A/N: I intend to have regular updates… I am a fiend when it comes to writing. What I must warn, though, is that a chapter a week is all I can try to manage. I have university work and my other stories to work on, but I will more than likely remain faithful to at least a chapter a week.

Please remember to review, and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2- The Woman Manager

The coach came to a stop with a slight jolting motion rather shortly after the ride began on this decidedly brighter, sunnier day than the last few. Constance let out a shallow sigh, now hearing the hustle and bustle of the street clearly outside of the closed-roof carriage. Glancing out the side window to the right, she saw a good number of people sharing their meals together at a nearby delicatessen. Out the back window, people were moving from shop to shop on their daily business. And to her left, she could see the arched stone façade of the lower portion of the Opera House. A slight flutter went through her stomach then, though she could not be sure if it was nervousness for setting back out into the world after her mourning, or excitement for this opportunity that Olivier was giving her.

That was when the formalities of getting off the carriage started. She always found it quite humorous how humans chose to act, precisely in the same manner, over such a simple thing as getting out of a carriage. It was like a well orchestrated waltz, and each person had to be there at the exact moment or there would be some type of fodder to have to quell in the circles of gossips, which was obviously much worse than accidentally bumping into someone or stepping on their toes. Of course it was more a society thing, and if you were seen not giving the appropriate attention to a lady within the carriage it was considered a crime above all crimes for the people of Victorian society. It seemed such a backward world at times, that people would care so much about the protocol for a foolish thing like this, and care less about other things like aiding others in need of help.

A valet came around and opened the door, and Olivier was the first to step out onto the curb. After straightening his frock coat and placing his hat atop his head, he turned back to offer his hand to her, even before Joséphine. Constance smiled and took his hand, gathering as much of her skirts she could before stepping down onto the first step. Once she was out and standing on the sidewalk, she took her time looking over the entrance, slowly moving her eyes up the detailed stone work, to the two large copper-green statues of angels placed at either side of the roof, off setting the numerous stone sculptures along the entrances depicting rather risqué scenes of nude women. And those were just the few she noticed right away.

When she left Paris for her marriage to William, L'Opéra was just become a realization and she had not seen the finished project until this moment. If the outside was this breathtaking, she could not imagine what the inside was like, even with the problems Olivier had told her of last night.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?"

Constance turned to see Joséphine standing beside her and gazing up at the large monument of baroque fashioning. "Yes it is."

The blonde woman smiled, "Come now, Olivier will leave us here if we do not catch up with him."

She realized then that Olivier had already made his way up the front steps and was standing at the door with two gentlemen. One was shorter than the other, both dressed in the highest fashion with smug looks on their faces. Quickly, she and Joséphine made their way toward them, and Olivier introduced the two men with a half smile on his features.

"This is M. André," Olivier motioned to the shorter one, and then to the other who had a slightly suspicious air about him, "and M. Firmin."

"Messieurs, it is good to see you again," Joséphine nodded her head politely.

And Firmin smiled, turning to her, "And you must be the ravishing mademoiselle the Duc has spoken so much about."

Constance cleared her throat, "Messieurs, it is Madame, and flattery will not sell this opera more quickly."

They looked rather shocked that she had said that, but Olivier only shook his head with a small chuckle. Her brother looked at the men, "You must forgive my dear sister, she speaks her mind quite often. Now, if you do not mind, I would like a short tour before I sign anything."

André nodded with an appreciative smile at her before looking at Olivier, "Why of course, Monsieur le Duc."

A valet de chambre stopped them upon entering, taking their cloaks and coats. Their tour commenced, with the current managers showing off various aspects of the mind boggling, marbled foyers and hallways, statues and staircases. Soon they entered the main theatre area, and she indeed saw the destruction left by the fire. Though she was happy to note to herself that the damage was not as extensive as she had thought it would be. Only the front rows and some of the stage would need a comprehensive rebuilding, as well as the orchestra pit. The tour ended when they stopped on top of the huge stage and viewed the openness of the theatre. She sighed, looking around again in the dim light, wishing that the footlights were on. At least that would have given them a little more light in the room. She was sure it was magnificent in full light, even with the layers of dust and debris about.

"Well then, now that we have seen it, I think we should discuss the sale," Olivier remarked.

"Very good," Joséphine said, walking to her husband.

"I think I will continue on backstage, and snoop about a bit," Constance said, glancing at Joséphine.

The current managers looked worried for a moment, and André spoke quickly, "Perhaps it is better that you do not stray backstage."

She raised a curious brow, "And why would that be, Monsieur? If you are hiding anything, messieurs, tell me now."

André began to say something but Firmin shot him a silencing glare and spoke for him, "It is dark and you can become easily lost, Madame. Take it from someone who has done so many times."

"If my brother so does oblige you with taking the Opera Populaire off your minds, then I will be the one to run it," she responded. "I believe that if I do not start learning now, I will be no use later on."

"But Madame," André said quickly. "It would be unwise, and on our good conscience could not let you wander alone."

"Then perhaps one of you will accompany me? I am sure it will only take one of you to come to a contract with my brother," she said, realizing that Olivier and Joséphine were now watching this bantering with an amused look on each of their faces.

The two managers looked at each other briefly, and Firmin sighed, "She is correct, my friend. She will be fine."

Olivier sighed, "Now may we retire to your offices to discuss this?"

Constance stood still and watched them retreat to the right, until she was left in the eerie stillness on the room. She let out a sigh, and looked around again, "It is no wonder they had troubles as managers."

-

-

Erik chuckled lowly to himself, hearing that last bit from the as of yet nameless woman below him. That was a true problem that the manager's possessed- the inability to take opposition from a woman, like Madame Giry. But it was only one of their many problems. They had, after all, never been extremely cut out for these positions in such a fine opera house. Just because one was French and rich, did not mean that they would be adequate in their knowledge of the arts, or that they particularly cared about it in the first place. It was more a status symbol than anything.

What a saddening day it was when they were named as Lefevre's replacements. At least Lefevre had some good taste, and honestly not much to work with in La Carlotta, Although he made sure to make the best of the Opera without Christine. It was simply a shambles to place André and Firmin in the managerial position. It took a certain amount of knowledge of opera, though, to be involved with it, if they truly wanted to be so involved in it, and not necessarily equipped with the knowledge of the purely managerial duties they had signed on for. And two men who had made their fortunes in the manufacturing of scrap metal, could not contend with the delicate orchestration of an opera or ballet of any size.

The woman looked about, up at the rafters then, as though she knew he was there. He moved further back into the shadows, worried that he may be seen, but she only sighed again and began to walk further backstage. Except, he was even more worried about the state the opera house would be in now, with this Duc and his family in charge. Perhaps they would just be over-blown windbag Patrons like the Vicomte and his family. But he had to admit that he was impressed at how the woman had handled herself with the current managers. It told him that she could, at least, stand up for herself- a trait not commonly seen in women of the age..

He followed along in the rafters after her, watching her closely as she ran her fingers over the gilded edge of a prop that had remained since the last performance in the Opera Populaire. She removed her fingers, inspecting the layer of dust closely, saying aloud to no one, "All this palace of music needs is a good cleaning and some repair to the main theatre."

Erik sighed to himself, feeling slightly content at the moment with the prospect of this woman running the theatre. She seemed to know exactly what the opera needed, as it was still as majestic as the day it had opened. It would be a big change for many to have a woman in the position of manager, but perhaps that was all they had needed in the long run… a woman's touch. That was all he needed, but never received… Yes both he and the Opera Populaire needed a truly feminine touch. Christine's touch…

No Christine… she was gone and would not be coming back.

He watched as she stopped at the line of dressing rooms, and tried to decide which one she would go into first. She finally decided upon the one directly in front of her, which had been, at one point, Madame Giry's private room. And even though he could not follow her inside the room over the rafters, he did know well how to get to the passage that would lead him to her room. It was one he had learned long ago, when Giry was first named ballet mistress, and one he used regularly to speak with her about the happenings of the Opera House. He moved quickly about the passageways, and finally made it soundlessly into the room through the trap door in the floor, conveniently placed behind the opaque changing screen.

Erik knew he was risking being seen by coming into the room and blatantly moving past the screen to a better vantage point up a set of stairs to his right into a sort of loft, but he was intrigued by this creature now making her way slowly through the room, surveying it with the greatest amount of attention to detail. Even though he was a good distance away, he could see her making mental notes to herself, each time her murky hazel eyes came across something. But he also found something else there- something she was trying her hardest to mask. To most people, she might have seemed the picture of complacence, but he, who had noticed the same empty look in his eyes each time he glanced in a mirror, knew that she was living with a terrible amount of grief over something. Or discontentment… he could not tell which was most prevalent, but they were certainly both there. And she wore a mask too in her smile, but it was not nearly as blatant as his own.

Perhaps it was a creature who could empathize with him, though he knew she would not be suffering from his same ailments. It was actually quite the opposite of the root of his problems, he was sure, as her face was quite pretty. Not beautiful by any regard, but classically pretty. She had a certain sort of friendliness etched onto her face, despite the empty look in her eyes and the guise of the smile. It was a refined elegance that followed her, that few other women had mastered in their lives, even those of high birth. She carried her head high, like a proper lady, her back straight, and dressed to the highest peak of fashion and excess. This woman would certainly make a formidable business partner for what he had heard earlier, and from what he was seeing now. She seemed to only desire the best, so that would mean good things for his Opera.

Yes, now he truly beginning to like the idea of this woman as his manager, as so many new hopes for a brilliant opera company began to arise in his mind again. But for now, he would retire to his home and compose a note for her- a note that would test her to see if she would back out of doing this knowing that he, the Opera Ghost, was alive and certainly not planning to leave anytime soon.

"Connie…" there came a call from outside the room. So her name was Connie… it was an odd name. Most women of high breeding did not go by a different moniker than their given one. Actually, most expected to be addressed by their title. He imagined that Connie was a derivative of Constance, nonetheless, and he found that a comfort to think that her namesake was that of steadfastness. Though, that could also mean bad things if she was set in her ways and did not see the beauty of his advisements.

The woman turned around and glanced toward the door, calling, "I am in here Olivier."

Soon the man who was to purchase the Opera found the room and entered. They looked much alike with the same black hair and hazel eyes, so he imagined they were the relations the managers had been referring to. The man walked up beside her, placing a hand upon her back, "What do you think about it, my darling sister?"

Erik sighed, hearing for certain that they were brother and sister. And it made his mind wonder, did he have any brothers and sisters? Had his mother been too ashamed of her first child, that she swore off any others? If she did have other children, were they afflicted with the same ailment as he and cast aside in the same manner? Would they have cared for him, or would he have cared for them, as these siblings seemingly did? This was certainly an avenue he had not found himself wandering upon once in his life, until now and seeing these two people together. But he found quickly that it was just another painful prospect to consider.

He was glad when she spoke, taking his mind away from those thoughts. Connie sighed, "Now that I see it, I can see little work I will have to do, besides direct everyone."

"That is true," Olivier, the brother, said with a nod of his head. "They are selling it for a cheap price, even though there really is nothing wrong with it. That is why I see it as a good business opportunity."

"Are you sure you wish me to do this?" she questioned. "You are putting a great deal of trust in my abilities."

"I have faith," the brother replied with a small smile. "You love music, and you will see to it that only the best musicians and performers work here."

So she loves music. That was a good start… but did she have any talent or knowledge in Opera?

"I can see and hear what I like, Olivier. Knowing if someone is talented, however, I have no true base," she said, and let out a long, contemplative breath. "But I am willing to try."

The brother smiled, "André and Firmin are leaving the names of the various performers and workers who were here before the disaster. They say that most would probably return, even the higher performers. Possibly even La Carlotta."

Erik felt his entire body tense. If they put that pompous, tone-deaf eyesore back on the stage, he would truly have to see it that the rebuilding of the Opera did not start. He would never stand for it, not after all of his troubles in the past with that vile diva.

And Connie grunted, contorting her face into a bitter look, as though she had just consumed a sour lemon. "Have you ever heard that woman on stage?"

"I have, and I thought she was quite good," Olivier said. "Went over the top sometimes, but she was good."

She laughed and patted his arm, "And that is why I am running your Opera for you."

"You would not have her as Prima Donna?" the brother questioned with a genuine amount of surprise.

"Not at all. I saw her once perform at an Opera in London," Connie said. "She may be able to sing her part, but I can act much better than she, and that is saying little about my acting abilities."

Olivier laughed, "That is true. You could not act your way out of a bag if you tried."

Erik, at this point, was so pleased beyond words that this woman agreed with him about La Carlotta, that he could not listen to the rest of the conversation happening below him. This seemed quite ideal for him, and the rest of France. If they could keep that diva away, then all of the arts of Paris would flourish. He had heard enough… now he would sit down to compose a letter to her.