AN: Long chapter this time. TW: Attempted suicide. Also for note, Annalise=Fem!Austria and Emma Peeters= Belgium.
"It doesn't even feel like we're on a ship," Marianne said, flinging herself gracefully down in one of the hand-carved mahogany armchairs that were just one accoutrement of dozens in the first class suits the Bonnefoys and Kirklands were staying in.
"Well that's the idea, petit chou," Mme. Bonnefoy said, directing a few cabin boys as they hung one of her favorite Monet paintings on the wall. Personally Marianne had the feeling this trip was going to be dreadfully dull.
"We might as well have stayed in London," she grumbled to herself, picking up a book to leaf through it, not particularly interested in reading it again. That was when her fiancé entered through one of the side doors.
"Not still sulking, are you, Marianne?" he asked, his accent grating on her ears almost as much as hers did his.
"I just don't see the point of this," she said, tossing the book lightly back onto the end table. "If we're on a ship, we might as well feel like we're on a ship!" That was almost a lie—Marianne was as fond of fine things as her mother, but for the sake of a romantic, rosy atmosphere, she was willing to put them aside. Or just to give her something to complain about, because she needed some way to express how inexplicably unhappy she was.
Arthur gave his courtesy chuckle, the one he used when he wanted to pretend Marianne was joking about or being funny, because he was too put out with her to bother taking her complaints seriously.
"Well perhaps we should go walk on the deck," he suggested, offering Marianne his hand. "I'm sure a view of the sea will cure you of feeling like you're still on dry land."
Marianne surveyed the hand and then Arthur's face (much as she disliked him, she had to admit he had striking eyes) before taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet and lead her off.
The deck was perfectly lovely and it was nice and sunny out (Marianne made sure to grab one of her many sun hats on the way out). Arthur gave her his arm and led her around at a slow pace so they had plenty of time to people watch as well as gaze out across the endless water surrounding them. Marianne found it hard to believe all this was really on their little planet. How curious that it could seem so small and so large at the same time!
It was almost pleasant, walking there with Arthur, until he felt the need to start talking again. There was no logical reason why that irritated Marianne as much as it did, but it gave her an instantaneous upset. She tried to reign it in because she knew it was unfair, but he really was spoiling the quiet atmosphere.
"Must we talk?" she asked placidly, casting her great blue eyes up at him. "Couldn't we just walk and admire the ship?" Arthur gave her a displeased look.
"I never will understand you, Marianne," he said stiffly. "You want one thing and as soon as you get it, you want the opposite. Do you ever actually settle on something?"
"I'm engaged to you, am I not? Is that not settling?" Marianne skirted the real question.
"Yes and you don't seem particularly pleased about it either," Arthur fired back, his eye flashing. "And don't think I hadn't noticed you and Antonio back in the summer home!" Marianne almost snorted and waved a dismissive hand.
"That was nothing, Arthur dear, really. Antonio and I were just playing around," she said, intending to close the matter. Arthur's jaw tightened.
"When you are engaged, you do not get to 'play around' with other men!" he said tightly. He sounded so tense Marianne wondered idly if his jaw would shatter should she give him one more thing to be irked about.
"It was harmless, Arthur," she said with a small sigh, looking away. Infuriated by her flippant attitude and possible disloyalty, Arthur gave her arm a jerk, almost making her stumble, so that she turned her attention back to him with wide eyes.
"I am your fiancé, Marianne, and I have warned you about your flirtations with other men," he scolded her harshly in a low voice. "You may have gotten away with this back in that heathen country France, but you will not in England and you will not in Protestant America!"
"Perhaps if you didn't act like being with me was such a trial, I would not look elsewhere for friendship!" Marianne hissed in return, her tone heating right up.
"Perhaps if you were not such a trial!" Arthur let go her arm and they stood facing each other on the deck, glares shooting back and forth like arrows. For a long moment they stood in silence (Again, Reader, you are free to reach out and feel the tension). Then Marianne turned abruptly away, her skirts swishing around her ankles.
"I feel sick. I'm going back to my room. I will see you at dinner, or perhaps before." She marched off, taking shelter under the prized excuse of every female—I feel sick. A man could never deny it. Back in her room, she shut herself away from her mother with scarcely a word and spent the rest of the afternoon in silent contemplation.
Have you ever felt, Reader, that you are standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of your lungs and no one can hear you?
Or that you are standing on the on a precipice, teetering at the very edge, crying out to your loved ones for help, but though all of them are looking at you, not one seems to recognize you are in danger?
This is how Marianne Bonnefoy felt. She could not imagine a worse fate than having to spend the rest of her life with Arthur Kirkland as her husband, but no matter what she wanted, her mother's insistence was sure. Their family fortune was squandered, it was only Marianne's marriage to Arthur that was going to save them from utter ruin, and to Madame Bonnefoy, that was far more important than Marianne's petty whines about love and happiness.
It was this that Madame Bonnefoy was yammering into Marianne's ear as she helped lace her daughter into a corset for dinner.
"But Mère, what if I do not want to marry Arthur?" Marianne objected bleakly at last, pushing the conversation to the edge of acceptable boundaries.
"Marianne! I can't believe you would be so selfish!" Madame Bonnefoy jerked on Marianne's corset laces, yanking them perhaps a bit tighter than necessary. "You're engaged to Arthur and that's final! I do not want to hear anymore complaining; do you want to end up like those commoners in third class?" Marianne knew what the correct answer was; she didn't spend the time to wonder what the right one was.
"Non, Mère," she sighed quietly, lowering her head.
"Bon. Then put on your red dress, it looks lovely on you." Madame Bonnefoy touched her daughter's cheek briefly and tried to give her an encouraging smile. "I must go out now; I promised Madame Edelstein that we would dine with them and she wanted to meet early for pre-dinner tea."
This was something of a joke, really. The Bonnefoys and the Edelsteins had begun as business rivals, but it hadn't taken long for the two families to develop a genuine dislike of each other. It was one thing that Marianne and her mother got along on; they could always have a good laugh together gossiping about the Edelsteins. A little smile flickered across Marianne's plump lips, graced with her red, top of the line lipstick.
"Ah, oui. Best not keep her waiting." She patted her mother's hand and turned to get her dress. "I suppose Annalise will be there?" she asked after a moment.
"Oh yes," M. Bonnefoy said, amusement in her voice. "I could not have all the fun myself, cherie!" She opened the door. "I'll see you in the dining hall," she trilled as she exited.
Thinking of the ways to best embarrass Annalise, Marianne tugged her dress on, pulled her nice black shoes on over her matching stockings and then dealt with her jewelry. When she was all done up, she flounced up to the dining hall, where her mother and the Edelsteins had wrapped up their pre-dinner tea and were seated at a clean dining table. Several other people had joined them, including the wealthy heiress Emma Peeters, though her brother Lars seemed absent.
Marianne found a seat (unfortunately) next to the Edelstein's daughter Annalise. Her adopted sister Lili was apparently deigned too young to come to a fine dinner, for she was absent as well.
"Annalise," Marianne said coolly as she sat, spreading her napkin over her lap.
"Marianne," Annalise replied in a stilted tone, her nose wrinkling slightly. "Dressed to provoke as always, I see."
"Perhaps if you had something to show off, you might be inclined to do the same," Marianne returned. Annalise made a displeased sound, but there was no further discussion between the two girls. Annalise was the same age as Marianne—17, but they had absolutely nothing in common (Aside from both being nobles, of course).
Now what Marianne had just said was a bit of a lie as well, Reader—she thought Annalise was perfectly gorgeous, but the girl made no attempt to show that. Too involved in her music and too stuffy to try anything new or risky. When they'd first met, Marianne had flirted with her half in jest, to see her reaction, and half in truth, because Annalise was beautiful and talented, but the Austrian had been appalled and that had begun the on-going rivalry between them.
Fortunately Marianne was distracted by a bit of small talk from Herr Zwingli, one of the Edelstein's business partners. They made their wealth through banking and Marianne had a vague memory of meeting their only son Vash when she was younger. She also recalled teasing Annalise about getting married to Vash, which probably hadn't raised her any in the young Austrian's esteem.
The general conversation was as dull and predictable as ever, though there was a brief discussion of classic literature, which excited Marianne greatly and in which she participated avidly. But it passed along with the dinner and the longer the wretched, platitudinous conversation went on, with it being so obvious that most of these people couldn't stand each other and were only faking for the sake of appearances, the more Marianne felt like she really was going to start screaming if she had to stay in here one more minute. Arthur had joined them shortly after her exchange with Annalise and his scoffing at the "undignified" women's rights movement in America was like fingernails on a chalkboard to Marianne.
She hadn't realized she'd gotten to her feet until she heard Annalise's dry tone.
"Going somewhere, Marianne?" Mme. Bonnefoy looked up.
"Marianne, are you feeling alright?" she asked, giving Marianne a queer look. Marianne blinked rapidly.
"I feel a bit warm, Maman. May I go outside for a moment or two and get a breath of fresh air?" She could hear titters around the table about her odd behavior, but Mme. Bonnefoy nodded slowly and Marianne took her leave.
Outside, Marianne started running. She had no idea where she was going or what she was going to do when she got there, but she needed to be away from them, away from them all. She stumbled once or twice in her high heels, but she kept going until she'd reached the stern of the ship. She grasped the railing, feeling the frigid winds of the Northern sea whip at her face. Her heart hammered in her chest and her eyes scanned the black waters, no longer entranced by their beauty but seduced by their danger.
There were so many thoughts crowding inside her head she wanted to cry for a lack of peace and quiet. Loudest of all were the voices of her mother and Arthur, telling her what she must do and why and chaining her up so that she might never fly free or God forbid, do what she wanted with her life. And she knew she was no different from thousands of other noble women who'd come before her, locked into place by social structure and forbidden movement by their families and husbands, but that did not take away the violent sting of injustice.
Almost without her thinking about it, Marianne's feet slipped out of her shoes and her stockinged toes raised up to stand on the lower rail.
Marianne bet it was quiet beneath the waves. Silent, even. No sound around for miles and miles. She could be alone there, alone with her thoughts, away from all those hateful people trying to control her. Her breathing was coming faster than normal but she didn't think long on it; her eyes were transfixed by the dark waves rolling beneath her, broken by the occasional flash of white from the water stirred up by the propellers.
Yes…she was not going to let her mother and Arthur win. She would not let them force her to take a life she did not want. She stepped up one rung on the railing. Then another. Carefully, she lowered herself onto the other side and stood facing the water, her arms bent back to grasp the railing. Just one jump. Just one, and she could have this all over with. Let the waves close over her head and cocoon her in cold silence. Never have to do anything again that she didn't want to.
The wind rattled her jewelry and it jingled lightly as her hands shifted on the railing. But before Marianne could actually take the step to jump off the back of the ship, a voice broke her concentration.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, miss." Marianne's fine brows furrowed and she looked over her shoulder to see a saucy-looking young man in suspenders and an unattractive green jacket watching her. His accent was too flat to be English; he must be American. He jerked his head towards the water, real concern flashing in his brilliant blue eyes. "That water's artic; you'd freeze in less than a minute," he postulated.
"Get away from me," Marianne said, her voice cracking slightly as he took a few steps closer. "Who are you? You aren't even supposed to be up here; get out before I call the constables!" It was a fairly ridiculous threat for one in her position. The young man looked at her for a long moment and then a little smirk crossed his face. Marianne wanted to slap him.
"You're not going to jump," he declared.
"How do you know?" Marianne demanded heatedly. "Don't presume to know me and what I will or will not do! Now go away; I'm very busy!"
"If you were gonna jump you'd have done it already," he said, reaching the railing and leaning his arms against it. "I've been watching you." He looked up at her. "Whatever it is, miss…it's not worth killing yourself for."
"That just shows how little you know about the world," Marianne replied, feeling that if this stupid fellow kept talking, she'd lose her nerve entirely. The American sighed and shrugged his jacket off.
"If you jump now, I've gotta jump too," he said, looking a bit put out with her.
"Excuse me?" Marianne said, her eyebrows arching.
"I'm involved now," he explained, running a hand through his straw blonde hair and removing the glasses resting on his nose to set them on top of his jacket. "If you jump, I jump."
"You're crazy," Marianne said blankly, staring at him.
"With all due respect miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship," he pointed out. There was a long pause between them. The American offered her his hand. "Come on now, let me help you back over," he said. Tentatively, Marianne released the rail with one hand and laid it in the stranger's palm. He took her hand and she started to turn to climb back over the railing, but as she did, one foot slipped and she shrieked.
The man's other hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist so he had a hold on both. With a great heave, he pulled her back up and her feet scrabbled at the railing as soon as she got close. When Marianne at last came over the top of the railing, they collapsed on the deck and the American pulled her to her feet.
"What's your name, miss?" he asked, sliding his glasses back on and picking his jacket up to drape over her shoulders. "Mine's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."
"Marianne," she breathed, grasping the jacket. "Marianne Bonnefoy." She swallowed and tried to calm herself. She offered Alfred her hand. "Thank you, Monsieur Jones," she said. An amused look passed over Alfred's face, but before he could say anything, a shout came from off to the side.
"Marianne!" A man with the most incredibly large eyebrows Alfred had ever seen hustled over and grabbed Marianne's shoulders. "What the devil are you doing? Do you know how long you've been gone?" He seemed to notice the jacket for the first time, then turned to see Alfred. He hooked an arm around Marianne's waist and pulled her close to him. "And who are you?"
"Alfred," the perky boy said immediately. "Alfred F. Jones." Marianne wondered if he always introduced himself with the F. Arthur pulled Alfred's jacket off her and handed it off to one of the officers, wrapping his own around her shoulders. She could sense Arthur's innate hostility rising though, so she hastily intervened for Alfred's sake.
"He saved me," she blurted out. "I was leaning over the railing and I slipped. Alfred pulled me back over. He saved my life." She glanced briefly over at him. Arthur looked between them.
"Is that so?" He then pulled several bills out of his pocket and offered them to Alfred. "Well thank you very much for rescuing my fiancée." Alfred looked confused for a moment and Marianne's brows furrowed as she looked at the paltry (comparative to Arthur's vast wealth) sum of money.
"Indeed, thank you," she said, pulling away from Arthur. "I had not been aware my life was worth so little!" She gave Arthur a pointed look and she could practically feel the waves of exasperation rolling off of him. Nevertheless, he put away the money and straightened his tuxedo coat.
"Perhaps then, the young gentleman would deign to join us for dinner tomorrow night?" he said, side-eying Marianne with a look that said 'Is that enough for you?'
"Sure!" Alfred grinned and pulled at his suspenders. "That sounds swell!" Marianne just looked at him and barely refrained from shaking her head in dismay. The upper class was going to chew him up like a wad of gum.