A/N - Sorry to keep you all waiting so long. I was intending to post last weekend, but life got in the way and writer's block wasn't helping. Fortunately, I managed to get my writing moving again and hopefully take this story into an interesting direction. Again, many thanks to all of the kind reviews. . .they certainly encouraged me to keep going. Sorry to keep some of you up all night reading. L I think I've had that problem before too.

Chapter 19

He was here. I never got to speak to him. The words churned in her mind as she awoke the next morning to the bitter reality of the day. There was no handsome prince to save her. The fairy tales of her youth were of no consolation now. Happily ever after was a myth. There was only the bleak reality of going through the motions, day after day, week after week. She had been born into a humble life, and so she would die. There was no one to take care of her now. No husband to love or to love her. She would work a hard life, devoid of music, especially his music, and it was all of her own making.

They were dark thoughts. As much as she tried to cheer herself and remember the wisdom that Sister Catherine had passed along to her, nothing could save her from self pity. No, not self pity, she thought. Resignation. I know I shall never be with him again. Perhaps there is no true love in his heart for me, but mine holds more then he can possibly know. I don't care if he doesn't love me. I will carry this love to the grave. I had my chance to be with him. I had the chance to feel some semblance of his affections, but I was a frightened girl. For lacking the courage to show him my love, God has punished me.

Now I am to be tormented with this last token of him. His cloak. Look at me. . .a humble servant. He has lived among royalty, traveled to places I cannot even imagine, and has composed music I cannot begin to understand. I am nothing.

But oh, how I love him! How I wish he were here, that he could hold me in his incomparable embrace. How I wish I weren't alone. That he were here to shelter me, to guide me. . .to love me. I long to hear his voice again. That voice which even the angels must envy. I long to see his eyes again. The eyes that both threaten and adore. I long to feel his touch again, even if it isn't motivated by love.

It was on a day off when Christine's past finally met up with her. She had left the confines of the Moreau Manor for the nearby town. The small, bustling town was only a short distance away and she did not mind the walk. It did her good to walk and think about the matters that had weighed so heavily upon her mind.

Christine found the small town of Clermont, where she had first seen the job posting in the small shop along the bustling street. Nearly the entire afternoon was spent walking lazily up the street, peering into store windows and dreaming of things that could never be. More then once, a shopkeeper would shoo her away from the window, berating her for standing too closely, for pressing her hands against the glass, and for loitering in general. They probably saw her state of dress, her simple clothes, her worn woolen cloak, and surmised that she had no money to spend in their shop. Had she been a woman of wealth, they surely would have ushered her into the store and doted over her as she picked out gowns or shoes, or perhaps a lovely necklace.

Christine was growing hungry. She had had a small breakfast in the servants' hall before departing the house that morning. But her stomach began to growl and she knew that she would have to stop for something. Her salary was small, but at least she could spread it out smartly enough to buy the things she needed. After purchasing a pastry from the bakery, Christine sat out in the afternoon sun and basked in the heat.

Here, amidst the sound of the people, the warmth of sun, and the sounds of birds in the trees, she could find a welcome respite in the humble town. Count Moreau was becoming increasingly 'fond' of her in particular, and she found herself having to avoid his presence altogether. She shuddered at the thought of his unwholesome eyes wandering her body, or the grasp of his fingers upon her wrist when she was caught off guard.

Christine felt a fear towards Moreau like nothing she had experienced before. She had once believed that her fear for her strange teacher was a silent warning to her. But she knew now that her fear for Erik had been undoubtedly different. She was not afraid for her life or for her safety when she had been around him. The fear of the unknown had cloaked her mind. Strange, new feelings that had been dormant for most of her life now threatened to engulf her. She had shivered at his gaze upon her, and at his touch, but what she feared was losing control. A part of her had wanted his touch, his love. There was no chill to illicit the trembling of her body.

Christine grew increasingly afraid of her new employer. There was a predatory gleam in his eyes. She knew there was no benign affection in his expressions, only the will to do harm. There was darkness in his eyes, a cruelty that made her fear for her safety.

Lost in thought, Christine did not hear the surprised voices of two approaching figures. She raised her head slowly, squinting in the sunlight, and saw a rustle of dresses sweeping the ground as they moved rapidly towards her.

"Christine? Christine, is that you?" a woman's voice called.

Not just any woman. Christine gazed up quickly, seeking out the features of the figure standing before her.

"Madame Giry?" her voice was a hoarse whisper as she choked back her emotions.

Firm, maternal arms wound themselves around her thin body and pulled her into a warm, comforting embrace. Tears filled her eyes as she pressed her face against the older woman's shoulder. She could smell the faint, familiar perfume, and see the woman's dark red hair pulled back neatly beneath a bonnet.

"Meg," she said softly, noticing the hesitant girl behind her guardian.

The blond girl strode up quickly and embraced Christine as well.

Antoinette finally pulled away, regarding Christine with clear, scrutinizing eyes. She studied her, as though trying to see that every detail was as it had been. Finally, her heavy gaze fell upon Christine's tired face.

"It had been so long. We had feared for you, my dear. But I knew in my heart that you were alive," she said in awe. "Where have you been?"

A sad sigh fell from Christine's lips. Where could she begin? So much had happened during the last year. But as Madame Giry's serious gaze would not leave her, she knew that she would have to recount every detail for the older woman to be satiated. Meg had settled down on the small bench beside her mother, eagerly watching as Christine recounted her tale with tears in her eyes. They heard everything, from the moment she had left the strange little town south of the forest, to her current place of occupation. Almost every detail was given. But even Christine could not bring herself to reveal the emotions that lay within her heart. She told them of her teacher and her stay with him, but she did not want to tell them of his passionate behavior, or her own feelings.

But as Christine finished telling her story and looked up into the eyes of her guardian, she knew the Madame Giry could read the unspoken parts of her tale. There was an understanding in her scrutinizing eyes.

"Maman, could Christine come with us? We could be together then," Meg entreated.

"That is for Christine to decide," the older woman stated. She brushed aside a lock of hair from Christine's face. "We have taken work in another household. I am to be head housekeeper. It would not be different from what you are already doing, but at least you would be among friendly faces again."

She brushed away a tear from her face and nodded softly. "I would like that very much, Madame Giry. But, why did you leave the town?"

Madame Giry nearly snorted in amusement. "We both needed a change of scenery. My work in the town was dwindling. There was really nothing for Meg to stay for."

Christine returned to Moreau Manor that night, her spirits having been lifted considerably since her departure from Sister Catherine. She had already informed Madame Elliott of her quitting and the housekeeper did not seem to care either way. Christine packed away what little she had into a small case in her room. She was to meet Madame Giry and Meg in Clermont the next morning, and accompany them to their new place of employment.

She was about to sneak off to the servants' hall for one last meal when she heard voices coming from the opposite direction. Curiosity overcame her, and she slipped down the hall, in the direction of the sitting room. The Count was sitting in the large parlor, with a crackling fire warming the room from the ornate fireplace. He was lounged in a tall armchair while another man sat across from him, hidden by his own chair.

"I must say," the Count began, "this is a most unexpected meeting. Nonetheless, I have been wishing to speak with you privately for quite some time."

"Your party was quite splendid the other night," the other man replied.

Odd, she thought to herself.

"Yes, it was, wasn't it," Count Moreau said, chuckling softly to himself.

"And your guests. . ."

"The best in the region. I dare say, the ladies were especially delightful this time."

"Oh?"

"Come now," Moreau chuckled darkly, "a man of your status knows exactly to what I'm referring. We are lucky men, are we not? We have the pick of the litter, so to speak. Women fall at our feet for our money, if not for anything else."

"Indeed."

"But I grow tired of such women. Personally, I find the game has tired me considerably."

Have you taken on another game then?"

Moreau laughed and Christine felt her skin crawl as she listened in the silence from the darkened corridor. There were a few inaudible low murmurs that she could not decipher.

"They tremble like leaves when you enter the room. There is something alluring about that fear."

A silence passed between the two men. Christine could hear the clink of their brandy glasses and the sharp crackles from the fireplaces.

"Interesting that you have brought up such a subject," the guest mused.

Strange, that he sounds like. . .

"Oh?"

"I have been in search of such a young woman. I could not help but notice one of them at the party the other night," the guest continued.

"One of the lovely Mademoiselles?"

"No, no," the strangely familiar voice responded curtly, "one of the servants. Quite captivating, actually. Long, chestnut curls, lovely red lips, soft brown eyes. Quite a docile, fearful creature, I say."

"Ahhhh," Moreau chuckled to himself. "Christine. You do have good tastes, monsieur. I daresay she has proven to be rather elusive. But I am sure you would get your money's worth with her."

"For what price could I transfer her. . .employment. . .to me?" he asked.

It's him! I know it is! Christine fought back bitter tears as the negotiations proceeded.

"Well," Moreau laughed, obviously a little drunk from the brandy. "Name a price and I will consider."

They murmured lowly for a while. Christine felt her heart sink. As much as she had been overjoyed to hear his voice again, now she felt a stab at her heart over the degrading and obscene trade that was being made. How could he? I am not a prize to be traded. I have given my resignation. I am a free woman, to do whatever I desire. They cannot barter me like cattle. They cannot! Oh Lord, what punishment do I serve? He does not love me! What a foolish girl I am! He never loved me! His words only confirm that his heart is black with lust. I was a foolish girl to ever see love in his expressions. But I loved him! I loved him so dearly! And now he haunts my steps only to hurt me.

She ran to her room and closed the door behind her. Grateful that the other women had not returned to the quarters yet, Christine cried bitterly into the thin pillow of her bed. She had longed for him so badly. Her dreams and her thoughts were filled with his gentle embrace. But now she knew only the coldness of the reality. He had placed bids upon her 'companionship,' undoubtedly eager to acquire her as his mistress.

The way his voice had sounded in that room was strange. At first, she did not know it was him. There was something different about that once heavenly voice. It seemed unbearably cold now. Unfeeling! As though the man she had once known had been stripped away, leaving only a shadow to remain.

Where is the man I once knew? Where is the man who brushed away my tears and held me in his embrace? Where is the man who would sing softly to me?

A harsh knock sounded upon her door nearly an hour later. Christine hastily brushed her tears away and adjusted her gown. She was just about to open the door when it burst open. She gasped, stepping back as it was thrust open. Count Moreau loomed in the doorway. His sharp features were relaxed into a dangerous expression.

"My dear!" he exclaimed, entering the room and closing the door behind him.

"What-what are you doing here?" she stuttered.

"I'm only here to tell you that your services have been requested by another. Though I am reluctant to part with such a lovely worker," he said, fingering a stray lock of her hair.

She pulled away from him, shuddering at his touch, and offering him only a rebellious gleam in her soft brown eyes.

"I no longer work here," Christine argued. "I gave my notice to Madame Elliott."

"And?"

"I will find employment elsewhere, on my own terms," she countered, lifting her bag from the bed and standing firmly in place.

"I see," he said, looking quite thoughtful for a moment as he stroked his moustache. "My dear, you are not employed under Madame Elliott. You are employed under me. I have not accepted your resignation."

"You cannot force me to stay here," Christine argued. "Goodbye, Monsieur."

She moved towards the door with determination, but the Count moved in front of her and blocked her way.

"I can do whatever I wish. This is my house. I own what lies beneath this roof," he seethed. His dark eyes glittered in the candlelight.

Moreau's hand gripped her wrist tightly and he forced her back into the room, throwing her back upon her cot. The bag slipped from her hands and landed on the floor. Christine twisted her body, trying to get up, but he was upon her within moments. She felt his breath upon her face, the smell of liquor permeated her senses. She struggled beneath him, writhing and twisting about as he fought back, holding her firmly down upon the bed.

"You think you can escape me so easily?" he breathed. "I may be passing you along to another, but there was no agreement saying I could not have you before you leave."

Christine screamed, but she felt his heavy hand clamp over her mouth. She heard him as he moved to unbuckle his trousers and fought back viciously. But he was stronger then her. He held her firmly as his mouth descended upon the skin of her neck. She could hear the ripping of fabric and realized, in her shock-induced state, that he was tearing at her gown. His mouth was moving along her skin, finding the bare flesh at her shoulder, and threatening to descend lower.

She suddenly regained her senses. As though in a dream, she felt her limbs move of their own accord. Her knee drew up harshly against his chest, and she used the leverage to push him away. Moreau staggered back, surprise flashing in his dark eyes as he watched the frail girl who still lay sprawled upon the measly cot. She rose quickly, trying to adjust the hopelessly torn gown upon her thin frame. Moreau advanced upon her with a growl.

"Stay away from me!" she shrieked, anger pervading her angelic voice. "I warn you!"

Moreau chuckled darkly. "Little that will do."

Her bands beat upon his frame but were of little use. She did manage a punch alongside his face, catching his mouth as her fist collided with his jaw. Moreau wiped the blood that began to pool along his lip in one single swipe of his forearm. A deadly malice filled his eyes and he continued his advance upon the desperate girl. Thick fingers circled her neck and tightened, cutting off her air supply. Christine fell to her knees, clutching at his fingers, trying desperately to dig into the flesh and scratch away the steely grip upon her neck. As the seconds passed by, and her fight became more and more labored, Christine felt the room begin to darken. Her lungs fought viciously for air, but she was slowly slipping from consciousness into the oblivion she dared not imagine. Her eyes began to droop. The room was becoming darker. No, I cannot let him win. I am no one's. He cannot have me! Oh God, please help me. Help me in this dark hour! I can endure the trials you heap upon me, but please spare me my life and keep me from this evil. Do not allow him to take away what I have given to no man.

Christine felt her body fall backward and wondered when her back would hit the floor. But it never connected. Sounds swirled around her. Blurs of color and light flashed within her field of vision. She found that her arms were beginning to move again, that her hands sought out the firmness of the floor and forced her body to lift itself up. The room spun madly, but in the midst of the storm, she had the presence of mind to stagger towards the open door and dash out.

Night was upon the land. The darkness filled the landscape beyond the brightly lit manor. Only the moon and stars offered any light, and by their light, Christine made her way from the steps, grabbed onto the dark, looming figure that waited patiently before her, and hauled her weak body upon the creature's back. It stirred gently in the dark, whinnying as she fell forward upon its mane. A scream had echoed behind her. No, a shout. Or perhaps a howl. In her daze, she could not tell. She only knew it was over when something drew up behind her and urged the creature into motion. Then the road began to move incredibly fast beneath her. Her body lurched against the creature's neck with each powerful thrust of its legs, until it slipped into a smooth gallop.

She felt her hair whip behind her, felt the cool night air upon the exposed skin of her shoulders, but she did not care. The house was far behind now, and she would never return to it.

Before unconsciousness claimed her mind, before sleep lowered its veil over her head, she found her eyes drifting wearily upwards, fastening upon the stars above. A sob or a moan drifted from her parted lips. "Angel." Then she knew no more.

"Christine," a gentle, feminine voice said.

She opened her eyes, not sure of what to expect, after the blurred and disjointed events of the previous night. Christine found sunlight streaming into her sleep-laden eyes. But it was a filtered, dusty sunlight that illuminated the small room in which she awoke. The wooden floors and modest cot spoke of a more humble room then any of those at Moreau Manor. Thank you, Lord, for not sending me back to that dreaded place!

She looked up at the source of the voice and found the serious and yet comforting features of Madame Giry. The older woman sat beside her on the small cot, brushing the wayward curls from her clammy forehead.

"Madam," Christine whispered hoarsely, "where am I?"

"You are in Clermont," Antoinette replied, smiling in relief at the sound of her young charge's voice.

"But, how did I get here?"

"Hush now, child," Giry replied, standing up from the bed. "Too many questions all at once."

The woman moved over to a small dresser and poured a glass of water from a porcelain pitcher. She returned to Christine's bedside and carefully handed her the glass. Christine accepted the gesture and drank slowly.

"But, Madam," Christine finally said, placing the glass down on the bedside table, "I was attacked last night by my employer. The Count tried to. . .he. . ." a silent sob wracked her body, and she brought her hand up to her mouth.

The older woman watched with concerned eyes. She gently stroked the girl's back with a comforting hand. "You will never have to return to that wretched place again. We are together now. We have each other."

"Madame," Christine cried, pulling back from the embrace and looking at the older woman with a tear-stained face, "I loved him. I did not tell you before, but I loved him so deeply. More than anyone, save papa. Why? Why did he do this to me?"

"I don't know, child," was Antoinette's only reply before receiving Christine's quaking body in her arms once more.

"I will not weep as a child anymore, Madame. I am a woman now, and I must be strong. I loved him once. . .I cannot deny that," she said, her sobs ceasing as she muttered these words against Antoinette's shoulder. "But his love is gone. I will find new purpose in life, just as I set out to do. I only hope I can become as strong as you."

The older woman pressed her chin into the girl's curls and smiled sadly.

"Who brought me here?" she asked again. "I must know."

Madame Giry's mouth formed a firm line and she wondered if the answer should be uttered. With much hesitation, she formed her words carefully.

"Only an angel could have carried you from such a horrible place. But it was a man that left you behind, here at the inn."

Christine felt her fingers tighten on the sleeves of Giry's dress as she pressed her face against the woman's shoulder. "I dreamt it was my angel. I dreamt that he carried me off just as he once did. Strange. . .that the dream could be so real."

As she lay in the comforting embrace of the only mother she had ever known, Christine found the events of the previous night beginning to surface. But so clouded in ambiguity were they, she could not trust her senses, even though they screamed of his touch, of his scent, and of his voice.

It was by carriage ride that Madame Giry, Meg, and Christine journeyed to the new house. Christine had fallen into a much needed sleep in the back of the carriage. Her body had grown thinner over the weeks serving at the Moreau Manor. The delicate features of her face had grown even more pale and disconcerting. If she had been slender creature before, she was now a frail young woman. The dark bonnet and traveling cloak were a stark contrast to the gentle face, whose mouth was now relaxed in sleep. Only her lips offered any remarkable color to her features. But the blood red quality was almost disturbing.

They were drawing nearer now to the estate. Antoinette gently shook Meg from her nap and pointed at the large house that was coming into view. Meg smiled broadly and glanced back at her mother, who offered a guarded sign of approval in return. Giry glanced down at the sleeping young woman beside her and gently stroked her face. I hope this house will heal her afflictions, whether they be physical or spiritual. It has been many years since I last saw him.