~*~
Disclaimer: SEE CHAPTER ONE
Author's note: Sorry for the delay but my teachers decided it would be a good idea to assign lots of homework for the last couple weeks *grumbles* Anyway, i hope you enjoy the next part of my story. Thank you to every last person who reviewed my story so far...it means so much to me!
Any feedback, questions, or comments can be sent to: sail_the_seas@hotmail.com
~*~
Part 2: The Past
~*~
The room was chilly and seem as unwelcoming as it had been when Marguerite had first moved in.
The four-poster bed sat in its usual designated spot-in the far corner-with its faded bedspread that was once a vibrant violet. The window's dull grey curtains were held back by a strand of rope on either side; the window seat's violet covering turning black in the fading light.
Marguerite's fingers barely brushed the shelves that covered one wall, gazing longingly at the dolls that sat upon them, their haunting eyes staring through her. Her collection had been the envy of the girls at the convent and had sparked some unwarranted jealously between her and the others.
Just thinking about them made Marguerite cringe. Her years here had not been the most memorable…
The creak of the door stopped her in her tracks as she slowly turned to see who it was who entered into her room, not expecting in all her life to see this.
A rather younger version of Marguerite silently shut the aged door behind her, two carefully wrapped bundles in her arms. The faint smell of roasting turkey wafted in through the crack under the door, as the older Marguerite stiffened in surprise.
The young girl gently placed her packages on the bed; careful to make sure neither fell with too much force. Climbing up onto the bed, she sat cross-legged in front of her gifts, deciding which one to pick first.
Memories were invading Marguerite's memory as she watched herself carefully pick the larger gift, squishing the paper to try and see what it was. Her Christmas' at the convent were always hopelessly empty and lacked any semblance of joy. The truly bright moments in the dark days of winter had been the gifts that the two Sisters would always give her.
The younger Marguerite was now unwrapping the last pieces of paper from the Victorian doll that hid beneath it. The heiress remembered this doll well. Its sparkling blue eyes and long blond ringlets had always had an honorary seat on her bed along with her baby doll and bear. Sister Celia had known of her fondness for the porcelain dolls and-whether out of pity or simply kindness-had always gotten one as a Christmas present.
The second package held the small box of trademark chocolate-coated fruit that sister Mariana was so well known for. She did this for every girl in the convent but always seemed to include an extra strawberry or two for Marguerite.
The young girl held on to the doll tightly as she munched on a rather juicy looking piece of grape, her eyes down cast and rather sad.
Marguerite the older was tempted to reach out to her younger self just to reassure the lonely soul that everything would be all right, but stopped herself before she got any closer. This young girl wouldn't be able to feel her and she wasn't going to do her older self any good by re-opening old wounds.
A sudden knock at the door caused both woman and girl in the room jump.
The younger Marguerite called out, "Who is it?"
"The carols will be starting soon," An elderly voice said through the heavy wooden door. The older woman recognized the voice instantly; it was Sister Rose. She always had a soft spot for the troubled child, and would always hang a pine wreath on Marguerite's door come Christmas time. In truth, none of the sisters had been openly cruel or mean to her-unlike their pupils-but it was the three, Rose, Mariana, and Celia, that made the young girl seem wanted and cared for in the great wide world.
"I will not be attending," The younger one replied, clutching harder to her new doll. Marguerite was beginning to remember this Christmas well. It had been the first time since she had arrived that Marguerite refused to participate with the singing of the carols. It was just too much to see all the happy families gathered by the large Christmas tree, laughing and singing together.
Marguerite watched her younger self get up off the bed as the heavy footsteps receded back into the warmth of the downstairs, and head over to the window seat, leaning her forehead against the window.
The older woman walked closer, trying to see how her younger self was doing.
The young girl, doll under one arm, reached down into her rough wool blazer and withdrew a silver oval locket, freshly polished and gleaming in the candlelight.
Fingering her own around her neck, Marguerite the older watched single tear slip down the child's face as the first chorus of "Away in a Manger" began.
Inching forward, Marguerite just managed to catch her whispered words.
"Merry Christmas Mommy and Daddy." Sniffing, she opened the locket, rereading the words for the hundredth time. "Wherever you are."
Marguerite's heart lurched as she watched herself reach out for the parents she had never met. No child should have to go through what she did…no one at all…
A small hand placed itself on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. Whirling around, Marguerite came face to face with Sophie, who seemed to be just as cheerful as ever.
"Your past was not the best."
"My, is it quite that obvious?" Marguerite retorted, easily covering up her true emotion over it. She had become skilled at creating barriers over the years.
Sophie either did not pick up on the sarcasm (or chose to ignore it) for her expression did not change as she said quietly, "Your parents loved you, Marguerite. But they never got to prove it."
Marguerite's mouth froze before she could pass her cutting remark. How could this woman know anything about her parents? Clearly not all was as it seemed in this strange place…whatever this place was.
"How could you know that?" Marguerite demanded, turning away from the scene in front of her to face the auburn-haired woman directly.
"All will reveal itself in time," was the only reply Marguerite got as the scene before her changed from the chilly room at the convent to a crowded street in London.
The dark-haired girl could be no more than twenty as she hurried down the sidewalk, dodging the crowds. In her arms, a bag of groceries was kept close to the chest to avoid someone knocking it over.
A stranger-apparently not looking as to where he was going-ran into the young Marguerite, sending her sprawling across the hard floor. The man stopped suddenly, and rushed over to her, trying to help her gather the runaway fruits and vegetables that were now rolling about on the ground.
"Why didn't you watch where you were going?" Cried an outraged Marguerite, struggling to catch what remained of her apples, "You insolent little sod! I'd have your head if I wasn't down here!"
The young man, blushing hard, apologized profusely as he grabbed her hand and helped her up.
The older Marguerite watched the two people make eye contact and could almost feel that spark triggered again in her heart.
"He was handsome."
For a moment, Marguerite had forgotten all about her companion, but now she turned away from the couple-who were exchanging names-to face Sophie.
"I've seen dogs that were handsomer than he was," She muttered, keeping herself well away from the two.
"Who was he?" Sophie asked gently, as though she was dealing with something that could break any minute.
Marguerite hesitated for a moment, determining the safety factor of opening up another closed door, then decided to go ahead.
"His name was Philip Aston, a young man with a fortune at his disposal. His father was in the stocks and had amassed quite the fortune over the years." She sighed wistfully, as she let herself one brief glance at the man who was now kissing her past self's hand gallantly. "He showed me what it was like to be cared for, to be pampered."
"And loved."
Marguerite's eyes widened at Sophie's comment, but neither denied nor agreed to it. She simply shrugged.
"It lasted seven months before he fell for a busty blond by the name of Elizabeth. She was everything a man could want, wealth and all." A hint of bitterness rose in Marguerite's voice as she went on. "And I was alone again."
Sophie looked as though she had suddenly found an answer as she said; "Now this explains it."
"Explains what?"
A sad smile crossed the woman's face. "Why you fear love."
Marguerite laughed cynically as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Fear love? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
The London scenery faded into a hazy picture as Sophie moved forward. "Stupid it may be, but there is truth to it. Why else do you shun the affections that have been offered to you? From Summerlee, from Roxton-"
"Roxton?" Marguerite scoffed, completely interrupting what the woman was saying. "I'd sooner accept the affections of a renegade ape man than his!"
Sophie's smile created more questions than answers. "This will come up at another time. For now, only the past must be seen, not the future."
Marguerite opened her mouth to demand just what she meant about the "future" involving Roxton, when the scene deliberately changed into a small room painted a pale blue.
The Marguerite here was the closest resemblance to the explorer. She sat with a rather disdainful look on her face as she swirled the tea around in her cup.
A man decorated in Royal uniform entered, causing her to jump out of her seat to give a quick salute to him.
He nodded, taking a seat across from the heiress, pouring himself his own cup of tea.
"He seems like someone who knows what he wants." Sophie's comment was right on track, but Marguerite refrained for saying so, instead, choosing to focus on the discussion that was happening before her. She was starting to feel as though she were flipping through a photo album, only stopping on the most important pictures in her life. And this one was definitely one of them…
"Who is he?"
Dazed, Marguerite jerked back to the reality of the situation. "Who?"
"The man with all those medals."
"Ah, him. He was a valuable aid when it came to enemies' plans during the Great War. I was recruited soon after the war began." Sighing remorsefully, she remarked, "Those were the days."
Sophie tilted her head to one side, studying Marguerite intently. "You were a spy?"
Marguerite felt the usual defensiveness coming on when someone asked her about that certain part of her life, but she felt that Sophie would somehow understand. 'Funny how I can tell a complete stranger about this, but can't seem to even utter a word to my friends.'
"I was a part of their wing for the first two years of the war. I was sent all over the country, using fake names and backgrounds to pry information from people. I mingled with people of high status and spent many nights wandering around in luxury." She sighed once again, brushing wayward strands of hair out of her face.
"But why did you stop?"
Biting her lip, Marguerite stared hard at the scene before her, keeping her eyes away from the woman beside her. Somehow, Marguerite had a feeling that when Sophie looked into her eyes, she saw everything and the heiress had no intention of baring her soul to the stranger.
"Because the branch wanted some young blood on the team, so they ditched the old ones." The hostility in her voice was unmistakable as she glared hard at the general who's bearded face seemed almost gentle as he discussed their plans.
Sophie remained quiet as she stepped around Marguerite to intercept her view.
"Come, we have one last stop."
Once again that same mist erased the rather homely picture and created another, darker scene.
The streets of London were rather quiet for this time of night, except for the faint sound of heels scraping along the cobblestones.
A sudden gunshot rang out across the town, causing Marguerite to jump about a foot in the air. Shaking her head in surprise, she noticed someone coming towards them.
As the footsteps became louder, the heiress could just make out the figure appearing from the murky shadows created by the grubby London buildings. The woman was dressed in a deep purple ensemble with a prim hat perched atop her head.
Marguerite gasped, suddenly remembering this exact moment in her past. The woman, who was now only a mere few feet away, turned up a flight of stone steps into a well lit building, ignoring the astonished looks she received from the sentries at the door. Inside that building would be Challenger and Malone and Summerlee, not to mention Roxton, all completely oblivious about the dangers that their impending voyage would deliver…the very one she was going to volunteer to fund.
"Purple suits you," Sophie commented, and Marguerite-surprised by it-turned to look at her. Sophie's face was innocent, but the dark-haired woman couldn't help but feel as if she were terribly amused by this.
They both stared at each other for a few seconds before Sophie's face broke out into a smile. With a single clap of her slender hands, they were suddenly back inside a bleak, white room; the door with the brass knob in front of them, shut tightly.
"Why did we stop there? What about everything after that?" Marguerite asked, angrily searching the woman's face for answers.
Sophie's face was as calm and placid as ever. "Because those were the most landmark moments in your life."
The heiress snorted disbelievingly, placing her hands on her hips. "I can name at least a couple fifty that could be considered that."
"But we don't have the time for them," Sophie said, putting an end to the discussion with her strangely monotone remark. "Now we must get moving. Follow me."
Marguerite's jaw dropped-never before had she been treated as though she was something to be bossed around. She felt a new urge to strangle the auburn-haired woman who was leading her down another white corridor, but suppressed it.
'I might as well get what ever I can out of this experience. Maybe Malone can write and award-winning book out it.'
Instead, with a regretful sigh, she followed closely behind, all the while trying to decipher everything so far. The puzzle pieces were becoming more numerous, and yet Marguerite had not even pieced them together.
What a trip this was turning out to be.
~*~
Disclaimer: SEE CHAPTER ONE
Author's note: Sorry for the delay but my teachers decided it would be a good idea to assign lots of homework for the last couple weeks *grumbles* Anyway, i hope you enjoy the next part of my story. Thank you to every last person who reviewed my story so far...it means so much to me!
Any feedback, questions, or comments can be sent to: sail_the_seas@hotmail.com
~*~
Part 2: The Past
~*~
The room was chilly and seem as unwelcoming as it had been when Marguerite had first moved in.
The four-poster bed sat in its usual designated spot-in the far corner-with its faded bedspread that was once a vibrant violet. The window's dull grey curtains were held back by a strand of rope on either side; the window seat's violet covering turning black in the fading light.
Marguerite's fingers barely brushed the shelves that covered one wall, gazing longingly at the dolls that sat upon them, their haunting eyes staring through her. Her collection had been the envy of the girls at the convent and had sparked some unwarranted jealously between her and the others.
Just thinking about them made Marguerite cringe. Her years here had not been the most memorable…
The creak of the door stopped her in her tracks as she slowly turned to see who it was who entered into her room, not expecting in all her life to see this.
A rather younger version of Marguerite silently shut the aged door behind her, two carefully wrapped bundles in her arms. The faint smell of roasting turkey wafted in through the crack under the door, as the older Marguerite stiffened in surprise.
The young girl gently placed her packages on the bed; careful to make sure neither fell with too much force. Climbing up onto the bed, she sat cross-legged in front of her gifts, deciding which one to pick first.
Memories were invading Marguerite's memory as she watched herself carefully pick the larger gift, squishing the paper to try and see what it was. Her Christmas' at the convent were always hopelessly empty and lacked any semblance of joy. The truly bright moments in the dark days of winter had been the gifts that the two Sisters would always give her.
The younger Marguerite was now unwrapping the last pieces of paper from the Victorian doll that hid beneath it. The heiress remembered this doll well. Its sparkling blue eyes and long blond ringlets had always had an honorary seat on her bed along with her baby doll and bear. Sister Celia had known of her fondness for the porcelain dolls and-whether out of pity or simply kindness-had always gotten one as a Christmas present.
The second package held the small box of trademark chocolate-coated fruit that sister Mariana was so well known for. She did this for every girl in the convent but always seemed to include an extra strawberry or two for Marguerite.
The young girl held on to the doll tightly as she munched on a rather juicy looking piece of grape, her eyes down cast and rather sad.
Marguerite the older was tempted to reach out to her younger self just to reassure the lonely soul that everything would be all right, but stopped herself before she got any closer. This young girl wouldn't be able to feel her and she wasn't going to do her older self any good by re-opening old wounds.
A sudden knock at the door caused both woman and girl in the room jump.
The younger Marguerite called out, "Who is it?"
"The carols will be starting soon," An elderly voice said through the heavy wooden door. The older woman recognized the voice instantly; it was Sister Rose. She always had a soft spot for the troubled child, and would always hang a pine wreath on Marguerite's door come Christmas time. In truth, none of the sisters had been openly cruel or mean to her-unlike their pupils-but it was the three, Rose, Mariana, and Celia, that made the young girl seem wanted and cared for in the great wide world.
"I will not be attending," The younger one replied, clutching harder to her new doll. Marguerite was beginning to remember this Christmas well. It had been the first time since she had arrived that Marguerite refused to participate with the singing of the carols. It was just too much to see all the happy families gathered by the large Christmas tree, laughing and singing together.
Marguerite watched her younger self get up off the bed as the heavy footsteps receded back into the warmth of the downstairs, and head over to the window seat, leaning her forehead against the window.
The older woman walked closer, trying to see how her younger self was doing.
The young girl, doll under one arm, reached down into her rough wool blazer and withdrew a silver oval locket, freshly polished and gleaming in the candlelight.
Fingering her own around her neck, Marguerite the older watched single tear slip down the child's face as the first chorus of "Away in a Manger" began.
Inching forward, Marguerite just managed to catch her whispered words.
"Merry Christmas Mommy and Daddy." Sniffing, she opened the locket, rereading the words for the hundredth time. "Wherever you are."
Marguerite's heart lurched as she watched herself reach out for the parents she had never met. No child should have to go through what she did…no one at all…
A small hand placed itself on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. Whirling around, Marguerite came face to face with Sophie, who seemed to be just as cheerful as ever.
"Your past was not the best."
"My, is it quite that obvious?" Marguerite retorted, easily covering up her true emotion over it. She had become skilled at creating barriers over the years.
Sophie either did not pick up on the sarcasm (or chose to ignore it) for her expression did not change as she said quietly, "Your parents loved you, Marguerite. But they never got to prove it."
Marguerite's mouth froze before she could pass her cutting remark. How could this woman know anything about her parents? Clearly not all was as it seemed in this strange place…whatever this place was.
"How could you know that?" Marguerite demanded, turning away from the scene in front of her to face the auburn-haired woman directly.
"All will reveal itself in time," was the only reply Marguerite got as the scene before her changed from the chilly room at the convent to a crowded street in London.
The dark-haired girl could be no more than twenty as she hurried down the sidewalk, dodging the crowds. In her arms, a bag of groceries was kept close to the chest to avoid someone knocking it over.
A stranger-apparently not looking as to where he was going-ran into the young Marguerite, sending her sprawling across the hard floor. The man stopped suddenly, and rushed over to her, trying to help her gather the runaway fruits and vegetables that were now rolling about on the ground.
"Why didn't you watch where you were going?" Cried an outraged Marguerite, struggling to catch what remained of her apples, "You insolent little sod! I'd have your head if I wasn't down here!"
The young man, blushing hard, apologized profusely as he grabbed her hand and helped her up.
The older Marguerite watched the two people make eye contact and could almost feel that spark triggered again in her heart.
"He was handsome."
For a moment, Marguerite had forgotten all about her companion, but now she turned away from the couple-who were exchanging names-to face Sophie.
"I've seen dogs that were handsomer than he was," She muttered, keeping herself well away from the two.
"Who was he?" Sophie asked gently, as though she was dealing with something that could break any minute.
Marguerite hesitated for a moment, determining the safety factor of opening up another closed door, then decided to go ahead.
"His name was Philip Aston, a young man with a fortune at his disposal. His father was in the stocks and had amassed quite the fortune over the years." She sighed wistfully, as she let herself one brief glance at the man who was now kissing her past self's hand gallantly. "He showed me what it was like to be cared for, to be pampered."
"And loved."
Marguerite's eyes widened at Sophie's comment, but neither denied nor agreed to it. She simply shrugged.
"It lasted seven months before he fell for a busty blond by the name of Elizabeth. She was everything a man could want, wealth and all." A hint of bitterness rose in Marguerite's voice as she went on. "And I was alone again."
Sophie looked as though she had suddenly found an answer as she said; "Now this explains it."
"Explains what?"
A sad smile crossed the woman's face. "Why you fear love."
Marguerite laughed cynically as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Fear love? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
The London scenery faded into a hazy picture as Sophie moved forward. "Stupid it may be, but there is truth to it. Why else do you shun the affections that have been offered to you? From Summerlee, from Roxton-"
"Roxton?" Marguerite scoffed, completely interrupting what the woman was saying. "I'd sooner accept the affections of a renegade ape man than his!"
Sophie's smile created more questions than answers. "This will come up at another time. For now, only the past must be seen, not the future."
Marguerite opened her mouth to demand just what she meant about the "future" involving Roxton, when the scene deliberately changed into a small room painted a pale blue.
The Marguerite here was the closest resemblance to the explorer. She sat with a rather disdainful look on her face as she swirled the tea around in her cup.
A man decorated in Royal uniform entered, causing her to jump out of her seat to give a quick salute to him.
He nodded, taking a seat across from the heiress, pouring himself his own cup of tea.
"He seems like someone who knows what he wants." Sophie's comment was right on track, but Marguerite refrained for saying so, instead, choosing to focus on the discussion that was happening before her. She was starting to feel as though she were flipping through a photo album, only stopping on the most important pictures in her life. And this one was definitely one of them…
"Who is he?"
Dazed, Marguerite jerked back to the reality of the situation. "Who?"
"The man with all those medals."
"Ah, him. He was a valuable aid when it came to enemies' plans during the Great War. I was recruited soon after the war began." Sighing remorsefully, she remarked, "Those were the days."
Sophie tilted her head to one side, studying Marguerite intently. "You were a spy?"
Marguerite felt the usual defensiveness coming on when someone asked her about that certain part of her life, but she felt that Sophie would somehow understand. 'Funny how I can tell a complete stranger about this, but can't seem to even utter a word to my friends.'
"I was a part of their wing for the first two years of the war. I was sent all over the country, using fake names and backgrounds to pry information from people. I mingled with people of high status and spent many nights wandering around in luxury." She sighed once again, brushing wayward strands of hair out of her face.
"But why did you stop?"
Biting her lip, Marguerite stared hard at the scene before her, keeping her eyes away from the woman beside her. Somehow, Marguerite had a feeling that when Sophie looked into her eyes, she saw everything and the heiress had no intention of baring her soul to the stranger.
"Because the branch wanted some young blood on the team, so they ditched the old ones." The hostility in her voice was unmistakable as she glared hard at the general who's bearded face seemed almost gentle as he discussed their plans.
Sophie remained quiet as she stepped around Marguerite to intercept her view.
"Come, we have one last stop."
Once again that same mist erased the rather homely picture and created another, darker scene.
The streets of London were rather quiet for this time of night, except for the faint sound of heels scraping along the cobblestones.
A sudden gunshot rang out across the town, causing Marguerite to jump about a foot in the air. Shaking her head in surprise, she noticed someone coming towards them.
As the footsteps became louder, the heiress could just make out the figure appearing from the murky shadows created by the grubby London buildings. The woman was dressed in a deep purple ensemble with a prim hat perched atop her head.
Marguerite gasped, suddenly remembering this exact moment in her past. The woman, who was now only a mere few feet away, turned up a flight of stone steps into a well lit building, ignoring the astonished looks she received from the sentries at the door. Inside that building would be Challenger and Malone and Summerlee, not to mention Roxton, all completely oblivious about the dangers that their impending voyage would deliver…the very one she was going to volunteer to fund.
"Purple suits you," Sophie commented, and Marguerite-surprised by it-turned to look at her. Sophie's face was innocent, but the dark-haired woman couldn't help but feel as if she were terribly amused by this.
They both stared at each other for a few seconds before Sophie's face broke out into a smile. With a single clap of her slender hands, they were suddenly back inside a bleak, white room; the door with the brass knob in front of them, shut tightly.
"Why did we stop there? What about everything after that?" Marguerite asked, angrily searching the woman's face for answers.
Sophie's face was as calm and placid as ever. "Because those were the most landmark moments in your life."
The heiress snorted disbelievingly, placing her hands on her hips. "I can name at least a couple fifty that could be considered that."
"But we don't have the time for them," Sophie said, putting an end to the discussion with her strangely monotone remark. "Now we must get moving. Follow me."
Marguerite's jaw dropped-never before had she been treated as though she was something to be bossed around. She felt a new urge to strangle the auburn-haired woman who was leading her down another white corridor, but suppressed it.
'I might as well get what ever I can out of this experience. Maybe Malone can write and award-winning book out it.'
Instead, with a regretful sigh, she followed closely behind, all the while trying to decipher everything so far. The puzzle pieces were becoming more numerous, and yet Marguerite had not even pieced them together.
What a trip this was turning out to be.
~*~