"Where is Erik?" Pere Charles asks Nadir when he enters the sitting room. "I thought you were going to check the house then join us here."
Walking to the sofa, he rests a hand on Adele's shoulder, "May I sit next to you?"
Adjusting her black gabardine skirt to make room for him, her face flushing, she says, "Of course."
"To your question, Erik is prowling about outside, when I suggested I go with him, he said he felt you would feel safer if I was with you inside."
"Well, he was correct," Adele sniffs. "I think we are all more on edge than necessary. Maybe working in the theater most of my life, I am quite used to the idea of ghosts and other beings prowling about in the darkness. Generally turns out to be mice and cats."
"Speaking of which where are Christine and the cat?"
"Preparing tea in the kitchen."
Rising from his place on the couch, Nadir says, "I think I shall go assist her." The idea of the young woman alone in the back of the house has a cold chill run up his back. Erik might well be back there outside, but he would prefer she have someone close to her. If Comte de Chagny was indeed prowling about, Mlle. Daae was the object of his interest…even more than he himself.
"She thought she would be fine, I doubt making tea is any sort of challenge for her," Adele says waving her hand. "Girl cannot cook worth a franc, but she can boil water and put cookies on a plate."
Pere Charles laughs. "From what she told me, most of their meals on the road were often dried meats and fruits or cooked food at an inn. She had little opportunity to learn to cook. She did tell me Erik was teaching her."
"So he is a chef as well as a vocal coach?" Adele says. "I might have known."
"Erik is most gifted," Nadir interjects. "Architect…from his blood kin, it would seem, but musically certainly. He also creates medicinals." Shaking off the pleasure of the chitchat, knowing how easily he can be swayed, both by Adele's presence and the opportunity to gossip about Erik, he moves toward the door. "Regardless of her skills or lack of skills, I will feel better when I am beside her."
Narrowing his amber eyes in the darkness at the sound of a gentle snort. The full moon acting as a guide, Erik focuses his attention on the stable where the two mares were put away earlier. Treading over the grass of the lawn damp from the night air coming off the sea, he approaches the paddock. Sure enough a stunning black gelding is tethered to the fence next to the water trough.
Approaching slowly, Erik whispers to the horse, "How are you?" Taking a chance the horse will accept him, he gives him a few scritches on the nose and neck. Running his hand along the horse's chest, he is pleased the breathing is normal and is no longer hot from the ride. "Just a short journey tonight, hmmm?"
"Let me make you a bit more comfortable," he says as he guides the horse into the corral. "And keep your master without a means of escape." Opening the door to the barn, he leads him inside to an empty stall. After removing the saddle, blanket and harness, he offers a handful of grain and some fresh hay.
"I cannot completely brush you down, so this will have to do." Offering a few strong strokes with the currier brush on either side, he places another blanket over the strong back. "At least you are inside and away from the chill of the night air. I shall return later to do a better job."
The horse gives him a short whinny and shakes his head.
"I know…you are used to better treatment," Erik says. "I promise to bring you an apple when I return."
Thankfully the horse did not appear to have been ridden very long and hard. "The comte must be staying in town," Erik mutters as he returns to the house. The fact that there was no conflict when he was tending to the horse suggests Phillippe is inside. Pere Charles did not check the locks soon enough, although breaking into the mansion would be no challenge to anyone intent on entry.
The dim light in the kitchen window brightens as he makes his way to the back door. The beating of his heart quickens – why could they not all stay together? Increasing his pace, he arrives at the house. Testing the latch, he finds it loose. Uncertain of where the comte might be hiding, he cracks the door. When the movement attracts no reaction, he opens the door enough to slip inside, closing it behind him.
The sound of Christine singing eases his concern slightly. So far no attempt to harm her has been made. Despite his desire to simply walk into the kitchen and remove her from danger, he waits…better to know where Phillippe is hiding.
What was that noise? The mud room held a number of doors – one to the cold room, another to a broom closet, and the last the entry to the kitchen itself. Placing where the sound came from was impossible.
"Whatever is wrong? Not enough cream?" he hears Christine say. Then the sound of his little cat hissing and spitting.
The hair on the back of his neck rises and he holds his breath, his body coming fully alert – drawing the garrot from his coat pocket, he waits for any sound or movement directing him where to act.
Without warning, the door to the broom closet opens and Phillippe steps out. Isis flings herself on the comte with a yowl, scratching at his face with her long claws. Phillippe grabs the angry feline tossing her away. Drawing his revolver from a holster, he aims it at her.
Christine charges, pushing the gun away. A bullet explodes breaking the window over the sink.
Phillippe shoves her to the floor, turning the gun on her. "Demons. You are all demons."
Erik races forward with a growl, shoving the nobleman away from her. Phillippe stumbles, falling against the kitchen table. The gun falls from his hand sliding across the planked floor.
As the comte struggles to regain his footing, Erik slips the garrot around his neck.
"Erik. No!" Christine cries, struggling to her feet.
Nadir rushes into the room, scooping up the gun. "I have his gun. You can let him go."
Erik ignores both of them.
"Go slowly if you want the fear to be greater. Let him know he is going to die."
Adele and Pere Charles enter the room. Adele gasps at the scene, grabbing onto the priest's arm. "Do something," she implores. "He looks crazed. I have never seen him like this."
Pere Charles pats her hand and walks quickly toward the men locked in the death struggle. "Erik. Let him go." When he reaches them, he places an arm between Erik and Phillippe, pressing his hand on Erik's. "Let him go," he whispers in his nephew's ear.
Erik turns to face the priest. At first his dilated pupils do not register who the man is speaking so gently to him. "He must be punished."
"Not by you, my son. Not by you," Pere Charles says. "Let him go."
The mindless urge to kill lessens as he gazes into the face of the holy man. After a moment seeming to be an hour. Erik takes a deep breath. With a nod he releases the weapon and steps away from Phillippe.
Christine runs to him, as he collapses onto the floor. Kneeling down beside him, she holds him close to her, rocking him gently. Coming out from a corner where she went to hide, Isis climbs onto Erik's lap.
Nadir steps in to assist Phillippe into one of the cane-backed chairs. "Adele, could you bring a wet cloth, he is bleeding all over the place. France cannot afford to lose so much noble blood."
After running water into a bowl, she carries it and small towel to the table. After cleaning the scratches on his face, she tends to the wound on Phillippe's neck. "You are as foolish as your brother. Noble idiots."
"They are responsible for my brother's death," he retorts, grabbing the cloth from her hand. "They deserve to die."
"Comte de Chagny, killing is not going to end your grief or bring your brother back," Pere Charles says.
"In any event, I am the one who killed Raoul," Nadir pipes in, walking to the stove to check the water in the kettle. "I told you that."
"You?" the priest says.
"Raoul was going to shoot them and I intervened."
"They were at fault."
"Just stop it," Christine cries out. "Raoul would not have died had you been even the least bit loving toward him. He turned into a cruel and evil man…just like you."
"Whore!"
"There are moments like this in my priesthood when I wonder at the power of God's ability to forgive," Pere Charles says, planting himself in front of the comte. "We were all blessed tonight that no one was hurt seriously, much less killed. You seem to have come here to commit serious sins and almost caused another human being to do so as well. Yet, instead of being grateful for your life, you still harbor hate for a young woman who did you no harm."
"She did not love my brother."
"Neither did you," Erik says, patting Christine's hand as he rises to his feet. "I know the anger of not being loved…it drove me to learning how to kill. Raoul was the same."
"Who wants tea?" Nadir asks. "Pere, are there any sweets? All this excitement has whetted my appetite."
Somewhat startled by the daroga's request, the priest nods as he heads toward the mudroom. "I am certain there is something in the pantry. Madame Marchand is quite a fine baker."
Adele frowns. "What are you up to?" she asks, as she helps prepare the tea.
"Pappa always said after an argument, it is important to eat and allow the body to calm down," Christine replies before Nadir can answer. "He said the anger must not be allowed to fester into the night."
"This is insane," Phillippe says, throwing the towel aside as he gets up from his chair, heading toward the mud room. "I have had enough of all of you."
"Pity, just when we were all getting along so well."
"Very funny."
"Why go that way?" Erik asks. "The front door is closer to the road?"
Pointing his gun at Phillippe, Nadir says, "Sit down. You are not going anywhere. Besides, we are going to have some dessert. You would not wish to miss it."
"Erik, can you come here please?" Pere Charles calls.
"What is it?" Erik asks, joining his uncle in the anteroom.
"Kerosene…coming from the broom closet," the older man says. "I almost fell, slipping on it."
When they open the door, they find a canister tipped over. After setting the container on a small shelf, making certain the cap is secure, he finds a rag and wipes up the spillage. "Why would you store this here?"
"I did not," Pere Charles replies. "I do not wish to think what might have happened if this was not discovered. Do you think the comte meant to use this? Here?"
"As someone who has held profound hatred in his heart for many years, I fear this may be exactly what he intended," Erik says, patting his uncle on the back. "Perhaps we should ask him."
"What is taking so long?" Christine asks.
"M. le Comte brought a wedding gift," Erik replies waving his hand at the can now safely on a storage shelf.
"Kerosene? Why?"
"Enough to burn the house down."
"Here is some corn starch," Pere Charles says, "When I saw the oil, I grabbed it from the pantry. Thank the good Lord, Madame Marchand believes in keeping a goodly store of these sorts of things."
"It should be mopped down," Christine says, taking the bag of fine powder from him to sprinkle on the floor.
"Tomorrow is soon enough," Erik replies, guiding her with his hand on the small of her back. "I think we need a further conversation with our friend. Uncle?"
"I am right behind you," Pere Charles says, holding up a cardboard box. "The cookies. A more delightful find in the pantry. I think we really do need them now."
