Notre Dame de Paris
"Idiots! All of them!" Angelique stormed into Erik's room and threw the sheaf of music onto the edge of his organ. This didn't seem to bother him, and he looked up at her slowly. In the weeks since she had been coming to his house, she had become all too familiar with the boat across the lake, and didn't seem worried in the least about the rather macabre condition of his room. At the moment, there were much more pressing things to deal with.
"I take it you paid a visit to the Opera Populaire today?" Picking up the music, Erik leafed through it as Angelique folded her arms and leaned obstinately on the edge of the organ. "How did Messieurs Andre and Firmin enjoy it?"
"The fools did everything but throw it in my face!" Her face was flushed with anger, and Erik set the music on his stand. Personally, he found it to be one of her best pieces. The way he saw it, the managers at the opera simply didn't know quality.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know," she grumbled as she kicked the wall a little.
"I'll thank you not to kick my walls."
"Hmph. I don't know why we even patronize the opera anymore." Annoyed, Angelique sat heavily next to him on the bench. Since the first night she had returned, Erik had begun taking her with him to the opera. This seemed to make her immensely happy, until this moment. "It's all beginning to sound the same anyway."
"Are you sure nothing else happened today to provoke this foul mood?" Though he had come to see a completely different side of Angelique since she had started spending a good deal of her time with him, his feelings for her had not changed a bit. The fact was that the more she lost her temper, the more he liked her. Erik had come to take her bad moods in stride, since she was usually more likely to be in a good mood.
"Have I ever told you how much I hate working for that evil woman?" Two weeks previous, the other main seamstress had quit the sewing shop when she got pregnant. Angelique had been carrying two workloads ever since, as well as working on her music at night. It was much easier to write music with an organ to test out her notes, and Erik seemed to enjoy watching her test her musical theories.
"Many times. Are you hungry?" Usually, he could bring her out of her moods quite easily. This time was no different. Angelique nodded.
"Yes, very. I had to skip lunch today to work on a christening dress." She looked up at Erik as he stood, then offered her a hand to help her up. Angelique took it eagerly, and they went down the stairs.
"If you're so unhappy there, why don't you just quit?" It was a question he had asked her many times, but Angelique never seemed to have an answer for it. Erik suspected that she just liked having something to keep her busy when she wasn't writing music, which Angelique confirmed with her sigh.
"I'm sorry, I'm just a bit annoyed about the music." There was food waiting for her on the table, and Angelique looked up at Erik. "Don't tell me you aren't going to eat anything again."
"Forgive me, my dear, but food simply doesn't interest me. It never has." He pulled out her chair as he always did, but Angelique ignored it as she folded her arms over her chest.
"Then it doesn't interest me either." Looking off at one of the tapestries on the wall, Angelique gave it an uninterested glance. However, Erik had not had the best of days either. She was trying his patience, and finally he snapped.
"If that's the way you want it, so be it!" With one smooth sweep of his arm, the dishes flew off the table and crashed against the floor. The rich foods and wine created an odd design on the wall, and Angelique gave him a disinterested look.
"I've gone without food before. You're not hurting me any." With that, she stalked up the stairs to her room. "I will see you in an hour." The fact that his usual tactics didn't intimidate her was even more infuriating, and Erik looked up the stairs after her as her door slammed.
"And just what makes you think I want to take you to the opera!" There was no answer, and Erik's hands clenched into fists. This was not the first argument they had. The first one had been over her being late to meet him at the opera house. But just like this time, she simply folded her arms and waited for him to finish ranting at her. Though he hadn't asked her much about the time between when her parents had died and when she had come back to Paris, he was sure that she had learned her indifference to anger somewhere along that way.
Locking himself in his room, Erik began playing the Dies Irae quite loudly. He hoped that she got the message. Forty-five minutes later, he emerged from his room in his cloak and tuxedo. Angelique's door was still closed, and he knocked on it.
"Are you quite ready?" A moment later, the door swung open. Angelique gave him an irritated look.
"You hit two wrong notes in the Pie Jesu." With that, she breezed past him and down the stairs. Quelling the rage that immediately arose in his throat, Erik followed her. Angelique wasn't anywhere in sight, and he supposed that she was already in the boat when he noticed that the dining table, as well as the immediate area around the table, was completely cleaned. There was something about this simple gesture that made the fire die down a little, and he hurried out the door to the boat.
Just as he had surmised, Angelique was sitting in the bow on several pillows. She looked at him, silently asking if he had seen what she had done. Erik stepped into the boat without a word and began moving them across the misty water.
Though she was dying to say something else about the mistake in the Pie Jesu, she decided that it was probably better to keep quiet. Angelique knew good and well that she was being completely irrational that evening, but she could have cared less. Not only was she taking on Mirelle's workload along with her own, but Mme Lafours was giving her extra work to do as well.
Considering for a moment Erik's suggestion to quit, she smiled a little. As she tried to imagine the look on the old bag's face if she were to walk up and tell her she was quitting, Erik looked at her.
"Those notes were artistic license."
"Of course they were."
* * *
The selected opera for that night was Verdi's Aida, and Angelique watched it closely. For the first time in weeks, she actually seemed interested. Erik supposed this was because she was amused by the Egyptian costumes. Also, it had become clear that she was a fan of Verdi. Erik had seen Aida many times, and as a result was more involved in thinking about the woman sitting next to him. She was unconsciously doing torturous things to her programme, and he considered taking it away from her.
From the first night she had come back to his house, knocking softly at the door, she had been growing ever more comfortable with him. She never asked about the mask, although many times he caught her looking at it when she thought he wasn't watching. At first, she had acted as if she were a guest, knocking on doors and asking for something to drink. Some nights he would find her wandering through the place, examining everything. Angelique had told him that this was because she sometimes remembered things from when she was little, and she would get up to search for them.
But as time marched on, Angelique had started behaving like she belonged in his house. This was perfectly fine with him, however, but when he had become angry with her for being late to the opera house, he had immediately regretted his words. Although he couldn't remember what he had said, he knew that the times he couldn't remember were the worst. Despite his words, she had still accompanied him back to the house.
"Don't you think you've done enough to that programme?"
"Hm?" Angelique looked down at her hands, realizing that she had been twisting the paper around in her hands since the first act. "Oh, dear." Carefully untwisting it, she set it across her lap.
"Is the opera not to your satisfaction this evening?"
"On the contrary, I'm enjoying it quite a lot. The masters certainly have more to offer than those pathetic attempts at operas that those 'fashionable' writers are issuing out in such numbers these days." The night's argument seemed to be forgotten, and Erik nodded his agreement.
"You're quite right about that, my dear. But the fools who run my theatre don't consider anything that doesn't bring in money art."
"How irritating. I could write better opera than that trash we were subjected to last week." Smoothing her programme down with her hands, she looked up at Erik. "If I could write a decent lyric, I would." For a moment, she was quiet as she watched the spectacle taking place below her on the stage. "Didn't you say you'd written an opera?"
"As a matter of fact, I did."
"May I see it?" There was something glowing in her eyes, and Erik tried to discern what it was.
"Of course you may. I believe there's a copy of it somewhere." His words seemed to thrill her, and she leaned back in her chair with a smile. "What is on your mind?"
"Just an idea. It's nonsense, really." Through the rest of the opera, she seemed quiet. Angelique snuck a look at Erik as he watched the opera. The idea was still forming in her mind, and she smiled wider. But still she offered no explanation, and Erik didn't bother to ask.
* * *
From the moment he handed Angelique the score of Don Juan Triumphant, he knew that something was going on in her head, although he wasn't quite sure what. Perhaps it was the manic giggling. Once he had given it to her, she disappeared into her room for quite some time.
While she was in her room, Erik sat at his organ. For the life of him, he still couldn't figure out why she had cleaned up the mess in the dining room. The argument itself had been brief, but it was still preying on his mind.
Outside the room, there was a slam followed by the sound of footsteps running down the hall. They faded quickly, then arose once more as the owner of the feet returned back down the hall. The whole episode ended with the slam of a door again, and Erik shook his head. She really was quite an odd woman.
Just a few minutes later there was another slam from down the hallway, and the door to his room flew open. Erik thought he would never get used to the way Angelique would walk right into his room. More than once, he wondered why she was never bothered by the strange combination of red and black that outfitted his room, the open coffin, and the huge Dies Irae on the wall.
Angelique hurried over to the organ, score in hand, and dropped it rather unceremoniously onto the stand. Erik looked at her, and she leaned over his shoulder to point at a certain place in the music.
"Play there, please." Her slender finger ran over the notes, and Erik began to play them, amused by her fascination with his opera. As he did so, Angelique continued to lean over his shoulder. Warmth was emanating from her body as it brushed lightly against his arm, and a soft cloud of fragrance enveloped him. On her face was the same look he had seen when she was a tiny child, a wrinkle of concentration covering her brow as if by watching him very closely she would be able to unlock the secrets of music. Resisting the urge to reach up and pull her into his arms, Erik finished the piece. In response, Angelique clapped her hands together. "Magnificent!" Reaching over him, she flipped the pages until she found the part she liked. "Here, play at the andante."
"Haven't I taught you how to play the piano?" Erik gave her a half-serious look, and she nodded.
"Yes, but I want to hear you sing it." Just the words would have been sweet enough to Erik's ears, but the tone in which she said them was more than enough to convince him to play for her. One of her hands lit upon his shoulder like a nervous butterfly as his hands began to work out the melody.
As he sang, the notes of the love song worked their way around the hearts of both performer and audience, and for a moment Erik felt her fingers tighten on his shoulder. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and he realized that her voice was just next to his ear. The very moment that the precious notes dwindled into nothingness, Angelique sat beside him on the bench.
"Erik, that was beautiful! The music…the lyrics…" Suddenly, Angelique reached over to grasp his hands. "I want to write an opera."
"My dear, I don't think you realize just what writing an opera entails. It can be extremely…" Angelique interrupted him, her eyes wide.
"I want to write an opera, Erik. I want to write an opera and I want you to write the lyrics." By this time, her eyes were burning madly. He knew at once that there was to be no more argument about it. If there was just one thing he had learned about this woman, it was that she was almost as obsessive as he was about her music.
"Very well. If this is what you truly want, then I shall do everything in my power to help you achieve it."
"You're wonderful!" Angelique laughed excitedly as she pressed her hands together. "I knew you would help me! This is going to be the best opera the world has ever known!"
"But you must realize that it could very well take years to complete the orchestrations and lyrics, as well as the music." Erik's face had become quite serious, and Angelique nodded. "Under no circumstances will I rush through any part of this opera simply to appease you."
"I'm glad," she said, nodding again. "I want this opera to be perfect." A huge smile covered her face as she got up from the bench, taking Don Juan with her. "Now I must try to get some sleep before I got to work. But thank you, Erik. This is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me."
"Good night, Angelique." Smiling, Erik turned back to his organ. Women and their passing fancies were something he would never be able to fathom.
* * *
The next day, Erik discovered that the opera idea was more than a simple passing fancy. When Angelique returned from work, she walked into the study carrying two full reams of good quality manuscript paper. Setting them before Erik, she grinned.
"We may need more eventually, but for now I think this will do." Incredulous, Erik took out a sheet of the paper. "It's good paper," she assured him, sitting down in the chair beside him. "I asked for the very best kind they had."
"I have no doubt about that," Erik said, looking over at her. "But this must have been terribly expensive." Under his interrogating gaze, Angelique shrugged.
"Today I got my wages," she said, holding a piece of the heavy paper in her hands. "Besides, what else would I have spent it on?"
"A new dress or possibly some books…I know for a fact that you haven't had a new book in almost a month. Instead you go and spend an extravagant amount of money on…" The smile she had walked in with was rapidly diminishing, and Erik stopped his tirade for a moment as he reached over to pat her hand. "Forgive me, Angelique. This paper will be perfect."
"Can we start work on the opera tonight?" Somehow her bright smile had returned, and Erik nodded.
"Above all else, you must think of a premise. We can't begin on the music unless we have an idea of the story." A look of dismay crossed Angelique's mind, and she got up from her seat.
"I'm terrible at this…" Walking over to the bookshelf, she scanned the spines of the leather-bound volumes. "Perhaps something based upon an old story? Or do you suppose an original idea is best?"
"This is to be your opera. Whatever you wish the theme to be, I shall do everything that I can to make it everything you hope it to be."
"No," Angelique said, going back over to the chair where he was sitting. "This is to be our opera." Much to Erik's surprise, she leaned over and put her arms around him. "You are the most wonderful man I have ever known." Her body was soft, and a surge of warmth rushed over Erik as it pressed against his. Resisting a sudden, inexplicable urge to push her away, he gently patted her back.
"Come, let us have our dinner. You may be able to think a little clearer after you eat a bit." Standing up, he offered her his arm to lead her to the dining room. Angelique took it at once, and followed him.
"You certainly do feed me well," she commented as he pulled the chair out for her. "If this keeps up, I may not be able to fit my dresses."
"And if that should happen, then I will buy you a closet full of new dresses. For a while, you were beginning to look as thin as a rail." Sitting across from her, Erik watched her eat slowly.
"Why do you not eat?" This same topic was becoming a source of annoyance for both Erik and Angelique, and the man sighed.
"Must we really begin every night with this argument?"
"I don't wish to argue, Erik. I simply feel wrong about eating before you when you haven't taken a single bite." Though she wanted to say more, Angelique quickly put a bit of food into her mouth before any words could escape. It had been a long day at the shop, and she didn't feel like setting off Erik's temper again.
"You return so late each evening, and I have already eaten by that time. I'm sorry if it disturbs you." At least now, he didn't seem angry. This was a small amount of comfort for Angelique, and she ate quickly.
Once she had placed her fork alongside the dish, Erik stood up and took away the plate. While he was gone, she sipped the last of the wine in her glass. Back in the study, she had no idea why she had hugged him. Over the time she had been in his house, Angelique had realized to a bit of dismay, that the spark of a feeling she thought she had felt for him was quickly becoming a flame, threatening to consume her every time she got close to Erik. She worried that she was developing an unhealthy fixation on him, but didn't want him to think that she was any queerer than she was certain he already thought she was. The time he had caught her walking around in the middle of the night touching all the bric-a-brac had been most embarrassing, but for some reason she had felt that it was necessary. Still, she couldn't help worrying that now Erik would think she was a raving lunatic.
"Have you thought of a plot?" While she was thinking, he had come back into the room and was standing over her shoulder. Angelique jumped, then wondered just how long he had been behind her. Figuring he was already adding impolite to his list of ways to describe her, she shook her head.
"No," Trying not to sound too despondent, Angelique sighed. "How can I write a decent piece of music if I can't even think of a name?"
"I'm sure something will come to you soon. Shall we return to the study?" Extending a hand to Angelique, Erik waited for her to slip her small hand into his so that he could help her up. For some reason, Christine had never wanted him to touch her, even on her hands, and yet Angelique always seemed so eager to take his hand. This time was no different and as they walked up the stairs, her arm tucked comfortably in his, she seemed to walk a little closer to him.
"Do you have any thoughts about a plot?" They walked into the study, and she resumed her place by the bookshelf. Angelique wasn't sure what she was searching for, but she seemed intent on finding it.
"Are you certain that you would not rather select a plot yourself? After all, this is your opera." This caused Angelique to turn rather suddenly to look at him.
"As I said last night, this is our opera. I don't expect you to just write lyrics, this is every bit your work as it is mine." Reaching over to the wine decanter, she found that it was empty. "Good heavens, do we really drink this much?"
"I was unaware that it was empty…" Erik started to get up from his chair, upon which Angelique hurried over and gently put her hand on his shoulder, settling him firmly in the chair.
"Don't trouble yourself, I'll get it!" Beaming, she exited the study, then put her head back in the door. "Think about the plot while I'm gone!" Once he could hear her footsteps going down the hallway, Erik sat back. He wasn't completely sure what had just happened. There was a small thump from downstairs, and he resisted the urge to get up and go check on her. A few minutes later, Angelique returned with a full bottle of wine. She was grinning a little too widely, and Erik gave her an odd look.
"I heard a sound down there…"
"You'll be glad to know I saved the wine." That was all the explanation she gave, but Erik noticed she was favoring her right leg a little. "Have you thought of any ideas about the opera?" As she spoke, she poured him a glass of wine and brought it over to where he sat, trying not to limp. Handing him the glass, their fingers brushed against one another, a slightly more familiar gesture than when he took her hand to help her up from a chair. Their eyes met for a split second, conveying an emotion that neither of them seemed quite comfortable with. Angelique blushed, then moved over to her own chair.
"None whatsoever," Erik managed as she sat down. Angelique looked confused as she tried to regain her composure.
"None what?"
"Thoughts on the opera." The simple contact between the two had completely thrown them off balance, and Angelique nodded.
"Oh, yes. The opera." Now she seemed more at ease, and gazed dreamily over at the thread work on one of the tapestries on the wall. The blush still hadn't quite left her cheeks, and she was so lost in thought for a moment that she didn't realize that Erik was looking at her. "It has to be perfect. Music is the most intimate thing one person can give to another. It's like you're giving them a bit of the deepest part of your soul, something that no one else can give or take away. Most people don't understand that. They think music is just a series of meaningless notes meant to make up a melody, but only a true composer knows the real power music can have." With every word she spoke, Erik became more and more lost in her voice. Still smiling, she looked over at him. "I know you understand, Erik. You may be the only one in this godforsaken city who does."
"A man…who falls in love with a woman that he can't possibly have." Before he even realized what he was saying, the words had already left Erik's lips. For a moment he was horrified. What had he just done? His eyes were fixed on the bookshelf, and Angelique stood up. Following his gaze, she picked out a book from the rows of volumes.
"Hunchback of Notre Dame…is this what you meant?" Beneath her smile, Angelique's heart was thundering. She was silently hoping that he hadn't meant the book, that he was somehow feeling the same way she was. Relieved, Erik nodded.
"Yes. I think it would make a wonderful opera. With a story of that depth, there are many opportunities for music to…" Erik went on for a while, but Angelique had stopped listening after 'opera.' After a while, he noticed she wasn't listening. "Do you agree with that?"
"Yes, all of it." Somehow, she managed to put on a brilliant smile before picking up the book and sitting down next to Erik. "It's a wonderful idea. I only wish…" Turning the page, she sighed softly. There was no way she could say what she was really thinking. "I wish I had thought of it."
For the rest of the night, the only sound in the room was that of pages turning.
* * *
Thanks to the fact that Angelique and Erik were both fast readers, the plot outline was finished within the week. Unfortunately, the relationship between them was becoming ever more strained as the days went on.
Almost a month later, the first scene of Notre Dame de Paris was finished. Erik was surprised at their progress, but Angelique was always completely hell-bent on her music. She would return from work with packages which would have long strings of notes written on their outsides, admitting that she had bought a new pair of shoes or a scarf just to have the package so she could write down the piece before she forgot it. Once she even pitched the most dreadful fit when Erik had mistakenly thrown out a piece of butcher's paper with the mezzo-soprano's introduction on it. Following that little episode, she had turned the house upside down looking for a dress pattern on which was written the beginning of a little fugue.
This behavior was starting to get tiresome, and Angelique was starting to look as thin as when he had first met her. Resolving to try and make this opera work, Erik had asked her to look over the lyrics to the first scene but had not allowed her to disappear into her room as she usually did when he gave her something to review. Instead, he requested that she sit with him before the organ. She had been most responsive to the idea, and for a while he actually thought it would work out.
"Next we have…" Erik wrote the first six notes down on the page before turning to Angelique. She was busy eating an apple while reviewing the first scene. "What did you have in mind after this sequence?" In response, Angelique hummed a few notes through her mouthful of apple.
"Like that," she said absently.
"Ah. Ending on a major third. How ingenious of you." Erik reached up to write down the notes, and Angelique looked up at him.
"Major third? No, that's a diminished fourth."
"My dear, I beg to differ. The notes you gave me were a major third."
"I gave you a diminished fourth, Erik, I think I know what a diminished fourth is." She was beginning to sound annoyed, and took the pen from his hand. This was unacceptable, and Erik struggled to hold back his anger. Instead, he spoke in the most condescending way he possibly could to her.
"You've only known what a diminished fourth is for two months. I think I know what I am talking about." His patronizing tone only annoyed Angelique more, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"So I don't know what a diminished fourth is now?" Jumping up from the bench, she threw the pen onto the floor and slammed her hands onto the keys of the organ so that the first scene, ending with a loud and resounding diminished fourth, rang through the room. She looked up at Erik, her eyes sarcastic. "Was that it?"
"How dare you treat my instrument in that way!" Erik exploded, standing up so fast that the bench was knocked backwards. Angelique didn't seem to notice, and although she had to look upward to face him, her little hands were on her hips with a defiance no one had ever shown him.
"How dare you talk to me like I am a child!" Her blue eyes were burning with rage as she looked up at him. "You are the one who taught me all of this! I may not be able to express it as well as you, but there are a few things of which I know about what I speak!" Snatching up the first scene in her hand, she held it up in the air near his face. This only served to make Erik madder. "One of which is a diminished fourth!"
"If you were to live to be a hundred, a possibility which lessens with every passing moment, you wouldn't know half of the things I know!" Caught up in yelling at Angelique, Erik didn't realize that he had just threatened her. It became apparent, however, when her little face turned the color of a ripe tomato that he had crossed the line. Incensed, Angelique flung the papers onto the floor. They scattered like leaves through the room as she looked up at the man who was at least a foot taller than she was.
"Are you threatening me?" Pressing a hand to her chest, Angelique sounded as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Realizing too late what he had said, Erik was speechless for a moment. "If you lay so much as a hand on me, Erik, I will…" There didn't seem to be a word that could describe it, and she spun around to go.
"Wait!" Afraid that he was going to lose her, Erik reached out to grab her arm. All he caught was her wrist, and he pulled her back to him a little rougher than he had first intended. Insulted by this, her hand flashed out to slap him across the face. The strength of her arm knocked his mask from his face, but Angelique was too busy stomping to her room to look at him.
As he put the mask back on, Erik could hear her door slam. For a moment he had been sorry, but all traces of contrition had disappeared the moment she struck him. Enraged, he thundered down the hall after her and pounded on her door.
"Angelique! Open this door at once!" There was no response, and he tried the knob. It was locked, and Erik slammed his fist against the door in frustration. "Angelique! Open this door or I shall…" The door swung open so fast he almost fell into the room, and Angelique stood before him. Her eyes were blazing with anger as she looked at him.
"Or you shall do what?" There was no instant response, so she pushed past him and walked down the hall.
"Where are you going?"
"Somewhere I don't have to look at you!" This remark, tossed over her shoulder in the iciest of tones, caused him more pain than he thought possible, and she disappeared down the stairs. Hurrying after her, Erik reached the top of the stairs just as her little figure passed through the open door. How could that damned woman move so fast?
"Angelique! Don't you dare walk out on me! Angelique!" The slam of the door was the only response he got, and he ran down the stairs after her. By the time he got to the door, she was gone.
* * *
While Angelique wasn't watching, spring had overthrown Paris like Napoleon on holiday. Tiny buds had blossomed into flowers in every possible color of the rainbow, and she stopped to smell one of them as she walked. Everywhere Angelique looked, it seemed like another pair of lovers was walking down the long street, hand in hand. It was making her ill. It was already nearly noon, and it dawned on her that she hadn't slept at all in the last two days. Still, she walked, not sure where she wanted to go.
She passed Mme Lafours' shop without a backward glance, and continued walking. The last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment was her employer telling her that she looked like Death himself, as the woman had taken to doing as of late. Through some act of instinct, she had ended up standing before the bakery. Above the bakery was her apartment, and in the apartment was…what? A few dresses and maybe a book or two? She couldn't remember. Since she had started visiting Erik, she had almost completely stopped going to her apartment. But she still paid the rent, for reasons she herself couldn't even explain. Wearily, she made her way up the stairs and unlocked the door, wondering what she would find.
Standing in the doorway of her tiny apartment, Angelique sighed. Nothing. Just as she thought. Before she had started going to see Erik, her life had been filled with nothing. Being with Erik had made her so happy, but now…everything felt so different. Everything was confused in her mind, and she went into the apartment. It was midday, and the sun was streaming through the broken window like spun gold. She went slowly to the table where the dried up rose was still lying. It had faded to a sad, grayish red, and she touched it gently. Just the tap of her finger made a petal fall onto the ground, and it lay there looking lost.
Turning to the mirror, Angelique let out a tiny scream of surprise as an apparition appeared before her. When she got over her initial shock, Angelique moved closer to the mirror. Much to her dismay, she realized that the ghost was her. Long nights of writing on the opera combined with her days working at the shop were obviously not agreeing with her, and her fingers moved up to touch the dark circles beneath her eye. Her face was pale, which only served to make the shadows below her eyes look even darker.
As she looked in wonder at the face that appeared before her, she suddenly realized that she couldn't continue like this. If she insisted on living these two lives, she was going to die before she turned 25. Placing a hand on her mirror, Angelique bowed her head. She knew what she had to do.
* * *
Erik sat at the organ, having already rearranged the pages of music they had finished. Now, as he sat picking through the notes of Notre Dame de Paris Act One, Scene One, he wondered if she was ever coming back. It seemed like hours since she had left, and it was just then that he had been able to sit before the organ again. He really hadn't intended to threaten her, but he had been angry and it had come out the wrong way. His cheek still stung from where she had slapped him, although he supposed he deserved it. Erik wished he could apologize to her, maybe not for the music, but for everything else.
With a sigh, he played the last notes of the scene slowly. It sounded odd, and he switched a few notes around before playing it again. This time as he played the notes, he realized it. A cry of mixed anger and despair escaped his lips as he swept the music off the stand and onto the floor.
It was a diminished fourth. Bitterly, he looked at the pages that lay scattered on the floor. After all these years, he had failed to make the distinction between the sounds at the worst possible time. Closing his eyes, Erik dropped his head. Maybe it was better that she had left.
There was a sound downstairs, like something falling. Erik's head snapped up quickly, and he jumped up from the bench. Somehow avoiding the scattering of pages that lay on the floor, he hurried down the stairs to find Angelique standing in the doorway a worried look on her face.
"Erik, are you alright? I heard you cry out…" Just the sound of her voice in his house made him immeasurably happy, and he stood at the foot of the stairs, looking at her as if he couldn't believe she was actually there. "Is something wrong?" Going to him, Angelique gently pressed a hand to his cheek, almost the only exposed part of his face. "Are you feeling well?"
"Angelique…" His voice was trembling as he reached up to take her hands, which only made her more concerned. "Please forgive me. You were right about the fourth…I never meant to threaten you. You know I would never hurt you."
"Of course I know that." The worry on her face melted into a smile, and her eyes softened. "But you had every right to be mad. Everything was my fault."
"No!" The tone of his voice suggested that she had suggested the ultimate blasphemy. "I should not have overreacted. You were tired, I shouldn't have been so thoughtless…" Shaking his head, Erik lifted her little hands up to kiss them. However, he stopped just short of his lips and hesitated a moment before actually proceeding with the gesture. "Can you forgive me?"
"You shouldn't even have to ask," she said softly. "Now, will you please help me outside? I believe I'm not quite strong enough."
"To do what?" Puzzled, Erik followed her out to the front of the house where a small trunk was sitting halfway on the bottom stair. "What's this?"
"Just my dresses and a few books and things." Going over to the trunk, she pulled at it. "I think it may be stuck on something."
"But why is it here?" Joining her by the trunk, Erik picked it up easily and carried it into the house. Angelique followed behind him, awed by his strength. It had taken two men to help her carry it to the Rue Scribe, not to mention the awful time she had getting it into and out of the boat. Erik set the chest in her room, and turned to her expectantly. For a moment, Angelique forgot what he had asked her.
"I quit my job at the seamstress, so I decided to move all my things down here." Although she seemed pleased, a strange look crossed Erik's face.
"What did you go and do a thing like that for?" His voice was unreadable, and she couldn't tell if he was irritated or pleased with her.
"There was no reason for me to live there when I spend all my time down here, and you won't let me pay for anything anyway. Really, Erik, I thought you would be happy about it!" Hands on hips, she communicated her frustration with him before she even spoke, and Erik laughed.
"Of course I am. You haven't been looking very healthy as of late." Motioning her towards the door, he shook his head. "Come, there's something I wish to show you."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were worried about me." Angelique looked up at him with a smile as she slipped her arm into his. "Where are we going?"
"Just to the study." They passed Erik's room, the door of which was still standing open. Angelique noticed the pages of music on the floor with a sigh.
"I'm sorry I threw the music on the floor," she said softly. "You must think I'm a spoiled little brat."
"Actually, it was I who did that." Not bothering to go into detail about his actions, Erik brought Angelique into the study and sat her down. Moving over to the bookshelf, he removed a single volume and opened the cover. "I didn't remember this until just a few minutes ago." Inside the cover was a piece of paper, which Erik handed to her.
"What is it?" Unfolding the paper, Angelique found it to be a short melody scribbled in a child's handwriting. Looking at it for a moment, she realized just what it was. "The music box song!"
"You wrote that when you were quite small. I seem to recall you watching me write some music, and you begged me for a sheet of paper so you could write something." Smiling, Erik set the book on the table between them. "It wasn't until after I took you to your parents that I found it stuck in with my pages of music. I thought you might like to have it."
"Thank you!" Laughing, she pressed the paper to her chest. "This is wonderful!" Humming the melody softly, she ran her fingers over the notes on the paper.
"I was quite surprised when I found it," Erik remarked. "Even though you were just copying the notes, the fact that you were able to discern them just from their sound is nothing short of remarkable."
"But how did I know what to write?" Her eyes traveled over the shaky lines, the slanted notes, the treble clef which looked as if it had been stepped on. "This hardly even looks like music."
"You were only a year old. Just the fact that you were writing something resembling a melody is astonishing. And I always assumed that you learned by watching me." Angelique's eyes were still focused on the paper, and Erik watched her face. She was gently touching her fingertips to the paper, smiling as if she were remembering something. Her attention was so completely focused on the paper that she didn't seem to realize that her hands were shaking. Erik saw this at once. "Is something wrong?"
"Lavender," she murmured, almost too softly to hear. "Lavender. Mother always wore lavender oil." Now, as she looked up, her eyes had taken on a faraway look. "That night, I remember…when you left. Mother and Father came out, and she took me into her arms. She smelled so strongly of lavender." As she spoke, tears had begun to roll down her pale cheeks. Like a flash, Erik was at her side.
"Angelique…"
"I'm sorry," she said, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I just can't forget…I really don't know what's wrong with me…" Still crying, Angelique dropped her eyes into her lap.
"There's nothing wrong with you." Kneeling down to look into her eyes, Erik took a handkerchief from his pocket and dried the tears that were covering her face. "You're tired. Come along, I'll take you to bed." Carefully helping her out of the chair, Erik led her up the stairs to her room. Angelique leaned on him a bit more than usual, the music still clutched in her hand.
Several times, it seemed like she wanted to say something to him as they walked. But whatever was on her mind didn't wander past her lips, and Erik helped her onto the bed. Angelique looked at the melody again, then opened the music box.
"It's so pretty…I wish it had words." Then she was silent, and the dearth of conversation in the room quickly became uncomfortable. Erik moved to the door.
"Good night, my dear. When you wake up, we shall work on the opera some more." With that, he was gone into the darkness, shutting the door behind him. Angelique loved watching the way he moved. There was something graceful, almost stately about the way he walked, with a measure of sensuality she didn't think he was aware of. At once, she found herself blushing. Hurriedly, she took off her boots and dress. There was no way she was going to acknowledge that she had even had those thoughts.
It felt as if she hadn't slept in weeks, and as she slipped beneath the cool sheets of her bed, she thought about her mother. Imagining herself to be in the safety of her mother's arms, she fell asleep at once.
* * *
Sinking onto the bench before his organ, Erik looked at the empty music stand. Once again, her words came into his head. Words she had spoken over a month before, in his study, about the intimacy of music. Her reverent words struck a note in his soul; somehow they were the very embodiment of the way he had felt about music since his fingers had worked out the first tenuous notes on his mother's piano.
That day felt as if it were so far away, and there was so much he wanted to forget about his years as a child. Yet he could still remember the pure, unadulterated happiness he had felt when the first immaculate notes had rung forth from the piano. But just as quickly as it had come, the happiness had disappeared.
When Christine had appeared before him, she had been like a gift from heaven, bringing back the sweet joy he had felt when he was lost in music. And just like the innocence of his first melody, she had been taken away by someone who couldn't possibly understand the happiness he found in her.
Now he had a chance to regain the joy that had been stolen from him in life, over and over again. Angelique felt music the way he did. It ran through her body and enveloped her soul, drawing him closer to the light that she carried within her. Erik yearned for that light, that affection that he had been deprived of since the very day of his birth. The gentle touch of her hand, her precious laughter…these were things he never thought he could experience from a woman. He wondered if it was possible that she could be thinking of him as well.
Since Christine had left, he had been wary of letting himself become close to any woman. The last thing he wanted was to cause another person the pain he had given Christine. But Angelique had slipped through his defenses, just as she had the day he had rescued her from death just hours after her birth. The longer he stayed near her, the farther he slipped down the inescapable chasm that he knew led to total devotion to this extraordinary woman.
But would it truly be such a tragedy to let himself fall in love again?
* * *
With the help of some internal clock, Angelique awoke the next morning, rising slowly to the surface of consciousness as if through some viscous liquid. Opening her eyes, she half expected to see Erik beside her. Instead, there was a small glass bottle sitting next to her music box. Leaning over to pick it up, Angelique noticed her reflection in the mirror. The shadows below her eyes were beginning to fade, and some color was starting to return to her face. Smiling, she closed her fingers around the bottle and pulled it to her, puzzled.
The tiny bottle was rather ornately made, and closed with a little glass stopper. Pulling the stopper out, Angelique was greeted with the heavenly scent of her mother's perfumed embrace. Breathing a soft sigh of bliss, Angelique brought the bottle to her nose and inhaled deeply. Lavender oil.
Dressing quickly, she dabbed a little of the scented oil onto her neck and hurried down the hall to where Erik was already awake and scribbling at the opera. Moving very quietly behind him, Angelique put her arms around his neck playfully. At once, Erik's entire body tensed up.
"Good morning," she said softly. At the sound of her voice, Erik relaxed visibly and turned to look at her.
"Perhaps I should say good afternoon." Smiling, he pulled away from her lavender embrace. "Can I assume that you found my present?"
"Yes, and I love it dearly. Thank you so much." A small pang of distress ached in her chest as she noticed him moving away from her, but she didn't say anything. Gingerly, she sat next to him and looked at the music. But as hard as she tried to concentrate on the music that was before her, all she could think about was the manner in which he had pushed her away. Putting the music back on the stand, Angelique stood up.
Erik looked at her as she sidled out from behind the bench. "Excuse me."
"Where are you going?"
"My room." Her chest was hurting so badly, she didn't care that she was rather short with him. Immediately, he stood up as well.
"Is something the matter? Are you hungry?" Taking a few steps toward where Angelique stood, he reached a hand out to her.
"Not particularly." Trying not to betray just how upset she was, Angelique hurried to her room and closed the door so that Erik's masked face disappeared at once.
Sinking onto her bed, Angelique brought the music box into her arms and stared at it. Carefully, she opened the lid to set the music free. Somehow, the melody seemed so sad all of a sudden, and once again she was dismayed to find that tears were involuntarily welling up in her eyes.
How could she have been such a fool? Trying to convince herself that he cared for her…and then she had gone and made that stupidly forthright gesture this morning. Just remembering the way he had pulled away from her arms caused the aching to return to her heart again.
All of a sudden, it felt like everything was so pointless. Quitting her job, writing the opera…it all seemed to fade into the background as she realized that everything had just been in her mind. What a fool. What a silly little fool she had become.
There was a knock on her door, and Angelique looked up. Wiping away her tears in a panic, she tried to compose herself before she spoke.
"Yes?"
"Angelique? Is something wrong?"
"I'm fine." In her mind, she was screaming at him. How could he possibly not know what was wrong? "Please, just leave me alone." Ashamed to hear that her voice was trembling, Angelique's eyes began to leak again. There was a terrible silence from the other side of the heavy door, followed by the sound of footsteps receding heavily down the hall. Angelique felt as if her heart was breaking as she heard him walking away from her, knowing he wouldn't return until she asked him to.
The silence lingered on forever, and Angelique held her breath in hopes that she would hear a sound, some music, anything. Nothing came, and once she was sure she was not going to cry again, Angelique carefully pushed open the door and crept down the hall to Erik's room.
"Erik? Are you here?" There was no answer, and she could see that he was gone. A disturbing feeling had come into her stomach, and she ran down the stairs to the front of the house. From the top of the stairs, she could see a familiar shape disappearing into the misty darkness, carried along by a small boat. "Erik!"
Nearly plunging headfirst into the darkness, she ran down the stairs and pressed her body against the bars of the gate that impassively separated her from the lake. Cursing herself for leaving the key in her room, Angelique grasped the bars so tightly that her knuckles began to turn white.
"Please, wait!" There was no answer, and as he disappeared completely into the catacombs, Angelique slammed the palm of her hand onto the gate. "Damn!"
* * *
Crossing the lake, Erik heard her calling to him. It took all he had not to turn back and answer her, but somehow he managed it. A moment later, her shouted curse rang through the darkness, along with the sound of iron being beaten.
The moment he pulled away from her, Erik had known she would be upset. But the way she had smelled, the way her arms had felt around him…it was almost too much. There was no way a woman like her could love him, and there was no use in trying to fool himself into thinking otherwise. No use in trying to convince a wretched creature like himself that he could ever hope to even gaze upon paradise.
He had no idea where he was going, but it had to be as far away from Angelique as possible. The sound of her crying was just too much to bear.
* * *
Back inside the house, Angelique sat in the study staring at the books. Angry and hurt, she entertained several ideas about smashing everything in the room before sinking into a chair. It was the chair that Erik usually sat in, and she pulled her legs up so that she was curled into a ball on the seat.
She hated crying. Her aunt had told her it was a sign of weakness, and that the reason little girls were so weak was that they cried all the time. Every time Angelique had felt like she wanted to cry, she had fought the tears so hard that it was physically painful. For years, she hadn't allowed herself to cry at all. But here, it seemed like she couldn't control the tears.
More than anything, she wanted Erik to come back. Just the lingering scent of his clothes on the chair was enough to make it feel as if someone had torn out her heart, and she pressed a hand to the soft cushioning, the tears threatened to fall again. Angelique buried her face in the upholstery as she recalled the swiftness with which he had left the house. Was there anything more shameful than driving a man out of his own house? Much to her chagrin, she couldn't think of a single thing worse, and closed her burning eyes. If he hadn't hated her after slapping him, surely he must hate her now.
Slowly pulling herself out of the chair, Angelique walked blindly to her room. Her chest felt so empty, her whole body was so cold…the thought of Erik hating her caused her more pain than she believed she had ever felt. He was her last friend, the only man who had ever understood her love of music, and somehow she had managed to drive him away. Blowing out the candles, Angelique wandered over to a small, plush couch in the corner of the room and slumped onto it.
Out of the darkness, the music box started up again. Reaching a hand blindly towards the gently sound, Angelique murmured something unintelligible. A moment later, she was quiet. An eerie stillness overtook the house, broken only by the faltering notes of an elderly music box.
* * *
Few people visited Notre Dame Cathedral in the middle of the week, excepting the few aged women who were there to say rosaries and the newly pious young woman making their confessions.
Silently, Erik sat in a corner of the empty choir loft. The rays of the sunset filtered languidly through the sacred images cast in stained glass, sending kaleidoscopic visions of color across the pews. He rarely, if ever, visited the Cathedral. There were too many righteous people coming and going, people who wouldn't hesitate to lavish cruelty on him simply because he was there.
Lost in thought, he gazed up at the much-adored rose window. Many believed that the brilliant blue of the glass had been lost with the abbots who had created it, that the color held some magical power. Erik didn't doubt their opinions for a moment, as the same blazing hue that captivated hundreds of people had the power to paralyze him when it was in Angelique's eyes. He, the man who had once been rumored to waltz with Satan and ride dragons for sport!
The very thought was ridiculous, and he turned away from the glass. Compared to him, she was a child. He couldn't imagine her feeling anything more for him than a distant, filial affection, and this sent Erik into agonies every time he thought about it.
Trying to take his mind off these disturbing thoughts, Erik looked around the sanctum. Perhaps he could get some ideas for the opera. The priests were wandering about below like reverent crows, silently offering their counsel to those in need. A young woman emerged from the confessional while an older woman lit a slender candle and kissed the feet of the Blessed Virgin.
To Erik, who hadn't believed in a god since he was a child, it all looked like nothing more than a series of fruitless ritual. And the futility of it all brought his thoughts back to Angelique. It was as equally useless to try not to think about her, and he leaned his head back to look into the rafters of the church.
Many years previous, he had sketched a domed cathedral which had looked a bit like this. Erik wondered absently if he had the capacity to sketch a person, a figure which consisted of more than just lines and angles. He couldn't remember ever doing such a thing before, even when he was a child.
For some reason, the pews below had begun to fill up. With each person that arrived, Erik felt more and more uncomfortable until he realized that the choir would soon be filing into the loft. Moving like a shadow into a narrow stairwell that was hidden from view, Erik disappeared into the walls of Notre Dame.
Outside, the city had sunk into night. From within the cathedral, a chorus of voices arose in a prayer that could just as easily been gibberish to Erik's ears. But somewhere within the garble of orisons, a single, pure note resonated. His eyes alight with sudden inspiration, Erik hurried to the Rue Scribe.
The journey back across the lake seemed shorter somehow, but he went up the stairs much more slowly than necessary. Her closed door told him at once that she was still unhappy with him, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was a desperate need within him to check on her, to make sure she was okay, and he took off his cloak before opening her door.
"Angelique?" Her room was pitch dark, at which Erik frowned. She usually liked to have at least a little candle burning, and he moved over to light one of the slender candles by the door. The realization that she wasn't in her bed was unsettling, and Erik picked up the light to look around.
The soft light of the candle fell onto her small frame, draped over the couch as if she had fainted. Stifling a cry, Erik knelt beside her and looked into her face. It was puffy, as if she'd been crying, and a look of distress was on her brow. Afraid that he was the one who had put this expression on her beloved countenance, Erik reached over to gently smooth down her hair.
Setting the candle onto the floor, Erik slipped his arms beneath her body and picked her up. A tiny smile crossed her lips as his arms enfolded her, and a happy sound escaped from her throat. Angelique looked so happy, he didn't want to put her down. Ever so gently, Erik deposited her onto the bed and sat beside her. Carefully removing her boots, he dropped them on the floor. The sound of the shoe dropping caused Angelique to wake with a start, and it took a moment before her eyes focused on the man who was sitting beside her.
"Erik!" At once, her eyes lit up. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back! I…" Instinctively, she moved to hug him but stopped short. Turning her eyes down to her lap, she smiled sadly. "I'm sorry about this morning. Really, I shouldn't have…" Shaking her head, Angelique fought back another wave of tears. "I can't imagine what you must think of me. Throwing music around, driving you out of your house. I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted me to leave right now."
"No, this was my fault. I didn't mean to upset you so…" The words caught in his throat, causing Angelique to move a bit closer to him. Cautiously placing a hand on his arm, she was pleased that Erik didn't pull away. Instead, he reached up to gently caress her cheek. Neither of them spoke, but their eyes met in the dim light that the candle afforded them. Heart pounding, Angelique bit her lip. She wanted to ask him so many things, to find out why he had left. But instead, she simply smiled gently at him.
"Where did you go?" The words had no sooner left her mouth as Erik began to relate to her all the ideas he had gotten from being in the cathedral.
"…And perhaps we could use the chorus girls as some sort of congregation. What do you think?"
"Tell me more," Angelique smiled up at him moving a bit closer to him. At that moment, all she wanted was to hear his voice. Without even knowing that he was doing so, Erik obliged.
Her hand was like a trembling butterfly on his arm, unsure if she should leave it there or take it away. Pausing for a moment, Erik reached over to lightly place his hand on hers. Angelique's cheeks turned bright pink in the candlelight, and their eyes spoke silently to one another as they spent an instant simply enjoying one another's touch.
It may not have been paradise, but at that moment it was enough.