Author's Note: This one's for my star reviewer, CarolROI. Hope it answers some of those questions. Thanks for allyour support.
Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.
Chapter 6
"Why didn't you tell me she's mute!"
Antoinette halted in the corridor and looked around quickly to check for the presence of anyone else. She could not have mistaken the venom that laced the icy voice emanating from the shadows. Quickly steeling herself she replied:
"It was not my place." He stepped into the light and stood glaring down at her. Most others would have felt dwarfed and begun to wish the floor would swallow them. She stood firm.
"Not your place. Madame, you piqued my curiosity by speaking of her talent and her love of music. In the fortnight she has spent in my home, I have neither heard a sound from her, nor has she allowed one note to be played. Even when your daughter's phone rang, she turned it off immediately!"
Antoinette allowed the hint of a smile.
"Meg's phone plays the overture from Carmen. You know the noise those machines make. Surely you will allow someone else to be offended by them."
She thought she saw the ghost of smile trace his features once the brief look of surprise had passed.
"If her fondness for music is what you claimed, then her behaviour has yet to be justified. Her silence coupled with her presence have forced me to return to the cellars here for my music, since I cannot always tell whether she is in the house or not. Now unless you can justify this inconvenience, I may have to rethink our agreement."
"Don't you dare!" she gasped, horrified. He raised an eyebrow.
"You presume to tell me what to do about my house?"
"You don't understand. She needs to be there. It is the only place where she can begin to heal properly."
"My house is not a hospital, Madame." She swallowed and in a subdued voice, explained.
"Her home used to be filled with music. She would joke that the walls had absorbed so much, they couldn't hold it anymore, which is why even when it was silent, Christine claimed she could still hear the music. She hears the music in your house in the same way. She says it is a music she does not know and I believe that is why she can bear it. Anything else just reminds her of what she has lost.
"If you still keep the same ungodly hours, then do not worry about playing in that house. I know she will appreciate it."
"But I would not appreciate having my privacy invaded."
"It would not be. I know her. She will simply attribute it to the echo."
"Echo?"
"The echo of the music left behind by the former resident." He considered all that he had heard for a few moments.
"Fascinating as this all is, Madame, I find myself drawn back to the original subject. How can she tell you all of this when she is mute?"
"She writes letters. She holds conversations by writing."
"Then she has not always been mute?"
"No. How did you find out?"
"Gardiner did his usual class introduction. She said nothing and was ridiculed until she explained herself on the blackboard."
Madame Giry's hand flew to cover her mouth in horror.
"Christine!" She turned and began to hurry towards the second theatre, leaving her bemused companion to stare after her as he disappeared back into the shadows.
Thankfully the class had ended as she arrived. The throng of students broke off to let her enter. Madame Giry was highly respected throughout the school, and her reputation spread quickly enough that even the new students knew to stay out of her way. She saw who she was looking for and reached her just as the last of the class was trailing out.
"Christine, my dear, I'm so sorry; I had meant to be here for the start of your class but I was unavoidably detained." Christine squeezed her hand in reassurance that it was okay. Antoinette could see just how clearly it wasn't.
"Madame, am I to understand that you know this young lady?"
"Yes, Professor, I am her guardian."
"Indeed. I was hoping to have Miss Day explain a few things, but seeing as you are here, perhaps you would be so kind?"
Madame Giry looked pointedly at the blackboard and its contents.
"Christine is quite capable of answering whatever questions you might have, Professor. I came to see that she got through her first class alright." Christine gave her a knowing look. Had that been her intention, she would not have tried to be there at the start.
"Well, perhaps you would care to be present for our conversation anyway, being her guardian?" She nodded her assent.
"Very well. If you would care to follow me to my office?"
He swept out of the theatre in much the same manner he had entered and the two women followed him to his office, which was two corridors and a flight of stairs away– right above the backstage area of the smaller theatre.
The office was small, but the walls were filled with posters, programmes and reviews of operas and musicals, with a few devoted to performers as well. His desk was neatly covered with lesson plans and files. In spite of his flamboyance, it was clear that he was passionate about both his profession and his art. The Ravelle Institute simply wouldn't take anyone else.
He shut the door and let the two ladies seat themselves before assuming his place in the desk chair opposite them.
"I must begin by being frank; I have no knowledge of sign language, so I am afraid I don't know how to hold this conversation. I don't think we can stick with 'yes' and 'no' answers."
Christine held up her hand before either of the two teachers could say anything in response. She dug around in her bag and produced a notepad and pen,then allowing Madame Giry to explain.
"Communication has yet to be a real problem for us. I will fill in any blanks necessary. Other than that, Christine will answer you."
"Miss Day, first of all: my apologies for what happened today. You must understand, however, that I was not expecting to have a student in my class who was unable to communicate vocally."
She nodded.
"May I ask how you managed to secure a place on this course with such a problem?" He shot a glance at Madame whilst saying this, which was responded to with a glare.
He looked at the pad Christine offered to his glance:
You approved me.
"Indeed. I believe I would remember auditioning someone who claimed to be a coloratura at such a young age."
I didn't claim that.
He looked at her in sceptically.
I auditioned as a soprano. You approved me without an interview and told me I was a coloratura.
He stared at her in recognition. The Ravelle Institute had a notoriously difficult interview procedure. Auditions were given solely on recommendation, usually from more than one respectedsource – and only after a written exam had been passed sufficiently. If a person was lucky enough to complete an audition, they had to go through at least two interviews by varying, but very demanding, panels.
He remembered a girl standing on the stage before him, slightly further back than the centre looking as nervous as anyone else, and yet she had carried herself with a dignity that suggested she was proud simply to be there, as though such an accomplishment meant the world to her. He had been ready to dismiss her as another wannabe with moderate talent who would no doubt land a place in a good chorus if she tried to make it professionally.
And then she sang. There had been no accompaniment. That was unheard of. Applicants usually didn't have the courage to begin without even one note as a cue.
When he had asked her to begin, he had looked at the empty piano stool in confusion.
When the first notes poured from her mouth, his own had opened in astonishment. To say her voice was beautiful would have been an understatement, and the pitch was perfect! She clearly needed training, but there was great potential there, the likes of which he had only ever heard on professional stages before. There were probably few accompaniments that would have been able to do her justice. She could truly put both the Institute, and himself even more prominently on the map if she worked hard enough. He had had to admit her there and then. Anything else would have been folly.
And yet now she sat before him. Mute. He wasn't sure whether to rage or scream at the loss of such a potential credit to the place.
"I remember. If I were to speak honestly, I'd have to say I have never heard talent such as yours in a student, Miss Day. May I ask, what could have happened to rob the world of such a voice?"
Christine closed her eyes to get a hold over her reeling mind. She bent over the pad and wrote.
It was a fire.
He studied her.
"I'm afraid I am at a loss. Forgive me, but I see no scars on your throat."
My throat wasn't burned. It was mostly damage from the smoke and heat. Screaming didn't help either.
"I'm so sorry. Do you . . . is there any chance of-"
"The doctors have assured us many times that her speaking voice will recover. Her singing voice will undoubtedly require more training than before, but there is every chance that it will be back to normal as well."
Christine looked at her adoptive mother with the hint of tears in her eyes. She knew it was fruitless to argue. Much as she loved her, Madame Giry was a dancer. It would be difficult for her to understand how wrong she was, no matter what the doctors said or how much her voice healed.
"I do not wish to be harsh, but do you have any idea how long this healing process will take? It would be difficult to justify you remaining here this year if you were to spend most of it in silence."
She had already begun writing before he was halfway through his question.
They said it would take another month. Two at the most. Till then I can focus on the theory. Take notes of everything during class. Then put it into practice when I'm able.
He nodded.
"Very well, Miss Day. It is one of my practices to randomly review my students every now and again. Helps keep them on their toes. I shall postpone any review of yours for three months. Provided of course, that you give sufficient proof that you are keeping up with all the non-performance related aspects of the course. Is that understood?"
It was her turn to nod.
"I have one last question for you: why did you write that you were mute? Why not that you simply couldn't speak at present?"
She looked at him steadily for a while before finally answering.
It's been two months. It feels like I'm mute. Besides, you got the message.
"Indeed. If you have any difficulties with the class, you must let me know."
"Child, do you wish Professor Gardiner to explain to the others in your class?" He looked at the ballet mistress in confusion.
"Her situation has meant that she has suffered ridicule before. I would not have her endure that here."
They already know that I can't speak. I don't want anything else to come out.
"Surely it would make it easier if people were made to understand?" Gardiner argued.
They can't understand. I don't want their pity. It'll be easier this way.
"If you're sure? Very well then, I will respect your wishes in this. Thank you for your time ladies, and allow me to wish you a speedy and full recovery, Miss Day."
She shook his hand gently before allowing her guardian to lead her away. Before she was through the door, however, Professor Gardiner stopped them.
"Forgive me, Miss Day. I know after the class and this conversation, you must be wanting to leavehere as soon as possible; but your audition has reminded me of something. If I may ask, what is your mother's name?"
Christine's brow furrowed a little in confusion before one of the posters caught her eye and she realised where the question had come from.
Catherine Day
"I do beg your pardon, it's just that you bear an uncanny resemblance to-" Christine held up her hand to silence him and mouthed, 'I know' before leaving.
Once they reached an empty corridor, she leant against a wall and covered her face with her hands. Madame Giry knew she wasn't crying. She would not allow that in so public a place, even though no one else was around.
No one who could be seen anyway. She could feel his presence, just as she had felt his curious gaze in Gardiner's office. She put her hand on Christine's left shoulder in comfort. The girl eventually took a deep breath and pushed away the few strands of hair that had come loose from her bun.
"You know some will mock?" She nodded.
"They will ask how you can claim to be a soprano." She nodded.
"What will you do?" She made no move.
"This is your answer?" She nodded. Madame Giry eyed her critically.
"If you will insist on shutting yourself away, might I make a suggestion? You have other colours in your wardrobe besides black." At Christine's look of outrage, she held up her hand and continued, "The fact that you are in mourning could only be missed by one who is too self-absorbed to see past the end of their nose. There are shadows enough in this place. You need not be added to their number."
Christine looked away.
"You know I mean no disrespect. I speak only out of concern for one I count as a daughter."
Christine looked at her. The tears more prominent now, though they did not fall. She wrapped her arms around her second mother and clung tight. Madame Giry wrapped one arm about her in return.
"I miss him too, child."
She allowed them this moment of shared grief. Christine grieved for the loss of her father and her music. Antoinette grieved for the three lives that had been lost: Catherine, Charles, and now Christine. For truly, she did not live anymore.
She looked to the shadows and caught the eyes that were hidden there. He surveyed the scene before him and returned the pleading look a moment before allowing the two women their privacy.