DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS
CHAPTER 13
Tarrah stared out the small window of the carriage at the night sky. She loved the night – with its cool blanket of black velvet and the clear sound of the crickets as they played a symphony fit for a king.
"You are the ward he was given guardianship over a couple of years ago, is that correct?"
Tarrah turned her head to look at the one called Annette – she still wasn't sure she trusted her; and the younger one…the way she looked at Erik; there had been something there at one time - maybe there still was. She actually liked the one called Meg; she seemed like a kindred spirit.
The man seemed handsome enough – to pretty boy for her taste – but handsome enough; and he was devoted to the brown haired, skinny woman…the one that looked at Erik with something akin to desire.
"Yes, I am." She finally answered, after a few moments.
"He seems to have…" she searched for the proper word, "…blossomed after meeting you. The tone of his letters softened and he seemed less critical of himself and the world. I think you are good for him"
Tarrah finally lifted her lips in a smile, making the older woman relax slightly.
"He still refuses t'engage in formal gatherin's or public appearances – other than takin' a bow at the end of a production…but he is gettin' better."
Annette nodded and continued to watch this young girl as she talked about Erik.
"He saved me…lit'rally. Without him, I'd prob'ly be a prostitute by now, or worse."
Christine lifted her eyes from the floor and watched the young woman. She was a pretty thing, soft figured and kind-hearted. Her voice had touched a nerve in Christine….a nerve that sparked a jealous ember within her.
"I owe him ev'rythin'….and I will follow him anywhere."
"Christine was his student for many years, before she married Raoul." Annette offered, noting the pinched look on Christine's face.
Tarrah watched the other woman's eyes narrow slightly as their gazes met.
It was obvious to Tarrah that woman was jealous - of what, she did not know. Tarrah loved Erik, that was obvious, but he was like a father to her. She began to wonder if this woman had the same feelings toward Erik that she did.
That thought made Tarrah smile and giggle aloud. She quickly checked herself and graced Christine with a kind look.
"Was he as stubborn and unyieldin' with ye as he is with me?"
Christine nodded at the question and then smiled. She was going to find it difficult to like this girl…very difficult; but for Erik's sake, she would try.
"He is so brilliant, sometimes I think he found it hard to communicate on a level that I would understand – his music is so...achingly beautiful."
Christine whispered the words and then looked away. She had betrayed the gift he had given her and turned her back on him…she wondered if they would be able to move past that.
The carriage halted in front of a large, two story house.
Tarrah waited for Beckett to open the carriage door and then preceded everyone from the carriage.
"This is your home?"
Annette was stunned. The house was quite large and looked extremely well-maintained. The large, surrounding yard was beautifully landscaped and manicured.
"Yes, Erik maintains the grounds and Blanche and I maintain the house. Blanche is our housekeeper; she lives here with us and does some o' the cookin'."
She opened the front door and waited until everyone had stepped inside.
"Erik and I take turns doin' the rest o' the cookin'."
Annette looked rather stunned at that news; as did Christine. They shared a wide-eyes gaze and then Raoul cleared his throat.
"Why does he not hire a full staff; I am certain he could afford it."
Tarrah frowned and then scowled at him.
"Erik cherishes his privacy and does not require a large staff…he does most o' the work himself."
They took a full tour of the house – impressed by the large number of ornately decorated, well-furnished rooms. The first floor contained the parlor, sitting room, dining room, kitchen, a lavatory, and a large entrance foyer.
The second floor contained four, very large bedrooms – each with their own lavatory, an extensively stocked library and a study.
Tarrah stood at the second floor stairway that led to the third floor.
"The third floor is Erik's; his sleepin' quarters, study, and music room." She glanced longingly up the stairs. "No one but him is allowed up there."
She gave one last look to the third floor and led them in the other direction.
♥♣♦♠
This is it, Erik, they have all come back into your life – for some unknown reason – and they expect something of you.
His mind was racing in so many directions, that it took a conscious effort for him to concentrate on just one angle of thinking.
Why now?
He passed by a couple holding hands, and tipped his hat, as any gentleman would do. He watched them pass and felt a stirring in his heart. There had been a few times in the past four years that he had longed for companionship different from that which Tarrah provided.
Rubbish! You are such a fool! How many times, Erik, how many times are you going to long for something you cannot have? Be happy that you have a friend in Tarrah – she is as close to having a daughter as you will ever be.
He had realized long ago that he had never really loved Christine – he was not even sure he was capable such an elevated and divine emotion - he had loved the idea of loving Christine. Putting someone above himself – their wants, their needs, their wishes, their health and well-being, everything…it somehow had made him feel human.
There were few times in his almost thirty-five years that he had felt human. Most had made it their business to make him feel less than such; his father, the gypsy king and much of the camp, everyone but Sharad in India, all but Annette at the opera house – human was not a familiar place for him.
Can I forgive them for what they did to me?
He had wondered that same thing and asked that same question several times in the last four years.
The truth was, there was nothing to forgive. He had pressured them into acting as they did; Annette was certain he had lost what little sanity he had possessed at the time, Christine had been nothing more than a child in a woman's body – he knew that now; he had frightened her beyond reason; and, Raoul – valiant, strong, courageous, handsome – he embodied everything Erik would never be. Instead of feeling envious and angry toward the young man, Erik would make a bold effort to turn his jealousy into admiration.
I do remember a few of the lessons my mother taught me… he thought, …find the good in people and focus on it; never let the sun go down on your anger; you can never have too many friends, but one enemy is all that is needed to destroy you.
He walked, for what seemed like only a few minutes, but he had settled a few things in his heart and mind. He would never be anyone's husband or father, but he had proved to himself that he could be a friend to someone – and that lightened his heart – if only a little bit.
His home stared back at him, the beauty of it smiling down. He prayed he could keep his promise to himself and be a friend to his past...kill it with kindness, so to speak. Only time would tell.
♥♦♣♠
The house had indoor plumbing and the most modern facilities that money could buy; things that many people had never seen in their lifetime.
They ended up back in the parlor, and stood around the fireplace; admiring its carved, stone columns and intricate beauty.
Annette broke the silence with a question that had been plaguing her – more and more – as they looked at the lovely house.
"How on earth does he manage to maintain the level of work he does at the opera house and still keep this house looking as it does?"
"You know me…"
Everyone spun around at the silky, deep sound of his voice as it caressed the air in the room with a soft, sensual timbre.
"…I do not sleep much and I have nothing better to do."
He walked through the door, hung up his hat and cloak, and then moved across the floor to stand among them.
The fresh smell of the outdoors still lingered on his clothing and filled the area. He looked stunning and pragmatic before them as he moved toward the sitting room.
A portly, pleasant looking woman in her mid-fifties came bustling through the large door to the Erik's right.
"Blanche…" he spoke, softly and evenly.
"Yes sir?"
Erik rolled his eyes and flashed a roguish smirk at her.
"Just because we have company does not mean you have to call me 'sir'."
She smiled and dropped her eyes.
"Now, would you please bring some tea?"
She nodded and left to do as he asked.
Erik moved his gaze from Blanche to Tarrah.
"You have an hour and half left, then it is bedtime for young ladies who must arise early for their studies and music lessons."
She started to protest, but he was already ahead of her.
"You are not eighteen yet…so do not press the boundaries."
She gave a slight curtsy and smiled coyly at him…she actually enjoyed learning from Erik. He taught her arithmetic, reading, history, science, and the arts…he had taught her to read and speak in French and was starting her on Italian this week.
Erik was uneasy and tense, but he would do his best to manage his racing mind and crumbling nerves. He had changed – not completely – but he had; and he wanted them to see that.
"Please, everyone sit down."
Now that he was in front of her – out of the dull, shadowed lighting of the opera house – Christine saw that Erik had changed very little in his physical appearance; he dressed impeccably, and the white mask still covered a third of his face. His eyes were still an arresting shade of turquoise green with gold specks that surrounded his iris.
His hair was the obvious part of him that had changed. In Paris, he had worn it flat against his head, never allowing it to get out of place – if he could help it. Now, he wore it loose and longer. The ebony locks surrounded his face and made him look even more dramatically handsome than she remembered. There was no aging present on his face, but there was a dusting of gray hair at his temples, as though a painters brush had strayed off the canvas and lightly touched his hair.
She also realized he was still lean and muscular – and where he had once been pale from not being outdoors, he was now lightly bronzed from the kiss of the sun. She determined that he looked very good…very good indeed. She frowned when she realized she had never told him how handsome he was.
"So, what has brought all of you to London?"
He asked the question lightly, but his brow still creased with concern.
Annette reached inside her satchel and found the letter; she handed it to him and watched a smile form on his full lips. She liked that smile – although she had seldom seen it.
"This is the reason…you could have sent this by currier."
Annette smirked and shrugged her shoulders.
"Then I would not have had an excuse to find you."
He chuckled lightly, and it warmed the hearts of every woman in the room; Raoul sat stiffly and ready to spring out of his seat at any moment.
"And I suppose you are going to tell me that it took all four of you to bring it to me?"
They all exchanged looks, but it was Raoul who finally spoke. He had avoided eye contact with the former Phantom, but this meeting had been nothing like what he had expected. There was a quiet to the man now, something that had been missing before; he seemed to have come to some sort of terms with himself.
"I volunteered to bring her…and Christine refused to stay at the châteaux once she knew we were coming to see you." He looked at his wife and smiled, and then he looked at Meg. "Meg will not let her mother out of her sight."
Erik nodded and looked at the boy – seeing, perhaps for the first time, a young man and not an annoying teen-ager. Erik realized that he had probably grown as much as Raoul had in the last four years.
He remembered the letter, sat down on the settee, and opened it.
"It is from my dear friend, Sharad Keshav. He is in India…it has been about five years since we last wrote each other."
He lowered his head and began to read.
December 16, 1875
Erik,
It has been a long time since I last wrote you; I do apologize for that. My father was getting suspicious of the incoming mail and I had to cease writing.
I am sending you a package – of sorts; something very dear to me will be leaving India's shores in a few days and finding its way to you.
Do not falter when you read the next few lines; I hold you to the promise you made to me fourteen years ago. I know you remember it.
My father's wickedness has destroyed this family, Erik. I knew that it would. He murdered my mother, just as surely as he would have murdered you – had I not gotten you out of India
Lavanya, my little sister; you may not remember her – I am not sure you even met her; anyway, father made a deal with an English lord for her hand in marriage. This lord is a weasel and has abnormal desires – I hope I do not have to elaborate. He was to get Lavanya and father would have an endless supply of capital to use for his "games".
I could not allow this to happen. Lavanya was sickened by the thought of this man and she agreed to do whatever needed to be done to escape this fate worse than death.
I am sending her to you, my friend. It is with the understanding that you are to wed her – as he read that line, Erik's heart stopped beating and he broke into a cold sweat; this had to be some sort of hoax. He continued to read, unless you are already wed or promised to another – in which case, I ask that you take her as your ward.
I cannot have her in a foreign land without the protection of a man – and you are the only man I trust; I know you will do what you must.
She is to arrive in Marseille on 2 March, 1876 on the ship of a privateer named Captain Trace Delamater; he sails for the flag of France. The name of the ship is "Château Des Regrets." ( Castle of Regrets)
I hope to follow in a few weeks, so we may see each other again soon, my brother; and I call you this, because you will truly be my brother when you wed Lavanaya.
Until then, thank you – and take care of my treasured sister.
Sharad Keshav
A dread, like nothing he had ever felt, filled Erik's insides, and he became physically ill. He felt clammy and a sweat had formed on his forehead. If he stood, he was certain he would pass out from the nausea.
Annette had been watching his features as he read, and knew that the letter contained disturbing news – news that Erik was having a hard time processing.
She stood and walked over to his morose form. He raised the letter to her and she took it - scanning the content quickly and then joining him on the settee. Her hand was to her breast and she breathed heavily.
"Erik…what are you going to do?"
He lowered his head into his hands and quietly felt his world collapsing beneath him. Every promise he had made to himself and every piece of his patchwork heart went head first into the abyss of his darkness.
The others that watched the exchange were curious about what had them both in such a quandary. Tarrah, especially, was very concerned.
After four years of struggling to move on, Erik felt the past bombard him like pellets of ice. He did not blame Sharad, the man was doing what he had to do to protect his sister; and Erik had made the promise fourteen years ago to be there should Sharad need him.
The time had come for payback. Erik thought about what Sharad expected of him. There was no way that Erik would marry this girl. He would be more than happy to become her guardian, but he would not inflict himself upon her as a husband...how utterly absurd to think she would agree to such a thing.
However, the promise loomed over him, and Sharad would have certainly explained everything to his sister before sending her here; of that, Erik was certain.
"I will do what I promised – no matter the cost." He looked into the concerned eyes of Tarrah and smiled. "I must go back to France for a time; I don't know how long this will take."
"But the production…"
" Hammond can handle it…he has those who can help him…you may stay if you desire."
She clung to him with a death grip and shook her head emphatically.
"I think not, I go where ye go."
He patted her hand and tried to smile.
"I will talk to Hammond tomorrow – I do not know when we shall return..." he looked her deep in the eyes and spoke seriously, "It would seem that I am to acquire another ward within a few days."
Tarrah smiled joyfully at the prospect; she couldn't wait to have another girl to converse with; but she noticed Erik's troubled look. He seemed entrapped once again, by the persona of the Phantom – it was as though nothing had changed in four years.
She looked down at the letter, which had been discarded onto the table. She picked it up and scanned the contents. Erik was busy talking to Annette and hadn't noticed that she picked it up.
"This letter clearly states that ye are ta marry this girl, Erik; only if ye are wed or promised ta another are ye to make her yer ward."
Erik drew his breath in slowly and exhaled in the same manner. His broad shoulders faced her and she could see the stiff resolve with which he held himself. He turned, and fixed his eyes on Tarrah; daring her to say something else.
She started to smile and lighten the moment, but Erik silenced her with a cold stare and a lift of his brow.
"Do not say it; Tarrah…nothing good can come of forcing a woman to wed the likes of me." He passed his eyes over Christine and then looked at Raoul.
His tone was critical and his face held a sternness that he had never used on her. She cocked her chin up and stared at him with determined obstinacy.
"What is wrong with ye…ye've not acted like this for ages?" She glowered sternly, not willing to give at all. "Ye're past this Erik…just because yer carefully construed life is being interrupted - an' by a woman, no less…"
Erik stiffened, once again, and threw her a warning glare. However, Tarrah had learned long ago that Erik appreciated honesty and strength in a woman and she would give him just that.
"Not here, Tarrah, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss such things."
She ignored his caustic warning and marched up to him with fiery darts in her eyes. She jabbed her index finger into this hard chest and forced him to listen to her.
"Then when is a good time, Erik…hmmm…" he looked away, avoiding eye contact, "…ye avoid people – women in particular…" his eyes closed and he swallowed deeply "…ye lock yerself away with yer head buried in sheets of music for hours on end…"
Christine watched the exchange between them with saucer eyes and a dropped jaw. She would have never thought to talk to him in such a manner; but then, she had always seen him as some celestial being with no earthly baring – even after finding him to be a man – he was on a higher plain.
"…ye have a chance to finally have a woman in yer life…a wife; who cares if neither o' ye have a choice – it is the way of the world."
Erik released the hold he had on his shoulders and he suddenly felt very exhausted. He slinked down into the large chair and stared into the fire.
For that moment, everyone in the room disappeared except Erik and Tarrah. She made her way toward him and knelt down in front of him as he leaned forward with his head in his hands.
"Erik, why do ye do this to yerself?"
He didn't answer, not at first; he sat as still as a statue for what seemed like hours. His voice, when he finally spoke, was broken and distant.
"I stay away, Tarrah, because…" he lifted his beautiful eyes and Tarrah could see the orange flames of the fire dancing in the green of his gaze, "…I cannot risk it…loving again…it would kill me."
Christine and Raoul shared a glance, as did Meg and Annette. They were seeing the Erik that he never let show – the Erik that was scared of dying alone and having no one to make and share life's precious moments with - the side he wanted no one to know existed; the side that humanized him.
"I may be young and inexperienced, but luv is a beautiful thing, Erik…two people sharin' their lives together – enjoyin' one another…"
He scoffed softly and turned his head from her, giving her his masked profile.
"Sure, love can be a beautiful thing – I have witnessed it…" his chin dropped and his eyes closed, "…but to love, Tarrah – and not be loved back…" he shook his head as he caressed her cheek with his leather-clad hand, "…one-sided love affairs are lonely and degrading things."
He finally stood and pushed the tension from the air with sheer determination. He remembered that they were not alone and that his guests had heard the entire exchange.
He bowed his head in an apology, "None of you should have had to hear that, I apologize." He turned to Tarrah and drew her to him, "Tarrah will show you to your rooms, as I am sure you are all as exhausted as I am – if not more so."
He dismissed them with a quiet exit and they were left staring at his broad back as he walked out. Tarrah watched them watch him and knew that the older woman and the skinny woman had deep feelings for him – the man and Meg were harder to read.
"Come with me."
She led Christine and Raoul to the first upstairs bedroom. The doors opened to reveal a lavishly decorated room, with black and lavender décor. The windows were ornate and large and the view was extraordinary, with the light of the moon casting a perfect, lavender beam down upon the gardens.
The large bed was expensively dressed with six pillows and a canopy. Christine was immediately in love with the room and its dark plushness.
"This is luvingly referred to as the 'moon room', enjoy yer rest."
Tarrah closed the door behind her and smiled at Annette and Meg; leading them down the hall to the third room.
This room was of a much cheerier décor. The walls were a soft gray and the accents were peach. There were two beds, each large and dressed with two pillows each. There were small, hand-painted, porcelain statues placed around the room and Annette picked one up and held it lovingly in her hands.
It depicted a scene from the opera, "Don Giovanni"; each character was meticulously and expertly carved and painted – creating a life-like, miniature version of the people Erik had watched perform the opera so long ago.
"In his spare time, he luvs to sculpt and paint…I have never seen a man with so much talent."
Annette nodded at Tarrah's words, and gently placed the statue back in its place. A tear was sliding down her cheek at the simple beauty of each piece in the room.
"He has sold many o' his sculptures and even more o' his paintin's."
Tarrah had just gotten the words out, when they heard someone clear their throat. They turned to see Raoul and Christine standing in the doorway, looking at the décor. They walked reverently into the room and visually adored the beauty of it.
"He must be worth a fortune."
Raoul whispered, remembering the elaborate beauty of each room and the house itself.
"Indeed he is…and he enjoys havin' beautiful things around him."
Everyone female in the room nodded their head – they understood.
"I bid all o' ye good-night, if he knew I was still up, he'd be givin' that look that I 'ate so much."
Tarrah left, Raoul and Christine followed, and the house was quiet for the night.
TBC