by T E Elliott
“One of you could have come and found me and François. Even if you didn’t know where he was, you knew in what direction I would be.”
Jacques turned his head down in shame, but Pierre, whose temper always seemed to settle just below the surface, lashed out, “Jacques and I have been working all day! We’re tired and hungry. I don’t give a hang what Father’s moping about. How serious could it possibly be? He sets traps to catch rabbits for pity’s sake. Did his little bunny rabbit get away from him?” He gave a short laugh. “Juliette has said he’s not ill or hurt and that he wasn’t going to speak until we were all there. If it was that urgent, why didn’t he tell Marie to go fetch you?” He spat on the ground and stood up. “I’ll be in when I’ve cleaned up.” He turned back to the well and pulled up a bucket of water.
Léa looked pleadingly at Jacques. “Would you at least come with me to get François? I can’t do it alone.”
“Why not?” Jacques eyed her from his perch. He was more reasonable of the lot, but still wouldn’t put extra effort forth if he didn’t have to.
Léa hesitated and hugged her arms around herself, suddenly chilly, “François is drunk and he won’t leave easily. I need help.”
Jacques jumped down reluctantly and started walking. Léa turned to Juliette, “Will you please start supper at least?”
Juliette shrugged and continue looking at her nails.
“Juliette?” she tried again.
“Yes, I will!” Juliette put her hands down and trudged toward the house.
Léa hurried to catch up with Jacques and together they headed for the tavern.
The tavern was located in the circular town square, apparently no one thought it odd to make a town “square” circular. A large fountain was located at the center and several buildings made up the circumference. Some were shops, a tall boarding house, and then the tavern. As they approached, Léa saw that Martin was still sitting outside.
“Hello again, Martin. Are you well?” Léa asked pointedly, wanting to make sure the older man wasn’t too hurt, but not wanting Jacques to know about earlier events.
“I am well, Beauty. I didn’t think you would be back so soon.”
“Is François still inside?” She ignored the comment.
“Yes. He hasn’t passed me yet, that is.”
“Thank you, Martin.” Léa smiled tenderly at him and turned to step into the tavern. Before she did, Martin reached for her arm and leaned over to her ear, “Be careful, Beauty, he’s still in there too.”
“Thank you, I will,” she patted his hand.
The tavern was dark, with just a few lamps lit along the walls. Several tables stood throughout the room with a smattering of men dispersed among them. They walked up to the bar straight ahead where Jacques asked where their brother was. The barkeep subsequently pointed toward the fireplace to their right. Léa had a thought and asked the man if they had any stew today. She gave him a few coins for a pot and told him to keep it ready for her.
As they turned toward the direction their brother was supposed to be, they saw Olivier standing at the fireplace, foot on a stool, alternating between gulps of ale and boasting tales of his hunting excursions. A small group of men were sitting or standing around him. François was slouched down in an armchair across from him.
Léa stopped. Jacques turned back to her and lifted a brow in question.
“You go get him, Jacques. I’ll wait here.”
He shrugged but walked through the crowd to François’ chair. Leaning down, he spoke something into his brother’s ear. François sat up slightly and turned to look at Léa. Olivier noticed the look and followed it. When he saw Léa, he stopped mid-sentence and gave an elaborate bow in her direction, lifted his mug, and downed it. Léa turned her face away and folded her arms, impatient to be gone. Thankfully, François struggled to his feet without protest, though once he was standing, he had to lean on Jacques to stay upright. Léa picked up the pot of stew and wrapped François’ other arm around her to help support him. They left without issue, though she could feel Olivier’s stare follow them out.
As they neared the cottage, Léa left Jacques to take François into the house while she went around the back to the kitchen. She had a feeling that Juliette might give up on supper, but didn’t want to offend her if she had accomplished the task. Opening the door a crack and not seeing anyone, she stepped in and put the stew on the stove to keep it warm. Further scrutiny of the kitchen revealed a few slices of bread on the table with a knife by the unfinished loaf, and nothing more. Nodding her head in resignation, she went toward the front room where she’d last seen her father.
Du Bois was still in his chair, though it was now turned out with its back to the fire so he could face his children, who were all seated at different places throughout the room. François had been placed on a chaise and was sound asleep. Jacques sat on the floor in front of him while Marie lay across another chair, her legs hanging over the arm, and Juliette lounged on a settee. Pierre sat in an identical chair to her father’s on the other side of the fireplace, alternating between staring into the fire and whittling.
Pierre glanced up as Léa walked in, “Finally, let’s get this over with, shall we?”
“Do you have somewhere to be, Pierre?” Juliette smirked.
He glared at her, but said nothing.
Du Bois held out his hand to Léa and she stepped forward to take it before settling on the hearth in front of the fire. The warmth felt good on her back. It had grown dark as they walked home and she was now chilled. Du Bois appeared ragged as he looked around at his children.
“Go ahead, Father, tell us what has happened,” Léa encouraged him.
“Well, my children, it has been an interesting day. An interesting day full of woe that I could not possibly have foreseen,” he started. All the children exchanged glances with one another, now interested in what their father had to say. “Have any of you heard of the Rousseau family who lives in the château on the other side of our woods?”
“Yes, yes, I just heard of them today,” Léa offered, “there are stories about the son, and the mother, she…Oh, Father! Did you wander onto their property?”
“You have guessed it, my Beauty. I meant no harm. I was on the hunt when I stumbled upon their property. I was brought before the great lady herself and treated contemptibly, she wants to charge me with poaching, thieving, and trespassing. But, what is this about the son?”
Everyone was attentive and sober now, except François, who was still asleep.
“Madame Beaumont told me that Monsieur Rousseau, the son, was kept hidden from the world, no one knows why, but there are many stories about him. The children call him a monster. Others say he was born a beast. She said Duchesse d'Aramitz charges anyone who trespasses to the full extent of the law. What are we to do?” Fear gripped her throat and she tried to keep the tears at bay; they wouldn’t be helpful now.
“I’m afraid prison will be the only option,” he conceded.
Pierre stood up and pounded his fist against the wall. Juliette went into hysterics and Marie’s face clouded over. Jacques remained quiet, head bowed in contemplation.
“Father, you fool, why would you trespass on someone’s property?” Marie lashed out.
“Thieving, Father? What did you steal?” Juliette was likely more interested in what the object was rather than the fact that he had stolen something.
They all turned to him, waiting for his answer. Du Bois was miserable at his children’s censure.
“The charge is highly exaggerated. It was only a rose, a single rose. I thought Beauty would enjoy it.” He swallowed and looked down at the floor in guilt.
“Beauty?” Marie spat. “You’re going to prison over a rose for Beauty?” She fumed as she went into the bedchamber and slammed the door behind her.
“Beauty always was your favorite,” Juliette sobbed, “now we’ll be completely ruined because of her!” She followed Marie, slamming the door as well. Du Bois closed hi
s eyes and groaned.
Silent tears streamed down Léa’s face. “The stew!” She shot up and ran to the kitchen. She stirred it and cried a little harder. Wiping her tears on her apron, she found some bowls and filled them for the men, adding the few slices of bread that Juliette had prepared to each bowl.
She brought the bowls of stew and set one on Pierre’s chair. He immediately took it up and sat before the fire again, eating hungrily with the same sullen expression on his face. She handed one to her father, but he just held it. Jacques took his and ate slowly. Léa sat on the now vacated settee and stared ahead, lost in thought.
“There is a small hope,” Du Bois ventured, “After I begged for mercy, Duchesse d'Aramitz sent me home so she could consider further. Perhaps she will show mercy after all.”
“A small hope indeed, Father,” Jacques spoke for the first time. It was hard to tell whether he was holding on to that hope or whether he’d already given up on it. They all felt the same mix of feelings.
“Only the morning will tell us, I’m afraid,” their father sighed.
The girls of the family shared the one room in the cottage, the boys shared the loft, and the father slept on a cot in the kitchen. With Marie shifting so much blame to her, Léa didn’t think it right to join them in the bedchamber, especially since they shared one bed. She didn’t think she would be welcomed there. Léa also knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep even if she tried, so she decided to stay up in the sitting room. Du Bois was still in his chair by the fire, and François was snoring on the chaise. Léa curled up on the chair next to her father’s.
“Papa, why is Marie so jealous of me? Why do the others seem to hate me so? I know you don’t mean to show favoritism, but I can understand why they would think that you do. Aside from that though, I’ve never sought anyone’s attention; in fact, I’d like to get away from most of it, yet she still takes it out on me. She is just as beautiful as I am—more in fact. Will she never see that I’m on her side?”
Du Bois gazed over at her with love in his eyes, “My dear, you have a good heart, and until Marie finds that for herself, forgive me for saying it, she will never be as beautiful as you are. Others see that too, it is not just a father’s bias.” He gave her a warm smile. Léa wasn’t content with that answer and Du Bois saw it, so he continued, “Perhaps I do favor you, and that wrongfully. I’ve overindulged all of my children, and I am to blame for the faults I see in them. It’s pure chance that you have turned out so unassuming. I was so caught up in business when you children were growing up. I thought I could assuage my guilt by giving gifts and pampering. And now I’m paying the price for lack of care.” He ran a hand through his hair. “In fact, you all are suffering for it now. My children have no skills or experience for this life that we now live. If your mother were here, it never would have come to this. She kept me in line, and all of you as well. I…I am to blame for all of this mess.” He lowered his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes.
“No, Father, you cannot take all of the blame. A life of pampering has made us all soft, yes, but showing disrespect and lack of familial care is entirely their own choice.” She couldn’t help but feel a little bitter. Her father had favored her, it was true, but she’d taken much of the household work on herself as well as looked after the family all these years. She felt like the mother they never had, and they still persisted in blaming her for all their problems.
Du Bois turned to her and took her hands, “My dear, you have taken the family load upon yourself for many years, but you are the youngest of them all. I admire you for it, you know I do, but perhaps the others have come to resent you for it. You’re their baby sister, but you take the place of eldest. I should not have let you take on so much responsibility; indeed, it will not be so moving forward. Provided of course I’m here to enforce it.”
Tears came to Léa’s eyes; she let go of her father’s hands to dab at them.
Du Bois continued, “Coming face to face with the prospect of being torn from my family has made me think many things over. If I am taken away from you, promise me you will not continue like this. Pierre wants to take responsibility; in fact, he would like nothing more than to start his own family, but he feels trapped. He is only just learning what it takes to be a farmer, he barely has a profession, no money and no home of his own. That is why he is so angry all the time, he is frustrated and takes it out in unwise ways.
“Jacques is quiet, but he feels it all more than he lets on. He’s tired and would be better suited to a more educated profession. François is like a ship with no sails or anchor, he lacks direction and doesn’t know his place in this world. I fear if he does not find it soon, he will sink. Juliette only wants to be loved and thinks she will obtain that by beauty and wealth; with that gone, she is grasping at a life that is no longer in reach. It scares her. Marie—oh, Marie. She is the true baby of the family and receives none of the attention. She needs her papa.” His voice cracked and he choked back a sob.
“You see, I do know and love each of my children,” he laughed and wiped his tears. He turned his head to her, “And, Léa, my sweet Beauty, she cares for her family dearly, but it is too much for someone so young to bear on her own. She needs rest and the chance to live her own life.”
“Father, you haven’t called me by my name in years,” she smiled and hugged her arms around herself.
“Are you cold? Here.” He eased up out of his chair and pulled a blanket off of the couch. He laid it over her and tucked it in around the edges. Léa observed him as he did. She hadn’t noticed how gray he’d become or how much the lines between his eyes had deepened, yet he was still as handsome as ever. His chestnut brown hair was getting long on top, he needed it cut. He often ran his fingers through it when he was stressed or deep in thought. He was of average height; his sons were taller. All of his children had inherited his pleasant features. Juliette perhaps wore a little too much rouge. The warmth of the blanket made Léa immediately drowsy, and it didn’t take long as she leaned her head against the side of the chair before she was fast asleep.
Chapter 4
Léa woke slowly, stretching out her arms and back. She looked over, but her father was no longer there. François was still asleep—on the floor—where he must have rolled to during the night. Léa laid her blanket over him, then grabbed a shawl from the hook by the door. Looking outside, she noticed it was still somewhat dark; the sun would rise soon. Du Bois was outside pacing, arms clasped behind him, head down. Léa opened the heavy wooden door and went out to him, the gravel in front of their cottage crunching under her feet as she went. Du Bois turned and held his hand out to her. She melted into his arms as he hugged her tight. When she looked up into his face, she could see he was deeply anxious. The soberness of the situation settled on her in that moment.
Along with the first rays of the sun, a rumbling of carriage wheels could be heard and a dust cloud could be seen coming along the road.
“Well, Beauty, time to face my fate. The Lady hasn’t wasted any time in bringing my doom,” he heaved a sigh, “so much the better, I’ve been up all night waiting.”
“Father…” she answered weakly, tears of fear beginning to form as her face constricted in worry.
“All will be well, my love, don’t break my heart with your tears,” he lifted his hand to her face, tears forming in his eyes as well. He composed himself and turned toward the road, moving her behind him in a protective stance.
As the carriage pulled up in front of them, Pierre, Juliette, and Marie stumbled out of the house. Pierre was shirtless and Juliette and Marie still in their night clothes. François tripped through the door, cringing and blinking at the new light of morning. “What’s going on?” he croaked.
The footman jumped down from his place at the back and opened the carriage door, holding out his hand to aid Duchesse d'Aramitz out. So stately, so regal, so prepared to ruin a man’s life. She stood for a moment and observed the man and his daughter. As she approached them, she deigne
d a glance to the others then focused on Du Bois again.
“I presume these are the children you spoke of?” she began.
“Yes, Madame,” he got down on one knee and continued, “Duchesse d'Aramitz, I must apologize, at the time when we met, I knew nothing about your son. I did not know…”
“You did not know what?” a harshness entered her tone, “Hmm? What have you heard about my son?”
“I just heard the stories…” he stopped, nervous at what he might be implying.
“The stories, is it? You didn’t know that my son was a monster or an animal, is that what you mean?”
“No, I did not mean to imply…” There was nothing he could say to rectify the situation now. It seemed his fate was sealed. Léa quietly stepped forward.
“What my father means to say, Duchesse, is that he was not aware that he would be intruding by coming upon a neighbor’s property and that had he known you and your son preferred such privacy, he would never have presumed to trespass,” she spoke with politeness and grace, but confidence. Inwardly her heart was pounding, but it only served to spur her on in defense of her father, who she firmly believed was, mostly, innocent.
Duchesse d'Aramitz scrutinized her for several moments. Léa started to feel ill at ease over what must be a rumpled, slept-in appearance, when the lady turned and surveyed the even more rumpled group behind her. Léa turned as well. Pierre stood with his muscular chest bare and his arms folded, head held high. Juliette and Marie showed a mixture of pride and defiance. François was a little more sobered, but he still leaned unsteadily against the door frame and had a completely befuddled look on his face. She wasn’t sure where Jacques was.
The lady turned back to Léa. She could tell by the look in the lady’s eyes that she had decided something as she turned to the still kneeling Du Bois.