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Chapter 12- Wonderment
"Ouch," cried Monica, one of the lead barmaids, as she entered the kitchen. "That table out there is rough! I swear all their hands must have thwacked my ass!" She rubbed her bottom, grimacing.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," I said sympathetically, grateful that the cloaked man didn't treat me that way. He had not arrived yet, so I had offered to help out in the kitchen, wiping and stacking the plates after Mrs, Potts, the elderly but able-bodied kitchen worker, washed them. My book of sonnets was open on the counter next to me, and I glanced at it as I stacked dishes, hoping to find one to use for my Shakespeare assignment.
"Oh, yeah, I'm sure you're sorry," Monica snapped sarcastically. "Sitting safe in here while the rest of us are working our asses off!"
"I AM working," I protested, pointing at the stack of dishes. "What else am I to do? The cloaked man has not come yet."
Lucy rushed in with an empty tray. "Where on earth is Katerina?" she cried. "I don't know how long we can hold the crowd with her not here!"
Gaston stormed in, looking angry. "What the hell is going on in here?" he demanded. "Table 5's been waiting 20 minutes for their drinks! The customers are about to riot, and we're losing money by the minute! What's the holdup?"
"Katerina's not here!" Lucy said. "We're doing our best, but Monica and I can't handle twelve tables all by ourselves!"
"Meanwhile we have able bodies that COULD help us out there, but have 'special privileges' that keep them from helping us!" Monica glared resentfully at me.
"I'm not supposed to be serving the crowd," I reminded her. I felt guilty that the barmaids were outnumbered, but they knew - everyone knew - I was not a barmaid. Just a personal server to a mysterious man.
"It's not fair!" Lucy complained. "We need the extra help, and she's just sitting here!"
"No, I'm not!" I protested. "I'm helping with the dishes."
"We have plenty of dishes!" Monica said, pointing at the stack of clean dishes. "We need help out THERE!"
Gaston looked from one to the other, then made a decision. "Monica is right," he said finally. "Belle, please help out and go serve table 5. Just for tonight, all right?"
I looked at him in shock. "But the agreement was-"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Belle, it's just ONE table!" Gaston interrupted in exasperation. "It won't kill you to help out this one time. Just until Katerina gets here!"
I thought of the men out there, and my anxiety grew. "You know if I go there they will say terrible things to me!" I protested. "Every day I when I come through the door, they stare at me like a piece of meat! Besides, I'm only to serve one man – I agreed to that and that only. That was the deal! It's not part of the agreement for me to serve other men, just because he's not here yet."
I could feel the hostility in the room growing towards me, and felt my cheeks burning.
"Oh, just listen to her!" Monica snapped, then mimicked me in a high-pitched voice. "'Oh, look at me, I'm too good to have to serve customers. I'm ABOVE all that. Why, they might say something rude to me, and then I'd just DIE!'" Lucy giggled at Monica's imitation. Monica went on, "You're no better than us, Belle! If WE have to go out there, you should too!" She turned to Gaston beseechingly. "Why does SHE always get special treatment? Is she giving you favors in the bedroom or something?"
I gasped, deeply offended. "I most certainly am NOT!"
Monica persisted, "Really? So then why does she have you wrapped around her finger, Gaston? I always thought you were a REAL man! I just can't believe how whipped you are – letting this prissy little bitch, who works for you, defy your orders and tell you what to do and how to run your own business!"
She knew just what buttons to push to get Gaston to react. His face was red, humiliated by her comments, and he was getting more furious by the second.
At that moment, the bartender stuck his head in the kitchen. "The men are getting rowdy! They want their drinks NOW!"
Gaston turned on me. "Belle, go serve table 5 NOW!" he ordered.
"But Gaston-"
Gaston's fist slammed down on the cutting table so hard it shook, making me jump. My hands were shaking. He came close to me, towering over me, and hissed, "Listen to me and listen well: you work for ME, Belle! That means you do what I say! ." He pointed at the doorway. "Those men out there that you speak of with such disgust – they are the ones who pay your wages! If they don't get their drinks, they don't pay, and you're out of a job. So go serve table 5 right now, or get the hell out of here! Forever! Got it?" He glared at me with such fury that I took a step back.
"But he…and you…you said I only serve the cloaked man," I protested softly, in a final effort.
"But he's not HERE!" Gaston shouted. "So until he comes, just work where I need you to! Everyone who works here should help out wherever they're needed, and right now, we need you out there. I'll deal with your cloaked customer later myself – if he ever gets here!"
The bartender came back in. "Gaston, the customers need their drinks! And now we're out of ale behind the bar!"
"Damn it!" Gaston exploded. "All right, I'll go to the storeroom to get more ale. Girls, get out there. Belle, serve table 5 NOW!"
I had no choice. I started toward the door as Gaston headed for the storeroom.
But Monica grabbed me and pulled me back. "Not so fast, missy! All the barmaids here have to wear the uniform!" she snickered. In the next instant, the barmaids' hands were upon me. Lucy pulled out the ribbon that held my hair in a low ponytail. My hair fell loose past my shoulders to my chest.
"She actually has nice hair," Lucy scoffed, as if I was not supposed to have attractive tresses.
Then, to my alarm, Monica started pulling my top off.
"Stop! What are you doing?" I protested, pulling away.
"Stop being such a prude!" she said impatiently. "You have to look sexy, or they'll be unhappy and not give a good tip! We all share a bulk tip, so make us money!"
Lucy brought one of the "uniforms" the barmaids wore and tugged it over my head. I blushed in shame, feeling exposed and humiliated. To make it worse, Monica tugged the top down to make it even lower. I felt cold air on my suddenly bare shoulders. "There!" Monica said in satisfaction.
My cleavage stuck out, accentuated by the dress' sleeves now pulled down, exposing my decolletage and shoulders. The waistline of my dress was knotted at one side so that my left leg was bare all the way up mid-thigh. The other side came down only to my knee, not down to my ankles as my own dress had.
I didn't know whether to scream or to cry. I felt humiliated as the barmaids snickered, looking down at me like I was dirt, yet pleased with their work at the same time.
I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest. "What have you done? I can't go out like this!" I implored.
"Yes, you can! Come on!" Monica said, shoving a tray in my hands and pushing me through the doorway.
Hesitantly, I went to the bar and got the drinks for table 5. Then I walked slowly toward the table, praying the men wouldn't say anything.
As I held the tray in my shaking hands, I could see ale spill over on some of the mugs. I stole a look at the table. The men were smirking at me. One held his chin on his hand thoughtfully, as if he were inspecting me from top to bottom. I was disgusted, but tried not to show my true emotions, afraid I would only call more attention to myself. Then I saw that the other four were leering at me. I tried not to gasp, and almost spilled the tray, but caught my balance and placed the tray on the table.
"Um, here you go," I said, and hurriedly turned to scurry away.
But a strong arm grasped my forearm and pulled me back.
"What kind of service is this?" the man demanded as he pulled my body down closer to his, bringing my head to his face at seated level. His breath reeked of alcohol.
"Let me go!" I shouted as I pushed ineffectually at his chest. He laughed at my pitiful attempt to escape.
"You have to give the drinks to each of us, one by one, with a smile," he said with a wink to his friends. They all laughed in unison. As the vile man let me go, I almost fell backwards from the release. I went to the tray and gave each man a mug, but not with a smile. Feeling exposed and humiliated under their leering eyes, I just gritted my teeth and tried to get through it, avoiding eye contact with them.
But after I gave the last gentleman his mug and turned in relief to leave, I suddenly felt a stinging pain on my backside.
I yelped in pain. The men laughed raucously. Then the man who had slapped my rear grabbed me and pulled me onto his lap.
"Let me go!" I shouted.
The man laughed. "What will you give me to let you go, hmm?" he breathed in my ear, wrapping his arms tighter around me. "How about a kiss, beautiful?"
I squirmed, trying in vain to get away, but the man was too strong. I began to panic. There was no one to help me, no one who even WANTED to help me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Monica and Lucy at their tables, snickering. Their hands covered their mouths to muffle the sound of enjoyment they were getting out of my fear and humiliation. The stench of alcohol and sweat from the man holding me down in his lap, made me lightheaded.
Then, to my utter horror, the vile man pulled one side of my dress up past my thighs, kneading and feeling my bare skin. I tried to scream, but he muffled my mouth with his free hand, as his other hand continued groping higher and higher on my body. The cackling of the men grew louder and louder.
I was finding it harder to breathe, overwhelmed by a certified panic attack. My heart was pounding, and terror filled me as though I were having a heart attack. Oh, God, what if they didn't stop? What would happen to me? How could all the people in the tavern not care?
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a strong hand gripped my forearm and pulled me up, as though saving me from drowning.
"Leave her alone!" he roared, putting a protective arm around me and glaring at the men.
I was overcome with relief as I realized it was the cloaked man, my secret personal customer. I clung to him, feeling safe against his broad chest.
The men at the table angrily stood up and faced him. "That's our serving wench!" the man who had fondled me shouted. "Who the hell are you to spoil our fun?"
The cloaked man moved in front of me, putting himself between me and the men, glaring at them. To me, he whispered, "Go back in the kitchen. I'll handle this!"
I hesitated. It was five to one, and I didn't want him to get hurt on my account. But he gently pushed me toward the kitchen, never taking his eyes off the men, so I went.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Potts saw my pale , tear-stained face and my difficulty catching my breath. She immediately led me to a chair and gave me a cup of tea, her remedy for all upsets. "Sit, drink this," she said. "Take slow, deep breaths from your belly." I sat down in a chair, my back against the wall, and did as she asked until I was able to breathe normally.
I could hear a commotion outside the kitchen. There was an argument going on, and above it all I heard the cloaked man's voice, roaring in a rage at the men. I was worried. I hoped he wouldn't be harmed.
A soft touch on my shoulder brought me to look up at the elderly woman. "Are you all right, dearie?" she asked in a kind voice.
"Yes, thank you," I choked out softly. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I am even at a place like this! It's not for me."
"You're all right, child. That was quite a scare you gave me! Those men are like animals! But I would stick to just serving your private customer – he seems like a gentleman," she said kindly. The wrinkles around her eyes radiated a motherly warmth and tenderness.
"How are you feeling now, dearie?" she asked.
"Better," I admitted truthfully. "Thank you."
"I'm glad to hear it. Well, if your private customer is ever late again, you can always come hide in the kitchen. I'll say I haven't seen you," she said with a wink.
I looked up at her. What a kind gesture. "Thank you," I said, smiling back. "I definitely will."
"Well, I must get back to cooking and cleaning. You look fine now. Don't show anyone your pain. Show them the courageous look you had when you first came in here." And with that she was off.
Gaston came into the kitchen. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "One of the customers from table 5 is lying on the floor unconscious, and his friends ran out!"
The cloaked man came in. "Your customer, as you call him, manhandled Arabella and assaulted her!" he yelled at Gaston. Gaston was startled. He glanced over at me, looking confused, worried, and a little guilty all at once. But before he could say anything to me, the cloaked man continued, "What were you thinking, sending her out there! Our deal was that she only serves ME!"
"Well, you weren't here, were you?" Gaston snapped back defensively. "So it's all your fault for being late! And for starting a brawl, too! You owe me for knocking out my paying customer and chasing the others out!"
"The unconscious man will wake up soon, I assure you," the cloaked man scoffed dismissively. "A little jab in the head for what he did to Arabella does not at all suffice, but will do for now."
I looked on to the towering figure. He was quite tall, a little taller than Gaston, and just as broad. I realized what he had said about the unconscious man. Had he just hurt a man for my sake?
I spoke up, desperately wanting all the yelling to stop. "I'm very sorry if I caused any trouble," I said quietly. Both men turned to look at me. I took a breath and went on. "My cloaked customer is here now. So please, just let me just do the job I signed on for."
Despite my brave words, I wasn't feeling well. My backside was sore. Sitting on the wooden stool was not helping, and I was fighting every urge not to rub it, although I desperately wanted to.
"Arabella, are you okay?" the cloaked man asked in concern.
I nodded.
"I'm sure you are a little shaken up," he pressed. I nodded again. He was right. "You know you don't have to work today if you're not feeling up to it."
I appreciated his kindness, and every inch of me wanted to get away from the place, but I knew despite the fact that I was humiliated it, was the one job I could get that would allow me to help my father and attain my dream at the same time. More importantly, I knew that the cloaked man would never treat me the way those awful men had. He had especially proven that tonight.
"It's all right. I'm fine," I said dismissively.
"There, you see?" Gaston said in relief to the cloaked man. "She's fine! So it couldn't have been as bad as you made it sound. I'll just go tend to that customer and get him out of here." He headed through the doorway.
I was shivering, my bare shoulders cold, and suddenly realized to my embarrassment that the cloaked man could see my degrading outfit. Instinctively I covered my chest with my hands. The cloaked man immediately straightened up.
"Where are your clothes?" he asked. I told him, and he fetched my dress for me. Gratefully, I excused myself and quickly changed into my more modest dress.
Then I followed the cloaked man to our usual table, hidden underneath the stairs leading to the West Wing. The shadows of that side of the room hid us perfectly from the rest of the crowd in the tavern. I liked being invisible.
"Here." I slid a glass of scotch across the table to him.
The cloaked man, already seated at the opposite end, caught the glass. "Won't you sit?" he inquired.
"I'm afraid it hurts to sit now."
"Yes, I saw," he said, his voice a growl of displeasure. "That was quite a spanking. Those men were no better than beasts!"
I quickly looked away to hide my teary eyes, afraid they would spill over. I was desperately trying not to give in to my emotions. But it was to no avail. One teardrop rolled down across my left cheek, and I knew he had to have seen it. It was times like this that I wished I were at home, safe, with my father.
"Arabella, sit," he said.
I shook my head.
He thought a moment. "Come with me to the West Wing," he urged. "I won't touch you, I swear. But the bedding there will be softer to sit on, more comfortable for you, perhaps."
I looked into the shadow of the man as he rose and exited up the stairway. I wiped my cheeks and apprehensively followed him up.
As we came to a corridor that was more dimly lit, I could hear laughter and noises coming from behind the closed doors. There were about ten rooms in the west wing, notorious for playing host to all kinds of frolicking and debauchery. I heard what appeared to be slaps, followed by crying and laughter all at the same time. I hurried up to the cloaked man. He opened the last door on the left of the corridor and gestured me to go into it first.
He closed the door behind me, turned, and came closer to me. I still could not make out any facial attributes, but could only feel his warm breath on my face. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes," I choked out. But I rubbed my sore backside, unable to resist the urge any longer.
"Can I see?" he asked.
I gasped. "I can't believe you just said that! What a degrading inquiry!"
The man chuckled. "You do seem fine after all. I was merely trying to help out. I genuinely am only concerned. Were you having a panic attack? When I came in and relieved you from those men, I noticed you were very out of breath and ran to the kitchen."
"Why were you late?" I demanded. More tears came down my cheeks. Embarrassed, I turned away and sat on the bed. Though much more comfortable than the wooden chair, it did nothing to relieve the pain in my backside.
The man bent down to my level and gently began wiping away the tears on my cheek with a gloved hand.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I promise to never be late again. I should have been more detailed with Monsieur Gaston LeGume about the legalities of our arrangement. Rest assured, you will not be bothered anymore."
"Thank you," I said gratefully. The man in the cloak, as much as he was a heavy drinker, was endearing as well. He had warned me that he could be demanding, but after tonight, I felt that he would protect me as well, which was reassuring. I dabbed my eyes with the handkerchief I pulled out, the one he had given me yesterday.
"Did you bring anything to read to me?" he asked hopefully.
"I did, but - oh no! I left it in the kitchen," I gulped. The thought of going down again and passing by that table with vile men, and Gaston, was unbearable.
"Ah, I thought that was yours," he chuckled as he took out the book from under his cloak. "I was able to retrieve it sneakily."
"Thank you," I managed to say a little less softly. I was getting my strength back more and more not to mention catching my breath.
"Sorry. My voice is still a bit muffled. I use to get panic attacks frequently as a child. My father use to say I was just highly sensitive, but it got dangerous only if I hyperventilated. I had some asthma, and my father invented a device that allowed me to breathe through a small tube, of herbs that opened up my passage ways so I could take air in my lungs." I breathed shortly. That last sentence was hard to finish.
"Arabella, do you think you can manage reading out loud? I don't want you to strain yourself,' he kindly offered as he lay down on the bed. His arms were already behind his head, as if he were ready to receive my reading. How could I refuse?
"Of course, I'll be okay. If it gets bad, I'll pause a little." I watched him thoughtfully. This broad-shouldered, muscular man had just bravely fought off five men to protect me, knocking one man unconscious in his rage...yet now he lay quietly on the bed, waiting for me to read him Shakespearean poetry. The contrast made me smile. Who WAS this mysterious man?
"So what did you bring for me today?" he inquired.
"I brought my book of Shakespearean sonnets. I was actually hoping you could help me pick one, seeing as my partner is of no help," I confided.
"Partner?"
"Yes. In my sonnet class we are to pick a sonnet and present it any way we want. It's not a hard assignment, but my partner is often unreachable, or too tired."
"Maybe he or she just had a bad day," he offered.
"He," I confirmed, "might have had a bad day, but if he keeps this up, it will affect our grade."
"Well, I'm sure he will come around," he retorted, a bit roughly this time. I could sense a little defensiveness in his tone. Perhaps it came from some inner ideology of brotherhood some men had, where they stood up for one another no matter the details, even if they were strangers.
"What sonnet were you thinking of?" he pressed. I knew he was trying to change the subject from my partner to the mission at hand, probably sensing some of the tension.
"Well, there are a few. There's the most famous one, Sonnet 18, often alternately titled 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day'."
"Ah yes! 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate,'" he recited.
I was in shock. "You know it?"
"A bit. Shakespeare is wonderful at writing about love. He must have loved a thousand times over. Or perhaps he loved just once. Sometimes once is enough...a love so powerful, it stays with one forever."
"Indeed," I agreed, still surprised at how much the cloaked man knew and how insightful he was.
I read few more sonnets. He didn't ask to drink any more while I was reading, instead remaining focused intently on my recitations. As I finished reciting another sonnet, I glanced over at him.
"Your glass has been empty for quite some time," I noted.
"I haven't really paid attention to any libations today. I am currently inebriated by the beautiful vision before me," he complimented. I smiled a little, positive I was blushing, and focused back to the book.
"Have you ever tried?" he asked.
I looked at him perplexed. "Tried what?"
"Have you ever tried liquor? Wine? Alcohol?"
I shook my head, "No, I never wanted to try it."
"Curious?" he pressed on.
"Not really," I replied.
"Sip?" he asked as he held out his glass.
"It's empty - there's hardly anything there," I said with a laugh.
"There's a drop."
I shrugged. What harm could a drop do? I emptied the contents of the glass, and coughed almost immediately. He laughed, and I couldn't help laughing either.
"Well, that was quite disgusting," I stated as I walked over and placed the glass on a dresser across the room. "Truthfully I think it just went down the wrong pipe.
He nodded. "How's your backside?" As he spoke, he reached out as if to touch it, then stopped himself and just pointed. I was touched by his realization that I might not want to be touched after my experience. And yet, despite myself, I couldn't help imagining what it would be like if he did touch me. There was something irresistibly compelling about his mix of strength and gentleness.
"I'm okay," I reassured him.
"I'm still not happy with the way Monsieur Gaston treated you," he growled. "He knew what I meant even if I didn't say all the exact details of our terms. He somehow found a loop hole and used you for it." He shook his head, then changed the subject. "Come, read another sonnet to me. Or a story, or anything you please. Just don't stop reciting."
I began to read, but at some point, I must have dozed off. I was awakened by gentle shake of my shoulder.
"Rise and shine, Arabella. We seemed to have overslept," said the cloaked figure.
"How long did I sleep for?" I asked. I was astonished to find that he was still in the same position on the bed. I was curled up next to him, one leg off the edge of the bed, the other tucked in. It suddenly occurred to me how vulnerable I had been, asleep in a bedroom with a man. Had it been any other man in this tavern, the outcome of this moment could have been unspeakable. But the cloaked man had been a gentleman, letting me sleep and taking no advantage of the situation.
"Long enough," he replied. "You were tired. Have you been staying up late studying the past few nights?"
"Well, I spend my nights here, and do as much studying as I can throughout the day," I explained. "I'm afraid the time I get to rest is scarce now."
The cloaked man got up from the bed, and stood up, holding out his hand to me.
I placed my hand in his. His hand was warm and strong, and I felt a pleasurable tingle at his touch. I sat up and he helped me to my feet.
But I stood up too fast, and a wave of dizziness overcame me without warning. To my embarrassment, I lost my balance and fell into him!
"Whoa there!" he chucked as he cradled his arms around me. He was tall - my head only came to his chest.
"I'm sorry," I whispered sheepishly, and giggled at my clumsiness.
"Don't be. By the way, your reading was very soothing. Your voice is very sonorous and gentle. It calmed me, and definitely you. I don't know if you know just how much power you have over me and yourself when it comes to your voice," he said as he cupped my face gently.
My heart skipped a beat, as I sheepishly realized I was still in his arms. They brought such comfort, so warm and inviting. Truth be told I didn't want to pull away, but I knew it would be inappropriate if I did not.
"Thank you," I replied as I unwillingly pulled away.
"May I give you a ride home again?" he asked.
"Yes but please drop me off at the-"
"The University library. Yes, I know," he stated, cutting me off. I couldn't help but smile at how well he knew me. "By the way, Arabella, I want you to get some rest. Therefore, I will not be coming to the tavern for a week, which means you don't have to either. I will make certain Gaston knows."
I should have felt relieved at the thought of a week off from the tavern, but all I felt was a pang of disappointment at the thought of not seeing him for so long. "It's not any trouble, I don't mind," I said. There was a note of pleading in my voice. I hoped he hadn't noticed.
"Yes, but seeing how tired you are, I must insist," he said firmly. "You need your rest, and I wouldn't feel right having you come so soon."
I nodded smiling, but deep inside I was drawn to him for some reason. He had shown so much kindness and protection for me in just the last two days I had known him, and I couldn't help but find him endearing.
"That's very thoughtful," I started, "but already I am being ridiculed by the barmaids for getting special treatment from Monsieur Gaston. If I stay away from work for a whole week, they'll resent me even more, and it will give them more reason to bully me. Besides, I'm not so delicate that I need a whole week just to rest!" I added with a smile.
The cloaked man nodded. "I see. Let's meet tomorrow night, then. But do make sure to rest as much as you can until then. How can you serve me if you're low on energy?" he chuckled, teasing me.
I blushed.
Then he grew serious. "Truthfully I'm happy to see you sooner than later, but I am worried about your health. If you should ever feel sick or weak, I need you to promise to tell me. Don't try to be all tough and cover it up. All right?" I nodded in agreement.
Satisfied, he drew a money pouch out from his cloak. "Here. I've already paid Monsieur Gaston. This is your part. You've earned it, and there's extra in there to make up for tomorrow. But if Gaston offers you any money, take it. Don't tell him I've already given you anything."
I nodded, feeling the tears welling up again. He was being so generous – paying me not only for serving him, but also for a day of NOT serving him so I wouldn't lose money. He had no idea how relieved I was to get a break from the tavern, even for just a day.
"Thank you," I cried, and before I realized what I was doing, I hugged him tightly. Maybe it was inappropriate, but at that moment, I didn't care. The tears came then as I cried into his chest. I was afraid he would just stand there, like a statue, maybe even push me away. To my amazement and relief, his arms came around me. He wiped my tears and gently motioned me to the door.
The carriage ride to the library was too short. We talked about the sonnets and he gave me his input on the ones he felt most intrigued by. As I came to my stop and got out the carriage, I smiled at the cloaked man, and he nodded.
How I yearned to see his face underneath that disguise in that moment! The cloaked man's kindness today did not add up to the vile rumors I have heard of his past, which left me in complete wonderment. Perhaps he would show his true self to me one day, but for now, I felt like I was seeing his true self on the inside already. It was filled with compassion, and I was thankful.
I want to sincerely thank the wonderful TRUDIROSE who helped me with the editing chapter 12 of my story. Thank you for understanding my characters and helping with the parts I needed to alter- you are amazing and I am honored to have you beta-read. SHOUT OUT TO TRUDI!
