Chapter Text
The sun shone brightly in through the window, like it did every afternoon, when Belle was perched on the windowsill seat, reading whatever book had recently tickled her fancy. She should’ve been downstairs, making preparations and organising the house for Gaston’s visit, but if she’d had any say in the matter, she would’ve refused his visit. He was handsome, tall and strong, and idolised by everyone - men and women. Belle could see his appeal and probably would’ve fell for him, if he had stayed at a distance. She rolled her eyes, remembering the way he had swaggered over to her, a sickly grin on his face, and had taken her hand, placed a light kiss to her knuckles, peering up at her. The innocent gesture had made her skin crawl. Then, he had opened his mouth, his arrogance and vanity obvious, and had instantly repulsed her. Etiquette dictated, she had to smile and make small talk with him. Be pleasant with him, even though she had wanted to excuse herself and find a quiet corner to read a book. And now, six months later, she was harassed nearly daily with his letters, subjected to two monthly visits from him, with the inevitable of a marriage proposal looming in the air.
Letting out a disheartened sigh, Belle lowered her book to rest in her lap, her gaze drawn to look out at the luscious green fields, surrounding the house. She could see her younger self, out in the fields, running carefree, playing with the children of the servants. Those days were not so long ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Yet, the passing of her mother, felt like it had only happened yesterday. The bun at the back of her head, cushioned her as she rested her head back against the wall. Thinking of her mother always made Belle a little weepy. The grief and guilt, harboured in her heart, had not eased since her mother’s passing, six years ago. She doubted it ever would. Nothing could ease the regret, she associated with that fateful day, when her mother had done the most bravest deed: sacrificing herself for her own daughter.
It could’ve been any summer day, as they had strolled the coastal path, coming back from their picnic on the nearby beach. Belle had skipped ahead of her mother, ignoring the pleads of her mother, to slow down and wait for her. Naively, she had called for her mother to hurry up, not adhering to her mother’s call to slow down and instead, had dashed further ahead. She had scurried over the step in the fence, and had caught the hem of her dress under her foot, in her hast to get back to the house, and had fallen into a heap on the ground. Laughing it off, Belle had gotten to her feet and had been brushing the dirt off her skirt, when a pair of strong hands had grabbed her and had forced her back against the fence, using the weight of their body to prevent her escape.
“What do we have ‘ere?” Had asked a malicious voice.
Taken aback, Belle had grasped at the man’s coat, wide eyed, as she had tried to comprehend what was happening to her. Forcefully, he had taken a hold of her chin, further pinning her back, pushing her head back to be shrouded by the bush behind her. He was taller than her, easily towering over her. His face was weathered, deep dark lines had been drawn into his skin, and his cheeks had been hollow with his eyes sunken into his face. She couldn't forget the smell of him - sweat, stale ale and God knows what else. The smell of him had been a heavier presence than his body had been, pinning her to the fence. Just as she was thinking about him, Belle could’ve sworn he was in the library with her.
To that day, Belle couldn’t answer the question as to why she hadn’t screamed out for help. It wouldn’t have taken much. She desperately wanted to give a reason. God knows, she had more than once, berated herself for a reason. Any reason! A loud scream would've alerted the workers in the nearby fields. It would've been such a strange occurrence that they would’ve instantly come to investigate, like they had done, when they’d heard the heart wrenching cry of her mother.
His eyes had leered down at the small amount of cleavage her dress revealed. An appreciative grin had drawn back the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t until his gaze had flicked up from her chest to her face, Belle’s comprehension of the immediate danger she had dawn on her. Fuelled by fear, she had tried to shove at his shoulders and kick at his shins, trying to fight him off, but had froze at the familiar sound of a pistol being cocked. The wide barrel of the pistol had slowly come into view, pointing directly into Belle’s face.
“Now, now, enough of that.” the man had chided her. “The less you struggle, the sooner it’ll be over.”
Belle had opened her mouth, desperate to scream for help, yet no sound had left her mouth. Not even a squeak as he had forced her mouth open with his rough hand holding her chin and covered her lips with his hard lips, and had forced his way into her mouth, invading her mouth with his tongue and the putrid taste of him.
The bushes had rustled as a boot had clunked onto the wooden stile step. The owner of the boot had let out a small groan of effort, whilst beginning their climb over the stile. The man had torn his lips away from Belle, when her mother's shout startled him. “Get your hands off my daughter!”
Her mother hadn’t waited for the man to do as she had instructed. She had launched the small picnic basket at him, hitting him in the side of the head, whilst the contents of the basket scattered on the ground. After that point, what happened was a fog to Belle. She knew, there’d been a struggle. The bruises and the tear to her dress had been evidence of it. What she couldn’t remember, was how her mother had gotten herself into a position to protect Belle and ward off the unwelcome stranger.
Closing her eyes, Belle breathed through the pain of the memory and held a hand to her chest, nursing the dull ache of her heart, as she neared the tragic point of the tale. The moment where her life had changed forever. The moment where the man had raised the pistol, aiming the wide barrel at her mother, who had been guarding her daughter, her arms spread out wide to keep anyone from getting to her precious child. Her mother had not shied away from pistol and had stared down the barrel, fiercely meeting the gaze of her daughter’s attacker.
Bang!
Belle didn’t know what startled her more: the pistol going off or her mother’s weight falling back onto her, forcing Belle to catch her mother. The extra weight had compelled her down onto her knees. For a moment, the man had held Belle’s attention. Confusion, nothingness and fear had twisted and contoured the man's face before his feet had jumped into action. The man had scrambled over the fence, Belle had not long ago climbed over, blissfully unaware of what had waited for her on the other side. His feet had pounded away. The long grass shouldering the dirt path along the coast had thrashed out of the way of the man. His breathing had already been laboured as desperation drove him to get as far as he could and escape the fate of the hangman's noose.
Whilst the man had fled, Belle's attention had been drawn down to her mother, lifeless in her arms. Her head had slumped awkwardly against Belle’s chest. Frowning at her mother, Belle had unhooked an arm from under her mother and had tentatively reached out to touch the small, bright red mark on the front of her mother’s gown. She had snatched her fingers back, shocked by the warmth of it. Her gaze had been divided, between looking at her mother’s face, the red warm mark on her fingertips and the fast growing stain on her mother’s chest. A warmth had begun to ooze across her thighs and down to her knees, giving her a morbid sense of comfort.
Absorbing the facts in front of her, the comprehension of what had happened had slowly clawed its way to the forefront of her mind. Her bloody fingers had returned to the ever expanding mark on her mother’s chest. Cooler to the touch, than it had been seconds before. Belle had started to shake her head, refusing to accept the truth, while she had vainly shook her mother.
“Mother?” She had called gently, not wanting to startle her mother. Nothing.
Belle had grabbed a handful of her mother’s dress, using the leverage to shake her mother harder. “Mother?!”
Nothing.
“MOTHER!” She had screamed at the top of her lungs and had collapsed forward, cradling her mother’s face to her bosom, and had repeatedly whispered ‘no’, fiercely refusing to accept the truth.
A single tear squeezed out the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek, streaming a cold path down to her jaw. Before it could reach her jawline, Belle swept it away. Brushing it off as she let out a quiet sniffle. Crying never brought back her mother. Nor did it make her feel any better. It had only made her feel weak, reminding her of the feeble girl her younger self had been. Too frightened to cry out for help. Carrying the burden, that if she had done something, anything, there was a chance her mother could still be alive. Not buried six feet under on the small island, protected by the lake, located on the south side of the estate. Her mother would’ve been here, stood just inside her doorway, commanding her to come and help with the preparations for receiving Gaston.
Belle leaned forward away from the wall and touched a hand to her forehead, soothing the shallow lines of her brow. Easing out a breath, she turned her head to look out the window again as she stroked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, lowering her gaze to the servants below on the patio and in the gardens. They were all hard at work, carrying out their tasks with the utmost care and attention. It was the lady of the house, who had no care for preparing for their visitor.
There was a sharp knock at the door before it opened. Marking her place in her book, by laying a ribbon between the pages, Belle shifted on the window seat to face the door. Ruby, her handmaiden, entered, whilst looking back into the hallway, and closed the door behind her. Laying her book onto the seat beside her, Belle clasped her hands in her lap as Ruby hurried across the library to Belle.
“Your father is looking for you.” Ruby informed her.
“What does he want?” Belle asked as she stood up, flaring out her skirt.
Ruby quickly knelt down to tidy Belle’s skirt, as she said. “I don’t know. Maybe he's interested to know how the preparations are going? You remember, Gaston, that hunk of a man, who's been giving you googly eyes for months? Due to arrive this evening?”
“How could I forget?” She retorted in a dry tone.
“Any other woman would be throwing themselves at his feet.” Ruby stated as she stood up and straightened her own skirt, saying. “You, you’re too busy with your nose in a book.”
Rolling her eyes at Ruby, Belle lifted her skirt and started towards the door, commenting over her shoulder. “The man is insufferable.”
“That he might be, but I’m sure this visit, he’s going to be asking your father for your hand in marriage. Then you won’t be able to avoid him, once he’s your husband.” Ruby followed Belle to the door.
Clutching the doorknob in her hand, Belle paused to take a breath and prayed, her gaze to the ceiling above her. “God help me.”
“He’s not going to help you. He’s going to be bestowing his blessing on your union.” Ruby said, placing a hand on Belle’s shoulder.
“Shut up.” Belle scolded her friend as she yanked the door open to leave the library.
Swooshing out into the hallway, Belle glanced over her shoulder at Ruby, giving her friend a rueful smile as Ruby closed the library door behind them. Ruby never took offence. The two of them were more like sisters, than mistress and servant. They had never been without the other. From childhood to womanhood, they had been inseparable. Much to the dismay of Belle’s father, who frowned upon her fraternising with the servants. With their estate, a far distance from any other noble families, it had only been natural that she had played with the servants' children.
Her mother hadn’t minded. She had encouraged it, by including the servants’ children whenever they had played games or had Storytime, and her mother had even taught the servants' children alongside Belle. It was probably why, so many of those children had stayed, taking up positions in the household, remaining loyal to the family. Grateful to the kindness her mother had always shown them.
“Where is she?!” Came a thunderous shout from down the hallway, interrupting Belle’s thoughts.
A glance back at Ruby, the pair hitched up their skirts and broke out into a run, hurrying down the hallway and along the next to the grand staircase. Ruby easily kept up with Belle. She was taller and definitely had a longer stride with her long legs, but Belle had always been able to keep up with her friend. Playfully, Ruby shoved Belle aside, gaining a minuscule amount of distance. Belle grinned and increased her efforts. They were nearing the end of the hallway. Pushing herself that bit more, raising her skirt higher, Belle caught up with Ruby. They chuckled, breathlessly, as they got to the end of the hallway and came out onto the landing of the grand staircase.
The upper landing wrapped itself around the room, with a staircase down to the foyer below, wide enough for five people to walk easily up the stairs together. Large paintings of descendants and picturesque landscapes decorated the walls. Belle’s own portrait hung near the top of the stairs, located beside the very large portrait of her parents, hung in the direct path of anyone’s eyesight as they climbed the stairs.
“What the hell is that ruckus up there?” The voice boomed from below and then asked again. “And where is she? Where’s Belle?”
“I’m here, father!” Belle called out, leaning daringly over the banister, so he could see her from below.
Maurice titled his head back, his cheeks were red with frustration. “Where’ve you been? You better not have been in the library!”
She gaped her mouth at her father, feigning she was hurt with a hand to her chest, telling him. “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing father. Not with Gaston arriving this evening.”
“What were you doing then?” He asked, his gaze followed her along the landing to the top of the stairs, his fists sternly posed on his hips.
Belle started to descend the stairs as she told him. “I was selecting a dress for tonight, father.” She then scoffed at him. “You wouldn’t want Gaston to see me in the same dress again? Whatever would he think?”
He raised an eyebrow in thought as his stance relaxed. “No… We wouldn’t want to give him the wrong idea.”
Risking a glance back at Ruby, who was a couple of steps behind her, Belle shrugged her eyebrows at her friend, knowing she had averted a scolding from her father. She stepped off the last step as her father dropped his hands to his sides, forgetting why he had been so annoyed with her.
“Has everything been taken care of?” Her father asked.
“I believe so.” Her dress swished over the floor, whilst she looked to Ruby to see her nod her head, and turned back to say to her father. “Everyone knows what to do, father. It’s all in hand.” And smiled reassuringly at him.
Maurice took a hold of the lapels of his jacket and his left thumb caressed the fabric, a nervous habit, as he said. “Hopefully, things will go well, my dear, and he’ll be asking for your hand by the end of his visit.”
“Papa,” Belle closed the space between them, reaching out to still his thumb with a gentle touch to his hand. “Let’s not worry about such things. We’ve got the next few days ahead of us and I foresee the weather will be fine.”
“He’ll ask, Belle.” He told her, taking a hold of her hand that had stilled his thumb.
“And if he does, we’ll deal with it then. But right now,” She smiled at him. “I need to go and organise what we’ll be having for dinner.” A gentle touch to his face and Belle rushed away from him, heading to the hallway leading to the kitchen.
Her eyes burgled at the thought of Gaston’s marriage proposal. The thought of marrying him, being with him until her dying breath, giving him her virtue, was daunting. She was not naive to think, she would ever marry someone in the name of love. It was not her place to fall in love with someone. That was the liberty of those, who had been given a choice in such matters.
For Belle, she had always known, she would be treated like a piece of property, sold off to the highest bidder. She had heard the flutter of ‘love at first sight’, but that was fanciful thinking. The best Belle had ever hoped for, was that she would be matched with someone, who was intelligent and had an interest in books. Giving them something, they could share with each other and discuss. Then, hopefully, given time, she could develop a fondness for them, grown from their mutual love of books. This was why, she doubted very much, she’d ever be fond of Gaston in any way possible: the man was a buffoon in gentleman’s clothing.