Disclaimer: Oops. In my last chapter I forgot to mention that Fred, Sally, Jim, Webster and basically everything about them belong to the AWESOME Phillip Pullman. You know whom everyone else belongs to. In this chapter, Fred still belongs to Mr. Pullman, our dear friends still belong to whoever has the rights to them this week, and Winifred Evans belongs to me. Well, I got her name from Joss Whedon and JK Rowling, respectfully, but her characterization is all mine. For you Sally Lockhart fans out there, there's a bit of Garland history in this chapter, most of it I made up, but some of it is straight from The Ruby in the Smoke! Catch it!
A/N: Clara is very sad. Clara gets no reviews. Clara is a big baby, but Clara works very hard and likes to be "rewarded" for her hard work, as she is sure all of you do too. Clara is sick of writing about herself in the third person! Hehe. Please review. With this marvelous invention known as the hit counter, I know that people are reading it, but I don't know if you're enjoying it! Or if you think there's anything I need to work on! C'mon, you've all read Phantom, you know you have to clap to satisfy an artist's insatiable vanity! I know I'm being ridiculous, but… please?
Chapter Eleven: When You Give Command
Erik had been living in Nadir's flat for some time now. At first he had commuted to and from the Opera House every day, but the degeneration of his friend's mind and body had increased so drastically that it became necessary for him to settle in that green guest room he so despised. Darius couldn't handle Nadir's care all by himself anymore; he was awoken most nights by brutal screaming as his master's mind found itself in some other time and place. He needed to be watched over every hour of the day, and Darius could not accomplish this by himself along with all of his other duties. Erik hardly needed to sleep, and so he mounted himself a post beside Nadir's bed and remained there all day, every day. Darius relieved him for a few hours daily, but even then Erik did not often sleep; he was far too concerned that something might happen to his friend and he would not be there to soothe him. He only felt steady when he was speaking with Nadir during his interludes of lucidity, which were unfortunately becoming less frequent.
It was during one of these treasured moments, as Erik sat laughing at Nadir's feeble jokes, that Darius entered his master's bedroom, looking quite concerned.
"Master," he said cautiously, waiting for a response. Nadir looked at him in total clarity and then he continued. "There is a man named Garland here to see you. He says he's a detective." Nadir seemed confused, but less so when Erik stood up.
"He's here for me."
"What did you do now?" Nadir sighed with a laugh in his voice.
"Nothing. I'll explain in a moment. Excuse me," he said, retiring from the room quickly before any more questions could be asked. He was not surprised in the least of Garland's appearance here. He and Wesley shared blood; no doubt he could not complete a simple task without first making sure that the intention behind it was noble and pure.
He was standing by the fireplace with his back turned towards Erik as he walked in. He looked almost like the Chagny boy from behind, except that he was thinner and his clothes were not nearly as distinguished. Still, he wore them well, not as a man trying to make himself more than he was, but as one who embraced his social position and thought only of its benefits, not of its restrictions. Erik could see, even from his back, that he was a clever sort of lad, young though he was.
"Mister Garland, I presume," he said in English. The young man turned around eagerly, but when he saw Erik his face fell in surprise. He studied him for a moment, not more than a few seconds long, and then laughed once.
"You're not Nadir Khan at all." His eyes were annoyingly blue, his grin so similar to the one that had stolen Christine away from him.
"Wise observation," he retorted dryly and pointed to a large chair. "Please, sit down." Both men did so. Erik took the couch and stretched his arm along the back, taking command of the space. But Garland wasn't playing any games. He sat comfortably, still smiling politely at Erik, waiting for him to speak first. It was odd to meet someone not intimidated by the presence of his mask. Refreshing in some ways, as annoying as his eyes in others.
"I must say," Erik continued, "I'm very impressed that you managed to find me. May I ask how? Christine could not have known, I have not spoken to Wesley in months; either you are an extraordinary detective or just a very lucky one." Garland laughed again, heartily this time. Erik wished he wouldn't do that.
"A bit of both, I must admit," he said cheerily. "I went to the Paris Opera House, where I knew you once, uh, lived, and started asking questions. Everyone was surprisingly quick to reassure me that you had disappeared, and that mine was a useless search. But there was this one ballerina that remembered a certain Persian investigating the Phantom. That's all I needed. Contrary to what one might think, there aren't many Persians in Paris who frequent the Opera."
"Unbelievable."
"I know! So that led me here, and I expected to just ask Mr. Khan some questions, but, as luck would have it, I have found my source."
"And you have come to see what I wanted with your cousin's fiancée."
He shrugged. "Well, yes. Miss Daae couldn't tell us exactly what—"
"Miss Daae?" Now it was Erik's turn to laugh with spirit. And Garland finally looked uncomfortable. "What an off child she really is," he murmured.
"I beg your pardon?" The young man shifted his weight, ill at ease, but still unwilling to let Erik completely take power.
Erik stopped laughing and lifted his chin slightly to look down on him. "I am slightly disappointed in you, Mister Garland," he said softly, his sneer hidden behind the mask. "A truly extraordinary detective would have looked into her background as well as mine."
"Your point, sir," he demanded politely. Erik loved that, after all, he was able to pull the rug from under his feet.
"Daae isn't her last name anymore."
"She's married?"
Erik nodded. "To the Vicomte do Chagny." Garland's face underwent a startling transformation. It took only a moment for him to process the information Erik had given him, and then his features quickly softened. He was no longer a cat knowing he was about to be attacked, with his fists tense and his eyes alert. Now his face was a puddle of relief, of questions, of awe. Erik smiled, and when he spoke again, he spoke softly, calmly. The man was just trying to do the right thing, after all; he should not hate him just because he was beautiful, undoubtedly loved, and reminded him so starkly of another blonde young fellow. "And now you understand." Garland nodded, and Erik felt generous enough to explain. "Your cousin did a great deal for me, and I wanted to repay him in a way money couldn't." He nodded again, and then a smile escaped onto his face, thinking of the happiness that Wesley would soon hold, no doubt. His eyes shifted downward, his conversation now internal, and Erik gave him a few moments to think in silence. Soon though, Erik's powerful ear caught the sounds of Nadir coughing. It grew louder and more violent and Erik feared that he was coughing blood again. His interview with this detective had to end.
"I trust your business here is now complete," he said as politely as he could, standing up. Garland snapped his head towards him and stood as well.
"Yes, thank you," was all he said.
"Very good. Forgive me for not inviting you to stay for tea, but the master of this house is very ill and I must return to his side. Can you see yourself out?"
"Yes," he replied, and Erik turned to leave the room. "Sir?" Erik stopped and faced him again. Garland approached him and presented himself in a manner of nobility that had nothing to do with money. "On behalf of my cousin and Miss Evans, I want to thank you."
"I did not do this for gratitude," he replied, but before he could even attempt to leave the room, the young man continued.
"I must ask—"
"Do not look into my affairs any more, Mister Garland," Erik interrupted. "You will only find dark, empty passages, and you never know which trapdoor will lead to a torture chamber." The boy looked stunned and confused, but he did not try to stop him again as Erik quickly left the room, saying only, "Excuse me now."
Frederick stood there for a moment, but then hurried out of the flat. He would not, as was his first inclination, immediately find Wesley and tell him the unbelievable news. No, he would return directly to London, and he wouldn't tell anyone, not even Winifred. He would just suggest to her that she go with Miss Daae. Well, he would tell Sally of course. Even though she would never admit it to him, he knew that this romantic story would touch her heart. How happy his cousin will be; he only wished he would be there to see his face. He had no doubt that the two would live out a fairytale for the rest of their lives. His cousin was a lucky man indeed. Fred had always felt connected to him, although they hadn't seen each other in many years. They both knew what it was to love so strongly that no one else would ever hold their heart, and both knew what it was to have that love unfulfilled. Wesley's love was halted by distance and Fred's love was never openly returned. But now… Wesley would finally be happy, all because of one very strange man… Perhaps there was hope for Fred yet.
And so he left for London, where presently, a young married couple strolled around the city in a dizzying cloud of wonder. They had just been told that they were to have a baby and neither could remember ever feeling this ecstatic. Since they had found out, they had not stopped discussing all the details that they would be discussing for the next five months. Today was no exception. They were discussing baby names, and although they couldn't agree on any, they didn't argue, for they were far too overjoyed. Christine loved simple, pretty names: Annabelle, Elise; but Raoul seemed to fancy names of a…rather different nature.
"I don't understand what's wrong with Faustina or Marguerite," he said as they drifted around the Embankment Gardens.
"Do you really want to be reminded everyday of the Paris Opera House?" Christine asked, laughing lightly.
"Perhaps you're right. How about," he paused, and stretched his hands in front of him, visualizing a name, "Volilah."
"I think you're making these names up."
"Not at all! Why, one of my other daughters' names is Volilah. Greek," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. "I'm sure she'd be delighted sharing her name with her half-sister."
Christine broke out of his hold and spun around, walking backwards to face him. "And if it's a boy?"
"We'll call him Wesley, of course."
Christine rolled her eyes. "You must be joking."
"Certainly not. Except we'll spell it W-E-S-T-L-Y, the proper way. Poor Wesley, he doesn't know how much he's missing without that 'T'."
"I must say, I prefer it without."
"Come now, really? Very well, we don't agree there either. Perhaps that's best. It would probably arise all kinds of suspicions. "'Mommy,'" he said in a high, childish voice, "'why am I named after the butler?' No, certainly not." He swung Christine around and once again into his arm. "How about Horatio? Mortimer? Ludvic?"
She laughed. "No thank you!"
"All right," he said with a smile, "what if we name it after its parents? If it's a boy, Christian—"
"And if it's a girl, Roulette!"
Raoul stopped walking and frowned at her. "Come now Christine, you're just being silly." She glared at him and he immediately broke into a grin. Christine laughed once again and, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him joyously. These two were in their own little world, for now two had become three. An older woman passed by them and muttered something demeaning about the French, but neither paid any mind. It is unclear if they simply hadn't heard the comment at all or if they were just too happy to care.
Fred arrived in London just a few hours before he was supposed to meet Christine at Burton Street. He didn't waste any time dropping his things off at home; instead, he went directly to a grand townhouse near the Botanical Gardens. He knew this house very well, even though he had never stepped through the front doors. The back doors now, those he had walked through more times than he could count, but he still remembered every one.
Frederick's grandfather, Geoffrey Payne, owned a small shop in central London with his wife, Ann. The Paynes had three children: John, Clarissa and Gwendolyn. Even though they had meager dowries, the Payne girls were very beautiful, and their parents were quite sure that they would prosper in marriage. So it went for Clarissa, the eldest, who married William Garland, a man with a small amount of land and a title intended for him. Gwendolyn did not fare as well in her parents' eyes, but she had loved James Pryce since they were children and it came to the surprise of no one when she accepted his hand. Two years later, however, James, who was a butler, took a position with a wealthy family from France. The Chagnys loved London though, and spent all the summer months there. Although her husband disapproved of her inferior relations, Clarissa Garland loved her sister very much, and often took her children, Rosa and Frederick, to play with their cousin Wesley. And so the three spent their childhood summers skipping between the Chagny yard and the Countess's who lived next door. Wesley's friend Winifred Evans and her family worked for the Countess, who, like the Chagnys, lived in Paris primarily, but vacationed in London during the summer holidays.
And so the four grew up. Rosa decided that she wanted to become an actress and her father disowned her. Out of protest, Frederick disowned his parents, and the pair moved in with their uncle Webster. The Chagnys passed away and the new Vicomte, needing to solidify his place as heir, decided to remain year-round in France. Unfortunately for Wesley, the Countess also passed away a year later, and her son inherited the estate. When his wife became pregnant, he settled permanently in England. So Winifred, who was no longer Wesley's friend, but his fiancée, moved across the Channel and away from her love for what appeared to be forever. Frederick vowed to his cousin that he would look after her in his stead, and had been doing that for the past five years.
Fred jumped over the gate easily and headed right into the kitchen door. He dropped his belongings and hopped onto a counter, swiping an apple from an older woman as she passed by.
"Frederick Garland, put that back, you scoundrel!" she scowled at him.
"Just playing with you, Martha!" He grinned and tossed the apple to her. She caught it skillfully and smiled back at him.
"It's been a long time, boy, how have you been?"
"Just fine, you?"
"Good, good. Joseph's tomato plants are coming in well, so he's pleased."
"That's great, tell him I say hello."
"I sure will." She smiled at him for another moment and then laughed. "I'll go find Winifred."
"Thank you!" he called as she walked away. A few minutes later Winifred Evans stuck her pretty head into the kitchen.
"Fred!" she laughed, coming over to him. He hopped down to hug her. "Where have you been?"
"Busy." Fred pulled away from her to get a good look. Her smile was as bright as ever and her brown eyes were lively, if a bit distant, but he wasn't worried about that; her eyes had dimmed five years ago and no amount of humor had ever come close to restoring the vibrancy they once had. She seemed to have lost some weight in the month since he had last seen her; the bones in her forearms felt a little too prominent as he grasped them in his hands.
"How have you been?" he asked her. "You look a little thin."
"You're not the only one who's been busy," she replied with a shrug. Fred knew better than to press her.
"Look, Winnie, I can't stay long, but I need to talk to you," he said seriously. Winifred frowned.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No, no, everything's wonderful," he said, trying hard to contain his excitement. "I need you to do something for me. It's important."
"What?"
"Later today," he explained, "I'm going to bring a lady here to see you. She wants to hire you, and I need you to accept without asking any questions."
Winifred's brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled in confusion. "What? Why?"
"Please, Winnie," Fred said, kissing her quickly on the cheek, "just do it. I promise you, it's all for the best. I really have to go." He picked up his things and hurried out the door, leaving Winifred alone to deal with her unanswered questions. But even though she had no idea what he was leading her into, Fred had never failed to steer her in the right direction. When he arrived again a few hours later with a pretty, young gentlewoman, Winifred knew what she had to do.
The three met outside in the back garden, where they were unlikely to be overheard.
"Winnie," Fred started, extending his hand to the woman on his right, "this is Miss Daae."
Winifred began to curtsey when she found a hand stuck eagerly in front of her. She looked up and took the lady's hand, which shook hers vigorously.
"How d'you do, mam?" Winifred said politely once her hand had been released.
"Please call me Christine." She smiled gently at her and Winifred thought that she would perhaps like working for her.
Fred smiled as well and said, "Miss Daae wishes for you to come and work for her." Winifred took in a breath, ready to accept.
"I—"
"I know this may come as a bit of a surprise, Miss Evans," Christine interrupted nervously, "but I just want you to know that I mean you no harm. I know this is a very unorthodox way of going about things. You were recommended to me by someone I trust very much, and I value his opinion. Mr. Garland here told me that you were a great help to your current mistress during three of her pregnancies, is that correct?"
"Yes…"
"Well, my husband and I are expecting a baby—"
"Congratulations!" Fred and Winifred exclaimed. Christine was startled and blushed a violent shade of red. She didn't know if it was proper etiquette to speak of such things, but she felt that she needed a better reason for Winifred to work for her than 'Erik told me to'.
"Thank you," she said, embarrassed. "Yes, well… It's our first and I would greatly appreciate someone who's an experienced… helper for this situation."
"Yes, I—"
"I'll pay you whatever you make here and more—"
"Mam," Winifred said, perhaps louder than she should have, "I accept."
"Oh." Christine laughed, completely relieved. "Wonderful! Thank you!" She shook her hand again (she was getting used to this gesture!) and took in a long, sustained breath before starting to go over the arrangements.
A/N: By the way, can I just mention how fast this update was? Yeah, pretty fast. I'm proud of myself. Look for the next chapter soon as well—and Ch. 13 soon after that! I can say that one with full confidence because most of it is already written! So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please, please, PLEASE review! Anyone who helps me make it to 100 just might get a special treat… heh heh!
