"Maman, it is me. Maman, are you in there?" Giry smiled and opened the door to greet her daughter.
Meg's face was flushed and appeared to be lit from within. Clearly the girl was excited about something. Giry could only hope those silly girls didn't have her chasing after boys. She was aware Meg was prone to girlish fancies, and she worried that one day she'd get herself into serious trouble.
"Oh Maman, Claire and Marianne told me the most delicious story about that woman who talked to you today after rehearsal."
It took a second for her words to register. Meg must be referring to that tall woman, the one who said she was pleased that she was taking over. "Mlle. Burnside? What could those silly girls possibly know about her?" she quizzed her.
"She was the talk of the opera house before we arrived," she said as she flopped onto the bed and the springs groaned in protest. "Did you know she's been here since she was an infant? Her life has just been an absolute tragedy. And now she's old and doomed to be a spinster. It's almost as sad as everything Christine told me about the Phantom after she and Raoul got married."
She chided her daughter sharply, "Meg, Mlle. Burnside is probably only a few years older then yourself. It seems rather foolish for anyone to believe anyone so young will never find happiness. But I do not doubt the girl has lived a harsh life. Anyone who dresses as she does must be trying to protect herself from something," she finished with a Gallic shrug as she took a seat next to her daughter on the small bed they had to share.
Meg turned her small face and bright blue eyes up into her mother's and asked, "Do you want me to tell you what they told me?"
"I suppose I better had, or you'll never get any sleep. Tomorrow I need you at your best. You must set the example for your friends." Meg smiled, tossed her blonde head and she began the unfortunate tale of Mlle. Gianna Burnside.
It had all begun before she was even born. Her mother, Maria Bianci, had been the reigning diva at the Paris Opera for the past three seasons, and looked to have a magnificent career ahead of her. But then, Alasdair Burnside arrived in Paris that spring for his European tour. He was the oldest son of the earl of Winchester, and heir to a great fortune. The two fell headlong in love, but when Maria was found to be with child, he deserted her following a screaming match that rung throughout the rafters of the magnificent opera house. He had screamed he simply could not be sure the brat was his, despite all of Maria's protestations she came to him a complete innocent.
How could he leave her, after promising her marriage? Had he no honor? At that moment, she made a vow for all to hear, their child would bear his name and one day all of Paris would know her name. And so it came to pass, seven months later Maria safely delivered a baby girl she named Gianna. Defiantly, she would insist the surname of Burnside be given to her child. Eventually, people stopped resisting her, and the diva got her way.
The child grew up with the Paris Opera as her playground. She never lacked for company, the dancers and the singers adored the little girl with curls that refused to behave who would dance in the wings during the performances. As soon as she was old enough, her mother enrolled her in the ballet school with the hope her daughter would one day become the house's prima ballerina. For a time, it seemed Maria's vow would come all too true. Gianna displayed a grace beyond her years, and quickly advanced to the forefront of her peers. At twelve, there were already whispers she was being readied for her stage debut.
Then something no one could have foreseen happened; the child simply did not stop growing. True, her father had been tall, but her mother was a tiny slip of a woman with an outsize voice. No one ever thought the child would be taller than her. However, Gianna grew like a weed over the next year, and by fifteen she was as taller than the tallest male dancer in the company. When she danced en pointe she towered over everyone. But her skill was so great that the ballet mistress placed her in the corps de ballet, always careful to relegate her to the back. Occasionally, if there was a solo role available, Gianna was given the part.
But this was not enough for her scheming mother. If Gianna could not be the star, she would have to find fame in some other way. Like most of the other dancers at the opera house, she had some vocal training. Before long, Maria had Gianna practicing for hours, instructing her not to speak to anyone lest she unduly damage her instrument. Gia possessed an impressive range, but to her mother's consternation, it was not the right range. Try as she might, her daughter simply could not reach the notes necessary to be considered a pure soprano. She was a mezzo, and could sing alto if needed. There would be few leading roles for her.
Maria was a well respected woman in the opera house, but she was crushed when the management informed her that Gia would probably never advance beyond chorus girl and understudy. She turned all of her frustration into protecting her daughter from men. Fearing her daughter would fall prey to the same trap as herself, Gianna was forbidden from seeing men, despite her being twenty years old. For the next five years Gianna toiled in the chorus, always performing ably, but after every performance she would simply slip backstage and change into one of the dresses her mother insisted she wear that covered her from her ankles to nearly the top of her neck. While others might attend the galas and masked balls, Gia spent her evenings with her mother.
During the winter, Maria fell ill and Gia, ever the devoted daughter stayed by her side, even missing a chance to take a principal role when the leading mezzo was unable to perform. After her mother passed away, it was expected that Gianna would cast off the unfashionable gowns and campaign to be elevated to principle, threatening to leave the opera for another company that would appreciate her. Instead, nothing changed. Her routine remained the same. And now at twenty-six, she couldn't possibly compete with the lovely petite ballerinas or the more visible members of the chorus for male attention. Alas, she seemed doomed to die a spinster and alone as everyone said.
As Meg wrapped up this rather melodramatic tale, Giry couldn't help but smile. Her daughter was young enough to believe every word, but she was wise enough to know some of it had to be the exaggerations of frivolous girls. Moving slowly and carefully, so as not to disturb her daughter who had recently slipped into the deep slumber of the young and innocent, she made her preparations for bed. As she reached into the closet to hang up her dress, she couldn't help but wonder if Erik had lingered and how much had he heard of the mysterious Mlle. Burnside.
Early the next morning, before rehearsals were to begin, Madame Giry literally ran into Mlle. Burnside who was dashing through the dormitories, and not paying attention to where she was going.
"Forgive me, Madame Giry! I forgot some of my sheet music in my room, and I must fetch it." The woman looked embarrassed, and she helped Mme. Giry to her feet. "I can be dreadfully clumsy sometimes."
"I'm fine, Mlle. Burnside. You shouldn't rush so, I'm sure Monsieur Reyer will wait for you." As it happened, the former conductor and director of the Opera Populaire had resumed his former position at the Paris Opera.
"I shall take your advice, Mme. Giry. However, I am not important enough to hold up his rehearsal. He will begin without me." She began to walk away, but then turned and added, "Please call me Gia. Everyone here does."
After the young woman walked away, Giry heard a light fluttering behind her. She turned toward the direction of the noise, and found Erik lurking in the shadows. His eyes followed the path Gia had taken towards her room. His focus was so concentrated, she could have sneaked up behind him if she chose to. Instead, she cleared her throat, startling him. He whirled around, his black cloak sounding like angel wings as he moved.
"Does she remind you of Christine, Erik that you stare at her so?" The moment the words slipped out of her mouth, she regretted them. Erik advanced on her, his jaw clenched, his voice dripping with barely contained fury, "No woman could EVER take her place! Certainly not some dowdy string bean with a merely pleasant voice."
"Meg tells me she has some talent. Did you not think so?"
"She does the best she can with the voice she has. It has a rather dark quality to it that I do not like. But then, no one will ever have the pure sound Christine did. It is a shame she had to stop dancing. She moves well."
"You can tell in that dress? You must have been observing her rather closely."
"I told you I have been here a month," he retorted. "Did you think I just watched rehearsals and the performances? It was easy to gain access to the chorus dormitories. Aside from that, it's hard to miss someone of her size. She doesn't lock her door either."
"Erik, have you been in her room?" she said with concern in her voice. If he was already watching her sleep, it was only a matter of time before things could get out of hand. No matter his protests to the contrary. There was something about the hunger in his eyes that frightened Giry. Erik had been alone far too long. It was not something they had ever discussed, Erik being far too embarrassed to admit it, but she knew he had to have the same urges as any normal man. She made a mental note to warn the girl when she had the chance.
"Only when she's not there. I am not completely without manners. I was surprised to discover she has quite a book collection. I took the opportunity to borrow some of them. She has a pronounced taste for gothic romance."
"Strange then she seems to eschew male company."
"Perhaps she realizes that fantasies are safer than reality," he finished bitterly. With that, he withdrew, headed toward the upper flies where he could observe the rehearsal from above.