Chapter Seven: A Little Night Music
Charlotte gently brushed the velvet petals of a scarlet rose. She was on another of her nighttime visits to the garden. Charlotte smiled as she remembered Erik's praise the night before.
She shook her head. Erik was an enigma to Charlotte, he could be so tender one moment and then violent or distant the next. He was constantly aloof, as though he was afraid of close to her and what on earth was he hiding behind that mask?
Charlotte sighed. Erik's presence always made her feel different somehow. He made Charlotte feel beautiful, like she was worth something. Sometimes she did wonder whether he noticed the angry red lines and purple bruises that decorated her otherwise milky skin, but it was better that he didn't ask, that he didn't know.
Charlotte closed her eyes and inhaled the heavy scent of the roses. She longed for Erik's presence then; for that feeling of warmth and safety that his presence created in her soul. Charlotte especially needed it after her encounter with her father that morning.
Charlotte headed downstairs to breakfast in a fairly light mood for what felt like the first time in years. Erik had been very pleased with her performance and had told her as much last night. Charlotte smiled slightly as she approached the table where her father was already seated.
"Good Morning Father."
"Good morning Charlotte, I have news for you."
"Really Father?" Charlotte reached for a biscuit. "What is it?"
"Well, I have decided that you shall continue as our lead soprano until you marry."
Charlotte hadn't thought she could be any happier. Her spirit soared; her father was willingly accepting her as his lead soprano. Her happiness was quickly crushed however.
"Speaking of marriage, I have found three suitors for you. You will have no choice in which one you marry. I have ordered them by my preference and if they decide to marry you then so be it.
"The first is the Vicomte Pierre d' Sartre, he is forty-one and his family is very affluent in France. The second, should d' Sartre reject you is the Duke James Roth, he is sixty-one and affluent in London. Should Roth reject you, you are left with the Baron Philippe De Savois. De Savois is fifty-one and he has two daughters from two previous marriages. The eldest is ten year old Amelie, by his French wife, Baroness Mercedes De Savois. The youngest is seven year old Graciela, by his Spanish wife, Baroness Natalia De Savois. Both wives died soon after their daughter's births and De Savois inherited a good deal of money after this wives', who were both only children, parents died. De Savois is a very affluent man in both France and Spain and if he marries you he will likely be the wealthiest man in both countries.
"Those are your suitors, be kind to them and hopefully the thought of your dowry and the wealth they would stand to inherit should they marry you will blind them to your lack of beauty and your… oddities, to put it simply."
Charlotte sat dazed here spirit crushed; she was to have no choice.
"You speak of wealth and beauty Father, but what of love?
Her father laughed mirthlessly.
"Love," he sneered. "Love is a fairytale for children and fools."
Charlotte bowed her head tears streaming down her pale cheeks. When she finally looked up her eyes burned with anger and hate.
"I will not," she stated forcefully.
"What do you mean?"
"I refuse," she replied vehemently, rising from her chair as she spoke. "When I marry it will be my choice."
Her father rose slowly from his seat, his every movement exuding hatred. His eyes glowed with more hate than Charlotte had ever thought possible.
"You are my daughter, you belong to me," he hissed. Charlotte flinched, remembering where she had heard similar words before. "You will do as I tell you to do, you ungrateful little wretch!"
Charlotte gasped in fright as she took in her father's demonic appearance. She turned and fled as fast as her heavy clothing would allow her, but it wasn't fast enough.
Charlotte lowered her head the tears falling freely as she fell to her knees, cradling the arm her father had broken. Charlotte felt her heart shatter into a million irreparable pieces as the memories of that morning, her father's harsh words and rough beating, flooded her mind. No choice. She was to be stuck with a cold man who cared only for money and male heirs. The thought echoed in her mind and reverberated through out the shattered pieces of her heart. No choice. A low animalistic moan of pain and loneliness escaped her throat.
That was how Erik found her; sobbing hopelessly on her knees in the garden, her night dress and hair swaying gently in the breeze, as she cradled a broken arm close to her chest.
"Charlotte, child, what ever is the matter?" What Erik saw when she turned on her knees and turned her face up to him ripped what remained of his heart to shreds. Charlotte's warm brown eyes were dulled with a look of forlorn pain, one of those eyes was blackened and her left cheek was marred with a deep angry red gash that he knew would scar her for life. Her bottom lip was split and swollen, her right check was marked by deep purple bruising that Erik could also see on her arms. The worst of it was her wrist. The wrist she cradled was swollen and discolored; Erik could see the glistening white tip of a bone protruding through her skin. He would have wagered that she also had a few broken ribs.
Erik didn't have to as to know whose handiwork this was. His throat constricted and unshed tears stung at his eyes as a fiery wrath flared in the darkest depths of his soul.
"Why child, why did he do this?"
Charlotte diverted her eyes, wanting to avoid tedious and tormenting explanations.
"I-I fell down the stairs," she whispered hoarsely.
"I'd sooner believe you were pushed," Erik hissed venomously. "Tell me why your so called father did this to you."
"I- I told him I would not marry the man he chose," Charlotte replied reluctantly.
Erik set his lips in a tight, thin line and shook his head. Lord Ó hEachthairn was a chauvinistic pig more worthy of the Punjab Lasso than that foppish Vicomte, Raoul, at least he had been kind, if slightly egotistical. Erik sighed, he had to set that bone, which meant re-breaking it.
"Charlotte, why did your father not call a doctor for you," Erik had to know.
"He- he said my scars would serve as a constant reminder of what happens to girls who are disobedient." Charlotte sobbed.
Erik closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to determine the best way to distract Charlotte from the pain he was about to cause her. He could only think of one. He placed his hands on her wrist and began to sing softly in her ear as he worked.
"Pitiful child, so hurt, so lonely, yearning for some comfort." Erik's voice was soft and mesmerizing, it wasn't long before Charlotte was completely silent, staring deep into his eyes while his worked deftly to repair the damage her father had done. Erik was half tempted to sing an original composition for her, but instead chose something only vaguely familiar,
" In the starlight, in the starlight let us wander gay and free, for there's nothing in the daylight half so dear to you and me; like the fairies in the shadow of the woods we'll steal along; and our sweetest lays we'll warble, for the night was made for song. When none are by to listen, or to chide us for our glee. In the starlight, in the starlight, let us wander gay and free." The song was short, but is was long enough for Erik to do what he needed to do. He wiped the tears from Charlottes cheeks. He broke two branches from a tree and ripped the bottom of his cloak to use as a splint.
"Thank you," Charlotte smiled. Erik smiled slightly in return and offered Charlotte his hand to assist her to her feet. She took his hand, but when she rose he did not release his hold, nor did she.
They strolled through the garden for what seemed like an eternity, talking, laughing, and singing, knowing that Charlotte's father wouldn't wake from his drunken slumber. Dawn came all to soon and it was time for Erik to leave before the servants arrived.
"Farewell, my Angel of the Night," Charlotte whispered to his retreating figure, just as she had at their previous meeting in the garden.