Author's Note: Thanks again to TalithaJ, Soignante, Busanda, Shayril, CarolROI, WindPhoenix, D. Jenks, osdfnsdaf, Rose of Night, Squealing Lit. Fan, BadBugz, steelelf, Lady Winifred, Erik'sLittleLotte and Mystery Guest (mega thank you for such a huge review). Guys, you are brilliant. 15 reviews for one chapter! I think I'm probably going to have to get ready to do another double update at this rate. Thankyou so much everyone for saying such wonderful things - I have no objections to being told of things that need correcting, mind you.
Anyway, allow me to put you out of your misery after yesterday's particularly evil cliffhanger. Here's the next chapter. Thanks again, and enjoy! Nedjmet.
Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.
Chapter 20
All eyes turned to where the sound was coming from. All but Professor Gardiner were completely astonished to find that the beautiful, sweet voice was coming from Christine Day, the mute. Gardiner actually stopped playing as she sung the line, having forgotten exactly what her voice sounded like without the distortion of a recording. She continued on as he resumed playing, pronouncing the words perfectly with a rich Irish accent:
"Siúil, siúil, siúil a ruin, Siúil go sochair agus siúil go ciúin, Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom, Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán."
Seeing that Carlotta had – miraculously – been rendered speechless by the interruption, Christine continued on with the music, moving forward towards the stage and the piano.
"I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, I'll sell my only spinning wheel, And buy my love a sword of steel, Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán.
"Siúil, siúil, siúil a ruin, Siúil go sochair agus siúil go ciúin, Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom, Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán."
As the bridge came, she reached and stood in the well at the side of the grand piano, and with a voice filled with all the longing and pain she felt, she sang:
"I wish, I wish, I wish in vain, I wish I had my heart again, And vainly think I'd not complain, Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán."
She lost herself in the words as she poured out her grief, allowing it some kind of voice for the first time since it had begun.
"Siúil, siúil, siúil a ruin, Siúil go sochair agus siúil go ciúin, Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom, Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán."
She snapped out of her music-induced trance and repeated the chorus with a renewed fervour, adding passion to the wish hidden within the words.
"Siúil, siúil, siúil a ruin, Siúil go sochair agus siúil go ciúin, Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom, Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán."
The accompaniment died away with a few last notes, as Christine's head bowed. When it had ceased completely, she kept her eyes closed a moment longer, until she raised her hand to her throat, trying to massage away the cough that she could feel rising.
You could have heard a pin drop.
All eyes were on her as she stood there. Then one of the number raised their hands and brought them together. This pattern echoed around the class until all were applauding – except for Carlotta, of course. Only Professor Gardiner saw as she began to struggle with her breathing. He stood and brought her to sit on the piano bench.
The bell rang.
The applause continued.
Christine began to cough.
"Class dismissed." He eventually managed to call out.
They slowly filed out, their eyes for the most part still on the 'mute' with the voice of an angel. Professor Gardiner remained at her side, filled with concern. Her voice had returned! A little rough around the edges, but that was only to be expected – yet it had returned! He was suddenly filled with anticipation of the year to come: the performances she could give, the things he could accomplish by training her. But his excitement was temporarily overridden as he watched her, wondering what to do to ease her obvious discomfort.
A bottle of water appeared at his side.
He jumped to see Madame Giry holding it, her eyes fixed on her charge. Seeing his inaction, and Christine's lack of progress, she opened the bottle, brought it to her daughter's lips and slowly bid her drink a little. She continued this until her breathing had evened out, and Christine took the bottle – a sign that she had recovered sufficiently.
"What happened?" She asked, looking to her colleague for an answer. He didn't give one though, still too stunned by the impromptu performance.
Christine handed her second mother the sheet music that was resting on the piano. Antoinette looked at it, recognition and hope filling her eyes as her gaze snapped back to Christine's apologetic look.
"I couldn't help it." She whispered.
Antoinette's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she embraced her child. Her hopes were not in vain.
The nerve of him! The fool had actually allowed Carlotta Guidacelli to climb onto that stage with the intention of 'performing' one of her songs! Had his note meant nothing? Perhaps it was time for the Ghost to make his presence truly felt. This insolence was not to be borne. The Ravelle was HIS and his instructions WOULD be obeyed.
He flinched as that creature began to boom out what was meant to be a sweet lament. She sang as a peacock would – indeed, that bird's squawking would have been preferable at the moment. At least he would get some respite during the refrain. Perhaps there was yet hope for Gardiner's 'intelligence'. He used every scrap of patience – which wasn't much on this occasion – waiting for the last line of the stanza, to see how the instructor's piano playing had improved. He had recommended that he take lessons over the summer after all.
Katie
Had the harpy's massacre of music driven him to sweet madness? He had not forgotten the sound of her voice, but he had not heard it so clearly since . . .
The music had ceased.
No!
Continue. The voice had to continue. He could not have this luxury taken from him now, the torture would be unbearable. The playing continued, and with it . . .
He pushed aside all his usual cares about not being seen and leaned forward to take a look the class. They were all stood as still as statues except for . . .
Christine
She moved forward towards the stage where Carlotta stood – mute. She walked up the steps to stand beside the piano, her mouth moving perfectly in time with the music. And from her lips was pouring such an exquisite sound! Her voice was in sore need of training, her throat obviously not warmed up correctly – but the tone, the pitch were perfect; she sang with a clarity that he had not heard for years and the emotion that she poured into it! He knew her pain as she gave it voice. He could not have felt it more deeply than if it had been his own.
She left them stunned into silence. Indeed, he had stopped breathing; not wanting to disturb the spell she had cast with something so unworthy as a heartbeat. They applauded. They never applauded during class. Except for her. It was never earned. Except by her.
She raised her hand to her throat. He found himself wanting to put his own there instead to remove any discomfort she felt. Of course there would have been some strain if she had kept silent all this time. Yet she risked that now? For this? He leaned further forward, the visible side of his face a picture of concern as she was seated on the bench.
She was having that much difficulty?
Madame Giry looking directly at him got his attention. He had not realised he had so exposed himself. He allowed himself to be swallowed by the shadows once more as she checked on her daughter.
But he did not leave.
He observed her movements as she eased the child's problem, noting every movement that she made, every care that she took, the way she held her as well. She obviously couldn't imagine what had happened, for she asked the professor for an answer.
He saw her look as she was shown the music. The hope she displayed was not a faint reflection of his own.
Christine answered.
He watched as mother embraced daughter. He had never seen such emotion on Antoinette's face. He closed his eyes as he savoured the sound of the child's voice – though it had only been a whisper.
It was perfect.
Author's note (again): Hope that answers a few questions and satisfies the suspense. If anyone Irish or with a working knowledge of Gaelic is reading this, my sincerest apologies if I got the spellings wrong. I did get the words from a website, because I love the song and my plot demanded that I use it. So apologies if I got them wrong, but I am not so fortunate as to speak or understand Gaelic (sighs in disappointment). Anyway, for anyone who doesn't know, from the web site, here is the translation which I referred to: Go, go, go, my love, Go quietly and go peacefully, Go to the door and fly with me, And safe for aye may my darling be. Thanks again. Nedjemt.