Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay… I was busy for a couple of weeks. But anyways, hope you like this chapter, and I hope this is worth the wait! :)
Disclaimer: Nothing related to 'The Lost World' belongs to me, though the characters that I have inserted here and there are. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Dedication: To wishes! Hope you stick around to read more of this, because there's definitely going to be more. Trust me.
Behold the Façade
Nine
Ashamed, repulsed, disgusted… Marguerite could barely meet her eyes on her mirror, could barely look at her reflection on it. She was almost afraid to see herself wearing… she almost laughed at the irony… a white wedding gown. White? On her? The color of innocence, of purity? Of chastity, of cleanliness of soul and body? White? On a woman like her? It was ironic, truly.
She closed her eyes on the bitter thoughts, and then started to turn away from the mirror. It was agony to look at herself, to look at her face, at her body and see another mask, another pretense, another façade. Marguerite was playing another role again, one that would last only until she takes his hand into hers, only until the priest blesses them and unites them in holy matrimony. She lifted her hand and placed on her abdomen, felt the solid metal under the soft silk and satin. It was going to keep her safe, going to keep her alive until she was called to play another role, one that would come after she had fulfilled her role as William Roxton's wife and queen, after her role as George Challenger's puppet and slave.
Marguerite walked towards her bed, her eyes focused on the bouquet and white roses, lilies and daisies that laid over the covers. Her bouquet, her wedding gown… the ensemble, the set was almost complete. Now all she needs was the right attitude, the right expression… the right façade. That of a happy, beautiful, beaming bride.
It should have been so easy, she thought. A calm, serene look on her face to make herself look expectant, overjoyed, loving? It should have been so easy.
Once upon a time, it was.
But now…
"A month with the Roxtons and you suddenly develop a conscience?"
George Challenger's voice was a painful hit to her, his words a sharp slap that sent her spiraling towards reality.
"…do remember, I have who you value the most. Do anything foolish and you can be assured that she will be promptly taken cared of."
Marguerite bit on her lip, hard enough to draw blood. "Evelyn," she whispered softly, mutely.
She had become a saint and a sinner, a woman and a whore for this child, this child whom she had vowed to protect. Evelyn Krux was not her child, never her child, but always her daughter. They were not bounded by blood, but they were bounded by love… an emotion that Marguerite never thought she could feel towards any other human being. Never… until that day she found this little girl amidst the sea of strangers; lost, bewildered, alone.
Just like Marguerite was when she was still the Black Widow of Vienna, the woman with a black soul, a burnt heart. She had never known love until her life was touched by the innocent love of a child.
And there was nothing, nothing that Marguerite wouldn't risk, to keep her daughter away from harm's way.
"Marguerite?"
She looked at the door and saw Jerome Duncan standing there, looking tall and handsome in his own suit.
Suit that, like hers, will be splattered with red and blood, tears and dirt…
"Are you ready?" he asked silently, quietly. "It's almost time."
"I—"
"Oh, look at you, dear!"
Marguerite watched with wide, surprised eyes as the bejeweled Lady Roxton walked into her room, her aged face alighted with a wonderful, beautiful smile. The older woman stopped a few feet away from the bride, her eyes seemingly appraising her daughter-to-be. "Marguerite," she whispered, pride filling her voice. "Oh, Marguerite. Look at you!" Taking the final steps towards the younger one, Lady Roxton bestowed a quick kiss on both Marguerite's cheeks. "My William is so lucky to have you, my dear." She said. "We are so lucky to finally have you."
It was all too much. The trust, the love… all the emotions she didn't deserve— "Lady Roxton—"
"Hush, daughter." Lady Roxton said in a firm voice. "I will not have any child of mine call me anything but Mother."
No! "But Lady—"
"Oh!" Lady Roxton exclaimed. "You're right, dear – I'm sorry. Of course you should call me Mother only after the ceremony is over." The woman gave a hearty laugh. "Forgive me. It's only that I am in too much of a hurry to have you in the family that I… well, that I forgot that you're not yet married to my William."
Marguerite fought the tears, the despair, that suddenly came to her eyes. Oh, Mother, if only you knew what I was paid to do today… She quickly glanced at Jerome and saw that his face expressed a far-away look in them. She could read his face very well. Regret. That was only the word to describe that look on him.
There was no doubt that this woman had been as kind to him as she was now to her. And her death…
"But," Lady Roxton intruded, "I am never in any hurry to give you this." And with a flourish of her hand, she took off one of her many necklaces, the one with the tiny locket dangling from it. With a smile, she took Marguerite's hand and placed it there.
"Please, Lady Roxton—" Marguerite almost begged as she tried in her hardest to snatch her hand away.
"Shh, Marguerite." Lady Roxton said. She held Marguerite's hand firmly in between both of hers. "This is a family heirloom that has been with us for so many generations now. It was entrusted to me by my Mother, and now I give it to you. It's the symbol of honesty, of trust and of love." She tightened her hold. "Guard it well. Protect it well. And someday… you too, will have the chance of giving this to your own daughter."
Honesty, trust, love. The irony wasn't lost on her. Marguerite looked down on their entwined hands, not knowing how to contain her guilt, her anger, her emotions. But somehow, she did. Somehow, she hid the truth behind her expression of gratitude. "I- I don't know what to say," she whispered.
"Say 'thank you', my dear. And then all is well."
Marguerite then threw her arms over the older woman, her hug brief but fierce. "Thank you." I'm so sorry.
"Mother!"
Both women drew apart as they heard the voice of Lord John Roxton. He entered Marguerite's room, looking also tall and handsome, as well as noble and distinguished. He first regarded Jerome with a brief nod before he looked at his mother. "Mother, we have to go." He said.
"Of course, of course." As though she couldn't help it, she looked at Marguerite again. "Look at her, John. Doesn't she look beautiful?"
Marguerite dared to raise her eyes to look at William's older brother, felt another tug at her heart as she thought, another casualty…
But John was looking at her appreciatively, the man in him admiring the woman he had found in her. "Beautiful," he said casually, if not forcefully, "does not quite cover it, Mother."
"I know." Lady Roxton said. "My William is so fortunate."
"Indeed," came the dry tone of John's voice. "Well now, I suppose it is our time to leave." John took his mother's hand and guided her outside Marguerite's room. But before he closed the door, he looked at her, briefly smiled and said, "Good luck." And then, the door was closed, and their footsteps echoed away.
That left Jerome and her alone in the room.
"Are you ready?" he questioned her again.
"No," she answered him, the locket in her palm still warm from Lady Roxton's skin, still warm from Lord Roxton's stare. "I'm not. But it's not like I have any other choice."
"No," he affirmed her words, "you don't." Jerome hesitated at first, before he said, "I'm sorry."
She began to walk towards the door. "Never for me, Jerome. But be sorry… for them." And for Evelyn.
As Marguerite walked towards the grand car that was to take her to the chapel, she had too much things on her mind to even notice the grandeur of her surroundings. It was unfortunate, for it was the most beautiful of mornings, as the sun had chosen to rise up early from its bed to shine upon the vast lands of London. It was a beautiful day for celebrations, festivities, unions. Weddings.
Today was her wedding day.
Today was her day to execute George Challenger's gruesome plan of revenge on the poor, unsuspecting Lord.
To be continued…