Erik returned to the room under the laundry. He was relieved to find Meg gone. He was exhausted and the last thing he needed was the young woman who had been the closest friend and confidant to Christine reminding him of what he'd lost. The feather mattress where Meg had spent the night remained as she'd left it. The satin duvet was thrown back as though she had just barely gotten up. The bed beckoned him.
As he lay down in it's softness, it occurred to him that it hadn't been long since she'd been there. Her scent lingered with a hint of warmth. In spite of himself, he inhaled deeply. Her's wasn't a smell that was enhanced by manufactured perfume. It was a unique, honest mixture of perspiration, soap and something so elementally female that he felt oddly disturbed. It made him think of a warm summer night in the country with the sweetness of wild flowers carried on a cool breeze. How dare she do this to him! A man had a right to sleep in his own bed without the residual effects of a woman he wanted to forget. It was with irritation confused with loneliness that he buried his face in the duvet and let himself feel her warmth on his face. Sleep overtook him sometime later, the vision of a young woman with straight blond hair and his beloved Christine teasing him with flirtatious glances and seductive smiles. Damn them!
A strange scratching sound penetrated Erik's foggy brain. He wanted to ignore it and sleep. It might just stop and go away on its own. A rat perhaps...a very large rat! He woke to unfamiliar surroundings, then remembered the previous night. The scratching continued. It came from the heavy wooden door. He had company. The temptation to ignore it was strong, but for the events of the night before. He thought it might be the police but they wouldn't hesitate to break down the door. Christine? No. She wouldn't know where to find him and it was a vain expectation to think that she would bother. Meg? But, why? He lit the lantern, put his mask on and opened the door.
The dim light revealed Patsy. The woman, on the other side of the door was as he, a cast off of society, and a resident of the underground. She was undoubtedly mentally retarded but harmless, unlike himself. Many of the people living and lurking in the darkness under the city were mentally ill. He didn't know how old she was or how long she had sought an uncertain sanctuary beneath the city. She talked but her mutterings were strangely disconnected and he wasn't sure if she was talking to herself or to him. Now she shuffled past him and made her way to the cupboard. He didn't know how she knew there would be food there. The cupboard was a fairly recent addition and the food had only been added yesterday. She amazed him. It was as though she possessed an extra sensory gift. But it might explain her ability to survive in a harsh and unforgiving world. She wasn't afraid of him. That was obvious in the way she made a pouch with her skirt and filled it with apples, cheese and bread from the cupboard and walked past him and out the door. She left just enough for him to have a meal. He thought about following her to find out where she was going, but such knowledge wouldn't make a difference. He would have to get more food next time.
He didn't have any way to cook a hot meal and his stomach growled in protest. It made him think of his plans for Christine and the house in the country where they could have been safe and away from the prying eyes of any neighbors. The country house was hidden from view of the main road. He had planned to share his life and love with Christine in that house. Now, it seemed there was no point except that he was currently homeless. The dismal, cavern of a room could only be a temporary consideration at best. No one would bother him there and only a few people knew of its existence. But he couldn't bear being underground for too long without becoming claustrophobic. Even he found it ironic that for all the years that he lead the life of burrowing rodent, he fought the panic that threatened to suffocate him.
He checked his watch for the time. Another disadvantage of living underground was that it was impossible to know whether it was day or night. At one time he found it safe and somewhat comforting to exist in a world of flickering shadows and eternal night where he was invisible. He wasn't sure if the change was that he'd simple out-grown the excitement of playing hide and seek or that he craved what he couldn't have, a normal life. Erik had been able to live his lonely line fairly comfortably. Christine was one of the few people who had come into his life. She had given him her company to look forward to, just to rip it away. It should have killed him. The pain of rejection struck deep in his chest again as a reminder of what he so desperately wanted and couldn't have. Christine. He closed his eyes and her face appeared before him. In the stillness, her voice rang out in his mind, clear and resonant.
A rumbling sound made his blood run cold. It sounded to close for comfort. At any moment his way out of the subterranean hideaway could be blocked. He felt the moisture on his palms when he jerked open the door and realized his worst fears. The cave-in was in the direction from where he'd come from the opera house a about fifty feet from the door.
A grunt and a whimper came from under the rubble. In the dim, flickering glow, Erik could make out a mop of hair and an arm. Instantly, he used his hands to dig away the rocks and dirt from the limp form. It was Patsy. Horror and relief passed through him at once. She was still alive.
"Talk to me, Patsy!" Erik commanded.
"No," came the reply. He laughed in spite of himself. It was just what he would have expected from her under ordinary circumstances.
"You're going to be fine. We'll get this mess off of you and you'll be good as new." He said more to convince himself than Patsy. She wasn't likely to be impressed by anything he said. Fortunately, the earth that had fallen was soft and crumbled rather that stone. But it also meant that it was just a matter of time before there was another more serious cave-in that could either trap him or cut him off from his current quarters.
Patsy huddled on the muddy floor and rocked back and forth in a frantic rhythm. She emitted a high pitched keening sound through clenched teeth. The sound grated on his own frayed nerves, but he forced himself to be calm and patient. He felt worthless and completely inadequate to do anything to help the woman. She probably belonged in an asylum. The thought made a chill go down his spine. He belonged in an asylum. If the public had their way, he would be there now. Patsy didn't deserve to be put in the airless cells of the city mental institution. She had some odd behaviors and seemed eccentric at times, but she was also a gentle soul. He had heard her talking to herself on several occasions and was shocked by her wit and intelligence. She referred to herself in third person and never addressed him outright. It had taken him awhile after meeting her several years ago that she was the one she called Patsy. Her comments were indirect and always statements. Never questions. The wail gradually subsided and the rocking back and forth slowed, but her teeth chattered incessantly and she was shaking.
He was surprised that she allowed him to pick her up and carry her to the room under the laundry. She was dirty beyond belief when he set her down in one of the chairs. He poured her a cup of cold tea and set it before her. She ignored it and huddled, still shaking. He didn't have the necessary facilities for bathing himself let alone anyone else. What had he been thinking? If he had brought Christine here, how long could she have stood the dark, damp, airless cavern?
The house in the country suddenly became all important. Would Christine have chosen him if he offered her a real home with windows, curtains, carpets and plush furniture? With or without Christine, he had to have the country house. He sat down to draft a letter.
Meg sat on her aunt's sofa, wearing a blue morning dress, borrowed from her aunt, with her swollen bare feet stretched out before her. She heard her mother's footsteps on the stairs and knew that Madame Giry was furious. She braced her self for the impending barrage. Her mother did not disappoint her.
"Margaret Adele Giry, where have you been?" Madame Giry demanded, taking off her hat and gloves. She wore stylish black silk from head to toe. "How could you do this to me? I thought you were dead!" When she saw Meg red and swollen feet, she exclaimed. "Your feet! What happened to your feet? Oh, honey, what happened to you?"
Meg found herself being cradled in her mother's arms. She was unprepared for the tears that poured forth as her mother wept. She had no idea what to say. How could she possibly tell what happened and yet she was reluctant to lie.
"Mother, I am just fine. My feet will heal soon and I will be fine." Meg said with forced cheer. Madame Giry stared at her, incredulous.
"I know, dear, but it will take weeks and one of us needs to work. I can open a dance studio and teach, but we have to have a means of support until I can open the studio for business. The opera house is destroyed. We are unemployed!" Meg hadn't thought about that. The sudden realization that life, as she knew it, was over hit her with an impact that cause the blood to drain from her face. She felt cold and clammy. She had been thoughtless and foolish to follow Erik through the tunnels, splashing through puddles, then walking that morning in damp leather. The blisters were excruciating. "You haven't told me where you've been. I don't think I could bear it if anything happened to you. Did anything bad happen, honey?" Meg wasn't sure what her mother meant by 'bad.' Her feet felt pretty bad.
"I am fine, mother. I told you that already. I went down into the cellars of the Opera house to find Christine," she lied. "I went through a long tunnel and I got lost. I couldn't get out until Eri..." She broke off unsure of how she was going to explain anything without bringing Erik into the picture.
"I knew it. Erik had something to do with this didn't he?" Madame Giry accused.
"He kept me safe." Meg said.
"I'll just bet he did!" Her mother scoffed. "Don't get any ideas. He may seem charming enough, but he isn't stable and don't trust him. There is no need for you to ever see him again." Meg may have imagined the relief present in her mother's voice. Madame Giry examined her daughter's feet and Meg winced at her touch. "It could take weeks for you feet to heal. We will have to stay here. We will have to get you some new clothes. Our quarters were badly burned in the fire."
"I'm so sorry, Mother. I will get well better soon, so I can help in the studio." Meg said although her heart wasn't in it. The idea of teaching spoiled little prima donas who's parents had more money than sense seemed tedious and exhausting. "You seem so tired, Mama. Please don't make yourself sick." Meg noticed her mother seemed older suddenly. Guilt stabbed at her. Since, Meg's father had died, her mother had worked so hard to provide for them. Meg had barely made a beginning wage as a ballerina. Her mother had earned most of her support. Meg couldn't expect that she keep doing it.
"Now that I know you're safe, everything is going to be fine." Madame Giry forced a wary smile, brushed the bangs away from her daughter's face and kissed her forehead.
"Tea or coffee?" Aunt Clair bustled in the sitting room carrying a silver tray with china cups and saucers.
"Nothing for me, Clair. I have to be going again. There is a place I want to see. It has a large room that might work for the studio. I will have to use our savings if the rooms are adequate, so I may have to go to the bank. Also I must see a dressmaker. I will be late; don't hold dinner for me." Madame Giry stood and put on her gloves and hat, signaling her departure. She handed Med a few francs from her handbag with the remark that she never be without a little money for emergencies.
"Well, I suppose then, that this is for you, dear." Aunt Clair set the tray down on a low table next to the sofa. There were muffins, butter and honey and summer sausage. Meg's stomach growled in gratitude when she smelled the breakfast.
"Thank you, Aunt Clair. You've been so good to me. These smell so good I think I shall become fat as a pig." Meg said spreading butter generously on a warm muffin.
"Jacques will be pleased that you enjoy them. You just take it easy and get yourself whole again, dearie, and if you need anything, call him. I must be getting myself to the literature club. We are reading an American author, Louisa May Alcott." Clair said beaming. She was a kind soul, Meg thought.
Aunt Clair left and Meg waited til she heard the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairway cease and a door close, then silence. Carefully she slipped on an old pair of Aunt Clair's slippers and stepped on the rug. Her feet were still very tender, and she winced with each step as she crept down the long steep stairway and into the kitchen where Jacques, Aunt Clair's hired chef, was up to his elbows in dough.
"Mademoiselle!" He exclaimed in protest as Meg hobbled into the kitchen.
"Jacques, I wanted to tell you myself how much I enjoyed the muffins." Meg gushed enthusiastically. The short, thin, balding man stared at her as though she had lost her mind. "Could I please have some more?"
"Of course, you may have as many as you want, but why didn't you ring the bell? You shouldn't be on your feet."
"Don't be silly. I am just as good as new." She lied. "I'll just take a few." Meg reached for a woven basket, filled with fresh garden vegetables, that sat on a bench near the door. "These look good too. I haven't eaten for ages."
"Of course, Mademoiselle." He stared at her. She really couldn't blame him. It was obvious to anyone that she had taken leave of her senses.
A carriage stopped outside the boarding house, twenty minutes later, to deliver an older couple, who were regular boarders. Meg greeting the couple politely, forcing a pleasant expression on her face though her heart raced and her feet ached. She asked the driver if he knew where the Montague carriage service was located. He nodded in reply. Surely she would be able to find the entrance to the underground if she could make it back as far as the carriage house.
It was in the middle of the afternoon when Meg found the entrance. The carriage driver had agreed to wait a few minutes for her to return. She limped down the stairway into the tunnel, carrying the basket laden. The darkness was intimidating and the single candle she'd brought flickered, threatening to go out. Cupping her hand around the candle, she continued. The door to the room where she'd spent the night was closed. There was mud and stones in a heap not far from the door. Without knocking, she jerked the door open.
"What the hell!" Erik spun around in surprise. Meg took in the scene before her. A woman, filthy and trembling sat hunched in one of the chairs. She rocked and swayed back and forth, a high pitched whine came from the woman's clenched teeth. The sight took Meg off guard. She turned and ran. Erik anticipated her move and stopped her, took the basket from her hand and pulled her into the room, closing the door behind her.
"What are you doing here?" He seemed less than pleased to see her. Meg tried not to feel cross.
"I brought some muffins and fresh vegetables." She brought her chin up defiantly. His eyes soften briefly before narrowing suspiciously at her.
"Take your charity somewhere else. I don't need it." He put the basket forcibly against her. She let it drop. Muffins, carrots, cucumbers, onions, tomatoes and potatoes spilled out on the floor. Meg and Erik both ignored the disarrayed contents, glaring at each other, while words were momentarily lost to them. Patsy, however, knelt down to retrieve a muffin to let it disappear in her mouth. Both aware of the action, Meg smiled her triumph.
"This is Patsy. She is a neighbor of mine." Erik stepped back and motioned toward the woman who did not even look up. Meg wondered about her strange behavior but had better manners to comment.
"Pleased to meet you, Patsy." She said. The woman put another muffin in her mouth. It occurred to Meg that something was very wrong with the woman. She looked like she may have been in her late thirties or early forties. Her face was pleasant enough if it had been washed, but there was a sad, vacant look in her countenance. She was probably a lunatic. The thought sent a chill through Meg. Erik looked at her, a clear challenge in his eyes. Rising to the occasion, she knelt down and began to pick up the vegetables and return them to the basket.
"How did you get here?" Erik asked.
"I have a carriage waiting for me." She answered as she limped to the cupboard and put the vegetables inside.
"You're limping. What have you done to yourself? " Erik demanded.
"Blisters." Meg tried to sound trivial.
"How could you be so careless?" He scolded. "Let me see." Kneeling down on one knee, he removed her aunt's slipper, while she held on to the back of a chair for balance. Gently he touched her foot. She winced, more from the anticipated pain than reality. "You shouldn't be walking around. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that I was repaying the kindness that you showed me last night."
"It was completely unnecessary." Erik replaced the slipper. "You don't want to keep the carriage waiting any longer."
"Yes. I must be going." She nodded politely to Patsy, who ignored her and glanced at Erik. She felt like an awkward child. It was clear that her attempt to be friendly was not appreciated. She hobbled to the door, carrying the dwindling candle. It had been a long time since she'd felt so pathetic and embarrassed. The tunnel and the darkened stairway seemed unusually creepy. The bright sun light at the top didn't do much to improve her mood. She blinked against the sudden glare and in some surprise that the carriage was still there. Her feet were hurting more now than before. The driver looked impatient as she limped toward the carriage. A sound behind her made her turn suddenly and step on a sharp stone. She cried out. A man in a black cloak, hat and mask reached out to catch her as she fell into his arms.
"I thought you'd be gone by now." Erik hissed into her ear. He held her firm without missing a beat in his stride. "I don't supposed you'd mind sharing you carriage with me, since you didn't hesitate to barge in on me unannounced." He placed her inside the coach while the driver held the door open and tucked her skirt in around her. The gesture took her off guard. For someone who acted like he didn't want her around, he was attentive and thoughtful. He pulled himself in beside her and rapped on the cab with his knuckles signaling he was ready to leave.
"Thank you." She said for lack of anything else. He made it clear that he didn't want her company. "What about Patsy? Is she going to be alright?" She knew that Erik didn't want to talk to her, but the possibility of spending the next thirty or forth minutes in absolute silence was incomprehensible, and she was extremely curious about the woman in the room.
"What am I? A nursemaid?" He snapped, but instantly his demeanor was apologetic. "I'm sorry, Meg. None of this is your fault, just promise me that you will stay put when I drop you off and let your feet heal." He sounded genuinely concerned. She didn't want to voice what was going through her head: What was the point? The opera house was burned and she was unemployed at the moment. "Patsy is pretty resourceful. I suppose that she has family somewhere, but if they were interested in her well-being, she wouldn't have been living in the caverns for the last seven years or so."
"She doesn't seem quite right." Meg said, regretting her words instantly. Erik looked at her out of the corner of his eye, regarding her with impatience.
"No, she doesn't. It is hard to say what is exactly wrong with her. Peculiar is hardly enough to describe her but she is quite harmless. She was caught in a cave-in, but she didn't seem to have broken any bones." Erik stopped abruptly. Meg looked at him from beneath her lashes. He stared straight ahead at nothing.
"The food wasn't charity." She said, staring down at her feet. "I was grateful and wanted to repay you."
"Was?" He looked at her sideways with Meg swore was a hint of a smile.
"Am."
"Don't do me any favors, Mademoiselle Margaret."
"Meg." She automatically corrected him, being called Meg since she could remember.
"Meg is a little girl's name."
Not knowing what to say, she stared outside the window. Erik was right. Her name was for some pigtailed, giggling girl with scraped knees and no front teeth. Meg sighed. Her mother was extremely protective; especially after her father had died in a riding accident when she was five. She was still barely allowed to cross the street without holding her mother's hand. It seemed she was almost always at arms length and reluctant to let Meg leave the opera house.
"Don't come back to the room under the laundry." The sense of irritation in his voice had returned.
"If you don't want me to, I won't." Her gaze didn't leave the scenery. The carriage had stopped. "But you have to come and see me, or I will have to visit again soon."
"Don't be ridiculous. I have no desire to be pestered by visitors. I am a recluse, content with my own company."
"Is that why you kidnaped your lover?"
"Mind your own business." Erik reached across Meg and opened the door on her side. "I don't need your friendship or concern."
"I think you do." Meg felt bold.
"Mademoiselle, I do not have all day!" Complained the driver.
Meg and Erik stared at each other for one long moment. His stormy-blue eyes told Meg Erik was very angry.
"Au revoir, Monsieur Fantome." Carefully, she stepped out of the carriage and closed the door behind her.
It was almost dark when Meg entered her Aunt's boarding house to find that her mother and Aunt were not yet returned. Relief washed through her. A confrontation would not have been welcome. The aroma of something delicious wafted across her nose, but the stinging and burning sensation in her feet over rode hunger. She was back on her sofa nursing her tender limbs when Madame Giry arrived full of motherly concern.
"I have some healing salve." Her mother announced upon entering the sitting room and produced a tin of salve. "This should help." She proceeded to apply the smelly stuff on her daughter's feet.
Meg was to spend the next three days letting the salve do its work.
Til we meet again, she had said. Erik relaxed against the leather seat as the carriage jolted back into movement. Women were an irritable lot. Margaret thought she could just march into his life with her muffins and big brown eyes. He shook his head. She was Mademoiselle Giry, Adele's daughter. This blond ballerina was off limits, even if it included only a friendly relationship. She was also Christine's friend. Christine. He swallowed the lump in his throat. The past twenty-four hours had been quite eventful and he was running on only a few hours of sleep.
The carriage slowed to a stop. Erik got out and paid the driver. Pulling his cloak's hood over his head, he walked toward an aged townhouse and rapped on the door. An older man with gray, ruffled hair and a scraggly beard answered the door. His sharp, green eyes peered up at the hooded man.
"Who are you?" The man wheezed.
Erik removed the hood and stepped into the candlelight.
"Erik!" The man's face showed surprise.
"Monsieur Garnier." Erik bowed his head in acknowledgment.
"What are you doing here?" Charles Garnier stepped back. Erik frowned. His old friend's skittish behavior both troubled and confused him.
"I have decided to sell the master plans for the hotel you previewed last year. I offer you the plans at a reasonable discount before they are put up for bid. If you would like another preview, I shall arrange it tomorrow, otherwise, they will be up for bid in two days."
"You should not be here."
Erik waited for an explanation.
"Paris lost it's biggest talents from your shenanigans and devilry." He was caught in a fit of coughs, gasping for air.
Erik towered over him. "What are you accusing me of?"
"You know what I'm talking about." Erik did know.
"Were you there?" He asked the ageing architect.
"No. But, I have heard enough to know it couldn't be anyone else." The man spat.
"I suppose I should be flattered. No one has ever had such great expectations of me." Erik's eyes narrowed. "You've known me for a long time. If you are going to let rumors destroy an extraordinary business opportunity, then it is your loss. I won't bother you again." With a stiff nod, he stepped out into the cool night air. Again, Erik pulled his cloak's hood over his head. The door slammed shut behind him. Bristling, he squared his shoulders and walked in the shadows, from the street lanterns, along the cobble-stone avenue.