(A/N - Now that the conference and my first presentation are behind me, I can return to the fun stuff. Thank you for your patience as Real Life swallowed me whole before spitting me back out. And now things begin to happen ...)

Chapter Summary: Once again Erik loses his temper with Tallis. Henri and Didier discuss Christine over drinks. Didier makes note of some men who appear at the inn. And Henri decides to act upon his suspicions regarding his cousin's wife.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It had been a week since Tallis had enjoyed a day in the local town with Madame Giry. Seven days during which she could think upon the wisdom that Madame had been gracious enough to share concerning the strange man who was her friend. Seven days in which Tallis had withdrawn into herself, struggling to listen to the small voice that the priests assured her was God speaking. Seven days during which her every waking moment was occupied by thoughts of Erik and seven nights wherein he haunted her dreams. Tallis found herself seeing him when he was not there, hearing his voice whispering in the late spring breezes that blew through open windows. She would look in the mirror and see his eyes staring back at her. Erik had become her constant companion, her very breath, her every heartbeat.

"When did this happen?" Tallis asked her reflection. Madame Giry had gone to spend the day with Meg, leaving Tallis to her own devices and now she was running a soft cloth over the gilt mirror that hung by the front door. She left her hand on the edge of the mirror, resting her head against it. "How did this happen?" Tallis was startled from her introspection by a loud knock on the front door. She slipped the cloth she held into the pocket of her skirt before opening the door. "Oh," she said as she saw who stood there, her eyes falling and the color rising in her cheeks.

"Am I to stand here all day or may I enter?" Erik wanted to know.

Tallis raised her eyes and saw the man before her eyeing her askance.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"No," Tallis assured him, swallowing quickly as she composed herself and stepped aside to allow Erik entrance to the house. "No," she repeated as she closed the door.

"Are you certain?" Erik wondered, the concern evident in his voice. "I do not believe I have ever seen you quite so pale in spite of your charming blush," he reached out a finger to touch her cheek, "or quite so quiet."

The touch of his finger upon her cheek caused the blood in Tallis' veins to race even as his touch returned her to her senses. "I am quiet because I have nothing to say," she told Erik as she stuck her nose in the air.

"I am pleasantly surprised to find that I am still capable of learning something new each and every day," Erik replied.

Tallis was a bit confused. "What does that mean?"

Erik was also confused. "It means that I am amazed to find you have nothing to say to me. It means I am beginning to worry for it is not like you to be so silent. Are you quite sure you are feeling well?"

Tallis quickly composed herself. "I am as ever," she told him. "I was just not expecting to encounter you at the front door for you usually enter through the kitchen." Tallis frowned at Erik, crossing her arms over her chest. "Managing to startle me when you do."

"Ah," Erik said as he placed a hand over his heart, "my tattered reputation."

"Indeed," Tallis replied as she walked past him, heading down the hall toward the kitchen.

"Am I to remain here?" Erik wondered. "Standing alone in the hall?"

"You may join me in the kitchen, should you so wish," Tallis called over her shoulder.

Erik sighed and followed Tallis down the hall and into the kitchen where he found her standing over a pot that simmered on the hearth. He stood silently, watching her, wondering at the normalcy of the moment in which he found himself. It was a moment that, after years of living the darkened shadows, he still did not expect, he still did not understand. It was a moment that felt awkward to him and Erik fought down the urge to run from it.

"Now it is my turn to ask if you are feeling well," Tallis said as she turned around to look at her companion. She moved a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from a face flushed not only by the steam from the pot.

"I am as ever," Erik replied, using her words. It earned him a shake of the head as he took a seat at the small table by the window, careful to keep his back to the wall so that he could see the entire room.

His actions did not go unnoticed.

"Why do you always sit in the same chair?" Tallis wondered.

Erik kept shaking hands hidden beneath the table. "You know my history; why do you feel the need to ask such a question?"

"I am just trying to understand," Tallis told him. "I know you are under what protection the Baron can offer. I know that Madame would never allow any to harm you." She gave him a brief smile. "You even came in through the front door. Surely that proves you are no longer afraid?"

"I live in fear," Erik managed to get out through clenched teeth. "You know what I am." His visage grew dark. "You know what I have done." He slowly rose to his feet. "Every moment for the rest of my life shall be spent in fear." Erik began to cross the small distance to the girl who stood rooted to the floor. "I wait for the knock on the door, the tap on my shoulder." He paused to glare down into wide brown eyes. "I brave coming through the front door because I hear strange sounds in the woods." Erik struggled to control his agitated breathing. "You are breaking every dictate of society by being here alone with me." He leaned closer. "And you are taking your life into your hands."

Tallis stared back up at him, her heart pounding, her mind strangely quiet; she did not know if she should be frightened by the stranger in front of her. Tallis swallowed hard. "You do not frighten me," she said in a small voice.

"I should," Erik hissed back, hearing what he said, knowing what he did but powerless to stop.

"You are just a ... a ... bully!" Tallis told him as she swept past him, running from the kitchen.

Erik breathed heavily through his nose, fingers clenching and unclenching. One hand reached for a piece of crockery that rested on the work table before him. "Why. Do. I. Always. Do. That?" Erik spat out before he flung the crockery against the wall, the sound of shattering clay falling to the floor somehow comforting and musical to his ears. Erik moaned as he leaned over, resting his elbows on the work table, placing his head into his hands. He wondered why he always seemed to take the simple moments of life and sabotage them. He wondered why he just could not be happy. He wondered if he would ever be able to escape the darkened lair that still called to him, that struggled to keep claim of what humanity remained. Erik raised his head. "Tallis," he whispered as he shook his head, turned and went after the girl.

He found her standing on the stairs, one hand gripping the bannister, the other caught up in her hair. "Tallis?" Erik wondered, his heart tearing in two as he heard the watery sniffle.

"Are you sure it is proper for you to be here?" Tallis asked without turning to face him.

Erik sighed and closed his eyes in pain. "I deserved that," he replied softly.

Tallis sniffled again and turned around. Her eyes were red but there were no tears on her cheeks. "Yes, you did," she told Erik. "All I have ever wanted to be was your friend and you do everything in your power to prevent that. I struggle to make pleasant conversation for I understand that is what polite people do and you raise your voice to me and bully me just as if you were a child." Tallis' words came out quickly and she raised her hands to her mouth as she realized what she said.

"I am a child," Erik said as he stood still, unable and unwilling to reach out for the pained woman in front of him.

They stared at each other for a long moment before lowering their eyes, a painful silence manifesting in the space between them.

"I should go," Erik finally said with a sigh as he turned toward the front door.

"No, wait!" Tallis quickly replied. She gave Erik a small smile as she turned back to her. "Please, stay." She shook her head. "I do not care what polite society will think of me." She managed a short laugh. "I do not think they even think of me at all." Tallis took one step down. "You are my friend." She took another step and stood on the last riser of the staircase. "And I have no wish to argue with you. I have no desire for there to be bitter feelings between us." She clasped her hands before herself. "Will you please stay to luncheon with me?"

Erik nodded to her. "I should like that." He offered his arm and felt something unknown stir within as Tallis took it. "I, too, wish there to be no bitter feelings between us; will you forgive me?"

"Of course," Tallis said. "That is what friends do."

"I have much to learn," Erik told her.

He was not the only man who was finding he had much to learn when it came to the opposite sex.

"I just do not understand," Henri said with a sigh as he took another sip of ale, placing his mug back on the table.

Didier signaled toward the bar before turning his attention back to his drinking companion. "What is there to understand?" he wondered. "Your cousin saw a little singer who just happened to be a childhood friend and she saw a chance to better her station in life."

An older barmaid who would receive no attention from the two young men at the table, placed their mugs down, frowned at them and walked away.

"I understand that," Henri said as he raised the mug to his lips. "What I do not understand is why my sainted cousin puts up with her nonsense." He wagged a finger at Didier. "Do you know they have been here almost three weeks and they are still sleeping in separate bedrooms? Now, if you were married, would you allow your wife to behave in such a manner?"

Didier kept his hands wrapped around his mug, thinking silently. "No, I would not. Does the wife not promise to 'obey' during the marriage vows?"

"Exactly!" Henri told him. "And it seems to me that Christine is not honoring her marriage vows."

"Meaning?" Didier wondered with a raised eyebrow.

"I think you take my meaning," Henri replied.

"I do, indeed!" Didier chuckled as he raised his mug. He waited till Henri had slammed his own against it before raising it to his lips and downing what was left of the ale in one breath. "Are you sure?" he wondered.

"Quite," Henri said as he pointed out a small but exquisite diamond stick pin in his cravat. "She brought me this when she was shopping with your cousin, Monique. She also brought back gifts for Philippe and Arthur but I did not see anything for cousin Raoul. What kind of wife goes shopping and does not come back with a gift for her husband?"

Didier leaned across the table to look at the pin. "Very lovely," he said. "And you say she did not come back with anything for her loving husband?" He waited as Henri shook his head. "I would say that is telling, very telling. What do you intend to do about it:

Henri pondered in silence for a few moments. "I think I shall go home and try to be nice."

"How nice?" Didier wondered.

"Very, very nice," Henri told him and broke into laughter.

Didier joined in and shared Henri's laughter. The sound of their merriment carried over the usual noise of the inn, causing the other patrons to momentarily glance their way before turning back to their own business. The two relatives of the village's wealthiest families were thought of as very young, exceedingly foolish and not worth effort or thought by those who passed them by. Backs were turned on the two young men as they laughed together before falling silent, draining the foamy remnants of local brew that swam in the bottom of their mugs.

Henri lifted a watch from his vest pocket, squinting his eyes as he tried to focus on it. That was the only outward sign of the inebriated state in which Henri spent most of his days. He placed the watch back in his pocket. "I believe it is time for me to make my way back to the enfolding arms of my beloved family. What of you?"

"I think I shall spend a few more hours here," Didier told him as he focused on the men who just walked through the front door. "I see some acquaintances."

Henri looked over his shoulder as he stood. "Ah, the local gentry," he grimaced.

Didier also stood, mug in hand. "But they are so interesting," he replied with a smile and then grew serious, "and capable of doing things the likes of which you and I can only dream."

Henri paused in thought for a moment. "Intriguing," he said before smiling slyly, "but I have a more urgent matter to which I must attend." He winked at Didier before sweeping out of the inn and to the stable where he retrieved his horse.

The ride back to Chagny took nearly two hours as Henri allowed his mount to set the speed of travel. He was grateful for the steady pace the horse chose for it allowed his body to assimilate the alcohol he had consumed over the course of the late morning and early afternoon. Henri's mind also cleared itself of the effects from the ale that he had enjoyed. His thoughts may have slowly and steadily become clearer but that did not mean that they changed for Henri still thought upon his cousins and their positions. He thought upon his family and their positions and Henri could feel the anger rising in his breast. Henri loosed his grip on the reins as his fingers curled in anger and frustration.

He thought of his family living in England. Their home was large and lovely and comfortable and Henri could find no fault with it. Nor could he find fault with the life that his parents had given him. Henri was handsome and finely built. He had a quick wit and easy charm that covered the flaws in his character. He had traveled in the circle of wealth and privilege and was considered a worthy catch for any eligible young woman with more money than sense. But somehow none of it seemed to matter when compared to the family name and wealth that resided in France.

Henri resented what he saw as the self-indulgent lives his French cousins lived. He could not believe that Philippe - who was the head of the family - would allow his brother to bring such disgrace to an ancient and honored family name by marrying a mere chorus girl. Henri was amazed that Raoul could walk away with no consequences from the carnage that had occurred at the opera house. Everything his cousin had ever wanted was handed to him upon a silver platter and everything he touched seemed to turn to gold and it infuriated Henri that Philippe did not care. All Philippe appeared to worry over was his huge home and the comfortable country life he had carved out for himself. The man who was to be respected as head of the family did nothing - in Henri's eyes - to earn that respect. Philippe let Raoul do as he wished with no thought of the consequences to the other members of the family.

All of these thoughts passed through Henri's mind as he dismounted his horse at the bottom of the steps that led up to the front door of Chagny. One thought, though, demanded his attention as he strode through that front door and caught a glimpse of dark curls and yellow silk disappearing down a hallway - Christine.

"We will see just what kind of a little trollop you are," Henri muttered under his breath.

"Beg pardon, sir?" the ever present footman asked.

Henri turned on his smile and charm. "Nothing, my good man," he told the servant. "Just a stray passing thought. I believe I shall go gather my wits about me." Henri clasped the man on the shoulder, knowing it was bad form but also knowing that it was expected. He gave the man a last broad smile before walking off down the same hallway in which he had seen Christine.

His anger and frustration still laying claim to his emotions, Henri walked into one of the drawing rooms searching for something to calm his emotions. He found it in a decanter of claret that sat upon a highly polished side table. Some thirty minutes later, Henri found his emotions once more under his rather dubious control. He also found himself more certain than ever to test his theory that his dear cousin's lovely wife was not as faithful and loving as she appeared to be. Henri replaced the now empty decanter on its silver tray and returned to the hallway. He knew that there could only be one place into which Christine could disappear from that hallway.

Henri walked to the end of the hall, stopping before a set of French doors and peering into the conservatory. His lips curled into an unpleasant smile as he took note of Christine resting upon a chaise lounge, her hands folded over her stomach and her eyes closed. Henri carefully and quietly opened the doors into the huge, glass-enclosed room, closing them just as silently once he was inside. He carefully walked along the side wall, watching the distribution of his weight so that his footfalls made little or no noise. All the while he kept a careful eye on Christine. Henri knew where he was going and stopped along the back wall where the glass of the outside walls met the brick of the main house. He reached up and took a book off a nearby shelf and walked back the way he had come. Back toward Christine.

"Oh dear!" Henri exclaimed as he bumped into the chaise where Christine rested, his hand going to his knee.

Christine's eyes flew open and she looked around herself in a panic. Her hand went to her throat as she saw Henri behind her. "Thank God," Christine breathed as she reached out for Raoul's cousin. "Are you quite all right?"

"I was trained as a dancer; you would think I would know enough to be aware of my surroundings," Henri began and plastered a smile upon his face. "I was just so engrossed in scanning through this book that I did not see where I was going. I did not see you and I am sorry if I startled you from your rest." He looked longingly at the chaise. "May I sit for a moment?"

Christine sat up and swung her legs to the side. She was still uncomfortable around Henri but he was Raoul's cousin and she would be good to him for that reason alone. "Please," she said.

"Thank you," Henri replied as he sat down, placing the book on the floor and still rubbing his knee.

"I always forget that you are a dancer," Christine told him. "I do not know why such a thing slips my mind for you carry yourself with a dancer's ease." She gave Henri a small smile as he raised his face from studying his bumped knee. "Do you miss the dance?"

Henri shook his head. "Not really," he told Christine. "I did not want it but my parents insisted. What of you? Do you miss it now that you are married and a vicomtess?"

Christine sighed. "I do miss it," she admitted. "I miss the lessons shared with other girls. I miss the discipline and concentration it required."

"What of the applause?" Henri interrupted.

"There are other ways to receive applause," Christine told him softly. "One does not need the adulation of the crowd to know one's efforts are appreciated."

Henri reached up to touch the pin in his cravat. "And if I have forgotten to tell you, this is very much appreciated." He carefully laid a hand upon the one Christine rested upon the velvet covering the chaise. "Thank you."

Christine fought back the urge to look down and instead kept her eyes upon the man seated next to her. "I am glad it pleases you."

"Might I be so bold as to ask what you purchased for Cousin Raoul?" Henri asked. "I could not help but notice that he did not receive a package from your trip."

"There is a gift," Christine assured him. "It is a surprise and must wait for a few more weeks before it will be ready."

"Always the waiting," Henri said. "Then I consider myself quite fortunate that I did not have to wait." He scooted closer to Christine. "Thank you, dear cousin," he breathed as he leaned over to kiss Christine's cheek.

"You are welcome," Christine replied, a frown crossing her delicate features she felt Henri tightly clasp her hand. "What ..." she could say no more words as Henri turned his head and captured her lips. Christine felt herself being pushed back down upon the chaise under Henri's weight. She froze, frightened, unsure of what was happening, what she should do. Then a thought cut through the confusion and something she had never felt before stirred within Christine and she twisted her head away from Henri. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Loving a member of my family," Henri breathed in her ear before capturing the lobe between his teeth and gently tugging on it. His free hand captured Christine's other and he raised both her hands over her head.

"Get off of me!" Christine told him.

"Come, come," Henri smiled at her. "You are a married woman; surely this cannot be unfamiliar or unpleasant." He reached in and captured her lips again.

Christine could feel the nausea begin to bubble in her stomach and rise up into her throat. The touch of Henri's lips against hers, his hands pinning her own hands still and useless was more than Christine could bear and a primal instinct of survival and protection welled up within her and she lashed out. Christine managed to free one of her legs and she bent her knee, driving it upwards and hoping it would connect with any body part that would move Henri off of her.

The groan that escaped from Henri's lips as he tumbled off of Christine and onto the floor told Christine all she needed to know.

Christine quickly got to her feet, flushed and flustered, wiping her hands over her mouth. "If you ever try that again, I will tell Raoul and he will kill you," she told Henri in a deadly tone of voice.

Henri was on the floor, one hand to his solar plexus, as he struggled to catch his breath. Yet he still managed to glare up at the woman standing over him. "Do you think he truly cares? Do you?" Henri said between clenched teeth, anger and pain marring his handsome face. "After the way you have been treating him lately? The whole family knows you have taken a lover."

"That is not true!" Christine interrupted. "It is a lie!"

"You and your phantom lover," Henri spit out. "You should have stayed with him and let my cousin go!"

Christine could hear no more and she ran for the doors that led from the conservatory into the garden. She did not stop to close the doors as she ran through the formal landscape of the back gardens, Henri's words ringing in her head. Christine did not stop until she reached the shadowed safety of a small group of oak trees. She finally stopped, a hand reaching out for a tree to steady herself. Christine bent over as the nausea claimed her and she lost everything that she had managed to eat since that morning. As her stomach gave up the last of its contents, the tears began and Christine sobbed as if her heart would break. She did not know if she cried because she was being ill or if she cried for what she was doing to her marriage. She could feel herself begin to shake and wondered if it was nerves or the fears that always haunted her. Christine jumped as she felt a gentle pair of hands upon her shoulders.

"I saw you run from the house," a female voice said. "Are you all right? Do you wish me to send for your husband or a doctor?"

Christine managed a quick glance over her shoulder. She saw Mathilde, Philippe's housekeeper, there, looking at her with concern. "No doctor," she said with a shake of her head. "And - please! - I do not wish my husband to know."

"That will not be a problem," Mathilde assured her. "I will have one of the stable boys come to clean this; no one need ever know."

"Thank you," Christine breathed as she stood up straight, still holding to the tree. She looked down as a small towel was placed into her hands.

"Wipe your face before we go back to the house," Mathilde said and waited until Christine did as she was told. "Now," Mathilde continued on as she took back the towel, slipping it into the waistband of her apron, "you will come into my room off the kitchen and rinse out your mouth. Then you shall have some chamomile and spearmint tea. It will help to settle your stomach and chase away any bad tastes."

"Thank you," Christine said, grateful for the arm that wrapped itself about her waist in strong but gentle support.

"No need for thanks," Mathilde told her. "I have been taking care of this family since before the Vicomte was born and I will be taking care of this family until the day I die. I have seen it all." Her glance turned toward the conservatory where the doors were being close. "I have seen it all," she repeated, a stern look on her face.

"Please do not say anything!" Christine pleaded as she, too, took note of the closing doors.

"Not a word shall pass my lips," Mathilde replied. "But if anything should happen again, I want you to come to me and I shall take care of it in my own way."

Christine nodded, grateful for one person who did not seem to be judging her. "I promise," she sighed. "I promise."