Chapter 8

The year passed on slowly. Before my very eyes, Christine turned 7: a year older. On her birthday I simply left a simple charm bracelet on her cot and a note to inform her that it was a gift for her from the Angel of Music.

I felt bad for tricking the girl into believing that I was her angel, but it was the only way I could get close to her under these circumstances.

Within the year, my opera was finished and performed. It was a marvelous event. Christine, of course, was much too young to play a role in the opera, so I had to endure less than worthy singers perform my work. The public loved every moment of the opera, dark and twisted as it was. And, being the mysterious composer, was paid an exceedingly good amount.

Knowing that music wouldn't give me enough money to fulfil my plans, I made an investment. I bought a textile factory.

The thing was in a horrid state when I bought it. The manager wanted the thing off of his hands because of the high injury toll.

"Everything is in perfect condition." The manager told me as we walked the premise of the factory. "All new equipment: everything's up to date. It will be a fine investment. I hate to have to get rid of it but, if you make me a good enough offer."

"You are quite charming." I said, my voice calm. "But just because I have never owned a factory, sir, does not mean you can pull a wall over my eyes. Those machines are at least two decades old and have been well worn. Your workers consist of young woman and children meaning you are too cheap to pay full wages and want to use social class, or in this case lack-of, to justify the low pay. The fabrics are made from thick thread to save time weaving but make the cloth is uneven and heavy for fabric that is supposed to be airy and light. Not to mention the workers work long into the night, often without proper lighting which explains why the weaving is unacceptable."

The plump businessman just stared at me with his mouth open.

"It appears I am write." I said, knowing that I won the battle. "You want this place off of your hands. While, considering the state of things, you should be giving me money to control the place: I'm feeling generous. I am sure that this number is adequate?"

I handed him an envelope full of franc notes.

"That will do." The man said.

"Good. Now get out of my facility."

That very day, I gathered the staff together. All were women and children, as was the custom for most factories.

"Good morning, ladies and children. I would say 'gentlemen' as well but there is an apparent lack-of." I spoke to the workers as if I had done this a thousand times before. "As you can see, there has been a change of ownership. I am now your employer."

The meeting went on for quite some time. In brief, I made a few changes.

The first one on the list was safety. During the tour I had witnessed a little girl get her hair caught in one of the gears of one of the machines. I had to react quickly by taking out my knife and cutting off her bronze locks before any damage could be done to her body. That was surely never to happen again. The work hours were shortened to be from dawn to dusk with a break for lunch and two more 10 minute breaks at ten and two.

Then there was the subject of payment. I knew the wages for a common man and that was the wages that the ladies in the factory would receive. For the children, anyone under the age of 13, I paid them half the amount of an adult male. I did not feel any guilt about this because under the new safety rules I had enlisted ensured easier, but still necessary, work for the younger workers.

I didn't want women or children working in my facility: it was a man's job to provide for his wife and children and not the other way around. But I couldn't just fire them. That would be sending them to the gutters. While the world showed no compassion to me, I would not become the monster they said I was.

Things improved in the factory. The better hours produced better textiles which, in return, raised the amount of money made. The number of injuries decreased to almost zero. I soon began accepting male workers into the facility. This let some of their wives and children resign from the factory. Of course the facility was still mostly women, there were some husbands and wives working at my factory which ensured some needed time to visit and talk with each other which was unheard of in this world.

Needless to say, I was becoming well liked and very wealthy.

"You have no idea what this means to me." A young woman with short brunette hair said. "Me? A foreman?"

"Yes." I said, handing her her wages, "I won't be spending as time in this factory and I need a manager. You work the hardest of my workers and know more about the facility than myself. I trust you with running things while I'm gone. Of course I still will be making unexpected but regular visits to ensure everything is the way I want it."

"Of course. Everything will be perfect. But why are you leaving?"

"I wish to spend more time with my niece. I haven't seen her in some time and she is very dear to me."

As expected, the factory thrived even after I had left it in the care of another.

I had a bigger project to tackle and one that I would much rather spend my time and energy.

Teaching Christine to sing.

I still lived in the sewer, despite my overflowing wallet. Every night I would visit Christine in the small chapel in the Opera House and give her lessons.

"Open your jaw wider if you wish to hit that last note." I told the 7 year old..

Christine did as I commanded but still was unable to sing the note.

"I can't. I'm sorry, angel. But I just can't"

"You will. Your voice will go even higher if you keep practicing." I assured her. "That is all for tonight. Now off to bed. I will be there to sing you to sleep."

I followed Christine through the walls. I turned away as she dressed into her nightgown and got into bed. As promised, I sang a sweet little lullaby and lulled her to sleep.

Once I was sure that she was fast asleep, I emerged from my hiding place. I gently removed her socks and began washing her feet. They had begun to be rubbed raw by the constant dancing Giry forced her to do. I had made a habit of treating her tiny feet once a week. She would notice it when she woke up but treated it as a gift from her Angel of Music.

When I was done, I slipped her stockings back onto her feet as if I had never been there.

"Sleep soundly, my angel." I whispered and then I placed my lips to her forehead. "Tomorrow, I take you away from this place. Far away. You will no longer have to live in this place. Do not fear. You will be back in a few year. But only when you are grown up and ready to take your place in life: center stage. A prima donna. But for now...sleep. Rest yourself, my little darling."

Author's note: sorry for the history lesson about the French industrial revolution but that's the time era we're in if we're in the Love Never Dies universe (which we are).