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All characters from J.M. Barrie belong to him. I’m just borrowing them. Everything else is © to Heather C. Myers 2014.
Chapter 1
It was now only a matter of sneaking out of her bedroom window and crossing over to the thick, nearby tree branch without plunging to her death as she had the previous time. Except now, Remy Cutler was afraid of heights, and there was the matter of waiting for the most favorable moment to present itself before actually doing so.
She glanced in the reflective glass so her eyes rested on her maid, currently fashioning her hair into a knot and wondered for the third time that minute just how much longer Beatrice would be. She knew she could not leave just yet, but her anticipating nerves would not leave her be until later, until she finally left.
“There,” Beatrice murmured after what felt like just longer than an eternity. “All finished.” Her grey eyes met Remy’s in the mirror, a small smile on her face. “My dear, allow me to say that you look absolutely beautiful. Lord Huntington is very lucky, indeed.”
Remy forced a smile. A small knot of guilt began to tickle her stomach and she had to avoid the maid by looking down to her fingers buried deeply in the folds of her dress. She had not told anyone about her plan for fear of it being ruined, not even James, the stable boy and her closest friend. Now she was beginning to feel the repercussions of such a pressing secret. Though Remy had known Beatrice her entire life and though the old maid had practically raised Remy as her own, the young girl knew that if her maid found out what Remy was planning to do, Beatrice would not hesitate to tell the Cutlers in order to prevent such a thing from happening. That did not mean, however, that Remy did not feel guilty about keeping such a thing from her maid, especially when Remy trusted the woman with practically everything else.
“Thank you, Bea,” Remy murmured, her eyes still on her hands. “Might I have a moment to myself? I feel as though I must collect my bearings.”
Beatrice placed a comforting hand on Remy’s shoulder. “Of course, my dear,” she said, squeezing. “But do not be long! I am quite certain that Lord Huntington will be present at any moment!”
Another tight smile, but this time, Remy forced herself to look at her maid one last time. She needed to memorize Beatrice – those grey eyes, round cheeks, graying dark hair that was always braided and wrapped into a bun on the top of her head, her rough hands, her tiny feet, her voluptuous figure – to ensure she would not forget her closest companion. It would be one of the last times she ever saw Beatrice.
The knock on the door caused an uncontrollable shiver to slide down Remy’s spine and she threw a wary glance in the direction of the door. Her mother had come to fetch her, surprisingly earlier than planned.
She should have escaped when she had had the chance.
Remy inhaled as deeply as she could, mentally preparing herself for the next few hours she would have to endure, dining both with her parents and her fiancé simultaneously. Why her mother was adamant in escorting her to the dining room was not something Remy knew, though her mother had always been a bit eccentric. As such, Remy had learned not to question the older woman’s spontaneous acts and simply condescended to whatever whims her mother chose to participate in. While Remy was nothing short of mortified when these acts happened in public, apparently it was a characteristic that endeared Adrienne Daaé to her father.
Upon opening the door, Remy forced a tight smile onto her face. Her mother looked nothing short of stunning (beauty also played a favorable role in ensnaring Earl Cutler), with her blonde hair swept up into curls and pinned to the back of her head, and her forest green eyes – the very eyes Remy had inherited from her – shining mischievously.
Mischievousness was not something Remy inherited; rather, she was adamant at the upkeep of society’s rules and etiquette; she learned good posture and strict organization; she was forced to remember things her mother tended to forget and her father was too busy to see too. In essence, she was the perfect child for an upper class family. Her only imperfection and one she could not change was the matter of her sex.
The only she disagreed on was the matter of her marriage. Logically, she understood the benefits at looking at matrimony as a business transaction. However, Remy could not fathom marrying for any other reason but love. The notion was romantic, useless, and completely incomprehensible, but her own stubbornness – a trait she thanked her father for – would not allow her mind to overcome her heart. She wished she could speak to her parents of her desires, but she thought the endeavor pointless as it was engrained in her mind at a young age that it was her duty as a daughter to marry the man they chose for her. And duty was expected from her more than anything else. As such, she endured and endured and endured…
In all honesty, Remy had no idea when she started to rebel. When she was younger, she used to sneak out to her room to visit Charlie or James Henderson – a boy she was rather fond of but knew her parents would never approve of – but she understood that such scandalous visitations would cease once she grew older.
Then she died.
Death was unlike the way Remy imagined it would be. Instead of an angel coming to lead her to Heaven or, God forbid, a fiery stairway descending towards That Place, she found herself on an island with other people of varying station, age, size, color, and creed. Remy inquired as to where they were and what they were waiting for, since they all seemed to be staring at the unchanging horizon. The only response besides “I haven’t a clue” was “The Transporter.” Of course, this cryptic answer did nothing to ease her growing confusion.
In a manner of moments, a ship arrived and with that ship, a man who looked suspiciously piratical. Handsome in a gruff sort of way, she grudgingly admitted, but piratical certainly. Immediately and by no doing of hers, his eyes locked onto her person. They were thoroughly brown in color, those eyes, with a warm, mischievous sparkle embedded in them, as though it had taken up permanent residence in his orbs. They seemed more knowing than her mother’s, as though he had much more acquaintance of the world beyond what Adrienne Cutler could even imagine.
Why he called to her and her alone to board his ship, she did not know, to this day. Once on board, she noticed two other people standing on the deck, a female which surprised Remy, and a male. Remy paid them no mind beyond a curious glance before turning her full attention to the mysterious stranger. Upon hearing his explanation of her fate, she did the first thing she thought to do: run. She did not know where she was going. She could not explain why she chose to descend the nearby staircase and reach for the third door on the left. Why not the first or the second or perhaps the lone doors on the right, she knew naught. Once her fingers turned the knob to that third door, she threw herself inside…
…and somehow ended in her body, flat on her back, and in pain. Remy paid no attention to the pain. She forgot about her late-night rendezvous with James and though it took more time than her short patience would allow, she managed to re-climb the tree and plop into bed. Immediately, she fell into a deep sleep; she had not yet even changed into her nightgown. The only evidence of her brush with Death was a few scratches, a rather unseemly bruise on her posterior, a piercing ache her neck, a fear of heights, and an inexplicable rebellious streak. Suddenly, duty was not as important to her as it was to her parents and marrying a man she had only met once and knew she did not love was unfathomable to her. She had just reclaimed her life, her freedom, and she was not about to sacrifice that for anybody, let alone obligation. Even if that meant doing the unthink
able by running away.
“Ah, Remy dear,” her mother said in her unmistakable French accent. Her forest-green eyes immediately descended upon her daughter’s attire. “Perhaps I shall speak to Beatrice about not dressing you in pale blue anymore. I fear it does nothing for your complexion, which is a shame because it is such a lovely color and you have such a lovely complexion. It is far too late or I would have you change into something more agreeable – perhaps a pale green – gown immediately. However, if we are to make our dinner appointment with your father and Lord Huntington then we should not tarry longer for there is something I must show you beforehand.” Her lips curled out into a smile. “It is a surprise!”
Remy raised a single brow. Her mother’s surprises ranged from something as desirable as a new bonnet to something superfluous as a riding mare to something random as a painting of a starry night. Usually, they were not distributed for any reasons because she usually forgot important, traditional gift-giving dates, but they were given based on Adrienne’s whimsy.
“Actually, it is from your grandmére,” her mother amended, “but it is I who is presenting it to you.”
As her mother led her down the hall, Remy’s thoughts trailed over to her maternal grandmother, the woman she was named for. Remy Daaé was as strict as her daughter was eccentric. She was tall and slim and incredibly imposing. The few times the Cutlers’ embarked on the long voyage to France, where Remy’s maternal grandparents lived, always caused her to break out in hives due to her nervousness at the prospect of being under her grandmother’s sharp scrutiny. Her mother find this quite amusing while her father reminded Remy that she was perfect and there was no need to get into fits visiting family.
Of course, while young, Remy was not naïve enough to believe her father’s declaration of her perfection. Not only was she his only child and most beloved daughter, Remy favored him physically over her mother. Also, a compliment from her father, however sincere it was, was like water spewing from a fountain: rather easy to attain.
No, it was her mother (though, to be fair, Adrienne Cutler did give backhanded compliments quite frequently, which was more than Grandmére ever did) and her grandmother she sought approval from, and while Remy did try her hardest at impressing the old woman by donning the latest fashions in the appropriate colors, making certain her back was as straight as a book’s spine, and spoke with intelligence and humility at the same time. This never inspired words of pride from the woman, and whenever the Cutler family took their leave – never too soon for Mr. Cutler – Remy internally scolded herself internally at needing approval from such a crabby woman. The only reason that made sense to Remy for her incessant need for her grandmére’s sanction was their bonding of their name. Apparently, it was one-sided since the woman was nothing but cold and critical to her granddaughter.
That all changed, as these things were wont to do, after Remy got engaged to a Lord.
Upon hearing of the news, the old woman sent Remy a message. It was short and direct, much like Remy Daaé herself, and yet it everything Remy longed to hear in her seventeen years of life. It simply stated ’Well done.’
It was unfortunate that it had come a little over two years too late. Now that Remy had experienced Death in Its entirety, she no longer longed for her grandmére’s support, not when Remy understood there was so much more to live for. Had she never danced that thin line between the living, the passing, and the dead and come back to life, she probably would have married Lord Huntington, bore him children, and been the perfect if somewhat saucy wife, especially after receiving her grandmother’s approval.
Now that Remy had what she long sought, she found that she did not want it anymore. This caused her to pull away from the old woman which, ironically enough, caused Grandmére to suddenly fixate her attentions on Remy to the point of sending her this mysterious gift.
“Here,” her mother said, interrupting her thoughts and stopping so abruptly that Remy nearly ran into Adrienne. With a flourish, her mother opened the doors to the room Remy had earlier learned she would be getting ready for her wedding in tomorrow.
The wedding that would not take place.
What could her grandmother possibly have gotten her that required in this particular room?
And then she saw it, plastered on a mannequin.
The dress.
She was no certain the immediate disdain she felt when she first laid eyes on it was because she loathed the design or because it represented everything now feared. She would not allow herself to be trapped into something she could not escape, and donning that dress would be akin to donning a prison uniform.
It was a pale golden brown color, save for the large skirt, which was a blinding ivory. The cut was square, and knowing her mother’s penchant for tight corsets, would reveal an ample amount of Remy’s considerable bust while simultaneously narrowing her waist. Lace lined the cut, and while Remy was actually found of lace, this particular design was too frilly for her tastes. The sleeves would mold to her shoulders and stop at her elbows, loosening into ruffles that would trail each arm. The length of the dress was more than long with a sizable train at the end, and there was a floral pattern stitched into the material a shade darker than the pale gold outlined with real diamonds. Remy suppressed a shiver; she absolutely detested any floral patterns in her clothes. She pointedly ignored the matching slippers – these ones with heels – due to the fact that her practicing at being a lady produce superb results in everything she sought to master, except for walking in heels with the grace that should come with being a lady.
This abomination just proved how little her grandmére knew of her and, more than that, how little her mother thought of her to think that Remy would be delighted to wear it. Thank goodness she never would. If all went according to plan, she would be long gone before her wedding was to take place.
“Grandmére chose a good color for you, I think,” Remy’s mother put in, her eyes narrowing at the dress in order to take in any imperfection the material might be hiding somebody with a less trained eye would miss. “We will not know, of course, until you try it on.” She looked over at her daughter. “Perhaps after supper?”
Remy hoped to escape after supper, truth be told. Luckily, she was saved from having to answer thanks to the loud chimes of the grandfather clock located just outside the room, at the end of the long hallway.
“Oh my!” Adrienne exclaimed, placing her hand over her chest. She always did have a flair for the dramatics. “Supper.” She shot another glance at her daughter. “I fear we will be arriving late. I am certain Lord Huntington will forgive us, though. O well. Lateness does offer us a chance to make an entrance, no?”
It took longer for Remy to acquiesce to her mother’s request. Normally, her response would have been automatic, a response a proper lady would give. She still answered appropriately, but there was a slight hesitation before she said anything. It would seem her mother was too lost in her ever-changing thoughts to notice. It was only when Remy said “We shall” that Adrienne acknowledged her daughter and proceeded to lead her out of the room and down the staircase.
As was expected, Lord Huntington was already present at the table. Both Earl Cutler and Lord Huntington stood when the women entered – Remy was uncertain if this was the particular entrance her mother hoped to make – and the Lord pulled out a chair for Remy to sit in. After both she and her fiancé were seated, the servants proceeded to bring out the first course of what would be a four-course meal. The first course consisted of overly-salted soup (at Papa’s request) and various bread rolls. Remy did not hesitate to grab two rolls, although she really should grab three just in case she was not too fond of the main dishes.
Her mother, seated at the end of the dining table, shot her daughter a reproving look over her wine glass that she was already sipping quite generously. “Remy, do you think that, considering the importance of your figure tomorrow, it might be best to only have one roll. Actually, perhaps no rolls will be best.”
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br /> The air suddenly tightened. Remy’s father, as he was wont to do, ignored his wife’s comment by slurping a rather large spoonful of his soup. Her fiancé, on the other hand, looked across the table at Remy with something she could not quite decipher written in his eyes. “I think Remy will look beautiful tomorrow, whether she eats three rolls or three hundred,” he said. “I am very lucky to share the rest of my life with you.” This last sentence was directed at Remy and a small smile touched his lips.
Remy’s heart dropped into a big pile of guilt to the point where the organ was drenched in it. Moments like this one made her wish she loved him or that there was a possibility she could eventually love him after their nuptials, as her parents had. She knew, however, such things were not possible which made her wish she had never died. If she had not, she would probably look at the marriage as what it was: a necessity for a girl of her station, and one she would have done her best at because not only was it her duty, but because Lord Huntington would make an excellent husband. He was kind and respectful and handsome for a man well into his thirties with his short, auburn hair, clear blue eyes, and a healthy disposition. He would certainly make any woman lucky to be with him.
She was just not that woman.
Her words caused her to look down at her plate, a flush tainting her ivory skin. “I thank you sir,” she responded, uncharacteristically demure.
“Lord Huntington, do not be so humble!” her mother exclaimed, shooting her eyes at the man to her left. “It is we who are lucky that you are marrying Remy, my daughter the luckiest of all.”
Mr. Cutler pressed his lips into a thin line, shooting his wife a glare. He did not approve of flattery when it was unnecessary or incessant, but he particularly abhorred when one statement could be construed as both. Adrienne forced a rather believable smile but she knew she had erred and reached for her wine glass.
Surprisingly, Remy found dinner to be over much too soon, despite her original hesitancy at attending in the first place. Adamant as she was against her marriage, she knew that this moment would be the last memory she would have of her parents and fiancé. So for the last few moments – before Lord Huntington took his leave, her father retired to his study to read up on current events, and her mother snuck out to her second-story balcony to sneak a smoke – she tried to paint a picture in her mind that would stay with her forever; the way her father would tap the side of his nose when he was perplexed about something, the way her mother wore bright red rogue at any time of day and how it normally stained her wine glasses, and the way, whenever Lord Huntington’s blue eyes rested upon her, he blatantly revealed his complete adoration for her. She would never admit it, but she was afraid no one would look at her that way again.
Death in Neverland: Book 1 in The Neverland Trilogy (The Neverland Series) Page 1