A/N: Thank you for the wonderful reviews! :) Sorry this is a bit late - been sick off and on with the usual crud winter brings, and some days I just didn't feel like writing. But here it is - I hope you like it...

IV

"Christine, you cannot mean it. You cannot mean to stay in this godforsaken place!"

"Papa, please…" she beseeched softly, having no wish to rile the unseen Master's ire a second time by her father's unbridled tongue.

She struggled with the little girl inside who always offered steadfast obedience to the only parent she had known and the young woman she had become, who sensed that her sacrifice was the sole method the Master of Rosemont would allow. Mercy seemed a concept unknown to him.

Turning anxious eyes toward the second landing, she sought out the shadowed form that loomed high above, the brooding overseer of his domain…

"Please, if I might have a moment alone with my father to say goodbye."

The mysterious being gave a soft snort of contempt.

"And how can I trust that you will not attempt to run?"

"You have my word that I won't."

"Your word…" He scoffed a laugh. "What is that to me, Christine Daaé? You expect me to extend blind trust? Are you not your father's daughter? Will you not also attempt to evade the arrangement made once my back is turned?"

"I am here, am I not?" she argued quietly. "Your driver will tell you that I came of my own accord. Ask him. No one forced me into your carriage last night. I made that choice. Why then, would I go to the trouble if I never meant to stay? And how do you expect me to show that I am worthy of your trust if you never give me the chance to prove it?!"

A span of nerve-wracking silence met her soft, frustrated words; across the room, she could hear the ticks of the grandfather clock, which seemed unbearably louder than before. The shadows thick above, almost obscure, she squinted to see if she could make out his figure in the darkness, wondering if perhaps he had gone...

"Five minutes. And Mademoiselle…? Do not disappoint me."

This time there was no mistaking his departure; the rustle of what she assumed his cloak snapped and whispered through the still air as he turned away.

"Come, Christine," her father urged in an undertone. "We must hurry before he returns."

"No, Papa." Gently she shook her arm free of his renewed hold. "I meant what I told him."

Seeing the argument brew in his eyes, her own eyes inadvertently flicked upward, to the shadowed area where the master recently stood. They had only a matter of minutes. She did not wish to spend them in continual disagreement when she had every intention of honoring the bargain made.

"Christine –"

"Papa, please," she interrupted, hearing the gruff plea in his voice. "You must promise that you will take care of yourself. Remember to eat, and if you need help, I am certain the Widow Jenkins would be happy to comply." The woman made it clear with her every bold action that she had set her sights on Christine's papa. Despite the heaviness weighing her heart, Christine couldn't help the little flicker of a smile at his exasperated snort to her light teasing, as if he too realized what he considered a hindrance.

"I managed well enough in the years before you could tie your apron strings. I'll not starve. But I don't like this absurd notion of leaving you behind."

"I'll be alright, Papa. I am hale and fit and quite capable of taking on the role of housemaid for the allotted year. I promise I'll come home as often as I may, whenever I have a day free from my duties."

At least she hoped to be allowed temporary visits, though with what little she knew of her new master the idea seemed farfetched. However, she did not air her qualms to her father, which would only strengthen his resolve. Instead, she struggled to remain positive. She had no wish to break down and cry, as she might well do if she dwelled on all that she was leaving behind by agreeing to stay…

"Christine, if you are worried that I cannot stand up to that beast, the Vicomte has assured me that he will intervene if I ask it of him," he continued to persuade, a desperation in his low tone that was missing before. As if he realized he fought a losing battle and time was his enemy. "I have only to step outside and enlist his aid."

"Why would he do that?" she breathed in surprise, not really expecting an answer.

"On the drive over he recalled when you were children, walking down the lane that runs by the forest. He appears to hold fond memories of that time you shared together. He would have come inside with me, but I foolishly thought I could do this alone..."

Christine shook her head a little in confusion, only now remembering past occasions when she unexpectedly encountered the youngest son of the Comte, who had seemed pampered and unknowledgeable of so many normal things the peasant boys knew how to do. Few and far between, those afternoons had become figments of her childhood, belonging to those lost years, forgotten until now.

"I have only to ask –"

She stepped forward and hugged him, cutting off his further protest. "I will miss you, Papa, but this is how it must be. I will see you again, as soon as it is possible for me to get away for an afternoon. I promise."

Once she stepped back, blinking away tears, she noticed similar moisture in his dark blue eyes.

A noise high above in the near distance made her wonder if the unseen Master lurked nearby to eavesdrop. With what she had learned of his character thus far, it would not surprise her though she did not turn to look at the landing and see if she could glimpse his form.

Knowing the time had come, she took hold of her Papa's hands. "We must say farewell now."

"So you really mean to send me on my way?" he asked incredulously, "Daughter – think. You have every chance of escape with the Vicomte's help. He strikes me as a proficient young man, able to win a fight if it should come to that."

"And what then, Papa?" she said on a little whine, struggling hard for composure. "If I should yield and go with you, you know as well as I that this Master of Rosemont will come after you until he has his due, perhaps even throw you into debtor's prison – and I cannot bear even the thought of that! Rest assured, I have been well taken care of in the short time I have been here," she hurried to add. "He has provided me with one of the nicer guest bedchambers – actually given me a choice of any chamber I wish. I truly believe he means me no harm," she said loud enough that should there be an eavesdropper, he would know she did not fear him. Much.

Her father gave a brisk shake of his head, as if to shove aside her reluctant admission to any munificence on the Master's part, and squeezed her hands. "How can I possibly bear to leave my little girl behind?"

The misery in his voice wrenched her heart. "At least we will both remain in good health and well cared for. I will write and keep you apprised of my life here…" Surely she would be allowed that form of correspondence. "And I will do all I can to visit, Papa, as often as I am allowed," she encouraged yet again.

"Christine –"

"Other young women are given situations where they must live away from home – Madame Arnoud's daughter, for instance. She became a companion to the Widow Dubois, if you recall, and is only one year older than I…"

It took a little more convincing, but at last he grudgingly complied with her wishes. After his strong, heartfelt hug and quiet instruction to send word with one of the other servants if ever she needed him to return and free her, Christine stood in the doorway and watched him go… watched the Vicomte's fine black carriage depart down the snowy lane… watched as the only link to the world she knew drove slowly away. From the side window, she glimpsed the young man's face in the moonlight, somber in concern, as he glanced in her direction…

She had not dared tell her father of her recent discovery that no other servants worked here to send any message with, and she was entirely alone in that regard, save for the driver, whom she had never truly met and remained unseen, like his Master.

Only when the carriage was no more than a speck in the distance did she step back into the chateau and close the door, whisking the wetness from both cheeks with her fingertips.

She had no more than taken a few steps to return to her duties, when a loud whoosh and deafening clang startled her into spinning back around to look at the entrance – which was now barred by an iron gate that had fallen down from somewhere above to blockade the door! A duplicate to the one she had come across in the upstairs corridor.

In open-mouthed disbelief Christine stared at the menacing obstruction. As if in a daze, she moved toward the elaborate grilled gate that now stood a few inches from the door and arced around to meet the wall, disappearing into grooves there that ran up their length and illustrating the path the gate had taken in its descent downward. She wrapped her hands around two of the many narrowly-spaced metal rods, twisted in nature, and gave a little frustrated shake, before dropping her arms back to her sides and turning to stare at the upstairs landing and the shadows there.

"Am I to be your prisoner then?" she asked in apprehensive disgust. "Is my word not enough for you? Will you cage me like a bird instead?"

The silence stretched, and she wondered if he had left…

"The bars are not meant to trap you indoors, mademoiselle, but to keep unwanted invaders out of my home."

She shivered at his dark, mellifluous tone. Rich and decadent, different than before, it set off unfamiliar feelings inside that brought a prickle of confusion. Dark, yet almost gentle, it reminded her that they were alone in this great house together and made her suddenly curious as to the face and form concealed behind such a stirring voice...and, more to the point, why he should choose to remain hidden.

She dug her nails into her palms to shake herself free of such unwanted thought – distance was most certainly preferred! - and steered her mind back to the subject at hand.

"Nonetheless, I am restricted from going outside. Is that not so?"

"That you should want to do so in such chill weather does merit suspicion."

She lifted her chin. "I happen to like the bracing cold and the snow."

"Indeed." His chuckle seemed derisive. "Then you will be pleased to learn that the back entrance leading out through the kitchen remains unhindered. The gardens beyond are enclosed by tall walls of stone. You shall have all the snow and bracing cold you wish."

Christine narrowed her eyes at his evident mockery but said nothing. Indeed, all she wished was to return and lose herself to the mundane chore of washing dishes, so as to try and forget the renewed pain in her heart that her father's difficult visit had wrought.

xXx

The Master stood in the sheltering darkness above and watched his newest acquisition to Rosemont. While she could not see his face or what shielded his ugliness, he had a perfect view of her beauty.

The tremble of her lip and slight quiver of her hands she held clasped together in her skirts were proof that she was ill at ease, even fearful of him. Small wonder. While the stubborn tilt to her jaw and bright, angry sparkle in her dark eyes testified that she was not without courage. An intriguing mix of frightened little bird and bold lioness – since she likened her stay here to being caged and he did not dispute it.

In part, his answer to her was truthful; he desired to keep out all unwanted invaders and not endure a repeat performance of this evening's deplorable theatrics. He preferred dramatic interludes of such caliber be kept to the stage – not exercised in the foyer of his home.

Yet he had also deceived her; she was not mistaken that his wish was to entrap her inside his manor. He had no intention of letting her go or of giving her the chance to turn tail and run should she change her mind about keeping her vow. And why would she not? Her father had done the same.

A stranger to all the wearisome etiquettes of a society that spurned him, 'Phantom' a name given him that he had gladly embraced, he doubtless broke every rule with his justified demands. Not that he cared. Seldom did he have contact with other mortals and never with a young woman so fair of face and form.

He did not wish to lose this opportunity so soon…

He harbored no nefarious intent – to achieve any level of intimacy would require that they meet face to face, and he must always embrace the cold, hollow distance of obscure shadows. He might be depicted as a beast but was not so horrendous a monster that he would defile her as she lay sleeping, no matter that the few glimpses of the young woman he had thus far taken unsettled him and heated his blood in ways with which he was unfamiliar…

"If that is all, monsieur," she said, breaking him from his intense rumination. "I should like to return to my duties."

He did not wish to see her leave but reasoned that he could watch unseen and from afar any time he cared to do so.

"As you wish, mademoiselle. You may go."

The girl hesitated, as if she might pose another question, seemed to think better of it and left, walking across the foyer to the rear of the manor. He followed her with his eyes until she disappeared into the corridor, then returned to his own interrupted affairs and the frustrations of his budding opus.

After a lengthy selection of diverse chords and frequent pauses to pen each onto parchment, ultimately he scratched through most of what he had composed in the last hour with an angry flourish then tossed his steel-nibbed pen onto the piano top. The fluid blend of pleasing notes simply would not come.

Once he capped the inkwell, he stared at what chords had not been crossed out, tried them against the keys in succession, then snapped the paper up and smashed it into a ball of refuse he threw to the floor.

His creative juices temporarily dissolved – no doubt due to the regrettable events of the entire blasted evening – the Phantom left his music chamber to make the rounds of his manor, as he did every night before retiring.

His manor. Acquired little more than half a year ago. It was still inconceivable, and not for the first time he pondered that if his grandfather had ever met him, would he have been so quick to bestow his legacy upon one so deformed of face and twisted of soul?

After all, the man's only daughter had not been inclined to do so while she had walked upon the earth.

Old habits learned inside his former home beneath the opera house clung with tenacity, and after tonight's little drama were well favored. He had lowered the gate over the front entrance, but that did not fully alleviate his apprehension. Twice now, his home had suffered an invasion from the same intruder, which led him to acknowledge the gate must stay in place as a permanent fixture, raised only when he left the estate, which was not often.

Since his childhood captivity in a gypsy circus, the Phantom had discovered the benefit of well-placed snares as a measure of safety and that cages were not only vile sources of entrapment but could be used to keep out the uninvited as well. The moment that Rosemont shifted into his keeping through the inheritance given, he had outfitted the estate with all the necessary embellishments vital to that cause …

Once the Phantom came abreast of the bedchamber the young woman had told her father was provided for her, he was surprised to find the door wide open – and the room empty.

His pulse quickened as he took the stairs down to the lower floor and noted with relief the gate still stood in place; she had not discovered the hidden lever. The kitchens were also empty and his attention veered to the back entrance to see the bar of wood that rested across the door there.

Drawing his brows together in somber confusion as to her whereabouts, his eyes went to the short corridor that led behind the hearth wall and the cubbyhole of a room there. Before he could stop himself, he found himself in front of the closed door, his hand on the latch. Silently he pushed it down, pulling the door ajar, and inhaled a soft, stunned breath at his discovery.

She lay on the narrow cot – that and a bedside table with the candle she'd left lit all the deficient, windowless room would hold – a worn woolen blanket pulled up to her neck. Spirals of her long dark curls lay spread in a glorious tumult of confusion on the pillow, her delicate features in repose reminiscent of a slumbering angel…

For the second time since Christine Daaé arrived at Rosemont he felt the pull to draw close and look upon her sleeping countenance, her cheeks again bearing a slight shimmer of tears not yet dried.

Something unfamiliar twisted inside his heart to witness her evident misery, and yet, she lay so serene and peaceful...

A feeling that would surely disintegrate into profound horror should she open her eyes and see the masked beast that lurked near her bed, likely thinking him a wolf ready to devour her.

Having no wish to break this fragile calm and hear her scream, the Phantom silently and swiftly extinguished the candle's flame then moved back in retreat and closed the door softly. He pensively stared back at it a moment, before retracing his steps to the music chamber.

xXx

A/N: Methinks that Christine will be well-cared for – even if only from afar. Yes? ;-) Hope you enjoyed it! :)