Meg met Jacques in the kitchen, when she returned from the cellar. He looked at her suspiciously.

"Don't ask me anything, Jacques." She said boldly. "I can't tell you because you could be in danger if you knew. So pretend you didn't see me."

"Just tell me you aren't hiding your lover in the cellar." He joked mildly.

"As a matter of fact, I am, but I warned you not to ask." She looked him squarely in the eye, daring him to challenge her.

"Mademoiselle. This cannot be so. Your mother and aunt will be distraught and angry if you elope." He said urgently.

"They plan to sell me to the highest bidder. I do not care any more if they are angry. I am angry! There is a young man who was attacked by a police dog. He may even die. If he is taken to the hospital, he will be arrested. It will be taken for granted that he was part of the uprising, for he has no one to vouch for him."

"He is a proletariat then." Jacques said hopefully.

"Was a proletariat. Right now, he is half-starved and very sick." Meg said, knowing that Jacques would keep her secret if he thought she was helping one of the less fortunate working class. "Now, don't ask me any more." She started to leave, but thought of something else. "Don't go down into the cellar until I say so. He will not know you and may mistake you for an enemy. Please, do not attempt to investigate. I have told you the truth and I need you to keep my secret."

"Yes, Mademoiselle. You are right. I will not ask any more questions."

Meg did not go back down into the cellar until after lunch and every one was busy with their afternoon schedule. Jacques had prepared a tray laden with soup and bread for her to take down into the cellar without her even asking.

"Thank you, Jacques. I owe you a great debt of gratitude." Meg said honestly.

"No, Mademoiselle. It gives me hope for the rest of the human race to know that there are still people like you. Your man is very lucky to have you. Tell him I said so, if you like." He said in all sincerity.

"Yes, I think I will." She laughed in spite of herself. "Do you have some extra broth?" She asked thinking of Garrick needing something he didn't have to chew.

Erik was asleep on the floor when Meg opened the door. He woke, rising instantly. Turning his face away from her, he composed himself. Meg lit two candles, she'd brought, and extinguished the lamp.

"You should have knocked." He scolded.

"How is he?" Meg asked, putting the tray down on the bench.

"He is calmer, but still in shock and feverish." He said, looking down on the youth. Garrick looked much the same as he had earlier to Meg. He still trembled with chills and fever.

"I will bathe his forehead with cool water. It may help to bring down the fever." She offered.

"He is also chilled and shivering. We do not bring down the fever too quickly. It is doing its work to fight the infection." Erik said.

"This is for you." Meg told him gesturing toward the tray. "The extra cup of broth is for Garrick. I will give it to him so you can eat."

"Thank you, but you do not have to do this for me." He said, but took bowl and sat down on the little bench to eat the soup.

"I am doing it for Garrick." She knelt down beside the boy, took the broth and spooned it into his mouth. She may have imagined it but Garrick seemed to be calmer and able to open his mouth just a little more. Meg couldn't see Erik because her back was too him. She knew that he was still uncomfortable without the mask and she wondered at why he didn't leave Garrick to go and get it.

"I didn't realize, when I brought him here that he would cry out so loud that anyone could hear him." Erik said, as though he was reading her thoughts. "I can't leave him. If he were to become terrified and scream, we would be found out."

"I will stay with him." Meg offered.

"How can you do that? You will be missed. Your mother has not let you out of her sight in all these years. Don't tell me that she has changed. I don't believe it."

"I just don't care any more, I guess. Let them worry." Meg said dispassionately.

"Our little Meg is standing up to her mother! When did this happen?" Erik mused mockingly.

"When she decided to sell me into matrimony. I did not want to believe it, but you were right, after all."

"Has this come about just recently? Have you had any offers?" He inquired, as though it was of the same importance as the weather.

"No. I just found out yesterday, when we found out that the studio was destroyed in the uprising. We owe money for renovating the studio and rent for three months. Mother does not feel that we can open another studio. She thinks that it is better that I marry someone with a lot of money soon."

"What about Reggie? He seemed interested enough."

"Who's side are you on! Reggie has been transferred to Cambodia. Who knows how long he'll be gone? Besides, I could never marry Reggie."

"Why?" Erik pressed her.

"Because he doesn't have enough money!" Meg said with bitter sarcasm. "And because I don't love him!"

"Oh, you still think that matters!" Erik half laughed at her response.

"Yes, I do!"

"You have been surrounded by illusion for too long. Happily-Ever-Afters are for fairy tales, Meg, and they were destroyed in the fire along with the theater."

"Why did I think that you would be different than the rest of them? I was stupid to think that anyone cares what I want." She shook her heard in disgust.

"Does anybody get what they want?" Erik spoke softly, yet the timbre of his voice resonated in the little room, striking a bittersweet chord in her heart. "You have been here too long already." He gathered up the used utensils and arranged them strategically on the tray so she could carry them. "My compliments and gratitude to the chef." She was being dismissed. He kept his face adverted as she left.

Jacques took the tray from her when she entered the kitchen. "You do not look like things are going well. I hope he is not worse." He said, then looking at the tray added, "His appetite seems to be good."

Meg forced a smile. "He sends his compliments and his gratitude." Jacques beamed his pleasure.

"Madame Giry is asking about you, Meg." Michelle said from the doorway.

"I am coming." Meg answered, quickly brushing some dust from her skirt and tucking a straying strand of hair behind her ear.

"Are you alright?" Meg asked Michelle, who was pressing both hands against her lower back.

"A little backache is all. It will go away in a minute. It usually does."

"Go put your feet up and don't fret." She said automatically. It was what she'd heard her mother instruct the younger girl many times though she wasn't entirely sure why. It just sounded like good advice.

Madame Giry was in the main parlor with Aunt Clair. The two women barely glanced her way when she walked in. "Where have you been?" Was all her mother said, before motioning for Meg to sit down and reciting a rehearsed list of instructions, without waiting for an answer. "There are some things that you need to know about your expected behavior. First, you will not go anywhere without a chaperone. I will accompany you to each event. Second, when you are approached by an interested gentleman, at a party, do not mention money. It is vulgar to talk about such things in polite company. Third, do not try to be witty. It is better in the beginning, that you smile, nod and only make agreeable comments. And fourth, do not, under any circumstance, talk about politics or religion. If you are asked about your views, smile and say it is all very confusing to you."

"Carry yourself with your back straight." Aunt Clair spoke and motioned for her to stand. Meg obeyed. "Yes, you already have extraordinary posture and bone structure. You are a dancer, after all, and know these things already. Carry your head with your chin up, but your eyes cast downward. Do not look directly into a man's eyes. It is too bold and will give the wrong message." The etiquette lesson continued with which fork to use, when and how to use a napkin. Meg already knew these things, but decided to let Aunt Clair continue.

Adrien Meadows, an American, tenant and bachelor, trounced down the stairs. He made for the doorway with his overcoat.

"Rumor has it you, Madame Giry, are fixing for your daughter to get married." He slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat. "I'd be honored to take her off your hands." A charming smile slid across his face, revealing slightly crooked teeth. It was hard for Meg not to smile back. Madame Giry and Aunt Clair fixed him with reproving stares. He was a nice fellow, but Meg doubted his bank account would satisfy her mother. "I won't be back for dinner this evening," he announced with a wink. "Good afternoon, ladies"

"Now, Meg, we must order you a new dress... several new dresses." Aunt Clair brought Meg's attention back to the foreboding marriage entrapment. "A velvet, midnight blue, I think..."

"I wanted to know if you think a bustle is best or a tiered skirt. Baby blue silk," Her mother interrupted, "with black trim." Meg sank into a chair, her brain lost to the debated dress that would snag her a wealthy husband.

"Black and blue. I'll look like a bruise." Meg muttered, sourly.

Her mother gave her a disapproving look. "I wish you would be more cooperative with me in this decision. It's the best for both of us." Madame Giry tried to smile encouragingly. We have an appointment with Madame Balmforth this afternoon. Try to have some idea of what you want so we do not have to take up too much of her time."

"Black, I think, would be nice. How about scarlet?" Meg suggested, knowing that her choices would be considered grossly inappropriate. Meg knew that the colors of a costume were used to convey the nature of a character as much as the dialog in a good production. Maybe she should ask Erik. He would know what she should wear for her performance as a gold digger.

"Why must you make this more difficult than necessary? Madame Giry scolded.

"How about gold?" Meg answered.

"The carriage is here, Madame." Hannah announced entering the parlor.

"I think gold is in an excellent choice, Dear." Aunt Clair commented as the women prepared to leave for Madame Balmforth's salon and dress shop.

The afternoon was long and tedious for Meg. She was measured and fitted for underwear, corsets, stockings and shoes. Lengthy discussions determining what shades were best for he, whether she should wear her hair up or down and if she should carry a fan held little interest for her. If they had asked what color she wanted to be buried in, it would have been of the same consequence. She didn't care.

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Erik paced the little room restlessly. Garrick didn't seem to have improved and Erik was growing impatient. There were so many things that he needed to be doing. Playing nurse to Garrick was proving to be more bothersome than it was worth. He wanted to retrieve his mask and get on with his plans to buy the Chateau de Bagen. He'd initially planned on Garrick making the transaction for him. It was too much risk to attend the closing purchase meeting himself. The realtor might decide not to sell. He had more than enough money to buy the house, but it required that someone else go to the bank, withdraw the money and close the sale. It also required his signature. He planned on Garrick bringing him the papers to sign, then returning them to the realtor for completion.

In a selfish moment he thought of abandoning Garrick to the care of Meg. She would take care of him, no doubt. He didn't owe the boy anything really. But he would still be left with the problem of how to get someone else to help him with the sale. He knew he could trust Garrick. The boy hadn't failed him yet. In fact, he was posting a letter for Erik when he was hounded by the police and attacked. Erik had already invested too much time, educating and nursing the boy back to health to give up on him now.

With growing irritation, Erik acknowledged that he had become more dependent on people than he was comfortable with. Before the disaster at the Opera Populaire, he could move about on the fringes of society with a minimum of obstacles. As a wanted man, he was even more trapped by his disfigurement. Without the hideous, misshapen side of his countenance, he could have easily been lost in the crowd. He'd actually seen an artist's depiction of his likeness, including the deformity in the newspaper soon after the disaster. Enough people had seen him when Christine had exposed him to the police at the Opera Populaire, that there would be no shortage of witnesses eager to incriminate him. He had risked it all, that night, and lost.

In spite of his agitation and unrest, he felt a loyalty to Garrick that was both affectionate and burdensome. If would have been inexcusable to not feel kindly toward the boy. He had a certain lack of pretense that one might even feel protective of such naivete and honesty, if he were to allow it.

His thoughts drifted to Meg. He'd become dependent on her as well, and if he were to permit such an error, he could have let his emotions draw him into caring deeply for her. She'd broken down his defenses a little when she gave no indication that she was offended by his misbegotten appearance. Neither was she so troubled by it that she wouldn't speak of it. Even his mother had refused to talk about it. Undoubtedly, she had done her maternal best to pretend that his face was whole.

When Meg had announced her mother's plans to marry her off to a wealthy husband, Eirk was not surprised, but neither was he pleased. He didn't want to analyze why it bothered him, but perhaps it was guilt that made him ill at the thought. Meg had made it clear that she was attracted to him, but he didn't have to analyze that one. That just plain scared him. He should be delighted that she was going to be gone from his life. He would be happily ensconced in the Chateau de Bagen with his music, his anonymous career in architectural design and his solitude, while she was financially secure in another man's arms. His stomach tightened. It was the thought of another man touching her that sickened him, he discovered, dolefully.

He should have been more accepting of Christine's wedded bliss if her happiness was all he wanted. But the brutal truth was that he'd wanted her for himself. In retrospect, he did want Christine to have a good life. It would afford him no joy to find her abused or neglected. A little dissatisfaction, on her part, would have suited him well enough. It didn't seem too much to ask for.

"M'sir." The voice was barely more than a whisper. Garrick lay pale and weak but conscious on the makeshift bed. Erik averted his face so that the boy would not see the deformity.

"You are awake. That is good. How are you feeling?" Erik already had a pretty good idea, but he needed to ask.

"I hurt." Erik could just make out Garrick's words.

"That means that everything is still attached and is some working order. I have been wondering if you going to leave us, so I am pleased to hear it." Erik said softly and put his hand on the boys forehead. It was cool. The fever had broke and a sheen of perspiration on his brow glowed in the lamplight. "Drink this." Erik put a cup of water to the boy's lips, while supporting his head under one arm. Garrick drank some, but collapsed backward, after just a minimal effort. His eyes drooped heavily and instantly he was asleep. Erik looked at him with a certain pride. The boy had a fighting will to survive and that was good. He just might make an excellent assistant in time. The boy was sleeping soundly now, without the tremors that racked his body earlier.

Leaving the lamp lit so Garrick wouldn't find himself in the dark when he woke, Erik returned to the room under the laundry to retrieve his mask and the architectural designs he'd been working on. He took the time to fill a bucket with water from the leaking water line, bathe, shave and put on clean clothes. There were fewer leaky pipes under the posher neighbor hoods and he didn't want to ask Meg to bring him water to bathe with. His derelict appearance bothered him. It had been hours since he'd worn the mask and in spite of the freedom it seemed to afford, he might as well been naked. But as he'd never been naked in the company of a woman before, he really had nothing to compare it to. It had been humiliating for him that Meg had seen his face without the mask and yet it was strange to him of how little it bothered her.

The passage to the laundry was blocked and he had only one clean suit of clothes that he'd retrieved from the room, along with his masks and other important items. He discarded the clothes he'd been wearing. They were ruined. He did not return to the boarding house immediately. Instead, he hid his important possessions in a narrow crevice in the tunnel wall, within short walking distance of the House of Clureoux. He needed to collect the profits of his opium deals no later than that evening. It wouldn't do to let his associates think that he was inconsistent.

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Meg surreptitiously entered the little room, behind the cellar, where Garrick lay sleeping peacefully to find Erik gone. She ignored the disappointment and knelt down and touched the brow of the sleeping boy. It was cool. Somehow, it made all the difference that he would not have left the boy in fever and shock. He heart warmed at thought of how he'd stayed with the young man until the fever broke. He was loyal and caring. It must have been difficult for him to go so long without his mask. She didn't blame him for leaving to get it. He would have known that she would have checked on Garrick. She warmed, again, at the thought that he trusted her.

The room was stark and bare except for the filthy duvet, which Garrick lay upon, the bare feather mattress Erik brought and the bench. The large cellar was filled with cast off furniture and clothing. Perhaps she could find something to give the tiny room some cheer. Taking a lighted candle with her, she pushed the book case open as far as she could, careful not to make more noise than necessary.

The women had only recently returned from their shopping experience. Aunt Clair was resting in her room before dinner and Madame Giry was in her room, going over their finances and drafting letters of apology and promise to send to their creditors. Jacques was in the kitchen. Hannah could hear something and investigate, but Meg didn't think that Jacques would let her go down into the cellar. There wouldn't be a better time to scrounge around in the dusty storage room than now.

Meg found two thin feather ticks stored in an old, ornate cedar chest. They were clean and smelled of cedar. The two of them, together, would make a soft bed for Erik and Garrick could use the one that Erik brought from his room under the laundry. The cedar chest would make a handsome addition as well. She found a ceramic chamber pot and two candelabras that would mount on the wall. She was pleased to find that the candelabras were intended for the little room, as the wall mounts were still there and they fit perfectly.

Another trunk yielded men's clothing, albeit out of stye and of orange silk. It was satin breeches and coat worn by servants or some overdressed fop. A white, silk shirt, of some minor wear, had some possibilities. The trunk further produced a pair of leather shoes that still had some life left in them. Another search of the old wardrobe gave rise to a pair of cotton trousers with little moth-induced damage. She would get Hannah to wash them later for Garrick.

She was trying to shove the cedar chest into the room when Garrick woke up.

"I'm sorry I woke you." Meg said, breathing deeply from the exertion. He stared at her with wide, curious eyes. With a last great effort, Meg pushed the chest into the room. "Can I help you with anything?" She asked. He shook his head in wonderment. "I will bring some dinner later, but I have to go now. I have to change before dinner." She smiled at him, pleased that he was making some recovery and left to change out of her dust-covered clothing.

"You are looking better, my dear." Madame Giry commented cheerfully at dinner. Meg smiled in spite of herself. Her thoughts were on her secret guests in the basement room. "I thought a little shopping trip would cheer you up." Meg barely heard her mother as she thought of how she could make the make the little room behind the cellar more inviting.

Meg remained at the dinner table a little longer than necessary so no one would question her in leaving too quickly. She even helped Hannah clear the table and joined her mother and Aunt Clair in the main parlor to listen their harmless gossip. Uncle Alec smoked a cigar and read his paper. When she sensed that everyone was absorbed with their own agenda, she gathered some candles, a ceramic wash basin and pitcher and some sachets filled with dried lavender. She was almost ready to go back down in the basement room when a thought came through that Garrick was about the same size as the American. He had said that he wouldn't be returning this evening. Maybe he had a few extra clothes that he wouldn't miss. She crept up three flights of stairs to the Adrien Meadows's tiny loft and found that indeed, he had a couple of pairs of trousers a even a few shirts that she had never seen him wear. He had several pairs of stockings that all looked the same, how would he know which pair he was missing? She added a long white night shirt, pants, and a pair of stockings to her pillage.

Garrick was alone when she made her way down stairs. He was awake and she asked him if there was anything that he would like to eat if he had his choice. He instantly replied that he would like some bread and butter soaked in warm milk. Meg met his request and made two more excursions to gather clean sheets, another blanket, towels and warm water for Garrick to bathe.

She was bringing the bucket of water and clean towels when she saw Erik standing in the center of the room staring at the improvements in wonderment. He wore a black suit and full cape, the mask in place. She stared. He turned when she entered. His lips parted slowly as if he started to say something but changed his mind. A silent awareness passed between them like a tangible cord that held them spellbound, in a primal communication. Erik recovered first, turning from her and removing the cape, with a flourish.

"I see you've been playing house." He said breaking the mood with his sarcasm.

"I was just going to help Garrick bathe and put on clean clothes. He can't remain in those filthy rags. I borrowed some extra clothes from a tenant."

"I'll help him. How did you manage to talk a tenant into loaning his clothes?" Erik inquired doubtfully, looking at her with uncertain regard.

"He doesn't know yet."

"I thought as much. You are putting us and yourself at risk. I must ask you to stop this. I can take care of Garrick, now. And as much as I acknowledge your kindness, if you don't stop, we will have to leave for our own protection."

"Please don't leave!" The words were out before she could stop them.

"I have no intention of leaving just now. But, of course, as soon as Garrick is well enough to travel, we must."

"Where will you go?"

"You might as well know, because I need your help to accomplish it. I am buying a house." Erik announced.

"What? Where? How did you get the money to buy a house?"

"You should know better than to ask such a question. It's in the country and that's all you need to know. I need you to go to the bank for me and get the money, then bring me the deed and the bill of sale to sign. I will be further in your debt, but I have no one else." He looked at Garrick, who watched the exchange with silent interest.

"How am I going to accomplish that? You know that Mother hardly lets me out of her sight. It's even worse now that she is planning a society marriage for me." Meg placed caustic emphasis on the words. "She says that I am to have a chaperone, wherever I go."

"How is it that you are here now and Madame Giry does not know?" Erik flinched inwardly at her bitterness. It was aimed at him and he knew it.

"She is with Aunt Clair, in the parlor and she probably thinks that I am with Michelle or in the kitchen with Jacques."

"She is slipping, then. We will think of something." He said, aware of his involuntary use of the plural pronoun. He was slipping also.

Meg returned to the parlor to find Madame Giry and Aunt Clair exactly where she'd left them earlier. Uncle Alec, too, hadn't left his paper, although his cigar was much shorter. Maybe it wouldn't be too difficult to disappear for a few hours to buy a house in the county, she thought .

Erik was buying a house. Not once had he confided that intended for her to be a part of the deal, except to do the final transaction. If Garrick had been well, he wouldn't have needed her at all. The thought rankled in her mind that he was using her again. This time was really no less insulting than the last. She would do as he asked, but she would do it out of love. If there was any hope at all that he might have the tiniest seed of affection for her, she would have taken it gladly. But outside of the fact that he had turned to her in his desperation, she had very little to go on.

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Meg had no way of knowing what Garrick saw when she left the basement room. He saw the profile of a man who closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fist as he fought back an emotion, his brow furrowing momentarily. He'd also seen earlier how pleased Erik had been to come into the little room and see the results of Meg's loving contribution, and he felt the atmosphere in the room crackle with an invisible energy when Erik and Meg were in the room together.

In the exchange between Meg and Erik, he'd heard something of even more profound interest to his ears. He'd heard Erik use the word, 'we', in reference to himself and Erik. A flood of relief, coupled with gratitude washed through him. Erik was not going to leave him to fend for himself now that he was useless. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. Erik was a good man, he concluded. Garrick would live to serve his master and do everything in his power to help Meg win him. Erik deserved a woman like Meg.