Christine and Erik spent the rest of the time in the tavern in silence. Christine did not wish to continue prying into his thoughts, as they were obviously painful. She had her suspicions as to what it was Erik wanted so badly but she could not yet bring herself to admit even her own speculation. That would mean confronting her own muddled thoughts and she wasn't ready for that yet. If only Meg were there to confide in. However, she thought, even if she were, what could Meg possibly have to say? Her experiences were even fewer than Christine's regarding situations of emotional confusion and choosing the right thing to do or say in difficult situations. Meg was even younger than she and although Christine admitted to herself that she was naïve and foolish, her friend was even more so.
Erik's assumptions about the driver were right, but not about the means. When they left the front of the tavern to find their driver again, they found him near the stables sharing swigs of something potent out of a flash with the stable-master. No doubt he had simply pocketed the coins Erik had given and resorted to drinking his own brew. The carriage ride back to the inn was uncomfortable in more ways than one. The oppressive silence inside the carriage was heavy and thick and only occasionally broken by Christine's gasps when the carriage wheels jolted from one side to the next. Obviously their driver had more than a few mouthfuls of whatever was in that flask and was having difficulty keeping the vehicle straight on the road. The horses were fighting his direction and they were probably as irritated with their master as the passengers inside.
Back at the inn, Erik helped Christine down and she quickly made her way inside, not wanting to hear the tirade of cussing that came from Erik's mouth at the inebriated man. She had heard better language in a brothel and knew Erik's mood had not improved much.
Inside she waited for him, pacing. He finally joined her but gave a weary sigh and said, "I'd like to be alone for the rest of the day."
She nodded her assent and he passed her to head up the well-worn steps to his room upstairs. She waited until she heard his door quietly close, and then listened as the bolt slid through the latch. She sighed. It was going to be quite some time before he resurfaced. She hoped he would be in a better mood when he did.
She sat in an overstuffed chair by the front window looking out onto the garden. The wind had died down some since earlier but it still blew through the tops of the tallest trees, leaving their swaying branches scattering dry leaves down onto the ground below. Marie startled her as she came through the front room carrying a bundle of laundry.
"Christine my dear, I did not expect to see you back so soon," she said, putting the bundle down.
"It was," she thought of the best thing to say, "not the best day to be out today."
"And where is Monsieur Durand?" she asked.
Christine replied, "He was not feeling so well," then added, "I think you fed him too much this morning and he's suffering from indigestion."
Marie laughed, "I thought that man was going to eat the tablecloth. I never seriously expected him to eat everything I brought him. You'd think he was in a competition," she said. "Well, I don't supposed I can enlist you to help me change the rooms over? That swine in the downstairs suite left a mess."
Christine rose from her chair and said, "Of course you can. You know I actually miss doing this. Remember when I did it because I thought I was helping my father pay for our room and board?" She picked up some of the sheets and pillows. "What I didn't know was that he was just trying to occupy me so he could go into town and have some ale with the other travelers." She laughed at that memory.
"Oh, yes I remember. Of course I did enjoy the help regardless," Marie stated cheerfully.
They entered the room and Christine tsked at the mess leftover from the rude guest. "What a disaster!" she exclaimed, picking up an empty gin bottle from beside the bed.
"Oh I've seen worse. And I've charged more as a result," she replied.
They stripped the sheets from the bed and shook the pillows from their cases after picking up most of the aftermath of a one man party.
Marie surprised Christine by asking, "Now, why don't you tell me what's really going on between you and your maestro."
Christine was about the make up another lie but instead, broke down and said, "How do I even know where to begin?" 'How much should I tell her' she wondered.
Marie smiled gently, "Why don't you first start off by explaining why that man's hackles raise every time I mention the young Vicomte."
Christine thought for a moment and explained, "Erik is, well, jealous of Raoul."
"Jealous you say? Ooh! Do go on!" Marie exclaimed. She was readying herself for a long escapade of gossip.
And with that, Christine dove into the story of how Raoul had re-appeared into her life as a patron to the Opera, but not before Erik had begun teaching her music lessons in secret. She left out the Angel of Music charade because even she was embarrassed to admit that she fell for such a sham.
"That mask," Marie inquired, "Why the need for it?" She was biding her time before asking the juicy question behind the jealousy.
Christine had been ready for that question so she did not hesitate to explain a plausible excuse. "He was wounded a long time ago and is badly scarred. He feels more comfortable going about in public with it on."
"I see," she replied. "And the mask and scars are the reason he taught you in secret?"
"Yes. He didn't want me to reject him as a teacher before he could instruct my voice. He wants to make me a star, you see."
Marie nodded and gestured to continue as she tucked the sheets under the mattress.
"Well, Raoul has always been a bit spoiled. You know because you remember him as a child. He hasn't changed much. He's still the ever positive ray of sunshine and doesn't think there is anything wrong with pursuing me. He doesn't see the stares and hear the whispers behind our backs when we are together, but it makes it increasingly difficult to be around him when I have to deal with the horrid gossip afterward." She sat down on the edge of the newly made bed. "I don't know what to do."
"Well my dear. The first thing you need to figure out is not an answer, but a question."
Christine looked confused, "I don't understand."
"What is the question that burns you every moment of every day? Once you know the question, then you can begin looking for answers and they will tell you exactly what you need to know."
Christine thought long and hard about it as Marie bustled around the room tidying and dusting the furniture.
"Marie?" she started. "Is it possible to love more than one person at a time?"
Marie grinned, "Now we're getting to it!" She sat down next to Christine on the edge of the bed and said, "Of course it's possible. There are all different kinds of love. The real question is which kind of love is the most important to you?"
Christine slouched over, "That, I believe is the problem. I don't know what I need yet."
"Well, let's list the issue out, shall we?" Marie began, "You obviously love Raoul but you aren't sure how much and you also don't know if your social standing will cause more trouble than you care to invite. Am I correct so far?"
Christine shook her head, yes.
"Now your Erik, on the other hand; he loves you more than I bet he's admitted."
"How can you tell? You just met him and don't know anything about him other than he's my teacher."
Marie laughed lightly, "Christine dear, you don't have to be psychic to see that. The tension between you two is palpable and not in a bad way. When you two leave the room I feel the need to open a window and let a cool breeze through."
"Is it that obvious?" Christine asked.
"You obviously like him, at least. Is it just those scars that are stopping you or are there more problems I don't know about?" she asked.
"Erik is," she began, "Like no one I've ever met before. He has some deeply rooted issues from his past and he's entirely devoted to what he loves. His music, his opera, and the architecture he designs. Nothing is done halfway with him. He's the most intense individual I've ever met."
"But?" Marie nudged.
"But he's moody and secretive. I'd love to help him when he's troubled but he clams up. If only I could get to the root of it all I could think of a solution."
Marie gave her an odd smile, "I'm sure you'll think of something."
Christine added, "There is one thing I can do to help him out."
"Oh? What's that?"
"Stop you from overfeeding him," she grinned.