It was a few minutes after dusk later Wednesday night, just as Scarlett was finishing up removing what wallpaper she could reach, when a loud rapping came at the front door.

Prissy and Pork appeared around the corner right as she reached the entryway. "Miss Scarlett, I need to tell you something," Prissy said, just as she turned the doorknob and pulled open the mammoth door.

A tall woman, cloaked and hooded stood on the doorstep. As she raised her face the light flashed across it and Scarlett caught her breath.

"Mrs. Butler,'' Belle Watling said, obviously worked up into something of what her mother might have deemed a tizzy. "Mind 'splainin' why your man here brought your castoffs to my bizness this afternoon?"

"Mother of God!" Scarlett exclaimed, grabbing Belle by the arm before thinking further of it and dragging her into the house. "Who saw you come here? This is Peachtree Street! Are you trying to incite a riot?!"

"No one saw me," the woman huffed. "I was real careful." Belle shrugged off her arm, turning around and putting the hood of her cloak down. Underneath Scarlett could see a darker colored silk dress shimmer. Belle had a matching scarf tied around her hair.

"I know better than to be seen in a neighborhood like this. My driver dropped me off 'round the back street and I walked 'round your side yard. No one saw me. I don't need no trouble from … I don't need no trouble," she amended when she saw Scarlett's face.

"I just need to know what you're up to here," she finished. "And why your man said you would consider it a personal favor if I accepted the delivery as a gift, with your blessin'?" Belle's voice went a little higher at this, reaching a somewhat strident tone.

Scarlett looked up to see Prissy and Pork scrambling back into the kitchen. Lily-livered goats. She looked back at Belle's defiant, expectant face.

Dear God. I'm gonna kill Prissy and Phoebe, just you wait.

Scarlett's lips thinned and her face froze. She drew on all the measured calm she had once used to greet a scavenging Yankee and Jonas Wilkerson combined.

"I needed to find a home for a few pieces and Phoebe said her mistress liked red and might could make use of them. She didn't tell me who you were, and I was too busy to ask."

Belle laughed, a light, barking sound.

"Bullshit."

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. "I'm afraid not."

"You really didn't know?" Belle said, then shook her head. "I was plum sure Phoebe was lyin'."

'This is impossible,' Scarlett thought, oddly detached, 'an impossible situation. My husband's mistress, a known madam. My nemesis. Standing in my foyer and having a conversation about some crazy misdirection that never should have taken place.'

She looked carefully at Belle, remembering the last time she'd seen her, after Bonnie died. Looked even older, now. Blousy, aged, matronly. In her mid-fifties, at least, and the road had been hard. Kind of worn out. Just like Rhett's love. She didn't feel particularly threatened, here in the same space with the woman who had tormented her all these years. Bizarre.

Scarlett's lips twisted in a wry manner. "I assure you what I sent is of the highest quality. If you like it, well, you can keep it. If you don't want it I can send someone to get it." She almost added that Rhett had always said the furniture belonged in a brothel, but thought wisely against it.

Belle nodded absently, her attention wandering about the room. She took in the massive staircase, paled, and then glanced quickly at Scarlett's midsection.

'Oh,' Scarlett thought. 'She knows.' Well, just about everyone did, she told herself. Still, she wondered if it had been him that shared the knowledge. She moved toward the brandy decanter automatically and poured herself a shot without thinking, then turned to Belle. I am in shock, she realized. Oh, to hell with this. He's gone, he doesn't care. What am I clinging to?

"Would you care for a drink? I only have brandy here at the moment. Everything else has been moved to the new house." Even Ellen O'Hara would have been proud of her polished tone.

"You're movin' from this house?"

"I'm converting it to a hotel, didn't you read the sign?" Scarlett blanched as soon as the words came out. She couldn't read, hadn't Rhett told her that?

'There's a certain swinish comfort in being with a woman who loves you utterly … even if she is an illiterate whore'

Belle ignored her and nodded toward the brandy decanter, and Scarlett filled a shot glass and handed it to her.

You've never been very soothing, my dear.

Belle's eyes continued to flit around the room. Very curious, apparently. She studied the dark, ornately carved stairwell, the huge oh-so-modern gas lamps, the richly colored watered silk wallpaper, the thick, luxuriant carpet.

"It's so grand," she said in an awe-filled voice. "It's beautiful."

Scarlett felt herself defrost just a bit, very much against her will.

"Yes, it's more than I need anymore, though. I'm going to turn it into a boutique hotel and entertainment venue, with a restaurant, New Orleans style food, and concerts, music, dances … .

"I love to dance. I miss it."

Belle's eyes lit up a bit at Scarlett's descriptions, and she could tell that the woman had business sense. Though why was she explaining her plans to her husband's trashy lady friend, she had no clue.

This is the strangest situation, Scarlett said to herself again. I should push her out the door and end this misery. When I was younger, why, even two years ago, it would have already been done, and I would have given her a real piece of my mind to boot. A real lady would have never let her in the house.

But she couldn't end it. It felt as if she was on the outside, watching a play unfold, and she had to stay until the last lines were spoken, had to see where it would go.

Belle's eyes wandered around the room again. Scarlett noticed they lingered on the textbooks, the reading primers stacked on the foyer table, before they fell again to the carpet. Scarlett heard a gasp as she gazed at the cigar holes littering it.

"I'd of skinned him alive," Belle seethed, her eyes filled with momentary fire.

She's quick, Scarlett realized. And feisty. A thread, the thinnest possible, a minuscule strand of a silkworm, spun fine as a spider's web, stretched across the distance between the two rivals of too many years.

"We had so many battles, I had to pick mine," Scarlett spoke lightly and let out a breath; the moment of camaraderie was lost. A quote from Abe Lincoln during the first of the war came to her mind.

'Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?'

The world is surely ending, she thought, when I start quoting that man.

But if she deconstructed Belle, like she had the house, wouldn't she destroy the effect she had always had on her? If she came to know her, would it be possible that her name, just the thought of her, would no longer hurt her and stab her gut and slice at her heart?

This woman has power over me. Knows my husband in ways I do not. But if I teach her to read, I will have power over her. No matter how my life or her life or Rhett's life moves on. She'll never forget it.

Belle's eyes drifted over to the books again. She seemed particularly fascinated by the big letters on the primer's spine.

Careful, Scarlett's mind whispered. Careful. This woman has pride.

Still, she wanted to ask so badly - Did he ever make fun of you? Make you feel stupid because you hadn't his education? Couldn't place some archaic quote or didn't know the meaning of a foreign word most people never use even once in their lifetime?

Scarlett mustered all the charm and grace of her upbringing - every last value impressed upon her, albeit unwillingly on her part, by Ellen O'Hara and Melanie Wilkes - and smiled as kindly and sincerely as she was able to at one Belle Watling.

"Would you like to take one of those books with you? A primer, perhaps?"

Belle narrowed her eyes. Scarlett turned her back and picked up a cloth, wiping at the decanter unnecessarily before turning back around.

"They belonged to Mrs. Wilkes. I believe you have met her, spoken with her before? I know you gave her money for the Cause during the war. And there was a situation where you greatly helped her husband. She would have liked the idea of you having her books. I am sure of it."

Belle's eyes flew to her face, searching.

"Perhaps you would like to join our lessons? You could bring Phoebe to class sometimes. She shouldn't be walking that far, particularly after dark.

"If you wanted to come inside and observe it would make no difference. I know you care about your employees, and you could make sure she got to class and got home. It would be fine with me."

Belle nodded, measuring, appraising.

"Of course, you would have to be discreet, dress plainly, as you have tonight, and come in the back way. Probably the kitchen door would be best. We'll continue to meet here as long as it works for us all.

"And one rule."

Scarlett looked her directly in the eye.

"We will never - and I mean never - speak of my husband's relationship with you. Or of mine with him." She fought, and succeeded, to keep her voice and gaze steady.

"Why are you doin' this?"

Scarlett shrugged. She had no poker face, and no real reason to lie, anyway.

"I'm not exactly sure, myself. Perhaps because it will help me move forward if I do something for you. Perhaps because I will be doing Melly's work and my mother's work, as I owe the world a few good deeds. You helped Mr. Wilkes, and you tried to help my second husband, that night, or you would have, I am fairly sure. And certainly, you have been a - um, a source of support, to Mr. Butler."

She smiled through stiff lips. "Why, we could even call you a friend of the family, if push came to shove." She tried to keep the smile from turning into a grimace. May not have succeeded.

After a moment, Belle inclined her head. Scarlett chose a beginning and a secondary primer from the stack and handed them to her before turning back to the brandy decanter.

Dismissed, Belle took the books and put up her hood as she turned toward the door.

"There's one more rule, Mrs. Butler," she said as she grabbed the handle to let herself out. Scarlett turned and arched an eyebrow, waiting.

"He can't ever know," Belle stated, her expression deadly serious.

Scarlett cleared her throat. "Agreed," she said, before downing the shot in one quick movement.

OOOOOoooooOOOOOooooo

A/N Don't kill me. Next chapter is almost done. Let me know your thoughts!

P.S. 'Bullshit' originates somewhere around the early 1900's. I couldn't find a comparable term for the time period that conveyed the proper feeling. Still looking. I'm not too proud to change it.

I've decided to leave an additional note, against my better judgment - Normally, I don't like to explain myself. But since fic is written in installments, and the reader has to wait so long for the end - well, maybe I will do it this once. There are plenty of stories where Rhett and Scarlett make up and have babies and live happily ever after, or relatively so. All within the constraints of their society. There are also plenty of stories where they never get together again and are both pretty miserable but the author just doesn't see a reconciliation. I want to write something a little different. Don't want to reveal too much, but I feel Belle needs to be explored, rather than remain this mysterious other woman whose existence always torments Scarlett. Especially as much as Rhett throws her up in Scarlett's face to hurt her. I want to set Scarlett free from that. And this chapter is how I see the beginning of that freedom happening. Peace to you all, misscyn