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Her eyes widened slightly, not expecting this to be the face that she would meet. If anything, she expected a disembodied voice. A black mask was the least friendly thing she could have met. It sucked the light out of the room. What was this man hiding from?
His gaze was affixed to her face, evaluating her. His eyes stared into her soul, picking apart every bit of her psyche. At least that's what it felt like. He was the first to break eye contact, looking back to the solemn figures of M. Giry and M. Ahmadi.
If he threw her out, she would never forgive herself.
"You're the girl from the square." Christine didn't speak, frozen in fear. "Why did you bring her to my study?" He addressed the people behind her. His voice was icy, and all joviality died on her companion's faces. He was just what she remembered in the square.
How she wished her first impression had been wrong.
"Well, sir I-" Madame Giry started. Even she had a slight tremor to her voice.
""-what M. Giry is tryin' to say is that ya promised me lessons.'' She tried to make her voice sound strong, but it betrayed her true trepidation. Her clammy pallor was of no use either. In fact, it was even more condemning.
So many questions stirred in her head. Was he some sort of crime leader? Was that why he had so much money and wore a mask? She had a terrible time concocting a half plausible backstory for him. Either way, she was afraid of him.
"Really?" He looked back at her, his eyes in narrow slits, like a predator evaluating prey. Christine swallowed. She wouldn't be prey.
"Yes, really. If I remember, ya said ya 'ould turn me into a great lady." He stood up from his chair. Christine flinched slightly. He seemed to notice her apprehension.
She really began to wonder how a jovial man like M. Ahmadi could get tangled up in this spider's web.
"I did, didn't I?" His words were slow and deliberate. "Ah, yes. It's coming back to me. Disturbed by your incessant interruptions by your patterns of speech...guttersnipe." the room seemed to drop a few degrees. She huffed.
"Well, I'll 'ave ya know, ya can't go 'round sayin' things like that," she said as angrily as she could muster. Her heart was thudding so loud she swore anyone in the next room could hear it.
"And why not?" Analytical, calculating, and brutish. What not to like? How would he teach her manners if he couldn't even be kind to his guest?
She had a sudden vision of him instructing her how to inflict the most psychological damage on someone after they insulted her creme brulee.
"It in't fair!" he paused at that.
"Well, many things aren't fair, baggage." he looked to Madame Giry. The madame took an audible breath in.
"So why should you learn to be a great lady?" he goaded.
"Because I need a job, and I'm only to get one if I can speak 'ell."
"You want to rise above your station, is that it? In hypothetical, this is too good of an offer to pass up. But, I'm afraid that you're just not fit for it. It would require a wrecking crew. We would have to start from the very foundation." She opened her mouth wide in protest and crossed her arms, wanting to cry. Instead, she yelped a sound of indignation.
"See! That is just what I'm illustrating." He lifted his chin higher, as though he were proud to call her not lady material. She was a lady as good as any.
"But I can pay!" she practically yelled. His eyes locked onto her face again. Interest.
"How much would you suggest you pay?"
"20 francs." It hurt to say. It was the most amount of money she would have ever spent on anything.
"For listening to your squawking all day, that is far too little, and besides I myself have far too much money to know what to do with. I have little use for it." Christine had never punched a soul, but this man was practically begging to be the exception.
"Actually, Erik," spoke Amir, clearing his throat and dissolving the tension, "This is a rather intriguing sort of experiment. I would be willing to cover the cost of the lessons and of other expenses." Her eyes bulged at the mention of a heaping amount of money, but Erik hardly turned his head.
"Thank ya, M. Ahma-"
"It would make everyone in awe of the great maestro." M. Giry cut her off. She hastily added more, "More in awe of the great maestro." No wonder he was so smug, everyone was constantly appealing to his ego!
"Ya 'ould be known 'round the 'orld." That didn't make her adverse to using it for her own benefit, though.
"I'm positive that the achievement would outweigh its cost."
"...And you would fund the experiment, Daroga. Yes?" He leaned against the desk.
"Of course, you old chap."
"I can say I am not shying away from the prospect." he looked at Christine again.
"So I can 'ave lessons?" all she wanted was to hear an affirmative answer.
"Maybe. I do have better things to do with my time, you know," his voice trailed off.
"Maybe? Well, of course, it's too difficult for you, I can always see if Darius can manage it." Amir began to goad him, picking up a pen and paper.
"Darius? Oh no Daroga, I will be doing this experiment. Put down that paper right now, man." He sounded competitive, as the prospect of anyone else doing it was absurd.
"Ya will let me?" she looked to him eagerly. He looked vaguely amused.
"On three conditions." her eyes widened like saucers. "One is that you must at least make an effort to get better at speech. I can't have you embarrassing me."
"'Course I will!" he grimaced.
"The other is that you should make an effort to not blow my eardrums out every time you talk." It was her turn to grimace at him.
"All 'ight then." she said quieter. Her nose was beginning to run, so she used her sleeve. Erik started away at that.
"M. Giry, get this girl a handkerchief." Madame fetched one from her pocket.
"Do not use your sleeve under any circumstances. Your sleeves are to cover your arms, your handkerchief is to wipe anything that runs off your face. Does that make sense?" He spoke quickly.
"Yes." She took the handkerchief from M. Giry. "whats the 'hird rule?"
"Don't ask, touch, or otherwise mention the mask." His voice was deadly serious. She decided, then and there, that whatever lay beneath was not worth the trouble of his wrath. Christine nodded.
"I suspect with diligent instruction, as soon as six months you will be prim and proper and ready to sell flowers at a shop."
"Thank you!" He only offered her a small glance, then ignored her.
"Now, M. take the girl-,"
"-Christine Daae-," M. Giry supplied.
"Christine upstairs and soak the grime off her. Sandpaper it off if you have to. Also, order her some dresses. She can't be seen in things like that."
"But, shouldn't we tell her exactly what she's getting into?" Interjected M. Giry.
"How so?" Questioned Erik. He began to pace in the space behind his desk.
"Well, it would only be decent to tell her exactly what she's getting into."
"She knows what she's getting into! That's why she volunteered."
"I just want her to be aware of the possible...consequences of her actions." Christine was getting anxious. What sort of consequences will she face?
"Bah! Consequences. The only consequence she'll have will be an improvement in a speech. Ah, but the Dargoa, he'll have his pockets drained." M. Giry stared at him with incredulity. "Now, please, take her away to be bathed, or I'll have to throw the baggage out myself."
"Ah!" She yelled as M. Giry took her wrist and began dragging her out of the room, leaving the two men alone.
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As soon as Genevive Giry and Christine were gone, Amir closed the door. Erik sat down and groaned into his hands.
"I can't believe you, Daroga." He seethed.
"Don't place the blame on me. You did it all yourself."
"I think not. You had a hand in this fiasco." And a fiasco it would be.
"It's only six months, Erik, she'll greatly appreciate the opportunity, you know." Oh, he knew. His ears were still smarting.
"I only hope she'll give charity to my ears." he paused, "If I were in a worse mood today I would ship you back to Tehran with just a wooden crate." The headaches that man gave him were a sight to behold.
"What have you done?" Erik groaned again. Maybe the girl would catch on quickly. A quick and painless 3 months. He doubted that. Curse his pride. He really didn't know why he did anything these days. If anything went wrong, he would blame the great idiot, Amir.
"If anything, Erik, it was your fault. Someone should hold you to your lofty words time and again."
"This close." He put his index finger just a centimeter from his thumb while slouching on the pile of papers.
"Somehow, I doubt that." Amir came around the back of his chair and stood next to Erik. "It will be a good thing to have new company. I know you tend to dislike me if I'm around too long." Amir chuckled. Erik had to begrudgingly agree with his points. For once, he said something he could agree with. But, he didn't want his old traveling companion to get the wrong idea.
"She was even considerate in handling your… facial abnormality." Erik glared at him. "She seems like the understanding type. And stubborn too. I dare say she could go toe to toe with you." In her eyes, there was a certain shine and spirit, even the dullest of people could note that.
"Bah. She only did not mention it because she was scared out of her wits." What was one more person to alienate out of a sea of hundreds? Though Erik was bitter, it still hurt him every time a person looked at him with fear. That was why he stayed inside most of the day.
"It wouldn't make do to have your protege afraid of you," he said after a moment.
"My protege! If anything, she's your protege! Even if I do manage to get her notes sounding in the pitch, you will be long gone." The Daroga looked at him skeptically.
"Have some patience, man. It's never too late to learn."
"Never too late to learn, you old curmudgeon. It's never too late to learn not to meddle in my affairs!" Amir scoffed.
"When was the last time you said that? Five years? Ten years, even?" Erik scowled.
"The sentiment still rings true."
"Horsefeathers! The day that rings true I'll be in England watching pigs fly!"
"Hmph! I can not believe your audacity, Daroga. It must be the eighth wonder of the world."
"If it is, then, your tenacity is the other!" Erik rubbed his temple.
M. Giry came into the study without warning, the oak door creaking open, disrupting the awkward silence they had dug themselves into. It couldn't have been a better time. She turned to him.
"Your guest is in need of new clothes, M. Laurent."
"I already said something about that, didn't I." The agitation in his tone was palpable.
"I need you to sign for the purchase as it will be coming later today and they need a check." He waved his hand.
"Make Amir sign for it. He agreed to cover the expenses."
"Fine." M. Giry held it out to sign. And he did. Vigorously, as he glared into Erik's eyes. The gall of Amir still astounded him after all this time. It didn't surprise him, though. Any lesser of a man would have packed up and left years ago. "Will lunch be served soon?" He addressed M. Giry.
"Yes, M. Ahmadi."
"And Madame set another place at the table," Erik ordered as she was on her way out. He would have to teach Mlle. Daae table manners, a vicious, vicious thing for the untrained.
"Yes, sir."
M. Giry then left the two to their own devices.
Terrible, terrible renditions of the upcoming meal stirred around in his head. Mostly to do with the manners of a certain Mlle. Daae.
"Do you think she'll chew with her mouth closed, Amir? Will she attempt to eat the table cloth? Will she think the palate-cleansing jelly is the main course?" His stomach turned at the thought.
"Only time will tell, Erik." His friend looked at him sympathetically.
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.
Amir was excited and slightly apprehensive to see how this would pan out. But, mostly excited. In fact… he might try to place a few bets with the cleaning staff and Genevieve after dinner...
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Meanwhile...
Christine shook M. Giry's hands off her arm and began to walk herself proudly down the hallway, passing a few rooms.
"It's this way, Mademoiselle Daae." M. Giry was pointing up the stairs. It turned out she had cleared the steps by about ten feet! She pivoted up the steps, not showing her embarrassment. She would have time to learn the layout of the house later. Later!
It was only beginning to sink in. She would be staying at this beautiful house for six months! Everything about her life would change. Besides the terrible company, which she passionately hoped would get better, everything about these six months would be amazing.
The two women reached the top of the stairs, stopping in a hallway of about six rooms. M. Giry nodded her head to the farthest one down the hallway.
"This will be your room Mlle. Daae." She opened the door slowly. It was like a dream. The bed was a cream white, the carpet was a deep, ornate blue and the wallpaper was like a flower garden. There was a dresser, a wardrobe, and a sink. She really couldn't believe she would be staying here. The room was fit for a princess! Christine felt so out of place like she stuck out like a sore thumb.
"This is my room,?" she asked timidly. M. Giry gave her an odd look, as she did tell her that the room was hers just moments ago.
"Yes." Christine wiped away a tear. The room was fit for a duchess, and Christine was most assuredly not a duchess. Yet.
"Thank ya."
"Don't thank me yet, we still have a lot of work to do." She jumped to attention. "We have to measure you for your new outfits." New outfits! Even if M. Giry gave her the blandest, unfashionable, saggy monstrosity, it would be better than the threadbare garb she inhabited now.
"Come in Agnes!" M. Giry beckoned the seamstress in. Agnes positioned Christine on a raised platform. She wrapped the measuring tape practically everywhere in a whirl of movement, writing what appeared to be chicken scratch on a small paper book.
She didn't quite know how to stand when being mustered for such things, but apparently being as still a statue was the right way to go about it.
"Thank you, Agnes."
"I'll be back later today, Madame." she left the room.
"Thank ya, Agnes!" Christine yelled after her cheerily. M. Giry gave her a tight-lipped smile. "When you have guests, please do not shout at them." She looked down at her feet.
That was when M. Giry began to push her into the bathroom. Her bedroom had an en suite! If she could, she would have addressed a letter to the world proclaiming her happiness.
"Ayh! What's 'hat for?" She was not to be jostled on her way to getting clean.
"A bath. We can't have you stain your garments with dirt the moments you wear them." Christine, in all her life, had never seen such an enormous bath before. It was a claw-foot porcelain beast that looked capable of drowning a 200-pound man.
"I'm afraid I'll have to take your clothes, Mademoiselle"
"Why?" If she dared to take her mink, there would be hell to pay.
"To be burned, of course."
"Ahy!" Christine crossed her arms indignantly and stopped in her steps.
"Don't fuss, we'll dress you up like a lady after you bathe." M. Giry closed the door behind her as she went out, and Christine locked the door. Privacy was one thing she had missed greatly. It wasn't afforded to young women in one-room shacks. Speaking of the one-room shack, she had to write to her father! He had to know she was alright, and vise versa.
She was worried about him greatly but trusted M. Valerius with her father's life.
She sat in there for a good long while, admiring the airiness of the room. With the amount of natural light it got, it gave the appearance of living on a cloud. It had been so long since she had a moment to breathe and truly introspect.
She knew that M. Giry would begin to worry about her, so she scrubbed and scrubbed until her loofa was grimey with soot. Her water was turning a suspiciously dark color, so Christine got out quickly, not wanting to marinate in the dirt.
She didn't quite know how to drain the thing but figured Madame Giry would teach her to do it later. She put on a robe hanging near the radiator. Christine unlocked the door to observe two young women tidying the room and putting away various articles of clothing. She smiled broadly. Her very own closet!
The maids rushed out of the room. entered and almost bumped into her.
"Oh, dear! I didn't see you there." she smoothed down her skirts, brushing imaginary dirt off of them.
"It's 'lright." M. Giry threw open the closet and began pulling garments. They really had accounted for everything! Chemises, a corset, bodices, underskirts, overskirts, the whole lot! It was overwhelming. She suddenly felt very guilty about not paying.
"So, do i 'ave to pay for any of this? I 'ould always pitch in. I feel 'ery guilty."
"No, no, no! That would certainly not do. All of the expenses are covered." she nodded her head very slowly. "Well, Mlle. Daae, I will leave, but if you need any help," she looked over to the pile of clothes, "Do not hesitate to ask." she left quickly.
Christine sat down in the chair, examining the fabric. It was a beautiful light blue color. What M. Laurent had said about draining M. Ahmani's pockets would certainly be true if they kpt buying dresses like this for her. If she ran away with one of these dresses, it would fund her food supply for weeks!
She managed just fine putting on the layers, only getting 'tied up' when she had to secure the petticoats and overskirt together with a ribbon. She smoothed down the fabric.
Christine went over to the nearest mirror, a floor-length ordeal, to see how she looked. She would have given all her meager possessions to show the ensemble to everyone she knew. They would hardly recognize her. If she passed the flower sellers now, they would only think her to be an exquisitely fashionable young woman. For some reason, the thought stabbed her with melancholy.
She gave a little twirl in the reflective surface, not able to tear her eyes from the transformation. Now that she looked the part, she only had to speak well to bring the illusion together.
"Madame Giry!" M. Giry rushed in, glancing around the room, most likely checking to see if something were off. Her eyes settled on Christine.
"You mustn't yell like that unless there's a fire." She said this very calmly. Christine vowed to lower her voice. "That bath did you well, Mlle. Daae."
Christine probably smiled more that day than she had the past month combined.
"Thank ya." She bobbed her head.
"You should be off to lunch now."
"Lunch?"
"Since you will be staying here, it's only natural you will eat here too." she hadn't eaten since the morning, and it was already nearing one o'clock. Sure, she had gone without food for longer, but the smell of ham was not there to tempt her.
"'hat sounds lovery, M. Giry."