The Death of Dreams
As our coach pulled into the city I swear I lost my breath, no words could ever convey the grandness that was Paris. Growing up in the largest city in England made me believe that nowhere else could compare, only Liverpool had a chance but only when it came to bustling crowded streets. I now knew this belief to be embarrassingly childish for my brain already forgot which street we had just left.
This foreign city also had an unspoken beauty that London had never possessed. The smiles of the townsfolk and the too blue sky were sights that were unknown to my eyes; I craned my neck to try to catch every tiny angle of this world that I could from my tiny window. When I caught a glance of the famous cathedral I almost gaped.
"Beautiful isn't it?" mama asked. She was I could practically hear the grin in her voice as my gaze refused to be torn from Notre Dame.
A genuine smile crossed my face, "Yes, it's magnificent. We certainly have nothing to compare to it in London, not even the palace could."
"No, no it couldn't."
"Are you both slandering our great country?" my father was a English man born and bred. Not once, in any of mama's tales, had it seemed that my father had enjoyed any moment of his trips to Paris.
"Papa this will be my country soon, I'm allowed to praise it," the realization was frightening but... with a city this grand it couldn't be all that bad could it?
Mother quickly chimed in with, "Yes, England has a beauty to it but France has a certain grace and air that us English should envy." His silent sneer caused me to snicker; when he turned this glare upon me mama elbowed him with all the strength acceptable for a proper lady her age.
"George! Look, this is the most fun she's had the whole way here. Don't you dare ruin this for her with your sulking."
"Lillian-"
"Don't you "Lillian" me George Wilkinson. We've been married for thirty years, that gives me a right to talk as I wish in front of you. This has to be a very nerve-wracking time for our dear Flannery.
"As our youngest, and only child not too adverse in the world, I want to make sure that she enjoys the time she has left with us. Who knows when we'll see her next? I'd prefer that when we do that she not hate us."
"Oh mama, I could never hate either of you." It was true, they were only doing this for my well being after all. They only did what any respectable family would do for their child's future.
"Well there you have it Lillian."
"I don't care George, look I don't want my daughter stressed and disagreeable when she meets her fiance-"
"Madame Wilkinson?"
"Hold on one moment."
"But madame, we-"
"Can't you see I'm talking?" The young footman flinch back at my mother's growl, we had pulled off the road briefly and the young man had just opened one of the carriage doors. Father blatantly ignored him as mother chewed him out yet again. Pitying the poor boy I turned to him.
"What do you need?"
"Oh umm... well I-" His voice cut off as he finally dared to meet my eyes. Coughing, he averted my gaze as he fidgeted, thoroughly embarrassed; a routine we'd had since he'd joined us. He had been traveling with us for the better part of two days, we had picked him up last time we had changed horses. For a Frenchman and a boy, his English was better than most but it was still terribly broken.
"Yes what is it?" He seemed to relax as I switched to French for him and even attempted to look in my eyes again. While he seemed intrigued by me, our poor footman also seemed quite scared of them. Every time he refused to meet my eyes it made me feel that less confident about finding a man who didn't mind them.
"Right! Monsieur Follet left a message saying to meet him at Notre Dame, he went to confessions today."
"Alright."
"So it will only take us awhile longer mademoiselle."
"Merci." I tried to smile at him but he quickly bowed and shut the door. This left me without any distractions to my suffering.
"What did he want dear?" mother inquired after a bit. Turning toward them again I about laughed, it was impossible to tell that a minute ago she had been flustered, my father was slouching and looked out the window with a look that only meant one thing: mother had outwitted him yet again.
"He came to tell us that we're to meet Jacques at Notre Dame," I nonchalantly paraphrased.
"Wonderful!" she said a bit too upbeat for my taste, "Now you'll get to see it before your wedding!"
"Yes, wonderful." I attempted to look happy but the false smile was easily ripped from my face as the carriage lurched into movement once more. I took the additional time to try and memorize the city but found it impossible; the house and the stores, people and clothes, attitudes and habits were so different that I could only comprehend so much in one day.
Finally we stopped in front of a large square, in the distance loomed the cathedral.
Distantly I could hear papa tell the coachman to take our things to our rooms at the inn, which he'd written to months ago, and then demanded he pick us back up here in exactly two hours. He then proceeded to complain about having to walk through this rabble just to get to Notre Dame, but I didn't mind. There were so many shops and stands, not to mention people. It was exciting, albeit it was just the cure to relieve my poor cramped legs after such a prolonged disuse.
Mama would walk past stalls to peek at what wares they had to offer but never stopped, it was still enough time to be awed by the craftsmanship of necklaces, jealous of the embroidered dresses, and hungry from the many delicious smells that assaulted my nose. What I couldn't comprehend was that this was the works of common people, back home only the best stores and cooks could make products of such quality.
As I turned my head toward the alleys I noticed another appalling sight: gypsies. Few people paid them any attention but I couldn't help at notice the one thing that they had I never could, freedom. Two dark haired men played a duet that tempted me to let loose and sway to the alluring beats, while the black haired woman spun and twisted with a grace that made me green with envy. Even the goat prancing at her feet seemed carefree.
With a glance down at the hat before them, with its few scant coins, reminded me what a life like theirs entailed. No, I would never give up what I had to live in the slums poor and starving. It was a repulsive life and I sneered at them to make my point; I noted in frustration that they hadn't even glanced my way.
"Flannery!" Mama's call brought me back to the earth as I searched frantically through the crowd for them. I about panicked until I spotted them several feet away in the middle of this bustling plaza.
"Coming ma'am!" Hurrying, I lifted up part of my skirt so I could run and catch up with them. Everything would have been successful if I had been watching where I was running...
I had turned my head for two seconds, upon hearing a cry that was merely a hungry baby, when I ran head first into somebody. The impact was hard enough to make the person stagger and sent me onto my rump. The angry yells were making their way up my throat when I finally looked up. The sight I saw made me choke on that anger as it turned into laughter, the man before me had to be the most ridiculous man I had ever seen.
His black eyes glittered in a confused amusement as he simply watched me sit there and make a fool of myself. The jester, for that's what he appeared to be, opened his mouth but both he and I were stunned to silence when a roaring voice reached my ears.
"FLANNERY WILKINSON!" papa's angry voice made me flinch. Quickly, and quite gracelessly, I stood and tried my hardest too smooth out the wrinkles in my green brocade dress. When I had done all I could, I turned my face to the man who had gotten me into this whole mess.
His attire was completely appropriate for any court jester as his tunic was blue and purple with the sleeves the opposite. The hose also had purple but one leg had purple strips set against an atrocious yellow. With long black gloves and shoes with bells on them I wasn't at all sure if he was just playing the part or the real deal. With all those bells on his shoes and the yellow cloth over his tunic I wondered how he didn't go insane.
A detail I hadn't noticed before – probably because I had been too busy laughing at his hilarious arrangement of clothes – was that he was scrawny for a man and only a foot taller than myself. It was almost hard to judge just how much taller he was because of the ridiculous purple pointed hat he had on his head, I wanted to burn the hideous yellow feather that took residence upon it.
"Well well, are you lost petite mademoiselle?" he taunted in a singsong voice, one quite more melodious than I ever would have guessed.
I pursed my lips in a deep frown, "Non monsieur. And I do not appreciate the fact that you don't even have enough courtesy to apologize. Instead you insist on cracking jokes."
He smiled, showing chipped teeth back by the molars, "Well forgive me, cheri, for trying to make you laugh." He mocked a bow, his dark skin and black hair disappearing for the one second it took to roll my eyes in frustration.
"Where do you get the bloody idea that you may act this way to a lady of upper class citizenship?"
"And what exactly makes you upper class? Why couldn't I be an outstanding gentleman of superb lineage?"
"Because you aren't a gentleman at all." I know crossing my arms is indeed quite childish but I had no patience for this act of his.
He gave me another one of his crooked grins and scoffed, "Of course not! I have no respect for them either. They don't have the common sense enough to appreciate all that they have and instead still covet what they lack."
"Oh? Not all men of status are as you paint them to be."
"Nor is every person like what they appear to be. For instance you, you appear to be a lady but a true lady wouldn't be running so unattractively through a crowded square nor allow herself to be knocked down, completely subjective to constant humiliation."
"Humiliation? How so, I'm not the one who looks like a fool."
"No, but you sound like one. I've never been with a woman with as hideous an accent as yourself," his grin widened as I felt myself flush from embarrassment and anger, "besides, they all had a grace that you lack." His eyes skimmed my body in a continuation of judgment, pulling back up to my flaming face and sending a couple "tsk's" my way.
"Why I-..I-" The idea of a most unladylike assault graced my thoughts. How badly would it sting to have that golden hoop ripped out of your ear? Would he be subjected to a similar embarrassment if that mask was gone? Perhaps his face was scarred underneath. He might think it petty, but the destruction of his hat would bring me a sick pleasure.
"Are all English women as slow of speech as yourself? I was so sure that they would be avid talkers of much more intelligence than this, certainly much more interesting."
"How dare you talk about the English! We are a much more amiable and respectful people than you French! Apparently with a much better appreciation for fashion than I gave us credit for." One of his inky brows rose in amusement as I gave his attire another disdainful glare. "And perhaps I am clumsy, but that gives you no right to be heckling me, albeit if I was the one to cause offense."
He leaned in a bit closer, as though to belittle me, "So then, you apologize?"
"No." My hiss was a bit hasty, and his eyes glittered as they continually took note of all my actions. "And I never will, not to you."
His features twisted in mock agony and one hand clutched the fabric over his heart. "Your icy heart wounds my own, how ever am I to survive without your favor?"
He had angered me so that I was now biting my tongue, it kept me reigned in enough to say no more – and to restrain anymore impossible thoughts of the violent wishes I had been reveling in. When the familiar voice sounded beside me, it caused a blush to rise, as though I had been caught playing with some of the village boys in my youth again.
"Flannery Wilkinson! How many times must I shout your name before you deign to answer? We are to be meeting your fiancée soon, not dawdling as all Paris passes by!" my father bellowed. The volume was enough to make me flinch, color flared in my cheeks as he furthered my public humiliation.
Mama came to my rescue as she took hold of his arm. "Come now George, my first exposure to a foreign country was just as daunting. She simply needs time to soak it all in." He muttered furiously, but allowed himself to be led toward the cathedral.
Whirling back around, I was forced to hold my lovely retort back as the stranger had miraculously disappeared. My brows furrowed together in puzzlement and annoyance as I no longer had an outlet for my anger. He deserved a good tongue lashing for all the trouble he had gotten me into, but I couldn't even spot his ridiculous get-up in the crowds.
Forced to rip my attention away from my hunt, I rushed to catch up with my parents. The last thing I needed was for all of England to start hearing my father. As I put distance between myself and the square, I felt my spine tingle. It was as though eyes were one me, and I was certain that several sets were.
The evening bells of Notre Dame were just sounding as our party approached, their beautiful sound reaching down to my soul and soothed every strand of unease, anger, and embarrassment there. I stopped to soak it in; my whole body relaxing for the first time in days. My parents hardly noticed as they were already engaged in conversation with a gentleman.
At my addition to their small circle, they ceased gossiping and introductions began.
"Ah, monsieur this is our youngest daughter. Flannery, this is Monsieur Jacques Follet; he has been waiting avidly for your arrival." My feet were rooted in place and my knees shook, hardly keeping me upright as he exchanged a bow for my curtsy.
"Bonjour monsieur."
"Salut mademoiselle." He gently took one of my hands in his own and rose it to his lips, where he placed a chaste kiss. It left my skin tingling.
He was a vision for my eyes as I drank in his features: brilliant blue eyes, silky well groomed black hair, and a stunningly handsome face. Out of all the images my mind had conjured, not even my romantic heart had risen this vision to my dreams. I kept waiting for my heart to stir, surely someone such as he was worthy of all the love my heart could give... but it was strangely silent. This would take time, and one certainly couldn't rush admiration, but it was the lackluster light in his eyes that worried me. Was he not as excited as I?
"Did you enjoy you trip here?" he suddenly asked, his voice smooth and pleasant to my ears. Once again, the lack of feeling tried to arouse a caution in my brain that I quickly smothered.
Bringing out all of propriety I could, I hoped it would finally give me some insight to his feelings, if not impress him. "It was dreadfully long, but I find that Paris is infinitely worth it. Never have I seen such a place, and the scenery of France is to be thoroughly praised. I would be lying, though, if I said I wasn't homesick."
His grin was breathtaking. "Indeed, such feelings will come and go until you are fully settled. All-in-all I believe you will find Paris much more diverting than London."
"I do fear that our differences might cause discord between us though." My rationality came back, reminding me how much I actually feared being married to this stranger.
"We shall find ways to work around it, won't we?" his voice was quite firm in this statement, leaving no room for argument. It left me wondering why the statement was so final.
"Papa!" Everything seemed to freeze as all our heads turned to the angelic voice. A young girl ran our way, for a brief moment I was worried she was lost, that was until she stood before Jacques. She gave him a flawless curtsy before hugging him. My heart sank and anger mixed in with the ignored warnings, she was his spitting image. Her ample black hair was held in a tight braid and her blue eyes a striking copy of the man before me.
My eyes could not leave the scandalously appalling sight before me. All respect I had for him was about lost at this point.
"Mademoiselle Wilkinson, I'd be most pleased for you to meet my daughter Amalie Follet, or Ami. Ami this is Flannery Wilkinson, she is to be your stepmother." Jacques stated simply, he was in a state of calm I feared I'd never be able to reach again. My eyes traveled once more to the young girl as she gave me one of her perfect little curtsies.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance ma'am."
"And I you, your English is quite excellent."
"Merci," she said with a smile that made my hardening heart just melt for her.
Our small group just stood there talking until the sun started to make its decent, papa had shooed away the coach more than once, telling them to come back however many hours he felt were appropriate. I'm sure they would think twice before taking on English clients after him.
As to Ami's legitimacy, it continued to remain a mystery. No word of a previous wife or taking her in because of a soft heart were offered, it continued to add to my unease and I entertained thoughts of calling off the wedding. Once again my heart was overruled by my duties and I ignored its cries.
Despite the delightful conversations I'd had with Ami, I couldn't have been happier to step into the inn. Quickly changing and crawling into a real bed for the first real sleep I'd had in weeks.
The dream I had was of a fabulous wedding, mine. My gown was beautiful, fit for a princess and the gems that I adorned sparkled in the sunlight that streamed through the gorgeous stained glass windows. Each jewel sent rainbow light scattering across the cathedral adding to the beauty and serenity of everything. Something disturbed me greatly though.
The guests, all dressed in vibrate uplifting hues, were wearing blank white masks. All were the same, lacking much detail except for a nose, a mouth, and blank sculpted eyes. They seemed to be calculating me carefully; I felt anxiety gripping my heart as I looked in turn for a kind smile or familiar face.
Out of sheer panic, I turned toward the back of the cathedral where there stood another group of people. They were clearly unwanted and uninvited, their dark colors destroying the happiness that was a wedding; it mocked it, staring ahead toward us all as though it was a funeral.
Despite all the depressing dredges of the slums, their faces were real and very much full of emotion. One in particular was most common: disdain. My heart calmed its frantic beating as my feet longed to run to what I knew was real, not the fake unknown emotions of these people. Yet as I started running toward the freedom it would bring me, the walls of Notre Dame started to fall inward, crushing everything within. The only scream to be heard was my own.
The plans for the wedding had been finalized by mama and Jacques' mother in less than a week. They had invited me to join them daily, but I declined, instead spending much desired time with Amalie.
She was a sweet girl, and for one of only eleven years she acted outstandingly more mature than I had originally thought. We would go off on our own often, she would try to show me around Paris or to teach me Parisian childrens' game and in return I would introduce her to ones I'd played with my sister back in England. By the end of all the marital arrangements, she and I were like sisters.
As the appointed day grew nearer I grew much more antsy. Ami picked up on my nervousness right away and immediately confronted me about it, how could I ignore her when she sadly asked if I didn't want to marry Jacques. I felt guilty that day because I really had no qualms with him, no reason to not want to, but some nagging part of me feared the union. A simple answer of nerves was enough to convince her, but not myself...
Mama scolded me when I finally confided in her, ordering me not to worry. "Every girl is intimidated, being married to man you know little of is frightening. I was that way when I married your father, but the anxiousness is short-lived my dear. After your wedding tomorrow, the worst will be over and there will be nothing to fret over."
"I know but-"
"But nothing, it's only your nerves dear."
"I've never suffered weak nerves at any time in my life, especially when it's come to men," I protested, but that was rather hard when I couldn't meet her eyes. I was being helped into my wedding gown, and it had been made clear that I was not to move.
"Nonsense dear. You've only been engaged once." That's how she abruptly ended it, cutting me off every time I tried to bring it back up. She refused to hear anymore of the subject.
I was trapped within my own inner turmoil, arguing constantly with myself. Favoring my fears one second and rationally shooting them down the next until I found myself already inside Notre Dame. It all seemed to be a blur as I was escorted down to my future husband in my beautiful white gown, the lace adding an elegance I wasn't born with. My nightmare returned to the forefront of my mind as I started to shake, but by the end of the ceremony nothing had happened. The blank masks were absent from the guests' faces and the room did not cave in.
My mind had cleared enough that now I was able to realize how beautiful this actually was. How I truly did feel like a princess with all this attention being gifted to me. When it was all over and we were finally wed, I realized that I should actually be grateful it turned out this way. I had seen so many of my friends married to unsightly men who would rather fill their faces than dote on their cute young wives, some married in barns because both sides were too poor to afford more than that.
I let myself make peace with everything that had happened and tried to imagine how envious half of them would be. The thought of their faces twisted with envy gave me pleasure.
We all retreated back to Jacques' estate, which was quite humble for as much money as he had. There he, or really we, hosted a feast in honor of our union. There he introduced me to so many of the most influential families in all of Paris that I feared I'd never remember a single one. I was quite surprised that the king himself was absent, it seemed everyone important had attended.
Many congratulations were sent my way which often led to me being dragged into numerous conversations. Half were what one would expect, complaining about the lowlife in town and relations with other countries. Others held juice tidbits of gossip that my eager ears gulped down and filed for later use. Mama had never seemed happier to have me involved in politics, especially the dirty side of it all.
When the night had finally been spent, all the guests proceeded to leave until it was just my parents. My mother parted from me with misty eyes and constant reminder of how I would forever be her baby and she could not have wished a more glorious wedding upon me. My father curtly congratulated me as well and shared a bow with my new husband before wishing us goodnight. I wasn't angry, in fact his terse behavior was a shield against the sorrow he really felt. I forgave him for it.
After their departure, I went up to check on Amalie. She had been sent off to bed earlier this evening and I made sure to tuck her in and place a loving kiss on her forehead. Truly I was trying to prolong what I knew came next. Tales of the infamous wedding night were enough to send my stomach twisting and jumping into my throat out of nervousness. I couldn't keep delaying the inevitable though, so I slowly went to go meet my fate.
It was eerily quiet, so much so that I was sure I was alone. Further entering the room proved me false as my husband was staring into the blackness of the night, not even turning at my approach.
"Jacq-"
"Look, I know you don't really want to do this and honestly neither do I." I froze, gawking at him like an idiot. "I don't really have a taste for English women and you truly don't tempt me enough to make it about lust."
His words wounded me deeply. I felt my fairytale marriage crushed in that single sentence. "Let me briefly inform you on the reasons for our marriage. The first was obvious, though your family isn't very rich your parents had set aside a hefty amount of money for your dowry. The amount that I pay every year we are wed is insignificant to that amount."
"The money-"
"Silence," he whirled around and spat, "though there is a chance that I will never bed you, I am still your husband. You will not dare interrupt me." His sudden change made me stagger backward, becoming as docile as he had wished.
Finally he continued, "Secondly, do you know how this boosts my reputation? That I was charitable enough to marry an English woman, one with violet eyes such as yours that will be the talk of Paris for weeks. Talk that could be to my favor in the future. Thirdly, my employer mentioned that perhaps I needed a wife, I tire of leaving all my personal affairs in the servants' incapable hands and he pointed out that a wife has certain...attributes that make them more reliable."
The silence that permeated the room was deafening. "That's all I am to you then? A glorified servant and a trophy wife?"
"You should be grateful," he said nonchalantly, "you never have to worry about going hungry or losing your home. You may have as many jewels and beautiful gowns as you wish, as well as receive all the prestige that sharing my title has. Any woman would envy you."
I knew this to be true, even relished in the thought but... but to be nothing to him, mean nothing to him, was numbing. I suddenly felt insignificant in the world, that I was a puppet to this man.
Anger flared past the numbing sensation and I advanced upon him, until I was toe-to-toe with my "husband". "I will not sit around being ignored! I demand all the attention a wife deserves-"
The loud crack of skin striking skin halted my words as a new pain flared upon my cheek. My neck hurt from being forced to jerk to the side. I was frozen for some time, never before had I been slapped. My fingers hesitantly reached up to touch my offended cheek in disbelief.
"There, more satisfactory? I will give you all the "attention" I deem necessary and discipline you like any unruly wife deserves." I never before would have dreamed that his voice could sound so cold, but it did. That made me more frightened than anything.
The silence continued to stretch between us till finally his tone returned to normal and he replaced his mask of genteel manners and stated, "Your new room is at the other end of this hall. Do not bother me unless it is an emergency."
Quietly I shrunk back from him, retreating into the darkened hallway. When I reached said room I should have been overjoyed. It was fully furnished and much larger than mine back home, everything was of only the finest quality. Instead of admiring it all, I collapsed onto my bed in tears. This was worse than I could have imagined, I didn't deserve to be ignored!
That first night in my new home our marriage went unconsummated, my husband thought little of me, and I cried myself to sleep. I never even had a chance to remove my lovely wedding gown. I'm sure I was an unsightly mess when I woke up, not even fit for the servants to see.