Early May 1882
It had been over three months, and yet Erik found himself still skulking around the excessive mansion day after day without a single sign of employment. He must have sent his sketches and portfolio to at least fifteen separate contractors; however, all remained without success and the repeated failures were taking their toll: he was frustrated and a touch of rejection seemed to affect him. Perhaps his designs in architecture just weren't suited to the old-fashioned gentry who persisted to inhabit London… or perhaps he'd simply lost his touch.
At this moment, Erik was settled in a sturdy oak chair beside a fire place in the front parlour of the house, awaiting the delivery of more letters - though he expected they contained more of the same 'apologies' as the others he'd received. Whilst watching his small copper kettle come to boil over the fireplace, he could hear the echoes of Meg Giry scampering about the kitchen in an attempt to make her mother something warming for breakfast. As Erik heard the girl swear under her breath, the overwhelming scent of curdled milk reached his nostrils and he found himself slightly amused at the failure. Although he knew he should help Meg, he could not quite bring himself to trust the young ballerina at present. Erik had given his trust too easily back at the Opera House; had too quickly believed the best of… well, those events had left him reassured that he was better off keeping to himself.
He had been so preoccupied with events in the kitchen Erik had let the kettle boil over. Cursing to himself, he swiftly grabbed the wooden handle of the pot and shoved it onto the table beside him where he'd already set a mug with his tea bag and the sugar bowl.
As he poured the water, he heard the mailbox open with a clatter and the soft thud of the letters falling on the doormat. Momentarily turning his attention away from the steaming liquid, a few drops spattered onto his finger causing a stinging sensation to spread up Erik's right hand – no real threat but nonetheless painful. He dropped the kettle onto the table and nursed his sore limb as he headed over to sift through the post; he read all the printed addresses to 'Mr. E Carriere', none of which looked promising. But there was a single letter with elegant script scrawled upon the envelope:
Mademoiselle Meg Giry, Coralline Manor, Braxton Drive, Wandsworth, London County, SW18 HF2
Even now, as he tried to fool himself that he didn't recognise the handwriting, Erik's hand persisted to tremble with both anticipation and an inkling of panic. He looked over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Meg heading his way as of yet. And with that, Erik took the envelope back to his chair, ignoring his beverage as his gaze refused to leave the lettering. He slowly pried open the plain wax stamp which sealed the envelope and began to lift the flap.
"Er… Monsieur?" He started as a blonde head poked around the door with a timid smile. "Your letters were still by the door - you normally grab them straight away. Did you want me to bring them to you?"
Erik remained facing away from the doorway as he concealed the paper from Meg. "It's quite alright, I'll get them myself later," He gestured for her to leave and she silently obeyed, giving a nod of farewell before disappearing.
Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Erik brought his attention back to the letter as he pulled it from its envelope. He fumbled to unfold the paper and braced himself as he began to read:
My dear Meg,
I do hope your mother and yourself are keeping well, in spite of recent events. I wished to write to you in the hopes of gaining your attendance at a small celebration Raoul has insisted we hold in honour of our coming child, on May 25th.
Erik stopped reading at this point, for he was too stunned at such news. Not even a year of marriage and the "happy couple" were expecting? It angered him to think of the fop, the ridiculous deChagny boy touching such a beautiful creature as Christine – his eyes scanning her statuesque body, his hands caressing her silky soft snow-coloured skin, unscathed with a single imperfection. His coarse kisses violating her own peachy lips as he took her for his own.
The thoughts raced through his mind, which soon brought him back to the night when he'd felt her touch. Their bodies had been so perfectly attuned to one another, two instruments creating an angelic melody – rather appropriate, for she was his Angel, and he had once been hers…
No, he was still hers. Erik would always be her angel. He remembered everything of that night - they had been Christine's own words on that night, "You have always been my angel… and nothing in the world will change that". He still believed in them, and with this encouragement flickering in his mind, Erik brought himself to read on:
It seemed ludicrous to invite all the members of the Parisian upper class while failing to contact the pair of you. I need you and your mother with me, Meg. I need somebody familiar at such a time.
Your Friend,
Lotte Daae
A smile tugged at Erik's mouth as he observed the way in which she had signed off her letter: no sign of any husband, but just a simple chorus girl who would sit in the chapel and beg for her Angel of Music. The child who'd sobbed three nights in a row in sorrow, until her Angel could take no more, and soothed her to sleep with his echoing song. The juvenile who'd faithfully awaited midnight in the chapel to receive her voice lessons and whom had then developed into a glorious young woman, his protégé who'd performed in Hannibal that fateful night near to a year ago.
The night everything changed between them.
He read through the document once more and turned it over to find a few notes scratched there – a folk song he remembered teaching Christine at the age of ten. This 'blast from the past' combined with the chosen name "Lotte Daae" to sign off the letter gave Erik the impression that his Angel was yearning for the past. She was clearly not accustomed to her new life, not happy…
He felt compelled to find her, to comfort her, and he wouldn't let anything prevent him. However, it was only a matter of time before she would blend in with the best of the Parisian upper class – especially with the coming of a child with the De Chagny blood. She would be fine…
Nonetheless, Erik was convinced that the ladies should return to Paris, and he was determined to accompany them, despite being a wanted man. He'd stayed in the shadows most of his life and he could do it again – it was Antoinette Giry he would have to convince of this.
As luck would have it, he heard footsteps on the grand staircase and soon the cheery morning exchanges between mother and daughter. He slipped both envelope and letter into one of his pockets before rising and gathering the now cold tea and kettle in his hands before heading to the kitchen.
He found the two women consuming what was most likely porridge at the tiny kitchen table (rather than the drafty dining room next door) whilst talking enthusiastically; he didn't bother to listen.
Erik tipped out the liquid from both kettle and mug before washing them out and setting them to dry on the rack beside the sink. He turned back to find the gaze of both Meg and Madame fixed on him – they both quickly turned away. Not long passed before Madame Giry insisted Meg go change for the day. Happy to oblige, the girl scurried off leaving the empty bowl behind. Her mother looked up to catch Erik's eyes, analysing him.
"You want something," It wasn't a question, but Erik nodded anyway before sitting in the little seat Meg had just vacated. There was an awkward pause before the woman interrupted it: "Do you wish to tell me what it is? I'm not a mind reader, as I'm sure you're aware."
Swallowing, for he suspected she would not be accepting of his actions, he pulled out the parchment from his pocket and set them on the table. The old ballet mistress slid the two papers toward her, her eyes flicking from the address to the writing to the invitation whilst they grew wider with each word. When she'd finished she looked up at him with a hard stare. "You are quite aware that this letter is addressed to my daughter, I take it?" He remained silent which she took for the affirmative. "If you wish to get along in the real world, Erik," she held up a hand to stop his protests at the name. "Then you must start to accept the boundaries. Opening someone else's mail is not within these boundaries!" Her voice remained quiet but the anger was obvious.
"Madame, I would not have opened the letter if it was merely something addressed to Meg,"
"But…"
"It wasn't just something though, was it Antoinette?" He paused and as he watched the anger in her eyes replaced with understanding. "I could recognise that writing anywhere…" he whispered. She nodded and read through the invitation once again.
"So what is it you want to happen, exactly?" He frowned and she looked up to see this, rolling her eyes. "Well, you agreed you want something, so what?"
"I thought it was obvious," Erik stated with a slight shrug of the shoulders. Antoinette Giry was usually so intuitive, but it seemed her skills were failing her. "I wish for you and Meg to attend the party."
Her brow creased as she tried to link the pieces. "You wish for Meg and I to attend Christine's party after reading a letter she wrote… How on Earth does that benefit you? How does it even involve you?" She looked up again and the light in his eyes finally got her to realize his motive. "Oh, no, Erik…"
"Just hear me out-"
"You cannot expect me to take the risk of being caught smuggling Paris's most wanted back into France!" she spoke with fear rather than rage and he reached over to touch her hand.
"I will not allow you to be caught - I do not plan to be caught myself. I have stayed within the shadows for the majority of my lifetime, Antoinette. I will be able to do so for one simple journey," She shook her head, mouth open as she tried to find the words to say – she was hesitant. "Please, Madame… I need this chance." he whispered, yet she heard nonetheless. The two just looked at one another for a few moments before she finally gave him a single nod.
Meg strode back into the room and looked startled to find the two locked in a staring match. "Mama?" Erik turned at her voice, his face remaining expressionless. "What is going on?"
Madame Giry stood up and took her daughter's hand in her own. "Christine has written to us my dear; we're off to visit Paris once again."
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As they pulled up just out of the crowds that were already streaming into the docks, Meg reached to open the door only to have her hand pushed away by her mother. She looked up confused but followed her mother's gesture to note their companion still pulling a travelling cloak up over himself, so as to prevent being noticed. Meg doubted anyone would give a second glance to them in such a crowd but nevertheless understood the precaution and waited till she was sure the man had covered his face before leaning over to the handle once again. The driver had already made his way round and assisted both her and Madame Giry exit the carriage before lifting their luggage off the back of his taxi.
Waving farewell as the man drove away, Meg gathered up the three cases as her mother pretended to assist what would appear to anyone passing to be an elderly man. The ingenious simplicity of the plan caused a smile to cross Meg's face as she noted not one person gave a second glance – this in itself was reassuring. She finally believed that the journey to Paris would be altogether uneventful; Meg would be reunited with Christine in no time…
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HUGE thanks to TheAustralianZombie for her brilliant Beta-ing ;)Sorry to all of you for such a wait but I've found myself completely swamped with work at school and I have real important exams this year – however I plan to have another chapter coming sooner than you might think and the plot line is beginning to take shape so please be patient? 3 Feedback is greatly appreciated!