Chapter 13
It was decided that Émilie would be entrusted to Madame Giry's care for two hours each day for the purpose of learning ballet. By all accounts – in other words, Nadir's retelling of delivering Erik's letter – both the Giry woman and her daughter were delighted to finally meet their dear friend's child.
Émilie was less enthusiastic. It seemed she was as terrified of leaving Erik as the man himself was of losing her.
"Why do I have to go?" she asked.
"You don't have to, mon cœur," said Erik cheerfully.
"Yes, you do," said Nadir. "Don't you want to meet other little girls?"
"No."
"Good girl," Erik said and Nadir shot him a glare.
"Don't you want to learn to dance ballet?" Nadir insisted.
"I don't know what that is."
Erik acquired her a pair of pink ballet slippers and a frilly little skirt and her fears seemed mollified. She still knew nothing about ballet. Though she lived beneath an opera house, she had never seen a performance. Nevertheless, she liked flouncing around the house in her dance things and hearing the patter of her slippers.
The night before she was to begin, however, she knocked on Erik's door.
"It's alright, Christine," he mumbled. "Erik will take care of it."
As soon as he opened the door, Émilie rushed into his arms. She wasn't crying, but she buried her face at Erik's neck and sobbed, "I don't want to go! I'm scared. What if they don't like me? What if I'm no good? I want to stay with you."
"Do you want to see something beautiful? Come, Erik will show you."
He carried her up through the five cellars and through the mirror into Christine's musty dressing room. There, safe from his traps, he let her walk on her own and led the way into the empty, echoing halls of the opera house. He showed her the managers' office, the prop house, the costume room, the dance studios, the grand lobby. Anywhere she might visit while in the world above. At the last, she finally grew tired and as they climbed the main staircase, she sat down on a middle step, too weary to continue. Erik picked her up to take her the rest of the way.
"Just one more thing, mon cœur," he promised. "Then we will go home."
They entered the theater through a side door. The vast space was nearly dark, glinting gilt and candlelight giving the only illumination. Erik didn't walk in himself, but let Émilie down and watched from the threshold as she stumbled into the murky shadows between the rows of velvet seats. She tested out several chairs, studied the private boxes and the chandelier high above her, gazed down into the orchestra pit at instruments and music stands left there.
When she climbed onto the stage, Erik though his heart might stop. There were no spot lights, no music, no sets. Only dim light and an empty, dusty theater. Yet she could have been in the midst of a performance with her regality.
Erik felt a profound sadness in looking at her. He didn't understand why. Certainly his daughter reminded him of Christine, standing alone but filling the stage with her angel's voice. It seemed that should be a fond memory, make him happy. Instead, he ached terribly to return to his wife, as if she somehow wouldn't be there, sleeping peacefully several floors below.
He mounted the stage and came beside his daughter. With a quick bit of illusion, he produced a pink rose for her.
"Now I have shown you my domain," he whispered, letting the echoing space carry his voice.
"What is a…a domain?"
"Quiet, let Erik speak. Here I control everything. I see everything. Nothing can harm Émilie here. She is the queen. But because you are queen, you must always be brave. That is what queens do. You must go to dance class and hold your head high and not show any fear." He thought a moment before adding, "And Émilie must tell Erik if any of the other ballet rats are mean to her so I can throw them in the lake…Do you understand, mon cœur?"
"Yes, papa."
"Then let's go home." He took his daughter's hand and led the way back, smiling all the way. Christine would be so proud of her Erik. His words had sounded just like the little stories her papa had told her as a child.