Chapter 26. April 1887. Second week after the wedding (continued).

Erik, concealing his delight at the turn the conversation had taken, folded his arms and said, "Yes, that will certainly drown out any conversation from this room. So long as I am playing, you may be sure that I can not hear what you are saying."

The Persian regarded him suspiciously. Then he glanced at the massive grand piano, standing in all its polished majesty in the middle of the room. Not for Erik the custom of putting an upright piano back in one corner, so that it would be out of the way but satisfy the fashion for having one. "I suppose that would work," he muttered. Getting up and walking over to the instrument, he trailed the fingers of one hand over its gleaming wood, and said, as if to himself, "It can not be a player piano. It is a grand, after all." Turning to Erik, he asked, "I suppose you built it?"

"Of course. It would hardly have fitted in the boat, any more than the organ would have."

"Indeed." Abandoning the piano, Mihr moved toward the parlour door, looking at Christine with a raised eyebrow as he did. She rose, and followed him out. Erik heard the door between the dining room and the kitchen, one and two rooms over respectively, open and then shut, and then he went grimly to the piano and activated the mechanism that made it play all by itself. The Persian had spoken the truth; the piano did indeed look like a completely normal grand piano. But it was not. Erik knew what Mihr had been looking for, the cumbersome clockwork mechanism and bulky paper rolls that marked a normal player piano. Of course Erik could do better than that, if he wanted automatic music! But that old dimwit, as usual, underestimated Erik's skill and imagination. If the sound of the piano would make Mihr think that his conversation with Christine was private, then the sound of the piano he would have.

This was the second week after their marriage. The abrupt cessation of their fledgling intimacy had also had the unfortunate effect of giving Erik space to begin remembering her admission to the Vicomte of having deceived her maestro. The precipitous marriage and its immediate aftermath, and, subsequently, the overwhelming ecstasy of the embraces they had so briefly been free to share, had driven it from his mind, caught up as it was in total adoration of her and the shock brought on by the sudden turn which events had taken.

But now his thoughts were clear enough for suspicion to creep back in. How could her affections have changed so fast? Were women really that fickle? And if they were, how could he trust that her baffling attachment to him would continue, or that she would not abandon him fully? Erik had tried to rein himself in, and tell himself that she was not refusing him entirely. This was natural, and furthermore she had no control over it. But even this level of refusal had given birth to a fear that he could not quell; a fear that, their newly physical relationship suspended, after having a week to think about it she would come to her senses and conclude that she did not wish it to resume.

He was under no illusions, after all, about what he looked like.

And so he simply had to hear this conversation. It was essential. That treacherous Persian would try his hardest to convince Christine to leave her husband. Erik was sure of it. No doubt the man wanted to get revenge on Erik for the episode of the torture chamber. And as for her, her mind was far too easily turned. Just look at what she had said on the rooftop. That she found Erik repulsive, that she was terrified of him…that she'd lied to him.

Lied to him again and again, for her own ends. How was he to know that she was not lying to him now? Though he had to admit that he could not really see what advantage she would gain from having married him coldly. But how could Erik, a mere man, hope to understand why women did what they did? How did he know what she might see as an advantage? Perhaps she thought she could not continue her career without his teaching. Would that consideration have been enough to make her marry a man who repelled her? It had not been, before. Indeed she had seemed more than willing to throw her career away in order to run off with that obnoxious boy.

And so, his emotions becoming more turbulent by the moment, he activated the device which started the piano playing, and then exited the house, glided round the back of it, and opened the speaking tube that went into the kitchen. The voices of the other two were instantly audible.

" – rather perplexing change of heart, Madame."

"I know." There was a distinctly sombre note in Christine's beautiful voice, and Erik tensed. Why was she sombre?

Apparently Mihr heard it too, because he said urgently, "Madame, if you are being held here against your will I will help you escape."

"I thought you were Erik's friend."

"I am. Or at least, I used to be. But I can not stand by and watch him commit an evil act, and say nothing about it. I had to do that too many times in my country, where the shah's whims were law, and brutality was applauded and encouraged if it were sufficiently amusing. Here in France, there is no such need for me to keep silent, and I will not."

"I am not a prisoner, Monsieur. I married my husband by my own choice. I think he has already told you that." Her voice was slightly sharp. Erik understood; she hated having her word questioned. The daroga was skating on thin ice.

Then it occurred to Erik that Christine's moods were likely more volatile than usual, just now, given which week it was. The Persian's timing was particularly bad. Erik smirked to himself.

"Yes, he did. But I confess I was unable to believe him. You will comprehend, I hope, the reasons why."

"Yes, I can understand your difficulty, Monsieur. It was all so strange…so unexpected, and my memories of it are very vague now…the shock, I suppose. Looking back, it sometimes seems as though it was a different person who did all those things that night….I myself have trouble believing it all if I think too hard about it. And doing so just makes my head ache anyway. "

So did Erik's, just at the moment. The daroga's prompt refusal to believe this tale had made Erik begin to doubt as well, and Christine's fretful tone and uncertain words were not helping. If Mihr caused her to reconsider her choice…well, Erik would not be responsible for what happened as a result. Someone who convinced a woman to leave her lawful husband deserved whatever he got.

"It does not make much sense, on the face of it."

"No, Madame," said the daroga gently, "It does not, especially when one considers the face of it."

A wave of pure rage shot through Erik, and nearly made him miss Christine's response. Heatedly she said, "It has been a long time since it was my husband's face that was the problem, Monsieur."

Taken unawares by her rebuttal of the Persian's comment, Erik felt an unexpected shaft of grateful fondness. She was always so unfailingly kind. And to Erik, who did not deserve it.

"Is that so, Madame? If it is, you are an exceptionally broad-minded woman."

How dare this buffoon doubt her word yet again?

"I admit I found him hideous when I first saw his face," said Christine, and it was immediately back to the anger for her husband as he listened. But she went on, "There is no getting round the fact that he is dreadfully disfigured. But Monsieur, that is not his fault."

"Of course it is not," said Mihr coolly. "I have never said that it was. But his deeds are."

The insufferable dullard. Mihr of Mazanderan took morals far too seriously, and always had. Erik really did not know why he put up with the man when he was forever prating about the "right" thing to do. To hell with right and wrong, Erik's approach had always been. The rest of the world was blithely untroubled by whether the way it had treated Erik was right; so why should he care whether the things he did were "right" in others' eyes or not? They could go straight to the devil so far as he was concerned.

But Christine did care about what she believed was right, very much. And because Erik loved her, so he was now obliged to care about it as well. And she was currently speaking on just that topic to the daroga. He had better listen, to see if he could pick up any useful information.

"Monsieur, you said Erik told you of what transpired down here after he took you home. So then he must have told you of how…moved he was when shown the smallest bit of affection."

"Yes, he did. He said that you embraced him, and that that simple act broke him utterly. That he wept at your feet and completely gave up his attempt to marry you by force. That he rushed to release the Vicomte, and sent you away with him."

Did the two of them have to go on about what a pitiful wreck of a man he had been that night?

"Yes," said Christine softly. "That is how it happened. It did not seem as though he would do anything of the sort that night, I know. I had not foreseen the effect my…acceptance of him would have. But when he freed us, I saw that there must, after all, be some tiny scrap of feeling in him; that there was a chance he could become a better man after all."

"The man he should have been, had his situation been different," said Mihr, his voice low and even a bit wistful.

"Yes. I think perhaps I do not know him so well as you do. But I can tell he is…well, damaged. He does not react to things the way a normal man should. And yet, even so he is… the most compelling man I have ever known. He is the greatest musician I have ever seen, and music is so very important to me, Monsieur. It always has been. We share that. And he is my husband now, and I must honour him. And he needs me. It's nice to be needed. And I…I love him. I do!"

"You sound, Madame," said the Persian evenly, "as though you were attempting to convince yourself."

"I am not!" retorted Christine. "I am sorry, but I…I can not find the right words to say, I think. But Monsieur, I could not bear to live without Erik, having once known him. I can not. And I have no wish to commit the sin of breaking my marriage vows."

There was silence for a moment, and Erik waited, scarcely breathing, mingled pain, resentment and joy raging through him. He felt dizzy.

"I see," said Mihr slowly. "And he is not coercing you or threatening you in any way? He is not using his voice to control you again?"

"No!" Christine retorted vehemently. "Did you not hear what he and I told you? He changed, Monsieur, he changed. No one ever thought he would, but he did in the end. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Madame, if it is true it would mean a very great deal to me indeed. It would mean that many things that have happened to me in the last twenty-five years have been for a reason."

"It is true. And it is why I chose to stay with him. The Catholic religion teaches that we must forgive a repentant sinner! Does yours not?"

"No, it does," Mihr answered. "Allah is described as Al-Ghaffur, or the Oft-Forgiving. As it happens, we are not recommended to forgive unbelievers; but I made that decision as regards Erik a very long time ago."

"Erik is a Catholic," said Christine proudly. "When I asked, he told me he had been baptized originally. He has done many dreadful things and he has not been devout for most of his life, but I am bringing him back to the Church, Monsieur!" She flung this at him, as though she expected him to be displeased by it. Likely because she knew he was a Mohammedan, Erik thought. But Mihr was also a particularly forbearing sort.

"I would expect nothing else of anyone who is strong in their own faith, Madame. And for what it is worth, Muslims recognize Christians as being worthy of especial regard, being 'People of the Book.' That is what we call those whose faith is based upon a revealed scripture, and one which Islam also venerates as divine ordinance."

If that rambling fool did not bring this conversation to a close soon, Erik would have to intervene. The disc which operated the piano had already played through once, and was just now starting over again. The other two were clearly caught up in their conversation, but would surely notice at some point that the tune was repeating itself. The Persian had demanded to be satisfied that Christine was not a wife by force; he did not need to sit in there and debate religion with her as well.

"Under normal circumstances, Madame, I would certainly never presume to question the new wife of a friend in this impudent manner. But, Erik being Erik, and these specific circumstances being what they have been…I could not help but worry."

There was silence for a moment, and Erik fretted that it would cause them to notice the repeating song. But then Christine said, "No, I don't suppose you could. Are…are you not happy for Erik, now that he has finally repented? That he has found someone who could love him?"

"I would like to be happy for him, Madame. I would like to believe he has finally become a virtuous man. But…I made that mistake once before, when I helped him escape from Persia, at great cost to myself, because of the chance that he could change. He has so many talents…I wanted them to be used for the benefit of mankind. And…and he was my friend."

Erik was taken aback by the emotion in Mihr's voice. It made him quite uncomfortable. But Mihr would indulge every so often in such nonsense, the sentimental old fool. Erik attempted to ignore it. "I see," said Christine, echoing Mihr's comment of a few minutes ago. "Monsieur, I believe with all my heart that this change is real. And…and we must do what is right, even if we do not know what may come of it."

"Yes, that is true," answered Mihr. "But Madame, Erik is fully capable of profoundly evil acts, and I feared that you might come to harm."

Christine said hesitantly, "Erik has not told me of much of his previous life. And I no longer believe that he would ever hurt me. But from what little he has told me, and from what I have seen him do in the few months that I have known him, I can surmise that…what you say about his capacity for evil is true."

"Very great indeed, Madame. I was unfortunate enough to see his capabilities first hand, in my country. I will say that Erik's…excesses were perhaps more pronounced than they might have been had he been left to his own devices. But the shah and some others of the royal family used him for ghastly entertainments to amuse the court, and encouraged him to explore and give free rein to his worst impulses."

That was the last straw. Erik was not going to allow that oaf to tell Christine of what had transpired in Persia. Having not yet had the chance to forbid him to do so, the only option left was to dart back into the house under cover of the piano music, fling himself onto the bench and shut off the disc. There was an instant silence from the kitchen as well, as the two conversationalists obviously ceased speaking once they did not have the privacy they thought they'd been enjoying. Erik sat with his elbows on the keyboard, breathing hard, and waited. Soon they emerged, Christine ruffled, Mihr scowling. Well, Erik could do that too, and much better. He shot his demon stare at the traitor.

"Are you quite finished now?" he snarled. "Did you have time enough to convince her to leave me?"

Christine returned the glare, which Erik ignored. Mihr said, "I take it you finally lost patience with us? I suppose I should be glad you held out as long as you did." He crossed the room and held out his right hand. When Erik stared at it, Mihr said, "Allow me to congratulate you on your marriage, old friend. You have a jewel in your wife."

Erik was momentarily nonplussed, and then all at once he lost his battle with his temper and snapped scathingly, "Go to hell." He shot to his feet, nearly knocking the startled Persian over, and stormed into the hallway, slamming the parlour door behind him. In his bedroom he half-fell onto the organ stool, activated its bellows, and began to play, his fingertips ramming against the keys as he rushed headlong into the most terrifying parts of his Don Juan.

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