14

Katrina was happily setting out an evening tea when a scratch sounded on the hidden door behind the mirror. Worry gripped her, as Uncle Erik had avoided that door long before she had come. He showed Katrina the way to and from it, but not another word was spoken about it. She had learned from gossip that the room had once belonged to Christine.

Rushing to press it open, she saw her uncle carrying Madame D'Arcy in his arms. He placed her on the little couch, leaning her cane against the table. Katrina placed a blanket by the fire to warm, and looked to her relative for answers.

"Tell them she fell, on the Rue Scribe side. Going out alone."

"But," Katrina said in confusion, "They told her about the ice. Why would she go out there?"

With a fond note barely audible in his voice the man said, "Not everyone heeds warnings given in love. Not everyone is you, Katrina. Tell Mademoiselles what happened, and that she is quite alright. She had only a small bump to head, and will recover."

"Will she be well enough for Christmas?" Katrina asked, wondering for the first time in her life if it was possible to be ill enough to miss a holiday.

"Yes, she will be well for Christmas." He returned to the passage and closed it after him.

Katrina undid the old woman's cape and cap, and draped the warm blanket over her. She started some broth, and had tea ready to give as soon as Madame's eyes opened. She was a firm believer in the healing power of tea, as that was what everyone gave an ill party. It had to be good for one's health.

The old woman's senses came at last, and she moaned reaching up to her face. "It was death, my child, death came to me." She muttered feebly, her old hands shaking.

The girl brought some of Marie's fluffy pillows and propped the mother up so she could drink some broth. "It wasn't death, Madame. You just slipped. Marie told you about the ice." She solemnly admonished.

"It was the face of death, little one, and it left me here."

Somewhat subdued by the hollow tone in her voice, Katrina said, "No it wasn't. It was my Uncle Erik, and he brought you back safe to Marie's rooms. He found you on the ice where you'd fallen. See? There's no death here, just us."

Madame drifted to sleep, and Katrina stared into the fire until the sisters returned. She bounded over to them and relayed her story in one breath, pointing to the prone form on the sofa. Helen rushed over and looked into the pale face.

"Dear heavens, why can't she listen?" Looking up at Marie's concerned eyes, she said, "She's alright, just sleeping."

Marie patted Katrina's shoulder and shook her head. "How did she get back?"

"Uncle Erik," Katrina answered. "He found her."

"How long ago?"

"An hour."

Marie sighed and sat down, looking at the drawn face of her mother. "I suppose we have fulfilled our idea of putting something interesting into her life. Stubborn!"

"You ought to know," Helen gibed cheerfully.

"Oh, hush," Marie rebutted, but without her usual spirit. As distant as her relations with her mother had often been, she did care for her a great deal, and was shaken at the result of that night's adventures.

Katrina leaned against Marie, and patted the singer's hand. "She'll be alright, Uncle Erik said so."

Putting her arm around the girl, Marie sighed and kissed the child's forehead.

As predicted, Madame D'Arcy recovered.

By the next day she was well enough to tersely order her daughters around the rooms, and insist Karina read a ladies magazine to her.

Tomino had come along that day, and lay before the fire like a pile of dried mud, his blue eyes blinking sleepily at the sound of his mistress's voice. Katrina was truly confused as to the point of an article concerning weather men preferred lace or ruffles, and how one's bearing around houseplants made a difference. Eventually, she worked up the courage to say so and was treated to a lengthy lecture by Madame on the importance of the issue.

After politely listening for an hour, Katrina demurely asked, "Don't men like nice women no matter how they are dressed?"

"Really, how can you wonder that? Men don't notice anything upfront, that's why we have to be subtle about showing them what kind of women we are."

Katrina looked at the drawing of a simpering woman and the confused looking fellow holding her hand. "I think it's an awful lot of wasted trouble. What if he realizes she was just pretending all along?"

Madame took the spectacles on a chain about her neck and held them up to peer at the child. Katrina was looking into the fire, and twisting her hand in the dog's matted fur. "And what do you think a woman should be?"

Looking up, Katrina replied, "like my mother; like Marie and Helen. Since you're their mother, you must have been like them once, too. I don't think anyone would be fond of a woman like this," she looked askance at the article.

"I see," Madame D'Arcy mused. Before she could continue the thought, a kick sounded at the door. Wrapping her dressing gown tightly about her throat, Madame nodded for Katrina to open it. The girl dropped the quarterly and rushed to obey.

There stood the Daroga.

"Pardon the intrusion," He began, "but I wondered if perhaps either of Mademoiselles D'Arcy would be available to speak with me?"

"No, I'm afraid both are out on errands. But I am their mother, perhaps I could help?" He bowed and she gestured for him to take the chair across from her. "Katrina, make us some tea, please." Leaning over her cane, she fixed her elderly eyes on him in a prim, vague way. "Well, go on young man. I'm listening."

He glanced at Katrina, and met her brown eyes for the first time since he had returned. He became painfully aware of their gaze, and shifted his weight. "Perhaps it is not appropriate to discuss the matter before a young lady?" He suggested. Madame glanced at Katrina's injured look, and smiled.

"You would find her a better informant than I, sir. She has lived here several years and I have only been visiting a week. She goes about the entirety of the employ here, and I stay with my daughters."

Glancing at the child, he frowned thoughtfully, but shook his head. "This has to do with the death of the tenor Pierre."

Measuring out the tea leaves into the pot, Katrina said evenly, "He drank too much and his heart stopped." Feeling their eyes on her, she looked up to find Madame frowning in disapproval, and the Dargoa confused. "My uncle told me." She supplied.

Tapping her cane, Madame snapped, "Your uncle said so. That settles it."

Katrina was beginning to wonder if the entire world had something against uncles, or if it was just Erik. The Persian took his tea with a nod of thanks and turned again to Madame D'Arcy. "I hear that he affronted your daughter and another singer, and that the opera ghost dropped sand bags on him as a warning. It could have killed him."

"That incident was before I came." Madame sipped her tea stiffly. "I hardly think a ghost would have done it."

"Gossip is prone to exaggeration," He allowed, "but in this case I am inclined to believe rather than not. Perhaps you were there?" with a glance at Katrina.

"Yes. It was the opera ghost." She said simply, and buried her face in Tomino's ruff. "Pierre was bothering people, and couldn't sing."

"The second was probably considered the greater crime," the Daroga sighed. "Christine Daae and Raoul de Chagny were the last to know of this fellow's obsessions. The ghost is dead, and whoever imitates him is in dire danger. I intend to stop the cycle before madness sets in. If your children know anything at all, Madame D'Arcy, please send them to me. I only wish to help."

"What danger could they face? If it is someone playacting as you say, then there is no harm."

"Playacting has lead to a great deal of madness before. And this time I fear that the lure of a prize will bring hunters." He stood and bowed. "I thank you for the tea."

Katrina washed the dishes, thinking over what she had just heard.