and those who already worked in the Opera.
"If you'll be good enough to excuse me, Erik . . . I promised Meg that I would see her today when she finished practice. I need to go." Christine smiled at Erik, and he took her hand, raising it gently to his lips to kiss her knuckles. He liked to see it made her blush, and glance around almost nervously. Oh, but she wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of people seeing him do this, and taking it the wrong way.
"I shall see you at rehearsal then, Mademoiselle." He said in a gently formal voice. Fleur was clinging to his side by this point, much like her sister. Yet she chose to be more aloof. Her gaze seemed more interested in Christine than in him. "Adieu, ma ami."
"Adieu, Erik." Smiling, she squeezed his hand in her own briefly, and then turned to walk towards the dressing rooms. Erik watched her go with a wistful sigh, and then looked to Marguerite as she sat in his arms. She was watching him with suddenly cross eyes, and he almost laughed. The little lady was jealous. That was an emotion he was all too familiar with.
"Come, ma petites." He said softly. "I think it is time I took you home."
"No, not so soon!" Marguerite protested, immediately forgetting her jealousy as a state of panic took over. "Please, Monsieur? Let us stay with you longer?"
"Ah, but I'm afraid I have things that I must do." He told her gently. "If you would like, I will come back to you tomorrow. I promise that we can spend the whole day doing whatever you please." He pushed the front door to the Opera House open, and walked out, leading Fleur by the hand so she would not get struck by it as it swung shut. It was far too heavy for such a small child to be able to push open. "Here . . . have you ever been on a carriage ride?"
"No, Monsieur."
"Then come." He offered. Pointing towards a cab down the street, all three of them could see it was open-air, and that they might sit high on the back of the seat, and see everything as they rode. Fleur gasped silently, jumping just a little bit. It was the first real excitement he'd seen her show all day. Marguerite, on the other hand, squealed, a sound that nearly deafened the ear her tiny childish lips were the closest to.
He waved to the driver of the cab, and the pair of horses pulling it came cantering up to the curb. Erik gently put Marguerite up into the carriage, and then lifted Fleur in after her, glad that she didn't insist on getting up on her own. The step was so high off the curb, she would have fallen face first onto it, and broken a tooth. Then, climbing in himself, he told the cabbie where to take them. At first, the man looked at him with surprise, but then only nodded. Apparently, he wasn't keen on the idea of going into such a neighborhood.
When Erik sat down, Marguerite crawled up onto the seat and snuggled herself to his side. Erik obligingly put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her gently against him, and watched as Fleur kneeled backwards on the seat on his other side, so that she was a bit higher than she would be sitting down, and looked about anxiously. Obviously, Fleur was far more excited about seeing (and being seen) the scenery pass than Marguerite. who was content to close her eyes and enjoy being coddled.
When they reached the shabby street where the children lived, Erik paid the cabbie, telling him not to wait, and then escorted the twins up to their third story apartment. When they went in, they left the door wide open for him to join them, and he could see that their mother was awake, a little boy fussing in her lap. His face was beet red, and was wailing up a storm. Meanwhile, Madeline was simply trying her hardest to calm him down, unable to find out what was making him so cross.
"Oh, Monsieur!" She greeted, giving him a tired, exasperated smile when she saw him. "I see they found you. I hope that they didn't cause you any trouble."
"Au contraire." He promised her. "They were like two little angels for me the entire time. I was delighted to be in their company." Moving into the room, he gently closed the door behind him. "Might I ask, what is bothering your son? And what is his name?"
"Gerard." She replied softly. "After his father . . . I can't figure out why he's crying. He doesn't sound right, though."
Erik walked over to where she sat on the bed. He'd taken a moment upon entering the apartment to inspect the single room, and found that several brand new quilts covered the single king sized bed, and other new blankets were tucked into a cradle. The bed had brand new pillows, an open closet door showed some new clothes. and he suspected that the pantry was probably filled to the brim with food. He was glad to know he'd been able to help them so much.
Kneeling in front of the woman, he reached out to gently inspect the child, his trained eyes and ears doing more for him than any doctors stethoscope. Sighing, he shook his head.
"I believe he may have colic." He told the worried mother. "I can come back this evening with something that might help cure it, if you'd like."
"I'd appreciate it." Madeline said simply. "You've done so much for us, Monsieur. Is there anything in the world that I can do for you in return?" He watched her face as she said this, and he almost immediately felt hot boiling rage in his mind. Yet he pushed it down. The woman had probably been forced to give 'payment' for a mans gifts before.
"You can do one thing for me." He finally said gently. "Tell me about their father. And why it is that you are in this place. I can tell that you weren't born a waif."
"No, Monsieur. You're right at that." She held her son against her as he began to calm down at least a little bit. "I was in a middle class family before I fell for Gerard the second. Well he was a trouble maker . . . at least to his upper class family he was. He wasn't to me. He was a charming prince. Well . . . their family simply didn't accept our relationship. We married, and he was disowned by his family. Cut off from all ties, he was unable to find work. So because I was married, and had no job myself, I had no income of my own coming in. Nothing to support us. But we managed quite well. Then, as I said, he died of cholera about a year and a half ago."
"I'm very, truly sorry." Erik said in a quiet voice, touching her shoulder in comfort. She smiled at him gratefully. "What did your husband do for a living himself, to support you?"
"Oh, he was a brick layer."
Erik nodded, and stood.
"Thank you very much, Madame." Turning, he watched as Marguerite and Fleur opened the door of a cabinet, and pulled out a small loaf of bread, tearing off a few pieces to chew on. "Do you still have plenty of money, Madame? Those blankets and dresses must have cost you a fortune." And he noticed then that Madeline was wearing a brand new dress herself.
"Oui, Monsieur. I put the rest of the money in the bank." She said proudly. "I haven't been able to do that before."
"I'll bring you just a bit more money when I come back with the cure for your son." He promised softly. "You never have to do anything in return. Just know that I will help your family in any way I possibly can. Your daughters are very sweet, and I adore their company. I hope you'll let me see them again."
"Of course, Monsieur!" She said quickly. "Marguerite adores you . . . told me so the moment you left that day. If you don't mind being a bit of a father to them . . . I'm sure that's probably why they like you so much . . ."
"I only wish I could really be their father." Erik admitted in a whisper. Bowing briefly to Madeline, he walked over to the small kitchen table, where the girls were still sharing their bread. "Here, ma petites. I'm leaving now. I'll come back tonight, and then again tomorrow. All right?"
"Adieu, Monsieur." Marguerite stood on her chair, holding her arms out to him. Smiling, Erik hugged her tightly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. He was truly startled, though, when he received a kiss on the cheek in return. Gently putting her down, he mussed her hair with his hand, and then did the same to little Fleur, who waved to him a bit shyly.
"Until tonight." He said to the family, before reluctantly stepping back outside. He knew right then that he would not let them continue to live in such a horrible place for much longer. Even if he had to repair the house beyond the lake so that it could accommodate all four of them and himself . . . he was willing to do it. For the sake of the children, if nothing else.
