Author's Note: Thanks again to Soignante, Squealing Lit. Fan, mildetryth, Busanda and WindPhoenix for their latest reviews. Here's an extra chapter as a reward for 20 reviews. I actually was hoping to do a double posting today, and I think you'll see why. Thanks again, and enjoy! Nedjmet.

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 19

"Well, if it isn't the mute coloratura."

Christine looked up to see Carlotta and her cronies stood around her. She had taken her usual seat away from the rest of the class to avoid what she believed to be inevitable. In spite of her efforts, it would seem that her faith, however, was not misplaced. They had arranged themselves so that she could not leave without forcing her way through. Probably not a good idea, given their number and the state of her right shoulder.

"So tell us, Day, how exactly does a mute get onto the Ravelle Vocal Performance course? It's just there's a friend of mine – poor thing, she has simply has no musical talent – who wouldn't mind graduating from here."

Her friends giggled inanely. Christine retained her composure and simply stared back. She'd heard worse. Her lack of response caused more giggles, but they eventually subsided as her steady gaze began to unnerve them.

"And where do you get off calling yourself a coloratura at your age?" Carlotta went on, a little uncertain at first.

I didn't, she wrote on her pad.

"Great, an idiot as well as a mute. Should we pity her do you think girls, or do liars not deserve that? Come on, Day, you wrote that on the board. Everyone saw it. Just like everyone saw the rest. Where do you get off giving yourself that title when you haven't the voice to back it up? You don't belong here anymore than a cripple belongs in the ballet."

Christine's eyes flashed with rage at the scathing remarks. Most of the comments, she could sweep under the surface with some ease – yes, they hurt, but she had borne greater pain before now – but that last one!

She was saved the trouble of attempting to deliver a written diatribe effectively by Professor Gardiner's usual flamboyant entry.

As she recalled her second class, she inwardly seethed again. It had been the pattern every day for the last two weeks, grating on her patience to the extent that she was glad she was running late. She didn't bother hoping that they would find some other means of distraction: a mute singer at the Ravelle was not easily rivalled – except maybe by the Ghost.

The group had been going over some vocal exercises, designed to improve breathing, and strengthen – if not expand – ranges. In the second half of the class, the group had been called on to demonstrate their progress. Professor Gardiner had virtually ignored Christine this time around the circle, much to her relief. When it finally came to Carlotta's turn, she had flaunted – there could be no other word to describe it – her range, going far higher than anyone else in the group. And screeching just like her mother.

At least until a sandbag had dropped from the ceiling, missing her by mere inches. After a moment of stunned silence, her screeching was replaced by her screams. The jury was still out as to which of the two was easier on the ears.

The class and Gardiner immediately flocked around her. Even Christine had moved forward in concern. No matter what Carlotta had said to her, no matter how true a reflection of her character her words were, she still could have been killed.

Whilst her rival was indeed, truly shocked, she soon began lapping up the attention, extorting more sympathies from her captivated audience.

At least until Ubaldo had noticed the white paper fluttering down from above. Everyone looked up to see where it had come from, but nothing was there save for the rigging. Nobody moved for a moment, until Professor Gardiner, with a face of stone went up onto the stage and retrieved it.

He turned it over, allowing everyone to see the blood red skull that sealed the black-trimmed, white parchment. He read it a few moments before speaking.

"Professor Gardiner,

Please convey my own welcome and greetings to the new students. Since the rest of the staff have no doubt settled them in, and not wanting the wrong ideas to surface, I thought it time to add my own introduction.

Unfortunately, I was prevented from performing this in the usual manner by the atrocious noise that Ms. Guidacelli seems intent on emitting from her mouth. Please advise her that her range does not allow her to sing in that octave, and that a cacophony of that nature is not welcome in my theatre. I remain,

Your respectful servant,

O.G."

"How dare he! What kind of institute is this, allowing pranks like that?"

"Miss Guidacelli, I would advise you to be careful-"

"Careful! I could have been killed! You should be advising the stage hands to be careful!"

"Miss Guidacelli!" He silenced her, having never yet raised his voice to the class. "These notes are not to be taken lightly. The Ravelle has had enough bad history as a result of that. Now, I don't believe we can continue class with the theatre in this state, so we shall end early for the day. Dismissed."

In truth, he would have continued under any other circumstances, but he couldn't think of a more tactful way to prevent Carlotta from carrying on singing without further complaint. It was not without a wary glance that the class – including Gardiner – had left the theatre that day. Similar glances had accompanied them for the rest of the week as well.

Christine had pondered this for the rest of the day. This was the Ghost whose house she was living in? It fit everything that she'd heard, but to nearly kill someone? True, she had been murdering the scales, but that still didn't justify it. She had been tempted to ask Mother Giry about O. G. again, but one look at her face and she knew that she had heard – and that everything was still alright as far as she was concerned. But it was still very unsettling.

Christine was brought back to reality as Carlotta finished off her turn at the vocal exercises for the day. She had not gone so high since the Ghost's introduction, but she was gradually climbing the scales once more.

"Good. Now class, I would like to present to you one of the songs that will be featuring as a performance piece this year, so we shall be perusing it for a few lessons."

This said, the score was handed around the circle. Christine took one and inhaled sharply as she saw the title. She scanned over the music quickly. It couldn't be! But her eyes did not deceive her.

Professor Gardiner had chosen one of her mother's favourite arrangements.

"How are we supposed to perform this? I don't even recognise the language." Carlotta's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I had anticipated as much. Part of the song is written in Gaelic. Unless anyone has a background in or an understanding of the language, we shall be skipping those sections for today. Now, may I have a volunteer to give us an idea of the song?"

No one moved, too uncertain to try. Professor Gardiner had been furious in his treatment of both their voices and their vocal talents for the last few weeks. Meaning that there were few who did not now have doubts about their abilities. Not surprisingly, it was Carlotta who raised her hand.

"Ah, I see I haven't managed to scare everyone off. Join me on the stage, Miss Guidacelli."

The stage, though small, gave obvious prominence to any who climbed onto it. Whilst the professor took his seat at the piano, Carlotta immediately placed herself, rather smugly, centre stage. As the opening notes were delicately played, Christine closed her eyes in memory.

As Carlotta sang the first note, she opened them again in horror.

The song was a gentle melody, filled with grief and longing. Carlotta was 'singing' it with all the gusto of an operatic wannabe, with no regard whatsoever for the meaning of the words! As memories filled her mind, the true sound of the music fought for dominance over the noise that was coming from the girl on stage. She knew a break was coming, for Carlotta wouldn't risk ridicule by trying to pronounce such foreign words.

Christine made her choice.

She conjured up a yawn to open her vocal chords, and massaged them as she did so with a well-practiced hand, whilst Carlotta sang:

"I wish I were on yonder hill, 'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill,"

By the time she had reached the third line, Christine was swallowing, readying herself.

"'Til every tear would turn a mill" Carlotta stopped, expecting the piano to continue, relishing in the attention that was focussed solely on her. Her mouth dropped open in horrified astonishment as an almost ethereal voice instead sang gently with a clear purity:

"Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán."

Author's Note (again): Apologies for being evil, but you were asking for this, and I was getting tired of dragging things out. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happens next. Sorry. (Not really! - grins evilly) Nedjmet.