Thank you to all who left the really kind reviews on my last chapter! I appreciate them very much. This chapter took much longer than what I would consider normal, I had less time to write than what is usual. I hope you continue to like it. Read and review!
"Rise and shine!" A vague voice called out to Christine. She clenched her eyes closed tighter as she heard the pull of the curtains on the metal rail. The light was shining directly onto her eyes. She rolled over, into the nice, sunlight-free side of the bed. For a moment, she thought that she was back in her cottage or even in the tin shack, but had quickly dispelled the thought. The bed was much too comfortable for that.
That was when she heard more scrapping of the metal, which led to more sunlight infiltrating her closed lids. All she wanted was five more minutes of sleep on this cloudlike bed.
A hand began to shake her.
Her eyes popped open and she looked around the room. This wasn't her bedroom in the little cottage in Sweden or was it the tin shack. it was a new chapter in her life, rising like the dawn. She looked up at the maid who shook her awake. It was the same one from last night.
"I hope you don't mind too much, Mlle. Daae, but we have to get some breakfast in you before your lesson. You weren't waking up." her hand moved to wipe away the sleep from her face. It didn't work.
"Ya were fine," she groaned sluggishly, sad to depart from her dear pillows. This was probably the best night of sleep she had ever had and was reluctant to leave it. She forlornly trudged from it to the vanity. The clothing from last night was gone.
The dressing process was a torpid one for Christine. She couldn't bear to send away the maid. It easily could end up that she would collapse again, into the bed, until some late hour. That would not do for her first day. Then, she really would prove to be some good-for-nothing- guttersnipe.
She felt like a doll being tugged around the room at a breakneck pace. Well, breakneck for someone so heavy-eyed.
The maid examined her hair very carefully while pinning it up.
"Your hair is very thick, Mlle. Daae." Christine racked her brain for what the woman could have meant. Was she praising her? Insulting her? Trying to make causal conversation?
"Erm, well…" she trailed off.
"Mlle. Daae, I meant that your hair is very nice."
"...uhh...thank ya." she was sure she had the most dumbfounded expression imprinted upon her face.
"'M only saying whats true." The maid handled her hair very carefully, in a way that reminded her of her father when he was well. Her curled hair was prone to snagging and was terrible to brush after she washed it.
Ten minutes were spent twisting her hair into a piled-high arrangement. The maid passed her a hand mirror. She gazed into the reflection of the lady staring back at her. Christine hoped that seeing the perfect version of herself staring back at her in the mirror would never get old.
Her hand brushed against the loose ringlets that were tucked behind her ears.
"This means a lot to me." Some tears began to gather in her eyes.
"We can't have you mussing up your beautiful powder? Can we?" The maid hastily took the mirror from her hands and tucked it back into a drawer.
Soon enough, she was being dragged off to a less formal dining room. It was a miniature of the first. Practically. She passed a few women and men, bustling around the place, fixing things up, maintaining the room.
It struck her then, he had two dining rooms, heaven knows how many more. She had never had one designated space for eating, not to even think of two. How was he so rich?
Christine only had knowledge of practical things, like where to find the lowest costing beans or other goods. She also knew the salaries of, what she knew to be, low-paying jobs. One thing she did not know was just how much an architect made. She only knew they made houses.
Laid out in front of her was a breakfast for one. It was just as appetizing as the meal that had been served the night before. She scarfed down a croissant, a few danishes, and some sausage. The sustenance was eaten much too quickly for her to get any flavor out of it. If anyone else were there, they might have complained she was eating like a pig.
Midway through her hurried meal, she noted the time on the clock, a brief ten minutes until seven. So, she finished the crumbs on her plate and got to her bench. She liked to think of it as her bench as she had seen no one else sit there.
After about five minutes of waiting, the door began to creak open, to reveal an M. Laurent in once again perfect attire. Seven in the morning and he was already looking like he had gone to some fancy event at the newest restaurant in who-knows-where.
All but for the mask. Why did he still wear it? Some skin condition? M. Ahmadi did not seem phased by this in the slightest, nor M. Giry, so she supposed he should not be phased as well.
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Erik was in a blind panic. The night before, he had gone to sleep with the lesson plans unwritten and no instructions concerning anything about the new guest. In the morning he found that, interestingly enough, the papers hadn't written themselves.
So he set to work. Before his meager portion of food and before dressing, he threw together everything he would need to reference for the next month, filled with visions of grandeur. If she was as good as he thought then he would have to begin drafting a...persuasive...letter to some old managers he once knew.
After this, he opened a door disguised as a closet. Inside was a spiral staircase that went all the way down t the basement, his private refuge.
There were two staircases down to his chambers, and select members of the staff knew about one, while he concealed this entrance. As the architect of the building, he had preserved the outside, while practically gutting everything in. This led to a plethora of secret passages in and out of every room. Erik liked his secrets, after all. Not that he had much use for them, besides scaring the occasional member of the maintenance staff.
Soon enough, M. Giry caught on, like the blasted woman always did. Of course, she had to spoil his fun.
She warned angst scaring them no longer. They were gaining a reputation by having an environment not very conductive for new employees. Or any employee for that matter. So, he had to reel it in. It was a shame, too. He hadn't any real fun in years.
He still used the tunnels, yes, but never popped his maskless face out of the air vents anymore.
The most anyone complained was of mice. Erik knew very well the measures he went to keep this one of the only places in the city without rats and had a great source of amusement whenever someone filed a complaint.
In the heart of the passages was a concealed basement. He would only settle for an entire floor to himself. It had no windows, just like his study, and was a paradise on earth.
The chambers he sometimes inhabited were even darker than the office. Lit only by a few sparsely laid-out candles. Despite this, it was an opulent room, surrounded by beauty. In the centerpiece, a coffin on a raised dais distracted the eye. He hardly ever slept in it.
After washing up and carefully selecting a mask from one of his many mannequin heads, finally, he was really to greet the day. It was one hour until the lesson. For some unknown reason, his heart was hammering.
Erik worked at his desk, writing a few paragraphs half-heartedly in his jagged script. He attempted to focus on the things he had to do before him, but seem to capture what exactly he was trying to say. Something much more interesting and captured his attention.
Mlle. Daae would soon be singing right here in this very study.
His study! It racked his nerves, and he clutched the pen tighter. It was no longer writing anything.
As the time neared closer to when he would hear her voice, he couldn't push her from his mind. Not that he wanted to in any way. He once again revised the plans for today, unable to focus on anything else.
Erik had the sudden compulsion to clear his piano and desk of papers in order for it to look semi-presentable for Mlle. Daae. Why he wanted to clear up what a mystery, and why he did it was an even bigger one.
After some cleaning fueled by his nervous energy, it was the only thing his mind had room for, the time was nearing when he would see her.
But first, he had to get through the three hours of her speaking. The sooner she would be able to speak the right vowel sounds, the better it would be for both of them. Erik, although complimentary of her singing voice, could still not stand her speaking one. The sooner Mlle. Daae was able to speak, she could become the great lady as she wished.
He could hardly wait.
Eventually, he abandoned work altogether and contented himself to watch the clock. At last, the clock had reached seven. He did not open the door until then, not wanting to appear too eager.
He hurriedly opened the door to see the lovely Mlle. Daae looked more lovely than usual. He scrunched up his face, not knowing why all of a sudden he viewed her as lovely. As quickly as he saw her, she was gone, straight into his study.
He smoothed his hand over his wig, checking for any inconsistencies, and closed the door with his sweaty hand. In anticipation of a long day playing the piano, he had decidedly chosen to not restrict his movement in any way. If Mlle. Daae was disturbed by the hands of a corpse, he hoped that she would have the sense not to tell him.
She was once again waiting behind her chair.
"Mlle. Daae, please sit down." She sat down quickly, smiling slightly. He ran over to his desk, pulling out his notes, and leafed through them. Though his notes were still fresh in his mind, he had to keep up appearances of being busy.
"So...what will we be doin' today?" her fingers drummed against the chair's arm.
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Christine was much more at ease this time around. was in better spirits, thank goodness, and appeared to be just as nervous as her. Well, he appeared to be, things were never as they seemed when masks obscured them. She turned her head to the sound of his voice.
"And a good morning to you too," Mlle. Daae. as you so curiously asked a moment ago, we shall be practicing your vowels." she had no energy to argue with him, so she kept her mouth shut. He went over to a large roll of paper with a needle, very similar to the one on the gramophone, and turned it on. The cartridge rotated around itself, leaving lined marks on the paper.
"And this is to record the soundwaves coming out of your mouth." He enunciated, and in his wake, the lines drawing on the cartridge began to squiggle into peaks and crests.
"A, E, I, O, U." M. Laurent practically yelled. Each sound made a unique set of lines that resembled waves. He pointed to one of them.
"This is an e, you should be able to produce a similar-looking soundwave." he traced the length of the pen mark, "I will evaluate you in comparison to my own when I come back." It looked to her that he was going to leave the room while she was going to speak the letters.
Although she was quite peeved he wouldn't have to suffer along with her, Christine was equally as grateful to not have someone watching her.
Her stomach turned at the thought of him watching her mess up, time and time again. She fiddled with her skirt, twisting some of the fabric between her hands.
He replaced the paper with a new cartridge and rolled it out across the desk. A desk which was surprisingly clean. Had he finished all of the work encompassed in the papers? Or had he just stashed it elsewhere? Was there a broom closet chock full of half-read papers just laying around the corner?
"Despite that fact, your noises are quite terrible, it would be more conducive for me to listen to you. Alas, you can not have the tiniest bit of disrupting sound, so I must step out. Quite a shame," it didn't sound like such a shame as he made it out to be, "You will commence as soon as I leave the room. Just flick the switch," Gesturing to a side switch, "if you can manage that."
He left and shut the door behind him.
She flicked the switch and repeated her vowels. The first few times around she stuck strictly to the program, but repeating the same words, again and again, was a tiring exercise in human repetition.
"Ai, Eeh, Iho, ow, yew." The words had begun to sound like gibberish.
"Ai eEH IHO OW YEW." She screamed out her misery into the recorder, hoping that terrible man would hear her. She had completely revised her opinion about him. He was one for cruel and unusual punishments.
It turned out that shouting for ten minutes was not any better for her suffering voice, so she went back to quietly whispering the words. M. Laurent was right, this machine picked up every sound.
Her throat was getting dry. She looked around the room for a water pitcher. Did he have no regard for his guest's needs? She knew it was a customary thing to offer water or some hot beverage for visitors. Thinking back, he had done none of that. Maybe the M. Laurent fellow would allow her some water?
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Erik was ever so patiently waiting outside, or as patient as his mind would let him manage. He was grateful for soundproofing that room at that moment. He could only imagine the atrocious croaking she would be creating, filling the room. Yes, he was very grateful to himself, highly indebted, really.
He sat down on the little bench he had on the outside of his office, normally used whenever he had visitors. Suffice to say, it was not a commonly used attribute in his home, but neither were the guest rooms. He had two guests and many regrets.
He waited for a good ten minutes. Thank his foresight for installing clocks everywhere in the house, he knew exactly the time, at all times.
Erik burst through the door, not bothering to knock. Mlle. Daae was staring at him intently and had stopped speaking. The only sound was the rustle of paper.
"Are you done, Mlle. Daae?" He smoothed his hair and brushed some lint off his waistcoat.
"Ya." He walked over to her and flicked the switch off, pulling the paper off the spool. He laid it down, flat, next to the other one.
At first, the lines appeared to be quite similar, when held up to the light, but they strayed further the longer he looked at them. He pulled the paper out of the roll. Going to the end set of vowels, compared them to the beginning of the paper and his set.
Her newer ones had shown no improvement at all!
"No improvement," Erik said flatly
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No improvement? Was yelling into the blasted thing not an improvement?
"Really?"
"I am sure, yes. We all must start somewhere…" he was still holding the papers up to the light, not a great amount of light, and kept squinting at the lines. M. Laurent was deep in contemplation. To be frank, she didn't know what he was so worried about.
"Mlle. Daae, you must at least try to get better. If not for the sake of yourself, but for all the future- anyone you will meet." He sighed.
"I am tryin' M. Laurent, I really am." She would try later, right now she needed some water.
"Please, repeat your vowels to me." He sounded repulsed by what was coming out of his own mouth. She cleared her throat.
"Ai Eeh Iho-"
"No improvement." He said, in a final manner.
"Aren't ya goin' to offer me water?" She was more than annoyed at him now. Christine stood up with her arms crossed.
"What?"
"Ma throat is dry."
"After only ten minutes and your voice is feeling dry. Wonderful." He pulled a little bell that was connected to the wall. M. Laurent looked her over.
"And do sit back down, Mlle. Daae. It won't do to have you trod all over these fine carpets when being placed in your chair would do just fine." She scowled but complied. "Much better."
"Now, Mlle. Daae, we- you shall be doing three sets of…" he lectured on about technique and practices to improve her vocal strength. If he had a monotone voice, she would have been very inclined to ignore him, but his timbre had her hanging onto every word he said. Whether it be about the Larynx or the proper amount of milligrams of caffeine allowed by a singer's daily diet. He could do very well in various avenues of public speaking.
He moved very little, sitting at his desk, occasionally moving his thumbs.
Christine was mostly glad because she wouldn't have to talk.
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The maid he had fetched came in midway through his speech, rudely interrupting his train of thought.
"-and that, Mlle. Daae is exactly how-" he was ready to launch into a brief bit about which citrus gave the most negative reaction in the acid reflux. The door pounded, unfortunately, and quite rudely, he might add. He looked toward it. Mlle. Daae practically jumped in her seat, not expecting the intrusion.
"Sir?" The maid! He had forgotten all about the maid.
"Yes?" He asked sharply.
"What do you want, M. Laurent?"
"Water." she paused
"Coming right up." he heard the footsteps of the maid plod away.
"Now, Mlle. Daae, as I was saying…" He kept going on and on about technic, skill, etc. Erik didn't know that the woman had it in her, to listen to him go off on some obscure tangent. He would have thought her asleep if she didn't occasionally move a foot or a limb or some other appendage.
He heard the knock at the door again. This time, Mlle. Daae did not jump out of her seat, only turning her head.
"Come in." It was not the maid who came through the door, no.
It was Amir carrying a water pitcher.
"Why are you here, you great buffoon?" Amir sat the pitcher down on his desk. Erik shooed him and his water container away from the nice wood. He stood there awkwardly not knowing what to do. Good.
"Nice to see you as well, M. Laurent."
"M. Laurent? When have you ever referred to me by my last name? It's always been Erik this, Erik that."
"You seemed a...touch hostile, Erik."
"A touch hostile…" he grumbled.
"He is in one of his moods, isn't he?" That Daroga has the absolute audacity to address her and not him?
"'e was fine until ya came in."
"How interesting." Amir looked straight at Erik, causing him to almost melt into a puddle. "And Mlle. Daae, how well are your lessons going?" He maintained eye contact. Erik moved slightly taller in his chair.
"Very well."
"So he isn't grinding you to a pulp, then?" Erik could take no more!
"I am not, Amir, I am treating her perfectly well!" The Daroga raised an eyebrow.
"That is a refreshing thing to hear." Erik pressed his lips together into a thin line.
"Quite." He made his move to exit. "Amir, where are you going with that water?"
Amir promptly looked down to see that the pitcher was still in his hands. He shoved it ull force into Erik's open ones.
"Happy now?"
"Goodbye, M. Laurent." Amir left. That pompous, saucy, arrogant-
"As ya were sayin'?" Mlle. Daae looked up at him with wide eyes and a guileless smlie.
He felt his heart racing again.
"As I was saying…" he sputtered out…" Could you remind me of exactly what I was saying?" He leaned an arm casually on his desk, attempting to be confident.
"Citrus." She dropped her hands onto her dress.
"Ah yes, citrus…"
He couldn't help but focus on her as he spoke, not make eye contact, no. He observed the subtle ways her shiny hair bounced on her shoulder as she turned to look at the time or the way her shoes scraped slightly against the carpet.
He tried to ignore it, but her radiance always drew him back in. Her radiance! How had he come up with that? It might have been that she was the brightest thing in the room, a sunbeam.
"With that, I think we shall break for lunch. I will see you after, maybe an hour."
"Ya won't be eatin' with me like yesterday?" Erik would have loved to, but he enjoyed the solitude of a lunch that didn't include his mask as he sat on the top of his townhome.
"I will not be." Her face fell slightly.
"Oh, oh well." She resumed her neutral expression and went to leave.
"Wait!" He called out. She looked at him expectantly, turning around, "I will have M. Giry show you to the dining room."
"Why thank ya." She waved a little. He lifted his hand slightly, but she had left before he could wave it back.