Disclaimer: See numerous other chapters. It's there!
Chapter Fifty-One
Christine took Erik's hand and they walked at a leisurely pace back to the villa. They had completely bypassed the lunch hour, and both were quite hungry. "Shall I make a valiant attempt at our first meal together, mon ange?" Christine laughed lightheartedly.
"If you wish," he said, cocking an eyebrow at her. "And perhaps I will assist you in the kitchen."
"Well, Monsieur Durand, I would be glad to have your assistance, as you are a fine chef, indeed," she giggled. "Thank you for the kind offer."
He kissed her knuckles lightly. "Milady," he bowed dramatically, opening the front door and allowing her inside first.
They laughed playfully as they prepared supper, Erik singing to her in several languages as many nonsensical children's songs as he could recall. He grasped her hand, twirling her about the room, until she collapsed dizzily in his arms. They returned, breathless, to their food preparations. "Later, mon ange, I will sing for you as many love songs as one can tolerate," he winked at her suggestively.
She stared at him for a moment, stirring their finished stew with a wooden spoon. Suddenly, she halted and lay the spoon against the side of the pot. Erik was slicing a loaf of bread when he felt her arms come around his waist. Her mouth was near his shoulder blade, and she placed a kiss to it through his white shirt. "I think that I should like to hear them now, Erik," she whispered, sending a rush of heat through his body. He stopped what he was doing to take her in his arms, and they quickly made their way upstairs. By the time they returned, the stew was cold and the bread growing stale….and neither one was bothered by it.
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The next day, it rained for several hours. Erik and Christine took the opportunity to stay indoors, reading books as well as learning arts of married life not taught in books. Later in the day the rain had ceased and they went out to the balcony to watch the sun set over the town. Erik pointed out several buildings and proceeded to describe different aspects of their architecture to his wife.
"I have been meaning to ask you…how on earth did you learn all of this, Erik? From books?" she questioned him, never failing to be impressed by his vast array of knowledge on many subjects.
He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, somewhat…my father was a master-mason. I learned much from him before I…before my mother left."
Christine wrinkled her brow in confusion. "But, Erik…in the document that Raoul showed me, it said that your father was an unknown wealthy gentleman. I don't understand."
"Yes, the man who sired me was indeed an 'unknown' wealthy gentleman. My mother was very young, and she had of course been promised so much by this man. But when she was found to be with child, he disappeared completely, and never came back. I don't know exactly when it happened, of course, as I just discovered the truth of my deformity months ago, but she must have become desperate at some point and tried to end her pregnancy. Perhaps she thought that her lover would return if she did so…truly, I don't know. But the man whom I refer to as my 'father' was actually not related to me by blood. He married my mother shortly before I was born, because he had known her for a very long time and cared for her a great deal. He did not wish to see her living in squalor with a child that she could not raise alone." He paused for a moment, noticing the expression of fascination on her face. He smiled at her, knowing the answer to the question before he even asked. "Am I boring you, mon ange?"
"Boring me? Heavens, no! I want to know everything, Erik. Please…continue." She steadied her elbow on the balcony railing and rested her head on her hand, nodding very seriously for him to go on. The wind picked up momentarily, blowing her hair back and causing her dress to billow around her. Erik found himself staring at her beauty in the orange-streaked glow of the sunset before he could continue, still in awe of the fact that she belonged to him now…she shared his name, his bed…his entire life.
He shook his head as if to clear it. "My mother was horrified by my appearance, naturally, and she never showed me any kind of affection…never kissed me, embraced me…no physical contact whatsoever. She forced me to wear my mask whenever I was in her presence, and she essentially isolated me from the outside world. My father disliked her treatment of me, and there were many loud arguments that ensued because of it." He narrowed his eyes in thought. "I remember many nights when I curled up in a dark corner of my room, sinking into the shadows, for fear that my mother would try to come and harm me just to spite him. She blamed me for her life, one which she thought was quite wretched. She never even truly loved my father—I mean, the man whom I called my father—and eventually, he died one day. I don't really know how…I just found him dead, in their bed, appearing to be sound asleep. No injuries, nothing. He was just gone…the one person who had bothered to care for me, even though he despised my ugliness. In my isolation, he had taken the time to teach me everything he could about his trade, and he was thrilled when he found that I had a natural aptitude for it. He…saw something in me, apparently, and we became fairly inseparable. Still, I dared not remove my mask in his presence…he had seen my face once before, but I did not wish for my appearance to come between us again. He taught me as much as my young, eager mind could handle, and gave me many books on the subject of architecture, which I devoured."
Erik swallowed hard then, and his voice cracked with the threat of tears. "My mother wasn't the same after he died. She touched me then, but only in a violent manner. I was too afraid to fight back, and after all, she was my mother…she was all that I had. I tried to run away twice, but I continued to come back, letting myself into the house through my bedroom window each time without her knowledge. Mother didn't even know that I had attempted to leave…not that she would have cared. After some time, I noticed that there was no food in the house, and she was growing more restless and unstable by the day. One day I was tinkering in my room and she came in, telling me that we were to go on an outing. I was thrilled, but I had no idea why she had suddenly decided that I could be a part of the 'outside world.' She took me to a fair just a few miles from our house, and I was dazzled by everything that I saw…tents full of oddities and unusual sights…things I had certainly never seen before. My mother left me next to a tent for a few moments and I saw her talking to a large man nearby. I didn't know at the time what was happening, but that night she took me home and told me that the next day, I was to go and live with the gypsies. Just like that. Go and live with the gypsies…well, I had no idea what to do! My mother said many things that made no sense, so I had no intention of taking her seriously. I awoke the next day and she was nowhere to be found. All of her belongings were gone, every trace of her swept from the house."
Christine gasped in shock. Moisture glistened in her eyes as she questioned him, distraught. "How old were you?"
"I'm not certain…my birthday was never celebrated…but I believe that I was likely around eight years old. I knew that there was no food in the house, and I also knew what she had told me the night before. I realized that for once, she had been honest with me. So, I packed what few clothes I had, and several books, and I left. I went straight to the gypsy fair and found the man that my mother had spoken with. Much to my shock, he had apparently purchased me from my mother the day before. Purchased…like cattle. From that day on, I was treated as such. My extra clothing and books were torn apart and used as kindling for the fires, and I was caged like an animal." Erik paused, sighing deeply. "But this isn't what you asked, is it? You simply wondered about how I came to learn architecture. So, there you have it…and much more than you wanted to know, I presume."
Tears poured from Christine's eyes down her cheeks. She straightened and flung herself into his chest, clinging to him as if he were a dream about to fade away. "Oh, Erik…" she cried over and over, not knowing what to say. He held her tenderly, stroking her back.
"It's all right now, mon ange. I'm alive and well, as you can see. My wounds are healing gradually, with the Lord's help. Please don't cry." He kissed her head. "Please don't cry, Christine."
She lifted her head from his chest and reached up to clasp her hands behind his neck. "Erik…let me…let me touch you," she begged him, still crying. "Let me hold you and love you. I'm so sorry…oh, Erik, I'm so sorry." She placed a fervent kiss to his lips, her tears wetting his face, and he returned her kiss with equal emotion. She pulled away, at last looking into his eyes. "Let me…" she said, taking his hands and leading him back into their room. She never took her eyes from his as she slowly removed his mask, setting it on the bedside table. "I love you," she said, pressing her lips to his once more, in a desperate attempt to help heal the wounds of his past. She ran her hands over his exposed face lovingly, nearly bringing Erik to tears. Supper was forgotten that night as they comforted each other until the first rays of dawn, at last drifting into deep and dreamless slumber.
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Christine jerked awake at a harsh knocking on the front door of the villa. She noticed immediately that Erik was already out of bed, and had apparently taken his robe and mask with him downstairs before she had even heard a sound. She sat up, listening, hoping to hear Erik's voice…but the only sound was that of the wind, and as she looked out the window, she saw large clouds forging a path across the sky, dreary and overcast. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she quietly climbed from the bed and tossed her silken robe about her shoulders, tying the sash securely. Just before she could step from the bedroom, the door opened and Erik stood before her, holding something in his hand.
"Oh! Good morning…who was that at the door, Erik?"
He stared at his hands, and Christine turned her attention to a paper that he was holding…a telegram. He did not respond to her immediately, continuing to stare in disbelief at the message before him. "Erik?" Christine repeated, growing uneasy. "What is it, mon amour? Is it bad news?"
At last, he looked up and met her gaze, his own eyes full of sorrow. "We shall have to return home at once, mon ange. I'm afraid that my employer has had some sort of heart failure…and he passed away."
"Monsieur Giroux? Oh, no! Did he have a family? I assume that he did…but…oh, how very unexpected!"
"Yes, mon ange, I believe that he does have a family…daughters, perhaps? I cannot recall…but we must pack at once and return to Paris. From there, I shall need to travel to Melun…Monsieur Laurent says here that he has information about the funeral arrangements. Quickly, Christine…"
Erik rubbed her arm distractedly and set the telegram on the bedside table, glancing around the room at their belongings. Christine gathered everything she could find, assisting him as well as packing her own things. They hastily dressed and made the bed, checking the house to make certain that they left it in good condition. They locked the villa and placed the key where the owners had originally hidden it for them. "We will have to walk a short way to find transportation, I'm afraid," Erik sighed, hoisting the bags on to his shoulders and into his arms. Surely pack mules must have it easier than this! he grimaced. They walked for several minutes before they were able to catch a cab. "To the train station at Lannion," Erik huffed at the driver, dropping the bags into the cab, not caring whether his masked face was seen. The driver nodded, pretending not to notice the flesh-colored mask. Christine settled herself inside and Erik joined her, sitting rather stiffly on the seat. His nerves were on edge and he was finding it difficult to relax. At last they were on their way, and Christine snuggled into Erik's chest, not knowing what to say. He was extremely quiet as well, feeling a great loss and uncertainty at once. What of Monsieur Giroux's family? And what of his business? Will I still have employment? Lord, I have a wife to provide for now, as well. He felt a bit guilty for thinking so selfishly, but he couldn't help it. He was worried.
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A/N: Thank you to my three reviewers for the last chapter. I appreciate the time you took to comment. I apologize for not updating as frequently as I was toward the beginning…I am doing my best! Thanks for reading, and PLEASE drop me a review! Do I have to bake you Phantom cookies, perhaps? -grins-