London, 1890, Christine
Entering my bedroom, I hurriedly walked over to the bell and pulled it imperiously, summoning my dresser, Miss Trent. Belle, my eight year old daughter, had been talkative tonight, and I had lost track of time at dinner, I would be late if I did not hurry. I glanced at the clock, it was already nine and Sir Perry was to pick me up for the Charlbury's soiree by a quarter 'til ten. Trent entered the room with a disapproving look upon her face; she was an excellent dresser and hated to have her work hurried. However, she worked quickly and soon my hair was done up—ringlets becomingly framing my face and jeweled flowers adorning my head. I was attired in an elegant evening gown of Chantilly lace with an under-dress of golden satin. I fondly smoothed down my skirt, I had always loved this dress, since, as I was often told, the gold brought out the highlights in my chestnut hair and the golden flecks in my brown eyes. I heard a discreet knock on the door, and Brooke, my trusted butler, informed me that Sir Perry had arrived. I quickly pulled on my long evening gloves, picked up my fan and reticule, and departed for yet another dreaded evening function.
As Sir Perry and I traveled to the soiree he regaled me with gossip, and I played my part. While coquettishly laughing at his jokes and batting my eyelashes at him, I allowed my mind to wander. I was growing very weary of my lifestyle, and hoped that I could soon leave it behind. Although I was steadily acquiring a substantial nest egg, it was not enough. I was determined that once I quit this life, I would never return to it again. This was practical as well as personal—not only did I despise my work, but I was in my prime. I was at the height of my beauty, and gentleman paid lavishly for my charms—but the older I grew the less I would earn. I had to make sure I earned enough now, and then perhaps I could retire to a cottage somewhere with only Belle for company. Belle was my reason for being, the reason I continued to torture myself with this profession. I was determined that she should not want, ever, and that she would never, ever be reduced to selling her body—even as a highly valued mistress. I did not know how much longer I would continue, it depended largely on the generosity of my protectors. The jewels I received were the main source of my income; I smiled secretively, I often wondered if society realized that most of the jewels I wore were paste. Oh, they had been real enough once, but as soon as my arrangement with a gentleman ended I immediately sold my jewels and had paste copies made.
"My dear, whatever are you smiling about," Sir Perry asked peevishly, aware my mind had wandered.
"I was just thinking of how jealous all the ladies are going to be," I purred. "They will be sick with envy, seeing how much you adore me."
"Yes," Perry replied, preening himself. "They will be quite jealous won't they; especially when they see the gewgaw I just gave you."
My hand went up to my neck, and I truly smiled. The massive diamond necklace had to be worth thousands of pounds.
The carriage pulled up to the Charlbury's townhouse, and we alighted. I mentally prepared myself to become the simpering, shallow creature I hated so much. Just another mask, I reminded myself, just another mask.
Once inside, Sir Perry and I made the rounds together briefly, before he left me to join a group of male friends. I was soon surrounded by my own group of "friends" and admirers, and had settled into another night of deadly boredom, when I heard the voice of Mr. James Whittaker behind me, a man I actually liked. I turned to greet him, a sincere smile on my face, and beheld the visage of another man, another time. Erik stood before me, just as tall and menacing as I had remembered, and I do believe that for a moment I thought I was dreaming. But in all my dreams Erik had never appeared in the crowded drawing rooms of an insipid society function—I knew this was no dream. My stomach turned into a mass of nerves, and countless feelings and thoughts vied for attention in my mind. But my smile never wavered, years of pretense came to my rescue, and I greeted Mr. Whittaker in what I hoped was a calm voice.
"Mr. Whittaker it is so good to see you again. How have you been?" I said extending my hand.
He took my hand and pressed a light kiss upon my glove before replying, "My dear Madame I am doing very well, very well indeed. You look charming, as usual. May I present my friend, Mr. Erik Legard?"
Smiling brightly, I said, "A pleasure Mr. Legard," and experienced a brief feeling of satisfaction at my composure.
Then suddenly I remembered that physical contact was required. Trembling, I subdued a wild urge to flee, and extended my hand. For a second, forever, it was suspended in the air, before he took it in his own and raised it slowly to his lips, his golden eyes burning into my own. As his lips met my hand, an electrical current seems to possess my body, and I was surprised that the rest of the room did not turn and look.
Then he spoke, and the sound his voice was almost too much to bear—that beautiful, melodic, intoxicating voice that had once held me under a spell.
"The pleasure, Madame, is all mine," Erik replied, infusing a wealth of meaning into that single sentence.
The tension between us thickened, if it was possible, and I felt unbearably oppressed. The world started to recede, and I dizzily lurched, but was swiftly supported by Mr. Whittaker.
"Madame, are you well?" he asked in a concerned voice.
Thinking only to escape, I raised my hand to my forehead and replied, "I have the headache and I fear the heat has made me dizzy. I am sorry gentleman, but I do believe I will seek out Sir. Perry and depart."
Without even waiting to hear any response, I turned and determinedly made my way through the crowd to Sir Perry's side, my back burning under the pressure of Erik's mocking gaze. When I reached Sir Perry I grasped his shoulder, as if I was drowning and he was the lifesaver.
"My dear," I said "I am afraid I am quite unwell, and I would like to leave."
He turned to me, and I must have looked a sight indeed, for he frowned immediately, "Elise, you are dreadfully flushed. Do not worry, I will order the carriage at once."
Thankfully I went to the front hallway to await Sir. Perry. He soon came, looking even more distraught.
"I say, my dear, as I was leaving I saw a very strange fellow in a mask scowling at me dreadfully. I have never met the man before, and yet I do believe he would have killed me if he could have."
"How strange," I replied "I don't know who you are talking about. Surely I would have noticed a man in a mask." Swiftly I changed the subject. "Perry, I am feeling unwell, but I feel guilty at spoiling all your pleasure. I can ride home by myself. Perhaps it would be best," I said meaningfully, "then I could rest fully."
"Don't worry, I will not stay with you my dear, but if you wish I will still escort you home." Perry replied courteously.
"No, no I will be fine," I said. "Enjoy yourself."
"Alright," he agreed cheerfully, walking me out to the carriage and handing me in. "Rest well my dear, and I will pray for a full recovery."
As he turned and walked away, I allowed my body to slouch with relief into the luxurious lining of the carriage. However, the relief soon dissipated, leaving me feeling depressed and disgusted. I was disgusted with myself, I knew what I was—a well paid whore—and Erik must know as well. How could he not? The whole of London knew. The woman he had once loved was gone; she had been cruelly crushed by life years ago. When I was the ingénue Erik had loved me for my innocence, but now all he could feel towards me was disgust and contempt—especially since he did not know. . . . But I would not make excuses for myself; I did not need to make excuses. What I had done was not wrong. I could have saved my virtue, worked at some little dressmaking shop, barely earning a pittance. Not enough to support myself and a child, and certainly not enough to make sure she did not succumb to the inevitable profession of impoverished women. Well, I had become an expensive whore so my daughter need not be a two-bit whore, and I had no regrets.
Yet when Erik's eyes had looked into my own, they had pierced my soul, and suddenly I had felt the overwhelming disgust and hate that I imagined he felt for me. I could not bear it. Once I would have given my very soul to see Erik again, but that time had passed and if I could just achieve freedom for Belle and myself I would be happy. In truth, I was lying to myself—but I knew there was no use in dreaming of impossibilities.
I laughed bitterly; the only good outcome of this encounter was that Perry would not visit me tonight. Thank God for that! In addition to the fact I found no real pleasure in such encounters, I could not imagine taking Perry to my bed when I had just seen Erik. When I had first begun my profession Erik's eyes had haunted me; now, nine years later, just when I thought I had succeeded in suppressing my memories Erik had returned to haunt me.
I was jerked out of my reflections, when the carriage pulled to a stop and the footman opened the door for me. I allowed myself to be helped out, and, although I felt ready to collapse, walked steadily into the house. It was quite early for me to be home, just eleven thirty; however, like a good butler, Brooke did not betray any surprise.
"I have the headache," I said by way of explanation, "Please tell Trent that I will not be needing her services tonight."
"Very well, Madame," Brooke replied, countenance unmoved, despite my unusual request. But then perhaps the servants were used to my eccentric ways by now.
Feeling the need for fortification, I went to the library and poured myself a glass of sherry out of the every ready decanter. Sinking into one of the library's comfortable wing backed chairs; I sipped my sherry and thought back.
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Paris, 1881
I had been waiting for Erik for almost a week now. At breakfast, I had finished the last morsel of food, and it was now dinner time. My stomach growled demandingly, and I knew that tomorrow I would have to make some decisions. Decisions had never been my forte.
While I had been waiting for Erik I had not been idle; oh the first day I had simply lain on the bed in my room. But boredom had driven me to find occupation, and I had started the business of cleaning up Erik's trashed home. Erik's house was really quite normal, despite its odd location, containing a kitchen, dining room, parlor, library, Erik's bedroom, my Louis-Philippe bedroom, and a spare bedroom as well. There was also the music room, and although the existence of such a room was not odd, the organ dominating the room did make it rather strange. I had managed to clean up much of the mess, but many things were broken or ruined. Surprisingly the organ had not been touched; perhaps the mob had been deterred by its usual sacred position in a church.
That night I was feeling particularly despondent, as I began to acknowledge the reality that Erik might not return. I had thrown myself into cleaning up Erik's home in an almost feverish manner, and in combination with a lack of food, I was quite exhausted. I lay sprawled out on the divan in library, unable to think of anything to do. I could read, but that usually brought back memories of Erik and I reading together, or Erik reading to me in his beautiful voice. I sighed, my gaze wandering to a stack of paper and envelopes I had salvaged lying on the floor. Suddenly an idea came to me, I could write to Erik. Although he would probably never see, it would give me an outlet for my pent up emotions, and if he ever came back and I was gone I could leave letters for him to find. My mood lifted slightly at the prospect of a new occupation, and I swiftly rose and collected paper, envelope, pen, and ink and began my letter. Into that letter I poured my frustration, my love, my hopes, and then a quite mundane description of my activities in the last week. But at the end of it I felt better, and was able to retire for bed without feeling quite as restless as usual.
The next morning I awoke, and my stomach swiftly reminded me of my need for food. Now money was not a problem at all, during my ferocious cleaning I had come across two separate stashes of money Erik must have hidden in case of emergencies. I felt no compunctions at using Erik's money, quite sure he would be angry if I did not use the money. I dressed for the outside world, and, as I been unable to uncover the exit to the Rue Scribe, I made the long journey over the lake and through my dressing room. The shopping trip proceeded without incident, and I returned laden with my purchases. They were numerous and I had had to unload into my dressing room several times in order to buy all I wished. I was determined to make sure that, if necessary, I could survive for months in the underground lair.
A week later, I again entered the outside world, in order to purchase perishables, and a few necessities I had forgotten the week before. Perhaps I looked conscious of the money I carried upon me, or perhaps I looked pretty despite my attempts to blend in, but whatever the reason while I was hurrying through an alley, I spied a disreputable looking man emerging from the shadows—ill intent glittering in his eyes. It was the middle of the day, but the weather was bad, and the darkened clouds increased the shadows of the already dark alley ways. Nervously I glanced around, desperately searching for another human being, but the bad weather had driven most people inside.
As I tried to scurry past him, the man grabbed my wrist and pulled me up against him.
"Now my pretty, just you be cooperative and you won't be hurt. All I wants from you is your money, and maybe a little something else," he murmured into my ear—one hand covering my mouth and the other holding me tight to him.
I started struggling against him desperately as the meaning of "a little something else" sank into my mind. Cursing, he dragged me roughly into an even smaller alley, this one almost pitch black.
"Listen up, I'm willing to be gentle, but if you want it to hurt that's your choice. Trust me girl, it ain't worth dying over."
Shocked, I briefly ceased struggling, and he swiftly pulled out a knife and brought it up to my throat.
"How about me and you have some fun, and we can part ways with no blood. Hhmmm?"
Sensing my capitulation, he sheathed his knife, before starting to grope me. Most of the event I cannot remember at all, but at one point I think I tried to get away earning myself a sharp blow to the face. After that I sunk into numb state of disassociation. Vaguely I was aware that things were happening to a girl in the alley way, but I was not at all sure that girl was me.
He must have knocked me out when he was done, because I awoke later to a hard kick in the ribs. An angry looking woman stood above me, arms akimbo.
"Get up girl, I don't want no whores lying by my back door."
When I didn't move immediately, she kicked me again screaming "I said get up!"
I scrambled to my feet, and stumbled away from her, the only thought in my head was the need to get home. I don't remember most of the journey home, and how I managed to pole that boat across the lake is beyond me, but somehow I ended lying on the floor of the library. At that moment in my life I just wanted die. I was sure I would never move again, and that Erik would return to find my rotting corpse disgracing his library floor.
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London, 1890
Shaking my head, I refused to dwell on the past any longer. Fleetingly I thought to tell him, perhaps he would understand. But I quickly crushed the thought; I did not want Erik's pity. With a sigh, I rose wearily to my feet, exited the library, and slowly mounted the stairs. At least, I thought, I could go to sleep—surely I was too tired for dreams to plague me tonight. Upon entering my bedroom I set the gas lamp I was carrying on the bedside table and turned to begin the process of undressing.
For the second time that night, my shocked gaze absorbed what I thought must surely be a dream. There sprawled out in one of the arm chairs gracing my room, was Erik. His amber eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the shadows prevented me from discerning any expression on his face. At that moment I truly thought I was finally going mad. But then the apparition spoke.
