A/N: Barefootadvocat- Constance is slightly unconventional for her time period, but that is all on purpose… for the Susan B. Anthonys of that time and place. I know there were some out there, especially after the French revolution. I suppose when I wrote her character sketch I was in a feminist mood… blame it on my women's studies course.

A huge thank you to all of those reading and enjoying this! Thank you reviewers… you know that even the simplest form of a review always spurs me to writing more. I have taken the last couple of days (why it's been a few since I updated last) to completely plan out the rest of the story. I had a rough outline before, but now that I've gotten the shell of the story written, I was able to sit and brainstorm all the intricate details. As I write it, I know I won't be disappointed. Hopefully you won't either. Lots of 'fun' more happenings coming your way!

Enjoy!

Chapter 13- Skeletons In The Closet

For the first time, upon hearing his voice and not having any inkling to his entrance into the room, she did not jump. Truthfully, after today, nothing was going to surprise her; from the Chagnys' making their grand entrance, to Philippe and his sudden forwardness about exactly what he wanted, to Sophie the ballerina falling through rotten wood she thought was repaired while the contractors where there, and finally to dodging the inquisition she received from Philippe and Raoul concerning the note. It had been a long, difficult day before that, but now she was truly in a numb state, not really caring what happened. She was just too tired to care. And now it seemed like the day was going to get infinitely longer, especially since Erik seemed to like to instigate arguments.

She rested her head back on her chair, and glanced quickly at him where he stood across the room, "You are lucky I am able to do that dance… lest we forget I could have easily alerted them to your presence in the Opera."

It was an empty threat, though. She would never tell them for her own reasons.

That seemed to silence him quite sufficiently as he took that in and thought about it, but he walked across the room and set himself into the chair Philippe had vacated some time ago. "I suppose you expect me to thank you profusely for not alerting them?"

"No, Monsieur, I do not expect to hear your thanks anytime soon," she replied indignantly and met his eyes.

His left brow rose in question, "There is no need to get testy, Madame. Unless, of course, you are only voicing your chagrin over a certain Chagny brother to me in a less than appealing way. That, I could at least understand."

"It is not just one Chagny brother I am fed up with," she spoke, sitting up in her seat like a proper lady. She sighed, "You need to leave, I am to have a meeting with Madame Giry in a few moments about the corps de ballet."

"Numbers three, seven, and fifteen need to be cut," he said in a matter-of-fact attitude.

Constance chuckled sarcastically, "My, my, you do live up to your reputation of being a genius. You even know the fine art of ballet. I am impressed."

Erik balked, taking on a defensive approach now, though she was not naïve to believe that it was not being done in complete patronization. He adjusted his coat beneath his cloak and looked at her, "Do not lash out at me because you are angry that you nearly had to sell yourself to the Comte for my protection. I did not ask you to save me, you did not have to act like you did… why did you do it?"

She glared at him, "I do not know why! But your current demeanor is certainly showing me I should have told them you were in the Opera."

"Perhaps you should have, Constance. I can only be trouble to you," he said point-blank, with a bit of his own animosity hidden within his tone. "It would rid you of many problems."

"What do you mean by that, Monsieur?" she questioned, immediately taking that to mean that he had many sinister plans afoot. "Did you have anything to do with the trap door?"

He shrugged his shoulders and gazed off to the side nonchalantly, thoroughly angering her to the highest possible level. "Why should I tell you, if you will not tell me why you protected me? Perhaps it is because you fear me. Or because you wish to blackmail me to your own benefit."

"Please, sir, do not think so highly of yourself," she retorted. Constance stood up and placed her hands on the desk, leaning over her arms to gaze down at him. "Did you have anything to do with the trap door? It is a simple question."

"And so is the answer to why you feel you should protect me," he said.

Staring at him closely, a heavy tension spread between them, neither daring to back down to be the first to answer. He stood up, so that she could not look down at him, but maintained his intense eye contact as he did so, moving closely to the desk. Knowing that he was trying to intimidate her, she only solidified her resolve against anything that he was going to do. She was not going to back down to this man. Rarely did she do it for other men, so why should she start with him?

She scoffed and stepped back from her position, shaking her head. "This is pointless. Neither of us is going to give into the other."

"You have a firmer disposition than I originally thought," he replied. "I will have to remember this."

"Oh you have no idea, Monsieur, how stubborn I can be," she said in aggravation.

He grunted in a sort of short laugh, his visible brow raising in amusement, "Then we have something in common, good Madame."

Constance sighed heavily, feeling the severe pressure of a headache forming behind her eyes. Really, she was quickly getting tired of this circular talking. It was clear to her that he was only trying to bait her to give into his need for control of this, 'his' Opera, or at least confuse her so horribly that it would be simple for him to get what he wanted without her realizing she let her mouth slip. "Did you have anything to do with the trap door? If you do not answer me, you do not receive any money."

"You are going back on your promise, Madame Constance? For me to answer a question about something that should not really worry you?" he questioned, soundly vaguely hurt, but his harsh, pitiless eyes hid it extremely well. Or maybe it was just such a normal occurrence to him, that it did not move him much.

"If I am?" she questioned.

"Then the Vicomte and Vicomtess are fair game," he threatened. "Your life would be a living Hell if I wished it."

"You wouldn't dare," she said lowly.

Erik only continued affording her the cold stare he had been giving before, waiting for her to make a decision. A shiver traveled down her spine, and she got the odd sensation that he was not jesting in any degree. He meant it when he said he would see to it they would all regret the day she did not give into his demands, or at least honor her promises. She prepared to answer him, though he stopped her suddenly by placing a hand in her face to silence her. Letting out a long sigh, he walked away from her and began to fiddle with flowers in the rotunda. Turning back to her, he said, "No, I had nothing to do with the trap door. I was only walking beneath it when the girl fell through. Your carpenters must have thought it was nothing to worry about and did not fix it."

"You are telling me the whole truth?" she questioned.

"Yes," he said definitely.

"Then why did you make it seem like you had everything to do with it?" Constance questioned.

He did not answer her and cleared his throat, "I have done something for you. Now it is your turn to tell me why you said those things to keep them away."

She laughed at him and how he made this slightly pleasant trade of information seem like such a novel idea. Had he always gotten what he wanted by force? Or never gotten what he wanted? Had everyone in his life taken everything from him without any thanks in return? That could be possible in the case of Christine. Had she ever thanked him for the gift he supposedly helped her develop?

"I have two reasons," she said, giving into him. "The first is that I believe you are no longer a harm to this Opera and because I pity you."

"I do not need your pity," he replied bitterly. "That is all I have ever had my entire life- other people's pity and their disgust…"

"Then I will not pity you," Constance said. "Because I do not know what I pity about you… is it because of the fact that you must hide away due to something you cannot control, or is it because you lost Christine, your one true love?"

His body froze in place at the mention of Christine, and she could feel his demeanor change from bitter to angry. Erik turned to her, "You have no idea what it is like to lose one you love. You could not pity me."

She rolled her eyes, "And I suppose losing a husband I loved dearly does not meet those requirements? Have you really not noticed, especially by that way I signed the letter I left for you, that I am not with my husband?"

Erik did not reply, and made no move to leave the room, he only stood looking closely at her, as though the thought had crossed his mind, but never really implanted in his mind. Was he that selfish?

"Now that you can see you are not the only one who is hurt and in pain here," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose again and sitting down in her chair, "Would you like to know the second reason as to why I protected you."

"By all means," he replied, urging her on.

"If my brother or the Chagnys found out about you, they would keep me from ever coming back here, thinking that I need to be protected from everything. But to be truthful, this is the first thing… this Opera, in the past two and a half years, that I felt I needed to live for. My life suddenly had purpose again when Olivier asked me about taking the unconventional role of society women and helping him with it. Truly, after your husband dies and you are a society woman, and are my age, there are very few men who would look your way. My life was over… no children, no claim to the Duchy that my husband would have held if he had not passed on. I had nothing to live for until I found the Opera," she said, letting out a cleansing breath.

Now that she thought about it, it really was the first time she admitted it to herself as well. She held such a connection to this place already, with such a desire to see it succeed, because it was what she had left to live for… it was, in essence, taking the place of her husband as the sole thing in her life she cared about. It was her child. And anything on the inside of this magnificent structure was also hers to see to its greatest potential.

Even if that meant being empathetic to a strange mask-clad, cloak-wearing man that had a troubled past, and probably a troubled future.

"Except the wealthy Comte is now raining upon you his affections," Erik said. "So that bit about having nothing for you to live for is all folly… ludicrous! Surely he will ask you to marry him. Despite your supposed age, you are still pleasant to look at."

He did not seem to care about her admittance as much as she did. Perhaps he did not read that deeply into it. Constance sighed irritably, "I do not wish to discuss the Comte with you, or my pleasantness to look at. Why are you here? Come to irritate me?"

"I did not leave with the money at our last meeting," he said.

"Oh," she said, just realizing that fact. "I will have some for you tomorrow if we may hold true to the original promise."

"Some of it, Madame?" he questioned. "I thought I would receive all of it."

Constance glared at him, "Be thankful you are getting anything, Monsieur."

She realized she was treating him like a child… but he just seemed to bring that side out of her. The way he acted was very much like a child who had not had much social training or at least exposure to society, which was expected considering that he lived in the cellars of the Opera, but she thought that perhaps he would have been a little more acclimated to the world if he had spent time on the outside before finding the Opera.

"If I were to give you such a large sum of twenty thousand francs, then it would raise some brows," she said. "Olivier takes care of all business outside of this Opera, for obvious reasons that most would not believe me capable of it myself, and I am sure the banks would question him as to why I needed so much money at once."

"Then how do you think you will get by paying the entire amount, even in small amounts?" he questioned.

"Then I will not pay you the full sum," she said, though she knew it would only anger him some more.

"Madame…" he began, but stopped.

Constance sighed, "Really, Monsieur, what in the world would you need twenty thousand francs a month for? I do not even spend that on all my needs in a month."

"What concern is it to you what I spend my money on?" he questioned.

"It is my money," she said.

He smirked, "It is your brother's money."

Constance rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I will give you five hundred francs tomorrow, when my secretary is able to exchange a check for me. That is more than enough for food for one person and many nice articles of clothing."

"What of the rest?" he questioned.

"When you require money, you will let me know, and I will pay it out to you," she replied.

He seemed as though he would not relent, but he let out a disgruntled sigh, his chest heaving, "You like to keep people on a short leash."

"Then we have a deal?" she questioned.

"Against my better judgment," he said. "I shall be in my box tomorrow for the singing auditions, and when I come to your office afterward I shall give you my opinions on the singers and expect my money. If you do not have it, then all deals are off."

Constance accepted his threat, knowing she would not have anything to worry about as she planned to give him his money, and nodded her head. It was only luck that he had accepted this new arrangement, but she was glad he had. This way, she could require that he come to her office at least once a month to retrieve funds instead of her just leaving a predetermined sum of money for him to find, therefore allowing her to monitor his whereabouts and what was happening with him. And if he did not come to the main areas of the Opera, she would know something foul was afoot. Yes, this was a very good plan.

She sighed, "But I have one more question… when you do get the money, how do you go about leaving the Opera for food and your other needs?"

"I have my ways, Madame," he said and moved toward the rotunda and the secret exit again.

"I should like to know, one of these days," she said.

He did not turn around, but stopped halfway through the passage, "You already know too much."

Constance chuckled lightly, feeling slightly better now that she had spent a bit more time with this strange man… despite the fact that the entire time was spent trying to get the other so irritated that they could not stop from relaying something they should not. He started again and began to pull the paneling shut, and she called out, "Until tomorrow, Erik."

He stopped after she said his name, but he said nothing, only remaining still for a few long moments before totally closing off the passage.

She shook her head, only allowed a short moment to diffuse her mind from that rather peculiar meeting, when the sound of a firm knock at the closed door met her ears. Another sigh found her lips, and she sat up straight, positioning herself to at least look presentable to the ballet mistress. When they had spoken for the first time about the job open at the Opera, Giry had been rather brusque with her, and Constance had almost not hired her back. It seemed that she was a harsh woman, like the kind you would get at a finishing school beating manners and womanly skills into your head before you could leave her clutches. Constance supposed, though, that was good thing to have in a teacher if she projected that to her ballet teachings… she just hoped that the woman would warm up to her so that their conversations were not always so short.

But Constance made sure to be as proper as possible around her, because Giry did remind too much of one of her governess when she was younger.

"Yes?" she called.

"It is Madame Giry," the voice came.

"Please, come in," Constance said, brushing a piece of hair back from her face. The severe woman entered the room, and walked quickly to the chairs across from Constance. She took a breath as she seated herself comfortably in the seat, propping her cane up against the desk and adjusting her knee to her liking. Constance had not noticed how the injury from her years of her ballet dancing had affected her so much before, but that was probably because Giry had been on her feet the entire day.

Giry smiled slightly, and placed a paper on the desk with the names and numbers of the girls she had auditioned this afternoon, their male dancers having already auditioned and been accepted the previous day. Constance picked up the list, and saw crosses through numbers three, seven and fifteen. A shiver traveled down her spine, as she recalled the numbers Erik had given her. Did he really know ballet that well? Was he tat knowledgeable in everything having to do with the Opera? Perhaps she should give him more credit… and ask for more of his help.

"I would like the keep the girls from that list," Giry said.

"That is perfectly fine," Constance said. "I wouldn't know a pirouette from a plié, so I trust your expertise in the area."

Giry nodded her head, "I wished to ask you about Sophie, Madame. Are you to speak with her guardians?"

"I will speak with them if she can get them here," Constance replied. "Will it hurt your numbers terribly if she cannot do it?"

"No, we should still have enough," Giry said.

Constance nodded and glanced over the list again, though it meant little to her, "Very well. Thank you, Madame, that'll be all."

Giry stood and gathered her things again, glancing about the room but she stopped and looked at Constance, "Madame, you have received a note?"

She glanced down at the desk, having completely forgotten the envelope when Erik left. "Oh, it is nothing…"

"Do not worry," Giry said. "The secret is safe with me, regardless of my better judgment."

"What do you mean by that?" Constance questioned.

The ballet mistress sighed, "You have heard the stories, so you know what happened. But what you do not know is that it was I who helped him escape from the traveling show he was with, and brought him down to the cellars to live. I almost feel responsible for what happened to Christine… I did not try to stop him… but over the years of sheltering him as a mother would, I began to see him as more and more of a child to me. I love him as though he were my own son, but that does not excuse what he did and that I did nothing about it."

Constance listened, taking all of this in, "Madame, we all have our skeletons that we wish we could have done something different about. I do not hold you at fault, if that is your reason for telling me this."

"I only tell you now, because I think you should know," she said with a sigh. "You have been in correspondence with him?"

"I have," Constance said. "He wrote to me, telling me about what he expects for the theatre. I was to ask you and Reyer to come back, and leave him money."

"That sounds like Erik," Giry said. "And what is your course of action?"

Constance smiled, "I believe he and I have reached a mutual understanding and have created a realistic agreement between both parties. Are you the one who would go fetch things for him when you were here in the Opera?"

"I was, but it stopped when Meg and I left for Lyon after the chandelier crash," Giry said. "I suppose it could begin again, I do not know. We have not yet spoken since then."

"Very well," Constance said. "That is all… if anything happens though, like things that could bring you to believe he could repeat what he did with Christine, you will let me know, won't you?"

Giry nodded her head and walked toward the door, "I will not make that mistake again, Madame."

Constance watched the mistress leave, and heaved a sigh of relief. Now there were more mysteries she would need to unravel when the setting provided it from Madame Giry, but for now, she was going to leave for home and hope to forget about her long, difficult day.