Re-cap: Gabrielle is eavesdropping on Erik and Nadir Khan when she hears Nadir suggest that Erik propose to Gabrielle…
Ch 32 Daroga Wisdom"Mon dieu!" I whispered in French. The Daroga had advised Erik to offer me a proposal of marriage. Was his goal to push Erik away from me? Monsieur DuPuis was not the sort of man who could be pressed into decisions of any sort.
As covertly as possible, I flattened myself against the wall next to one of the libraries large oak pocket doors and listened to Erik and the Daroga exchange increasingly heated words.
"A proposal, Daroga? Surely you are being droll," I could hear the chaffing tone in Erik's voice.
"Droll, at your expense? I am a wiser man than that, friend," the Daroga countered.
"Clearly, Gabrielle cares for you—why, you said so yourself, Erik. Is it your wish to spend the remaining years of your life alone?"
"Why do you suggest such an unattainable goal to me when you know better? It has been only these past six years that I have lived a feeble version of other Parisians' lives. I know nothing of how a husband should conduct himself. Tell me, Daroga, what bride would wish to live with an ugly recluse?"
"Stop pitying yourself. It is useless and beneath your dignity, Monsieur. If Mademoiselle Gabrielle were repulsed by you, do you think she would allow you to take liberties with her?"
No one spoke. Finally I heard Erik issue a loud, exasperated sigh.
"Gabrielle is a kind and loyal woman, Daroga. I would imagine she too is lonely," Erik reasoned.
Oh gee thanks, Erik. You think I'm so lonely I'll lick the first candy cane that comes my way?
I was highly pissed off.
"Loneliness is not enough for a gentlewoman of any era to tell a grumpy old bachelor she loves him."
"Grumpy indeed," Erik harrumphed. "I did not invite you here for insults. Besides, the woman may well disappear back into her century as easily as she came to be in ours—that, I could not bear."
"Erik, Gabrielle told us this very night of the minute probability one has of traveling through time. She has done it once; there is little hope she will do it again. It is my deduction that she is here to stay. You needn't trouble yourself about the little Mademoiselle leaving the 19th century."
"Daroga, you of all people know how dangerous it is to tempt me with thoughts of what is forbidden to me."
"Bi-hosh," he exclaimed in Farsi, "Erik, before you is the chance to have what you have always craved…"
"Our conversation on this matter is over, fini, Monsieur."
The Persian ignored him and pressed on, "The woman would make for a fine companion; she loves you, she is dedicated to serving you. Erik, I did not save your French skin in Persia only to see you continually make foolish choices. Please listen…"
"Daroga," Erik growled, "I warn you, do not press me!"
"All right, I shan't, but you must promise to take earnest consideration of my words. Do not let this slip away from you, Erik."
"Ha," Erik laughed bitterly. "You forget about my unfortunate luck with Christine. Did I not propose to her? Remember how well that little incident turned out? Why, I nearly achieved the destruction of everything and everyone around me—including myself!"
"Christine did not love you. She was a naive young girl who knew nothing of the world or of men. Besides, kidnapping and blackmail is not a proposal. You frightened her with your obsession; you know that you did, Erik!"
The Daroga was pounding his fist on the table in front of him. I could only imagine what sparks flew in that limited space between the two men.
"Yes, yes, Nadir! You make your point for me. I, Erik, am a beast, a lunatic, an atrocious monster deserving nothing that is lovely. God has blessed me with limitless talents and intellect and for this he has denied me love. Do you not see this?"
"Allah does not withhold love from anyone; it is you who refuses it."
"No more! We will speak of this no more, do you hear me?" Erik suddenly roared.
"No more, Monsieur," the Persian promised calmly. "Just do not tarry too long, lest you lose this chance with her."
Time for Ms. Gabrielle to exit, stage left, quietly too— Erik's senses are so acute he could hear the fennel growing in my herb garden.
I crept up the stairs to the comfort of my lovely Victorian bedroom. Crying into my lace pillows felt like a grand idea. After stripping off my clothes, I threw my body on top of the bedcovers and began a pitiful bout of weeping.
I cried for Erik's misgivings as much as for my inability to reach his heart. Or was it his head that needed to be cracked, so to speak? And that bit about not returning to 2005. Why hadn't I thought of that myself? Maybe I had. There's not much hope joy in admitting that your entire life must be wiped out and begun again at the ripe old age of 29. Despair wrapped its long gloomy fingers around me, drawing me into a restless sleep.
The alarm trilled sharply at 6:30. Thank the Lord I'd had the foresight to set it early last night before I indulged in my shameless crying jag. I'd forgotten to ask Erik what time breakfast was to be served. After last evening's enlightening discussion in the library, it would have been slightly awkward for me to approach him in front of Nadir.
Up and at 'em, Gabrielle; wash your face, comb your hair and dress your body. Chop, chop, I ordered my weary bones.
One look in the mirror hanging over the washbasin, and I decided I should have been the one people screamed and ran from. A night of crying does nothing for a girl's complexion. There were bags beneath my eyes the size of Australia.
Gads, I hope I still have some eye cream left in my old make-up bad.
After some minor cosmetic surgery and a trip to the water closet, I headed down to the kitchen to begin breakfast.
The Daroga likes his Turkish tea, which Erik will also drink. The Roux's must have their coffee—I had to concur with them on that point. After getting the hot water ready for the teapot and press pot, I began turning out dough for almond scones. Throw in some fresh fruit and poached eggs and viola, a suitable meal. In France, big Texas sized breakfasts weren't popular. This, I'm sure, was another reason the French didn't suffer from the same health problems as we Yanks do.
All but the eggs were ready. I wouldn't fix those until everyone was seated so they would be warm. I took this opportunity of quiet to sit at the little oak kitchen table, peer out at Erik's spring garden and sip my coffee.
Warm lips pressed a kiss on my neck; fracturing whatever inane daydream I was into. Erik had walked soundlessly into the kitchen. He wore only a nightshirt and one of his silk robes.
The chills running down my spine were not chills of delight, but of melancholy, the sort that flows over you when you yearn for something you know you cannot have.
I wanted Erik desperately and I desperately wanted him to love me. Hell, I was just desperate, and I hated that.
"Good morning, my darling," Erik said brightly.
At least he still liked me. After last night's heart to heart with his Persian pal, I had expected Erik to withdraw from me. That was his normal modus operandi whenever anyone touched a nerve in his psyche.
"Good morning to you, Monsieur DuPuis," I answered peering into his brilliant jade eyes. "Being a bit laid back today aren't we?" I said, indicating his mode of dress.
"Laid back—yes, relaxed is what you mean isn't it? I'm not indecent am I?" he smiled.
I grabbed the lapels of his silken robe and pulled him in for a kiss.
"Will you be changing before the meal is served? Not that I care, but I know how you people from the 19th century get all worked up over wardrobe impropriety."
"Momentarily dear, I wanted to see what you were about first. I could hear the banging of pans clear up in my bedroom. No doubt most of France is now awake," his voice was smooth and honeyed. As Erik spoke, he dusted the tips of his fingers over the swell of my breast.
I swatted him away, "Stop it, someone will see you, you horny toad!"
"Then shall we retire for a nap after Monsieur Khan departs this afternoon? Certainly my bedroom is a discrete enough location for you, Gabrielle."
"Wipe the smirk from your face and go change. The Roux's are probably up and dressed by now. What time does Monsieur Khan normally rise?"
"With the birds most days—the work ethic of the homme de loi I suppose, but then we were burning the midnight oil well into the wee hours."
"Pontificating the very meaning of life?" I goaded.
Erik grimaced slightly and squinted at me, "Ah, yes…something like that." He poured a cup of tea and stirred two teaspoons of sugar into the inky liquid. He rinsed the spoon and placed it back in the basket.
"I'm off to change—to please the lady, and fetch Monsieur Khan," he said.
One half an hour passed before the entire household, consisting of the Roux's, Monsieur Khan and Erik, were seated at the table for breakfast.
Breakfast conversation was pleasant in spite of being somewhat stilted. Erik discussed his plans for our trip to London so I could get out of the manor and procure new clothing for the season.
Everyone at the table knew why we planned to patronize shops in London rather than Paris, the couture capital of the world. Erik was still uncomfortable walking around the city in the daylight hours. Six years had passed since the incident on the stage of the Opera Garnier. No one had gotten a good look at him or ever seen his mask that night, save a few confidantes, those no longer living in the city, or the dead. Still, it was difficult for a man with Erik's past not to feel hunted.
There was much banal chatting about Nadir's plans to visit the Mediterranean coast for summer holiday, Erik's latest opera, and how the Roux's children were faring.
Caron had written from London. She was looking forward to seeing her parents next month. The Roux's planned to take a three week leave of their duties at DuPuis Manor for a visit with their only daughter. Caron expressed regret that my trip to London would coincide with her trip to stay with her husband's two old-maid aunts for some countryside relaxation.
She was still husband-less and missing her Navy man very much, but held hopes for seeing him by Christmas of this year. Caron added that she would never, ever forget our most excellent adventure, as I had called it, and would always cherish our friendship even if it were primarily via post. Reflecting on our mischievous evening in Paris still made me smile.
Monsieur Khan left for Paris that afternoon, but before departing, he took the liberty of pulling me aside while I was washing the breakfast dishes to pick my brain concerning his old friend.
"Getting to know you more thoroughly was a delight, Gabrielle. I am certain we shall cross paths again. Concerning Erik, do be patient with him. He has been through more hell than Dante himself. Erik does not yet know, or more precisely, does not yet admit, that he does love you— stubborn man."
I stood at the sink drying a dish and shot him a sideways glance, "Erik loves me? You are mistaken Monsieur Khan; Erik does not allow such frivolous emotions to complicate his life. That Christine wench did a number on him, you know."
The Persian continued to address me compassionately, "You are wise beyond your years, because your years are many, Gabrielle. Think of the uncountable miles you must have traveled to live among us in our century. Do you not believe Allah knows what he is doing? Love is for all creatures, even our poor Erik. If it takes the compassion of a fair Mademoiselle from 2005 to tame Monsieur Le Fantôme and offer him what all men require, then so be it! Call it fate or call it divinity, it is the Lord's way of avenging Erik's misfortunes through the miracle of time."
With this last statement, Nadir touched his index finger to his temple knowingly then pointed it at me, "Farewell Mademoiselle Thomassen. The next time we meet, your fate in this century will be permanently sealed."
The wooden bowl I had been drying slipped from my hand and rolled to the floor. Unable to articulate a word, I could only gawk at him as the Persian man strode from the kitchen.
To coin a term form the 19th century, Merde-sainte! Whatever could the Daroga have meant by permanently sealed? How so? How could he know my fate?
- O -
homme de loi: man of the law
Merde-sainte: holy $hit
Bi-hosh: you're mad or deranged
Maddening eh? Erik's unwillingness or inability to accept the love of another, coupled with Gabrielle's sadness at not being able to reach his heart, then there's that wise old Persian… Please review me on this chapter and thank you so very much for hanging with me so far. — Leesa