Author's note: I wish all my readers a happy new year!

Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen

September 17th 1892: Erik

They were watching us. That was the only answer to the question how they could have known when would be the best moment to manipulate the wheels of the coach. There hadn't been more than twenty minutes between Jacques leaving the part of the stable where the coach stood and the coachman and me entering it. So it was almost impossible that they had merely been lucky.

They were watching us. Admittedly I had suspected it before, but learning it in such a way was something completely different. For once, I wouldn't have minded being wrong. The thought that someone was sneaking around the house, peering through windows, possibly even seeing my beloved in indecent situations, made me feel sick and angry. Fortunately I had already warned her to stay away from the windows, though at that time it had been for a different reason.

They were watching us. This confirmed my suspicion that there were more than one person attacking us. A single person could never follow us all day and all night. Not even I had managed to do that when I had been watching over Christine. One either had to make certain concessions to the urge to eat and sleep, thus taking the risk of missing a few things, or else one had to have help. Jacqueline had supported me over the years, and Narelle had been very helpful at the opera, but I knew how hard it was to find such people and keep them under control.

There had to be one person in charge of all this, one person who planned the attacks and made others carry them out. I assumed that it either was someone rich or charismatic, possibly both. It took a lot to be the leader of a group, to make sure that none of them grew bored or started to brag about the project in public. If money was the main incentive for those people, I'd stand a chance if I ever found one of them. Money wasn't a problem for me. But if they carried out that person's instructions out of more personal reasons, it would be difficult.

This led me back to the question I had thought about quite a few times so far: Why would someone want to attack the de Chagnys? I could have understood that someone had a grudge against the Vicomte, yet what I had heard at the butcher's had been clear: The attacks were meant to be for the whole family. And this was what I could not understand. Christine was the loveliest woman in the world. How could someone not like her? And Antoinette and Philippe… they were only children. They couldn't possibly have anything to do with it.

"Meg, do you know anyone who could have something against Christine or the Vicomte or the entire family?" I asked, breaking the silence for the first time ever since we had left the street where the accident had taken place.

If she was surprised by my question, she didn't show it. At least she didn't demand an explanation. In fact, I suspected that she had thought about exactly the same subject, for the answer came very quickly.

"Well, I guess there must be some people who have something against Raoul on a professional level," she replied pensively. "People whom he refused to give money are bound not to like him. Or maybe someone whose project failed blames him for it. But I don't know too much about that. You'd have to talk to his business partner."

"Somehow I don't think the reason for this is to be found on the business level," I muttered. "As far as I know, neither the Vicomte's business partner nor any of his projects have been attacked, and those would have been easier targets and harder to protect than a family… What about Christine? If someone hated her, attacking the family would make sense… for someone who's insane, of course."

"You mean apart from Signora Marchesi? Let me – "

I didn't let her finish the sentence.

"Signora Marchesi?" I repeated. "I thought I was the one she didn't like. She barely knows Christine. Why should she hate her?"

Meg threw me a sideways glance.

"For the same reason why Carlotta didn't like her: jealousy," she answered.

"But why should she be jealous?" I wanted to know. "Christine isn't working as a singer anymore. There's no competition between the two of them."

"Forgive me for saying so, but this shows that you no longer know the latest gossip," she told me. "Even before Christine came to the first night, there were rumours that she'd come back to the opera for good one day, and ever since she has really been there, those rumours have increased. Of course you'd help her become the prima donna again. Signora Marchesi is frightened."

"I see…" I muttered, shaking my head a little. Why didn't I know such things myself anymore? How could it be possible that Meg, who spent far less time at the opera than I did, had to tell me about them? Yet this was not the right time to ponder over such questions. I had to count myself lucky that I had someone like Meg with me. "So you think she could be behind all this?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "It's hard to tell what Signora Marchesi is like because she always keeps to herself and rarely shows her true feelings. Even when she's having one of her outbursts on stage… it just doesn't feel real to me. Her heart's not in it. It's as if she was wearing a mask over her true self because she doesn't want anyone to see it. Who knows what depths lie behind it?"

I took the reins in one hand for a moment and tapped my masked cheek.

"Yes… who knows?" I repeated with a lopsided smile.

Meg jumped slightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to offend you. I completely… forgot… about your mask…"

I couldn't help chuckling softly.

"I don't know how you women do this," I remarked. "Just a few words, and you've turned an insult into a compliment. It's nice to hear that you've forgotten the mask. I sometimes wish I could do the same…"

Silence followed my almost wistful statement. Apparently Meg didn't know what to say about it, and I didn't want to talk about it in more detail either. So I decided to ask another question instead.

"Do you think there's anyone the diva opens up to? Someone I could talk to in order to find out more about her?"

"Her pianist, maybe," she answered. "I've often seen them sitting together, talking. He's not only her pianist, you know, but also a distant relative of hers, the uncle of her cousin's mother or something like that – I can't recall it exactly. She brought him with her from Italy and refuses to practice when he's not around."

I nodded. At least I had known that much myself. I had sometimes heard the diva throw a tantrum when someone had suggested starting to practice without her uncle. I didn't know why I hadn't though of him myself. Discussing things with others really seemed to bring better results than only pondering over them alone.

"Or it could be Estella," Meg said.

"Do you mean Estella Piqué, the chorus girl? She is a confidante of Signora Marchesi?" I asked incredulously. I couldn't believe it. As far as I was informed, the diva didn't think very highly of chorus girls. In her opinion, they were quite useful to stress her importance in the ensemble, but I couldn't imagine that she knew their names or had ever talked more than five sentences to them.

"Oh, no, no," she corrected me with a little laugh. She seemed to find the idea just as ridiculous as I did. "That was not what I meant. I wanted to say that Estella could also be the only planning the attacks."

"But why?" I wanted to know, feeling a little puzzled again. "Are there also rumours that Christine will come back to the opera and become the prima ballerina? Then you should be the one who's frightened…"

"You shouldn't make jokes about so serious a topic," Meg muttered uneasily. "Someone could hear you and really believe I was the one behind it…"

"I'm sorry," I apologised. "I'd never believe that. You're Christine's best friend. But what about this Estella?"

"Well, I've only heard about it this morning, so you mustn't feel bad for not knowing it," she started. "Estella has a sister who is a singer. She used to work at another opera, but she didn't like it there anymore and is looking for a new position, at an opera with a bigger audience, better chances to develop her talents… and richer patrons, of course."

"Wouldn't Signora Marchesi be the right target then?" I asked. "After all, she's the current diva."

"Oh, that's the amusing part of the story," she assured me. "I've overheard Estella telling her best friend Liliane that securing her sister a position at the opera would be very easy for her. All she'd have to do would be finding the Opera Ghost and using her incredible charm to persuade him to hire her sister as the new prima donna. But of course that wouldn't work once Christine was back. Not even Estella would dream of seducing you right under her nose."

"Yes, that sounds like an excellent plan," I said in a very serious voice. "I'm sure it'll work… Just how stupid do those girls think I am?" It had only occurred to me now that Estella had been among those who had once laughed about my inexperience with women. It seemed that she still hadn't learned her lesson.

"The point is that Estella has a father who'd do anything for his daughters," Meg informed me. "Maybe you should tak to Liliane and try to find out how much she knows."

I nodded. On the one hand it was good to have several new leads, but on the other hand… How on earth was I supposed to talk to these people at the same time as protecting the de Chagnys?