A/N: Hope you like, thanks for all previous reviews – and Merry Christmas! :D

IV

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The inscrutable master of Thornfield watched Adrienne approach and curtsy, while Christine nervously edged further back into the shadows beyond the threshold.

"Welcome home, Maestro," the child said carefully as though coached. "I am pleased you are back. I trust you had a good journey. Did you bring me anything?"

The Maestro gave a soft little snort and looked beyond her, to Christine.

"You there – come into the light where I can see you."

Christine inhaled a stabilizing breath and lifted her chin, preparing herself once again to meet his scorn. She approached, much more slowly than Adrienne, and sensed his impatience in the slight squint of his eyes – or perhaps, the recognition.

Tall, dark, and brooding, the master was all of these, the fire-lit parlor not having changed that about his appearance. She waited anxiously for him to speak.

"You are the new governess?"

"Oui, monsieur."

"Your name?" This said with a thread of cynical amusement.

"Christine Daaé."

He surveyed her from head to foot. "And do you play, Miss Daaé?"

"What?" Completely taken off guard by the unexpected question she could only stare.

He motioned to one corner of the room where she now noticed a small upright piano stood.

"Play…" she repeated dumbly, her mind recording the fact that he made no mention of the previous night's incident on the road. Perhaps it had been too dark for him to see her features clearly. Perhaps the cowl of her cloak had hidden her face from view. Perhaps in his irate mood he had taken little note of her bedraggled appearance, which in its present state was certainly much changed and more respectable - her gown, a demure gray, with a simple white ruff at the throat and matching cuffs edging her sleeves. Every strand of her hair pinned and neatly in place.

"At the institution where I lived and later taught, a piano was donated a little over a year ago."

"That is not what I asked, all of it useless information to me. I asked if you play."

She clenched her teeth, her relief great that he did not recognize her, but exasperation with his less than chivalrous manner was starting to take an edge.

"A little," she said reluctantly.

Again he motioned toward the piano. When she made no move to go there, he added a rather sardonic, "Please, if you will."

Christine consoled herself that his words somewhat resembled a request and did not come across as an outright order. Of course, she was in service to his household, so resigned herself that she must accustom herself to his sharp tongue. At least she'd had plenty of experience with that sort of thing while growing up.

Woodenly she approached the instrument and sat on the stool before it, nervously placing the pads of her fingers on the cool ivory keys. Only in recent years had music been allowed in Lindenwood, though she continued to keep her song secret. Still, the inherent pull of music, always a part of her, had drawn her to discover how to combine the proper notes in those calm hours she could call her own.

In her present state of nervousness, with the master of the manor watching with his mesmeric, hawk-like eyes, intent within the sockets of that strange black mask, her fingers refused to cooperate. She managed to pound out several lines of a hymn, biting her tongue to prevent herself from quietly singing them and giving the raucous chords some measure of relief.

"'A little' is an apt description," the Maestro said dryly between unevenly spaced notes. Before she quite finished, he marched over to the piano and riffled through some papers sitting in a stack atop the glossy dark wood. "Play this," he ordered, spreading the sheets before her.

"I cannot read the music," she admitted, staring at the strange black squiggles spaced above, under, and within the sketched rows of lines.

"How then did you learn what little you know?" His tone registered surprise.

"I taught myself." She looked fully at him, noting the spark that now lit his eyes.

"You had no teacher to instruct you?"

"No." She pulled her hands away from the keys to settle them clasped in her lap.

"Maestro?" a small voice nearby asked.

He blew out an impatient breath. "Yes, Adrienne, I have not forgotten you. Tomorrow we will resume your lessons. You will find that which you so desperately wish for in a box on the sofa, you greedy child. Go and content yourself with it, and leave me to speak with your governess."

A soft little squeal was followed by a rustle of muslin and taffeta as Adrienne eagerly scampered to the designated area, shortly followed by another squeal when she opened the box there.

The master's eyes never moved from Christine's face. Likewise she did not look away.

"I do not like it when people stare," he commanded gravely.

She did not point out that he was doing exactly that. Clenching her jaw, she looked down at the gold threads of his maroon waistcoat.

"Such an intense frown marks your smooth brow," he pondered, his tone oddly softer. "I wonder what concern has put you in such deep contemplation? Do you pout because I stated my preference?"

She hardly felt as though she were pouting.

"It's no concern, just a thought."

"Well?" he prodded when she said no more.

"It isn't my place to say," she said primly. "I'm only the governess."

"Hang propriety! I would know your mind – and speak the truth, mademoiselle. I shall know it if you lie and try to placate me with foolish fancies."

"What cause have I to speak with pretense?" She again looked at his stern countenance, reminding herself that she had dealt with far worse in her short span upon the earth. "Very well, if you're certain…"

He scoffed. "I would not have instructed you to say your piece if I wished for anything less."

"I only wonder that you do not question me about my skills in the position for which you have hired me, or even inquire about my history as it pertains to my position. Since I have come here, you have not said one word about my duties or seek to know any pertinent information about the woman you employed to train your ward, which I find unsettling. Even bizarre. You seem more interested in my musical expertise, which was not part of the duties required of a governess, according to the notice your housekeeper put in the post. I did not come to Thornfield to entertain, but to teach."

At this his brow rose, evident by the way his mask shifted upward. She squeezed her fingers still resting in her lap, wondering if she'd been too forthright.

"By God – finally, a woman who's not afraid to speak her mind!" He chuckled lightly in sardonic amusement, though his eyes glittered strangely with approval. "And how do you find me, mademoiselle?"

Christine hesitated. "Pardon?"

"Come now, it's a simple question. Do not disappoint and relieve me of your refreshing candor."

Given her station and that he was her master, she should hold her tongue – but found it impossible to withhold her viewpoint and was only too happy to obey. Even so, she had no wish to be cruel.

She phrased her answer carefully. "You are a man of evident power. You like to intimidate and are under the impression that bullying is the simplest way to achieve what you want from others…"

She paused and he nodded for her to go on.

"You belittle kindness and scorn imperfection, rejecting any form of apology," she stated, recalling the previous night's encounter with him. "For all that, you are..."

"A monster?" he supplied, his dark voice soft yet filled with venom. "A beast?"

"An enigma."

He exhaled a cynical huff through his nostrils. "Interesting. And are you a mage, mademoiselle? A seer into the soul, to discern such things?"

"I have two eyes and can only speak from my own experience."

"Ah," he said with an emphatic nod. "There it is. You deviated from the original question."

He took a step closer and to her shock, lowered his body so that they were eye to eye. She noted that specks of bright gold flecked the yellow-green of his irises, a color most unusual and intense. A cat's eyes, and she felt cornered, like a helpless little bird.

"I'll ask again – what is it that you see?"

Christine blinked at his close proximity, feeling a peculiar wave of dizziness.

"See…?"

"Am I not a handsome fellow?" he asked with pure contempt. "A prince among men?"

Adrienne had warned her not to mention it, but Christine never was able to curb her tongue when the opportunity arose to speak her mind, especially when asked her honest opinion. If this was a test, she was about to fail miserably.

"I wouldn't know monsieur – the mask covers too much of your face to enable a truthful response."

His mesmerizing eyes flickered, as if surprised by her frankness. Her attempt at confidence might be believed if her words had not emerged so soft and breathless.

"Do I frighten you, Mademoiselle Daaé? The mask, does it frighten you?"

Unobtrusively, she pinched her hand to bring herself sharply out of her odd daze.

"I would be foolish indeed to fear a piece of leather. There are true terrors in this world much more deserving of my horror. You are abrupt in your manner, even harsh, which can be a discomfort to those around you, but no, you do not frighten me, monsieur. As for appearances and what matters – since you spoke of the soul – true beauty is found inside it, with how one treats others."

"So you do find me ugly?"

"In that respect, sir – quite."

To her astonishment, he let out a great laugh. Rich and deep, it did something strange to her midsection, the sensation like a soft shimmer of warmth to her innermost regions. Suddenly he straightened to stand.

"Spoken like a true member of the pious society that calls itself righteous! Hypocrites all of them…" His amusement made a sharp turn toward bitterness. "The nuns would applaud your steadfastness to their teachings."

"I wouldn't know. I've never encountered one."

He looked surprised. "Then you don't believe in the existence of God?"

"I didn't say that. I believe God exists, and pray to Him every evening. But I wasn't taught by nuns. The institution that I mentioned earlier, where I was raised and received my training as a teacher, is a girl's orphanage, yes, but not one run by nuns. The man who brought me there was the local parson, but the instructors were of no holy order. Only spinsters."

"An orphanage," he said softly, and Christine mentally prepared for her dismissal.

He studied her so long that for a moment she forgot to breathe, realizing it when he again spoke.

"I did not inquire after your teaching skills, because your expertise in education or lack thereof will inevitably surface over your time here at Thornfield, as will any pertinent information regarding your character that I should know. Already I perceive you to be somewhat intelligent, though not always acting with good sense, firm in your beliefs, and courageous to a fault. It is fortunate for you that I admire a bit of daring, rare to find in a woman, and am not offended nor afflicted by your sharp tongue…"

Her mouth parted in shock at his rather degrading but apt character analysis.

"Do you take offense by my words?" he asked softly.

"I am hardly in a position to complain."

"To hell with position! I want to know what you think."

She tilted her head in consideration. "I suppose it is fair play that you should give your analysis of my character since I did the same for yours."

"Fair play..." He said the words as if he did not comprehend their meaning. "There is little justice in this world, mademoiselle, make no mistake, and certainly nothing 'fair' about it."

Christine sensed his grim words hid something bone deep, but felt she had been too outspoken for one evening to inquire and withheld a response.

Several more seconds of tense silence elapsed before he spoke.

"That is all I require of you. You may go."

Christine half-wondered at the permanency of his remark with regard to her future there, and if she was expected to plan Adrienne's lessons for the following day or pack her bags and leave Thornfield at once.

She was halfway to the door, when he stopped her.

"Mademoiselle Daaé, there is one last matter…"

She awaited what he would say but did not again turn to look at him.

"I trust that in your repertoire of activities planned for yourself and Adrienne, you will commit all walks to within the grounds – and keep from straying like a restless spirit along the roads at night? I should like to keep the one hat I have left."

The flush of mortification heated her face at his words. Relieved that she stood with her back to him, Christine closed her eyes to know that she had concealed nothing from the master of Thornfield. He had recognized her. After a moment, she forced herself to turn and face him.

"I assure you, monsieur, I am not given to wandering outdoors at night."

His smile was wry. "I am relieved to hear it."

"I was abandoned by my driver and forced to set out to the manor on foot." Though he asked for no explanation, she gave it then balled her hands at her sides. "And I am sorry about your hat."

"So you have said." He gave a gracious nod, though his eyes mocked her. "Apology accepted."

His dip into mercy reminded her of her earlier disparaging assessment of his character rejecting it, and she lowered her eyes, presuming with the wry twist he had given the words he remembered also.

"Thank you, monsieur. If there is nothing else?"

"No, you may go."

This time, she asked.

"For the present, or for all time to come?"

His lips turned up at one corner in a twisted smile.

"Is it your wish to stay at Thornfield?"

"Yes, of course." She had no need to think twice; certainly Thornfield was strange, even mysterious, its inhabitants adding their own eccentricities to life at the manor, but it still outshone Lindenwood, as fiercely as the sun outshone the moon.

"I shall not question Madame Fairfax's decision to hire you. Go now, and tend to your duties."

"Oui, monsieur."

Christine resisted the inane urge to curtsy as if he were royalty and gave a small, deferential nod. She exited the room, expecting to be called back at any moment, and once over the threshold, she couldn't resist the foolish temptation to look over her shoulder.

Again the Master of the manor stood with his back to her and stared into the fire.

xXx

Clasping his hands behind his back, Erik listened to Christine's quiet footfalls as they receded toward the stairwell. His conversation with her had been enlightening, though he sensed the governess withheld secrets, as did he.

Her youthful countenance and innocent aura would suggest the opposite. But one look into those deep brown eyes veiled within depths of mystery told him there was much more to Christine Daaé than appearances would suggest...

His sharp hearing picked up the quiet rustle of skirts approach from behind.

"Monsieur?"

He turned to regard Adrienne. She clutched the new doll to her chest.

"Merci boucoup." A hopeful smile lifted her lips. "It is what I wanted."

"Hmm." He lifted his chin and stared down at her. "I trust you have not been giving your new governess a difficult time?"

"Monsieur?"

Her dark brown eyes shimmered with an angelic sort of innocence he knew to be false.

Erik frowned. "I will not have another incident like last time. You will be respectful toward Mademoiselle Daaé and mindful of her orders – and conjure no tricks."

She sighed. "The other governess was old and smelled funny. At least the powder that poured down on her smelled nice."

"Adrienne!"

At the sharp warning in his voice, she grudgingly nodded. "I promise."

"Very well - run along. I expect you in the music room at promptly eleven o'clock in the morning. We will then learn if you earned that new little trifle, or not. "

Her brow puzzled in displeasure but she gave a faint, "Oui, Monsieur," and did as ordered.

Erik turned back to look into the snapping flames, putting off his last duty of the night as long as was feasibly possible.

Christine Daaé was far from old, certainly looking younger than her years. Nor was the scent she gave off in any manner unpleasant. The aroma of roses emanated from her body…of the crimson variety. Sweet but potent, and heady…

After his nocturnal encounter with her, he found her to be quite headstrong as well.

Grimly he shook his head, letting his eyes fall shut.

He had no business dwelling on the little governess. True, she stood taller than most women, but was slight of form – indeed, near skin and bones. Distractedly he wondered if she ate like a bird, as did the few women of his acquaintance, those simple-minded ninnies pecking at their plates like sparrows.

He presumed they ate like cows when in private and only adopted the pretense of such dainty eating habits in public due to the foolish strains of social etiquette or some such nonsense. He, himself, rarely dined when in the company of others, and those few times he succumbed, then only nibbled, but for a far different reason. To manage his food properly, he must remove his mask, and for no mortal would he perform that frightful act.

Those few who did not fear him in his mask flocked to him, yet still they remained ill at ease in his presence. He did not flatter himself that any womanly interest in him was for his company or appearance. He had long known himself to be a monster, had been told often enough, since he was a child. But apparently, if a monster had a large estate and excessive wealth that was enough to disregard whatever horrific visage the mask hid and incite interest, even if only superficial. At least it was in the case of one Signora Carlotta, the brunt of the joke being played on her, though she might never know it...

Oh, how he would dearly love to apprise her of the fact one day.

Miss Christine Daaé, however…was different. During their initial encounter on the dark moonlit road, he had for one fanciful moment supposed her a ghost, and their most recent meeting felt no less ethereal. She exhibited a wary caution in his presence last night, but under the circumstances it was to be expected. Tonight, she spoke to him nearly as to an equal, without any false simpering or true fear to shape her words. At no time, in the course of his wretched existence, could he recall that to have happened with any young woman…and the effect was as heady to his mind as her scent was to his memory…

No! Confound it all – he must stop dwelling on the new governess.

Determined to attend to that which he had no desire to visit, he called out in his thundering voice for Madame Fairfax, knowing she would be waiting nearby for his summons.

xXx

Upon leaving the parlor, Christine hastened up the winding stairwell to her room, with each step dreading to hear his beautiful voice call her back to him once more. Dreading…

And anticipating…

Briskly she shook such a rash thought from her head and patted her fingers to her flushed cheeks.

While this first required meeting had gone relatively well and better than expected, that certainly did not mean she wished to spend time in the Master's presence! Perish the thought.

He may be no spectral entity, but there was something equally disturbing about his persona…something that made her breath catch and hold when he had drawn close and her heart pound like the surf at high tide…

Something not altogether unpleasant, and that was disturbing in and of itself.

Christine entered her bedchamber, and turned up the flame in the lamp bracketed to the wall by the door. Immediately, the painting on the wall caught her eye. The light was too far to reach the framed canvas well, so she lit a candle on the table and brought the candlestick close…

…almost dropping it in nervous shock when she saw her earlier assessment had been correct.

The ghostly face of a woman had been painted in white within the churning sea, blending into the oils so that it was not apparent unless one peered with deep intent.

The wood creaked behind her, and Christine spun around...

But there was no one there.

A/N: I wanted to keep it as much Erik in personality as possible, but also give a flavor of Rochester, especially for this first real meeting...hope you liked! :)