Homecoming
Jennifer Hinds and Heather Sullivan
Chapter 5
He came quite unexpectedly upon the figure of a little girl on the floor of the fourth cellar; but looking around, he could find no traces of any other person to whom she could possibly belong. It was the last thing he would have expected, to see anyone there – no one had been in this part of the opera for years – but that such a small child could have found her way so far down would have been extraordinary at any time.
Though Erik stood perfectly still over the small prone form, his mind was racing; he had lost all that he had known of love, and most of friendship as well, in the last seven years, but he still possessed all the acuity of wit for which he had been so infamous. And yet now he sought and failed to find any explanation for this strange circumstance.
The child gave a slight cry from the depths of her sleep, and Erik was jerked rudely back to the present moment.
Meditating on the situation a moment longer, the gentleman in black surmised that the simplest explanation was the most likely: she must have wandered into the cellars alone, and fallen down the stairs. Kneeling at her side, he discovered balled in her fist a fine gold chain; nearby the stub of a candle lay in a pool of its own wax, clearly dropped and extinguished after the child's fall.
Swiftly, Erik mounted the nearby steps, but the third cellar was also deserted; only the far-away sounds of everyday rehearsals could be heard drifting down from the stage. There, near the top step, he saw the dust had been disturbed; and his eyes made out the little charm stuck in a crack in the floor.
Retrieving the trinket, he returned to the child. A locket, a broken chain, a little girl … A mystery, for she was clearly not a member of the corps d'ballet – she was too young by more than a few years, and moreover she was well-dressed, wearing a blue dress of good material and leather shoes. His assessment of her appearance also revealed injuries incurred by her tumble: one leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and she also sported various cuts and bruises. Otherwise, however, she was a rather pretty child …
Suddenly he reigned himself in tightly. "What have I done?" he muttered; for in investigating the scene he knew he had allowed himself to become involved with the child. It was obvious that even if she woke in the near future, she couldn't possibly walk up four flights of stairs; the right leg was certainly broken, and her other might very well have been injured also. The stairs were stone, and young bones very fragile …
Though swift to heal …
Erik tried but failed to shake the sense of responsibility that was rapidly taking hold. Even if he were to carry her to the next cellar, there was a chance that she would not be discovered in time to tend to her injuries properly; and if he went any higher than that, he risked discovery himself. Erik could not hazard that possibility, for he had worked long and hard at remaining unseen and forgotten.
But nor he could not bring himself to abandon this little stranger …
For a moment he hovered over her, almost wishing for some sign; he had learned the dangers implicit in reaching out to another person … but the child whimpered again, and her pain touched his heart, and he knew he could not leave her.
Removing his cloak, Erik carefully enveloped the child in its folds. She sighed a little, but did not wake; and as he lifted her, her little head fell against his shoulder. As he began the journey to his house beneath the theatre, he could not help remembering his childhood prayer book. How often he had turned its leaves for comfort when he could not seek it in his own mother's arms – turned to one page, which bore a drawing of a child in the arms of his guardian angel …
Walking slowly and gently to avoid jarring the child's injured limb, Erik took far longer than usual on his trek through the fifth cellar and eventually to the lakeshore where the little boat was moored. As he laid his precious cargo against the cushions, he deliberately looked away from the shadows cast by the lantern's light into her golden curls. This time it will be different, he assured himself, though the admission caused him great pain; for it was quite possible he was repeating all his old mistakes, no matter what his errand of mercy might be … But he put that thought down forcefully, for it had reminded him of Christine's departure; and anything that would remind him of that was something that he wanted no part of.
But as he turned his gaze away from the lovely child sleeping against the silk pillows, he noticed a small basket placed in the prow of the boat. "Nadir, you've done it again," Erik said softly, even laughing a little. Nadir's baskets, full of food, drink, and various other little niceties, had been his only communication these seven years …
"You may be willing to starve yourself down here, Erik, but I will not permit it," Nadir had said emphatically on the occasion of his last visit. "Even if you never speak to me again, I am going to provide for you until you give me reason to believe you are cable of doing so yourself."
The Persian had been appalled at Erik's apparent careless attitude about his health and eating habits. At that moment, Erik had merely laughed scornfully; but he had grudgingly accepted Nadir's offer as long as he did not disturb his precious solitude without invitation.
Ever since, Nadir had sent Darius down to tend to the basket every three days.
But as he considered this latest delivery, a slight movement from the boat's stern reminded Erik of his duty toward his little foundling. Gently he pushed the boat away from the landing and began to pole them smoothly across. They were soon at his front door and he disembarked; arms laden with a sleeping child and a basket full of groceries, he might have resembled any Parisian's idea of a family man.
"She is not on the roof, mademoiselle ..."
"I have not seen the girl, Meg – I'm sorry ..."
"I've checked all the boxes and she isn't there ..."
Meg felt certain she would go mad with worry over Elaine, and these negative reports did nothing to calm her nerves. She simply could not find her little charge anywhere!
The afternoon's rehearsal had gone well, as had the ballet practice some ninety minutes afterward. A few of the younger girls were out of step and seemed distracted, but that had been of little consequence. The trouble had begun when she had tried to collect Elaine to go home for supper ...
The little girl had not been backstage spying on the stagehands, or in the costume department trying on the old gowns that were no longer used. The usual people had no clue as to her whereabouts.
The ballet rats, when assembled in Meg's dressing room, would only admit to having seen her in the backstage area before rehearsal.
"But I have not seen her anytime recently," Agnes Trevezant, the leading lady's younger sister-in-law said in a very polite voice. "Have any of you girls seen her?"
A few of the ballet girls looked at the floor in silence; several others volunteered various answers corroborating Agnes'.
"Thank you, girls – you may all go home now," Meg said quietly, pressing her fingers to her temple as if she had a headache.
"I hope she turns up, Mademoiselle Giry," Agnes had just said with something of an odd turn to her voice; but she was cut short by the entrance of the diva.
"What are you doing here, Agnes? Don't you know that your mother has several very important activities planned for you this evening? You must come away at once." Collecting Agnes and her things together, Madame Trevezant turned on Meg only once they were nearly out the door. "I do hope you find your little friend soon," she said in a withering tone. "It must be awful to know that you've misplaced someone else's child."
Meg burned to retort, but she was dismayed; that the news should have traveled so quickly through the company that Elaine was lost!
The rest of corps d'ballet slowly filtered out into the corridors in pairs and trios; two of the younger girls lingered near the door.
"Yvonne? Should we have told Meg where we last saw Elaine?" Belinda whispered fervently to the girl with whom she shared a dressing-room.
"I don't know, Belinda," replied she, clasping her friend's hand in fear. "Agnes said we'd be thrown out of the corps if we didn't do as she said ... and she could do that too … Madame Trevezant practically runs this theatre …"
"But it just doesn't seem right to lie to Meg – what if Elaine's lost in the cellars?"
"She can't be – we looked for her, didn't we? We went down to that dreadful third cellar and she'd just disappeared – the Phantom must have taken her off!" Yvonne shuddered involuntarily. "And what if he finds out that we told?"
Belinda's lower lip was trembling, but she retorted, "Meg says there isn't any Phantom of the Opera …"
"Well, Agnes says there is," protested her companion, tugging her off down the corridor towards the safety of their dressing-room; "and she says he is in love with her sister-in-law – and it must be true! Why else would the managers do so much to please her, when she's so horrid …"
Elaine tossed a bit in her sleep and then awoke; the first thing she realized that she did not recognize her strange surroundings. The second thing she realized was that she couldn't move – everything seemed to hurt her, and her right leg was stuck fast in a strange contraption. She tried to pull free of it, but an intense pain shot up her leg, and she could only fall back against the cushions where she lay. Not knowing exactly what was going on, she could only shriek, "Help!"
Immediately, a door that she hadn't noticed opened and a tall man entered – a man wearing a black tuxedo, and a strange white mask! Elaine's eyes widened and she wanted to scream; but he looked at her with eyes that were almost sad, and she swallowed hard against her fear. "W-who are y-you?" she managed to stammer out. "W-where am I?"
The strange man stood perfectly still for a moment, watching her carefully before replying, "My name is Erik, and you are in my house." He paused, feeling somewhat awkward – for it had been some years since he had spoken to another person! – before adding, "And I am glad you are awake at last, because I have been wanting to ask you a similar question: who are you?"
Elaine eyed the dark-clad gentleman skeptically. His appearance was very alarming, but his voice was different from any grown-up's she had ever heard. And grown-ups never called themselves by given names! They were always "Monsieur," or "Madame" … even Meg was "Aunt Meg" …
"Monsieur Erik," she gasped, for she had shifted and again felt a stabbing pain, "take this thing off my leg, please! I can't move, and it's hurting me!"
"You are not supposed to move," Erik answered, "and your leg hurts because you have broken it. This brace will help it heal, and will not make you uncomfortable as long as you lie still."
Elaine puzzled over these facts a moment. "So I'm not allowed to play?"
Erik laughed a little. It was a beautiful laugh in Elaine's opinion, a laugh that sounded like church bells tolling. "No, I'm afraid not. You won't be able to walk anytime soon."
"But how will I get home?" the child cried. "Won't everyone worry about where I am?"
The little girl's words stirred many emotions in Erik's brain, but his reply was calm. "Well, it will be quite impossible for you to go anywhere right now, I'm afraid. But I was hoping you might like to be my guest here, until you've recovered a bit." For some reason, much seemed to depend upon her reaction to his plan; for he knew he could not return the child in her current state. He would never be able to escape capture … "Would you like that?"
Elaine looked about the room; it was filled with old furniture, quaintly carved with musical notes and staves. It was lit with candles and lamps, and there were flowers; the walls were covered with polished wood and pretty white paper. "This looks like my Mama's room used to," she said cautiously.
"Is that so?" her companion responded with curiosity. He had, of course, had little experience with children, and he found her behavior unusual and interesting.
"Yes, monsieur – but we had to move away. My Papa died, and Cousin Henri came to take our house away ..." Her eyes opened wide as she whispered conspiratorially, "He was mean, monsieur."
Erik's expression changed subtly as she spoke, for behind the mask he was suppressing an urge to laugh again. But presently he sobered, and asked, "Where is your mother, child?"
"I'm not sure, monsieur," his little charge replied, her eyes filling with tears; "but she writes letters."
This childish sorrow plucked at Erik's heartstrings, and he wished he could comfort her in some way; but as he looked on, she raised her fingers to her throat and let out a wail when they encountered just the lace at her collar. "My locket!" she cried. "It is gone!" The tears that had threatened now came rolling out of her blue eyes.
"There now!" Erik said, going down on one knee beside the bed. "Don't be upset, cherie …"
"But why not, monsieur? My Mama g-g-gave me that l-locket!" She appeared to be building up steam for a good loud cry, and Erik knew he must do something at once to spare himself the noise of it …
"Because it is behind your ear," he told her, with something that looked like a smile hovering about his face.
"B-behind my ear?" Elaine swallowed her tantrum for a moment and began to search with her fingers. "But there's nothing there …"
Erik's gloved hand brushed against Elaine's cheek and brought forth the locket. He held it out to her by the now mended chain, and she seized it joyfully. "Oh! thank you, monsieur!" she squealed with delight. "But how …"
"By magic," he replied good-naturedly. "Now, won't you tell me your name?"
The little girl's fear and apprehension seemed to melt away, and she answered him at once. "It's Elaine!" she cried, her blue eyes sparkling, "and you have saved my life, monsieur!"
"Oh no," Erik protested, though his tone was leant some levity by her childish charm, "I don't think I did anything as great as that."
"But you did," Elaine argued, "because if you hadn't found me, then the Phantom would have!" She regarded him with wide eyes. "Do you know about the Phantom? Madame Giry says he isn't real, but Agnes says …"
Erik tried to put down his reaction to these words, but he could not help the pangs the child's chatter caused. He listened to her prattle, trying to pretend he had never heard these stories – and it was somewhat true, for the tales had changed somewhat since he last paid attention to them. Apparently he was now said to be the champion of Lucia Trevezant, which could be no further from the truth … though the same old tendency to blame accidents and misplaced props upon the Phantom seemed unaltered. Gritting his teeth, Erik waited for the child to run out of breath. "I hope that you will feel safe here, then," he said mildly when Elaine was finally quiet. "If you need something, will you call for me?"
"Yes, monsieur," Elaine replied, snuggling down under the covers that her mysterious benefactor pulled up around her shoulders.
"Call me Erik," he insisted gently, even as he slipped out of the room.
Christine opened the letter from Meg eagerly. She had been restless and uneasy of late; and though she tried to convince herself it was because she often did not eat properly on the train between performances, she knew in her heart that she was homesick for Elaine. And so she unsealed Meg's new letter voraciously, never pausing to consider that it had come rather soon on the heels of the last.
"Dearest Christine," it opened innocently enough; but as Christine read on, the small longing she had previously tended for her daughter yawned wide, suddenly collapsing into an abyss of fear.
"Dearest Christine,
I hardly know what to write – for I have bad news – and I must implore you to hurry back to Paris as soon as ever you can manage it –
Elaine is missing.
I saw her last myself two days ago, before the morning rehearsal. By the end of the day, I was unable to find her again. I have looked everywhere and questioned everyone; and though the petites rats told me they saw her sometime later that afternoon, no one seems to know where she has gotten to.
I had always admonished her very strongly not to stray into the cellars, but nevertheless several firemen were good enough to go down in search of her. They went only so far as the third cellar, but I am convinced she would not have gone down at all; as curious as she is, I know she would never have ventured alone into the dark.
I am so desperately sorry, Christine! The search continues day and night, and has begun to branch outward into the neighborhood surrounding the theatre. I pray you will come as soon as you can – and that you can find it in your heart to forgive my laxness as a guardian!
yours in haste –
Meg."
Christine felt like she had been repeatedly slapped across the face. Her precious child – lost in the Opera house – or perhaps even worse ... The thought came unbidden to her mind, but persisted as she recalled the bustling district surrounding the Opera … how many carriages passed there each day? How easy would it be for a curious child to be lured into one?
In distraction, Christine reread Meg's letter; and as she reached the section that mentioned the cellars, her stomach lurched.
Meg had assured Christine that Erik had not been heard from in years …yet she could not suppress the initial reaction, the almost natural bend her thoughts took towards him …
"No!" she cried, fairly leaping to her feet. "I won't think about it – I'll go crazy if I do …" And with that she flew to make the necessary arrangements. Half an hour later she stood in the tiny room she had rented, a trunk open on the bed, various articles of clothing strewn about, speaking in a very swift and panicked voice to the messenger she had sent for. "Pray make my apologies to the _____," she said, speaking of the family she had been engaged to entertain for the evening. "I am very sorry, but I must go at once – there is … a matter of urgent import that cannot be delayed. Tell them …" She turned on impulse to her writing-desk and retrieved the address of the theatre where her current company was engaged. "Tell them there is another soprano, named Amelie, who might be willing to take my place at the soiree tonight. They can reach her at this address …"
As the young man took her money and her message and left her standing alone in the disheveled apartment, she was nearly overcome with hysteria. But reigning herself as tightly as she could, she wiped away her tears.
"Elaine does not need me to panic into error," she told herself firmly. "I must remain calm and rational … In all likelihood she is hiding somewhere at the Opera, waiting for one of us to find her ... if she is playing some sort of game, she will come out when she tires of it ..."
But recalling that Meg's letter had been dated almost a week previously, she feared for the worst – that perhaps the child had lost herself in the Opera's labyrinthine passages, or worse, that she had hurt herself and was unable to find her way to safety ...
Somehow Christine managed to vanquish her fears with the razor-thin sword of courage, whose steel had been tempered by a mother's love. By the time the cab summoned by her landlady to convey her to the rail station, she was calm and resolute: she would find Elaine.
"And may I be prevented from doing harm to anyone who hinders me," she prayed.
