A/N: Hello everyone! I'm REALLY excited about this story, it came from some tumblr inspiration and a healthy dose of Jane Eyre. I hope you all enjoy it and keep an eye out for favorite characters making appearances! It's really an all encompassing AU. I don't own the characters from OUaT, just in case ;) haha. Enjoy!
Change was always a bittersweet occasion. Belle was sad to leave the past behind, but excited, all the same, to be going on to greater things: her first position.
She was all nervousness and shivers, being hired in London. Her youth, spent at Storybrooke School for Girls had prepared her for this. The name, far more picturesque than the reality of it, had raised her on a strict curriculum of literature, religion, and accessory studies. It was not a frivolous education, and secluded somewhat, in the countryside, they only got a handful of girls each year.
Her tenth year in the world, the year she arrived at Storybrooke, was nothing short of a tragedy. Both of her parents had passed away, typhoid, she had heard the doctors whisper, and with no extended family to care for her, she was just lucky to have of a well-enough-to-do family that her admittance to a reputable school was taken care of. The rest, unfortunately, rested squarely on Belle's young shoulders.
It seemed that whenever someone, an adult, mostly, came to Storybrooke, they stayed in that place until they were too old to continue the position. Belle had wondered, on more than one occasion, whether or not their sewing instructor had passed away while taking a nap in the quiet sewing room. Her suspicions were never correct, however.
There was perhaps one respite the otherwise gloomy place offered: the gardens. Belle had spent much time there, perfecting her drawing amongst the English roses, and eventually taking the little ones out to do their lessons if the weather proved friendly enough. Belle was, Madame Mother joked, the only reason they kept up with the gardens.
As for the rest of her education, Belle's painting and embroidery were fine, but her singing and playing were finer. Madame Mother, as she liked to be called, the Head Mistress of the establishment, and Reverend Whale were quite positive they had never heard a harp or pianoforte sound more beautiful.
With all of these recommending traits, they had still been surprised when Belle was offered a summons from London. She was northern, having lived almost in the wilds of Scotland (though, Madame Mother would sigh, blessedly south of the wall), but that was generally not what most London families looked for. Thankfully though, Belle had a litany of skills and a way with young children.
As the years went on, her education rooted itself down and she was surprisingly kind to the younger girls who came into the fold. Se was a guide and friend, as well as teacher. It became obvious that although Belle would never rise to the status of society lady, she could be a governess.
Madame Mother may not have been the most kind, but she was industrious, and recommended the girl to families she knew were in need. She had anticipated, perhaps, she'd be placed in the North, or even to a well to-do in Liverpool, but a London summons was an ambitious accomplishment. Madame Mother could not take enough credit for it.
Her honey sweet, but empty smile, with empty eyes was one of the last Belle placed a cheek kiss upon. They had set Belle up with her modest collection of trifles from over the years, and a carriage. She kissed heads, gave hugs, and held back her tears. She was going onto another part of life.
She lingered with one of the youngest girls, crouching down to smooth Grace's honey brown locks away from her face. "It will be alright, Grace," she smiled, wiping her smooth cheek with her thumb, just a few tears leaking from her big, brown eyes. "Miss Ashley will make sure you are taken care of." The little girl nodded and the slightly older blonde put her hands on her shoulders. "I will be sure to write," she soothed, pressing her lips to her forehead before Grace threw her arms around her neck one last time.
Madame Mother put her hand on Belle's shoulder and the young woman looked up. "Miss French," her voice dripped with sweetness that Belle had always questioned, "it is time to go."
"Just a moment," Belle looked over her shoulder, "Please." The carriage driver sighed impatiently from the top of the rig, tugging the last of the holds tight on her luggage, and Madame Mother breathed slowly out of her nose. Belle only had a few moments.
Belle gave Grace one last squeeze before she loved to stand. The little girl's fists wrapped around the fabric of her bodice and Belle's heart ached as she softly removed them. "Do you promise to write?" Grace asked anxiously, expectantly, and Belle smiled tenderly, brushing one more tear from her cheek. Grace's eyes swam with tears.
"I promise." Madame Mother tapped her shoulder again and Belle had to tear herself away from the little girl who looked so desperate to hold on. She couldn't though, and neither could Belle.
As they walked toward the carriage, Madame Mother put her hand on Belle's back. "You will do well, Miss French," Belle nodded slowly, a hesitant smile playing on her lips as she looked at the Head Mistress, wondering what her aim was at. Her hand was on her back, pushing her forward, and she let out a deep breath. "Remember everything we have taught you."
"I will, Ma'am," she nodded obediently, unsure of what to say, of what she was supposed to say to this woman. She had, of course, given Belle her education, been in charge of upbringing season by season, and gave her opportunity to grow, which she supposed made it appropriate to say only one thing, "Thank you."
She was led to the carriage, and they stopped for a moment Madame Mother turned her, gripping her upper arms for a moment, looking at Belle in the way she imagined a livestock trader might look at a prize winning heifer. There was pride there, but Belle could not be sure if it was for her – or herself. She smiled, regardless and Madame Mother leaned up to kiss her cheek. "You're welcome, Miss French. We wish all the best to you."
Belle returned the brief embrace and then looked to the carriage. It was really happening. The door was held open by the Reverend, and Belle smiled at him, though closed lipped. Reverend Whale always disturbed her in the strangest way, but she owed him a small smile and a nod. He extended his hand to help her up. Belle could not deny it and her gloved hand found his, stepping into the carriage that was nicer than anything she had ever ridden in before. "Goodbye!" she called from the window, waving her hand.
A handful of the girls, Grace included, were openly sobbing. A few of the others were surely upset, but the oldest girls all realized this was what happened. You could not stay at Storybrooke forever. You would not want to, no matter how much you loved the girls you were with. They would move on – and Belle did not wish to watch the lives of others slip by her in the same place. She was getting the adventure she had always been fond of reading about, even if it was something she had prepared for.
"Goodbye, dear!" Madame Mother called, and Reverend Whale tapped the back of the carriage twice. The driver snapped the whips and the carriage lurched forward. Belle was actually on her way. She was leaving Storybrooke and going to London.
She watched out the window as the carriage rattled down the uneven, dirt road from the school. She waved until her shoulders hurt, and kept going, even after even Reverend Whale looked like an ant on the horizon. The manor house still loomed in the midst of the surrounding fields. It felt strangely right that on the day she left the sun was shining and the normally cloudy sky was clear.
When it wasn't possible to see anyone anymore, Belle turned in her seat and faced forward, hands twisting nervously in her lap. She hoped Ashley was taking care of Grace. Part of her knew, deep down, that after a couple of hours, the workings of Storybrooke would continue as they had before she left, before she arrived, as they seemingly always had. Something about that gave Belle a bit of peace, and she settled in her seat.
She would not be in London for two days time. It would do her well to get comfortable, and perhaps brush up on her French. She reached across the seat to open a box, packed with her books, tugging the grammar text out.
It was with great effort that instead of staring out of the window, daydreaming about city streets instead of rolling hills, the likes of which she had never seen – she had almost never dared even imagine - that she was plunging head first into her French grammar. She was a disciplined girl though, and only briefly, during past participle did she lift her eyes and stare at the sun setting over the farmland that would soon become a distant memory.