by Cat Knight
“Sure, I’ll take the job. Why not. Bit late in the season to start, but we can work on the paths, the flowerbeds…So, Friday, yeah?” he asked her as he ducked into the driver’s seat of his van.
“Friday?” Belle murmured quietly, head tilting she squinted trying to recall their conversation.
“The Historic society? Bodmin? Remember?”
“Oh! Yeah, yeah, of course. Sounds like fun. Where do I need to be?”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ll pick you up.” Before Belle could open her mouth to protest, Sam waved a hand. “Carpooling is good, mate, save the environment and all that. I’ll pick you up Friday at six, okay? And Camille? Wonderful to meet you. Call me anytime and we’ll start working on that diamond in the rough next week, okay?”
Camille grinned from ear to ear as she waved Sam out of the driveway, before turning to Belle with excitement in her eyes.
“So… he seems nice…and he’s quite good looking don’t you think?”
“Yes, Auntie I did happen to notice that he’s very handsome. No, Auntie, I’m not interested.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort! As a matter of fact, I was going to tell you to keep your hands off, he’s mine.” Belle yawned, tired from the persistent lack of sleep.
“Are you alright, dear?” Camille asked after they’d come back into the house. “You seem a little put out.”
“Not put out Auntie. Although the house is full of dust and neglected like nobody’s business. Just tired. I think I’m going to go and lay down for a nap.”
“You do that, my love. I’ll call you when dinner is ready. You go up and rest your head now.”
Belle did so, but instead of taking the left to her usual room, she kept walking the dusty hallways until she found herself back in the west wing and in the master bedroom. She lay down on the bare mattress of the four poster, curled on her side. The necklace fell sideways into her bosom and her hand went protectively to it. Time dilated. The walls around her faded to darkness as she closed her eyes and let herself drift… drift… drift…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She had just alighted from the cab, surreptitiously giving a brief nod to Thomas as she walked away. He still insisted on collecting her from her house and seeing her right to her door. True his abode was on the seedy side of town, but no matter how much she protested and said she could manage the trip alone, he said it was his duty see her safely through the streets. The one time she had argued with him, he had suggested that it might be time to end their sessions, for he could never live with himself if she fell prey to vagabonds while he sat safe in his home. ‘A woman of wealth, such as herself should take all caution’, he argued. She valued his services far too greatly to ever truly disagree with him again, and thus she allowed him to see her to and from her house to their sessions, twice a week. The driver clicked his tongue and the horse and carriage pulled away. She stepped up the front stairs and entered her home, exhausted.
Hodgeson, the butler, was waiting and the door swung wide for her. He took her cloak and offered the customary deference by not fully meeting her eyes, but there was something different, did she detect a sneer? How would he dare? And what were the servants whispering and giggling about? No matter. Nothing mattered. Her little cherub was safe, and one day they would be together again. Each time she went to see Thomas, her little girl’s presence grew stronger. Today, she had heard her giggling and her own heart has soared with joy. “Thank you Hudson”, she replied, and sailed past him, holding her head high. It seemed the servants were forgetting their station, she would need to remind them of it. Her ringlets jostled as she tossed her head and walked the stairs to her room, musing that she was much too sensitive to what they thought, they were just servants, after all. “Come, tend to me Hélène.” Her lady’s maid followed her quickly to her room. “Whatever has put the servants in such a boisterous mood of late?” she looked over her shoulder as Hélène began to help her out of her dress, for she always needed to sleep after these sessions. As joyous as they were, they wore her out entirely. In the evenings, George would inevitably entertain guests and she must be attentive never missing a beat of polite conversation and the niceties required of her. She ran her hands down over the bodice, helping Hélène with her task of removing the garment. A tiny bead came loose in her hand. She handed it over. “Please sew this back, before next week.” Hélène tucked the bead into her pocket and hung her dress back in the large wooden wardrobe, taking care to smooth it down.
“Yes milady, I’ll see to it tonight”.
“Thank you, Hélène, you are such a comfort to me. Now tell me about downstairs.”
“Oh, it’s nothing Madame, they are just silly women, with nothing better to do than chitter and chatter.”
“Chitter and chatter about what? Hélène- I insist you let me in on the secret. if this silliness keeps up – Mr Ferncoombe will have to be informed. And Hodgeson seems to be getting too big for his boots. Tell me what the problem is.” She turned fully around to face her maid. Hélène looked to the ground, but the pitying in her eyes didn’t escape Flora.
“The French do not judge a woman for this milady.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“When a woman grieves, she needs love more than ever, a way to heal. Husbands may not understand…”
“Love? Love to heal my heart?” She quizzed Hélène with astonished eyes. They think I’m having an affair?” The woman’s eyes widened and she doubled up laughing.
The maid’s eyes looked on her sadly.
Milady didn’t understand, everyone in town knew about it, knew what she was doing with the dashing dark man. It would not belong before her milady’s husband heard about it too.
Chapter Eight
She came gasping back into consciousness, aware that her throat was burning and dry. Flying to her feet from the dusty bed in shock and horror she ran to the wardrobe and shoved the dresses along the rack pulling them apart until she saw it. This was it, the very one.
Belle took it out and held it in her hands for a moment, marvelling at how she recognised every detail. She pulled at the bodice, examining the beads. They were all in place, none were missing. Maybe it was just a stupid dream. Her heart began thumping and she hung it back up with less care than she should have, shoving it roughly in the wardrobe and slamming the door on it.
Her legs were jelly under her and she sat back down on the bed trying to calm herself.
Despite the cold, sweat broke out on her upper lip, she wiped it off, tasting bloody mucus from her mouth as she did so. Oh Gross! What the hell… probably a throat infection. Laying back down for a moment, she breathed steadily, breathe in…breathe out…
It was a dream, just a dream, brought on by the discovery of the magnificent artefacts. Eventually she was aware of the smell of cooking wafting up from the kitchen, and that the sun had gone down. Her stomach grumbled ferociously. She could murder whatever Camille had prepared for dinner. Standing up again, ready to descend the stairs the necklace dangled under her jumper. Belle must not tell Camille a single word about this, she already knew what she would say.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“But why on earth would you want to sleep there?!” Camille’s disgruntled voice now followed Belle along the third-floor hallway. Belle was in the process of transferring her belongings to the master bedroom of the west wing, the bed was already made up and plumped with pillows, the room had been vacuumed and swept free of dust. The wardrobe now housed Belles clothing, the old dresses and hats being removed, secured in garment bags, and packed in an old cedar chest.
They would be safe from moth damage there and Camille would be none the wiser about it.
“You said you didn’t have a problem with where I wanted to stay, Auntie,” the modicum of patience that had been in her tone just minutes ago already starting to waver. “Look, Sam’s going to be bringing the garden back to its former glory, and it’d make a great feature on one of the websites or magazines I
write for. He’ll get media attention, I’ll get paid, it’s a win-win. It’ll help if I can actually see the bloody thing when I look out my window.” Standing up from her stooped position she stretched and ran her hands through her unkempt hair before returning to heaving the box containing her printer and laptop.
Camille, was looking at her agog from behind her glasses.
“Belle, darling, I really don’t think this is needed… what’s wrong with the room you are in….”
“Auntie? What’s the problem? I’d like to be able to see the garden, is all. You’ve got nothing to worry about, so stop fretting. I have to get this done before… oh shit!”
The rumbling of van wheels on gravel caught her attention and she ran to the window, looking out as Sam pulled up and hopped out of his vehicle. “Damn it, he’s two hours early… oh well, an actually helpful pair of hands wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”
She half-pushed past her aunt and came down the stairs to let Sam in.
He stood on the doorstep as the door swung open, not wearing his usual workman’s trousers and blazer today, instead clad in stonewashed denim and a polo shirt. She could even smell the slightest bit of aftershave on him.
“Sorry, I know I said six, but I thought I might take down some notes and measurements about the garden, if that’s alright.” Belle fussed with her hair a bit, pulling it away from her eyes. “Sure. Not a problem. Sorry I’m such a mess... but since you are here, maybe you can help me with something first? I’m moving rooms to see the garden better and need to shift some heavy stuff.”
“Let me guess. Books?” Sam grinned and dusted off his shoes and followed her upstairs. She led him into her former room and instantly passed him a box laden with books, her amber eyes shining with excitement but underlined with dark shadows that suggested she had slept little the night before.
Sam tilted his head at her with a slight expression of concern but made no comment.
“You guessed right.” Belle picked up another box and showed him into the western bedroom, where Camille was still waiting in the doorway, fretting.
“Hullo Camille.” Sam greeted her with a smile, but the one she returned was fleeting and anxious.
“Hello Sam, dear. Belle, my girl, may I speak to you…”
Before she could finish, Belle was already dragging Sam back by his sleeve for more boxes. He shot an apologetic look to Camille over his shoulder.
“Hey, are you and your aunt alright?” he asked carefully as Belle placed another box in his arms. She blinked, not looking unlike Camille when she did so.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s just…” he looked around at the photos that had once been hung up on hooks against the wall and were now piled on the bed, the wardrobe that had been flung open and emptied. “It just looks like you had planned to stay here - in this room is all… and your Aunt seems…ups-” Belle cut him off
“Well, I thought that it’d be nice to be able to see the garden,” her tone was short. Sam didn’t question her further, but obediently followed her through to the west bedroom.
Camille was in the centre of the room, looking anxiously around. “Are you still here Auntie?!” Belle shot at Camille, her tone finally stepping forth into the realm of impatience and ire. Sam, wisely, opted to stay out of the way.
He simply dropped the box he was carrying into the room and slunk back through the corridor for another. Belle folded her arms, squaring her shoulders, and waited.
“Belle, dear, this isn’t like you. You said you wanted to be able to see the sunrise…you won’t be able to, not from this side of the house.”
“And I changed my mind. Am I not allowed to do that?”
“Of course, of course. It’s just, all of this disruption... I just… usually find that it’s better to -”
“To leave things as they are?” Belle finished for her, grinding her teeth. Camille blinked. “Well… yes…”
“Well, Auntie, this is my home too, and if you just want to let it rot from mould, dust and decay… well, I shan’t let it happen! It won’t happen!”
Camille looked at her agog, her mouth falling open. Belle stopped, realising that she had raised her voice so loud there was no way that Sam, passing by them both with another box and his head down, couldn’t have heard the whole thing.
Belle bit her lip and turned away from Camille, who face was now pink, hurt radiating from her as though she had been slapped. “Auntie… I’m really sorry. I had no right... it’s the stress I think.”
Camille stayed silent, a resigned wan look had fallen over her face. Belle reached out to take her aunts hand and felt Camille resist the urge to wrench it away. Camille pursed her lips together.
“It’s alright dear. You’ve done it now. You’re right, I’m being silly. Sleep where you want, what difference does it make?
After-all, often times I sleep in the chair downstairs. I’ll make some tea, shall I?” She walked passed her niece and made her way out of the room and headed for the kitchen, just as Sam returned for a third time with the last box. He tilted his head at her again. She pretended not to notice.
“Thanks Sam. You go deal with the garden. Camille’s making a round of tea,” she murmured, busying herself around the room. He lingered in the doorway for just a moment, watching her.
“Sam, really…. go… I’ll be out soon enough.” Belle turned around and plastered on a smile, despite how tired she looked it helped Sam relax slightly. “Go on, chill. I’m fine. Now hop off down to the garden, I know it’s where you want to be. I’ll unpack all this, take a shower, then we’ll be off. Deal?”
“Deal.” He left her to it as asked. Belle busied herself around the room, putting her argument with Camille out of her mind.
She had never been the tidiest or most organized of people, but she had such a clear setting in her head of where each belonging wanted to be, it wasn’t long before she was finished.
With a sigh of relief, she sat down on the bed, tired from the hours of cleaning and moving. Leaning back and resting on her arms she took a couple of deep relaxing breaths through her nose, catching the faintest waft of an unfamiliar, floral scent.
The tiniest of frowns crossed her brow and she looked to the right of her for just a fraction of a second. What she saw made her leap off the bed and back away against the wardrobe, wide-eyed.
An impression in the duvet, as though someone had been seated beside her just seconds before, marked the otherwise pristine bed. A hand went to her throat where the constriction made it burn once more, her heart was thundering and her ribs distending erratically as she tried desperately to calm herself. Sam must have sat down for a moment to do something; how could it be anything else? Stupid of her.
Nervously she walked over to the bed and pulled the corners of the duvet, straightening it out. The dent in the soft duck feathers disappeared. Belle breathed a sigh of relief, one hand coming up to knead her forehead. She didn’t get it. Over three had passed since all that shit with Rowan had happened.
And still she was jumping and cringing at every little thing. When was she going to be able to pull herself together?
This business with Rowan had really gotten to her, turned her into a frightened mouse. It wasn’t even as though he’d actually hit her. He’d only pushed her. Sure, he’d pick away at her every day, but she hadn’t been THAT traumatised. And didn’t everyone fight? He’d probably live the rest of his life regretting what he’d done.
Maybe I should give him another chance… BLOODY HELL. WHAT ARE YOU SAYING. Belle knocked the side of her head with her own hand. The memory of tensing in her work chair whenever he came home, of forcing a smile on her face and fixing him breakfast in the morning to try to jolly him out of his hangover, and the ever-present bad moods she found herself constantly having to navigate had her fingers quivering slightly.
Worry niggled at her as she pondered that she really might be that stupid. Only someone stupid would think of going back.
/> This craziness might even run in the family – if you considered Camille’s strange behaviours. No. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re still adjusting, that’s all.
Rolf padded into the room and rested his large head on her lap, looking up at her with big brown eyes. She stroked his head and bushy old-man eyebrows. She hadn’t realised, but she’d started crying silently, tears brimming in her eyes and tracking down her cheeks.
“Oh Rolf. I’m such a mess,’ she murmured, giving him a scratch behind the ear. He huffed in either approval or argument, but Belle kissed him between the eyes anyway. “It’ll be alright. It all turns out alright in the end. I just have to get through tonight…”
Chapter Nine
Belle sat in Sam’s van with her hands folded nervously in her lap, freshly showered and dressed nicely in a plain black shirt and jeans. The opal teardrop fell over her shoulders and fell to her cleavage. “Whoa, that’s a nice piece. What’d you do? Rob a museum.”
“Something like that.” Sam shot her a – ‘you’re kidding me right’ – look.
“No. It was in the house. I found it in that old wardrobe. It’s been there for God knows how long. It’s so beautiful I thought it deserved an evening out. She ran her fingers over it twisting the chain and fiddling with the stone giving a deep, anxious sigh.
“They’re not going to bite you, you know,” he quipped, waggling his eyebrows at her as they made their way down dark lanes and backroads, swerving every so often to avoid a rabbit or a fox.
“Yeah, I know. I know they’re only history buffs and nerds by default. I deal with nerds a lot.” Sam nodded slightly,
“And in the big city too, with nerds that are a cut above the rest of nerddom. You’ll be fine.”
“You realize I’m even more of a state walking into a big office with people in suits, right?”