A/N: As always, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews. You guys are awesome. And now…
Chapter LXXXII
.
Arabella sat at the vanity table in Christine's dressing room that had become her temporary bedchamber. Her mind grew distant, barely aware as Giselle brushed out her brown tresses, then wound them in a thick loose strand and pinned the mass atop her head.
A week had passed since the bizarre entrapment of the Phantom that preceded the stairstep of astounding events that led to his and Christine's escape from the soldiers. Raoul had visited only once since Arabella made her new abode here at his direction. Of course, she knew with the dangers at the hotel and his plan to spy, he could not spend a significant amount of time in her company, even at the opera house itself, but she wished to know what was happening. Had he been caught? Was his own foolish masquerade at an end?
"My lady?" Giselle set down the hairbrush. "Is this to your satisfaction?"
Arabella brought her wandering attention from the assorted vials of toiletries and up to her reflection. The girl had pulled wisps of tendrils to fluff and hang from Arabella's temples instead of the usual no-fuss manner Arabella employed of sweeping it back, the change a decided complement to her features.
"It's lovely." She turned on the stool to look at the girl, noting her red-rimmed eyes. "Are you alright, my dear?"
"It is so hard to believe Jolene is gone," Giselle said with a faint sniffle. "We were friends, good friends. Her uncle is an awful man to have done such a thing."
"Yes, he is." Arabella sympathized and took the girl's hand. "Giselle, there is actually something I need to discuss with you. Would you like to work for me, in England?"
The girl's eyes went wide. "You wish me to come to England with you?"
"I do wish it. I am quite pleased with your work in the short time you've been a lady's maid to me, and I should like to keep you as one."
The joy that lit the girl's eyes was replaced with sudden uncertainty. "After what I did, sending Le Vicomte through the hidden walls and the trap…"
"Stop it this moment," Arabella said, not unkindly. "You must cease to feel blame for that unfortunate incident. My cousin can be quite tenacious when he wants something. He would have found a way inside the walls, with or without your aid."
"You are kind, my lady, but he might not approve, and I couldn't stay where I'm not wanted."
"I have already spoken with him, and he has agreed."
The girl's brows lifted in surprise. "But - if he learns what happened…"
"He already knows, Giselle. We spoke of it, and he also says you're not to blame."
A weight seemed to lift from the maid's slight shoulders, almost tangible with the difference it made in her demeanor. She softly smiled in relief. "Then, I would very much like to remain your maid and work in England."
"Excellent. Have you belongings at the hotel you wish to be collected?"
Her new maid's eyes grew wide with apprehension. "I would prefer not to go back there."
"Rest easy, Giselle. I can ask my cousin to see to the matter."
"Oh no, my lady. Please don't trouble yourself or the Vicomte on my account. I have only a comb and a few ribbons for my hair, a pot of lip rouge, and some stockings."
She blushed and Arabella could well imagine for what purpose those items were put to use. The girl's meager possessions hardly surprised Arabella when she considered the brute who'd been her former master.
"Never mind. I'll see that you're properly outfitted with what you'll need." The seamstress in Haworth was apt with a needle and would make lovely dresses suitable for Giselle's new station. Arabella mentally made a note to arrange for the woman's visit to The Grange upon their return then looked down at the girl's worn shoes. Those would need replaced. Perhaps she should take the girl into Haworth and make a day of shopping there instead.
A soft knock interrupted them.
"That might be the Vicomte. Please answer the door."
"Oui, my lady."
Meg's cheery face greeted her as Giselle let the ballet dancer inside.
"Maman sent me to see if there's anything you require."
"Really?" Since Arabella had taken this room as her bedchamber, Madame had not once sent anyone in her stead to see to any needs, not that she expected it. Giselle took care of anything Arabella wanted, including bringing her meals.
"Well...no…" Meg's face achieved a faint rosy hue, her expression one of cheeky embarrassment. With her elfin face, uptilted nose, and blue eyes forever sparkling with mischief, she could play a fairy well without ever needing to speak or sing a line. "I thought I'd duck in here to avoid the entourage from hell coming around the corner. La Carlotta is being her usual harridan self to the cast, with a new admirer licking at her heels. But I have wondered if you're alright – you've kept to your room since you arrived."
"I should think after the nuisance I made of myself in past months you would be pleased that I have made myself scarce."
Meg grinned. "Oh, it wasn't so bad, not really. Not once I learned you were Christine's friend and meant neither her nor the Phantom any harm. I did enjoy our little excursion last week."
Enjoy was not a word Arabella would have used to describe her nerve-splitting visit to the Phantom's lair.
"Have you any idea when Christine will return?" Arabella asked.
"I wish I did. All the Phantom said over a week ago was that she would join us again soon."
A commotion of voices swelled from the other side of the door. Both women looked around in surprise when the latch turned and the door opened, Arabella not having thought to tell her maid to lock it.
A petite woman and a mustachioed man of the same size preceded a buxom redhead dressed head to toe in carnation pink, who strutted into the chamber. Behind her trailed a taller man with greying hair, outfitted in a plain brown suit.
The redhead stopped abruptly upon seeing Arabella. They had never been introduced, but Arabella recognized the brassy woman from descriptions given.
"Who are you?" the former diva asked. "Why are you in my dressing room?"
"Your dressing room?" Meg intoned in disbelief. "This is not your dressing room, not any longer."
"What do you know, you leetle ballet rodent?" Carlotta seethed softly. "Christine Grendahl is no more here and I will take ze room back."
"You cannot take 'ze room' back," Meg insisted, just as determined. "It is the current boudoir of Lady Arabella. And Christine won't be gone forever. In fact, I have it on good authority she will return soon."
Carlotta ignored Meg and looked down her nose at Arabella. "Zis is a dressing chamber, not a boudoir, and it belongs to ze star of ze opera. That would be me."
"You refused this room because of the Opera Ghost's prank and demanded another," Meg insisted. "What has changed?"
"Prank?" The ex diva's smile appeared more as a grimace as she possessively grabbed the arm of the man who tailed her into the room. "I have ze inspector to guard me and put an end to ze Ghost."
The man's brows lifted as if this was the first he heard of his new assignment.
"Nonetheless," Meg said between clenched teeth, "the Vicomte has ordered that the lady is to stay here, and here she will stay."
"We will see about that!" Carlotta turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
"Can you believe the gall of that woman?" Meg seethed to Arabella. "Christine gone no more than a matter of days and Carlotta thinking she can move into her place?"
Arabella pointedly looked behind Meg then back again to remind her they were not alone.
"Forgive me, Miss," the stranger said, and Arabella instantly noted the familiar accent of her homeland. "It was not my intent to barge into your private quarters, unannounced."
Arabella inclined her head in a stiff nod of pardon, a warning siren going off in her head.
"Did Carlotta say you were an inspector?" Meg piped up.
"Yes, in fact. Inspector Leverton, recently arrived from England."
"Oh…" Meg cast a curious glance at Arabella then looked back at the inspector. "Have you come about the murder?"
"Murder?" He grew alert.
"I meant to say the accident," Meg backtracked. "Some of the cast call it murder, because they believe the Phantom must have been involved, since he sent all those threatening notes, but of course no one really knows what happened that night. One minute the chorus was dancing and the next Buquet was swinging from a rope."
At the bizarre spiel of information, the inspector's brows sailed toward his receding hairline. "I know of no such accident. My reasons for being in Paris are of a personal nature. I know nothing about a Phantom, and until a few moments ago, heard little of an Opera Ghost. I assume they are one and the same?"
"Een-spector!" Carlotta's shrill voice came from the corridor.
He visibly winced. "I will relieve you of my presence and bid you a good morning. Again I apologize for the intrusion." He nodded. "Ladies."
Meg glanced toward the door. "He seems nice. Hard to believe he's with that harridan, Carlotta. Well, I must get to practice before Maman sends search parties out to find me." Meg smiled. "Don't worry about Carlotta. She may think she has pull with the managers, but those days are long gone."
Meg flitted out of the room, closing the door behind her. Arabella sank to the vanity seat, her legs trembling and no longer able to give support.
"Giselle," she said to her maid who stood near the dressing screen, brushing lint from one of Arabella's gowns.
"Oui, my lady?"
"I need to get word to my cousin immediately."
"You wish for me to go to the hotel?"
At her maid's anxious words, Arabella swiftly put her fear to rest. "No – I will never again ask you to go back there. Your future is with me." At her reassurance the girl relaxed and approached. Arabella took a piece of parchment from a box on the vanity and dipped a pen into the inkwell, scratching out a quick missive. "I need you to find an errand boy to run this to the hotel for me," she said, folding and sealing the note with a dollop of hot wax from a burning candle. "Ask Madame Giry for help if you can't find one. And tell him it's to go directly to the Vicomte and no other - please, hurry!"
Giselle hastened from the room, and Arabella began to pace, wondering what this could mean. No, it was quite obvious what it meant – but what would they do now that the worst had happened?
The metallic click of the mirror opening, a sound she had not heard since the Phantom brought her above that fateful night, startled her into spinning around.
Christine stepped out the looking-glass door, regarding Arabella with curious surprise.
"Arabella?" Her eyes took in her informal dressing gown and slippers. "What on earth are you doing here?"
The unmistakable screech of Carlotta the Harridan came closer.
"Go back!" Arabella instructed in a loud whisper, motioning with her hands as if to push her through the glass. "Go back!
Christine hesitated in confusion.
From behind, the Phantom reached for his wife's arm and pulled her swiftly to him, closing them within the mirror once more. Almost immediately, the dressing room door swung open without warning a second time that morning.
xXx
Christine pressed her back against Erik, who brought his arm protectively around her middle as they watched through the glass. Her heart thundered at the close call of being caught, a vague part of her wondering why Arabella had evidently moved into her dressing chamber.
Carlotta barreled into the room, minus her entourage, and from the conversation, Christine learned of the ex-diva's demand for the room. Erik tensed against her and growled low when Carlotta spoke against Christine.
"The leetle toad will no longer have thees room! It was my room before it was her room."
Christine dug her fingers into Erik's sleeve, fearful he might actually rush from behind their concealment to silence the screeching woman or perform one of his vengeful tricks upon her.
"And you must go too," Carlotta announced arrogantly.
"You spoke to the managers then?" Arabella asked, her manner cool and reserved.
Carlotta's face grew a mottled red.
"I could not find zem, but zey will agree. Zey always agree to give me thees things. You must pack your belongings and go."
"And where is the inspector?" Arabella's voice lifted in volume. "Has he left?"
"What do you want with the een-spector?" Carlotta's eyes narrowed in jealous suspicion.
Arabella turned slightly to face the mirror and spoke to her reflection, as if in idle thought.
"Perhaps you failed to notice, but Inspector Leverton is from England, as am I," she said, "and I wish to learn news from home."
Christine gasped, feeling lightheaded at the understanding of Arabella's warning.
"He found me."
At her faint whisper, Erik's hold tightened around her, as if fearing she might vanish on the spot or be torn from his clutches. Suddenly he moved, his hand dropping from her waist to her wrist as he pulled her with him, retracing their steps to the lair.
It was a moment before Christine could gather enough of her scattered wits to speak.
"Erik – wait! Where are we going?"
"You have to ask?" He never slowed his frantic pace. "We are leaving this place – tonight!"
"But where will we go? You haven't heard from any of the opera houses you've sent inquiries to yet, have you?"
"It fails to matter. We are leaving as soon as we can collect Jacques and gather what we can carry. Money, weapons…"
"Maybe he doesn't know I'm here," Christine suggested. "Maybe it's only a coincidence he's here – maybe I'm mistaken and it's not even the same inspector who's chasing me."
She could not recall the name of the man Raoul once mentioned when they met months ago. She had been too upset by the revelation of the Phantom being Erik and his abrupt abandonment to truly listen. Was it Leverton?
"That leaves too much to supposition, and I won't take the risk. After all we have endured these endless years I will leave nothing to chance."
He pulled her through another twist in the corridor, almost a run, as if he would wish wings on their feet so they could take flight. But Christine was so weary of running and sick of hiding…
"Erik - wait. Erik!"
She snapped her arm from his hold and took a step back. He whirled to face her in impatience, his cloak swirling about his legs with a snap.
"Come!" he commanded, "We haven't a moment to lose. You can rest later."
She evaded his hand that again reached for her.
"What will happen if we run?"
He shook his head in irritated confusion. "If? There is no 'if'' - we must leave now!"
"We will run from Paris to a new city, a new country, a new life, but no matter where we go, he will never stop searching to bring me to justice," she insisted, answering her own question. "I know it as well as I know my name. And when we are at last comfortable in our new life together, he will find us and we will need to escape again. It will never end - he will never stop chasing us - not until we're stone dead in our graves!"
He took firm hold of her arms. "Christine –"
"But maybe we misunderstood all of what was said in there. We heard so very little. There may be no danger at all. We'll never know if we run. And if we run, that will never be the end of it."
"Do you doubt in my ability to protect you? Have you so little faith in me in that regard?"
At the hard edge to his voice, she shook her head.
"Of all the people in this world, only you could safeguard me to the fullest extent," she said sincerely, "and only with you do I feel safe. But, Erik, I don't want to spend the rest of our life together looking over my shoulder, always fearful of being discovered."
His eyes glowed like menacing flames. "You wish me to dispose of him?"
"Dispose of him," she repeated. "You mean kill him?"
His visible brow lifted in an aloof manner that questioned her stunned horror.
"Of course, my dear. What else?"
Christine vigorously shook her head. "No, Erik, no - that is the last thing I want. It is one thing to kill to protect your life or mine, like we had to with the soldiers in the forest, but you're talking about cold-blooded murder…" She whispered the word as if it held power and to speak it in a higher tone would give it free rein. "I don't want you to kill again, for me or for any other reason. Not unless it's a life or death situation and there's no other way."
"You call this by any other name?" he scoffed. "He is after your life, it is clear…"
"So let us give him my death."
The idea came to her suddenly, spurred by all of what Erik had done. "You've accomplished it before," she said, her enthusiasm slowly growing. "You allowed everyone to believe you were dead and resumed living a life free of discovery."
"You wish to stage your death?"
"Our deaths," she insisted, "You are in as much danger here in Paris. Who's to say those beasts won't hunt you to ground as long as they assume you're alive. That it will never end."
He studied her pensively. "Your words do have merit. But it would be much simpler to extinguish the pest and be rid of the matter."
"No, Erik." She laid her hand over his. "No more murder, no more death … please."
"If your life is in danger, I will do what I must to protect you," he argued.
"I know." She hoped it would never again come to that. "But you said you no longer have the stomach for killing, that you wish to change. Was that a lie?"
The tense lines of desperation left his features, which achieved a semblance of calm again.
"It was no lie."
"Then let me help you be that man."
A faint smile twisted his lips beneath the mask. He slid his hands down her arms and took her hands in his.
"For you, Christine, I would do anything."
She smiled in relief. "Tell me, how shall we proceed? It won't be as simple as changing my character for one act of an opera."
His brow sailed up at that. "I will give the matter some thought…"
"We should go back," Christine said with decision. "I want to hear what's being said, perhaps talk with Arabella when she's alone and learn more. It might help us decide what to do. Behind the mirror we won't be detected," she urged him.
The Phantom would prefer to refuse, distrustful of the occupants of that room, but he gave a tight nod and accompanied her on a second trek toward the mirror door.
In one regard she was correct – it would serve them well to know exactly what they were up against. He understood her aversion to a lifetime of concealment and evasion, always with the fear of being caught hanging like the blade of a guillotine over their heads. The image he carried of his Christine of the past, ever free to roam the moors at will, laughing and carefree and wild, her very buoyancy a thing of beauty to behold – to cage such independence and chain her into a burdened life, to clip her wings so newly mended – it was a difficult sacrifice to ask her to make and one he would prefer not to observe. If there was a way to avoid such a fate for his beloved Angel, he would find it.
Only three things he required in life: Her love, her safety, and her happiness. He possessed her heart, body and soul…would sacrifice his life to ensure her protection…and would do all within his power to see her radiant smile often and to hear her tinkling laugh, as beautiful as her song.
"The pane of glass reveals no sound within that of a whisper," he instructed quietly. He held more tightly to her hand as they drew near the mirror that acted as a window, fighting down the strong survival instinct to run with her in the other direction.
The fiendish Carlotta had disappeared, but the de Chagny woman was not alone. He scowled to see her company and unconsciously drew Christine closer. The boy approached his cousin.
"You needn't worry, Arabella. The managers won't go against my orders."
"She's right, though. I don't belong here. I'm not a member of the company. Perhaps I should find a room at another hotel…?" She peered closely at him. "What's the matter? Something's wrong, I sensed it when you came through the door." She tilted her head in curious regard. "Now that I think of it, I doubt my message could have reached you so swiftly."
"You sent a message?" he asked distantly, looking across the room.
She grabbed his sleeve. "Raoul, tell me. Why you are behaving so strangely?"
"I received word from Father." His answer came dejected.
Her hand dropped from his arm. "He refused," she guessed quietly.
His eyes closed, and he barely nodded. "Yes."
"I see." Arabella shifted on the stool, focusing her attention on the candles flickering on the dressing table. "Are we to return to England soon?"
"Arabella…" He dropped to one knee beside her and reached for her hand lying in her lap. "This is not the end of it. There is a place I have heard about on the border of Scotland – Gretna Greene. We can marry there. No banns are required to be posted, there is no delay."
"Your father will never forgive you for going against his wishes. And they will hate me."
He clasped her other hand with his. "They will never hate you, darling. And Father will get over it."
"Without his blessing … I don't know, Raoul," Arabella said pensively, shaking her head.
"What happened to the adventurer in you?" he teased.
"What if he disinherits you?"
"He won't. I'm his sole heir."
It pleased the Phantom to note the boy had obviously moved on to other hunting grounds, his sights no longer on Christine, but he had no desire to witness their ardent little drama and shifted impatiently.
Christine clutched his arm. "A minute more," she whispered.
"You would rather marry someone like Lord Cavendish?" Raoul asked tightly.
"Of course not, but this can all wait. This is not the discussion we should be having right now."
"Christine," he said in somber agreement.
"Yes. Christine. What are we going to do now that the inspector has followed us here? At least, I think it was the same man you told me about in England."
The Phantom tensed at the preferred change of topic, growing alert.
"It was. I saw him from a distance, though he didn't see me." Raoul hastily stood to his feet and paced a few worried steps. "Did he recognize her by name?"
"It was difficult to tell, but I don't think so. It is most fortunate that she's been using her mother's maiden name of Grendahl. It may be entirely coincidence that he came to the theatre. By all appearances, he is here as Carlotta's guest, perhaps a lover. It is no secret that she's been giving Ubaldo Piangi the cold shoulder for some time."
He nodded. "We'll get word to Madame Giry to send a message to Christine to remain hidden. She'll need to put her career on hold and leave Paris, of course. I'll make arrangements. England is out of the question with the murder charge hanging over her head. Perhaps the Mediterranean…"
Erik narrowed his eyes at the arrogant interloper's presumption that he would allow his involvement.
"Raoul, aren't you forgetting something?"
"What?"
"She has a husband now," Arabella pointed out gently. "He'll want to be involved in any decisions made about his wife."
"I know that." He sounded a bit put off. "But since he's wanted for murder by the authorities here in Paris, I doubt he can walk the streets in daylight to seek passage on a ship."
It rankled, but the Phantom grudgingly conceded the boy's words to be apt.
"And you would help them both?"
"What you're really asking is if I would give Christine aid to flee the country and force their separation a second time," the boy mused dryly. "Once, I might have. I still do not entirely trust the man."
The sentiment was entirely mutual.
"But after having seen them together, I do believe he cares for her. And Christine loves him, never stopped. You once said we owed them support for our interference in their lives four years ago, and while I don't agree – I acted based on facts I was given and sought only to protect Christine – I do feel responsible that a servant of our household took it upon himself to attempt murder. Dear God, I never liked the gypsy but certainly wouldn't have given the order to kill him…"
The Phantom listened with a mix of bewilderment and cynicism. Neither did he like the Vicomte, but in this candid revelation between unsuspecting cousins, both unaware they were being spied upon, the Phantom understood the boy to be innocent of ordering his death. Nor had de Chagny given away his location to the soldiers at the chapel. Erik looked at his Christine, noting the relief that filled her lustrous brown eyes that she turned up to him….
And he made a decision he hoped he would not come to regret.
"Vicomte," he spoke loud enough to be heard, "lock the door."
The boy spun about and almost lost his footing as he stared up in shock at the ceiling as if God, himself, had spoken from above. His awkward reaction alone was amusing and almost worth the decision to come forward. The de Chagny woman looked toward the mirror with the same surprise written in Christine's wide eyes as she regarded the Phantom.
"The boy is correct," he explained in soft undertones. "We cannot do this alone."
Her slow smile warmed him, and she clasped his hand as he slid the panel of glass open once the boy followed his direction and they stepped from beyond the mirror door.
The Vicomte regarded them, mouth agape, a light of deducement in his eyes to resolve the unexplained mystery of the secret entrance. Arabella stood, her manner calm and expectant, having walked through the hidden passageway days before.
"You wish to help us evade capture?" the Phantom asked, looking to each de Chagny in turn.
The Vicomte nodded shortly, frowning to realize their conversation had been overheard.
"Do you always eavesdrop, sir?" he asked stiffly.
"I find it advisable under these circumstances," the Phantom replied with a grim, satisfied smile. "I will remind you, Vicomte, this is my wife's dressing room. We have every right to be here. You, on the other hand…"
The boy scowled, and Arabella rose from the stool.
"Raoul…"
Christine likewise tightened her grip on Erik's arm as a sign for him to conduct himself with decorum.
The Vicomte glanced briefly at Arabella then sighed and looked back to the Phantom. "I can make arrangements for passage and have your tickets by tonight -"
The Phantom put up his hand to stop him when he would have spoken further.
"While it's true, we do require aid…" He hesitated, glancing at Christine, and she nodded for him to go on. "We have something else in mind."
xXx
Two days passed. Ideas were presented and thrown out, until a plan was agreed upon, reluctantly by some, avidly by others, and the domino of steps leading to the explosive finale was set into motion.
Of course, for their permanent escape to succeed, Madame Giry and Meg were included in the finalized scheme, each apprised of their role and somberly agreeing to see it through.
"I shall miss you dreadfully," Meg said as they convened in the locked dressing room, once Erik informed the two women of what must be done.
"I will write," Christine assured, exchanging hugs.
"No, you will not," Erik countered gravely. "No one can know where we are, Christine. That would defeat the purpose of this performance."
She furrowed her brow. "One day, when it is safe, I promise to write."
Erik said nothing and Madame moved toward Christine.
"These were your father's," she said softly, depositing two small metal trinkets into Christine's hand. "He left them behind when he worked here. I came upon them recently while sorting through my things."
Christine looked down to see a pair of silver tarnished cufflinks and looked up in question.
"You two were close, weren't you?" she asked, so only Madame could hear.
Madame Giry looked to where Meg was having a keen conversation with Erik.
"We were very good friends. Perhaps, had we shared a common interest other than music, it might have led to more. I was too engrossed in the dance to leave the ballet, and he was too keen to see more of the world. In the end, we each found the destiny we were meant to live out."
"Cadavers!" Meg squealed in glee. "May I see?"
"No," her mother said swiftly, ending the macabre discussion across the room. She moved toward her errant daughter and grabbed her arm. "Come, Meg. It's late and you have an early rehearsal tomorrow."
"But Maman…"
"Enough. This is hardly a topic fit for a young woman." Her eyes scolded the masked instigator who looked on calmly, though Christine detected a twinkle in his golden orbs. "Come along, Meg."
Arabella covered her mouth with her fingers and turned aside to hide a smile. Raoul looked displeased, as he had since the conversation began, but said nothing.
Erik took hold of Christine's arm, saying they too must go, and the de Chagnys assured them all would be ready at dawn. Erik said nothing, only gave a curt nod. Christine knew how difficult it was for him to accept help, especially from his old nemesis. Knew also there was no other way to achieve success.
Once they arrived to the underground lair, Christine looked around the candlelit chamber filled with the lush décor Erik had painstakingly collected to make the caverns a more cozy habitation, none of which they could take with them. Memories of past months echoed silently throughout the hollow corridors, ghostly reminders of the joy and the pain, the loss and the triumphs. She never would have believed it, but she felt a twinge of sadness to leave their home behind.
She ran her fingertips along the ivory keys of his organ, where her Maestro taught her to sing, and felt him come up behind and slip his arms around her waist.
"Will you miss it?" she asked softly.
"Everything here can be replaced," he said close to her ear. "You cannot. I have you. That is all I need."
She smiled to hear his answer and turned in his arms, eager to feel his lips on hers, to feel the warmth of his body against her skin.
That night, their last in his bed they had christened their own, they made love slow and tender, as if tomorrow may never arrive and they had an eternity to experience such bliss. When their passions culminated into a fiery inferno, begging to be set free, only then did they surrender to allow release its sweet freedom.
Christine lay in her lover's arms, both of them sated and breathless, enjoying every moment of this special intimacy shared. Yet the fear of what tomorrow would bring soon returned once the rosy glow faded. Forcing her mind to abandon the terrifying thought that something could go wrong, she brought up another matter that troubled her.
"About tomorrow, I don't want to leave Mozart behind, but after what happened here in Paris two years ago, it would be a mistake to take him with us. He might run away again. I don't want to take the risk."
"What do you wish to do?"
Absently she stroked his arm held beneath her breasts and tilted her head back against his shoulder.
"I want to take him with us in the morning. I don't want to leave him in these empty caverns, and I certainly don't want him loose above. Some of those scene shifters can be quite cruel."
"Faust might have other ideas. He's not always in the vicinity to be so easily found."
"Mozart would love it there. I wish at least to try."
As it turned out, when the designated hour arrived, Mozart was found curled up atop the organ.
The boy, however, was missing.
xXx
With little time to spare, the Phantom swore beneath his breath at this unexpected delay to their plans. He and Christine swiftly searched the rooms that branched from the main lake chamber.
They had decided not to tell Jacques of their imminent escape from Paris, only that they would be leaving the caves today. Erik now rued speaking even that much.
When their search turned up nothing, with time continuing to eat away the minutes, Christine approached.
"Would he run away?"
"Never."
"You are so certain?"
"He is terrified of going into the city, ever since that night at the hotel when the ruffian beat him." He shook his head. "I am to blame. I taught him to fear the world above so he would remain below and never attempt to wander there on his adventures."
"It's not your fault. You did what you must to protect him." She laid her hand on his arm. "You are an ideal brother."
His laugh came bitter. "He has become like me – hiding from the world and all who inhabit it. How is that ideal?"
Before she could respond, he moved away.
"We must find him quickly," he said in terse explanation. "Tonight will soon arrive, and there is still much to do."
They made a more thorough search. Christine looked in Jolene's room while Erik checked the others nearby. She had just turned to leave when Mozart suddenly flew out from beneath the coverlet that reached to the floor. A small hand swept out, trying to catch the cat, then disappeared back beneath the bed.
Christine released a weary breath in relief. She had not thought the space wide enough between floor and bedstead to think to search there.
"Erik – I found him!" she called out.
He appeared by her side within seconds, his eyes going to where she nodded. The blanket slightly stirred at the foot of the bed, and they shared a grim look. He stepped forward and whipped the coverlet away, reaching beneath to pull the boy out of his concealment.
Jacques shook his head in angry despair to be found. Erik held him by the shoulders, shaking his head in grim chastisement before pulling him close. Lifting him, he carried him from the room. Christine followed them into the main chamber. There, Erik sat on the throne, Jacques in his lap, and attempted to correct a grievous error three years in the making.
"We can no longer stay here, Jacques. We must leave."
The boy shook his head more fiercely. The Phantom tried again, likening the upcoming days to an adventure, but the boy refused to be pacified, shutting his eyes so he could not see what Erik tried to tell him.
"May I try?"
Christine's quiet voice mellowed the angry impatience that had begun to rise in his frustration to make Jacques understand and be gone from there. In terse relief he nodded for her to intervene.
She held one of Jacques' angel soldiers in one hand, a carved demon in the other. Lowering herself to her knees she tapped the boy on the shoulder and brought both figurines up for him to see.
Jacques looked at them then lifted suspicious blue eyes to her.
"My Papa said that in the end, the angels always win," she started carefully, slowly enunciating her words so the boy could follow. "Do you remember me saying that?"
The boy gave no response and Christine shared a helpless look with Erik before continuing.
"Did you know that we are angels?"
That got his attention and he looked at her in confusion.
"Your brother has many names: the Phantom, my husband, teacher, Erik, but I also call him my Angel of Music, because he is my Angel." She lifted her eyes to Erik's golden ones, briefly locking with his and noting their gentle glow. "Ever since I was a little girl, not much older than you, he has called me his Little Angel. And you, Jacques, you are our Angel."
The barest of smiles flickered on the boy's lips.
Christine lifted the demon soldier.
"But there are bad men – demons – who want to hurt us. That is why we can't stay in these caves anymore." The boy bunched his brows together and frowned, and Christine quickly added, "I know it's frightening above, but we need to run from the demons before they can find us, and go someplace safe. Together, you, I, and Erik – will win." She squeezed his hand in reassurance. "You are such a brave boy, and…" She hesitated, searching for more to say to persuade him. "And I'm going to need you to help protect me and hold my hand if I get scared. Will you do that for me?"
He considered a moment then nodded.
"We will protect each other," she smiled.
Minutes later, as they walked through the hidden passageways, with a solemn Jacques holding each of their hands, the Phantom looked at his wife.
"You were remarkable. Truly a marvel, my love. How did you know what to say?"
Christine smiled at him. "I said what I would wish to hear if I was his age."
Thankfully the carriage the de Changys arranged for them was waiting at the Rue Scribe exit, and though Erik did not particularly care to partake of their family conveyance as a mode of transport, or the company waiting inside, he did so without grumbling, his mind leaping ahead to all that must be accomplished before sunset.
Mozart, who had been found curled up asleep on the Princess bed growled low at his confinement, and Christine could feel the thwack of his tail as he tried to twitch it in the sling Erik had fashioned for her to carry her pet. This one laced at the top, so only the cat's inky black head peeked through. The feline glared as if insulted at Arabella and Raoul who sat silently across from them, and Erik was no better, ignoring the de Chagnys as much as was feasible. The boy stared out the window with wide eyes and never ceased from clinging tightly to Erik and Christine's hands.
Once the carriage took off, for a fleeting moment Christine was tempted to tell Erik to forget the plan, that they should leave for the pier and board a ship while they had the chance. But that type of freedom would lead only to a lifetime of secret captivity, and she wanted so much more for them.
Father Dominic regarded his visitors with clear confusion and surprise, but motioned them inside the chapel.
Erik came straight to the point. "We need your help."
Knowing that complete success hinged on the priest's response, knowing also that the whole of their scheme was based on evasion and deceit, something she feared a holy man of God would want no part of, Christine clutched Erik's arm and anxiously awaited the next few minutes that could seal or unhinge their chosen destiny.
xXx