Chapter Ten: Rumors

To Babette's displeasure, she went to sleep worrying what Cogsworth had chastised Lumière about, though she already knew the answer: her.

The worst part of it was she actually felt… guilt.

What did it matter to her if the majordomo told Lumière to keep his distance? It did not change anything, and the matter had already been settled. Nothing had occurred between them anyway.

But somehow, she had a feeling deep in her gut that Cogsworth was not the best at keeping secrets. What if he let something slip in the middle of his berating speeches? The last thing Babette wanted Lumière to know was that she was Élisabeth de Chantemerle.

Oh, what was she fretting about? This was none of her concern. If Cogsworth let anything lapse during his rants, Lumière would most certainly mention it to her, and she could come up with a simple explanation… right?

As Babette set out to tidy the East Wing, she pushed the thoughts from her mind. More important duties awaited her.

Luckily, the royal family was very good about keeping their rooms as neat as possible, which Babette and the other maids appreciated. However, the valets and lady's maids were less inclined to follow their masters' example; they had taken clear advantage of the fact that servants outside of themselves were going to be cleaning their messes for them. It almost looked like they had rummaged the rooms on purpose. All of their beds were completely out of sorts, to put it gently. The girls' rooms had powder, red paints, and pomades left all over the vanities and mirrors. One of them had broken a vase of flowers and had left it scattered on the carpet. No one could tell how long the glass had been laying there. The most vulgar thing was finding some half-eaten fruit under the bed, probably forgotten after an afternoon snack.

Pulling out a brown apple core using the tips of her fingernails, Babette cursed, "Les Espagnols."

"Les Espagnols," the other maids agreed, shaking their heads at the Spanish servants' disrespect.

As Babette was going to fetch some fresh cleaning water, she noticed the handfuls of flowers sitting in buckets on the hallway floor to be disposed of when all of the cleaning was done. They were only a day old, but the bouquets would be ground and made into nutrients for the soil, like the other flowers. Their scents filled the corridor, and Babette decided to snatch a bunch for herself before they were finished. She rather preferred having fresh blooms on her nightstand. She took a vase out with her to clean and fill with water along with the bucket of suds she already carried.

Babette was not sure if it was improper to take flowers prepared for disposal into her bedroom for herself, but she made sure that no maid saw that she did, just in case.

She set the vase of beautiful flora on the end table closest to her window, the mid-morning sun shining brightly through the glass. The room felt more comfortable simply by having some vivid colors by her bedside.

Since she still had an hour before lunch, she continued sprucing up the guest room hallways. It was not very long until she felt someone walking along down it. She did not glance up to see who it was until they were just upon her. Her back erected. "Lumière!"

The maître d' smirked at her surprise. "Bonjour to you too, chérie."

Babette was too lost in thought to acknowledge his greeting. Her mind had gone straight to her ponderings the night before. "Lumière, I was thinking… well, wondering what Cogsworth might have talked to you about last night. You were not in trouble, were you?"

His gaze seemed to soften for only a moment before his roguish grin brought back that mischievous sparkle to his eye. "Naturally I was. But there is never an instance where Cogsworth does not believe I lack a hidden agenda." He inspected her lightly. "Why do you ask?"

"I was only hoping you were not in trouble because of me," she replied as nonchalantly as possible.

With a subtle twinkle in his eye, Lumière crossed his arms before taunting, "Oh, chérie! You could not have been concerned for me, by all means!"

Appearing to realize this for the first time, she said, "It seems as though I was… How did such a ridiculous thought occur to me?"

As she turned her back on him to resume her work, he came to her side. "Well, no matter how fleeting your concern may be, I appreciate it nonetheless." He paused while Babette hid a small smirk as she dusted, and continued, "But… since you mentioned it, you just so happened to be the subject of our conversation last night."

She closed her eyes for a moment, the smirk swiftly leaving her lips. "I feared as much."

"He seems to worry that there may be something going on between us." Lumière was incapable of hiding his smile as he said, "Then again, he was not the only one."

Babette spun to face him. "What do you mean?" she questioned, her tone trying to remain steady.

"Strange. For a maid, you have a poor grasp on the castle gossip," he noted.

She gritted her teeth. "What are they saying?"

"It is quite humorous, actually." And it was obvious he found it as so. "They believe you finally gave way to my affections last night; that your little game of resistance was over." At Babette's outraged expression, he cried with jaunty sarcasm, "I know! Preposterous!"

"Dieu, I hate gossip," Babette spat. "No wonder the maids were unusually quiet today. How could I not realize!" She suddenly turned on him. "Did you say something to them?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You cannot be suggesting I started the rumor."

She shrugged, eyeing him. "How should I know? I can see how much you enjoy your reputation as the château's Don Juan."

Lumière chuckled. "I did not think it was that obvious."

"Is that a confession?"

"Chérie, I do not need to spread petty gossip to maintain my reputation," he replied, brushing off the suggestion. He shook his head at her with that agonizing grin. "You are taken it much more seriously than you should."

"Well, pardonnez-moi if I have a certain disdain for the spreading of lies," Babette responded.

"That, I can understand," he conceded, "but you must understand that the servants do not get out of the château very often. They have to live through stories concocted by the creative minds of hopelessly romantic maids. All things considered, you should pity them instead of feigning a damsel in distress."

Babette scuffed at that comment. "I am many things, monsieur, but a damsel in distress I am not."

Lumière suppressed a pang of longing as he stared back into the blue fire in her eyes. "Then perhaps you should not act so persecuted, mademoiselle. The servants here have more important tasks to complete than to speculate on what makes you tick."

Babette relaxed as she tilted her head. She took two slow seductive steps toward him as she responded in a sultry voice, "Really? Because, as I seem to recall, you would love to know what makes me… tick."

She smirked triumphantly when Lumière looked as if he had a rug pulled out from under him. She spun on her heel and cantered away until she was out of sight.

Lumière had been dominating the conversation, had almost had her on the run, and then she turned the tide and left him speechless.

She was remarkable.

As the masquerade ball approached, the time for idle chatter grew short. Every servant was put to work to prepare for the costumed masses from the neighboring towns that would flock to the castle all too soon.

Babette and some of the other maids helped Angélique decorate according to her vision. They braided garlands of black, silver, and gold and wrapped them around the columns in the ballroom, and replaced the candles of multi-tiered candelabra to set on the black table runner in the foyer outside the ballroom. An hour before the guests came, the kitchen staff were scurrying around preparing copious amounts of hors d'oeuvres.

At promptly eight o' clock, guests began to pull across the bridge. As they stepped out of their carriages, the fantasy or modesty of their costumes distinguished their social ranking, and the range was quite large. Masks of all shapes, sizes, and distinctions graced their faces. Masked servants greeted them by the door and took away their hats and shawls before they followed the crowd to the ballroom. As the last carriage pulled away from the drive, over one hundred people stood under the brilliant glow of the ballroom's chandeliers.

The King, Queen and son were alighted on their thrones by the enormous windows that half-circled the grand elliptical room. Before her husband was about to speak to their guests, the Queen murmured to the Prince, who sat on her lap, to run to Mrs. Potts, who took him away to prepare for bed. As King Vincent stood, the mingling crowd quieted and turned their attention to their monarch.

"Mesdames et messieurs, bonsoir," he greeted in a booming voice. "The Queen and I would like to welcome you to our home for a night of fun and frolic, as well as mystery and romance, on the third and final day of Hallowmas. We would like to thank you all for joining us for this special occasion. We hope you enjoy what we have to offer. Now, let the music commence!"

There was a resounding cheer as the minuet began. As the crowd made a ring around the room, the King took the Queen out to the middle of the floor. Soon, the higher ranking aristocrats joined them, and eventually the room seemed to swirl as couples in glittering costumes and masks spun around the room. Gaggles of chatting guests began to form in the outer rim of the ballroom by the columns.

With the guests hiding their identities, the staff also took part in the practice. Babette carried a tray of flutes filled with champagne through the crowd as she wore a silver winged mask with a small emerald plume. She had to keep making trips to the kitchen for more drinks, her tray always filled with empty glasses upon return. Although she was on her feet the entire time, she was enjoying herself. The energy in the room was tangible, and with everyone becoming bubbly from the champagne, the laughter became louder, the jokes more crude, and the dancing more flurried.

As she was leaving the kitchen stocked with more spirits, she was almost poked in the eye by a long-nosed harlequin mask. She nearly dropped the drinks but the masked man grasped the tray to keep it steady. They were stopped in an awed silence as the champagne swished to a halt in its glasses.

"Mon Dieu!" Babette finally gasped, releasing her held breath.

"My sincerest apologies, mademoiselle," the harlequin said. He was still gripping her tray. "Can you manage?"

"Oui, of course," she mustered, her knuckles almost white as she held on to it tightly with both hands. They both relaxed. "At least you have the reflexes to make up for that nose of yours… or perhaps you are trying to compensate for something else."

As the man grinned, Babette knew immediately who it was before he took off the mask. As he looked at its protruding nose, Lumière replied, "Not quite. However, I did not predict it would prove to be such a hazard."

As more of a courtesy, Babette took off her mask as well. Glancing up without a hint of surprise, he continued charmingly, "It would be a tragedy to cause damage to eyes as mesmeric as yours."

"I am just happy that I am not going blind," Babette stated, by all means hoping she was not blushing. "I only ask you are more careful when you are wearing that thing; No need for any ladies to lose an eye over some hors d'oeuvres."

"Duly noted," Lumière said, his smile fading, and Babette realized she might have replied more coldly than intended. "Not that they need any more, but you should not keep them waiting for their champagne." And he passed her to refill his tray.

Despite the guilt rising up, she shoved it back down, replaced her mask, and went back into the crowds. She could fix that matter with him later.

Amidst the chatter, Babette heard her name mentioned, including "de Chantemerle."

Perking her ears up, she tried to track the voice. It floated above the boisterous groups and partners, and she recognized that voice was one she knew from a couple years ago. Sliding through the throng, she spotted a man without a mask talking to a pretty girl. His back was to Babette, but she could determine who he was by the side of his face. She definitely knew him.

"… more than an awful flirt. She's a pure seductress. I should have had more resistance against her devilish ways, I know. I was completely helpless when she chose to prey on me! I am… rather ashamed to admit it, but… she almost had me. It was just… she gave herself up so willingly, I felt as if I could not deny her."

Babette felt the blood rush to her ears. She wanted to slap him then and there, especially in front of the dainty one he was trying to gain sympathy from. But she could only listen for more.

"I was… entirely under her spell. I was about to devote all of myself to her, but then she fled from me, right to another man without a single glance in my direction, like I was a plaything getting tossed aside, one of many."

"So I've heard," the girl concurred, soaking in his pathetic tale. Babette wanted to scream. "Isn't she in a convent now?"

"She may not deserve the chance, after all the hearts she broke… including mine, but God may be the only man who would take her now."

"Good riddance," the girl comforted. "For the sin she has wallowed in, I am glad she will not haunt your town anymore."

That was it. Babette could not take the lies anymore. She saw the nearest servant and shoved the tray of drinks into his arms. Not caring in the least who saw, she ran for the exit, tears blinding her vision. She needed to get away.

As Lumière finished filling his tray with more hors d'oeuvres, a flabbergasted server came into the kitchen with a tray of filled champagne flutes. "Um, Lumière, a girl just ran out of the ballroom… and she left this with me."

The maître d' furrowed his brow. "What mask was she wearing?"

"Uh, silver… with a green feather."

Lumière sighed. "I will fetch her."

"Who is it?"

"Cover for me," was all he said as he swept out of the kitchens.

By God's graces, what possessed that girl to always run? She seemed like such a rash and emotional creature, with reason escaping her until it was forced down her throat. Why on earth would he desire a woman like that?

And yet, the chase continued.

Lumière searched the rooms nearest to the ballroom but without success. He took a corridor streamed with moonlight on his way to check Babette's bedroom. Gazing out the windows, he paused.

Of course. Only someone as irrational as she would flee outdoors in this weather.

As soon as he stepped outside, a bitter wind nipped at his exposed skin. The leaves of the rosebushes rustled as he kept his ears tuned to any noises Babette might cause. Along the main garden path, a silver glint caught his eye by his feet. He picked up the discarded mask with its dark green plume. His instincts had been correct.

Hot on her trail, Lumière was checking every path and behind every hedge until a sob was heard floating on the wind. Towards the middle of the garden maze, he found her crouched behind a hedge in an attempt to protect herself from the cold. Tears fell freely down her flushed cheeks unto her apron. She held a hand to her mouth to prevent more sobs from escaping her. Tendrils of hair that had fallen free from her bun blew around her face, and all the while she trembled.

The sight yanked at Lumière's heartstrings. Thoughts of her recklessness evaporated from his mind. He hurried over to her.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, Babette looked up, but then immediately turned away, releasing a pitiful moan.

"Dieu, I came to be alone for a reason!" she wept. In her jumbled mind, the only reasoning she could pull from it was, "I look awful when I cry!"

"Chérie, it would take so much more than a few tears to change my opinion of you," he spoke gently as he kneeled next to her. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his coat and held it out to her.

She stared at it as if trying to discern any wicked intentions in its threads, but slowly took it from him and began wiping her eyes and cheeks.

Lumière took a seat beside her as he patiently waited for her to calm down. Eventually, Babette glanced over at him and asked, "How did you find me?"

He held up her mask. "An intuitive guess."

She looked away, fiddling with the edge of her apron. "I am sorry I ran out in that way."

"You do not have to apologize, but… I would appreciate a little bit of an explanation."

Her instinct was to give him the whole story, but she hesitated. Was she being wise in telling him anything?

She took a deep breath. "It… was a man. Someone I knew from La Clayette."

He considered that. "Do you have a name?"

She was about to lie, but upon second thought realized Lumière was not unfamiliar with secret rendezvous. "Raoul de Levís, son of the Vicomte de Taizé."

Lumière found himself impressed, but refrained from showing it. "I have heard of him. Not the most humble of men."

Babette let out a harsh laugh. "Non. Not the most honest either."

Noblemen and maids having affairs was not uncommon, after all. Still, he tread carefully. "Do you and Raoul have a… history?"

She swallowed. "Yes. A brief one, but… one all the same."

"Was he… bitter?"

"'Bitter' is an understatement," she replied, repulsed. "He was slandering my name, which is… filthier than I thought." Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, and small sobs broke from her throat anew. A strong wind swept by them, and Babette began to shake.

Lumière sat up and took off his dress coat. As he attempted to place it around her shoulders, she flinched like a timid animal.

"Wear it," he ordered firmly. When he got it on her shoulders, he took her hand. She instantly retracted it. "Babette, you are as cold as ice. We need to get you inside."

She paused, contemplating. She decided to stand, and she let Lumière help her. But she shook away from him before they walked back to the castle. Striding ahead of him, she kept his coat pulled tightly around her.

As fragile as she appeared, she was still fighting him. He thought she had finally receded. What did he have to do to earn her trust?

Lumière kept a very close eye on her until they made it to her bedroom. As soon as he shut the door, he pulled her vanity bench to the burning hearth, which Babette went straight to. He went to her linen closet, took out a blanket, and placed it on her shoulders over his coat, all the while hardly looking at her. He retreated to lean against a bedpost while Babette sat toward the fire, feeling more and more perturbed as the silence between them became more acute. He had withdrawn again because of her behavior.

At last, she could not take it. She heaved an exhausted sigh as she glared at the fire. "Lumière."

He shifted his arms across his chest. His undertones were cold. "Yes?"

"I… I am sorry for… how I acted. I do not mean to hurt you."

"Yet you still seem to believe I carry that intention toward you."

She closed her eyes. "It is not your fault. It's mine."

When he remained silent, she felt compelled to add, "I do not trust myself… my judgment, I mean."

Still he did not reply. "I… have trusted the wrong people in the past. The last one I believed in…" She realized she couldn't finish as the pain Babette had been repressing since her arrival at the château rose to the surface, and she started to cry once more.

Empathy melted Lumière's cold shoulder. The girl acted so tough, he had almost forgotten she was still heartbroken. "You have been hurt before."

She twisted in her seat to look at him, confirming everything. Shame made her turn away again.

He gradually broke away from the bed to see her face, halting by the mantel. "Who was he?"

She shook her head, hastily wiping at her eyes. "What does it matter? He made me believe he loved me when I was only one of many others." She did not want to cry anymore. She wanted to lash out, but knew that at this point, getting angry with her only ally was not going to solve anything. She slowly took a breath.

Lumière would be the last to say he was perfect; He had his weaknesses and idiotic impulses. He was only a man, after all. But there was a line he did not cross, and that was tricking women into believing feelings were where none existed. If this man could cajole an experienced young woman like Babette into believing he had felt love for her, then he was a scoundrel indeed. He held no respect for men who kept a pitiable amount of esteem for the gentler sex.

After a moment, Lumière said strongly, "You should never fret over any man that wrongs you in such a way. I have met enough to know there is hardly a redeemable quality in cowards." Babette glanced up at him, a bit startled at his response. He quickly faced his feet with a wry smile before adding, "Well, I suppose all men are, and I am certainly no exception."

Her eyes never left him. He resumed, "I am sure you know Angélique."

Babette nodded. "She mentioned what you did in… so many words."

"I am not surprised. I am not proud of what occurred between us. Now she will not let me forget it." He quietly sighed. Although he hadn't intended to fool the castle decorator, he still felt like a hypocrite at the thought of her.

Babette understood that she should not have sympathy for him, since Alphonse practically committed the same crime against her, but Lumière was different than her former lover. She could clearly see that now. "If you are truly sorry for what you did, she should have the courtesy to forgive you. She will in time. She is… still hurting."

"That is the part I am most ashamed of." His eyes were full of regret, and Babette knew then she was looking at an honest man.

In her sincerest way, she assured, "Showing you are sorry for your actions is more than what half the men in this world can do. As long as you learn from your mistakes."

Lumière gave her a small smile and she returned it genuinely. He then said, "Why don't you get some rest? I think you have had enough excitement for one night."

"'Excitement' is one way of putting it," Babette giggled. He chuckled too. "Well, if you do not need me, I will not refuse."

As she walked him to her door, taking the blanket with her, she suddenly became worried. "Oh, what about Cogsworth? He probably noticed us missing."

He took her hand in both of his reassuringly. "Do not worry, chérie. I will take care of him." He slipped her a sly wink and smirk before kissing her hand in farewell.

Babette's mind went fuzzy for a second before she cried, "Wait, your coat!" She let the blanket fall to the floor and handed his coat to him.

"Ah, merci, ma chère," he thanked, slipping it back on and straightening the lapels.

"Lumière," she spoke softly, gaining his undivided attention. "I want to thank you for, well…" She smiled. "… everything that you did tonight."

His intense regard made her heart palpitate. As if they were the truest words ever spoken, he replied, "It was my absolute pleasure." He grasped her hand and brought it slowly to his lips. "Sleep well, ma chère Babette." His fingers lingered in hers, along with his gaze, until the very moment he departed.

Closing the door, as Babette was begging her heart to calm down, she acknowledged that she could no longer find a reason to distrust him. Lumière clearly had nothing but the best intentions toward her, although part of that might be caused by his proclaimed attraction to her.

She stared at the handkerchief still in her grip. Despite what she knew was right, she had to admit to herself that she quite liked the attention.