A/N: Thank you for the great reviews! :) …And now…

Chapter LXXVII

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Christine positioned herself between the two men, her arms spread wide, her hands held at shoulder level to stop them from lunging at one another with weapons raised.

At her desperate shout, the Phantom observed her in narrow-eyed shock, but it was the look in the boy's eyes that truly perplexed him. He stared at Christine as if she might suddenly combust into flame, as if he were concerned for her, yes, but more than that – as if he were fearful of her next move. She stood absent of a weapon and with no true rage, only helplessness tinged with a desperate courage. Surely the boy with his continual acts of reprehensible heroism did not fear so slight a woman, despite the wild, spirited look in her eye?

"Christine…" The Vicomte said carefully, as if she held a loaded pistol to his head. The Phantom thought it a shame that she didn't. "Calm down, it's alright."

"I will thank you to stop talking to my wife."

"I am merely concerned for her welfare."

"If you were so concerned, we would not be in this situation now."

"Put away your weapons, both of you," Christine ordered in a shaky voice. "This is not the time, and certainly not the place."

"Christine…?"

The voice came from a woman, one familiar, who suddenly appeared behind the Vicomte.

"Madame Giry," Christine breathed.

Erik turned his furious attention on his aide. "And have you now sided with him? Tell me you were not responsible for the soldiers finding us tonight."

"No, monsieur. That was entirely on him. I have not once betrayed you."

"What of Jacques?" Christine breathed. "Did you not get my note?"

Erik was alert to Christine's abrupt new unease. "What of Jacques?" he asked his wife, then swung his glance to his aide.

She shook her head in confusion, as if she had no idea.

"I sent a letter to Madame, to look after the boy."

A third figure came to the door to stand beside Madame Giry. Father Dominic looked with disapproval at the blades each man held ready at his side. "This is a house of God. I would ask you, gentlemen, to sheathe your weapons as there is no place for violence on this holy ground."

Elderly and frail, the priest nonetheless possessed the authority of his vocation that made a powerful impact on the escalating disturbance, his request stern and coming out as an order. Ever honorable, the boy obediently slid his blade into its sheath.

"Forgive me, Father," he muttered.

Erik had yet to move, himself not swayed by a man of the cloth even if he had no true cause to distrust him. But the boy was a different story. Hours earlier the Vicomte led armed men in an ambush to capture him. He would be a fool to put himself or his wife at further risk. Hallowed ground or cursed mattered not one whit to him.

"Erik…" Christine moved toward him, laying her hand on his sword arm. "Please?"

"You cannot mean to tell me you trust him?" he asked her incredulously.

"No, not entirely."

Her vague answer did not please him, that there should be any morsel of doubt in a proven matter that concerned trust involving this intrusive nobleman.

"But there has to be a point where all of this stops." She looked between Raoul and Erik both, but directed her next words to Raoul. "You told me that you would help. You swore to me that if you knew the Phantom had been Erik, you never would have tried to capture him, due to my … in respect of my feelings –" she stumbled over the last words. "Was that the truth?"

The boy's hesitation did not reassure the Phantom one iota. The Vicomte at last turned from locked stares with his nemesis to look at Christine and nodded.

"I told you, I would never see you in that state again. You have my word I'll not interfere." The Phantom narrowed his eyes at the manner in which Christine's face flushed at the boy's oddly chosen words. The Vicomte glanced back at him. "Only I should point out that he is the one who still holds a blade."

She turned beseeching eyes on him. "Erik…"

He let out a disbelieving huff and shook his head. "Christine, you cannot mean it. Would you again have me defenseless and at the mercy of my enemy?"

"We came here for sanctuary," she said, running her palm along his sleeve to his wrist. "How can we obtain that peace if we pose the threat?" She smoothed her fingers tenderly along the back of his fist that clutched the hilt. "And if he breaks his word and proves to be the enemy, I'll not hold you back from cutting him to ribbons."

The Vicomte's brows sailed up at that, while the Phantom's scowl twisted in a smile.

"Do you swear it, Christine?"

She grinned at the familiar childhood oath begun between them. "I swear it."

"Then I shall hold you accountable to your words."

Her touch soothed his frayed emotions and warmed his soul. Despite his better judgment, the Phantom sheathed his weapon. Father Dominic's sigh of relief was audible.

"Keep in mind, Vicomte, that next time Christine will not speak up to protect you," the Phantom warned his rival. "I advise you not to try my patience."

"Is that…" Madame Giry broke through the tense crackle of silence that followed. "Is the girl hurt?"

The Phantom followed her stare toward Cesar, his manner grim.

"She is beyond pain."

With an uneasy truce established, he walked to the horse and lifted Jolene's body from it.

The Vicomte stepped forward. "I know her," he said quietly, staring at her still face as the Phantom moved with his slight burden toward the door. "What happened?"

"And well you should know her," the Phantom sneered. "The troops you gathered for her capture and mine are responsible for her death. The shot from a pistol proved to be her downfall, as if you care..."

"I do care! I helped her escape from under her uncle's thumb, back at the hotel."

"Did you? I doubt that. Why should a nobleman care about the welfare of a prostitute? Your kind cares for only one thing from such as these."

"Father," Christine interjected, approaching the priest to waylay another potential outbreak of angry violence between the men. Erik's arms were filled and he could not again grab his sabre, but with his voice, she now knew him capable of another weapon, in that he could control the thoughts of men. His smooth, velvet timbre took on a deadly velvet tone she'd heard before.

"May we come inside?" she asked. "We need a place to rest before the journey home. I swear to you, we've done nothing wrong to warrant us being hunted down by soldiers. If you'll only allow us an hour under your roof, I will explain."

His eyes were somber, a trifle wary, but their lack of usual warmth did not make her feel any less welcome. "Of course, my child, I'll not deny you the respite you need." He stepped aside so they might enter.

The Phantom and the Vicomte exchanged glare for glare before stiffly following the women and the priest into the sanctuary.

.

xXx

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"Madame, did you not get my note?" Christine asked beneath her breath minutes later, so that only they could hear.

She darted a glance across the opposite side of the chamber to where the three men stood near the front pew on which Erik had laid Jolene. A single candelabra stood in the center aisle at the front before the altar, in the place where she and Erik once exchanged wedding vows. The candlelight it gave off was dim, illuminating only the first few pews.

Erik stood a short distance from the other two men, preferring the shadows, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at Raoul who animatedly spoke to the priest. Christine wished she could hear what was being said to bring such interest to the priest's face and such disgust to her Phantom's, but to sit and speak with Madame in confidence, away from listening ears, was much more important at the moment.

"I left you a note, to find and stay with Jacques – the boy that Erik takes care of," she awkwardly explained, careful not to state the extent of the reason for Erik's interest in the child – that he was family. It was not her news to share. "Jolene's brother, actually. He's not yet six, quite an adventurous lad, always off exploring without saying a word to anyone first. But you see, he cannot actually say a word – he's mute and deaf – and it could be dangerous for him if he wakes up to find us gone, that is, if he should take it upon himself to go above in search of us. There are men who would hurt him -"

"Christine." Madame grabbed Christine's hand clenched on her lap, more of a command than a comfort, her tone calm but stern. It was enough to break Christine from any mounting hysteria of fear for the boy, and she breathed deeply for composure.

"I read a note that Meg left me," Madame continued. "It appears that in my temporary absence, my daughter and the Lady de Chagny took it upon themselves to fulfill your wish and help you out in this matter. That is the extent of what she wrote."

"Arabella and Meg have gone to Erik's lair?" Christine said in some shock.

"That is what you asked?" Madame said in clear concern. "But the traps…"

"There is only one trap near the cave entrance. Though I thought you would be the one to receive my note and perhaps know that already."

At her searching words, Madame shook her head. "I have never once been to the Phantom's hideaway, to the cave entrance or otherwise."

"Never?" Christine asked in surprise.

"Our meetings have taken place above ground. I am surprised Meg took it upon herself to journey there, though she has always been curious about the Phantom."

"Arabella has been there before. She knows of the trap and how to disable it."

"Ah, then I am not so surprised." Madame nodded slowly, as if at a memory. "She is very … inquisitive."

At the trace of amusement in her voice, Christine darted a glance toward her dour husband. A shudder traveled up her spine to think of his likely volatile reaction that not one but two strangers had intruded into his domain – how he was certain to think of this, despite her best intentions to help Jacques. One trespasser, the cousin of his nemesis, the noblewoman he had threatened never to cross his threshold again. The other, a young gossip, sweet but unpredictable, who certainly would find the Phantom's kingdom a juicy morsel of newsworthy proportions…

"Perhaps it would be best if we kept this matter between ourselves for now," Christine suggested, swallowing over a dry throat.

"Yes, I should think so," Madame agreed, glancing over at the Phantom whose aloof stance had not changed.

Christine noted that Erik was now curtly addressing the Vicomte, his words too low to be understood over the distance. By his expression, he was quite unhappy. She sighed.

"Why did you never tell me that you knew my father?"

Madame's expression softened. "It was never my intent to withhold the truth from you, Christine. I would have told you at some point."

Christine thought back to the day of her arrival to the theatre. "Is that why you allowed me to audition early?" she said, those hours beginning to make sense. "It had nothing to do with the Phantom's note."

"It did have a little to do with it." Madame countered dryly. "I knew to expect you, though not the reason why he was so interested in securing you a position there. Now I understand quite well. The Vicomte told me of your history together in England," she added when Christine stared at her blankly.

Christine could not help but be nervous. "So, you now know everything about us."

"Ma chère, do not be troubled. It gives me great relief to understand his motives at last." She suddenly seemed ill at ease. "And now, I must ask pardon, for giving you the drugged wine. Even then, I sensed he would not harm you, and I now know it goes beyond that – I have never seen him look at anyone as he looks at you, the adoration that shines from his eyes…but that does not excuse the part I played in your abduction, to have him train you to sing."

Christine somberly nodded, deciding that what once had so disturbed her also brought her back to Erik, and it was best to just let the matter go.

"Why did you become his assistant?"

Madame thought a moment, as if to frame her words. "When he first approached me with the offer, I needed the additional income promised. After I lost Meg's father, things were often difficult. My chief goal was survival for my daughter and myself. Until recently…" She paused. "My reasoning has changed. It is no longer about the money, though I should impress – I do not often approve of your husband's methods."

Christine could not prevent a cynical smile. "Between you and me, I completely understand."

"I'm sure you do." Madame almost chuckled then grew serious. "I want you to know, I will always be here to help the both of you, however I'm needed. It is why I'm here tonight. We came to secure the directions to Bicêtre. Father Dominic sometimes visits the destitute there."

Christine could not suppress a violent little shudder. To think that such a vile place could have been Erik's fate.

"We appreciate your involvement," Christine said sincerely. "You and Meg have both been so helpful."

Madame Giry smiled. "You have the kindness and compassion of your father. He was a lovely man, such an accomplished musician."

"You knew him well then?"

"We became good friends in the two years he worked at the theatre, long before he went to Sweden where he met your mother. We were both very young…"

Something in the way she spoke led Christine to believe more was involved, but a shadow fell across her before she could appease her curiosity. Madame looked up and Christine turned her head to see. Erik stood behind her and glanced at Christine then at Madame.

"Father Dominic wishes to speak to you," he told his aide.

"Of course." Madame hurried away without another word.

Erik continued to stare at Christine, his expression a blank mask.

"Erik…?"

She realized then that he did not stare at her face, but below her waist. Before she could think to ask what was wrong, he dropped to the seat beside her in haste, his hand grabbing a fold of the lap of her skirt. She blinked in astonishment then gasped as she felt his other hand clutch the bottom of the wool and petticoats. Her hand grabbed his wrist before he could lift the bunched material over her bare knees.

"What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?" she whispered, darting an embarrassed glance across the chapel. She was relieved that the other three had left the area, no one privy to Erik's scandalous intent.

"Why did you not tell me you were hurt?" he insisted between clenched teeth.

"What…?" she said in some surprise, glancing down at her lap. In the scant light she noticed for the first time that the cloth had been sliced. Erik could see details in the dark where others could not. Even in shadows, on a mud-splotched skirt of midnight blue, his sharp eyes had noted the cut between folds.

Christine's shy modesty was no match for Erik's grim determination as with his greater strength he pulled her skirts above her thigh, exposing what he wished. A modicum of warmth had begun to return to chilled limbs now that they were no longer exposed to the frigid woods, and looking down, she understood the fiery tingle along her right leg. A clean narrow line of scarlet raced from above her knee at least six inches in ascent along her thigh. She remembered the sting she felt once she stopped the gendarme as he hurriedly twisted to face her. Her skirt and petticoats had offered some protection, but the swift brush of his blade had been sharp enough to slice through threads and damage skin, though barely.

"It is not deep," Erik said, affirming her thoughts. His voice wavered slightly in relief tempered with concern as he gently probed the pale skin around the cut, "only nicked. Regardless, the wound should be treated soon."

Recalling the week spent in his bed due to a high fever from an injury that had grown infected, Christine hurried to reassure him. "I will bathe as soon as we return home. I planned to anyhow. I cannot remember ever being so filthy."

She scrunched up her nose and pulled at a hank of her wild curls to see they were also splotched with caked mud.

"And I will apply brandy to better cleanse the wound."

"I feared you might say that."

A small smile flirted with the corners of his full lips and vanished just as swiftly. He closed his eyes, his expression pained, and now it was Christine's turn to worry.

"Erik – but you're the one who was hurt!"

Her eyes lifted to his head at the same time her hand moved to the back upon memory of the soldier who knocked him out. She winced to feel the lump and the dried blood flaked there. He shook his head as if it were of no account. Taking her hand he brought it to his lips, kissing her palm.

"I almost lost you tonight, Christine, and this…" His fingertips lightly brushed her thigh near the cut, "is proof of just how close I came. I could not bear to go on if you were taken from me."

"I understand only too well. At last perhaps now you realize how much?"

By the somber manner in which she stared, he knew she spoke of much more than this night.

"I was a fool not to investigate…" His voice was low but fervent. "…to send a lackey in my stead and rely solely on town gossip to make my decision – both times. I acted on instinct and anger alone, and for that I am truly sorry."

She nudged her skirts to fall back to her ankles then lifted her hand to cover his hand that still clasped hers. "It's all water under the bridge, my love."

"But Christine –" Clearly he was still upset and not yet willing to relinquish the past. "Why did you leave your home to live at The Grange for two years if you were not engaged to him? That was rather long for a simple visit among friends. Five weeks was too long." He grimaced at old memories. "And why did you sail with him to the Mediterranean?"

She bit her lip in uncertainty, not bothering to mention Arabella had been there too and had been her companion as well, since Erik never seemed to hear that part of her defense. She was not yet ready to speak of the year of madness lost to her and the days of her slow and painful recovery.

"Why did you not return?" she countered softly. "You knew me better than anyone, Erik. Those awful things I told Berta, most were lies and exaggerations in opposition to what I truly felt in my heart. It was unlike you not to confront me and give me a piece of your mind before running away – especially after what we shared on The Summit."

"I thought of that, and how you often spoke recklessly, though I warned you against doing so numerous times. All throughout the ride into Gimmerton I recalled other times you spoke in anger, the words you spouted false."

She frowned at his less than exemplary observation, no matter how accurate.

"Why then did you not return?"

"I did."

The two words, softly delivered, jarred Christine as if she'd run face first into a wall of brick.

"What…?"

"I was within a mile of The Heights when I was gunned down by one of the Vicomte's servants."

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes wide as she vainly tried to find words after so startling a revelation.

"B-but – why…?"

"The man with the dogs," Erik said bitterly. "Victor. He found me…" He tilted his head in curiosity. "You did not know?"

She blinked frantically, recalling the burly groundskeeper and his pack of vicious hounds, one of which had attempted to take a chunk out of her arm. She barely associated with the surly man during her time at The Grange, only seeing him at a distance, at the most receiving a forced nod of bare courtesy if their paths should happen to cross. Dottie, his wife and one of the upstairs maids, was equally distant to her. Christine knew they both blamed her for the trouble Victor received after she'd been bitten, though of course since she was a favored guest of the de Chagnys they never voiced their dislike. He almost lost his position on the estate due to Christine's folly of that night. But for his newborn twins and the Vicomte's act of mercy, Victor would have been sacked, his wife probably no longer welcomed at The Grange either.

"Why should I know anything of the sort?" Christine insisted in frustration, feeling at a complete loss, as if she had awakened to a world she did not know, and all she formerly believed true were lies. "Are you telling me that one of the Vicomte's servants shot you?" She desperately tried to absorb all he said. "Why would he even do that?"

"I would assume he acted on orders from his master." Erik's words came cool and detached. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, becoming shuttered, as if reliving a memory.

"Erik – I don't understand. None of this makes sense –"

"It certainly doesn't," another voice answered, and both Christine and Erik turned their heads sharply at the intrusion.

The Vicomte stood in the shadows, near the fourth pew.

Erik scowled and held more tightly to Christine's hand, as if fearful the Vicomte would attempt to snatch her from him.

"Do you make it a habit to eavesdrop, monsieur?" he asked snidely.

"Having taken on the guise of a Phantom for three years, it is a custom you most surely have perfected," Raoul answered, his words just as clipped, his eyes also narrowed with distrust.

"Shall I enact for you my additional customary roles for which I am well known and feared?" Erik asked and began to rise to confront him.

Christine tightened her hold on his hand when he would try to release her and also lifted her other hand to grab his. Her eyes begged him to refrain from acting rashly.

"Did you know that your groundskeeper shot Erik?" she asked, turning her attention to Raoul. "Did you give him the order to do that?"

"Of course not!"

A hint of relief crossed Christine's face. "Then he must have acted on his own."

The Phantom made a scoffing sound, regarding his naïve angel in disbelief.

"You expect me to take this boy at his word?" He spoke the name as an insult.

"Believe what you will," the Vicomte droned on in an irritable fashion, "but nobles hardly hire assassins to rid themselves of pesky neighbors."

The Phantom scowled in disgust. "Royals hire assassins to rid themselves of troublemakers all the time. Why should nobles be any different?"

"And you would know this how?"

Christine was prevented from speaking out to halt the impending melee by a sound that made her heart leap to her throat even as her stomach plummeted to her toes.

"Dear God, Erik – do you hear?"

She hurriedly stood to her feet at the same time he did.

The unmistakable sound of a multitude of hooves pounding the earth heralded the approach of company. Without seeing the new arrivals, Christine was certain of their identity and that their lives were in danger once more.

"You did this!" the Phantom barked at the Vicomte.

"God's teeth, man! I was here before you were," the boy argued. "I never knew you would show up at the chapel of all places! You certainly never bothered to darken the door of the church in Haworth. I came here to lend aid."

"Lend aid?! You were at the crux of this – it is because of you they hunted me out, and your ignorance has done Christine harm as well."

"Erik…" Christine grabbed his arm, desperate to break him from dwelling on past offenses that failed to matter when the current danger required immediate action. "What shall we do?"

He tensed but laid one hand over hers, briefly glancing into her eyes to see the fear there, then looked back up the aisle. "Is there another exit out of the chapel?" he asked the priest who was coming from the back to join them.

"No, but there is a place of concealment in the confessional. It is close and cramped but it should suffice. Come." The priest moved to a doorway off to the side.

"I will speak to them," the Vicomte said.

"What you really mean is that you will turn us in," the Phantom corrected bitterly. "Is that not so?" He took a threatening step his way. Once again Christine clutched his arm to hold him back and stop him.

"Erik – we must go," she whispered urgently. "They cannot find you here! I won't lose you again."

"Christine, I promise I will do all I can to ensure that doesn't happen," the Vicomte spoke to her alone, ignoring the Phantom who glared at Raoul.

She gave him an uncertain nod then focused wholly on her husband.

"Come, my love," she whispered, tugging on Erik's sleeve.

He did so with reluctance. No matter his feelings toward the bothersome scoundrel he would do all he must to ensure Christine's safety.

Outside the confessional, Erik eyed the enclosed cubbyhole with doubt. "What is to prevent the soldiers from tearing aside the curtain," he argued to the priest. "To hide in there would be akin to trapping a fox for the hounds."

"But the fox has cunning to outwit such beasts," Father Dominic retorted with a gleam in his eye. He pulled aside the long black curtain. "There – do you see? Near the floor. I have no idea why it was built into the wall, but over the years I used the area for storage. There is very little I store there and plenty of room to hold you both. Unfortunately it does not have an exit to the outside …"

The Phantom wasted no time. As the priest spoke, he moved the stool aside and removed the scrolled iron grate near the floor that must be nearly four feet in length and three in height, surprised to see it was not bolted in. The grooves in the wall were deep enough that the screen fitted snug against them without a need to be fastened.

"I no longer bother with screwing in the bolts – too hard for these useless hands." He moved his arthritic appendages slightly to the side at his waist in a little acknowledging movement. Christine took one of those clawlike hands, the skin loose and soft over crooked bones, and squeezed in genuine affection.

"Thank you, Father. You have been a true godsend."

He smiled sadly. "You're not out of the woods yet, my child. Hide yourself well and I shall do all I can to detain their search and be rid of them. There's a rolled tapestry in there. Push it against the grate to cover the holes."

The Phantom peered inside the dark hollow to see, then motioned for Christine to precede him into the crawlspace. She dropped to her hands and knees as Erik guided her with one hand, giving her backside a gentle push, anxious to hurry her through. There wasn't a moment to lose as a heavy banging began against the doors in the distant anteroom. Father Dominic watched the Phantom gracefully crouch and slither, pulling himself into the small corner of darkness with surprising speed and agility.

Father Dominic helped Erik replace the grate and moved the stool back into position then slowly shuffled out of his confessional and down the center aisle, sharing a weighty look with the Vicomte and Madame before continuing to the back of the chapel and the entrance. He was capable of walking faster, but kept his leisurely pace, wishing to give his fugitive guests as much time to conceal themselves as possible.

The soldiers outside were now impatient, the banging that never once relented interspersed with loud demands for entrance, followed by the heavier sound of what sounded like the butts of rifles being rammed against wood.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Father Dominic called out, though his assurances did nothing to stop the ruckus. Very slowly he lifted the bar that crossed the door and was almost knocked over when the door swung in toward him.

Several soldiers rushed inside, their weapons at the ready.

.

xXx

.

Christine sat hunched over in their small darkness, her head against Erik's arm, where he likewise sat with his long form bent low. The area was even more cramped than it first appeared and her limbs ached from the discomfort, which he must be suffering twofold. She dared not move, barely breathed, and closed her eyes as if by doing so she could wish the danger away.

But it was ever present and drawing nearer, more than one set of footsteps marching closer while the curt voice of one man asked the priest a litany of rapid-fire questions. Surely, if they were found, those crooked men would not honor the act of sanctuary, of which she had long ago read from a story in one of her father's books.

"What is back there?" the gruff voice asked.

"The confessional."

"Let's have a look, shall we?"

Christine sharply glanced at Erik, his eyes golden orbs of warning in the scant light. She had no need for him to caution silence, but she drew in a barely audible gasp when she heard the rapid whisk of the booth's curtain being shoved aside, bringing light through the holes above the rolled tapestry he'd pushed to cover most of the grate.

Erik slightly shook his head and Christine managed a bare nod, squeezing her eyes shut. She felt his hand go to her head, bringing it down to his shoulder in comfort. She clung to him.

"It is as I told you…," the priest's voice came strong and clear, the men only a few feet away from where they hid. "The Vicomte found the poor girl in the woods and brought her here."

"And the woman?" he was brusquely interrupted. "Who is she?"

"A parishioner who came to the chapel to pray."

"I suppose you will want to take the girl's corpse to her uncle?" the Vicomte's voice came to them, and Christine felt Erik's entire body tense. She smoothed her palm against his chest and the racing of his heart, all she could do to try to calm him at the moment.

"He doesn't want her back – not in such a state. His orders were to bring her back alive."

"You have your men to thank for her condition," the Vicomte said. "It was one of your rifles that shot her."

"You deal with the girl," the man insisted, a slight nervous strain to his voice. Knowing what she did about the evil concierge who clearly held a good deal of power in the city, Christine wondered if the soldier feared his reaction to the news. "I am under orders to bring in the Phantom and I demand to know whose horse that is outside. It looks much like the beast that the beast rode."

"It's mine." Madame Giry's voice came in reply.

There was a hesitation as if in surprise.

"You rode here… with no saddle," the soldier, clearly the leader to have monopolized the conversation, said the words in skeptic disbelief.

"The stablemaster did not check that piece of equipment thoroughly," the Vicomte smoothly put in. "The stirrup was loose, ready to fall off. I removed the saddle and gave the lady a ride. I assume you saw my coach outside?"

Christine wondered how she could have missed it, even in the thick darkness, especially wondered how Erik could have overlooked it.

"You removed the saddle," the gendarme repeated dubiously.

"Of course. I may be a Vicomte, but I've been taught always to assist a lady in need."

If the situation were not so dire, Christine would have giggled by the way Erik rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Madame Giry works for the theatre my family manages. She came to visit Father Dominic and I agreed to escort her home."

"You came to visit the priest so late in the evening, Madame? What good Christian woman does that?"

The gendarme's voice was filled with censure, obviously construing actions between the ballet headmistress and the priest of a scandalous nature. Christine's eyes went round to imagine such a scenario, and she slammed her lids shut on so abhorrent and sinful a thought.

"Early, monsieur."

"Pardon?" he asked, taken aback.

"It is near dawn. I must attend to matters outside the opera house before my girls awaken and rehearsals begin. Father Dominic is an old friend. I turn to him when I'm in need of advice. Two of my girls have been most unruly and I sought his counsel. But your words have acted as a reminder. It is late and I must go. Vicomte, if you please…?"

Christine heard the rustle of Madame's skirts as she turned away to make her escape.

"One moment, Madame." The soldier was relentless, suspicious. "Where is this broken saddle? I have some experience with tinkering."

"Monsieur." This from the Vicomte, his words quiet and scathing. "Are you telling me that you will waste valuable time in tinkering with a saddle when there is a more important task required of you? What would you have me tell Monsieur Picard? When he learns of your soldiers' incompetence in firing the gun that killed his niece, what mood do you imagine that will put him in?" he scoffed. "I will attend to Madame Giry. You do the job you were well paid for."

"Oui, monsieur," the soldier hurried to say, and Christine could almost imagine the nervous sweat beading on his forehead. When the Vicomte wished to, he could be quite formidable in exerting his authority. Raoul may deny it, but he was clearly in charge.

"You will tell Monsieur Picard, then," the gendarme added. "About his niece. The girl ran off – it was too dark to see. My men heard a noise in he bushes. There was no hope for it."

The Vicomte released a heavy sigh. "Yes, yes, of course. I will meet with him later today and pass along the message."

"We'll catch him, my lord." His tone became decidedly subservient. "I have men posted near the cave, in case the monster returns to his den. I cannot imagine how he could have escaped, but he won't be free for long…"

The voices grew fainter as the men walked into the main chamber. Christine let out the breath it felt as if she'd been holding since they arrived. At last, it was over, though she would not feel true relief until she held Erik close in her embrace, far beneath the surface of the earth, in their home.

Once the soldiers left and the fugitives vacated their confined concealment, the Phantom and the Vicomte argued on what should be done next, especially about Jolene. Almost everyone agreed that the Phantom should not remain one moment longer at the chapel, in case the soldiers returned. Though the priest stated his sincere regrets that Jolene could not be buried within the cemetery, he assured them there was a lovely spot for a final resting place nearby should they wish it. He also offered the tapestry in storage, in which to roll up her body. Once unrolled, Christine noted the fine needlework was of a beautiful garden.

The Phantom laughed outright in scorn when the boy said he would dig the plot.

"You? Do manual labor?"

"I am not entirely helpless," the Vicomte replied tersely and addressed his next words to Christine. "You both must go with Madame in the carriage. It is far too dangerous to return to the opera house by horseback. You could be easily spotted. I'll take the horse back to the stables."

"My horse -!"

Christine put a gentle, restraining hand to Erik's chest. "You'll dig the grave yourself then?" she added her own doubts.

"I do have two hands, and it seems I have no choice." He looked toward the pew and the girl's body that lay there, so still. His last words came quiet. "I feel I owe it to her to see that she is undisturbed … at last at peace."

As he struggled for words to express, Christine believed she understood and softly smiled. "You're a good man, Raoul de Chagny. Thank you for what you did tonight."

"Christine," her husband's voice came abruptly. "If we must leave with all haste, then let us do so." He turned to the priest. "You have my gratitude," he said sincerely. "Twice you have been instrumental in bringing me and Christine together, and now, in keeping us that way."

"I am only too happy to help," Father Dominic assured. "Should you ever need spiritual counsel, my son, I am here to give it."

Erik looked away, ill at ease, but nodded.

Madame came up beside Christine and pulled her a short distance away.

"Thank you as well, Madame. Perhaps in such surroundings I should not say this, but you do bend the truth so smoothly," Christine said with a wry grin.

"Wherein was the lie? I do have two girls under my guidance who have acted unruly, you and Meg both. And I did seek the priest's counsel on how to find them. Thank God I will not have to set out for the asylum."

Christine shivered at the thought of such a place. "I've not yet told Erik that Meg is waiting with Jacques."

"Perhaps you should wait."

Christine knew what Madame was thinking – that if Erik's mounting temper should explode, better not to have it occur within the sanctuary.

But she would tell him at the first opportunity. There was enough mistrust bound up within old secrets to contend with. Some of them revealed, some still hidden. She had no wish to add to their number. Besides, he would know the truth of their two guests within the hour, when he came face to face with them.

She watched as Erik stopped near the pew where Jolene's lifeless body lay. He looked at her snow white face a long moment, then without a word took Christine's hand and abruptly strode with her outdoors, following Madame to the closed carriage that waited beside the building, near a patch of shielding trees.

Once the three were on their way, Christine inhaled deeply to steady her thoughts, said a little prayer beneath her breath for courage, and covered Erik's hand resting on his thigh with her own.

"My love, before we return home, there is something you should know…"

xXx