CHAPTER 7—AVANT LE VOYAGE

August 1890

Few women had ever had Erik Laroche at their mercy quite as much as the young lady at his side. It was true that he despised Gilbert and Sullivan, but on their last trip to London, he had allowed himself to be dragged to The Pirates of Penzance, which had been one of the least engaging operas he had ever sat through.

Now, however, they had landed in Germany at the end of July, and she had pleaded that they stay to see something they would likely never have the chance to see anywhere else. He had agreed, although he was not normally a fan of these newer operas, and even though he knew that the orchestra was going to be far too large.

It was a testament to her taste that Erik found himself in Bayreuth through August and actually enjoying himself. This work of Wagner's was truly unlike anything he had ever seen. They left Götterdämmerung unable to stop talking back and forth on the subject of combining four operas into one massive production, and of the ingenuity of Wagner's work.

"So, you see, it required a huge orchestra. You can't feel the seat rattling under you from twelve people. It takes so much more than that! And did you see that tuba? I've never seen anything like it!"

"That was a tuba?" He smiled teasingly. "Looked like a horn."

"Shut up. I liked it better than Aida, even!"

"This from the woman who is going to make Giuseppina Sterpponi disappear so she can marry Verdi?"

"That is revolting! He's far too old to even think of that way!"

"Glad to see you know your limits." Erik wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Besides, you don't need any other man but me."

A pair of eyes that matched his own rolled as Nadine walked along side him. "I'm going to die a spinster," she said. "No man will want anything to do with me once he's met you."

"You're too young to be thinking of boys."

"I'm fourteen!" Nadine said indignantly. "I'm not too young for anything."

"You're too much for a lot of things." Erik yawned widely and glanced toward the west where the sun was setting. It was the perfect end to the perfect day. They had seen the last opera in The Ring Cycle, and it had been entertaining and wonderful time spent with Nadine. Tomorrow, they would make their way back the village just outside of Lille, to the house that held no sad memories, and they would settle back in to their normal life. Nadine would swim in the river and Erik would work, and the ladies of town would fawn over the handsome, mysterious widower whenever he came through town. In September, Nadine would leave until Christmas for school. Erik had schooled her himself until she was twelve, when he decided that, although she would likely learn nothing at any school due to her prior knowledge in everything from music to architecture, the social atmosphere would be good for her. He had been prove correct when she had come home quite the young lady, instead of the rough and tumble girl he had taken to Paris months earlier. He was happy, though, that her tastes in opera had not been changed. Verdi was still her favorite, and she still played piano beautifully.

Still, he sometimes wondered if she needed an older woman in her life. He was hesitant to remarry simply to give her a mother, but he was getting older, and soon she would have questions that he had no answers to. Meg was in Paris, busy with the shop, Luc, and their two children. Marie and Nadir had married three years ago and spent a great deal of time traveling. There were no other women that Erik could think of for her to go to for immediate advice. True, he had seen various women over the years, but none of them had been what he needed, or what Nadine would need. Additionally, none of them seemed to appeal to Nadine. He recalled once, when she was eight, a woman he had been seeing for some time had left after, during dinner, she had had a bug "dropped" in her hair by Nadine. Erik had punished her, but he had known at the same time that it was probably for the better.

Erik paused for a moment, wincing slightly at the stiffness in his leg. It had never truly healed after its injury when Nadine was four, and he still needed a cane from time to time so many years later. Today, he had left the bothersome device at the hotel, and now he wished he hadn't been so stubborn.

Nadine paused slightly ahead of him and turned, looking concerned. "Are you alright, papa?"

"Fine." Erik hobbled the rest of the way to where their horses were tied up under the watchful eye of Erik's butler. He struggled for a moment before he felt a pair of hands steadying him. Turning, he saw Nadine smiling at him. He rolled his eyes slightly and, with her help, climbed up onto the horse.

Nadine mounted her own and took off at a quick trot, glancing behind her. "Hurry up, old man, before the darkness gets us!"

Erik grinned wickedly at her, spurred his horse, and took off running. He heard Nadine's shout of indignation, then the pounding off hooves as she worked to catch up with him. She drew even with him, and he could see that, as usual, she had abandoned the idea of riding side saddle. At home, when no one was around, she would don a pair of Erik's pants, roll them up and belt them at her waist, then take off around their property. She was completely comfortable riding side saddle, but like her mother, she chose not to.

They reached the hotel quickly and returned the horses before heading back for dinner.

Dinner was always an event during which Erik could see Jacqueline in his daughter the most. She made pleasant conversation with the same wry sense of humor that Jacqueline had possessed mingled with the dryness of her father's. Her elbows stayed off the table, a napkin was placed gently in her lap, and she used all the silverware correctly and with the right course. She was still so young, a child in some ways, but she was growing up at a startling rate. From time to time, Erik wondered if all fathers felt this way about their daughters. Meg's daughter was still so young that he did not feel he could quite yet ask Luc.

At fifteen, though, boys were already starting to pay attention. Meg had told him that having her married at seventeen was going to be no problem. The thought was one that made Erik uneasy. As awkwardly as his career as a father had began, he had now perfected it to a profession and an art. Doubling as both parents, Erik often found himself doubly protective. He knew it drove Nadine to madness, but he wasn't able to help it. She was far too lovely for a girl who had just had her birthday a mere week prior. Already at the festival, she appeared to have acquired several admirers, among them the sixteen year old song of an English lord, a French lad with a passion for hunting and for expensive garments, and a boy from Norway who spoke barely any German or French but that seemed quite taken with her fortune.

Only one had sparked Erik's interest—a young German student, just turned seventeen, who was quite taken with Nadine's passion for the opera and the knowledge she had acquired surrounding anything and everything artful. Nadine had shunned all these young men, but the German one had been sitting next to them at the festival, and when Nadine ignored him, he chatted to Erik instead. Erik had learned that the boy's name was Felix. The younger of two sons, Felix studied at academy in Berlin, where he studied music, art, and literature. His father was Gunther Ehrlichmann, a self-made man who had moved to Berlin from the German countryside five years ago after working his way from the bottom and now managed a large bank in town that now operated under a wonderful reputation for fairness. Still, though, his boys were raised to believe that money was not something to be given as an award for genealogy—it had to be earned. While Felix's older brother worked as a low-down bank teller, Felix was free to study subjects of his choosing. He was impressively smart for his age, and Erik found himself actually learning new things about art, and of hearing of the newest stories. He would be moving to Paris soon to study composition and painting with the best resources one could find.

Erik speared a potato on the end of his fork. "So you thought none of those young men good enough for you?"

"I have no interest in boys at this time," Nadine said stiffly. "I only care to immerse myself in my studying. So few young ladies have the opportunity to learn as I do, and I intend to use it to its fullest."

It was a rehearsed speech recited nearly verbatim every time Erik tried to bring up anything unrelated school—boys, parties, or even moving home. Erik was ready for it today, and his response was almost as rehearsed, only inside his head. "I'll admit that many of them were not nearly good enough for you. There was that one though... what was his name..." Erik pretended to think. "Friedrich, Fabian, something with an 'F'..."

"Felix," Nadine said through gritted teeth. "And don't pretend you don't remember his name—he talked to you all through intermission."

"Yes, but he only mentioned his name once or twice." Erik cut off a bit of steak. "Nice, honest young man. Moving to Paris, too." He smiled and popped the beef in his mouth.

"That's nice." Nadine abruptly pulled the napkin from her lap, dabbed her mouth, and stood up. "I'm quite finished, father. Would you mind terribly if I retired early?"

When had she ever backed down from a challenge? Taken aback, Erik only nodded as she turned, making her way quickly from the restaurant and back into the hotel. Chewing thoughtfully, he watched her leave and felt as if he were watching her grow away from him.

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Christine watched as Emma stared down at her folded hands. Her long curls were pinned back away from her face, and she glanced up briefly at the young man across from her before reaching for her tea and taking a sip. The soft rustle of silk as she moved was the only sound until the boy spoke again.

"I am quite glad you're coming to school in Paris, Lady de Chagny," he said. "You'll love Paris. It's such an amazing place."

"And if I make no friends? What then?" Emma looked back at her hands, folded in her lap again and resting on the pale blue of her dress.

"You have a friend in Paris," Anthony said, smiling. "Me."

Emma smiled weakly and took another sip of her tea. Christine turned back to the book in her hands. It was a collection of the poetry of Edgar Allen Poe, and Christine was not sure why it had been sent to her. It was morbid, to be certain, and perhaps that had been why he'd sent it to her. Missing his wife, again, perhaps. She smiled as she recalled the letter that had accompanied it. It was brief, more of a note, really, and she used it like a bookmark as she always did with the letters that accompanied the literature he sent her.

Christine,

I feel that, in my current situation, I may cease to live. I find myself despising women at the moment and there are few who do not make me feel like drowning in Poe. Enjoy.

Sincerely,

Erik

She had not actually seen Erik in years, not since she had left Paris, in fact, but he continued to write to her as a friend. He sent her music and books and quotes that he came across that he thought she may enjoy, and she had come to view him as a valued friend over the years. Gone was the man who had threatened and terrified her, replaced by a doting father with a sardonic sense of humor. She found herself giggling, and the young pair at the other side of the room, beside the open window that looked down over the sloping lawn that led to a beach, stared at her.

"Ignore me," she said, returning to her book.

Anthony frowned. "You're reading Poe."

"Yes."

He shook his head. "Forgive me my lapse of manners," he said quietly. "I did not mean to sound insulting."

It was Emma who answered. "You didn't, sir."

They returned to their awkward silence.

Anthony Levesque was a young man certainly taken with the Lady de Chagny, as most young men were. Emma had turned down many suitors that had knocked at their door, but for some reason, allowed Anthony, quiet and seldom speaking Anthony, to court her. Christine knew that her daughter's beau was supremely polite and uninterested in her money—his family certainly had enough of their own. He was good looking with tousled brown hair and piercing blue eyes, tall and sturdy looking. At sixteen, he was a year and a half Emma's senior, and although he seldom spoke, Christine was quite sure that he would throw himself in front of a bullet if it meant saving Emma.

His passions seemed to be long walks down the beach and poetry, which he sometimes read to Emma. He played the cello moderately well, and favored Keats above all others. He spoke English fluently, as well as Italian and German, and a bit of Portuguese. Even after two months of courting Emma, he was still very formal, never referring to her by her first name in Christine's presence. She had only heard him call her Emma once, when she had briefly stepped out, but he had said it with such reverence that Christine had given them an extra minute alone without the presence of a chaperon before reentering the room.

They were silent for another hour at least, and Christine finished her book and set it down on the table in front of her. Emma looked up from her hands, still folded, and Anthony turned away from the window.

"Did you enjoy Poe, then?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not sure." Christine frowned at the book. "He is quite morbid. It's almost comical, really. I am not quite sure of the meaning behind it being sent to me."

"May I inquire as to who sent it?" Polite, as always, not wanting to pry.

Christine glanced at Emma, who had hardly spoken. "An old friend of Mama's," she said softly. "He lives Lille, now, but he used to live in Paris. Erik Laroche?"

"The architect?"

"The same." Emma took a sip of her tea. "Do you know him?"

"He owns the estate down the road from my parents' house in Lille." Anthony smiled, and Christine was surprised to see a bit of humor in his face. "An interesting man, Monsieur Laroche. I've only met him the two times—once at a dinner party thrown by my father, the other when his daughter was hiding in one of our trees."

Emma frowned, confused. "Why was she hiding up a tree?"

"She'd poured syrup in the hair of her father's companions and ran out of the house when he got angry. He actually thought it was funny. He was laughing when they left." Anthony smiled again. "I am sorry, my lady, but I must be taking my leave. My uncle will certainly sent the police looking for me if I do not return home soon."

Emma rose, and Anthony stood with her. "Will you visit again soon?"

He nodded. "I leave for Paris again in three days, but I shall come to see you once more before I go."

"I'll see you out."

Anthony nodded to Christine. "It was nice to see you again, viscomtess."

Christine smiled and nodded at Anthony as he stepped from the room, Emma following closely. She put the book on the shelf before slowly making her way out of the parlor. She paused at the doorway, out of sight, and stood as quietly as she could when she heard Emma's voice.

"Do you promise?" she was asking quietly. "It's only, I'm so nervous. I've never been around so many people at once. I've never shared a room with someone."

"It's not so bad." Anthony's voice was soothing. "I had the same roommate for two years, and we got along wonderfully."

"What if I don't like her?"

"Then you'll get a new one later. And you can talk to me about it. I'll be right down the road."

"Promise?" she asked again, and Anthony chuckled, a rare sound Christine seldom heard.

"I promise. Even if it's the middle of the night and you think you'll kill her, I'll figure something out so you can be happy."

She peeked around the corner to look at them. They were about a foot apart, and Anthony held one of her tiny hands in his larger one. She was staring up at him, her face anxious, and his blue eyes gazed back with adoration. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her fingers.

"Happy birthday, Emma," he said softly, then he turned and, with a little wave, was gone.

Christine pulled back, smiling. Of course they would appear so formal but be so cute when they thought they were alone. Perhaps when he visited in a few days she would have to feign a headache to give them some time alone. She hated the thought of chaperoning them, but it was a necessity to avoid talk in town.

Setting her face into a neutral expression, Christine stepped around the door frame and into the entryway. The door was still open and Emma was watching Anthony ride off down the long lane toward his uncle's home in town.

"Do you want dinner?" Christine asked softly. Emma nodded and began to close the door. "No, leave it open. It's too warm in here, anyway." Christine wrapped an arm around Emma's shoulders. "Come on."

"Mama, why do I have to go to school? I have a tutor."

"I want you to be sociable," Christine said.

"But I'm not rude or anything."

"I know, dear. You're just so quiet around strangers that they continue to be strangers for a long time. I don't know how you manage to attract so many boys when you never talk to a one of them."

"I talk to Anthony."

"He's the exception, but you know what I mean." Christine let go of Emma as they entered the dining room. "I want you to be a functioning young lady with other young ladies of your own age. And your Aunt Meg and I don't count," she added as Emma opened her mouth to argue.

"What if I hate it? I've never spent more than a few days in Paris." Emma toyed with her fork. "What if my roommate hates me?"

"Your roommate will not hate you. You just have to talk to her is all."

Emma cringed, and Christine was reminded of her decision to send her only child to school at all. It was difficult for Christine to move on with her life when her daughter was so docile. The few men Christine had seen over the years never heard much more than "hello" and "goodbye" from Emma, and Christine had been able to see her daughter's discomfort as clearly as the stars on a moonless, cloudless night.

It wasn't that Christine was looking for marriage, even. She was just lonely. Lately, she found herself frequently missing Raoul, more so than usual. She missed his presence at night, when she was alone in her bed, most of all. Meg had promised to set her up with someone if she ever visited Paris, but Christine did not want to thrust that upon Emma. If Emma was in school, perhaps she would visit sometimes. Perhaps Meg would find her someone to keep her company.

Emma seemed to be able to read her thoughts. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I know it must be a burden for you, to have to push me into conversations. I've just never been much good at carrying on conversation with anyone but you."

Christine squeezed Emma's hand. "You are not a burden to me, Emma." Emma looked up hopefully. "You're still going to school, though."

"You'll be so far away."

"I'll visit more often. We have that flat we never use—I can stay there. And Anthony is there, too, don't forget."

"I know," Emma sighed, ans with resignation, she cut into her food.

a/n I have traveled many miles. I fought an evil beast and lost (my online class). I battled with an evil being and triumphed after many long nights of warring (LiveText online portfolio). I was chased by monsters (adorable third graders). I came. I saw. I conquered. Then I got my ass kicked.

Sorry for the lack of updates. It's been a rough semester. I'm on break now, so I'll see what I can get done in the next month.