DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything even remotely affiliated with the Phantom of the Opera including but not limited to: Gaston's book, Susan Kay's book, Andrew Lloyd Webber's Musical works, etc.
The morning snow had fallen as the dutiful sun rose behind the barren apple orchard. Children from the houses down the road were awaking in awe of the winter landscape and hopes of presents, while servants traveled down the road to spend time with their families.
Christmas morning meant nothing to Erik as he continued on with his new composition. He had found the piano hidden in an old music room underneath piles of parchment, books, and inches of dust. He had taken such care to cleanse the instrument of its overburden. His masculine fingers gently caressed the keys to denote how much repair and tuning would be needed. He lifted the encasement to view the miraculously protected interior. The strings were all intact and the only hints of its disuse came from the dust that lay within.
Erik was unaware of the world. He droned on and on into the morning with his music neglecting to feed himself or seek out others to tend to his home. Hours passed and his aching body stayed seated upon the satin piano bench. Erik had been so engulfed in his music he had not heard the knock on his front door nor the steps upon the staircase or the feminine voice calling out.
The door opened the instant Erik released the keys. He beastly turned toward the creature standing in his doorway. She carried a basket far too large for her short stature filled with unknown heavy objects which caused her to carry it with two trembling hands.
"What you want?" he growled in French. After looking at her face he realized that she did not understand him. He repeated his question once more in English.
"Pardon my intrusion, dear sir," she began with well-sculpted English, "I had noticed that the stables were occupied this morning and well, since it is Christmas, thought that you would like this." She held the large basket out to him with a fearful smile on her face.
He stared at her youthful face. Her rosy cheeks paled the moment he spoke. He watched her with utmost focus and observation as he examined her riding boots up to her dark green wool dress to the clasp of her cloak around her neck and then to her frightened hazel eyes. He was unable to make out the delicate features of her face with the light of one miserable candle. Her breath lingered in the air as he noticed that he had been frantically working these last hours without a fire.
His eyes stared at the basket that he held out intently to him. Various wines, cheeses, and breads, chocolates, and other items had been neatly placed in such fashion. A growl let out through his stomach as he continued to peer into the basket.
He resolved himself to being a gentleman to her. True, she has trespassed upon his home. True, she had rudely interrupted his composition, but he was in England now, and his identity unknown. He did not wish to draw any sort of attention to himself by the nobles who lived in proximity to his home. Mystery would be alright, but a man frightening the daughter of a nobleman would make gossip.
He reached out for the basket and placed it on a chair beside his bookshelf. "May I ask you, my dear, why you are indeed away from your home so close to sunset without an escort? Unfortunate things happen to young ladies when they travel alone?" he questioned her.
He was shocked at his faux concern. She had half expected him to scream at her and demand she leave his home. She went to speak, but could only stand there with her mouth open.
"Cat got your tongue, my dear?" he rasped, "perhaps you can answer why you so rudely barged into my home and interrupted my work? A girl of your upbringing would surely have been taught better."
He saw her eyes blink several times. Her face grew angry as she spoke once more.
"My lord," she paused to collect her thoughts, "first of all, with regard to your question about my escort, my family seems to think that I am not in need of one traveling to your home because I live in the manor just beyond your apple orchard. However, I do not see how my escort is any business of yours. Secondly, the only reason I intruded into your home is because you or your servants never answered the door. I did, however, apologize. I also apologize for interrupting your work, but my God it is Christmas. The last thing in the world I expected anyone to be doing is working."
She inhaled once more bringing her hands around her waist as to assimilate warmth.
"Lastly, I am not a girl, although my face appears to be rather young, I assure you I am not. I am twenty-six years old and do come from rather good breeding if I do day so myself. My manners are not of your concern."
He was surprised by her independent nature. He had half a mind to slap her across the face for talking so coldly to him.
"Leave," he snarled as he sat once more at his piano.
"But sir," she began.
"Leave," he interrupted her, this time with an elevated volume.
Not wanting to risk further anger to him and realizing that the night was most likely upon them. She turned her heel and made her way out of the room.
"For what it is worth, my lord. Happy Christmas." she whispered as she closed the door.
He heard her steps down the stairs and out the front door. She did not hurry or stop to look upon any of the items in his home. He had wondered if she has ill intent, but reserved himself in the notion that women of high breeding had no such malicious attributes. He wondered why anyone would even consider visiting him on Christmas.