Author's Notes: Wooo! Another chapter up! (aren't you proud of me? ^_^) Here we have Evie's first singing lesson with the Phantom.
I'd like to point out that the song she is singing ("Caro mio ben") was written by Tommaso Giordani somewhere around 1730-1806 and so technically falls in the correct time-frame. *is pleased with self* How these two came across it is anyone's guess, I suppose :P
Enjoy! (and review!)
~ White Lily, Blue Ribbon ~
Evie sat quietly on one of the red velvet seats of box five, once rehearsals for the day were done and night had fallen.
Waiting for him to arrive.
No one was around; they'd all gone home to sleep. Her mother thought that she was in bed right now, Evie thought gleefully as she pulled a pair of white gloves over the fresh bruises that covered her knuckles. The result of her last disobedience. She giggled softly to herself.
Victoria had been bewildered and infuriated at her behaviour. She couldn't understand why, no matter how many times her hands were rapped, the girl simply wouldn't stop smiling.
And now, here she sat, waiting for a Phantom to come fetch her.
She giggled again.
It all seemed so bizarre.
In the back of her mind she suspected that more than half the reason she had actually come there was to prove to herself that he wasn't just a dream, that her mind hadn't been playing tricks on her. That it had been real…
But where was he?
Everyone had gone home at least half an hour ago, and still her Opera Ghost was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he wanted to be extra sure there would be no one floating around after hours, when he came. Still, he was taking his time…
Minutes ticked by.
Impatiently, Evie stood and began to pace along the mahogany rail, her skirts rustling quietly with each movement. Maybe he wasn't going to come at all. Or maybe something unexpected had come up and he was only running late. Maybe he had forgotten about her. She pushed the unwelcome thought away. Maybe something had happened to him…again she pushed the thought away.
She heard a click behind her.
She whirled and saw him emerging from a tunnel one of the chairs had sprung forth to reveal, a flickering oil lamp swinging in his hand. It threw a dramatic light onto his mask. She gave him the most reproachful look she could manage in the face of his powerful presence.
"I was beginning to think that you weren't going to come." She said, putting her little hands on her hips.
"My dear, I cannot open the tunnel entranceway when you are sitting on it." He replied, his expression contorting into something of an irritated grimace.
"Oh."
The expression on her own face was such a delightful combination of surprise, embarrassment, and sheepish apology that the Phantom could not help but burst into laughter.
"Never mind, we still have time."
The embarrassment she had felt at his prior declaration was pushed aside by the satisfaction she felt at hearing that warm, rough voice again. She smiled.
He held out a gloved hand to her, half turning towards the tunnel. It almost seemed to her that by taking it, she would be entering into a deal that she could not back out of. A binding agreement that could not be broken.
So she took it without a second thought, of course.
Her hand was gloved, he noticed, and wondered why. Perhaps she was cold. That would certainly explain the long, velvety navy-blue cloak that she wore. It was the most elegant thing he had yet to see her wear, and it made her skin seem all the more pale, even translucent, by the lamplight. He would get a fire started, when they arrived.
She looked a little apprehensive, so he smiled encouragingly back at her, as he began to lead her down the steps that led deep underneath the opera house.
"Have you ever been down this tunnel before Evie?" he asked curiously. He was aware that she knew of some of the passages, that much was certain from her inhabitance of the little, doorless room. But he surely would have noticed if anyone else had been using the main tunnel to the clock tower…
"Once." she replied hesitantly. "When I was quite little. I got part of the way along and then my candle went out. I had to find my way back in the dark." He noticed with interest her voice wavered a little when she spoke the last sentence. She then laughed a lighthearted little laugh. "Never went down there since."
"So you don't know where it leads then?"
"Not yet," she quipped, the flippancy in her voice a little forced, he thought.
He wondered if she was afraid of the dark.
It would certainly be ironic.
He made to help the little girl down the steep and narrow stairway, only to have his hand batted away and be informed that she could manage quite well enough on her own, thank you very much.
Bemused, the Phantom complied with her wish; however, as they reached the middle of the tunnel, and the lamp flickered and died out, Evie stopped walking.
"Phantom?" she called nervously into the silence. Her voice was high and wavering. "I can't- see."
"I'm here." He said softly, his voice much closer than she had thought. She yelped in shock and he caught her hand. "Don't be afraid."
"I'm not afraid!" she declared stubbornly. "I just can't see."
He laughed. "Of course. How foolish of me."
"What are you doing?" she cried out as she felt something behind her knees push her over and then lift her from the ground.
"Put me DOWN!" she ordered, whacking his arm in protest, her voice an octave higher on the last word.
"My dear," he began, his voice low and full of suppressed amusement. "It was evident you weren't going to move on your own, and I do want to reach our destination sometime before morning."
Her curiosity was sparked. "Where exactly is that?"
"Hush."
She let him carry her in silence, until he lowered her to the ground so she could stand once more.
"It's still dark." She pointed out.
"I'm aware." He replied. There was a snap and a flicker, and there was light once more. She watched him light the oil lamp once again and crush the match under his boot.
In the new light she could see they were standing on a platform suspended by ropes. She was curious, but she kept quiet as he silently handed her the lamp and unhooked a rope. When he pulled down on it hard, the platform was lifted a few feet.
When he had pushed the trapdoor open, lifted the young girl up through it, then pulled himself up after her, he was able to gauge her reaction to her new surroundings.
He stood back and watched her as she stood silently, lips slightly parted. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she slowly rotated on the spot, her eyes working furiously to take in all the wonders of the elaborate little room, lit by a thousand candles. Then she caught sight of the clock face.
A girlish squeal of glee escaped her lips, and she half-skipped over to it, gazing out at the lamp-lit square, her tiny hand pressed against the glass, leaving a print on the condensation. She glanced back at him, grinning.
"What a nice lair you have here, Mr. Ghost."
When she turned back around, she saw he had gotten a feeble little fire started in the grate, which grew steadily stronger as he added more wood to it.
He came over to the organ, taking off his cape and hanging it on the edge of the stool. She followed suit, now that it was becoming warmer, to reveal a simple white cotton dress, with the sleeves cut off at the elbows, but still, he noticed, she did not take off the gloves. Deciding to puzzle it out later, he sat at the organ and opened the lid, one hand going to his mask.
"Won't you take that mask off, now?" Evie asked curiously.
"No." he said quietly, a strange, almost grave change coming over him. "Never." Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. "Sing for me." He commanded, business-like once again.
She was taken by surprise.
"Sing what?"
He sighed.
"The first thing that comes into your head." He offered.
So, naturally, she took a minute or two to think of all the songs she knew, then a minute more to choose one. She looked up and smiled.
"Got one." She said, triumphantly.
"What is the starting note?"
"G."
"High?"
"Yes."
He played it for her and she hummed it, getting it into her mind. A moment passed and then she began to sing, in a breathtakingly sweet falling series of notes.
"Caro mio ben
Credimi almen
Senza di te
Languisce il cor."
Her Italian accent was quite exquisite and he smiled; the tune was familiar. When she began the bridge of the song he played the accompaniment on his organ and she started a little in surprise, skipping a beat and having to pick up in the next bar.
"Il tuo fedel
Sospira ognor
Cesa crudel
Tanto rigor."
Now she began to free up a little more and become more confident with the song adding little flourishes on the ends of line.
The song came to a quiet and graceful finish, and the Phantom didn't bother to play bother to play the last few bars of accompaniment, but instead turned to his new protégé.
"Quite a nice attempt, but be careful of that vibrato, this song is intended to be pure and sweet, so try not to let you voice quaver so much, especially on those high, loud notes."
She looked a little confused, like what he said had contradicted something she had been taught before.
"But mother said-"
His voice was firm; "Your mother is no longer your teacher. I am, and you will follow my instructions."
She nodded dutifully, her hands again clasped in front of her.
"Also, you stumbled when I began to play."
She grinned, sheepishly.
"This is not humorous, Evie. When you are performing in an opera, anything may happen. Someone in the audience may cough, an instrument play the wrong note, a piece of set, may break and come crashing down-"
"A chandelier may-"
"And, you must carry on as if it in no way affects you, as if it is not even there. You can let nothing break your concentration."
"What if the piece of set is right above my head?" she quizzed. He sighed and inclined his head towards her, acknowledging her point.
"Then you have my permission to attempt to get out of the way. But the point remains, Evie. To the audience, the whole opera rests on your shoulders."
She gulped.
"I knew this was a bad idea." She sighed.
"You will be more than ready by opening night, Evie. I will personally make sure of that." He said. His words were so sure, so full of unquestionable confidence that the little soprano couldn't help but smile.
"I believe you." Her smile was infectious.
"Now, sing the song again."
"Yes, sir." She said, giving a little salute.
Halfway through the song he motioned for silence. His hand covered his mouth, like he was thinking. She studied his expression; had she done something wrong? Of course, due to the mask she could only see a small section of his face.
It annoyed her.
She wanted to go rip the mask off but somehow thought that he wouldn't take very kindly to that. He suddenly sat up straight, like something had just occurred to him, jolting her back into reality.
"You do know what you are singing about don't you?" he asked, almost curiously.
She laughed incredulously.
"What? It's in flaming Italian!"
"So you have no idea what you are saying?" he asked, bemused.
"Not a clue."
He laughed. "Sing the first line." She obeyed.
"Caro mio ben."
"My dear beloved." He translated.
"Credimi almen"
"Please, believe me."
"Senza di te"
"Being without you."
"Languisce il cor"
"Languishes the heart." He finished. "Your love has left you, willingly I might add, and they are never coming back. In this song you are imploring them to come back to you, but they can't hear, and this distresses you immensely."
She blinked at him.
"You've never been in love." It was almost a statement, rather than a question.
"N…o?"
"Of course not." He muttered, like he was admonishing himself. She was only a child, of course she wouldn't understand. "I'll try to explain." He began slowly, and she sat down on the spot, her skirt fanning out around her on the floor as she looked up at him attentively.
"Its- not dissimilar to knives…" he said, quietly and grimly, his face dark with some memory he saw in the wooden floorboards. "White hot knives. Twisting and driving into your heart with each and every beat."
'Colourful.' Evie mused to herself.
"And it never stops…"
He looked up and met her eyes, a complicated expression was on her face. It seemed to be a mixture of perplexity, curiosity, suspicion and amusement.
"What happened to you in Paris, Mr. Ghost?"
He ignored her.
"The writer of this song," he continued, "felt this pain. Can you not hear it in the melody?"
"Hear pain?" she repeated, frowning in confusion. "You can't hear pain, you feel it."
He sighed, then spoke with inspiring fervour. "Then feel it."
But her brow only furrowed in distress. "I don't understand." She said, looking on the verge of tears. He sighed again.
"It's alright Evie, I am not angry with you. Just stand up."
Obediently, she followed his instructions.
"Now," he began, slowly and clearly, so she would understand. "Sing the piece once more, but this time, with feeling."
He saw her eyes widen in comprehension, and felt a teacher's satisfaction. The maestro and her mother must have used that same phrase before. He smiled, and began the introduction.
There was certainly a change.
She used her voice like a painter would use their medium, painting the air somehow a million shades and colours of pure, sweet music. Her voice would caress the words, envelop the vowels in someway and stress certain words, certain syllables so delicately, so exquisitely, deriving such meaning from the words that hadn't been there before.
It was unnerving.
There was no expression on her face at all. Only in her voice.
It marred the song for the Phantom, where he sat playing at the organ. It seemed unnatural somehow, more contrived. Like she had made a calculated measurement of what the song should sound like. If he closed his eyes he could believe the emotion in the music. When he could only hear, it was so beautiful and real. But inside he knew it wasn't.
She was performing.
Abruptly, the song was over.
"You felt nothing, didn't you." He accused her quietly. She started, taken aback and stung.
"I don't understand what you mean!" she cried desperately, her fists forming balls at her side.
He didn't answer her, simply looked at the organ keys his expression brooding and even sullen, but his mind obviously at work. His endeavour would obviously be much more difficult that he had thought.
"You're right, I feel nothing." She muttered after a while, her face turned towards the clock face, scowling out into the night. He was still silent, not having moved a muscle since she spoke.
"Its just notes." The little girl explained quietly, almost to herself, and he turned to her, his eyes searching her face, which wore an expression of frustration. "Just notes in the air, that don't really serve a purpose, save to trick people into believing in something that doesn't exist. Something beautiful, behind it all that isn't real. There's nothing behind it. Just empty notes."
He still said nothing, but simply stared at her, and she stared back, their eyes boring into each other's. Trying to understand, grasping at something not quite substantial, something just beyond their reach. Trying to solve the mystery.
Evie's eyes fluttered, almost imperceptibly and she swayed a little on her feet. The Phantom leapt to his, holding her arm to steady her.
"But I've kept you much too long." He murmured, almost to himself. "You must be exhausted."
Evie smiled gratefully and sleepily up at him. It struck him a little odd, how she placed so much trust in him… He was quite unused to it.
"I wouldn't mind being carried 'nymore now, " she said softly, her words slurring a little in her weariness.
He chuckled quietly to himself before gathering her up in his arms as he had done before, to carry her back to the opera house across the square