A/N: I want to thank all who've supported me – I appreciate it more than you know. :) It helps push me onward. And now, before you begin this chapter – you might want to take a deep breath… ;-)
Chapter LXXIII
.
Christine's first awareness to danger came with the stiffening of her husband's every muscle against her back. Even in slumber she sensed his alarm and blinked her eyes open to a world cloaked in darkness…
…in more ways than one.
"Get down from that horse," a harsh masculine voice ordered to her right.
The ominous click of the cock of a trigger magnified three times filled the night.
Confusion gave way to horror as Christine got a glimpse of metal buttons gleaming with pristine brightness on a dark uniform. From the shadows of the looming trees several figures closed around them, but it was the man who stood near the cave wall that caught her full attention, a stray bar of moonlight making his fair hair gleam like ivory.
"Calais…"
Even from this distance, she heard the scornful emphasis of his low, muttered word, and sat up, straightening her back in defiance.
"Take the horse and flee," the hot breath of Erik's whisper brushed her ear as she felt the reins forced into her hand.
Before she understood his intention, she felt him dismount behind her. A blur of shadow darted to the wall, taking the soldiers by surprise with the unexpectedness of his act. They swung their pistols in that direction though the area was too dark to see.
"No!" she cried, her exclamation coming out strangled.
Stunned by the swiftness of events that unfolded, her mind still fogged with sleep, Christine did no more than sit and watch the distraction Erik provided as a means for her escape. She could barely conceive the enormity of all that was taking place, but one truth pounded throughout the chambers of her heart –
She would never leave him.
Hurriedly she slid off the horse. With shock she noted that her husband had reached the Vicomte. With relief, she realized the soldiers did not fire their weapons.
Erik swung around with Raoul, using him as a shield, his arm around his throat.
The Phantom had charged, knowing the accuracy of such a pistol meeting its mark in a swiftly moving and weaving target was nil, with the added benefit of thick darkness as a guard. And the fools had not risked torchlight to give their location away.
He tightened his hold around his victim as harsh memory returned.
"You kissed her," he seethed, noting the intrusive boy's eyes go wide while his body went perfectly still and puzzlement wrinkled his brow. "My wife. You kept her prisoner in your suite. And now this? I warned you once what would happen should you ever bring her to harm…"
He sensed the gendarmerie surge slowly forward, their weapons at the ready. The Victome raised his hand in signal to stop them. They halted but did not lower their guns.
"Yes, call off your dogs for once," the Phantom demanded low near his ear, so only the boy could hear. "You and I have unfinished business, Vicomte –"
A scream cut off his words, closely followed by the sharp report of a pistol.
The Phantom swung his head around in alarm. A gendarme had crept beside the cave wall and found an opening, likely with his barrel aimed at Erik's head. Christine then clearly had rushed him, pushing aside his arm and sending the shot wide. As Erik watched, the cur lashed out, striking her in the face with the pistol in his hand. She crumpled to the ground.
"NO!"
The Phantom issued a roar and threw the Victome away from him with a vicious shove, rushing to her side.
"Christine!"
Paying no heed to the armed men circling him, the Phantom slipped trembling fingers beneath her nape.
"Stand to your feet now," the furious order came from above.
Paying the scoundrel no heed, again the Phantom anxiously said Christine's name. This time her eyelids flickered open.
"Erik…?" she whispered.
"You little fool," he said gruffly and with the utmost gentleness, "why did you not run as I told you?"
"You needed me."
A faint smile touched her lips, before her eyes widened in horror as she glanced beyond his shoulder.
"Erik-!"
He moved but not fast enough. Christine screamed as a soldier viciously slammed the stock of his rifle against the back of Erik's scalp. Her Phantom fell in a heap on top of her, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and head in an instinctive but futile effort to safeguard him. Her fingers felt the warm stickiness of blood in his hair and terrified tears rushed to her eyes.
"No – don't do this - please!" she cried, when two pairs of hands violently pulled her arms away. "Leave him be!" She struggled to keep him with her, but it was useless.
Two soldiers dragged her husband up, his body hanging limp between them, and she saw with fearful concern that he had been knocked unconscious. His head lolled forward, his mask nearly dislodged.
One of the men leered in triumph, stepping forward, his hand going to the black leather covering.
"Leave him be!" Christine demanded, vainly struggling to free herself from the husky soldier who held her by the arms and tight against him. One of his hands grew more familiar with her left breast, and she brought her heel down hard on his instep.
"Bitch!" He jerked her arm so hard Christine thought the shoulder might leave its socket, and she yelped with pain.
"Stand down!" she heard Raoul order from behind. "Do not harm her."
Her assailant loosened his grip, and she broke away. All else was lost in the harsh gasps as the vindictive beast facing Erik followed through and snapped the mask from his face, claiming his prize of battle.
"He's no ghost – he's a demon!" one exclaimed, disgust heavy in his words.
"God – look at that face!"
"A demon from hell! And hell is where he'll soon be –"
"Leave him alone!" Christine half begged in tearful anger.
She could not cease from screaming at them to stop, regardless that her words had no effect. Her cheek throbbed dreadfully, but her tears were for Erik alone. She sobbed in horror of what they had done and moved forward. Again hands gripped her above the elbows, and she whipped her head around to find Raoul holding her back.
"Let me go, damn you…"
Those words had no weight either as he pulled her against him. "Christine – stop!" He whispered harshly. "I cannot help you if you don't keep quiet!"
"I didn't ask for your bloody help." Her voice trembled as she watched the soldiers take Erik away, his feet dragging the ground.
"YOU BLOODY BASTARDS!" she cried, feeling herself break in two. "You can't do this!"
She tried to escape Raoul's iron grip, but suddenly the black, looming trees spun and she felt boneless, her knees giving out from under her. Had Raoul not been there acting as a buttress, she would have sunk to the ground.
"Christine?" Concern laced his voice.
She shook her head slightly, forcing her mind to remain aware.
"The girl –" a stocky soldier approached, and she recognized him as the fiend who struck her and Erik.
"Is returned to her uncle, as planned."
"Not her – this one," he sneered, glaring at Christine.
"Stays with me," Raoul ordered, his voice ringing with authority, his arm tightening around her despite the death grip he already employed.
The soldier appeared as if he might argue then gave a curt nod and rejoined his brutal associates who dragged Erik into the trees where they disappeared down a slope.
The blood again coursed through her body, giving her new awareness. Christine struggled to escape Raoul's bruising grip. Once again her efforts went unrewarded.
"Where are they taking him?" she whispered helplessly. "Where?"
He shook his head in pity, which only infuriated her further. With a burst of the strength that comes from sheer desperation to save a loved one, she brought her free arm around in an arc, clawing his face and jerking from his hold. Lifting her skirts she ran in the direction they disappeared, coming to a sudden stop at the grim sight below.
A closed wagon stood in the pool of moonlight breaking through the trees where they had thinned to allow room for a vehicle. Two of the gendarmes roughly threw Erik in the back and slammed shut the doors that contained openings like windows and vertical iron bars.
"No," Christine whispered in horror.
She took a blind step forward. The loud rustle of undergrowth behind attested that Raoul had caught up. He grabbed her around the waist, holding her back, always holding her back...
"Let me go," she softly cried the futile words again, not knowing why she bothered, and twisted in his hold, feeling as if her soul would crumble along with her heart. "I have to go to him. He's hurt. I have to help him."
"How? By taking on the whole blasted legion of gendarmes?!"
"I d-don't know how. I'll think of something."
"Cease acting like a wildcat and listen…"
She shook her head in maddened frustration, tears streaming down her face as she watched the soldiers depart and the wagon roll away. Not a legion – six. Only six. Four on horseback, one with the girl.
Armed with nothing, it might as well have been a legion.
The salt of her tears stung her left cheek which still throbbed from the blow of metal. She came to a sudden insight. "You have a pistol, don't you? Give it to me!"
"In a pig's eye! You're not running after them, waving my pistol, to be shot down in the mud. Those men are corrupt. They would think nothing of killing a woman if she gets in the way of their greed..."
He was right, and she despised him for it, the futility of the act apparent even as she demanded his gun. She threw his arm from her and turned in disgust, heading for Cesar. Midway, she saw Erik's mask on the ground and scooped it up, clutching it to what was left of her shattered heart, before resuming her rapid gait to the horse.
Already agitated, the beast sidestepped when she drew near, the whites of his eyes showing.
"Christine…"
So frantic was she to find a way to save Erik, she had forgotten that this man she once thought a friend was responsible for his capture.
"This is YOUR fault!" She turned on him. "You did this! You sicced the gendarmes on us like a pack of rabid dogs!"
"I never once made my goal to capture the Phantom a mystery," he insisted with equal fervor, "And I never wanted you involved. I thought you were in Calais."
At his soft accusation she turned her back to him, impatient to be gone. "I can't listen to this. I have to do something!"
"And just what precisely do you intend to do?"
"I don't know – ride to the prison, tell the guards they took the wrong man, break him out – Damn that horse!" she fumed when the stallion trotted away at her second approach.
Erik had warned that the beast was highly strung and required a gentle voice and touch, but she could not pretend calm when her entire world had been blown apart. She gulped in a deep intake of breath, trying to steady her mind so she could think rationally.
"They're not taking him to prison."
"What?" She glanced Raoul's way. Something in his quiet words and stony features made her limbs feel as if they also turned to stone. "What are you not telling me?"
The jangle and creak of harness and wagon in the distance faded and she said more urgently, "Tell me! Where are they taking him?!"
"To Bicêtre."
"To – what? I don't know where that is." At the impatient shake of her head, he let out a breath.
"A madhouse for the criminally insane."
His grave admission struck terror to the depths of her soul, for more reasons than one. It was a moment before she found her voice.
"After what I went through – that godless year – in England…" her words came soft with emotion, stilted with shock, barely above a breath. "How could you?"
"The punishment wasn't my choice. Your husband has made many enemies."
She shook her head, loath to hear further slurs against Erik, but Raoul grabbed her arm before she could walk away.
"Why did you not tell me?" he insisted.
The scant moonlight had sapped the color from his face, gray marking the planes in shadows. He seemed to her a stranger, and she wondered if she truly ever had known this man, that he could do something so despicable…
"Tell you what?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"That the Phantom is your Erik."
Speechless with shock, unable to pretend differently or contradict his claim, she did nothing but stare.
"His accent is native to our district, in England. The things he said reminiscent of threats made four years ago. Then there's the mask, not to mention his full-scale, unrelenting obsession with you…"
She closed her eyes, wishing to block out his candid explanation.
"My God, Christine – why did you not tell me?"
This jolted her to speak. "With you always chomping at the bit to hunt him down and ensure his capture? A capture you have now succeeded in – damn your pitiless soul to hell!"
He was not fazed by her rage, his annoyance just as blatant.
"And whose fault is that? Had I known the truth, matters would have been dealt with differently – God knows this night never would have occurred!"
They were the last words she expected to hear. Incredulous with shock, she shook her head, unable to frame thoughts much less a coherent response.
His expression was hurt. "Dear God, Christine – after the grief I witnessed you suffer from his death – that year you were with us, lost to us – do you think I would have helped set this trap had I known?"
"You wouldn't have…?" she queried softly.
"Of course not! I never want to see you suffer like that again."
A little laugh escaped, of desolation mixed with disbelief. She moved away from him, certain if she allowed herself to dwell on this that she would collapse from the weight of the irony and laugh herself into hysterics until she wept with despair.
"I can't talk about this. All I can think of, all I want is to find my husband and free him from those bastards."
"And again I ask how you plan to accomplish that?"
His question came the third time the agitated horse moved away at her approach – this time at a gallop, disappearing into the woods.
Christine violently swore at the distant fleet-footed creature, wishing all manner of ills to befall him. "On my own two legs if need be!"
Raoul nodded as if expecting her response, then shook his head.
"Not bloody likely…"
Before she could refuse, he grabbed her arm, leading her down the slope to where his horse waited.
"I won't go with you!" She dug her heels into the soft soil but was no match for his greater strength.
"And I refuse to leave you here, alone, in the middle of a dark forest."
His damnable sense of honor would never let him abandon a defenseless woman. And she would never betray Erik's secrets by entering the tunnels under Raoul's watchful eyes, not that she could - she had no key to the hidden door. With no recourse open to her, she went with him, determined to keep watch for an opportunity to escape.
She was Erik's only champion and a poor one at that, but she would be damned before she allowed her husband to be made victim to a hangman's noose or an institution of horrors.
The de Chagnys had fought for her soul, refusing all persuasions to send her to Bedlam.
She stood alone, against all of Paris it seemed, but the strength of her love for Erik must somehow see her through to victory.
It had to be enough.
.
xXx
.
At the sound of the door opening, Arabella swung around.
Raoul entered, gripping the arm of Christine, who he pulled in behind him. His right cheek had been deeply scratched and bore four long red furrows. Her left cheek was swollen with a lump, split and bruised, dried blood flaking her skin.
"Sweet virgin! - Christine…?" Arabella exclaimed, appalled. She quickly strode toward them. "Raoul – what on earth happened? Were you attacked? Why are you here?"
She brought her confused attention back to her friend. At the scowl on her face and the stubborn set to Raoul's jaw, Arabella knew this did not bode well.
"Ask him!" Christine said, the loathing evident in her tone as she yanked her arm from his hold.
"Raoul?"
He turned the key in the door and pocketed it. Arabella could see no trace of the tenderness of an hour ago, his expression carved in white granite.
Her eyes sought the reason for the angry terror in Christine's.
"He ordered his pack of trolls to capture my husband and send him to an asylum!"
"Contrary to your belief, I don't control the gendarmerie –"
"I saw how those men took orders from you!"
"They work for the concierge. He wanted his niece found and conceived the plan –"
"And was it his idea to send him to an asylum? Or yours?"
At an alarmed gasp, three pairs of eyes turned to the corner of the room. Arabella's new maid nervously approached.
"Pardon, monsieur, mesdames … Jolene is back at the hotel?" Fear laced Giselle's whisper.
"Is there a problem?" Raoul asked in puzzlement.
"I…" she flushed and nervously looked down, biting her lower lip. After the water trap incident the maid was often tongue-tied around him.
Arabella almost groaned that he could be so naïve when it came to some matters, or perhaps he did not wish to believe unspeakable incidents could occur within bloodlines. Since Arabella had taken the abused Giselle under her wing as her ladies' maid, she had learned otherwise.
A frown appeared between Christine's brows as she grew visibly distracted. Her eyes sought Arabella, the look in them uncertain, and remained a moment, before swinging back to Raoul.
"Give me the key," she demanded.
"That is not going to happen."
"If you think I'm going to sit here, all prim and proper, and do nothing but sip tea while my husband is in danger…"
Raoul's laugh came weak and devoid of humor. "No, but you cannot go racing off into the night, half-cocked, in a dangerous city full of reprobates who would sell their own mother for a price. We must conceive a plan."
"There is no 'we' about it. If you think after what happened that I'm going to let you help me then you are horribly mistaken. After what you did…" She shook her head in appalled disbelief. "Sending him there of all places!"
"I told you, I had no part in what transpired after his capture," Raoul said wearily. "The concierge arranged his incarceration at the asylum. He wants revenge against the Phantom for abducting his niece and thought a hanging too good for him."
"You seem well informed for having no part in it," Christine hissed.
"I had no wish to work with the man, but he told me of his plans, tonight. An opportunity fell into his lap, and I went along, in his stead …"
"To guarantee the Phantom's capture," she bitterly filled in when he hesitated.
"Yes." His eyes were grave, his manner unapologetic. "He has long caused havoc at the opera house. As patron there, I was resolved to put an end to it, as my father wished."
"And now do you expect accolades for your great success?" She glared up at him, her words soaked in venom. "Never mind that you tore out my heart as well!"
"I worked with what information I was given," he answered just as coldly.
A weighty message passed between them. She looked away, and he sighed.
"I've met some men in high position of the courts," he continued. "Perhaps if I talk to them, try to arrange his release from the institution –"
"You think they'll grant him mercy?" Christine gave a scornful laugh of disbelief, dashing the angry tears from her eyes. "They will take one look at his face and chain him to the wall, and God only knows what more tortures they'll inflict!"
Raoul's face paled as if with a memory. "Granted, the chance is slim, but nothing is lost in the attempt."
"I told you, I want nothing from you except to let me go!"
"Christine, be reasonable -"
"Don't –" She swung her arm from his reaching grasp. "–Touch me." She looked at Arabella, quickly striding her way. "I must talk to you…" she said more quietly and moved past, into the bedchamber.
Arabella looked to where Raoul still stood by the door. He gave a grim nod of accord. Arabella returned the nod and moved to join her friend.
"M'lady," Giselle grasped her sleeve, realized what she had done, and stepped back with sudden humility. "Pardonnez moi, but – Jolene. I fear she is in danger."
Arabella nodded without surprise. "We will speak of this soon." She managed a smile of reassurance. "Don't be anxious, Giselle. We'll manage something."
Though only God knew what.
She found Christine pacing before the bed. Seeing Arabella, Christine rushed to the door and closed it.
"He means to keep me here, damn his overbearing hide."
"Did he force you to come?"
"I was given no choice."
Arabella glanced at her wounded cheek and went to the vanity and the pitcher of water there. A napkin lay next to the remains of an apple she earlier pared, and taking the cloth she wet it in the basin and approached Christine.
She took a wary step back and held her hand out for the cloth. Arabella gave it and Christine pressed the material to her cheek, wincing as the damp chill made contact with damaged skin.
Arabella smarted from her friend's evident lack of trust, but under the circumstances hardly blamed her. She lowered her tone, to invite confidence.
"Tell me ..."
Christine's dark eyes went hollow, reliving the experience.
"Erik and I returned from a ride. They were at the cave, waiting like vultures. They attacked and took him." Her last words came strangled, faint, and she shook her head briskly, a wet shine coming to her eyes. Her expression became resolute. "You must get a message to Madame Giry. Raoul won't let me go, but you don't have that problem. There's a key, in the vanity drawer of my dressing room. You'll remember it. It opens the door to the cave…"
"The cave with the wall?"
"Yes – just listen," she went on impatiently. "I'll give you instructions to give her. There is a child below. Jolene's brother. The child you heard the day Erik found you in the cave…" She hesitated as if not wishing to speak but knowing she had no choice. "If he finds himself alone when he awakens, he might strike out above ground to look for us, and that can be very dangerous for him. Tell Madame to keep the boy with her until I return. Tell her the Phantom would wish it."
"Of course," Arabella agreed, "You know I'll do what I can to help. I have only ever had that objective in mind."
Christine frowned but did not move away when Arabella touched her arm.
"I remained silent four years ago because I was convinced it was best for your recovery. But Christine, I was wrong not to speak up, to lie when you asked if he had visited, and I'm so very sorry."
Christine said nothing for a moment, then gave a slight nod.
"Prove your words, Arabella. See that the message is delivered to Madame. No harm can come to that boy."
Emotion made her voice faint and she shook her head wearily, but sat down at the vanity and pulled a sheet from the stationery box. Picking up a quill she dipped it in ink and swiftly jotted off a note, also giving instructions aloud that she did not dare put to ink. She folded the missive and sealed it with wax from a burning candle, then handed it to Arabella.
"That will get her to him safely." Christine moved to the bed and sank to its edge. "Please, I need time alone."
"Can I bring you anything?"
Arabella watched with sympathetic concern as Christine fell to her side on the satin coverlet in exhaustion, her legs dangling off the edge, her feet still directed to the floor.
"No." She closed her eyes. "I only want to rest a bit. It's been a trying night."
"Of course. We'll talk more later."
Arabella left the room, closing the door behind her.
x
Raoul looked up from pouring himself a drink, took a swig, then set it down, his eyes remaining on the glass.
"Did you know?"
Arabella studied him warily. "Know?"
"That the Phantom and her gypsy are one and the same."
She inhaled a startled breath. He glanced at her then returned his attention to his brandy and curtly shook his head.
"You did," he said, his tone flat.
She looked toward the hearth, where her maid studied the leaping flames.
"Giselle, would you please bring tea? And alert our driver that I'll need the carriage."
The girl hesitantly looked from Arabella to Raoul, who walked toward her and handed her the key. She plucked it from his fingers and hastened from the room.
"You're going out," Raoul said quietly and took another drink. "With Christine here?"
"It's for Christine that I'm going. To the opera house."
He looked at her over his shoulder, his brows lifted in surprised question.
"To speak to Madame Giry."
It was the truth, but all she would tell him.
Raoul nodded vaguely, his mind elsewhere. Once more he set down his glass, then turned and walked toward her, his face a study of somber intensity.
"We took turns sitting by her side," he said, "hoping for even the smallest spark of life as we looked into vacant eyes every day for a bloody year. We lit candles to the saints and the Blessed Virgin in petition for her return to us. We witnessed her struggle to relearn the simplest of things like eating with a fork and knife and walking again…" He came to a stop before her. "Do you think me such a monster to act in a way that would risk losing her to that foul darkness a second time?"
Arabella closed her eyes in remorse, the weight of her lies heavy to bear. At the same time, the relief to have everything finally in the open eased her conscience.
"We did her a great injustice, four years ago, lying to her about him," she began.
"Did we?" He sounded unconvinced. "You weren't there in the garden, when she first stayed at the Grange after Victor's hound attacked her."
"What are you talking about?" Arabella shook her head in confusion.
"The week before she left, we spoke. She was upset and feared being absent from The Heights too long, that he might be upset. I told her she was welcome to stay with us indefinitely if she wished, but she refused, certain her gypsy wouldn't like it. Every word she spoke was in some manner related to him, none of it flattering. She seemed afraid. Afraid to go home, afraid to stay. I honestly thought she was in danger. It was as though he held some dark, hypnotic control over her. She told me then, that even if she never went back home, he would never let her go…"
Arabella released a quiet breath, hearing the words, but understanding a deeper meaning. She knew too well just how linked their souls were.
"Whatever misunderstanding happened between them in those days it was obviously quite trivial when weighed against their feelings for one another. Now he is her husband, and she wants him with her. We must respect that."
"You knew about that too," he said with dawning insight. At her guilty silence, he shook his head in frustration and paced several steps away. "Dear God, Arabella! Christine's lack of faith in me, I can somewhat understand. But you…"
She sank to a nearby chair and glanced at her hands in her lap. "I did what I thought was best."
"Which meant my complete exclusion from the truth?"
She looked up. "I'm sorry, yes. She made me swear not to tell you, and perhaps I was wrong to lie – but you were wrong to exclude me from the investigation of her disappearance." At the surprised jump of his eyebrows, she shook her head. "Never mind. The matter most urgent is what to do about this elaborate mess we've made of things."
"There isn't much to be done."
She looked at him in confusion. "But you told Christine…"
"I will make inquiries, of course. But the truth is I have little influence over judiciary officials. The concierge seems to bloody well own the gendarmes, half of which are crooked and work for him in return for…well. They work for him. I don't have the clout of my father's name and am received in Paris with disdain or grudging courtesy. The nobles see me as nothing more than an ignorant lad hoping one day to fill a Comte's shoes. Others with influence see me as an outsider. I told Christine what I did, hoping to calm her."
Somewhat surprised by his frankness, Arabella did not correct him, having seen the patronizing glances directed his way by those of his father's generation.
"It seems to have worked. She's resting."
He expelled a mild breath of relief. "With as determined as she was to confront them, I admit I am astounded. It was a struggle, as you can see." With an offhand wave, he motioned to his nail-furrowed cheek. "I thought I'd bloody well have to sit on her to prevent her from chasing after them."
"I imagine the entire incident must have exhausted her. I, too, was surprised and relieved that she chose to have a lie down. She is always so single-minded in purpose, unwilling to abandon a cause dear to her heart."
Arabella thought of Christine's insistence to find the cave and, once there, her reluctance to remove herself from the Phantom's hideaway, even with the entrance barred. How many times had she pleaded to leave the hotel during her stay, always seeking to find a way back to her Phantom …?
And how many more times had she vowed that now that she'd found him, nothing would separate them again?
Her gaze swung toward the bedchamber door, then met Raoul's eyes in startled awareness. He suddenly looked as if he'd swallowed a stone.
His hurried steps shadowed hers. Thinking twice, she hesitated, not wishing to disturb her friend's momentary peace if she was jumping to inane conclusions, but Raoul had no such qualm. He lifted his fist to rap against the wood.
"Christine…? Christine!"
When there was no response, he tried the handle. It did not budge.
Raoul swore beneath his breath. "Christine, open the door - we only want to know that you're alright…Christine…? If you don't open the door, I'll be forced to break it down…"
Neither pleas nor threats brought the desired response.
Raoul shared a grave look with Arabella and brought his arm in front of her chest to signal her to step back. He likewise took a step in retreat and kicked hard at the paneling below the handle. It took a second attempt before wood split and the chair that had been shoved there on the other side was dislodged.
They rushed inside to find the bedchamber empty, the balcony door thrown wide. A chill wind stirred the curtains…
…and tied around the décor of the thick stone balustrade, a rope made up of bed linens cascaded downward.
.
x
.
Raoul fiercely swore and ran out of the bedchamber, Arabella fast on his heels.
Giselle had returned and looked at them both with wide, startled eyes.
Raoul stopped only long enough to issue a directive to Arabella. "Stay at the opera house until I get there. I don't want you coming back to the hotel alone."
Worry clouded her eyes but she nodded. "Be careful," she cautioned and put a hand to his sleeve.
He briefly squeezed her fingers then left the suite.
His distress by her lack of trust outweighed his anger that she had shielded the truth from him. Its only positive consequence was that it necessitated his involvement to find Christine, thereby putting distance between him and Arabella. He had little more to say and knew if he stayed one moment longer he would have said too much.
It was ironic that he must now wield what little influence he possessed to save the man he helped to capture. He despised the Phantom for the trouble caused since his entrance to the theatre three years ago, and his violent methods disgusted him, but he meant what he told Christine -
That the Opera Ghost was the same man she had fiercely grieved throughout four years changed everything.
Memory of the wretch's warped face, what little he had seen in the darkness, had not shocked him – he expected some sort of abnormality to justify the ever-present mask and had heard the rumors in England. What stunned Raoul was for the first time he experienced a stir of pity, even understanding, for the vindictive bastard. He did not suffer the years' old remorse Arabella struggled with. He felt justified, able to recall Christine's faltering words in The Grange's garden and the fear in her eyes. He made his decisions based on the knowledge given and did not regret them. The reason he must help Christine now was to help her retain whatever hold to sanity she yet possessed…
Though shimmying down a makeshift rope of torn sheeting from a three-story balcony did beg the question if he was too late for that.
He should have never left her alone and grimaced at her reckless stunt. The rope had come nowhere close to reaching the ground and there had been no sign of Christine's battered body in the street below. She must have found her way into the room beneath their suite. To evade notice, in all likelihood she would have chosen the servants' stairs, avoiding those that led to the populated lobby.
He pushed open the door to them – and heard a woman's distant cry.
Christine?
In alarm he made his descent down narrow stairs, taking them two at a time when he heard the sound of a slap.
"You have cost me enough trouble," – a man's voice snarled from below – "you will do as I say. If I tell you to visit every man's bed this night, you will smile and do it and be grateful I allowed you to live to see the dawn. Cross me again, you ungrateful wench, and I'll soon remedy that error …"
The stair runner muffled Raoul's approach. Across the room of the ground floor, he caught a glimpse of the concierge roughly shaking the girl Jolene by the shoulders, the back of her head slamming into the wall. Raoul recalled the maid's unexplained terror for this girl and realized his second mistake of the evening.
Before the cur could issue another slap, Raoul gritted his teeth and moved forward.
The oily little man stood a head shorter, small and wiry, but larger than the petite woman he manhandled. He let go of her, staring at Raoul in shock. The girl wiped a trickle of blood from her lower lip, her eyes downcast.
"Vicomte," the concierge uttered in confusion. "May I help you?"
"I seem to have taken a wrong turn," Raoul said vaguely, directing his focus on the girl and keeping it there. "So, this is the young woman."
"Oui. My niece." The concierge laid a hand on her shoulder. She recoiled slightly. "I have you to thank for your part in her return to me."
Raoul kept his eyes fixed on the trembling woman and made his decision.
"You can show your thanks by giving me the girl for the night."
The concierge narrowed his eyes in suspicion. The girl's eyes flicked up to Raoul, her expression unreadable before they again dropped to the floorboards.
"Forgive me, monsieur, but I was of the understanding that you do not condone the entertainment I provide for my guests."
Raoul made a gradual appraisal of the girl's curvaceous form, noting her torn sleeve that exposed one small shoulder. Her dress was soiled with bits of leaves and dirt, as if she'd been rolling around on the ground, and her auburn curls were in wild tangles, hanging to her waist.
"Perhaps I saw nothing to interest me before tonight, and the time spent in Paris has caused me to…reassess my viewpoint on these matters."
The concierge narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced of his change of heart. Raoul wondered if the gendarmes had reported his intervention in protecting Christine after she had done her utmost to try and cripple them.
"If I may be allowed to sample the wares?" he said with as much interest as he could summon.
At the man's brusque nod, Raoul hesitated then pressed his palms to either side of the young woman's head, lifting her face upward. Her full lips trembled under his and tasted of salt from earlier tears along with the slight metallic taste of blood. He lingered, making the kiss gentle but passionate and his desire evident, as the disgusting man watched.
Once he straightened, the girl again looked away, a rosy flush to her cheeks.
"The delights of our city do tend to get beneath one's traditional roots…" The concierge smiled lewdly. "Jolene is highly skilled, a girl of hidden talents and my most valued – very popular with the customers. I can give her to you for one hour."
"The full night," Raoul corrected, the authority in his tone brooking no refusal. "If not for my influence in this evening's escapade, the girl would not be here now."
The man's smile wavered, but he conceded with a nod. "Would you prefer another room? Unless your cousin wishes to be involved? Jolene will do whatever you ask."
Raoul barely refrained from punching the perverse little man in his disgusting mouth.
"You mentioned earlier that the additional room I required has been prepared?"
"Of course. With the excitement, I had forgotten. If you'll follow me, monsieur, I will collect your key."
"I would prefer to avoid being observed. You understand…" His smile came twisted.
"Ah, of course, of course. I will return presently."
The concierge hurried from the room that Raoul now noticed was a vestibule that branched off to a corridor and held three separate doors, one of which the man slipped through. Raoul let out the tense breath it seemed he had been holding since he confronted the concierge. He looked at the girl, who studied him warily.
"Don't be frightened," he said gently. "I won't hurt you."
The smile she tried to give was far off the mark of assured.
"You are the Vicomte Giselle spoke of," she said softly. "She said you are a good man."
"There are those, tonight, who would argue that point."
He was forestalled any further reply by the opening of another door, closest to where they stood. Holding a platter, a maid walked out of what was evidently the kitchen from the glimpse he got. She gave them a curious glance, doing a double-take of shock when she noticed Jolene, as if she had risen from the dead and thought it better had she remained deceased. The girl hurried up the stairs without a word to either of them.
Raoul's eyes remained on the upper staircase as he asked the question that before this night never occurred as a possibility.
"The Phantom. Did he abduct you three years ago…" He looked at her, "…or did you run away?"
"I…" Her eyes widened in fear and she attached her focus to the floorboards again.
"It's alright, he'll not hurt you again."
"He never did."
He barely heard her whispered response, but knew she did not speak of her uncle.
The concierge returned, motioning they were to follow. Raoul hesitated, thinking to demand the key, then decided this way was best.
Minutes later, Raoul closed the door to his newly acquired room and turned toward the petite young woman.
She hesitated then stepped forward, her lips lifting in a faint smile as her hands pulled his ascot loose.
"Stop." He clasped her shoulders and pushed her gently from him. Reaching into his waistcoat, he pulled out his wallet and several franc notes, offering them to her.
"You do not pay me, monsieur."
"Take it," he insisted.
Confusion clouded her blue eyes, but she took the bills with one hand and with the other pulled down her sleeve to her elbow.
"No," he said quickly, before she could bare more flesh. "I do not require your services."
She shook her head, at a loss. "Then why am I here, monsieur?"
He inhaled a deep breath and released it softly, pulling up her chemise and covering the expansive glimpse of ivory breast and pale pink nipple revealed. She was beautiful, and he would be lying to say he was not affected.
"I have always tried to be an honorable man, but have not always made worthy decisions. When I find I am in error, I try to resolve what I have mishandled." He reached out and cupped both his hands around one of her small ones. "I swear I did not know."
"Monsieur?" She shook her head, baffled.
He reasoned enough time had passed for her uncle to have returned to his post in the lobby, and time was a luxury that Raoul presently did not have in great quantity.
"Is there a servant's entrance to the hotel?" At her nod, he ordered, "Take me there."
He locked the door, certain no one would dare seek to disturb the room's missing occupants until long after dawn, then hurried with her to the ground floor, again using the servants' staircase. Two simple cloaks hung on wooden pegs near the exit. Grabbing one, he slipped it around her shoulders. She looked at him, startled.
"You wish to go somewhere, Monsieur?"
Grateful to see no one in the vicinity, he slipped with her out the door into a narrow street at the rear of the hotel.
"Take the money I gave you and hasten far from this place. Find refuge at the opera house if you have nowhere else to go. Tell Madame Giry I said so."
Tears of relief glistened in her stunned eyes. The smile she gave lacked the pretense of earlier ones and trembled with gratitude.
"Merci, monsieur, merci. Giselle was right. You truly are a gentleman."
She looked at him in hesitation, then to his shock, reached up and kissed his cheek before hurrying off into the night.
He watched her a moment, his conscience a trifle more at ease, then resumed his mission to find Christine before she landed herself in greater trouble. He had no need to ask those within the hotel if she'd been seen, nor did he risk the concierge seeing him.
He already had a strong suspicion of where she'd gone.
.
xXx
.
Hardly daring to believe her astounding turn of fortune, Jolene walked swiftly along the road. She hoped her inquisitive little brother had not yet awakened to find the lair empty.
From the shadows, someone grabbed her arm, and she yelped as she was pulled against the wall of a building, out of sight of the hotel. A lantern on a post flickered a short distance away. In the dim glow that reached them she could make out the face of her waylayer.
"Peter," she uttered in a harsh whisper.
"Jolene – what are you doing? I saw you with that noble on the stairwell and followed. You could get in a lot of trouble if your uncle finds out."
She put her hands to his chest and violently pushed him away. "And will you be the one to take me back?" she asked bitterly. "It was you, wasn't it? You told him where I was! You followed me that day in the woods and reported my whereabouts –"
She could not see his expression clearly, but the guilt was evident in his downcast eyes.
"How could you?" she whimpered softly then slapped him hard. He barely moved a muscle. "I thought you were my friend. That you were going to help me."
"I will." His eyes turned up to hers. "I told you – I'll always look out for you."
"You swore you would take me out of Paris – but that was a lie, wasn't it…? Wasn't it?" she cried when he gave no answer.
His eyes closed briefly. "Yes."
"Why?" she whispered. "Why would you do that to me?"
"He made me do it," he said tersely, his voice low and shaking with remorse. "He found out about our meeting and threatened my mother and sister. He said he would force her to work at the hotel and be one of his girls – and her only ten. Since my father passed on, I'm all they've got. I couldn't allow that to happen."
Jolene wanted to hold her hands over her ears and crowd out his words, to be angry with him. And she still was, and terribly hurt. But she could not fault him for protecting his family. It was the one thing she coveted, to be cared for and loved, and for three years she had been close to having that dream.
"Non, of course not," she said quietly then turned and walked away.
Had it been Jacques in danger, she would have done whatever was necessary to keep him safe. As she always had done...
"You're leaving then," he said behind her.
She halted and turned her head to the side but did not look at him. "I can never go back to that life and I won't be his slave anymore…Will you tell?"
"I'll not betray you again, Jolene." His words were gravely sincere.
She shook her head sadly, knowing she could never trust him ... and never would she see him again.
"Goodbye, Peter."
Jolene hurried down the street. She wanted nothing more than to return to the caverns, find Jacques and escape Paris before her uncle learned of her absence. With the Vicomte's franc notes, she now had the means. And with the Phantom in custody, she no longer feared him catching her in the act.
The thought should bring relief, but she felt only sorrow.
The Phantom…the man, Erik…had done all within his ability to care for her and Jacques. He did not love her but had protected her. He would be enraged when he found out, if he found out. And she thought of how he had been apprehended, carted away like cattle, likely never to be seen again, to know that Jacques was missing.
Her steps felt leaden, though her pace was swift. The route was deserted, save for the occasional drunkard and the revilers of bistros staggered along the road. The night was dark, darker than she ever remembered any night being. A few men called out to her along the way with vulgar suggestions. She kept her head down, her cloak held tight around her, and hastened past, grateful when only their lewd laughter followed.
A sudden rain fell. Except for the occasional carriage, the street emptied. Jolene pulled the cloak over her head and slogged onward, grateful the deluge prevented any more unwanted encounters and keen to reach the shielding forest where she could lose herself among the foliage.
The foul weather ended, and the moon slipped from beyond clouds to cut a swathe of light along the tree-laden path, though the mud made the way treacherous and travel slow.
When she finally reached the fork in the road, she was startled to hear the sloshing of wheels rolling over marshy ground in the distance. Moving up a slope, she peered through the tree branches, able to discern the dim outline of the prison wagon.
They traveled as slow as the drip of a candle on a road leading away from the prison, and she remembered her uncle's boasts of the Phantom rotting in chains in a men's asylum. She was not surprised to see what little progress the soldiers had made, despite the inclement weather, and clenched her teeth at the memory.
Before two of the coarse fiends delivered her to the hotel, a short time after leaving the cave they halted their journey, four of them deciding they could not rely on her uncle to give them what he promised. They pulled her off the horse and threw her to the ground, taking from her all they wanted. She had drowned out the pain and fear, closing her mind to the degrading experience, as she long ago learned to do, but she'd heard their coarse jests as they egged one another on. One of the men who had not joined in suggested they get the beast out of the cage and give him some of the same…
Jolene forced herself to turn away.
They had not gone through with that brutality, for whatever reason, and she certainly had no way to stop them if they tried. She could not help Erik at all. She must concentrate on Jacques. Must hurry back to him and flee their existence in this godforsaken city.
She walked along the path to the caverns, forcing her legs to move. Oddly the sounds of the distant wagon did not fade but carried in the mist left from the rain. Again she thought of Erik, of his long ago sacrifice for her brother, for her – the very reason the Maestro had needed to remain hidden and was being carted away now. She thought of all he had done for both of them since that horrific night, when rain also fell from a pitch black sky…
This was her fault. She never once betrayed her Maestro, but had rebelled against his wishes and continued her alliance with Peter, bringing him to this forest.
Her Maestro never once betrayed her. Never had he led her to believe he could care for her as a man loves a woman – that was all her dream. And she could not hold the night of his drunken interlude with her as hope that he would resurrect the desire. His heart had always belonged to another, long before he and Jolene met…
She knew that now.
Christine truly loved him, she knew that now too.
Jolene had watched in terrified awe as the frail woman threw her body against the hateful man before he could shoot Erik. She had taken their abuse and never once retreated, always trying to help him...
Viciously Jolene swiped at the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Escaping Paris suddenly seemed like a betrayal, and her heart was torn.
She was a woman alone, without a weapon. Hardly a third as strong as the weakest of the men. Often the maker of poor choices. She could do nothing…
Nothing.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she found herself running within the cover of trees alongside the road that led away from the prison. She finally caught up to and ran past the plodding wagon, the sucking noise of wheels over fresh mud drowning out her presence. Her opportunity lay in the bend of the narrow road.
There was little time before the wagon reached that point and no guarantee that dragging the long, unwieldy branch to block the path would work or even what to do if she was successful, but she had to try –
And God help them all should she fail.
.
xXx