To the Manor Born

By KaitlynRose

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

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He rode his horse under the nighttime sky. It had been a nice day, but once the sun sank below the horizon the bitter cold returned. Not that he cared. He was warmly dressed in his fine new clothes which had been purchased the day before.

Purchased…how strange that word was to him. Until recently he almost never made purchases. He had simply helped himself to anything he needed. In the past few weeks that had all changed. Now he was the legal owner of a manor with forty acres of land, he was riding atop of a legally purchased horse, wearing legally purchased clothes.

But not everything had changed. He still wore his mask, at least, for the moment. That just might change tonight as well…maybe. How did one part with something they had worn for almost twenty years? To give up his mask was like asking him to remove his legs, or his arms, and yet, he was willing to try, even though the thought terrified him.

A sign post on the road told him he was almost there. He had memorized the journey on the map and it was unlikely he would get lost even if there were no sign posts. He was on his way to the Rohan estate which was his new home.

At first he had thought to buy a house near the de Chagny estate so he could be near Christine, but then he thought better of it. He risked too much to be that close to the Vicomte. The Vicomte's home was an hour north of Paris. He had made a point of buying a house almost an hour south of Paris. He wanted plenty of space between him and de Chagny.

The horse grunted but continued to move forward. "Not much farther now," he said to the horse. "You will be warm soon enough."

The horse nodded its head, as though agreeing with him. Finally in the distance he could see the lights from the windows…windows that belonged to his new home. A surge of excitement unlike anything he had ever felt coursed through his veins and he kicked the horse to greater speeds. He pulled up in front of the house at a full gallop and quickly jumped to the ground.

The front door opened and an elderly man stepped out.

"Good evening, Master," he said before he saw the mask. The man looked at him for a moment before continuing. "I'll take your horse to the stable. The madam is waiting for you inside. She said to hurry, that your supper is ready."

"Thank you," he said and handed the reins to the man. Obviously Mme Giry had forwarned the help about their new master's condition. It still felt odd to speak so freely to someone, however.

"Stop," he called. "What is your name?"

"Sorry, Master. My name is Lucien."

"And your last?"

"Don't know, sir. I was raised in an orphanage. No one ever told me what my last name was."

He felt an immediate kindred with this man. "Good night, Lucien."

"Night sir."

He finally turned and entered the house. He was awestruck at first. Many candles were burning, giving off plenty of light, which was reflected by the white painted walls. He actually took off his glove so that he could touch the wall. The he ran a finger over the smooth wooden tables. He raised his hand over one of the candle's flames and burned himself just a little to prove this was real.

"Welcome home."

He jumped at the voice that intruded his thoughts.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," Mme Giry said.

"Nothing frightens me," he replied automatically.

Mme Giry said nothing. She knew a lie when she heard one. "Come and eat your supper. I will give you the grand tour of the house in the morning when the light is better."

"I don't take orders," he snapped.

"If you are going to live above ground you are going to need to improve your manners a great deal. Clothes and a house alone will not make you what you wish to be. Meg is gone for the next seven days. In that time I hope to teach you a few manners, and dare I say even a little bit of courtesy. I have worked long and hard to make this happen for you and you walk in the door rude and ungrateful."

He let out a long sigh. "I apologize, and I am grateful. Realize this is not easy for me. I have lived in shadows all my life. I have been alone all my life. Change will come, but it will not be instantaneous."

"I understand that. I just want you to know that I will not be bullied by you, nor will Meg. Now, come and eat."

He followed her through the house to the dinning room. A long table of fine mahogany graced the room. Ten chairs surrounded the table. Two elaborate place settings were on the table. Mme Giry stood by her chair waiting. At first he did not know what for but then it became clear. He walked to her chair and pulled it out for her. She sat down and he pushed it in before taking his own seat.

An elderly woman came through the door carrying a tray of food. He almost jumped from his seat but Mme Giry put her hand on his and held on tight.

The woman set two bowls of soup down before them along with a basket of rolls.

"Thank you, Bedelia," Mme Giry said.

"Anything else madam?"

"No. That will be all for now. You may bring the next course in about ten minutes."

"Yes, madam." The woman left the room quickly, but not before looking at the new master and giving him a respectful curtsy.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," he commented. "Lady of the house seems to suit you well."

"Working with servants is no different than working with dancers. Respect and discipline must be demanded," she said.

"Where did you find these servants?" he asked.

"They are local people. They were told that you liked your privacy and that you looked a bit differently. There is one more. He's the grounds keeper. His name is Roi. All of them have no living family, no one to run home to and spread gossip."

"Good thinking," he said.

"What am I to call you?" she asked. "I highly doubt you want to still be called a ghost."

"You know my name is Erik."

"Yes, but here you are going to need a last name too."

"I don't know my last name," he grumbled.

"Fine," she said. "From this day you will be known as Erik Giry. I raised you like a son, you may as well have my name. Does that suit you?"

Erik stared at her. "You would do that for me?" he asked.

"Yes, I would. For that matter, it is the name I put on the legal documents for the purchase of this home. Obviously I can not claim you as my son since people know I do not have one and I am not old enough for it to be believable. You shall be my late husband's younger brother."

"You realize that would make me Meg's uncle," he pointed out.

"Yes, I know. But it makes sense. After all, it is proper for an uncle to raise his niece and care for his brother's widow. The story should keep people from talking."

"I agree," he said.

They ate their soup and then Bedelia brought out the main course, lemon chicken with au gratin potatoes. After placing the food down, she refilled their wine glasses with chardonnay.

Erik began to feel dizzy with emotion. He was above ground. He was being served. It was all so civilized. He held the wine goblet in his hand and just stared at it. The cut crystal was so delicate, so flawless. Had all of this been within his reach all along? Could he have had all of this years ago?

"Are you all right?"

He set the glass down. "Yes. It's just…I never dreamed…I…" He was at a loss for words.

She patted his hand comfortingly. "I know," she said. "Finish you meal and I will take you to your room so you can get some rest. I dare say you are overwhelmed right now."

Erik nodded his head in agreement. Ten minutes later they left the dining room and walked up the grand staircase to the second floor.

Meg's and my room are down at the end to the right. Your suites are at the end to the left. There is a private stairway that leads from your room to the study directly below where you will find your organ and everything you need to write your music."

"Are the things that I asked for in my room?"

"Yes, all of it."

"Thank you. Really. Thank you for everything," he said sincerely.

"You are welcome. Besides, I also need to thank you. Meg and I would be living on the streets by now if it weren't for your generosity."

"Good night," he said.

"Good night, Erik."

He watched her walk down the hall and enter her room before finally turning around and going inside his own. Once he opened the door he was shocked by what he saw. The room was huge and very ornate. There was a dark wood four poster bed that was surrounded by thick, heavy drapes to keep out the chill or the early morning sun. A fire burned in the fireplace giving the room a soft glow and a comfortable feel. There was a desk and chair, a large wardrobe filled with the latest fashions, a man's vanity with a pitcher of water and a basin. All his toiletries were there. On top of the long chest of drawers were the specific items he had asked for.

He closed his eyes and removed his mask. He took several deep breaths before finally opening his eyes and looking at his reflection in the mirror. He fought the sudden urge to break the glass. He willed his body to relax. He picked up the comb. He had been growing his hair out for the past month. It had already been somewhat long to begin with, but now it was even longer, and since he stopped wearing the wigs it had gotten thicker and fuller.

He parted his hair on the side where it was the thickest, his good side, as it were. He combed the hair over to the other side of his head where the bald spot on his forehead was. He was shocked to see that his hair completely hid the ugly bald spot and even his deformed ear. In fact, the hairstyle was actually rather nice, if he dared to say so himself. It was now similar to de Chagny's in its cut, except he had it pulled forward to hide things, whereas the Vicomte pushed his back to show off his unblemished face.

Okay, that was one thing completed. Next he picked up the tin of stage actors makeup. He opened the tin to reveal flesh toned face paint. Using his fingers he applied the makeup to the angry red scars that had haunted him his whole life. He was careful to cover the deformation completely with the makeup. Finally, he put the tin down and took a long hard look into the mirror.

It was far from perfect. His one eye was still crooked and he still missed an eyebrow, plus the large area of raised skin next to his nose was still visible, but the face that stared back at him in the mirror was not so gruesome as to send women and children away screaming. With the skin color evened out and the haircut hiding as much as it did, he almost…almost…, he shook his head. No he wasn't normal. He stood up and began to pace the room.

What was he thinking? This couldn't work. People would never accept the face that he saw in the mirror. There was a knock at the door.

"Go away!" he roared.

Instead the door opened. Mme Giry walked in. She knew what he was going to do tonight and had literally been spying through the keyhole, despite her better judgment.

"I said to go away," he screamed as he held his hand over his face.

Instead of leaving she walked right up to him. She looked at him for a long time. She saw the tears of defeat building in his eyes. She raised her hand and gently, very gently, pulled his away from his face.

Erik closed his eyes. He felt as if he stood before her naked, exposed as he had never been before. He waited for her reaction but one never came.

Finally he opened his eyes and was shocked to see her smiling at him. Her smile wasn't one of mockery, but of genuine happiness.

"No, it is not perfect," she said as if reading his mind. "But it is handsome because of its ruggedness. Look," she ordered.

He shook his head. He didn't want to look in the mirror again.

"Look!" She literally forced his head to turn by grabbing his chin. Finally he looked once more into the mirror.

"Tell me what you see?" she demanded.

"A monster. A freak!"

"No, Erik. That is the face of a man. Maybe not the face of the world's most handsome man, but by no means is it the ugliest either. I have seen many, many faces far worse than yours over the years. You have spent your entire life living in that Opera House, only seeing the faces of the perfect people. You have never witnessed those who belong to the soldiers who go to war and then come back home, alive, but in pieces. Those boys do not hide in an Opera House dungeon. They go on with their lives. They live! They marry. They have families.

"Erik, you are a wealthy land owner now. You have culture and sophistication. You even have a family now."

Those words caused Erik to turn his head back to look at her. He listened as she continued, "You may lack manners but we will work on it. You don't have to be shunned by the world any longer."

Erik felt his rage begin to fade as her words worked their way through his head. He looked back in the mirror.

"Now what do you see?" she demanded once more.

He thought for a moment before finally replying, "Erik Giry. The new owner of the Rohan estate."

She smiled. "Good, because that is what I see too."