29

Not a word was spoken to or around Katrina about the night of the ballet. Helen may have alerted her family, but if so, they were equally silent.

The Masquerade was let free with its usual splendor. The garish colors, the sound, the food and music, all clashing and grasping for attention. Katrina went as a sprite next to her family of Greek gods. After midnight, Erik returned with her below, knowing that to stay longer was borrowing trouble.

January was clam, comparatively speaking. Most of the company had gone on holiday, and Jacques spent days discussing possibilities for the new season with Erik. The Phantom knew the Opera, and knew what could be, and what could not.

Katrina watched Helen's growing stomach with fascination, while Helen would laugh if she saw the girl staring.

The end of February brought rehearsals and few new musicians. Marie had just discovered her own pregnancy, and had stepped down from performing until the next year. She felt it would be dreadfully unfair to contract a role and then abandon it. Jacques was not sorry, and made the change as pleasant for his wife as possible. Marie found that she could be useful to her art still in the form of advice to the new chorus members.

Madame was absolutely giddy with the prospect of two grandchildren within a half a year of each other. Her severe old soul adored babies, and it softened her acid tongue, as babies tend to do.

Only Erik had a secret fear in the late winter bustle. His own deformity was given at birth. Often at night, he would secretly wonder if his own child would bear the same fate. If so, it would certainly mean no more children, for even Helen's good nature must have a limit.

It was a subject never breached with his own mother, how she had dealt with his ugliness. She'd had other children, yes, but not for several years. It often crossed his mind that perhaps it had taken all her courage to try again. True, she had hid the problem from his father for as long as possible, but some secrets cannot be covered without leaving traces behind. In the end, he had fled before Katrina's mother was born, choosing to cast his fate into the hands of the world at large rather than stay confined with unspoken pain.

Yet, the pain had followed, caged in his soul until Katrina had arrived. It was her innocent life, not Christine's beauty, which had shown him the way out of his darkness, and offered possibility. As he had told her, Katrina was his first true love, and he hers.

That did not change the possibility of the child following its father's path. This thought alone brought to his mind the blood shed, the time wasted, the sister ignored, only to be seen in letters and death. What purpose had his life served? What good had ever come of his endless hiding?

There, in the dark, he wept and confessed his sins in silence. It was the work of years, but at last his heart was changed and cleaned. When he slept again, it was dreamless and without shadow.

It is the way of God to temper judgment with mercy.

Erik had been given great gifts as mercy for the fate he wore in his face. Katrina had come in his solitude. Helen had come before he could go mad from guilt he did not even know he felt.

Now, as he became aware of his many and great evils, the time for his own child's birth arrived.

As was custom, Helen was put up in bed rest. She went to Madame's house, since no doctor would be allowed to see the house on the lake. Erik went also, but made himself scarce if a visitor arrived.

Katrina would have gone to Marie's, but she was needed to help with Helen. Jacques was just busy enough that he could not look after Katrina alone. So, by default, the girl ended up in the kind hands of Sophie Lefevre.

It was, somehow appropriately, the first of June.

The weather was still cool, but pleasant, and when Stephan pulled his little buggy up to Marie's step, he found the girl, dog and bags all awaiting him.

He had recovered from his beating, aside from a trick shoulder. He seemed much more introspective than when she had met him as well. "Are we ready, Mademoiselle?" He asked, doffing his hat in a huge motion.

Katrina beamed, and boosted Tomino into the back, and told him to stay. Stephan loaded her things, and the dog promptly stretched out across them in luxury.

When they left the city, he showed her how to guide the horse, and she was completely absorbed in her task until they stopped for lunch. Stephan had purchased a dozen of her favorite rolls, along with some apples and cheese. They dined contentedly in the sun, throwing scraps to the hound. Afterwards, they went along talking of nothing in particular until the gate to the drive was seen.

"Have the men bothered you again?" Katrina ventured at last.

"No, I have not seen or heard of them since your uncle sent them packing. I am grateful to him for that."

Katrina leaned over the side to watch the pattern of the pebbles as they passed. Stephan smiled and shook his head.

Sophie had tea waiting for them, and left the servants to look after dog and parcels. Jean had just left on a business trip, and she found company a delightful diversion.

"Stephan, you'll never guess who wrote and is coming for a visit." Sophie said as soon as they were settled in the glass room.

"Then please, do tell me." Her son smiled, just a touch of his old sarcasm back.

"Monsieur Agard. I was stunned to receive his letter. He is passing though and wanted to see us again. He'll be here for supper."

This seemed to trouble Stephan a little. "It is stunning, as you say. I doubt he remembers any but my sister with fondness. As for us boys…it was rather trying."

Sophie seemed sober for a moment and said slowly, "Perhaps, but he asked to stay, and said that he found this house the one he remembers most…though that could be taken many ways."

Katrina looked from face to face curiously, and wondered who Monsieur Agard was. She discovered his at the supper table when she came charging down, wearing a yellow dress that had previously been intended for Christine. He was visiting politely with Stephan and Madame Lefevre, turning to see what was causing the air to stir.

He was short, portly, had bushy hair, eyebrows and moustache. His eyes were water blue, and he seemed to be calm and nervous at the same time.

Looking back at him he found a child, with appallingly wild hair of no definable color, giant brown eyes, and skin clearly devoid of sunlight. She was poised, unafraid, serious, but apparently cheerful. She dropped a curtsy and said pleasantly, "How do you do? My name is Katrina."

He found himself bowing back, and saying, "Good evening, Mademoiselle. I am Monsieur Agard." He glanced at Stephan. "Not yours, surely?"

"No, she is the niece of a friend in Paris, and is staying with us while they have their first child." He pulled back a chair fondly for her and his mother. They all sat and chatted in a civil, restrained manner until Agard explained to Katrina that he had been the tutor to the Lefevre children.

She looked at him thoughtfully. "What did you teach them?"

His grey moustache twitched. "To read, to write, and to use numbers. My specialty is music, however."

Sophie laughed at the gleam in Katrina's eyes. "You have found a kindred spirit, Agard. Katrina is gifted in music."

Before she could explain that Uncle Erik said she had no talent, but good work ethic, Agard was patting her hand. "Then you must honor me with a piece at the piano sometime." He said out of politeness. "You do still have the music room?" He asked abruptly, as if a stray thought had stopped him.

"Of course," Madame Lefevre answered. "I don't think we could bear to get rid of it."

"Ah, I suppose that would be so." Agard mused.

After the meal, Stephan took Katrina to the library, and lit a few lamps over a large, well worn chair near a window with a seat built into it. He pulled a book from one of the lower shelves, and sat down. Katrina clambered into his lap, and peered down at the red cover.

"A Collection of Stories for the Young," she read aloud. "I've never seen this one before."

"It's old, I doubt you would have. My brother used to read it to me, before we started quarreling. After that, I read it to my sister or she to me." He ran his fingers over the spine thoughtfully. "It was written by some old fellow who farmed. None of the stories are well known, nor do I think they will be remembered for long. Yet, we were fond of them."

He let the book fall open, and there was a woodcarving of a ship, tossed by the wind, and heading for a cave inside of a cove. Stephan started to read, about the ship with a spell on it, and the crew who could never go home. He read of the treasure they were doomed to gather, and count, until its gleam burned their hearts and drained them of life, and how they had been found there in their cave by a boy many years later.

The next tale was happier. It involved goblins and gnomes gathering food for winter, and the old woman they saved.

As he finished, he saw his mother peering round a bookcase, and smiling. "I'd forgotten that one. It's been far too long."

He nodded. "Where is Monsieur Agard?"

"He has decided to go to bed early. I gather he's had a long journey. Read on, Stephan, I would like to hear these tales again." And she sat in the window seat to listen.

Young Lefevre read two more, one about a sparrow, and one about a wicked nobleman. Katrina was dozing by then, and Madame carried her to bed, tucked her in a kissed her gently.

"It is good to have a child in the house again."