Chapter Ten:
Flight
-Christine-
" 'Beauty,' Father said. 'I refuse to let you go.'
'What will you do then, tie me up?' I said. 'I will go, and what's more, if you don't promise right now to take me with you when the time comes, I will run off tonight while you're asleep.' "
- Robin McKinley, Beauty
"Me? Why me?"
"He would not say."
"And you refused his offer?"
"Christine, it was not an offer. It was a threat."
"But you refused him?"
"Would you rather that I had accepted?"
I looked down at the off-white tablecloth and the half-empty plate in front of me, shamed into silence.
My family and I sat at the small square table that we had placed at the end of the parlour closest to the kitchen, but no one was eating. After my uncle had said grace, my aunt had calmly launched into the details of her "urgent business". If her outward serenity was meant to cushion the blow of what she had to tell and keep the rest of us in a similar state of tranquility, then her purpose failed. My uncle's face and neck had flushed deep crimson when Aunt Giry had informed us of the Comte's ultimatum. Meg cried openly and held my hand as if she and she alone could protect me from the dark nobleman.
I gripped her fingers tightly in turn. Though I had been silent while my aunt spoke, I alternately paled and flushed with fear and shock…and the growing seed of determination.
I forbore to correct my aunt and tell her of my brief encounter – if it could even be termed so – with the Comte on the road to Silaton Place. Though it had taken place little more than twenty-four hours ago, the event seemed to be permanently seared into my memory. That morning, as I had lain in the hazy minutes between sleep and consciousness, the memory had repeated itself again and again until I had arisen in order to escape it.
Was that it, then? Was that short glimpse the Comte and I had had of each other the reason that I now stood in this predicament?
In the back of my mind, I was almost disappointed in the man. If that glimpse truly was his reason for doing this, then it was a faulty one indeed, for what could he know of me besides my outward features? And if his desire was to know me better, then why would he not do so without threatening my family?
It was a threat, just as my aunt had stated, and there was no way around it. The Comte was both rich and powerful, and we were not.
There was no way around it…and only one solution.
I felt as if I stood before the edge of a great abyss: forbidden to turn back, yet unwilling to move forward. It was too ironic. Though I had grown quite comfortable in our present mode of life, I had secretly begun to crave adventure, and pursue it in the only form I knew how: novels. Now I fully understood what the phrase "be careful what you wish for" truly meant.
Unlike the heroes and heroines I had read of, I did not feel courageous, or even vaguely heartened.
I was terrified.
And yet, I knew that the choice that frightened me so was also the only choice that I could make. Whatever my faults were, willful selfishness and cowardice were surely not listed among them. I would not allow my family to be turned out of the home that we had come to cherish so much, simply to spare me from the strange whims of a powerful nobleman. They would never again feel the same pain, fear, and degradation that we all had suffered three years ago…not if I could help it.
But I would miss them very much.
"Would you rather that I had accepted?"
It warmed my heart that my aunt had refused, and yet…
"Perhaps," I murmured to the simply-painted cornflower that adorned the edge of my plate.
It might have made this easier.
"What?" I heard my aunt and uncle gasp.
I raised my eyes to them. My heart was beginning to pound uncomfortably.
"I'm so grateful to you all – for taking me in. You've done so much for me, more than you'll ever know."
My eyes scanned each face that surrounded me, committing them to memory.
"Now, you must allow me to do my part."
We all jumped when Uncle Giry's fist came down hard against the table, rattling the dishes and silverware.
"No, Christine! I will not allow you to give in to this insane man! You must not even think of it!"
I could not raise my eyes any higher than his scruffy chin. I kept my tone low and steady when I replied.
"Uncle, with all due respect, I am nearly of age–"
"Nearly. And as such," he interrupted, pointing a finger towards me as if he were about to accuse me of a crime, "you are still bound by what I say, and I am telling you that you will not go."
Meg began to sob. She cradled my hand to her tear-stained face.
"Christine, please don't leave me!"
I had to turn my face away. My resolve was already beginning to crack; if I continued to face this painful sight, it would break entirely, and I would not allow that to happen. I would not be that weak.
In turning, I now faced my aunt.
"Aunt, you must support me in this!"
"Have you gone mad?" was her response. Her hazel eyes bulged as if she were the one afflicted with a malady. "You cannot possibly even consider giving in to his demands!"
"I can, I must, and I will! Can you not see that there is no other way out of this? If I will not do as he says, then he will turn us out into the streets. My freedom–" I nearly choked upon the word, "–seems a small price to pay in comparison."
Uproar and chaos ensued. Meg cried harder than ever, and my guardians' words were indistinguishable as they fought to be heard over the other.
It was too much. I snatched my hand away from my cousin's grasp and stood. Plate, utensils, and mug in hand, I glided into the kitchen, hoping to escape the noise and tension for at least a few brief moments so that I could rally my spirits and my determination.
To my dismay, they followed me.
"Christine!" my aunt called out over Meg's subdued sniffs as I set down my small burdens.
More out of habit than desire, I stopped and faced her.
The room suddenly became quiet. My aunt approached me cautiously, as if I were a songbird ready to fly away, and placed her hands on my shoulders. The warm, human weight of them was comforting, and my mind seemed to find a center amidst the whirlwind raging inside my skull.
"Ma chèrie – this is not worth it. Things like houses, beds, food – they can be replaced. But there is only one you. Having you in our lives cannot be replaced. I would willingly give up a thousand chances to live in a manor like Silaton Place to keep you."
I raised my eyes to hers, then placed my own hands just above her wrists. My mind seemed to have been silently struggling to comprehend something, and the realization burst forth at what I felt was an opportune time.
"But you will keep me! Can you not see this? The Comte said that I will be allowed to spend Saturdays and Sundays here. You will see me…perhaps not as often, but you will. It's not as if he's forbidden me from ever seeing any of you again. Maybe – maybe he's not all bad."
My aunt was already shaking her head.
"Christine, the fact that he has set this in motion in order to have you at his house is 'bad' enough! Noblemen do not just take an interest in beautiful yet poor young women for any innocent reasons! I will not have you harmed! I–"
She cut off. Her jaw suddenly went taut, and the expression in her eyes became quite fierce. It wasn't until her nose and cheeks flushed, and her eyes began to fill, that I realized that she was crying.
She was crying! My beautiful, regal, strong aunt was crying!
"I promised your mother that I would protect you and keep you safe," she began after a long pause, and her voice sounded strained as one's will when one's throat has become horribly tight. "I promised her! And I intend to keep that promise."
I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, holding her to me. She gripped me tightly, as if she would imprison me in her embrace and never let me go, not even if the Comte himself tried to pry her arms away from me. Rubbing her back softly, I whispered tonelessly in her ear, still recovering from the shock of seeing her weep, "Shh, shhh. It's all right. I won't leave you. Everything will be all right. I will stay."
I closed my eyes, hoping that my uncle and cousin would not see the lie that lay within them.
The next morning, I arose early in the melancholy grey light that precludes the dawn. I had scarcely slept the night before; nothing short of my arms around Meg would calm her enough to sleep, and I had lain awake wracked in both guilt and fear. I had never told a falsehood before, and last night I had lied to my family on a subject that should never have been lied about. I had tossed and turned, alternately considering and deciding against going into my guardians' bedroom and revealing the truth to them.
But I did not.
Not long after midnight, I had penned a note to my family that expressed my intentions and the strength of my determination, while using such forbidding language as would surely prevent them from trying to undo what I had planned. Well, almost all of them. I would not underestimate my aunt so much as to think that she would just accept this without a fight. Were it not for my natural shyness of confrontations, she and I would certainly have been more than a match for each other.
I had spent the rest of the night on the window seat, which my friends and I had all carved and installed together, dozing fitfully against the cool, smooth glass window. I had dreamed of Silaton Place, but in my dreams, when I entered the building, it resembled l'Opera Populaire. A strange creature always waited for me. Sometimes it was a dragon; another time it was a Minotaur. The last time, it was a decaying death's-head with eyes that burned like the fires of Hell. I was barely able to keep myself from making any noise whenever I awoke from these strange dreams.
When there was just enough light for me to distinguish shapes in the room again, I tiptoed silently past my cousin's bed where she lay, sprawled and snoring, and changed into a simple forest green gown. Emptying the few remaining contents of my satchel onto my bed, I began to gather my few treasured possessions into it. My diary, the book of faery tales, my father's music, and my ink pen – though the Comte was sure to have more than enough of those – quickly filled it.
I wrapped my mother's scarf around my neck, noting sadly that the scent of roses was beginning to fade. A cloak of nearly the same colour as my dress went over my shoulders.
My stockinged feet made no noise on the stairs, and I was grateful that none of the steps squeaked. I had just enough presence of mind to leave my note on the dining table before I laced on my boots and headed for the door.
I did not look back.
I had not looked back at all during this, the most trying part of the journey. It was difficult enough to know that I was leaving, that a part of my life – however arduous it could be – was now over, never to be regained. I found myself being thrust into a world populated and controlled by adult desires and concerns, and I mourned for what I had left behind. And yet, because of who I was, I could not turn back. I could not shield my eyes and ask it all to go away. It would not disappear simply because I refused to see it.
I would face this head-on; it was the only thing I could do.
The door closed swiftly and quietly behind me, without the trace of noise.
I stepped off the doorstep and into the unknown.
And so Christine leaves the realms of childhood and sets off into the real world. More to come, and when I say more, I mean more. Many thanks to Kates for beta-ing this chapter and "advertising" this fic in hers. If you all are stumped for a good/amazing/heartfelt/romantic POTO (crossover) phic to read, head over to her profile and check out her stuff!
...You will leave me an encouraging note, right? Who knows; I might loan out our dear, enigmatic Erik for one night to those who review...