Hoof beats.
The sound of cantering horses – four, from what she could tell – and the voices of their riders, all masculine, drew Clarice out of her silent contemplation.
She looked up, her green eyes instantly moving to the packed dirt road that ran down along the bottom of the hill.
In the next moment, four sturdy steeds and their riders came galloping out from behind the screen of the trees and bushes that hid the curve of the road from view. Clarice stood up: a straight, small, slender figure against the emerald green turf behind her, as her long black hair streamed out behind her in the wind.
Her uncle had returned.
And, of course, she thought, as she gathered her skirts into both of her hands and made for the house as quickly as she could, He's brought guests with him – yet again.
It was Felix's habit to invite his business associates back with him to briefly sojourn at the Boisvert residence: the modest but well-kept manor just outside Rouen's environs. Especially if he was trying to make some sort of deal with them.
Clarice had almost reached the house, and was in the act of running across the courtyard, her slippers crunching delicately against the gravel that paved it, when the four riders came bursting into it through the gate. Her uncle, who was at the head, noticed her just a mere split second before his horse would have run her down, and he had to pull up hard on the reins to avoid such an accident. His horse was exhausted, foaming about the bit in its mouth, with sweat glistening at its dark sides; obviously, they had been riding for a long while. The poor creature also seemed skittish in its fatigue, causing Felix to take several moments bringing it back under control.
When he did, his weathered, stony face was scarlet with irritation. He faced his niece, gray eyes flashing.
"Heavens, girl!" he exclaimed, his voice an ireful growl. "What on the blasted earth are you doing dashing pell-mell about the manor at this hour? Inane child! Where's your aunt? And why hasn't she got you inside, where you belong?"
Clarice regarded him calmly, coolly, and evenly, almost aloof: her green eyes serenely yet intently taking in the scene and piercing into him in a way that Felix Boisvert found very unnerving.
Then, she raised her chin slightly, so that she was looking up at him fully, and made her reply.
"Mme. Boisvert is inside, Uncle," she said, in the same imperturbable manner, "And I had not known that you would be arriving at this hour. Please forgive me."
Felix only grunted in reply, eyeing her warily. He didn't know what it was in his niece's manner – in her look, her air, her voice – at times that made him feel so uneasy, but he didn't remotely like it. It was almost…unearthly. Otherworldly.
"Whatever, girl."
He waved her off, towards the house, holding the reins of his steed securely in his other hand.
"Now, get you to your aunt and let her know that we have three distinguished merchants who will have need of rooms tonight – and we will all be needing something in the way of a meal very soon. Now get on with you!"
He waved her off once more, but Clarice had already turned her back on him and begun to run towards the house before he had even finished his sentence.
Before she was out of range of hearing, as she walked into the silent, cool shadows of the passageway that led inside the building, Clarice caught a snatch of the conversation that ensued as she disappeared.
"That's your niece then, eh?" One of her uncle's guests asked this; there was a dismissive snort. "Rather peculiar little thing, isn't she?"
"She's got the looks of a – oh, what d'ye call them: little winged brutes – fey, doesn't she? Like in the stories: not quite human," rejoined another.
Rough, masculine laughter broke out at this.
Clarice felt her cheeks burn crimson with vengeful anger.
Then her uncle voice again: "Excuse her, gentlemen, if you will; she's naught but a little foundling whom my brother and his wife – Lord rest their souls," As if he really even meant it! "Left behind some sixteen-odd years past. My wife and I have been trying to bring her up properly, but there's something to be said for children who have normal birthparents that didn't go gallivanting all over creation before up and dying! Well, come on then, messieurs! Jacky and Claire'll have dinner set up for us soon enough!"
Felix then clucked to his horse and gave it a kick to the sides, and Clarice heard all four of them ride off towards the stable.
She slowly made her way inside, running her hand flat along the wall as she went, as if to keep her way. As her 'birthparents', as Felix had named them, had died before she had been old enough to remember them, she couldn't really imagine how her life would have been different if they had been alive presently.
But she knew one thing for certain – if they had been alive, she would have never known cruelty and rudeness and spite and callousness like that that her uncle possessed.
No one should have to know such things: no one in the world.
* * *
That was why she had turned to fairy tales, back when she had been very, very young. In those old stories, fathers and mothers were loving and tender and kind: understanding and compassionate. They were always willing to stand by their children, to have fun with them, to listen and interact with them, not to upbraid and scold and threaten them at whim. In fairy tales, everyone was – inevitably – happy.
Clarice went to her room: an octagonal, wide chamber located in one of the five gables of the house, the windows of which gave a panoramic view of the land that surrounded the manor. There, she put her book and quill pen away.
The Elven princess's name would have to wait for another day.
* * *
Jacqueline Boisvert was occupied with her embroidery hoop and canvas when Clarice came upon her in the drawing room. The lady of the house – whose features had never been quite pretty, but were pleasant enough, even in her autumn years – looked up at the sound of the door's opening, and she smiled wanly at her niece.
"Ah, Clarice, my darling," she greeted the beauty who stood before her, "Returned so soon? I had expected you back at a much later hour."
"I must fault my lack of poetic inspiration for my brief time away, Aunt Jacqueline." Clarice replied, smiling back at her. "But that is not why I have come to you now."
Mme. Boisvert raised her arching eyebrows in question, and Clarice told her, "M. Boisvert has returned, and he has three gentlemen guests with him, who must be given food and lodgings as soon as we can procure them."
At this revelation, Mme. Boisvert started up, setting her needlework hastily aside, her face going pale with agitation.
"Les cieux nous conservent!" she exclaimed, gathering her skirts in both hands and making for the door, with Clarice following gracefully in her wake. "He has come back from his trip to Calais so soon? And with no notice? Nous epargner! Come, Clarice!" And so saying, she flew like a flustered mother hen, whose feathers had been doused with cold water, down the corridor.
Clarice followed, like an obedient little chick.
Later that evening, when Felix and his companions – Mssrs. Boulanger, Montagne, and Quirion – had repaired to the lounge for stiff brandies, smoking, and a round of One and Thirty, Felix called Clarice in. She stood patiently and silently to the side of his chair, betraying no reaction to the foul smell of pipe tobacco in the room, or the presences of the other men there.
Finally, Felix spoke, reflectively, eyeing the ensuing card game in front of him.
"Claire, m'dear," he said, slowly and deliberately, "M. Quirion frequents Paris quite a lot throughout the year, as his is a business that deals a lot in the palace – with His Majesty, King François, and the innumerable numbers of courtiers there. He tells me that there is to be a masque ball held a fortnight from now."
Oh, you insidious snake.
Clarice narrowed her eyes, making them sparkle dangerous flecks of emerald.
"And you thought that perhaps Madame and I would like to join you in attending this masque ball, simply for the amusement of it?"
"Clarice." Her uncle's voice held a warning growl.
She was unafraid of him. Her indignation dispelled it.
"Forgive me, Uncle. But I fear that I may be too young to be wedded as of tonight – and too old to be wedded by the time of this event. We all wear our own sort of masks, and I would feign to be a soul who does not fear to show her own face!"
And with that, she gathered her skirts in her hands, and swept out of the chamber, leaving her uncle speechless, and his guests staring at him: half in glee, half in shock. She tore down the hall, up the flights of stairs, and eventually came to one of the many doors that led outside.
Without a moment's hesitation, she pushed the door open and ran out into the dark, cool night air, dashing across the paved courtyard, onto the wet, springy grass, and out to the ash tree on the hill. Once she was there, she fell against the tree's strong, thick trunk, and stared out to the far-stretching scenery of Rouen – of France.
The darkness of the night seemed to mirror, exactly, the darkness of her own life at that very moment.
Her uncle intended to drag her along to some fancy masque ball and tie her down to some sort of rich, powerful nobleman: no matter what his age, or character, did he? Never! Never, never, never! She would not consent to such treatment!
No woman should!
Burning with her incensed shock and grief, she sank down until she was sitting on the ground, her skirts tangled about her, her long, raven-like hair streaming around her shoulders and down her back. She shivered with cold, her full lips parting.
Things were so hopeless.
In the end, her uncle would – by law and by tradition – have his way. She could fight all she wanted, until her last ounce of strength was sapped out of her fiery-spirited being, but in the end, nothing she could do would help. But she would do her best.
This shouldn't happen to anyone…ever.
She lifted her head and looked up again, out to the most distance reaches of the horizon before her. Somewhere, out in the dark, endless void…there was hope.
"Please…I wish, just for once…I wish that a fairy tale – someone from a fairy tale – could come alive…and that they would find me…and take me away from this…Just take me away! Please, it's all I ask…"
She let the cold, bitter tears come then.
"Just once…someone…"
* * *
And somewhere in the blue-black night sky…a shooting star fell…
* * *
A/N: In spite of the perpetual interference of forces beyond my control (siblings, and whatnot), this chapter came out, and others will soon follow. Hopefully. Leave it to me and Elenette… But in the meantime, please do click on the little blue button down below and drop me a note, would you…?
