Hey all! Here is the next chapter for you! Thanks to all of you who sent reviews last week! I loved them all! And shame on all of you lurkers! (Aka those who have never ever reviewed!) A huge thanks to Terpsichore314 my genius editor. She did another top notch job on this chapter.
P.S. I noticed that I have been writing this story for little over a year now. WOW! That is crazy huh? But don't worry I am not getting tired of it yet!
Chapter 53: From the Mouths of Babes
"And did you know that I was a dancer when I was very young?" Madame Giry asked, with the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at her stern mouth as she led Aria slowly down the hallway. At the question Aria tilted her head up to grin at the dance mistress.
Nodding her head 'yes,' the child stuck a thumb into her mouth, waving her other hand in the air until the auburn haired woman took it. "J-Just like M-Meg," she mumbled around her thumb. "Except t-that the dance t-teacher then was r-really mean. M-Made girls s-stand on their toes until they fell o-over."
Taken aback slightly at the strangely accurate information, Madame Giry stared at the little girl as the child swung their clasped hands back and forth playfully. "How did you know that, child?"
Removing her thumb from her mouth with a wet popping sound, Aria turned her beguiling set of gray eyes up to Madame Giry's face. "I h-have f-fairy blood and sooo does M-Momma," she sang.
Furrowing her brow, Madame Giry simply shook her head. "My, what an imagination!" she exclaimed, making a soft clucking sound in the back of her throat. Still…how did she know that about old mean Madame Gordan? "But I think it is time I returned you to your room. It is already after nine and a child your age should have plenty of sleep. That, and I think I have stolen you away from your mother long enough."
Laughing, Aria turned and wrapped her free arm around Madame Giry's leg. "I'm n-not s-sleepy!" she squealed. "T-Tell me another s-story!"
Letting out a puff of breath, which was the closest she came to openly laughing, Madame Giry pried Aria's hands from around her legs. "No, absolutely not."
"It is all right! M-Momma is b-busy talking n-now!"
"Talking to whom, child?" she asked absently. Then, looking off down the hall, Madame Giry raised her eyebrows as she watched her daughter and Christine Daae, of all people, stroll around the corner. Blinking in shock, the dance mistress stopped walking, and Aria bumped into the back of her knees. Peeping around Madame Giry's skirts, Aria followed her gaze, spotting the approaching pair with interest.
Pointing a chubby finger at the two young women, Aria turned to look up at Madame Giry. "Who is t-that?"
"Someone I never thought I would see again…" Madame Giry whispered to herself. What is she doing here? If the girl had any brains she would have never come back… Slowly a frown worked its way across Madame Giry's face, her expression turning sour in a moment's breath.
Starting forward, with Aria trailing behind her, she stalked toward Meg and Christine. Before she could make it three steps, the ball of her foot came down with a crunch on an object on the floor. Distracted for the moment, the dance mistress looked down. Raising her foot, she glared down at the floor boards and the small golden object lying there.
"What in the world," she muttered as she bent and plucked the object off the floor. Straightening, she opened her hand to see what it was that she had stepped on. A small gold tiepin lay unassumingly in her open palm, the elegant initial E carved into the face. All the blood quickly drained out of Madame Giry's face as she stared disbelievingly at the familiar object. This…I know this…it shouldn't be here. This was…it was Erik's.
Jumping up on her tiptoes to see what Madame Giry held, Aria peered at the pin curiously. "Why is t-that on the f-floor?" she asked.
"I don't know. It shouldn't be here. It couldn't have lain there for a year…it…couldn't have," the usually composed woman sputtered. He is dead…he died…didn't he? Her head snapped up sharply as the sound of pounding footsteps thundered down the hallway. Watching as Brielle ran like a madwoman past them, apparently without noticing they were there, Madame Giry closed her fist around the pin.
"What is going on!"
Aria let out a long suffering sigh next to her as the child watched her mother disappear around a corner. "I t-told them t-to be nice!" she exclaimed as she crossed her little arms over her chest.
"What? Who?" The dance mistress asked dazedly, opening her hand to stare at the pin once again.
Leaning slightly against Madame Giry's skirts, Aria shook her head and sighed again. "M-Momma and Erik," she stated matter of factly. "T-They fight all t-the time."
Shooting a shocked glance at the dark-headed little girl standing next to her, Madame Giry dropped to her knees, taking hold of Aria by both shoulders. "What did you just say?"
Looking slightly uneasy now, Aria squirmed in Madame Giry's grasp. "M-Momma and Erik. T-they always f-fight even t-though they are r-really g-good friends now. T-They even fought w-when h-he used to l-live with us l-last spring."
Swinging her head slowly around to watch Meg and Christine approach them, both girls looking over their shoulders after Brielle's fleeing form, Madame Giry felt her hands begin to shake. "Oh, my God…"
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A knock sounded on Brielle's door, causing her to sit up abruptly and scrub at her face. She hadn't been crying, the touch of anger within the hurt preventing such a reaction, but still she felt that her face was not presentable. Climbing to her feet, she ran to the mirror and quickly retied the handkerchief around her head, making sure every piece of hair was hidden. Going to the door she opened it, and she was surprised to find a rather agitated looking Madame Giry standing on the other side with her daughter.
Without preamble the dance mistress strode into the room, her sharp eyes shooting about as if she were looking for something. "I took it upon myself to come and return your daughter to you," she said, feigning calm. "It was so kind of you to allow an old widow like me to steal her away for so long. She is a constant source of entertainment…and enlightenment," she continued after a slight pause.
Brielle could only nod as she stared at Madame Giry, trying to pinpoint the reason behind the lady's obvious unrest. "Oh no…she loves to go off with you. She always tells me how well you tell a story," she said slowly as she watched Madame Giry make a full circle of the room. "It also affords me some time on my own…to…"
"To speak with old friends?" Madame Giry cut in, turning her head to watch Brielle's reaction.
Something about the older woman's expectant expression sent Brielle's heart to racing within her chest. It was almost as if she knew something. Certainly she couldn't know that I WAS off talking to an old friend. Everyone here thinks he is dead. "I suppose it would, if I had any old friends within the building. As you know, since you were there the day I was hired, I have only been here for a short time," she replied coolly, her face settling impassively into a guarded mask.
After a moment longer of searching Brielle's face, Madame Giry turned to the large mirror, adjusting her gown in the reflective surface. "That is true…I had forgotten," she said as she raised a hand to brush over the mirror's surface.
A dense, smothering silence fell over the room then, making Brielle distinctly uncomfortable. Moving to usher Aria toward the wardrobe, the Irishwoman thought to get the child to bed, using the activity as a distraction from Madame Giry's suspicious behavior. Pulling a plain white cotton nightgown from a drawer, Brielle bent down to remove Aria's shoes.
Dancing out of her mother's reach, Aria dodged to the side. "I don't want to go to bed yet!"
Chasing after the squirming child, Brielle caught hold of her near the bed. "Did I say anything about bed now? All I want is those shoes." Taking hold of Aria's feet, she deftly removed both of the child's little black boots before reaching up to untie the bow of her white pinafore. Pulling Aria's little blue dress over her head, Brielle turned to retrieve the nightgown. Seeing her opportunity, Aria ran out from under her mother's hand, tearing half naked around the room with the lack of inhibition that only a very small child could have.
Watching this ritual from her place at the mirror, Madame Giry seemed to relax slightly. Moving quickly, she caught Aria and returned her to Brielle's side, assisting in putting the nightgown over the child's head. "You know, just today I saw the girl who used to have this room as her dressing room. Christine was her name."
"Yes, I know. Many people tell all sorts of stories about her. Earlier today she came by. She and Meg ran off to catch up with each other. It must have been difficult for such good friends to be separated for so long."
"Some say separation is a good thing for the heart."
Pausing as she folded Aria's clothing, Brielle gave a little shrug, thinking of the endless months she had spent apart from Erik. "The person who said such a thing must have never truly loved. Separation is a torment."
"Perhaps that is why Christine came back," Madame Giry wondered aloud, her eyes fixed intently on Brielle's face. "She always did love…this place."
Tossing the clothes onto the bed, Brielle frowned over at Madame Giry, trying to figure out why the woman was making such odd statements. She acts like she wants to ask me something…but can't get it out. "Well…it was nice speaking to you, madame, but I am afraid it is high time for Aria to settle down. Thank you for watching her today…it gave me time to catch up on some reading," Brielle said, working up a smile as she politely ushered the dance mistress to the door.
Stopping on the threshold to the hall, Madame Giry turned to frown at Brielle. "I was worried about you…when I saw you run past us. We all thought something terrible had happened."
"You saw that?" Brielle asked, embarrassment staining her cheeks.
"Yes…whatever caused you to run so blindly?"
Turning her eyes to the floor, Brielle leaned against the doorframe. "Nothing of consequence. I will not burden you with my own troubles."
Sighing, apparently unsatisfied with the answer, Madame Giry reached out and laid a hand on Brielle's shoulder. "I wasn't overstating it when I said I was concerned…you are a good friend to my daughter…a calming influence even. And I adore your dear child. So…if you have any difficulties I would be happy to help. I know I am much older than you, but…sometimes experience is worth something." Patting Brielle's arm, Madame Giry took a step back, looking slightly less tense than she had when she came into the room, though it did appear she was still thinking hard about something.
"Yes, you are a good girl…not the excitable type."
Smiling slightly at the odd compliments, Brielle raised her eyes to the dance mistress's. "Yes, I should hope not."
Nodding, Madame Giry turned and set off down the hall. "Good night, then. And…I think it would be wise for you to keep your door locked from now on."
"Why is that?" Brielle asked, becoming suddenly nervous. She acts like she knows something…it is maddening.
"No reason, child…" was the reply as Madame Giry hurried off around a corner. "No reason at all."
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The sound of dripping water echoed in the distance as Erik paced the length of his underground apartments. Back and forth he stalked from the edge of the lake to the back wall of his bedroom, every step a jerky and stiff spasm of movement. Gone was the natural grace with which the masked man usually conducted himself, and in its stead was a mechanical preoccupation. He was more than brooding about what Brielle had told him, he was obsessing.
Pausing next to his bed, Erik stared fixedly at the wall in front of him, his eyes moving along the painted scene of the old backdrop hanging there. Reaching out, he adjusted the wall hanging slightly, insuring that the chill in the stone walls did not seep into the room. Why is she here? Why did she come back after all this time? To bury the memory of the Opera Ghost? Quick as lightning in a summer storm, the fury rolled through his mind, igniting his blood until he was sure the heat would consume his body, and that he would turn into a pile of ash. At least then I would have some peace…
Clenching his fists, he turned from the wall and walked to the door, looking down the hall at a very particular room. His eyes narrowing, he glared at the closed door for what seemed like hours. Behind that door, he knew, was a carefully decorated space specifically designed with one woman in mind. He had made that room for her, for Christine. The unmitigated gall...coming back here after so long. Stiffening, Erik ground his teeth together as he continued to stare at Christine's old room, remembering how long and how hard he had worked to make it perfect for her. He had spent weeks agonizing over every detail, wanting her to be comfortable, wanting her to stay. But of course she didn't…the ungrateful trollop… he thought bitterly, as hurt fought to break its way through the anger.
Growling, he whirled away from the sight of Christine's old room, and the memories it brought, turning his back on the hall. A violence he had sworn was no longer a part of him burned its way through his soul, poking holes in the last shreds of his control over his temper. Stupid…hurtful…unseeing child! Hate her…Hate her Erik…don't let her haunt you any longer…don't let the hurt in. HATE HER!
With a howl, the masked man swept an arm over a nearby tabletop, sending everything on it crashing to the floor. Driven by the chaotic explosion of shattering glass on the floor, he grabbed the corner of the table and heaved it halfway across the room. Hate her…hate her…hate her! Turning in a wild circle in the middle of the floor, his eyes landed on the large four poster bed that he himself had carved from spare pieces of wood. Jumping forward, he began tearing at the red velvet canopy until the entire thing fell to the floor.
Breathing raggedly, he slowly sank down to slouch on the mattress, all the demonic strength of his temper suddenly deserting him. Raising a shaky hand to his face, he removed his mask. Holding the hardened white leather in one hand, he traced a finger along its inner surfaces. Hate her…hate her…he thought desperately as he dredged up the old humiliation she had caused, allowing the unhealed wounds to reopen and weep. His vision blurred as bitter tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, the agony he thought he had put to rest welling up within him. It had been months since he had thought of Christine on his own, and yet, just one mention of the girl, and the knowledge that she had been so close, was enough to send him spiraling backward into a pit of despair. Why haven't I forgotten her by now? Why does it feel as if it all just happened yesterday? I should have let her go by now.
What did I do to deserve this agony? What terrible sin did I commit that cursed me with this blasted face! As the cool air of the room washed over the right side of his face he flopped backward on the bed, wallowing in the self loathing now blackening his mind. Something lumpy poked him in the back as he lay down flat. Turning onto his side he reached under the remains of the canopy, groping tearfully for the object disrupting his pity party. Jerking the soft lumpy thing out he was about to throw it across the room when he paused.
The small cloth monkey he had found buried in one of his old trunks weeks ago grinned down at him, its black button eyes glittering in the flickering candlelight. Blinking at the toy for several moments, Erik let out a pent-up breath, the burning behind his eyes lessening slightly. For some reason the little monkey made him think of Brielle. Strange…it shouldn't. I got this long before I ever knew her. The only toy of my childhood. Without realizing it, the misery faded into the background as he lowered the toy to his chest.
Frowning at the simply made monkey, he struggled to bring up the memory of how he got the toy. What was it again? There was a little girl there. She couldn't have been more than three years old. What in the world was such a young thing doing wandering about on her own? Strange little thing…giving someone like me a toy. But I remember those eyes…like it was yesterday…pale as a morning fog. Unbidden the memory of Brielle's hurt face, with her hair spotted with pieces of straw, floated to the forefront of his mind.
Sitting up with a jerk Erik cursed furiously. "God damnit! I screamed at her like a raving lunatic, didn't I?" Growling over his own stupidity, he smacked a hand against his forehead. "I didn't really think about it until now. After she ran out of the barn I was so caught up in myself that I only noticed her hasty departure. Hell and damnation!" he snapped, using one of Conner's favorite phrases.
Setting the little monkey aside, he climbed hastily to his feet, and snatching up his mask he headed out the door with a quick, purposeful stride. "I should apologize…I should have apologized right then but I was too busy wallowing in my blasted temper to say anything intelligent. Stupid…stupid!"
Leaping into the waiting boat, he pushed off from the dock and set off over the perfectly smooth black water of the lake. Focused completely on the task at hand, he hardly even registered the time until he found himself pounding up the many flights of stairs that led to the upper floors, his heart galloping within his chest. Only when he was weaving his way through the dark corridors of the upper floors did he realize with a start that all thoughts of Christine had completely fled his notice.
Shocked, he came to an abrupt halt. Having realized the trickery of his own mind, thoughts of Christine came flooding back, engulfing his senses once again. Holding very still, he allowed the feelings to burn through his blood and, strangely enough, after a moment the claws of agony tearing at his mind released their hold. Raising a hand to his forehead, he wondered at this new development, and starting forward down the darkened corridor once again. I wonder what time it is now…I should have looked at a clock before I came. It doesn't seem that late, but…who knows how much time I wasted.
Spotting a light gray rectangle in the darkness before him, Erik slowed his pace, a burst of anxiety shooting into his system at the sight of the mirror. Coming up behind the glass quietly, he quickly realized that all lights in the room before him were turned off. Two forms slept in beds opposite each other, lying still and breathing the slow breaths of deep slumber. I didn't realize it was this late. Surely I wasn't in my rooms for more than an hour… Turning sharp eyes to the clock sitting on a side table, he squinted at the time in wonder. Three hours? How did three hours pass so quickly!
Raising a hand to his head, Erik sighed. I shouldn't wake them…surely…he thought reasonably, the first logical thought of the evening, but despite this hesitation the urge to make things right pressed him forward. Touching the spot in the wall where the mechanism to open the door lay, he quietly slipped into the room without waking its occupants. Rubbing his hands together, Erik's nerves sprang up to send his heart to pounding within his chest. Lord, you would think after all of the apologies I have had to make to her I wouldn't get nervous now.
Squatting down next to Brielle's bed, the masked man reached out to wake her, when his eyes dropped to her sleeping face. Freezing in mid-motion he sucked in a breath and turned his head to the side, but though he looked away the image of her unguarded face was already burned into his brain. In sleep she had done away with any sort of covering for her hair so that it fanned out across her pillow, her perfect heart-shaped lips parting with every breath. As he stared fixedly at the floor in his mind he imagined brushing a finger along the curve of her cheek, the hollow of her throat, and down to… Raising a shaking had to press against his eyes, Erik took a breath. My God…what is wrong with me? What happened...have I always been such a lecher or is this a new development?
Brielle made a soft sound in her sleep and shifted on the bed, causing Erik snap his gaze back to her face and freeze, all thoughts within his head coming to a crashing halt as he waited to see if she was waking. When she settled back into stillness, he relaxed. The intensity of the moment before had passed, leaving him relieved. Free to study the sleeping woman now without the looming danger of his own darker thoughts, Erik peered down at her, his brow puckering in concentration. It did not take long for the inevitable comparison to leap into his head.
Had anyone asked him a year ago who he thought represented beauty the best, his answer would have of course been Christine. She had a timeless, fragile beauty that made it impossible to see beyond her face to the imperfections in her character, her youth and sheltered mind. Dark, bottomless eyes that gave the impression of understanding looked out of a face framed by rioting curls of pure mahogany. He had always loved her hair, and had imagined what it would feel like to run his fingers through it. Like that ever happened… But now as he watched Brielle sleeping he realized, perhaps for the first time, just how gorgeous she was. Strange…she is so different from Christine. I could have once sworn that Christine was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen…but now. Where Christine was dark, Brielle was light. Her hair, straight as a fireplace poker, was white as freshly fallen snow, and yet, he found himself transfixed whenever she allowed her hair to be free. And I thought I loved curls… And of course Brielle's eyes, rather than being dark and mysterious, were the odd color of a sea fog, hiding nothing but seeing everything. How could it be possible to look upon two women so different and yet see such overwhelming beauty?
Of course, it isn't really her face which makes her so alluring, Erik thought now as he continued to watch Brielle sleep. It is her personality, I think. Never have I met a woman as smart as she. I daresay she could best me at any subject given the opportunity. We used to debate for hours on all sorts of subjects. Sobering at the thought, Erik's mouth turned down into a frown. Actually, now that I think about it…I hardly know anything about Christine besides her love of music. Surely I must know something…I loved her as I loved no one else...
As he tried to puzzle over this strange realization, Brielle sighed and squinted open an eye. "Are you going to stand there all night? It is sort of disconcerting to be watched while you are trying to sleep."
Gasping in surprise, Erik fell back onto his backside. "How long have you been awake!"
Opening her other eye, Brielle yawned sleepily. "Just a minute or so. You know you talk to yourself when you are thinking really hard about something."
"What? I do not!" Erik mumbled as he righted himself. God…what if I do? What did I say!
"Don't worry though…you never make any sense," Brielle continued as if he hadn't spoken. Closing her eyes slowly, she pulled the covers up to her chin. "Did you need something? Or should I come to expect late night visits through the mirror?"
Late night visits…I wish…God damnit I am doing it again! Clenching his mouth shut, he felt a wave of heat work its way up his face. Shaking his head, Erik tried to discern her mood from her expression, but found the task to be completely beyond him at the moment. She is teasing me…surely. But isn't she angry with me? She should be angry, shouldn't she? I screamed at her like a madman. "I came to apologize to you…"
Nodding slowly, Brielle yawned again. "Yes, I know. I figured you would eventually. Why did you wait so long?"
"I didn't realize how late it had become."
"Busy brooding?" she asked lightly, as she opened her eyes to look over at him through the darkness, the characteristic gray of her gaze lost in the darkness of the room.
"That is no excuse…I am a terrible example of a human being. You tried to relay an important piece of information to me in a calm and gentle way and I exploded in your face. I had thought that I had gained some sort of control over my temper…but apparently I did not. I am so sorry for the way I reacted. I cannot believe what I did."
Raising up onto one elbow, Brielle pursed her lips in thought. "I accept your apology. I knew you weren't really in your right mind at the time. However, as you know, I will not put up with such behavior. I was understanding this time…but next time I cannot guarantee how I will react."
"I know," he sighed, leaning forward to rest his face in both his hands. She should be angry…The guilt over his uncontrolled behavior ate away at his insides. Belatedly he wondered at her calm acceptance, knowing that he didn't deserve such a reaction. Temper would be far easier to deal with. He knew how to face down her wrath. The fact that she was taking the higher ground made him uneasy. "And you shouldn't have to. Why aren't you furious with me?"
"Oh, I was but now I am too tired. It was sneaky of you to come while I was sleepy."
"What no…I didn't even realize…"
"Calm down. I wasn't accusing you of anything," she sighed as she watched him shift into a more comfortable sitting position. "And you aren't a terrible person, Erik. If you were you wouldn't have come to say you were sorry."
Taken aback by this Erik could only stare at her for several moments. A smile slowly pulled at the corners of his mouth. How does she do that? Make me feel…like I can be a better person…That I am a good person. "You are too kind."
"No, I am not. I am just saying the truth." Pausing there, she reached up to brush a piece of hair out of her eyes, her action drawing Erik's undivided attention. God her every action is so…fascinating.
Biting her bottom lip, Brielle frowned over at him. "Is it safe for me to ask what you intend to do about Christine?" she asked slowly, obviously taking great care over her choice of words.
Dropping his hands to his knees, Erik lowered his gaze to the floor. "I really don't know."
After a brief hesitation, her finger tapping nervously against the mattress, Brielle sat up in the bed, leaning her elbows on her thighs. "Obviously she cannot bury you…seeing as you are still alive."
"Yes, obviously not…but I am at a loss as to what to do. When I think about last year…about what happened…I feel the fury begin to rise up within me like a tide. And yet, there is something within me that wants to see her again…for the longest time she seemed to be the only person in the world who could hear my plight and understand. She was my inspiration…"
As he continued to speak, Brielle became very still, her body frozen in position as she listened to him speak. Concerned by her silence, Erik glanced back up to her face. "I trust your judgment, Brielle…what should I do?" he asked, hating the pleading note he heard in his own voice.
"Do not ask me that…" she breathed shakily.
Sitting up straighter, he openly frowned over this statement. She had never refused to speak freely with him before. It was disconcerting that she should do so now. He felt the loss of her candor like a blow to the stomach. "Brielle…"
"Do you still love her?" she asked finally, the thickening of her accent giving away her agitation.
Surprised by the bluntness of the question, Erik sat back, staring at Brielle as the wheels in his head spun around wildly. Do I? Does something like that ever die? Or does it change? "I don't know…" he moaned dejectedly. "Truly I do not know. I am so angry…but…"
"But you just don't know…" she finished for him, her breath catching in her throat on the last word.
Sensing more than seeing a shift in Brielle's attitude, Erik tilted his head to the side, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was that caused the change. He felt her hurt like a wound in his own heart, and anger hung thick in the air like woodsmoke. What did I say? What changed? It happened when I mentioned that I was uncertain about what to do. Why would that bother her...unless.
Taking a deep breath, Brielle gave herself a little shake, and the explosive emotions Erik had felt floating through the air faded. "Well, it seems clear that you haven't let her memory go yet," Brielle said as she got to her feet. "I think your answer lies in what you feel you must do in order to do that." Feigning another yawn she turned her face to the side as she walked to the mirror. "But it is late…we should continue this conversation another time. I don't want to wake Aria."
Staring up at her, Erik shook his head at her unshakable calm. It was amazing really. "Yes, you are right," he mumbled as he stood and walked to the mirror, feeling worse inside than he had when he had come. Isn't apologizing supposed to make you feel better? Somehow he felt he had betrayed her trust in some way, and the feeling was intolerable. "Brielle, I didn't mean to…"
Raising a hand before he could continue, Brielle interrupted him. "Good night, Erik," she said firmly, refusing to meet his gaze.
Blinking at her terse farewell, the masked man clenched his mouth closed, sensing an unnamable determination in her stance now. It felt as if she were planning something in her head. The urge to say something more was nearly overwhelming for a moment. He couldn't help but feel he was leaving the situation unfinished. But when Brielle continued to stare at the floor, he backed up and turned to the mirror, opening it in one quick motion. Maybe now is not the right time…
"Good night, Brielle." When he stepped over the mirror's threshold he felt as if he were leaving behind something vital.
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It was getting late, several hours had passed since sunset, but the Paris night life showed no signs of slowing, especially in the twisting streets and alleys that made up the city's vast red light district. New electric lights cast their steady, garish glow down onto the streets from countless advertisements. Roving crowds of revelers passed each other on the street, shouting to each other to inquire where the best wine could be found or which pleasure house had the prettiest women.
The silhouette of a fashionably dressed gentleman stood leaning against a painted brick wall between two rather noisy bars, his dark eyes scanning the boisterous occupants of the street with cool disdain. Compared to the other men passing from bar to bar, he did not stand out in either his dress or his manner. Turning his head to glance back toward the darkness behind him, he raised a cigarette to his lips and lazily took a drag, the tip glowing devil red in the shadows.
Exhaling a writhing cloud of smoke, Andrew spotted another man walking hurriedly up the alley toward him. Flicking the half spent cigarette to the ground, he flashed a humorless smile in greeting as the other man came up alongside him. "So good to see you again," he said pleasantly.
The newcomer grunted slightly, shifting backward so that his face remained in shadow. "If it is all the same to you, my lord, could you cut the bullshit?"
"Certainly," Andrew replied, unaffected by the bluntness of his companion.
"Can you tell me what this is all about now?" the man asked with a broad gesture, indicating their surroundings with one swoop of his arm. "This place isn't your usual scene."
Shrugging eloquently, Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of gray leather gloves. "Well, I am certainly glad to hear that you don't consider this festering sewer to be my normal haunt," he stated sarcastically.
"I didn't mean any disrespect, my lord, but surely you see how odd this must seem. Why did you ask me to meet you here, of all places?"
Tugging on one glove, then the other, Andrew pursed his lips slightly and glared at a particularly loud group of passing men. "Unfortunately, the vices of the rich are such that there are a multitude of young men wandering this area at night. Though I find the very idea of this place to be disgusting, it is a convenient meeting place to not be noticed."
"Why the secrecy, then?"
"I have a job for you…"
"Yes, I know I was on my way to the Opera House when I received your message…"
Waving a hand to interrupt the man before he could continue, Andrew shook his head. "No, there is more than that. I need a pair of eyes on the inside of the Opera. You will serve as those eyes."
"You are the new patron…why can you not go there whenever you like."
"Oh, I can," Andrew replied. "However, in order to achieve my current goal that would be unadvisable. You see I am searching for someone, someone who doesn't want to be found right now, someone I believe to be hiding within the Opera House. I am not a stupid man. I know I will never find her in that place unless she feels safe enough to come out into the open."
"She, my lord?"
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Andrew pulled out a small framed picture and handed it to the man. "My wayward fiancée. That is a copy of the most recent portrait of her."
Taking the picture hesitantly, the man glanced at it then back up at Andrew. "May I ask why she doesn't want to be found, my lord?"
"You may; however, I do not feel inclined to explain myself or the actions of my future wife to you. All you need to know is that she must be found…and may not know that it is in her best interests to be found. I am certain her brother, a Mr. Conner Sinclair, is helping to hide her away. She was traveling with her young daughter…the child has a severe stutter…it will help you find her as well."
The man shifted uncomfortably. "My lord, I am grateful for all you have done for me and my family…but I don't like not knowing the full way of things."
Sensing the other man's unease, Andrew turned sharply and regarded him with black unblinking eyes. "Do my ears deceive me or do I hear you trying to refuse to do this small favor for me?" he asked, his voice dipping dangerously low.
"No, my lord, I would do anything for the Donovan family…but I…"
Taking one step toward the man, Andrew drew himself up to his full height, glaring at the man eye to eye. "Did I or did I not find you picking people's pockets to make a living not ten years ago?"
The man cringed away from Andrew's threatening advance. "You did, my lord."
"And do you wish to be thrown back into that life or remain in the station to which I have raised you?" Andrew hissed, the blinking electric lights flashing in the flatness of his eyes.
There was a slight pause as the man hung his head, wringing his hands nervously before him. Finally looking up, the man's expression hardened. "Just name your terms, my lord."
Relaxing almost immediately, Andrew stepped back, his manner returning to that of a well mannered gentleman. "Good…very good. You will not regret your decision."