Child of Freedom

Chapter 4- The Life of the Party

I entered the room and stood there, transfixed at the beauty of it all. I had almost never been in Mme Rouleau's ballroom, and when I had, it had never held this much people, or so many wonderful decorations.

There were potted plants in every corner, along with two elegant chairs covered in fabric, and a small table. This allowed for quiet conversations to take place in an area that was semi-private. There were fabric streamers covering the ceiling (although I don't think they were called streamers then) and there was a long table covered in a white linen tablecloth on one side of the room with couples crowding around it.

Everywhere there were people talking and laughing. The gowns were splendid. I looked down at my simple gown and realized that I was under dressed for the occasion. I felt my cheeks grow warm as I walked farther into the room to allow more guests to come in.

I wasn't wearing a very fancy dress. It was a simple design that I had saved up almost all my money to buy, so I could wear it for special occasions. It was lavender in color, and had lace trim around the cuffs and neckline. The neckline was low enough so it would show off a little cleavage, but not so low that anyone who was an inch taller than me could see my breasts. The skirt of the dress hugged my hips, and then flared out. The middle of the dress had some ribbons that would be tied up so as to add a little flare to the dress, and there was a white ribbon that went around my waist. To a maid, it would appear fancy, but to a rich guest, it would appear as though I was dressed for a regular day of sitting around doing nothing. (A/N: For those of you who care AKA: TheBlackDove, it was a poofy dress, but it did not require a crinoline.)

I was disappointed. I had thought that I had gotten all dressed up for the occasion, only to find that even my best efforts weren't enough. I sighed and slowly strode over to one of the tables in the corner. I sat down and looked around me. It seemed as though I didn't need Erik to babysit the baby, because the party was going to be a disaster. At least, on my part it would be.

I quickly headed over to the punch table and began to pour myself a glass of punch. Then I filled a small plate with finger sandwiches and some sweet cakes. So long as I was going to be alone at this party, I was at least going to have some of the food that I had helped Pierre prepare.

Just as I was about to head back to the table, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a woman dressed all in red. She twirled a cream-colored parasol, even though she was indoors.

"Excuse me," She said. "But the punch bowl is running low, and I think it would be wise for it to be refilled." She twirled her parasol haughtily.

At that moment, I wanted to punch her. Instead I said, "Well then, why don't you refill it?"

The woman looked at me blankly for a moment. Then she began to grow red in the face. "Because I am not a servant," She said, puffing in anger. "I don't have to refill anything."

"And I do?" I asked. I hadn't said it rudely, but the woman's face turned even redder than before in her embarrassment.

"Well, you are a servant." She said haughtily.

"What makes you so sure?" I asked. I said it simply and sincerely. I was trying to keep my anger down, and I surprised myself at how well I succeeded.

The woman's face turned a shade of burgundy. She was just about to reply when I said politely, "Would you excuse me, please? I have something else to attend to." Then I turned and walked away, leaving the flabbergasted woman to her deal with her anger on her own.

I smiled triumphantly as I sat down. It had felt good to get back at that woman for her comment, without doing it rudely. She couldn't get mad at me for what I said because what I said made sense, and I said it sincerely and without malice.

I took a bite out of a finger sandwich and watched the couples talk, laugh and dance to the music. The band was playing a waltz, and my feet itched to dance.

Since I had come to Paris, 1870, I had learned how to dance to classical music, and I was proud of my accomplishment. I still had to look at my feet now and then, but I had made extraordinary progress in the short time that I had taken lessons. Of course, Erik had taught me, and he had been very patient, especially when I stepped on his feet.

As I nibbled on my food, I observed the people around me. There was a group of women standing near me, and I opened my ears wider to listen to their conversation. Maybe then I would have something to talk about.

"You know Rupert Bareaux?" One woman asked. The other ladies nodded. "Well, yesterday I caught him stealing some of my apples from my tree."

"No!" One woman said, and a few others gasped in surprise.

"What did you do?" Another one asked.

"I let him get away with it," the woman said, pleased by all the attention she was getting. "But I warned him that if he ever came to steal my apples again, not only would I sick my dogs on him, but I would curse him so that The Chosen would haunt him for the rest of his life." Her friends laughed with her.

"That silly boy believed it, didn't he?" One woman asked, smiling.

"Yes he did," replied her companion. "He ran home pell-mell, dropping the apples on his way." She laughed again. "I don't think he'll be coming back anytime soon." The women all giggled and began to talk about something else.

I tuned them out and pondered what they had said. I wondered what The Chosen was. I thought that perhaps it was a cult of some sort, like The Council of Music (A/N: See Wandering Child, Chapter 3 for more information on The Council of Music).

I stood up and casually stretched. I had finished my food, and I brought the plate to the table and put it in the bin of dirty dishes; dishes that I would have to wash.

I began to return to my table when I felt a hand on my shoulder again. I turned around to see M. Rouleau beaming up at me.

"So," He boomed. A few people looked our way. "What do you think of the party, huh? Pretty neat, eh?" He shouldered me in the arm playfully and I nearly fell over.

"Uh, yeah Monsieur," I said quietly. "C'est magnifique." I faked a smile and wondered if I could run away without him noticing. But my hopes were dashed with his next words.

"Come!" His voice was louder than ever. "Let me introduce you to our friends." And he led me to a group of people who were all talking and laughing. I spotted the woman in red among them. I groaned inwardly. I was going to have to do some serious maneuvering if I was going to get out of this one.

He practically pushed me into the center of the group. I felt my cheeks grow hot.

"Monsieur," I began, but I didn't get a chance to finish because the next thing I knew, Monsieur Rouleau was introducing me to everyone.

"This is Mademoiselle Renée Beauregard, and her fiancée, M. Robert Dubois." He gestured to a woman with dark brown hair who was wearing a green dress. She had friendly hazel eyes that twinkled with mirth. I had a feeling that she was a very bubbly person. Her fiancée, Robert was holding her hand protectively and had a very stiff manner. I got the impression that he wasn't always stern; he was just uncomfortable around people he didn't know.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur. Mademoiselle," I greeted them, and curtsied. I knew that there was no way of my being able to run, so I had no choice but to go with the flow.

"And this is Mademoiselle Jacqueline Boise," He gestured to a young woman of about sixteen. I greeted her politely. She nodded at me nervously. She had pale skin and light blond hair that made her look pasty. She hadn't worn any rouge to the party, and it made her skin look like dough.

"And her parents, Mme. Jeanette Boise and her husband, M. Eduard Boise" He gestured to the woman in red and her husband. I inclined my head, but I refused to curtsy to Mme. Jeanette. She had been rude to me earlier, and I do not easily forget when someone insults me

"And finally," M. Rouleau introduced, "My brother-in-law, M. Jacques Didier." He gestured to a tall man who appeared to be in his late twenties, early thirties. He had brown hair and brown eyes, and appeared to be a very serene man, but not stern.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur." I said and curtsied.

"This, everyone." Said M. Rouleau, "Is Mademoiselle Rebecca," He gestured to me, and I felt my face grow hotter than before.

I was lucky that he didn't consider me a servant, because if he had, he would have introduced me as his servant, and that would have not only embarrassed me, but made me look like a liar to Mme. Jeanette. The last thing I needed was an enemy. Especially one who was friends with M. and Mme. Rouleau.

A/N: Just so everyone knows, I may or may not get to doing any chapter posting/writing on Saturday. I will be busy with family things, etc, etc. Review, please and tell me what you think.