A/N: Thank you for the reviews – I hope you enjoy! And have a happy holiday season!
VI
.
He had gone only a short distance when he heard her song. In surprise, he spun on his heel to retrace his steps, coming to a stop just inside the alcove near the cathedral-high ceiling a previous owner had painted with angels…
Surely the closest to heaven he would ever be allowed.
His newly indentured maidservant stood in the center of the foyer below, hands on her hips, her spine curved back and face upraised, as she belted out an operatic tune with all the lusty aplomb of a zealous barmaid. Clearly, by her determined manner, intended for his assessment alone.
Well, then.
Head tilted curiously forward, the Phantom listened with a critical ear. Ignoring her deplorable stance, he found her voice remarkably unique if grossly untrained, possessing an inherent talent not many singers owned but all coveted -
A rough diamond, begging to be chipped away, cleaned and polished to bring a smooth, high luster to each intriguing facet.
This bore further consideration, and once she brought her final run of notes to a near-screeching crescendo that ran up and down along the stone walls in a bout of resounding sopranic thunder which made him wince, he looked at her a moment longer, nodded once to himself, then retreated as quietly as he had returned.
x
Christine worked to catch her breath as she stood in the resulting silence, her expectant gaze ever turned upward to the shadows beyond the banister of the second landing.
She waited …
And waited.
"Hello?" she said after an interminable amount of time elapsed but was in all likelihood no more than a minute. "Monsieur…?"
And she realized that she stood alone.
Christine let out a huff of disbelief to realize that once again the Master had made a silent getaway.
Unbelievable! Clearly he did not possess even a sliver of anything that resembled a social grace. He may think her nothing more than a peasant of the lower class, lacking in what he deemed worthy, and perhaps undeserving of his respect, but her father had taught her to be courteous toward all people. Before she arrived at Rosemont, she believed that all those of wealth and stature were likewise educated in good breeding. Such as the Vicomte de Chagny, who as a young boy had been quite charming the few times they'd met and from what gossip she overheard in the village was still gracious to those with whomever he came in contact, be it servant or lady.
The Master of Rosemont could surely do with a good dose of the same civility.
In a stew of frustration, Christine returned to the room that held the piano to resume her chores and what she had dubbed the music room. She refused to allow his lack of response to injure her feelings, or more on point – 'ruffle the feathers of her vanity,' as Madame Giry once said when speaking of the opera house diva. Christine could almost hear Papa's stern but gentle admonition not to allow herself to become too prideful of her own talent. 'Pride goeth before destruction and destruction before a fall,' he would quote the scripture as a reminder, though she never felt she had reached a sinful point that would lead to such catastrophe. True, others did tell her on occasion that she possessed a lovely voice, Papa included, and she joyously basked in their approval. When she performed solo in the choral presentation at Christmastide, many approached after the church meeting to express delight in her song, and she had delighted in their praises.
Would it not have been untruthful to be false to one's own feelings – deceit in her estimation the greater sin?
She thought back to that humiliating moment in the foyer. It wouldn't have hurt the beastly Ghost of the Manor to offer a charitable word, at least to have spoken at all and affirmed that he'd even heard her! And she knew he had. She had seen the shadows flutter and shift, to know he stood there watching.
Firmly resolved to put the incident behind her, Christine finished her tasks. Yet like a bee circling its prey to sting, the incident troubled – every incident with him thus far – and on occasion would slip past her mind's barrier to prick deep into her innermost thoughts.
Why should she care what he thought – she did not care – and convinced of that at last, she went to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. She had just set the kettle to boil and slipped a meat pie into the oven when she turned and saw it –
Propped against the bread box on the opposite counter stood a white rectangle of paper. What appeared to be a note, similar to the one she received on her second day at Rosemont.
For the longest time Christine stared, apprehensive of what it could hold, leery to break the seal and uncover its meaning…
This was ridiculous. Of course, she suddenly realized, she had nearly completed her assigned tasks with only two of the downstairs floors left to clean. He was likely instructing her on what was expected next.
Telling herself she was being a silly goose, Christine marched across the kitchen and plucked up the missive. Still, it was a moment before she slipped her finger beneath the flap and broke the wax seal, unfolding the parchment.
It contained one line:
Your presence is required in the music chamber directly after supper.
Her eyebrows lifted as she read the concise message a second time.
No salutation, no closing signature – though since they were the only two beings to dwell inside the manor, she supposed such politesse was unnecessary. Not that he would honor it if it were…
Why did he wish to see her? Why not simply detail the list of his instructions in a letter as he did before, though she had often wondered if they ever would meet face to face...
At the sudden realization of the thought that would soon prove a reality, her eyes widened and she inhaled a sharp breath.
She would finally see her new master who presently controlled every aspect of her existence! The idea unnerved her, more so than when he played at being an observant ghost. Perhaps she had erred in some respect and he was dissatisfied with the result of her hard labors. Yes, that was likely the cause. She could think of no other reason he would wish to confront her.
That night her meal caught in her throat with almost every bite; she could barely manage to choke down a fork of the meat pasty. She drank tea by the cupfuls, hoping its warmth would soothe jangled nerves.
She hoped in vain.
Once she cleared away the empty dishes from his own repast, she returned to the kitchen and removed her apron, taking a few minutes to freshen up, the tremor in her hands a telltale sign of her continued apprehension. She smoothed back the curly wisps of hair that had broken free of her ribbon, smoothed her skirts, then made her way to the chamber with the piano – what she felt must be the music chamber. She had never been given a tour of the manor and only knew the rooms by what she had come to call them in her solitary rounds of discovery of the chateau.
She had worked hard, given each task her utmost, but again wondered if he was dissatisfied with her performance as his maidservant. Still, she encouraged her flailing courage, what was the worst he could do? Dock her pay – which she did not receive? Order her to go – which she would gladly do with all haste. She did not know how far the village was or in what direction, but she would follow the road, hoping for someone to come along and give aid... Perhaps as an extreme, he might lock her in her room and starve her, and upon the heels of that thought she recalled awakening her first night there with a blanket tucked securely around her for warmth.
He was beastly but did not seem the type of man to resort to such deprivation - though what did she know about him really? Other than he preferred solitude within the shadows and could skillfully play a musical instrument…
Two, she realized with surprise as she approached the music chamber and heard the fluid roll of the piano's notes in an impressive piece that swept out toward her, as a wash of candlelight from inside the room also spilled out and beckoned her forward. The notes twined within her soul and coiled around her heart, the melody forlorn but beautiful…
With her pulse quickening in her ears in accompaniment to the rapid series of notes, she carefully stepped closer. From her vantage point, the view she had of the room showed that while the area closest to her had been softly lit, the back wall where the grand piano stood remained in shadow. She saw only the end of it up to where the glossy black wood was propped, still unable to see the skilled musician who sat before its keyboard.
She inhaled a deep breath for courage and carefully peeked around the lintel….
Though shadows cloaked him, the perimeter of candlelight cast him in dim silhouette where he sat in near profile, his features hazy. Yet it was the clearest she had seen him thus far, and she took intrigued note of what she could see of his appearance.
Lean and impeccably dressed in elegant black attire, the Master of Rosemont sat erect on the piano's stool. From what she could tell from the waist up, he seemed tall, taller than most men she had seen in the village.
More than a little curious, she found herself craning further around the edge without stepping into the room. Never did he cease from watching his hands as they continued to press keys, never once did he look her way…
Suddenly he spoke, his voice rich and deep. It startled her into giving a little jump, commanding the room and rising above the notes without needing to increase in volume to be heard. A voice that compelled, a voice unforgettable…
How unfortunate that so remarkable a voice spouted nothing but unpleasant words.
"Do you intend to hide behind the door all evening like a little mouse, or will you come forward?"
An uncomfortable rush of warmth colored her cheeks and forehead. Hide? He was one to speak of hiding!
Now that she had been discovered it would be foolish to hold back and Christine lifted her chin and stepped across the threshold with more bravado than she felt. She could now see the entire back of the room where he sat had been left in shadow, the ring of light barely reaching mid-chamber.
"You need come no further," he said before she reached the border of candlelight.
Uncertainly she came to a halt, feeling as if she stood in some contrived spotlight he had arranged, and brought her hands together before her, clasping them in her skirts. Having drawn closer, she could see the master only a little clearer, darkness still cloaking him to see any true detail of his features. However, she could now detect the outline of what appeared to be a mask on his face!
Why would he wear such a thing? In what literature she had read, such concealment was for one purpose – a disguise so as not to be recognized. Yet she did not feel that to be the case with such an unusual mask that left the side of his face closest to her bare. Not that she could see his features well, no matter how hard she stared …
The music abruptly ended though he did not lift his hands from the keys . "If you are quite finished?"
His biting words startled her and she shook her head in confusion. "Pardon?"
"Your father led me to believe that you bear the rare attribute of kindness," he said the word with cynicism though he kept his voice soft and well-modulated. "Yet you are no different than the rest and gawk rudely, as one undisciplined."
Christine's mouth parted in disbelief. He was calling her rude?
She could argue the point or perhaps inform him that if he was dissatisfied with her, she would leave at once…but she realized the worst her unmerciful jailer could do and doubtless would was to take his harsh brand of justice out on her father and make him suffer horribly for his crime.
She managed to curb her tongue from the harsh retort she might have given and said, hoping her voice came across as meek enough to placate his stern mode of dominance -
"I apologize. I was only curious about the gentleman I work for as this is the first I have ever truly seen you."
What she could see, that is.
He blew out a disparaging breath through his nose. "Take care, Miss Daaé. Curiosity can be a dangerous thing if wielded with wrongful intent."
She closed her eyes and silently beseeched the blessed saints for patience.
It was another endless moment before he spoke.
"As to the reason I have summoned you here, I have given the matter careful consideration." He brought his hands from the keys to clasp his thighs and settled back. Even then his posture was erect. "You are indentured to me for a year of servitude, and I have decided to use that time to train your voice."
He waited for her reaction. She blinked in confusion.
It was a moment before she thought to respond.
"To sing? But – why? You don't even like my voice."
At her fluster of words he shifted position to face her more fully. Though she could not see his expression she sensed his mild antipathy.
"Do you presume to know my feelings and preferences, Miss Daaé?"
"No, of course not," she hastened to say. "It is only that you said nothing afterward, when I did sing…"
He stared at her without response, doing nothing for her nerves. She could not decide if it was a blessing or a curse that he remained in shadow.
"May I ask why?" she posed at last. "Why you should even want to train me? I have no plans to sing in the opera -"
She was unprepared for his sudden bark of laughter, and it silenced whatever else she might say.
"What grand aspirations you foster, mademoiselle! However, I will appease your curiosity, since the matter does concern you. Music is one of the few entities in life that does not disappoint and can be trusted. Your voice, while unskilled, can be shaped with hard work, and I wish to engage in the enterprise of making that possible."
"But why?"
"Let us say, I enjoy a challenge."
A thread of dry amusement laced his tone, and in stunned confusion Christine tried to take in all that he was telling her.
"What of my daily duties?"
"As I do not entertain, the upper chambers will remain closed and thus do not require management. In the mornings you will take care of the upkeep of the remainder of the manor, whatever that entails. Meals will be prepared in the afternoon and served one hour earlier. You will come here, to the music chamber, every night for your lessons."
It was perhaps foolish to ask, but she wished to know.
"And if I do not agree to let you train my voice?"
"As I have stated, you are indentured to me for a year of service," he replied with a strange sort of steely calm. "It is my place to decide what your list of duties entail. I wish to train you, and you will submit to my authority."
Unnerved she fidgeted and cast her eyes to the floor, anxious what other 'list of duties' might be forthcoming. He seemed to read her mind and clucked his tongue in disgust.
"Do not fear, mademoiselle, I shall ask nothing more of you than I have thus far. Your hands to labor in the mornings and afternoons. Your voice to shape in the evenings. However, as I do not wish for you to arrive to your lessons in a state of exhaustion, I require that you find rest in the hour before we are to meet. Also that you take your meal prior to that hour. Indeed, it would be ideal if you sup in the late afternoon – and drink nothing more than honeyed tea or water in the hours preceding our lessons, which will commence each evening at seven o'clock. Are we understood?"
She stared at his shadowy form, finding the entire situation bizarre – he was now telling her what and when she could eat?! And yet, being his prisoner for so many months to come she realized she had little choice in the matter.
No, she had no choice.
He stared hard at her, then lifted his hand in a dismissive wave.
"You may retire to your room and rest. Tomorrow is time enough to begin the new routine." With that said, he shifted his attention back to the piano and resumed the melody that drew her in earlier.
She watched him a moment more then turned and left the room, taking the stairs up to her bedchamber. The entire time she readied for bed, she thought about their conversation, still finding it bizarre that he would demand such an arrangement.
What kind of teacher would he prove to be?
She found the Master of Rosemont mysterious and eccentric, but what troubled her most was his aloofness and cruelty, and she wondered what had happened in his life to make him so cold and cynical. Wondered too if it had to do with the peculiar mask he wore…
She moved aside the drapery so that a chink of the snow-lit light from outdoors would form a welcome glow beside her bed, then blew out the candle and crawled beneath the heavy coverlet, resting her head upon the pillow.
In her heart of hearts, she had secretly wished one day to take the stage, fostered by Meg's stories of the fervor and excitement of the theatre and the past successes of Christine's performer of a mother. Of course, when she mentioned opera and that her plans did not include it, (even if her dreams did), the Maestro had been less than encouraging with his caustic reply.
Still, with someone so incredibly talented in music for an instructor, perhaps there was yet hope for what always had seemed unattainable. That is, if she could endure his beastly manner night after night.
With a weary little sigh, Christine turned her head on the pillow and stared at the narrow beam of soft blue-white light for some time. Besides her escape from complete darkness of the previous room, the switch to this upper bedchamber awarded another benefit of which she had not been aware before taking the chamber as her own, one thus far nightly experienced…
She waited, clinging to the last vestiges of wakefulness, not wishing to miss it…
When at last, the distant chords of a violin shimmered in the evening stillness.
She faintly smiled and closed her eyes, allowing the melody to usher her into gentle slumber, her last waking thought that perhaps, just perhaps, his instruction in music would allow the dream to begin.
xXx
A/N: So, the beast will teach his beauty…or will beauty teach the beast? Perhaps a little of both? ; -) ... I likely won't get another chapter of anything up before the new year - (though I am working on the next chapter of a couple of stories) - but like Christine, I hope your dreams are soon to be realized.
Merry Christmas! : )