A/N: Thank you for your reviews! …And now…

Chapter XXXI

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Raoul paced the study, now and then stopping to glare out the window.

It had been a fortnight, over that, and he had not heard from his courier yet. It had been one full month since he had let Christine slip quietly and furtively from his sight. He should have told the boy to follow rather than hold off and send him later. Hell, he should have followed her himself!

A brisk knock on the door that stood ajar startled him from his dour musings. He turned to see Arabella there, outfitted in a new riding habit. Her smile was bright, her eyes merry.

"Good morning, cousin," she trilled softly, "I came to ask you to take a turn around the estate with me. It's such a lovely day - at least it's no longer raining - and the horses, no doubt, are restless and need their exercise."

She looked charming, in shades of dark blue, the color more flattering than the dull browns and grays she often favored. The thought led him to acknowledge once again that he'd been lax in finding her a proper suitor, as Father had requested of him, and her past twenty-one. His entire life felt bogged in an upheaval of waiting. He barely shook his head at her query, his somber gaze falling to his desk and a stack of missives he had yet to answer.

"Not today, Arabella. I have business to attend."

"Oh, poppycock."

At her abrupt and rather shocking rejoinder for a lady, he glanced up. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." She swept inside, offering the room a derisive glance, then speared him with determined gray eyes. "You have barely budged from this study - from that window - for days. Days, Raoul…and now drinking? So early?" She came up beside him and slipped the snifter of brandy from his hand, setting it on the desk, then looked out the glass pane that fronted the courtyard. "Unless 'business' is to oversee that the sun rises and sets at its proper course of time, I cannot conceive what would rivet you to guard this post with such stout diligence." She smiled in clear question.

He sighed. "I await a missive."

"Did Grayson tender his resignation that you must now answer the door and conduct business with the messengers?"

"This is personal."

"Oh." Her expression softened in sudden understanding. "Christine."

"Yes," he said more tersely than he intended. Arabella did not flinch, but he struggled to calm himself, not wishing to take out his angst on his cousin. "She was correct in what she told us. Elizabeth's father has taken it upon himself to make inquiries. It seems he wasn't pleased with the manner in which the constable ordered the investigation. Everyone at the Heights has been questioned again, likely everyone in all the surrounding provinces will be interrogated…"

"You?"

He gave a curt nod. "Our paths crossed on the road to Gimmerton yesterday. He explained away the encounter as coincidence, but I have my doubts. He then asked a number of meddlesome questions, mostly about Christine. I told him nothing except what we agreed on. That since her return to The Heights, we've seen little of her and less after Henley was born. Such a cold fish -" He snorted out a dry, humorless laugh. "He didn't even ask about the boy or seem upset to learn that Berta had taken his grandson to her sister's, to live there. All that's important to his way of thinking is this damnable investigation."

He muttered something foul under his breath, unfit for a young lady's ears, then turned his head to look at her again. "I sense he didn't believe my parody of the truth. I was never a good liar, Arabella. Don't be surprised if this Inspector Leverton should weasel his way into your company soon. I'm surprised he hasn't yet beat a path to our door."

She patted his shoulder in consolation. "Don't worry about me, cousin. The headmistress at the academy could have put the most accomplished barrister to shame, what with her stern and demanding inquiries with regard to her silly little rules broken - which I learned to evade."

"What? Her or her 'silly little rules'?" Raoul found himself asking though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

She smiled. "I will manage the bulldog inspector. Please don't torture yourself over what happened. We did all we could. This unfortunate incident will pass in time and all will be forgotten."

"Will it?" Raoul scowled. "The local constable gave up the search as pointless, but this man - he is ruthless in his pursuit. He told me he always gets his felon and will devote every waking moment to this case too. He didn't mention Christine by name, but the threat was in his eyes. God, Arabella, what if he does find her?"

His mind sped down another trail and he turned with it, pacing a short distance away.

"What if she never arrived to the opera house? What if I sent her into an even worse situation? I sent her off alone, Arabella. Alone!" He groaned at his lack of good judgment that had been bombarded by the women's frivolous logic at the time. "She has never gone anywhere unaccompanied and I sent her to a city foreign to her - with people foreign to her! Speaking a language she doesn't even know!"

"We all agreed this way was best," she stated in a calm voice of reason. "Christine chose her destination, knowing she couldn't stay in England. Deep down, you know that too. We had no time to plan."

Despite the ring of truth in Arabella's words, he shook his head in misery. "If anything happens to her…"

"Christine is an intelligent young woman. She has proven her merit in handling difficult situations - she is no longer a child in need of pampering or saving. She will be alright, Raoul." Her eyes stressed her words, their quiet, bold emphasis almost calming him.

The clatter of hoofbeats on stone had them both turn to the window to stare. A lone rider approached the courtyard and dismounted.

Arabella was fast on Raoul's heels as he hurried to the back of the house where he found his courier seated at the table inside the kitchen. Dirty from his travels, a lanky boy of sixteen, with large hands that shook around a pewter mug, jumped to his feet and regarded his master with an anxious nod of deference. The cook paid no one any mind, hustling about in preparing a plate for the lad.

"You have news for me?" Raoul waved for the exhausted boy to sit. He did and took a long swallow of ale to remove the road dust of travel from his throat.

Raoul impatiently waited for what he had hoped for weeks to hear.

"Aye, sir," the lad hoarsely spoke, still breathless from his ride. "I asked around the place, like you told me. There was talk of a ghost, accidents that happened and such -"

Raoul's heart ceased a beat. "Christine was in an accident?"

"No sir, leastways no one knows of any …"

Raoul clenched his teeth, just managing not to wrest the bread from the boy's hand as he watched him wolf down a bite once the cook set his plate before him. "There's not many who know much," he went on, mouth full, "or if they do, they woudn' say. The ballet instructor wouldn' talk with the likes of me. But I asked around, I did, and found some who could speak the Queen's English and was willin' to tell what they know."

"Yes?" Raoul prodded.

The boy took another hasty swallow of ale. "Miss Daaé's not there. Leastways not now."

"What do you mean she's not there now?"

"Well, sir, she was there. Had a job as a maid, scrubbin' floors and the like."

Arabella gasped and Raoul grimaced, realizing her audition must have been a failure. He nodded at the boy. "Go on."

"She worked there three days before she disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Raoul growled. "Make sense, boy! Did she leave of her own free will?"

"That's just it, sir - no one knows. Some say she did, that the work was too hard, though one of the women thought it strange she didn' take her cloak. Others say he stole her away - bein' as the note fell during her audition."

Raoul just managed not to throttle the boy or pull out his own hair in frustration. He felt Arabella's steadying hand on his shoulder as if she sensed his hectic thoughts.

"What note do you speak of, lad?" she asked quietly.

"The note from the Opera Ghost, that's what they call him, Miss. And Phantom of the Opera. There are them who swear he must have come upon her and took her with him the night she disappeared."

"What? Where?" she asked in quiet horror.

"That's just it - no one knows. No one could tell me more 'n they did. He's the cause of the accidents, and he showed an interest in Miss Daaé. The dancers I spoke with was afraid to tell me that much and acted funny like - some kept lookin' up at the rafters. One girl said she vanished into thin air, since the door was locked, like Miss Daaé was a ghost herself…"

"Bloody hell!" Raoul spun on his heel, exiting the kitchen. Arabella glanced at the boy uncertainly, then hurried to follow.

"Grayson!" he barked as he headed for the stairwell.

The butler appeared in record time. "Yes, my lord?"

"See to it my bag is packed. I'm leaving straightaway."

"Very good, my lord."

Grayson hurried up the staircase, but Arabella grabbed Raoul's arm before he could follow.

"What do you intend to do?"

"What I should have done from the start. I'm going to Paris."

"And the inspector?"

"I daresay even he cannot find fault with a patron visiting the opera house in which his family's funds are invested."

Arabella gave a short nod. "Yes, you're right. I shall pack and join you shortly."

"Oh, no - you won't," Raoul said swiftly, this time smoothly grabbing her arm and swinging her back around before she could ascend the stairs. "You're not going to Paris."

"And why not?" Her chin sailed up in obstinate defiance.

"You heard what that boy said about a crazed ghost."

"Surely you don't believe…

"From the bits and pieces Father told me when he was last here, there have been strange rumors of a madman haunting the premises and making demands of how the opera is to be run. He assumed it was a contrived legend to gain public interest. I'm not so sure. Whether it's legend or truth, I'll not put you in danger too."

"Oh, pah," she waved a careless hand. "If I can survive Miss Dalrympile and her frightful inquisitions, I can certainly manage some mysterious phantom. Besides, if he is indeed real, in all likelihood he would have no interest in me or my presence there since I don't work in the theatre -"

"Arabella -"

"Christine is my friend too, Raoul. If there is any truth to what the boy said and she needs help, I wish to be there. Now…" She arched her brow in question. "Do we wile away precious minutes and stand here glaring at one another, or do we breach this impasse and agree to let me go, as you will eventually come to do, so that we may hasten along on our journey?"

"You are incorrigible," he said gruffly but not without fondness.

"Yes, dear cousin, someone has to keep you on your toes. You see to the coachman, and I'll gather my things."

"It is past time I find you a husband to take you in hand," Raoul sighed.

Arabella laughed as they hurried up the stairs with him behind her.

"Perhaps," she threw over her shoulder, "this visit will not only ease our fears for Christine's safety and prove there is no ghost - but will serve to put me in the sights of some horrendously wealthy Frenchman. One not opposed to music and dance in his hallowed home, who will then beg for my hand in marriage. Oh, would that not be splendid, Raoul? Such a lovely coup for you and uncle…"

Her words came teasing and light but Raoul frowned, finding no humor in them.

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xXx

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A soft rumbling near her ear brought Christine to consciousness. She stretched her arms, smiling when her hand brushed silken fur. Rolling to her side, she stared into unblinking golden eyes.

"Hello, little friend." She stroked his neck. "It's so good to have you back with me, where you belong. But however did you come to be in this place?"

Mozart closed his eyes in feline bliss as she scratched behind his ear and Christine gave a little sigh moving her hand to his chin. "I suppose I should dress and begin this day. I can only hope that the absence of Monsieur Phantom means I'm not tardy with my arrival for my first true lesson."

The cat playfully bit her finger, just barely, and she tapped him on the nose. "Now, none of that. Some of us are not given the option to lounge in bed all day."

Christine made quick work of her morning routine, certain at any moment her new teacher would come charging through the door and demand her presence. Stunned to open the wardrobe and find an array of gowns at her disposal, she plucked a silky one from its holder, a soft heather color reminding her of the wildflowers on the moors, and hurried beyond the changing screen. The gown hung a little loose, even without a corset, but it covered her and that's what was important.

Once dressed, she moved from beyond the screen just as Jolene entered with her tray.

Christine regarded her in surprise. "Oh … hello. I thought I wasn't supposed to eat before my lesson?" He had allowed her to partake of a meal in the midst of yesterday's troubling fiasco, which had surprised her, but she noted he had been thunderstruck to learn Mozart was her cat and must have not been thinking clearly to allow it.

"The Maestro has gone above. He will not be ready for you until this afternoon." As Jolene set down the tray, her eyes went to the cat. "Faust stayed with you?" she asked in surprise.

Christine narrowed her eyes a little at the absurd name. "Actually, his name is Mozart. He's my cat. I lost him when I was visiting Paris two years ago."

Jolene started in shock, her eyes wide, almost …terrified? Christine got the impression that if the girl had still been holding the tray, her breakfast would now be scattered on the stones.

"Your cat, mademoiselle?" she breathed.

"Yes…" After the Phantom's odd behavior, and now this, Christine was determined to uncover the mystery. "Do you know how Mozart came to be here?" Sensing the girl might panic and run, Christine softened her voice. "I only wonder… A friend I was with had every member of the hotel staff search for him on the night he escaped from my room."

Jolene nodded faintly. "My brother found him."

"Jacques?" Startled, Christine glanced at the sleek black cat that presently bathed himself.

Jolene studied Mozart, as if unsure she should speak. "He has a fondness for animals, for any living creature. It hurts him to see harm come to them."

"A very noble trait," Christine said softly. "Jacques is a good boy."

Her praise made Jolene hesitantly smile. "He is a good boy but not all people can see beyond his difference. They call him bad names and are cruel. When he saw Faust, he thought of him as a friend - he was only three. He had no playmates, I was kept busy so often…" Her brow grew troubled and her voice faded. "The man who worked in the kitchen - Tork - was also cruel. He was not happy to learn that Jacques had taken Lord Dumfries' cream for the cat, and he hit Jacques and kicked the cat out into the rain."

Christine winced. "How do you know this? How is it that you were even there?"

Jolene drew a tight breath and let it out slowly. "I was a - a maid at the hotel. My - I, I was ordered to join the search that night. I came upon Jacques with the cat."

Christine blinked, stunned, but nodded for her to go on.

"Jacques was very upset, he was crying. He was more upset about the cat than his own pain. He ran out into the night, after the cat. Tork ran after him. By the time I got to them, he was again beating Jacques. I tried to stop him and he hit me too. The cat - I could hear it yowling but couldn't see it. It was very dark, the rain was falling hard, and suddenly -there, there was a man. He-he helped us."

"The man," Christine whispered, but somehow already knew. "It was the Maestro, wasn't it?"

Jolene paused then gave an anxious nod. "He took us away from harm and brought us here. We have been with him since that night. The cat, it, it must have followed."

"Jolene," Christine whispered, beginning to understand. "Did the Phantom kill this man? Is that why he's wanted by the police?"

Jolene blinked furiously. "I - I don't…"

"It's alright. You have nothing to fear from me. I will tell no one. You have my word."

The girl pulled on her lip with her teeth until Christine was sure she must have drawn blood. "I don't know. He had a rope around his neck. Tork fell and the Maestro picked up Jacques and ran with him. I also ran." She gave a nervous little shrug.

Rescuer … Defender of the weak and helpless … Protector…

Yet another piece to the puzzle of the Phantom that did not befit a monster.

Christine slowly, pensively, moved around the bed and took a seat next to the serving dish. Instead of removing the lid, she picked up the carved figurine and held it in her lap, studying it.

"Jacques wanted you to have it."

Christine looked at her in surprise. "The boy put this here?"

Jolene nodded. "He thought you would like it."

Christine nodded, brushing her fingertip across the absent face. "I do."

Her mind remained on the man of deep mystery who created such beauty and shared his secreted home with two mistreated little waifs. So much about him, about her own presence here, remained an oblique riddle. No longer frightening to contemplate but one that intrigued her to solve.

Christine looked up at the girl, who still seemed anxious after her confession. She gave her a reassuring smile.

"Jolene, will you help me?"

She shook her head warily. "I cannot help you escape, Mademoiselle."

"Christine. Please call me Christine. And I'm not asking you to. I was hoping you might teach me the language here."

She seemed surprised. "French? Or the words we speak with Jacques?"

"Both?" She smiled hopefully.

Jolene's smile came more quietly, as if still unsure that she might be breaking one of his many rules, but she nodded and pointed to the cat.

"Faust, the cat - Faust, le chat."

Christine nodded. "Mozart, le chat," she repeated, substituting the correct name.

Her serious response teased a giggle from Jolene and the remaining tension shattered like a wave on the seashore that left a soft ripple of peace in its wake. The girl looked at the figurine in Christine's hands and pointed to it. "Little angel … petit ange."

"Petit ange…"

Christine intently listened and repeated Jolene's translation to every object in the room she brought to her attention. At last she lifted the lid to her serving tray and motioned to the food there.

"Le petit déjeuner est servi - vous devez manger." At her swift flow of words and Christine's vacant, dumbfounded expression, Jolene giggled again. "Breakfast is served - you must eat."

"Ah, oui, mademoiselle." Christine grinned and rolled her eyes a little when Jolene boisterously clapped. Really. She did know some words from her brief few days work in the theatre. As she ate, Jolene gave names for the food and items on her tray and Christine nodded, repeating after each swallow.

Near the end of her meal, Jacques joined them. Christine brightened, holding her hand out to the boy. "Please tell him thank you for me," she told Jolene as the merry lad hoisted himself up on the high bed to perch beside her.

"You tell him," Jolene decided, "Merci beaucoup." As she spoke, she crossed her hands slowly over her heart and slightly held them out. The boy's attention had gone to the cat, a grunt of glee escaping his throat as his grasping hand flew toward the black ball of fur and landed on one curled leg. Mozart darted away and sped toward the bath chamber.

Christine put her hand to the boy's shoulder to gain his attention. She held up the angel figurine then repeated what Jolene had shown her. The boy's dismay to lose the cat vanished as a shy smile crept to his face and he nodded, a lock of hair falling in his innocent blue eyes. Christine couldn't help herself. She wrapped him in her arms, silently and vehemently cursing all who had ever harmed this sweet child.

Jolene's bare hitch of an indrawn breath alerted Christine. Even before she heard her quiet shock, she sensed the prickling change in the atmosphere that made her own heart jump.

Drawing away from the boy, she looked slowly toward the entrance.

The Phantom stood there, silent, observant, the expression in his golden eyes impossible to decipher. "Be ready for your lesson in one hour. This time, do not be late."

At his quiet words, she nodded, not daring to tell him she'd only just eaten. He moved away as silently as he had come, his cloak billowing softly behind him in his wake, and Christine released the breath she'd been holding.

Jolene and Jacques left with barely a glance and nod, as if their master held some invisible rope that pulled them along behind him. Not bound by his control but subservient to his wishes, loyal pups eager at his heels, ready to serve. After hearing Jolene's story of how they met, Christine could begin to understand such behavior, even their desire to stay here and make his sanctuary theirs. Her abductor was their protector, his link with Jacques likely even stronger than either of the children realized.

Pushing away the probable relationship that still oddly disturbed her, she picked up the leaflet of papers of the first part of his opera, nervous when she realized she had forgotten to memorize Act One as instructed. They had reached an understanding of sorts, and she didn't wish to revisit their days of animosity, though she couldn't yet think of him as a friend.

Did she want to think of him as a friend? The idea surprised her. She no longer considered him a true enemy. Obsessive. Demanding. Controlling. Yes, he was all of those things…

But he was no longer the threat she once thought him.

Such conflicting thoughts confused her, and she had no wish to dwell on what gave her unease. Knowing she would have to stand a considerable amount of time for her lesson, she sprawled across her bed on her stomach and studied the first page. Hmph. The more she read in detail, the more she despised Aminta. Such a feckless creature. Don Juan was written as less of a fiendish tyrant for all of his scandalous manipulations and appeared to be the sympathetic party, which went in direct opposition to the story and what he'd done. Surely, for a man with such a merciless scheme, breaking man's laws and spiritual precepts to gain what he desired, there must be something ignoble about his character. He did, after all, later kidnap Aminta…

He kidnapped Aminta.

Her eyes widened. As she read, a rush of irate warmth chased away the sudden chill of disbelief. She felt as if she were looking not at a piece of parchment but into a looking glass - not with regard to the outlandish overemphasis of pettiness and cruelty, oh no. But with regard to the actions he had jotted down for Aminta to use - mirroring what Christine herself often did in a similar situation: a careless toss of her head, the cross of her arms and tap of her fingers, the pout of her lips…

Surely, he could not have intended this, this creature to personify her!

By the time the allotted hour passed, Christine had worked herself into a stew with each line read and reread and read yet again. Once she reached the Phantom's lair, the look in her eyes scorched him as he slowly stood to greet her.

She threw down the pages at his feet.

"How dare you!" she seethed.

He regarded her with not even one flicker of an expression on his stony, masked face.

xXx