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The news Eliza left her with had been shocking. Madame Mother had not mentioned that to her, and the letter she received had nothing to suggest it either. She poured the pitcher of water into he basin and washed her face, staring in the small, round mirror. It dripped off her nose and down her cheeks. Belle let out a deep breath, glad to have that moment to collect her and process.
It felt much better to get some of the dirt off her face. She grabbed the soft cloth from the side of the basin and dipped it in the water, bringing it up to scrub. It felt wonderful, and Belle sighed into the strip of fabric.
Eliza brought her a small helping of soup, probably whatever was on the stove when she had walked in, and Belle smiled at her, over the basin. The soup was left on the night stand, and Belle picked at it – although she was far too nervous to eat. She had yet to meet the family.
She considered the situation: there was one child in the house, a girl, and the lady of the house. The master, General White had passed away- four years ago. Belle thought that might have been information she was privy to, before accepting the position, but apparently she was not so lucky.
The best she could do, at this point, was prepare to meet the small family. She removed her plain, travelling gown and sighed with relief as she changed her entire ensemble. It felt delightful to be in something clean and crisp, pulled fresh from her trunk. She would finish getting acclimated to the room later in the evening, after she took the children for their supper and retreated until her duties the next day.
As she finished buttoning the front of her equally plain day dress, Belle was pleased with the grey-blue fabric and high collar, only a tiny brooch that had been left by her mother sitting at the base of her throat. She fixed her hair, plaited neatly and tucked up with pins, and she felt inclined to be comfortable with her appearance.
When she sat on her bed, books, papers, and personal trinkets at the tips of her fingertips, Belle supposed she could start her first letter. It would be to Grace, she had decided almost the instant she left, but a knock at the door sent her eyes flying upward from her package of papers. "Miss French?" Eliza's voice was distinct and Belle jumped from her bed.
Belle rushed forward, opening the door. "Yes, Eliza?" she was almost breathless, not expecting the sudden summons, and leaned against the frame, wide eyed and concerned.
"Mrs. and Miss White have returned." Eliza sounded much more resigned than she had earlier, and sedate. What a curious young woman. Belle's enthusiasm did not temper, however, and she smiled, standing up straight and smoothed her bodice again, just for good measure. "They're in the parlor, Miss."
Belle smiled, perhaps the widest she had since she arrived, feeling refreshed and clean, and nodded. "If you could show me the way, Miss Lucas?" she did not really need to intone it as a request, but she did, regardless. Eliza nodded, turning on her heel and walked quickly.
It was strange, the turn in her attitude, but Belle presumed something had occurred with her grandmother in the kitchen. This time, they did not use the staff stairwell. Belle was led down the stairs that the family would use, with rich, wooden railings, polished to the nines. She was sure Eliza and any other staff took beautiful care of such a place, and Mrs. White must have prided herself on her home.
Mrs. White touch was surprising. Her taste was exquisite, but darker than Belle might have expected. Dark colors were not frowned upon, but from Belle's education, they were not typical in home decorating. Belle let out a deep breath as her shoes touched the last step and Eliza glanced at her over her shoulder – unsmiling, anxiety in her eyes and Belle's look questioned. Eliza did not answer.
She just continued to lead. The archway into the parlor was the final barrier, and Eliza stood to the side so Belle could enter first. She nodded to her as she past and Belle felt overwhelmed. The room was stark, so formal – and dark. The colors were muted, and the drapes drawn, most assuredly to keep the daylight sun from fading the carpets and chairs, but still…
The furniture was arranged around a hearth that had a mantle clock, above the mantle clock was a family portrait. Belle did not linger – she couldn't, it felt invasive, for some reason… and she turned her eyes to the corner, there was a pianoforte – and a harp, both were beautiful, from what she could see, and there was a rich, Persian rug. It was more luxurious than anything she had ever seen. Everything in this place was beautiful.
Even more beautiful, she realized, was the girl standing in the center of the room. She was just like a China doll. How she reminded her of Grace, in that moment, with wide eyes and a sweet face. But this child looked like an angel, all dressed in white – innocent mourning, with cascading black curls contrasting so beautifully with her light skin, rosy patches on her cheeks and full, pink lips. This girl would grow to be a beauty, and she could not have been more than ten years old. Belle smiled at her, and the child shifted, just slightly.
"Miss French." Belle blinked, looking up from her charge to the speaker. She had a velvet voice, and when she stepped from the shadows, Belle was almost taken aback. The woman did not appear old enough to have a daughter this age. She was beautiful though, absolutely breathtaking, and Belle felt immediately inferior. Even her mourning wear, black and heavy, appeared elegant as she moved outward, her onyx brooch glimmering at the base of her throat. "Welcome to our home."
She wondered, idly, how Mrs. White and the General had met, and the circumstances of their marriage. She was sure, through her association, she would find out. But, it was not time to question the mourning woman (it never would be, how inappropriate), but the thoughts were even more misplaced. Belle was in the woman's employ, and this was their first meeting. She should like kind and confident, willing to please.
Belle dropped into a courtesy that was as graceful as she could manage and the woman's face did not change. "Thank you, Madame, for this opportunity." There were few rules of engagement, one of which being forever thankful, the other, only responding to what was said. Belle had both in her employ.
"You came very highly recommended," she addressed her plainly, "and I trust Madame." There was something sharp there, something Belle could not understand, but she nodded, despite herself. Mrs. White was her employer now, and Belle shouldn't question her. "I hope you were taken care of, while Mary Margaret and I were out." She smiles, just slightly, without teeth, and her dark eyes – they had that same look Madame Mother had. Belle did not want to see those eyes alight with anything, particularly anger.
She nodded, quietly, and clasped her hands in front of her, always wanting to remain quiet, answering to the mistress of the house. "Very much so, you have a very capable staff, Madame." Compliments, upon first arriving, were always well liked, Madame Mother had taught her, and the more positive things she could say, she would.
Mrs. White nodded, her smile spreading wider. "I'm glad." She crossed the room and put her hands on the young girl, identified as Mary Margaret. "Miss French, let me introduce to Mary Margaret, your charge."
The little girl, who had previously been stoic and still, dipped mechanically and gave her a small smile, almost shyly. Belle was immediately smitten with the girl, she was adorable. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss French," her voice was musical, and Belle was delighted – she would be a wonder to teach singing.
"The pleasure is mine, I assure you," she smiled, for the first time as openly as she would have with her friends back at Storybrooke. Mary Margaret seemed to brighten, and Mrs. White released her hold on the child.
She straightened her sleeves, looking down at Belle. It seemed all of the grown women in this house were destined to tower over her. She kept her chin tilted downward though, even if she had to look up at Mrs. White, "You may take Mary Margaret upstairs, Miss French. You will assume teaching her lessons tomorrow morning."
"Of course, Madame," she affirmed and Mary Margaret joined her side. The little girl smiled up at her, before taking her hand. She did not even know her, and yet, she clasped on, full of trust, and Belle felt immediate warmth from the child. Mrs. White whisked past them, beating a chilly retreat, not even bothering a goodbye and Belle could not help but follow her with confusion. Who did not bid their child good evening, or at the least say something?
Mary Margaret, however, started forward, her curls bouncing, white ribbons creating stark contrast. What a pretty little doll, that was for certain. "Miss Mary Margaret," Belle smiled as they mounted the stairs, the little girl travelling just in front of her, "how was your day out?"
Mary paused, then shrugged. "Well enough." She climbed up a few more stairs before turning to look at her governess. Belle looked at her expectantly, though patient, and Mary Margaret's full cheeks deflated as she expelled a deep breath. "We went to see Mr. Mida and his daughter, Abigail." She made a face, Belle tried not to smile. "We had tea, and finger sandwiches. The finger sandwiches were at least good."
The child was talkative, which Belle appreciated. Spirited children were the most interesting, and she would have to tell Grace how alike she and Mary Margaret were. She wondered how this child, who seemed so personable, was the child of Mrs. White, who appeared she had no interest in her – and had insides made of icicles. "I'm glad to hear it. Tea without proper finger sandwiches can be dreadful." Mary giggled, a sweet sound, and they rounded the landing, moving upward still.
"It is!" she agreed emphatically, "I am so glad you agree." Her gate was bouncy and vivacious, and Belle did her best to keep up, her skirts were not quite suited to climbing so quickly, unlike the raised hem of the little girl's day dress. As Mary Margaret reached the third floor first, she smiled. "Have you seen my room? I don't suppose you have; I would love to show you!"
Belle nodded her consent and reached the top, filing behind her as she led to one of the closed doors. "Do come in," she smiled wide and Belle giggled a polite thank you as she walked into the room. It was beautifully decorated, pink and plush, touches of white and accents of luxury everywhere. This was the sort of room Belle could have dreamed about as a child, but had never experienced.
The room had once been the all-encompassing nursery, but now a child's bed replaced the cradle and the vestiges of infancy were gone, giving way to porcelain faced dolls that looked like their owner, stuffed bears, a tea set and dainty white table and chair set, Belle supposed that was where they would do some of her lessons, the rest in the sitting room with the instruments, and couches fit for sewing. There was a chalk board, as well, and a child sized pointer. "Do you like it?" the young woman asked, gleaming eyes and excitement.
Belle grinned. This girl was so kind hearted, eager to please, Belle found herself immediately taken with her. "It is a room fit for a princess, Miss Mary Margaret," she nodded approvingly, and that made the little girl's smile burst. The tour did not stop at the sudden appraisal, and suddenly Belle was dragged around the room to meet every doll and animal, introduced to all of Mary Margaret's things, and she was very hopeful that her position her would be a lasting one.