NDBRs: Changes throughout. Sorry about the delay, everyone. I just started a new job, and my personal life has been fairly hectic and unpleasant as of late.

Paladin81

A week passed and Erik's mood remained even but sullen. In the quiet house he took his meals in his room, usually with Sophia keeping him company. Her aunt had not yet sent word to the Manor. No news from Paris was certainly not good news, especially with the city under siege.

Ever since he'd left the city he'd only received fragments of news, none of which mentioned the opera house's former inhabitants. He had no idea where Madame Giry and her daughter now lived.

Two letters arrived at the house, one expressing interest in his opera, the other a blatant refusal for an unknown, uneducated composer. He'd changed the name of Don Juan Triumphant and rearranged the score until the overall feel of the music remained unchanged but he was certain few would recognize it.

With the brooch ever present at his side, he submerged himself in his work and barely noticed day turning to night or the sun rising in the morning. The jewelry box and its contents had opened a world he'd forgotten, one which brought him to a bridge in his life. It held for him both sadness and joy, depending on how he held it to the light. Mostly, he studied it by candlelight.

He spent many hours alone, wondering what had become of the previous owner. Always he heard her voice telling him to stay close.

Gabe returned home at the end of the week and delivered three horses, which seemed to cause a stir with Rene. As he grumbled every step of the way, there was no doubt what the horesemaster would ask.

"Our stable contains six horses. What do you wish me to do, Monsieur? Keep the animals or sell them to slaughter?"

Both Gabe and Sophia magically appeared at the bottom of the stairs to hear his answer. Despite his arms being loosely crossed, Gabe's face appeared anxious. Sophia was clever enough to carry a carrot in her hand as though it would decide the horses' fate.

"Two of the horses belong to Monsieur Dupree. The stable itself owns four," Gabe replied.

"People will pay top dollar for horse meat, Monsieur."

"And a good, sound horse. They're excellent breeding stock."

"For a horse farm," Rene corrected. "This is not a race yard, Gabe."

Erik looked past Rene and stared at Gabe. Sophia pursed her lips, her eyes pleading with him to keep the horses. It wasn't a matter of saving funds, he knew. With a sigh, he waved Rene away and nodded toward Gabe.

"It seems your labor has tripled."

The young man dashed out of the house and returned to the stable while his father stomped after him, apparently dissatisfied with his employer's response. Only Sophia remained behind, and she appeared quite pleased. Without being invited she walked into his room and looked for a reason to stay. She set the carrot on the nightstand and immediately stripped the bed sheets, which she had already changed that morning.

When he returned to his desk, she sighed heavily which prompted him to face her.

"You've been very quiet lately. If not for the lamp in your room I wouldn't know you were in here today." Her gaze was trained on the jewelry box.

"I'm in here every day."

She blinked at him and he noticed her face had returned to its normal color, the bruises and swelling no longer noticeable.

"Will you return to the overseer's house tonight after supper?"

His lips parted and he swiftly turned away. She knew more than he thought.

"I have not yet decided what I shall do with my time this evening, Mademoiselle."

She bristled at his words. "My apologies, Monsieur."

Exhaling, he looked at her again. "You should not stay awake so late in the night."

A smile played at the corner of her lips. "And what about you?"

"It's my house," he answered lamely.

She chuckled. "The roof worries me."

"Why?"

She shifted her weight and set the sheets down. "You haven't seen it by the light of day. Come summer—if it lasts that long—you'll need to have it replaced. At least that's what Philippe said."

"Your brother hasn't returned yet, has he?"

She shook her head. "If you had seen the woman he is visiting, you might not return either."

His eyes widened. "Why not?"

"Never mind. If he's with Laure and Sabine he's not meddling in the kitchen." She turned from him and straightened the sheets, which made him smile. "Citrine is almost done cooking supper. Would you care for a drink?"

"Tell Citrine to hold supper a while longer. I have to finish this first." He tapped his fingers on a stack of paper.

"You'll be here all night."

"It's not as much as you would think."

"Very well. I'll—"

Her words were disrupted by the sound of Rene shouting outside. The disruption caused the two of them to walk to his bedroom window.

A carriage had pulled around the back, its curtains pulled tight. There were no markings on the outside of the black lacquer, which left Sophia and Erik exchanging looks.

"Perhaps it's Philippe," Sophia said under her breath. She didn't seem very enthusiastic over her brother's return.

"Has he returned home at night?"

"Not once. I've been alone all week."

He felt her lean against his chest. Unable to resist, he placed his hand on her shoulder as they waited. With a smile, she glanced at his hand and then at his face.

"I though you had forgotten me," she murmured.

He stepped closer, felt a strand of her hair graze the back of his hand. "Never," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "My music…it's…"

"I understand."

Her gaze was trained on the yard but he wanted her to turn and face him. He'd lost himself—as he often had in the past—to a pen, a paper, and his music. Composing seemed a better excuse than fragmented memories and a rotten jewelry box. He studied the side of her face and knew it was not a good reason.

"Sophia—"

"Who in the hell is this?" they heard Rene grumble loudly.

The driver opened the door, and as they both looked on a woman stepped from the carriage, her face blocked by the angle of the cab. Sophia stood on the tips of her toes.

"I don't have enough places at the table set." She glanced at him. "You didn't tell me…"

"I didn't know."

She looked out the window again and Erik felt her excitement buzz through the room. She reached back and found his hand. Startled, he squeezed her fingers tightly before he eased the pressure. If he'd hurt her she didn't show it. Her arms flung around his neck.

"She's here!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Her eyes dazzled as they met his. A wide grin spread across her lips and she stared out the window one last time. A cane came into view, followed by a woman in a black frock and her hair in a graying bun.

"Aunt Annette."

-o-

He'd never called her by her first name. Stern and motherly, she'd always been Madame Giry. Even the title Mother Giry seemed too familiar in his mind, and despite the years they'd known one another, he'd always kept their relationship formal.

Sophia released a squeal of delight and shouted over her shoulder but he missed her words. The door closed and he was left alone to stare out the bedroom window.

Nothing had changed, at least physically. She was still a woman with a fair complexion and gradually fading beauty. Years of dancing had made her strong. An accident—which had occurred years after he took up residence in the opera house—had left her with a cane at her side but her willfulness and pride still intact.

Sophia appeared in the yard a moment later and hugged her aunt tightly. He couldn't hear her words but he understood the excitement in her voice and actions. She was in the presence of family, which he knew she relished. At least someone had a loved one nearby, he thought wryly.

While the driver removed her belongings, Gabe steadied the horses and Rene looked on with his usual sour face.

"Monsieur?" Citrine tapped on the door. He turned to see her peering at him. "Ah, so you are still alive. I expected you to be a skeleton by now."

He nodded but didn't speak, which only drew her into the room. By her tone of voice he already knew she was insulted when his supper was returned to the kitchen virtually untouched.

"You like salt, I add salt, but if I add any more you may as well take your supper in the stable."

"Excuse me?"

"A salt lick." She shook her head. "Forget I said it. I came up here to tell you that either I deliver your food now or I'm afraid your dog may snatch it from the stove. He's a sneaky beast, Monsieur, not a very good representative of the Irish. Now I am a good example of an Irish saint."

He stared at, uncertain of what to say.

"It was a jest merely to see if you're paying attention. You've been so quiet lately, more so than usual. Don't disappear on me, Monsieur." She grinned and smoothed her hands over her skirt. "In fact, I give you two plates tonight so I may fatten you up. You're far too thin for my liking."

With that she left him and returned downstairs. He glanced out the window again and found Madame staring at him, her eyes narrowed and expression unreadable. He nodded once and closed the curtain, wondering if she would be glad to see him again.