My note: Well, this is my first ever piece of 'phan' or even just plain 'fan' fiction! I'm so excited that I've finally managed to get one of my many ideas and actually write something around it and turn it into a story! Since this is my first story I'd love to receive feedback from every reader, I know this is a lot to ask, I myself have to be one of the world's sloppiest reader / reviewers, but I really would appreciate all the feedback I can get to improve my writing style, point out my errors or just brighten up my day and tell me I'm doing a good job!
About this phic: An orphan living at a boarding school, Christine has no alternative but to spend the summer holidays at school in the charge of her teachers. Left in solitude, with nothing to do, a boring holiday awaits. But things changes when she befriends the school's reclusive yet intriguing music teacher Monsieur Erik Mannette, and her summer takes a completly different turn. Will she learn the lessons that Erik Mannette can teach her? Can Christine teach him some lessons of her own? Will their lives ever be the same again?
Disclaimer / Claimer - whatever: I own no part of Phantom of the Opera, however I do own the plot of this particular story and it's secondary characters. As the writer of this story, you must have my permission if you wish to reproduce it or publish it anywhere else.
Chapter One
St. Elaire's Academy for the Education and Breeding of Fine Young Girls, est. 1760
30th June, 1855
It was a beautiful June day, the last in the school term. Outside the sun was shining brightly in the cloudless summer sky, the grass glimmered and the blooms in the endless rows of flowerbeds that surrounded the old stone building of St. Elaire's eagerly opened their petals and basked in the sun's glow. Inside the classroom however, things were not so pleasant. The school had be built for the freezing winters, chilly springs and gloomy autumns of Normandy, and in the summer it's classrooms proved unpleasantly stuffy and airless, making it's pupils uncomfortable and peevish.
In one of the ground floor classrooms, a particularly crampt, stuffy room filled with fifteen year old girls, a music lesson commenced. The lesson centred around 18th century opera, and in particular the works of Gluck and Cimarosa. Naturally, the class was absolutely engrossed; engrossed in their daydreams and toying with their quills and inkwells that is.
"Psst! Psst Edith!" whispered Bernadette, a bored student on a desk in the third row, whose fringe was sticking to her forehead with perspire. Taking advantage of the teacher turning his back to the class, she tapped her friend on the shoulder with her ruler.
"What?" replied Edith, a flush faced red head whose pale skin had burnt to a flamed crisp thanks to an afternoon lacrosse match played in the beating sun.
"Say pardon not what!" giggled Bernadette in a hushed whisper as she impersonated the school's much hated French teacher, the fearsome spinster Mademoiselle Glousse.
"Silence!" barked the teacher, spinning round to face the class, his cold harsh tone immediately silencing Bernadette, the entire class straightening up from their unladylike slouching positions and tidying their uniforms.
There wasn't a girl in the entire school that wasn't afraid of Monsieur Mannette . His sharp, cold voice could scare even the most hardened girl, and the full length white mask that concealed his face was a source of constant curiosity and terror. Older girls delighted in scaring the pigtails off the first years girls with all sorts of horror stories about the teacher. If the rumours were true he drank blood, ate puppy dogs and underneath his mask he had the skin of a rotten corpse. Some even said he was a corpse, dug up from the ground and given life by a dark wizard, and with his tall, painfully thin, queerly built form, he did at times bear closer resemblance to a skeleton than a man.
"Now, to see who has been paying attention to today's lesson," he remarked stiffly, crossing his arms in front of him as he always did when he was irritated, and on a day so hot, with a class so distracted; he was crossing his arms a lot.
"You!" declared Monsieur Mannette pointing at Bernadette, "The name of Gluck's first opera?," he said it as more of a command than a question.
"Er," stammered Bernadette, music always had been her least favourite subject.
"Well?", demanded the teacher impatiently.
"I don't know sir," Bernadette admitted sheepishly
"I see," remarked Monsieur Mannette, raising an unseen eyebrow, "Does anybody else know? Anyone? Anyone at all? Has a single person been paying attention to a word I have been saying this lesson or have I, yet again, been wasting my breath on a bunch of fluffy minded stupid schoolgirls with flax for brains?"
For a moment the class was silent, everyone bowed their heads and silently prayed for this storm of Monsieur Mannette's unpredictable and infamous temper to pass.
"Artaserse, sir," piped a quiet voice from the back of the classroom.
"Who said that?" snapped Monsieur Mannette, scanning the class with his sharp eyes.
"I did sir," replied the voice.
"What is your name?"
The girl blushed, Monsieur Mannette had been the school's music teacher for nearly a year now, he seemed to know the names of every girl in the building, yet didn't even know who she was.
"Christine Daae, sir."
"Well done Christine," nodded the teacher, relieved to have a pupil that paid attention., "And what year was it first performed in?"
"1741 sir," Christine replied quick as a flash.
"And the name of his last opera?"
"Echo et Narcisse, 1779, sir."
"His first opera to be performed in Paris?"
The girl paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, she was shy and unused to speaking in class, the fear of saying the wrong answer gripped her gut, but she knew she had to reply, it was on the tip of her tongue, it was, "Iphigénie en Aulide, sir"
For a moment Monsieur Mannette didn't know what to say, he couldn't deny he was impressed, he hadn't taught the class about that yet. He was amazed even that one of the spoilt upper class brats he was forced to teach actually managed to know something useful that wasn't related to clothes or idle gossip.
"Correct Christine. Well, I'm pleased to see that one of my students pays attention to their lessons. It is fortunate for Mademoiselle Daae that she realises how important music is, not just for personal cultural enrichment and entertainment but for one's academic knowledge too, I suggest that more of you follow in her example. Now, back to Cimarosa."
Monsieur Mannette returned to his usual post, writing on the board whilst simultaneously lecturing the class, who had already settled down to their daydreams once more. It was not long before the hands on the classroom clock struck noon and the bell in the main building was rung, symbolising the end of the lesson and the beginning of lunch. The whole class leapt to their feet and began to gather up their things, after lunch there were no more lessons, they would be able to pack their things and prepare for their parents, or rather their parent's servants to greet them, and take them home for the summer holidays.
The whole class that is, except Christine. Moving slowly she prized herself from her seat with almost an air of reluctance, by the time all the other girls had rushed from the room, she was still putting her books away in her satchel.
"Goodbye Sir, I hope you have an agreeable summer," she whispered shyly as she eventually made her way to her door.
She felt sorry for Monsieur Mannette, not a single one of his pupils had stopped to say goodbye to him or wish him a good holiday as they did all the other teachers. True, he was strict and had a strong temprement, but he was a good teacher, she learnt more in his lessons did she did in any of her others, and unlike the other teachers, his subject matter was actually interesting, if only the other girls could see that. Monsieur was right, reflected Christine, the other girls really did have flax for brains.
Monsieur Mannette spun around, surprised that there was still a student in the classroom, let alone one that wanted to speak to him. He saw his occupation as a teacher, not a pastoral carer, and therefore saw no reason to befriend his pupils, he almost prided himself on the fact that no student have ever greeted him in the corridors.
"Er, thank you Mademoiselle Daae," he replied, trying to sound cool after his initial surprise, "I hope your holiday is most agreeable too. I'm sure you will be very happy to go home to see your family again," he added with a nod. If Christine had been a male pupil he may have shook his hand, but as it was he turned back to the board, signalling that the conversation was over.
Christine left the room silently and made her way to the dinner hall with a heavy heart. The truth was, unlike the other girls, Christine was not going home for summer, instead she would be staying at the school. Eight weeks without lessons or companionship lay ahead of her, and the prospect made her want to go to the her dormitory and cry. It was most certainly going to be a long eight weeks.
