A/N: Thanks to MooMoo-Sama and Emma-J-Riddle for your reviews!
Chapter Six
"A choice"
Claire stood in the center of her room singing the aria from act III of Hannibal to Erik who stood in the corner. And oh Lord, here comes the cadenza! With every note her voice climbed higher. She could feel herself straining. Claire took a gasping breath. She made it! She looked to Erik very pleased with herself.
"You will have to do better then that to get the lead in Hannibal." Said Erik flatly.
Claire let out a cry of frustration. "I won't get the lead! My father would never allow it! So exactly what am I pushing myself for?" She sat down stiffly on her bed and glared at the wall.
"Never mind your father," Said Erik walking forward. "You will get the lead."
Claire stomped her foot angrily as she stood. "And just how am I supposed to do that when I can't board at L'Opera? I can't just disappear on father he would alert the police!" Just as the last words left her mouth she heard what sounded like a cry of anguish from down stairs. "What was that?" Claire turned to the door then turned back to Erik but he was not there. "Erik?" Another cry came from downstairs. Claire left her room and ran to the drawing room (which was the source of the sound) and went in. She was taken aback by the scene before her. The nurse had dissolved into tears, father looked close to exploding in his wheelchair, and standing in front of them was…the stern-looking woman from L'Opera Populaire!
The woman turned to Claire. "Ah, Miss Daaé! Go pack your things we're leaving for L'Opera."
"No, you are not!" Said father his face red as a beet.
"I assure you, Monsieur," said the woman. "That de Phantom of L'Opera is no more. No harm will come to de girl."
"I don't believe you!" exclaimed father as an inaudible sob came from the nurse.
Suddenly something clicked in Claire's head. Erik had called himself a Phantom and the people at L'Opera spoke of an Opera Ghost. Could Erik and the Opera Ghost be one and the same? If so then this lady of the Opera was lying through her teeth and she knew it.
"Father," said Claire with a curtsy. "Surely you do not believe in ghosts. After all you have told me many times, quite firmly I might add, that ghosts do not exist. So by your own word there is no danger in my living at L'Opera." Claire turned to leave and get her things but her father said,
"You cannot go!" He sounded desperate. The nurse sobbed again.
Claire turned back to father. "I can take care of myself father. But I would rather not leave with out your consent. Please, father give it to me."
"You will not go to L'Opera Populaire! If you go I…I will disown you!" Father nearly screeched, his poor aged voice giving out.
Claire thought for a moment. Was following her dream worth destroying her already brittle relationship with her father? Could she stay in her dead life with her father where she would inevitably be forced into marrying the Comte de Gabriel whom she did not love? Could she leave all she had ever known behind to be on the stage? It was duty versus freedom. "Then, father…" Claire looked her retched father in the face. "You must disown me for to L'Opera Populaire I go." She watched for a second as her father seemed to shrink into nothing. And then she turned her back on him and headed to her room to pack.
Claire practically ran about her room gathering her most precious belongings. A dress of her mother's, her old Ballet shoes, the music Erik gave her (along with all her other music), her book copy of Romeo and Juliet, and several other trinkets. After she put them all in her suitcase she began packing the practical things she would need (changes of clothes etc.). She finished packing in record time and made her way back down the stairs for what she hoped would be the last time. The lady from L'Opera was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
"There is a carriage awaiting us outside." She said shortly.
Claire was following her to the door when she heard someone call her name. She turned around; it was Emma.
Emma pulled Claire into a tight hug. "I heard all about it." She sniffed. "I'll come and see you perform sometime, I promise." She squeezed Claire one last time and then let go.
"Goodbye, Emma." Said Claire kissing her on the cheek and then stepping outside into the cold air. There was a black carriage standing in front of her. The lady from L'Opera helped her in before climbing in herself.
"By the way, Miss Daaé, my name is Madeline Giry. I am de Singing Master at L'Opera Populaire."
"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle." Said Claire as the carriage began to move. She leaned her head out of the window and watched as her once house disappeared slowly out of view along with Emma who was franticly waving goodbye from the front steps.
It did not take long before they arrived at L'Opera Populaire. It had only been a week since Claire had last seen it but it was drastically changed. The windows, which were once boarded up, now held perfectly transparent glass and the dirt and grime that had been stuck to the outer walls was gone. Leaving the Opera House in all its former glory.
Claire and Madeline Giry stepped out of the carriage onto the white marble steps leading to the entrance of the Opera. Claire could feel and hear her heart pounding in her chest. She was going to live at L'Opera Populaire and she would be on stage! Her dream, which had seemed so far away but an hour ago, was right there before her eyes. They had reached the doors and two servants opened them from the inside. Claire gasped. The magnificence of the Entry alone took her breath away. Every way she looked was gold, marble, and silver; paintings hung between windows and workers all up ladders were restoring what would soon be a breathtaking ceiling. The pure white marble floor made a clinking noise as Claire and Madeline Giry's shoes came in connect with it. There was hardly any evidence of the horrific fire that had ravaged L'Opera years before.
They had gone half the length of the room when Madam Giry, looking as though she were in the midst of a fit of hysterics, came out from nowhere and came towards them (she was holding an envelope written in red ink with a red scull seal).
"Good, there you are!" Exclaimed Madam Giry. "By order of the Opera Ghost," She waved the letter. "The Opera to be performed has been changed. We will be performing Faust and you, Miss Daaé, are in the lead role of Margarita. Now get to the stage! Rehearsal is starting!"
"But I—" It was too late her suitcase had been whisked away and she herself was being whisked away to the stage. Before Claire could really get a grasp of what was happening she was standing on stage with a whole company. She had a script in her hand (along with a monstrous amount of sheet music) and was having blocking shouted at her by Madeline Giry (A/N: From now on Madeline is Mademoiselle Giry and Meg is Madame Giry. Just so as you don't mix them up). And it didn't help matters that the Ballet Master, an Italian Claire hadn't caught the name of yet, was yelling at the corps de Ballet at the same time.
"No, no! Your other left foot! My God, girl!" The Italian nearly screamed to a poor girl who was trying to dance but kept melting into sobs as she couldn't get the steps right and was messing up the rest of the corps de Ballet.
"Everyone!" Shouted Mademoiselle Giry over all the noise of the piano, the dancers, the singers and directors. "We will be running de scene from de top of de Ballet!" (A/N: Because people have been confused about this; normally when Mademoiselle Giry says "de" she does not mean "of" she means "the" it's just me writing out her slight French accent)
Claire hurried off stage left to await her cue in one of the wings amongst the flurry of skirts and rush for the rosin boxes. And then the piano began to play and the stage was filled by the corps de Ballet.
Claire watched from her wing as the Ballet played out almost flawlessly (the Italian looked in pain nonetheless). It reminded Claire of how much she missed the Ballet. Father—no, he was the Vicomte to her now—had made her quit Ballet just a year before.
The Ballet ended and the man playing the role of Doctor Faust began the scene.
Claire listened closely, she only had one entrance in act one and she wasn't about to miss it.
"And here she comes!" Said 'Doctor Faust' after a goodly length of time.
Claire walked out on stage, the blinding lights hitting her face. She walked to stage center, did her big circle while smiling as directed, and exited stage right. Claire took a deep breath. Well, so much for act one.
Since Claire did nothing more in act one (and the rest of rehearsal was devoted to act one) she spent her time getting used to the backstage, it was very different then it had been before the renovation. Scenes and scene-shifters hung way above one's head in the Flies, prop tables lined a wall and quick change costume racks the other. Small halls branched off and lead to the wings. A main door in the center opened to the stage center entrance. Claire also spent a good amount of time reading over her script and sheet music. After what seemed like hours (and in all likely hood it was indeed hours) Mademoiselle Giry dismissed the cast from rehearsal. Claire timidly went up to Mademoiselle Giry. "Um, Mademoiselle, where am I to sleep?"
"Ah, yes, so sorry my dear, I had forgotten. Follow me." She led Claire out of the theatre portion of the Opera House and up a flight or so of stairs. "Your room and board has been paid for in full by de Opera Ghost so you needn't worry about it."
"Where did Er—I mean, the Opera Ghost get the money?" Asked Claire managing to correct herself from saying Erik's name in time.
"His salary of course." Mademoiselle Giry turned a corner and opened a door. "In here is your room, you will share it with Amelie Pinon."
Claire walked into the room as Mademoiselle Giry closed the door; Claire could hear her footsteps fading away. The room was plane but livable. Everything was brown, brown walls, brown floors, two brown wardrobes, only the beds had white linens and the single Vanity (a window was above the Vanity) seemed to have once been white but had turned a pale yellow. Claire noted that her suitcase had been placed on one of the beds, the one on the right, and a schedule had been laid down on the pillow. Claire had just begun unpacking when the door flew open and a fifteen—or so—year-old girl came in and collapsed in tears on her own bed.
Claire assumed this girl was Amelie, her roommate. "Are you alright?" Asked Claire gently.
Amelie lifted her head and looked at Claire as though to ask 'are you stupid or what?' With that she lapsed back into sobs.
Claire did not know what exactly to say. So she stayed silent as she unpacked.