Chapter Four: And Your Heart's Left In Doubt
That evening was spent mostly in a rather pleasant silence as the two occupants of the house beyond the lake packed for their journey.
"I would advise you to pack light, my dear," Erik suggested. "One can hardly go toting large trunks into the Rue Scribe."
"Or in the boat for that matter," Christine replied matter-of-factly.
Erik smiled at her observation, "Or in the boat."
"Erik?"
"Yes?"
"Where exactly are we going?"
"St. Martin de Boscherville. In Normandy."
Christine nodded, almost as if she knew where Boscherville was. And then she asked, "And how will we get there?"
Erik closed his eyes momentarily, his thoughts inadvertently returning to his last journey to his childhood home, his lips dropping in a frown of deepest anguish. "Nadir is making the arrangements, as I requested. You understand of course, it may not be the most comfortable journey. Christine, if . . ." Erik's voice trailed helplessly. "Are you sure you wish to accompany me? I was not . . . well liked, even as a child. I do fear it may not go well, my returning and asking questions such as I need to ask."
Christine moved silently to him, and grasped his hands in her own in a gesture of support. "Where you will go, I will go as well. If necessary, I will ask the questions, if you will allow me to help you. It's high time you resolved your past, at least that part of it, and put the ghost to rest."
Erik met her gaze through the mask as her one hand rose to caress his cheek in a show of affection. "I greatly misjudged your resolve," he said as his hand came up and brought hers to his lips. "An unforgivable error on my part, as you never cease to amaze me."
Christine's face brightened. "It's easy to be strong for those you love."
"As you are teaching me."
Christine's tone turned teasing, "You mean there is actually something I can teach you?"
"You are teaching me more about love than I ever imagined possible, mon amour."
Her eyes danced at his gentle answer, and both their hearts soared as their lips met in a gentle melding, and it was with regret that they parted and continued to prepare for their journey.
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Nadir had tried to find a driver to take the couple there, but in the end all he could come up with was a rickety cart that they could rent.
"It's in deplorable condition, Erik, and without horses to draw it. I fear I have not been able to find a suitable horse to draw the carriage."
Erik had been furious; it was the same conundrum that had driven him down to the vaults of the opera house in the first place. "It is not you I am angry at, friend, it is men in general that anger me. I shall just have to contrive another means of transportation." And with that he darted from the banks of the lake and made his way through the streets of Paris to a house he had not visited in years.
"Monsieur!" Jules Bernard's startled cry came as he saw the man in the black cloak and white mask on his steps.
Erik nodded curtly to the little man, and gestured him outside. "I doubt your wife wishes me to come inside, and I fear I could not wait until our regular meeting this time. I require your assistance."
"Of course, Monsieur," the Belgian supplicated. "What is it you need?"
"A means of reliable transportation, Jules," Erik replied, a heavy purse appearing in his hand as if from thin air. "For two, I have a traveling companion, and I have long since given up my horses."
Jules' face registered shock, it had been the first time his mysterious employer had traveled in years. "Of course, it may take me a day or two, but I shall find such a means," Jules answered without qualm.
"The faster the better," Erik continued, "and then I will see to it you have more for your trouble."
The little man's eyes widened to an utterly enormous size. "Yes, Monsieur, as you wish."
And with that, Erik vanished from the step, leaving his puppet behind.
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True to his word, the next morning Jules awaited Erik on the banks of the underground lake.
Erik had hastily run out of the house at the first sound of the buzzer, and rowed quickly across to find the Belgian standing there awaiting him. "You have found what I require?"
"Yes, Monsieur, I regret I was unable to find a carriage, but I did find two fine horses, if that will suffice."
Erik sighed, he had hoped for a carriage, but instead of replying in displeasure, he said, "That will have to do then, I suppose." Another purse similar to the one he had produced the morning before appeared in his hand, and he handed it to Jules. "And where are these horses waiting?"
"I can bring them to you by evening, Monsieur," Jules replied.
Erik nodded his acceptance. "I shall be waiting at the edge of the passage with my companion."
"As you wish, sir," Jules responded, and took his leave as Erik once more faded into the shadows.
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"Erik?" Christine called as Erik entered the lair once more.
He moved to her with his uncanny catlike grace, and knelt before where she sat at her writing desk. "I have secured our means of travel," he answered.
"How?" Christine wondered aloud.
"Horseback. It's not the grand elegance you would have traveled with your Vicomte, but it's better than the alternatives."
Christine nodded, and smiled, "As long as we make it there, Erik, it doesn't matter how we get there."
Erik sighed in relief as he took Christine's hands in his own. "We'll be leaving this evening. I regret we may have to do a good deal of our traveling by night. And I do not know if we will even be able to find lodging along the way. You and I both know what people will say, not only because of the mask, because of my face, but the . . . impropriety of an unmarried woman traveling alone with a man who is not a blood relation."
"Erik, we have done nothing wrong," Christine replied. "We both know that. I'm not worried about what they will think. For as soon as this journey is over, as soon as we know what we need to know, we will be married and it will be a moot point."
Erik kissed her hands as she finished her speech. "I am glad that you are coming, you do know that, don't you?"
"And I am as glad to be coming," Christine finished in kind, lowering her head so that she could kiss him lightly on the forehead, at the edge of where the mask ended and his hairline began. 'One day,' she thought, 'one day he will be able to live without hiding behind that mask. One day perhaps, he will have the courage to believe I don't need him to wear it anymore.'
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The journey to Boscherville was tedious at best. They rode out of Paris shortly after dusk, and continued until the moon descended behind the trees.
Erik had always before ridden bareback, but with Christine coming along on this journey, he opted for a saddle and bridle on both horses. And when it was finally too dark for them to see, they pulled the horses off the road and into the woods.
Christine, for all her fear of the dark, felt safe with Erik by her side. She stayed close to him as he searched for firewood and built them a fire, and then helped as he made a pallet for them.
"I realize it's generally inappropriate to sleep together before the wedding night . . ." Erik trailed off.
"Erik, it's cold," Christine reasoned, "and we couldn't very well bring enough blankets for two, and I don't seem to remember either of us minding that first night when we fell asleep on the divan."
"Point taken," Erik replied dryly as they laid down on the pallet and curled up in a rather chaste embrace.
The morning dawned too quickly, and they were on the road again, Erik taking care to stay away from the more traveled roads. On that second day, they stopped at an inn to find food, and to allow them both to freshen up a bit, before heading on their way once more. Three days passed in a companionable camaraderie, and before either of them knew it, they reached the outskirts of the sleepy village of St. Martin de Boscherville.
"It has not changed in the past twenty years," Erik remarked as he drew the hood of his cape about his head, careful that it hid the mask.
The rain that had been scattered off and on that day was both blessing and curse for them, as it had at one point soaked them to the skin, yet allowed Erik to draw his hood in a fashion that he was not so noticeable.
The rain had started again as they reached the village, and Erik silently prayed they would be well received. He had no idea if the one he sought was still alive, although he could not see her ever moving from her quiet hometown.
"Come," he commanded,
and they headed for a house near the edge of the village, a house Erik
remembered well, even if he had never been inside it's walls.
Christine looked at his curiously as they drew up outside the house, and asked quietly, "It this the house where you lived?"
"Hardly," Erik snorted softly as he dismounted his horse and took Christine's reins from her hands. "That house is not a place I would go to easily; I fear I'd be too tempted to raze it to the ground. No, this is the house where a kind if misguided woman used to live."
Christine's puzzled look did not leave her, and she listened intently as Erik continued.
"I don't know if she will be there or not, she may well have died years ago, but she is the likely my best hope at finding what we need. Can you go to the door for me?"
"If that is your wish, but what shall I say?"
"Ask for a Mademoiselle Marie Perrault, if you must, claim to be the grandchild of an old family friend. In any case, should she open the door, I would likely know her right away, and you will not have to say a word."
Christine nodded once more, if his request seemed odd, she didn't show it. She gracefully accepted his help down from her mount, and walked with conviction down the short stone path to the door. It was with trepidation and anticipation that she knocked, and as the door opened, internally sighed as she saw a short dumpy man.
"Good evening Monsieur," she started without preamble, "I am sorry to bother you on a day such as today, but may I inquire if there is a Mademoiselle Marie Perrault who lives here?"
"Marie?" the dumpy man questioned. "Marie has not lived in this house for quite some time. She left here several years ago. Why do you ask?"
Christine's heart dropped to her feet as she gave the explanation Erik had supplied her with, ever conscious that he was waiting just out of sight behind the horses. "You wouldn't happen to know where I can find her, would you?"
"I'm afraid I don't, Mademoiselle. I haven't heard from my sister since she left this house. We didn't get on very well. You say your grandmother was a friend of hers?"
"Yes, a friend from school, she often talked about Mademoiselle Perrault."
"Strange," the man sighed. "I didn't realize Marie had many friends. And the one . . . I know she only had one child, who would be a great deal older than you, and is likely long dead."
Christine gasped as the realization hit her. This man must have known Erik's family. "Monsieur? Perhaps that friend would know how to contact your sister?"
"No, I'm afraid not, she's been dead for over twenty years now," the man sighed again. "It's not well to speak of that woman, though, she paid greatly for her own sins in the end. If you do happen to find Marie, could you kindly ask her to contact me, at least let me know she's still alive?"
"Certainly, Monsieur Perrault," Christine answered automatically as the man retreated behind the door.
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