A/N: Well, here it is. An actual long chapter! Told ya it was coming! :) In this chapter we get to see more of Beth. Let me know what you think!!
Big hugs and thanks out to: erik'sangel527 & Summersong for your reviews!! Love ya guys!
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom or its characters.
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........"Music is our myth of the inner life." …..Suzanne K Langer
"Elizabeth, I need to see you after class."
Several of my classmates giggled at that, thinking I was certainly in trouble. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Sometimes I felt so much older than the rest of my classmates.
I could not help but wonder what Mlle Frank wanted, though. By nature I was curious, and patience was most certainly not one of my virtues. Mama always said that I took after Papa in that respect.
By the time class ended I was quite curious about what Mlle Frank wanted. When the rest of my classmates had left Mlle Frank called me to the front of the room.
"Elizabeth, there is someone here who would like to meet you."
I looked around curiously just as an older gentleman in a dark suit entered the room. Another younger man followed him.
"This is Monsieur D'Aubigne and Monsieur Deniaud," Mlle Frank said, motioning towards the older gentleman, then the younger. "Messieurs, this is Mademoiselle Elizabeth deNuit," Mlle Frank said, smiling proudly.
Both of the men bowed slightly and I curtsied. Though I knew I should keep my eyes down, as was the ladylike thing to do, I kept my eyes raised, gauging the men. The older gentleman's face was expressionless, only the slightest flicker of curiosity in his eyes. The younger man just looked bored.
I smiled politely at the men. I was not sure who they were or what they wanted.
"Elizabeth," Mlle Frank said, "These gentlemen are from the Paris Opera House."
Instantly my curiosity was stirred. The Paris Opera House was where my mother and father had met. Where my mother had once been Prima Donna.
"Monsieur D'Aubigne is the manager of the Opera House, and Monsieur Deniaud is the chorus master. They are here to hear you sing."
I gasped, my eyes widening. "What?"
"Young lady, your teacher has corresponded with us about what she calls your remarkable talent. She roused our curiosity sufficiently that we felt we had to hear this phenomenon," Monsieur D'Aubigne said. His voice was rough and his dark eyes were sharp, though not unkind.
"Yes, according to your teacher you are quite the protégé," Monsieur Deniaud said dryly. His grey eyes were mocking as he looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
I understood now. Mlle Frank had boasted about me and the men came to see whether or not I was as good as Mlle Frank had said. Obviously Monsieur Deniaud thought the whole thing was a waste of time. I clenched my jaw and forced myself not to glare at the arrogant young man.
"Come," Mlle Frank said. "Come and hear for yourselves." She ushered the men ahead of her, taking us to the music room.
"You will be fine, Elizabeth," she whispered to me. "You are magnificent. I will explain everything later."
I nodded. I was confused but followed them down the hall to the auditorium.
"Shall we do the piece from Faust, then?" Mlle Frank asked of the two men. Monsieur D'Aubigne nodded and Monsieur Deniaud rolled his eyes.
"A child singing Faust?" I heard him mutter. "This should be amusing."
The two men took seats on the front row, while Mlle Frank led me to the stage. She motioned me to centre stage and I stood there, trying to calm my suddenly fluttery stomach.
"Elizabeth, we will do the song from Act 3, Scene 6: 'Je voudrais bien savior'…" Mlle Frank said and I nodded confidently. Papa and I had practised this piece a million times. I had sung the part of Marguerite many times, and heard Mama sing it as well.
Mlle Frank sat at the piano and began to play. I looked down at the men. Monsieur D'Aubigne was smiling politely and Monsieur Deniaud had his arms folded.
I would show them. I took a deep breath, remembered every last lesson Papa had given me and I began to sing, my voice filling up the empty auditorium, swelling to capture the emotion and the vocal range of Marguerite.
I watched as the men froze at the sound of my voice. They sat up, leaning toward the stage, toward me, as I sang. The look of boredom on Monsieur Deniaud's face changed to a look of utter disbelief, while Monsieur D'Aubigne looked astounded.
"Stop!" M Deniaud called out.
Mlle Frank stopped playing and I stopped singing. Mlle Frank came to stand next to me, her face tight with anger.
M Deniaud rushed up to the stage. "Wait, I should like to hear you sing acapella," he said. There was a calculating look in M Deniaud's eye, one which I understood immediately. He thought this was some kind of trick.
"What shall you have me sing?" I asked and raised an eyebrow, which was something my father always did.
"Anything," he said as M D'Aubigne joined us on the stage.
I began to sing, my anger at the arrogant chorus master pushing away any nervousness I might have felt. The song was one from Hannibal, the song that had gotten my mother her first lead. I hoped it would bring me the same luck it had brought her.
"Think of me, think of me fondly,
When we've said goodbye.
Remember me, once in a while
Please promise me you'll try…"While I sang M Deniaud studied me and when I finished singing, holding the last note out even past where the song required, the two men began applauding. I glanced at Mlle Frank who nodded at me proudly.
She put an arm around my shoulder as we faced the two men, who both looked shell-shocked. Monsieur Deniaud's grey eyes were wide.
"I cannot believe it. If I did not see with my own eyes how old you are I would never have believed that voice could come from one so young," Monsieur Deniaud said. "It was magnificent, absolutely perfect."
Monsieur D'Aubigne wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "Mademoiselle, you were absolutely correct in contacting me. I have never heard such a voice before, and most certainly not from someone fifteen years of age. My dear, you were superb."
"Thank you," I said, my eyes glowing with pride. How Papa would have laughed at the looks on the men's faces!
"Your teacher tells us that your mother once sang at the Paris," Monsieur D'Aubigne said.
"Yes, she was the Prima Donna years ago, before she married my father," I replied.
"What is her name, dear?" M D'Aubigne asked.
"Christine deNuit," I said.
"What was her name before she married?"
"I am not sure," I replied. "She has never said."
M D'Aubigne's eyebrows furrowed. "Ah, well. I did not attend the Paris Opera much before it closed down."
There was a lengthy pause in which the men studied me, and then looked at each other.
"Mlle DeNuit, I would like to offer you a spot in the chorus at the Paris Opera when you are finished with your schooling."
I gasped, staring at the men. "A spot in the chorus?"
"Yes. And no doubt with a voice like yours you will move quickly through the ranks and be Prima Donna someday, just like your mother," M D'Aubigne said.
I stood, stunned, as the men discussed with Mlle Frank the particulars of a contract with the Paris. At sixteen I would be the youngest in the chorus. I would stay in the dormitories. Monsieur Deniaud would be my voice coach; a Madame Marchand was the ballet mistress and would help me with my dancing.
My mind was whirling by the time the men left, promising to keep in touch with Mlle Frank throughout the coming year until school ended.
As soon as they were gone Mlle Frank turned to me and grasped my hands. "Oh, Elizabeth, I knew you could do it. You sang beautifully!"
"Oh, thank you Mlle Frank, thank you for writing to them!" I said.
"I hope your parents will not be upset, but I knew that it would be a wonderful opportunity for you."
"Oh, they will not be upset. My father will be thrilled that I will be singing at the Paris Opera," I said. "I have to hurry home and tell them!"
Mlle Frank laughed. "Come, I will walk with you," she said.
"Thank you," I replied and followed her as she gathered up her belongings. We began walking in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
The Paris Opera House! I thought excitedly. In just a year I would sing on the same stage where my mother had sung.
I imagined myself standing centre stage, singing, Mama, Papa and Stephan on the front row.
Elizabeth deNuit, Prima Donna of the Paris Opera House.
I rather liked the sound of that.
xxx
When we reached the street that led to my house I bid Mlle Frank goodbye and ran the rest of the way home. When I reached the door my hair had come loose from its bun, the wild curls framing my face as I flung the door open and ran to the music room where I found Mama and Papa sitting, talking, on the couch.
"Papa! Mama!" I called as I ran into the room.
They looked up, startled.
Papa smiled at me. "What is it, Bethie?" he asked.
"A man from the Paris Opera House came to school today! Mademoiselle Frank arranged it! He came to hear me sing because Mlle Frank told him I was exceptional. Oh, Papa, he offered for me to be in the chorus once I am done with school!" I said in a rush, trembling with excitement.
There was silence. Mama and Papa glanced at each other and I saw some kind of emotion flicker in his eyes. It was gone in an instant as he pulled me toward him. "Bethie, that is wonderful," he said.
"Monsieur D'Aubigne, he is the manager of the Opera House, he said he has never heard of a fifteen year-old who could sing as well as I," I said. "He said if he did not know better he would have thought I was much older. He wanted me to come now, but Mlle Frank told him I had to finish my studies first. Oh, Mama, can you believe it?"
"That is wonderful, Beth," Mama said, but I sensed the hesitation in her voice. I thought it was likely that she was sad at the thought of me leaving to live in Paris. "You have worked hard and you deserve it. Why do you not go out to the street to wait for Stephan and tell him? He should be arriving soon."
"Oh, yes, I will, Mama!" I said. I gave Papa a quick kiss on his cheek and practically skipped back outside to the end of the drive to wait for Stephan to arrive home from school.
I could not wait to tell Stephan my news. Even though he was two years younger than me, Stephan was my best friend. It sometimes seemed as if he were the older sibling and I the younger. He had always been so serious, had always seemed much older.
There were times I admit that I was jealous of Stephan. He had a wonderful voice and he was so talented! He could play just about any instrument; he had a natural talent with music. I, on the other hand, could not play any instruments though Papa had tried to teach me when I was a child. His blueprints had astounded his teachers and he had a brilliant mind with anything to do with science. His teacher's said he was a genius, and had wanted to send him to an exclusive school, but he did not want to go.
The instant I saw Stephan turn the corner to walk up the drive that led to the house I ran to meet him.
"Stephan, Stephan! You will never believe what happened today at school!" I said excitedly.
"What happened?" he asked, his melodic voice serious.
I told him what had happened. He listened intently, laughing when I told him that the arrogant chorus master had thought we were tricking him. He was proud when I told him what the men had said about my voice. And he was ecstatic when I told him that they had offered me a spot in the chorus when I was done with school.
"That is wonderful, Beth! You will be the star in no time," he said, and I blushed at his praise.
We went inside then and Stephan went to his room to study and I went to my room to look through a book that I had bought the previous year. It was about the construction of the Paris Opera House. In just one year I would be singing there and I wanted to know everything about it!
When it was time for dinner Mama called Stephan and me to help. Stephan set the table while I prepared a salad. Papa had gone for a walk and had not returned. He finally came back right before we were going to eat. I was too excited to notice the tension between my parents.
While we were clearing the table after dinner I turned to Mama and said, "Did you know that there is a lake beneath the Opera House? When they were building the Opera House they discovered it and built around it."
Mama's face went pale. "Why yes, Beth, I did know that," Mama said tightly.
"Did you ever get to see it?" I asked, my eyes wide.
There was a pause. Mama glanced at Papa, who was sitting stiffly in his chair.
"The catacombs beneath the Opera House are off limits to the performers," Mama said finally.
"Oh!" I said. "I so wished to know what it looked like."
Papa stood then and left the room then, heading in the direction of his downstairs music room. I watched him go, wide eyed.
"Did I say something wrong?" I asked, trying to hide the hurt in my voice.
Mama shook her head. "No, Beth, you did not say anything wrong," she said, giving me a bright smile. "Why do you not go to your room and finish your studies?"
I glanced at Stephan, who looked thoughtful. I nodded at Mama and went upstairs, feeling confused and hurt. Something was wrong, something that had to do with the Opera House. I was not stupid, I saw how talk of the Opera House affected my parents.
Resolved to talk to them and ask what was wrong, I went downstairs. They were not in the music room or the kitchen. I thought that they were most likely in the downstairs music room, so I went to the door that led to it. I had just put my hand at the knob when I heard their voices from downstairs.
"Erik, Bethie loves you," I heard Mama say, her voice pleading. "You could talk to her, she would understand…"
"Understand?" Papa said loudly. "What is there to understand?"
My eyes widened. I knew I should not be listening in to their conversation, so I backed away from the door, the voices muffled as I got further away from the door. As I turned to leave I heard him shout, "I cannot tell her."
I ran all the way back to my room, my heart pounding.
What were they talking about? What would I understand, what could he not tell me?
Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place. I had always felt like Mama and Papa were hiding something from me. Now I was certain of it. Unfortunately I was no closer to knowing what the secret was than I had been before.
Somehow I would find out, I vowed. I was not certain of how I would find out, but somehow, some way, I would figure out the secret.
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