Chapter 5 While the Cat's Away
Gold paced the shop again, and looked up at the clock to notice that it had only moved five minutes from the last time he checked it. This was pathetic. He was Mr. Gold, the richest, most powerful man in town and yet it frightened him when all he wanted to do was close up shop and see what his housekeeper was up to. It had only taken four days and she had already turned his normal routine, and thus world, upside down. He always prided himself on seeing things before they happened, of predicting a person's every move to any situation, what he hadn't counted on, were his own actions to his own, personal situation that he had surprisingly put himself into. There were reasons he was so rankled, sure there were…
First there was the smiling Belle French that greeted him every morning. He had expected, even if she did accept the role as housekeeper and cook, that she would be a sniveling, depressed presence, since she had been forced into her role, and yet, each morning, she met him with an open, genuine smile that accompanied the toast with jam. The jam was another new thing that had been added to his morning routine, as well as the lunchbox that she handed to him each morning that would contain some sort of sandwich and fruit. He had no idea what she did during the day, but she always had something hot and though he wouldn't admit it to her, delicious, and because of that he noticed that he hadn't left the shop any later than six since she had started cooking for him.
She never delved into prattle when he got home, though he knew she had spoken to no other soul, unless she had called or texted them, and she never complained. His house smelled something like a home when he walked in now. Mrs. Smith always had the place smelling like bleach and antiseptic (more akin to a hospital, he felt) when it was her days to clean, but now when he entered, it smelled like citrus and home cooked meals. There was warmth and comfort and a feeling of invitation that had him counting down the hours to when he could go back home.
He groaned. It was a slow day. His books were well in order, his rent wasn't in need of collecting for a few weeks, there were no meetings or deals to broker. Even his little collection of trinkets were well arranged, if not abysmally dusty in some places. There were no newly acquired antiques, and none that he needed to restore. He imagined that the Mr. Gold of four days ago would have been plotting and scheming his next move, while the Mr. Gold of the here and now could only think of hot meals and homey smells, and it was barely one o'clock!
He shook himself a little. Was he not, indeed the wealthy and powerful Mr. Gold? Could he not come home any time he pleased? He had, on the very, and most rare of occasions gone back to the empty shell he called home, mostly to collect something he had forgotten to bring with him that day, and Dove had been busy or indisposed…That was it! Could he not contrive some sort of excuse for coming back that day besides that he was owner of the home, and her employer and could do whatever he liked, whenever he liked? Yes, that was it, he could go back on pretense to collect his other notebook, where he recorded his inventory (there were some things he simply refused to bring to the modern age), and spy on his maid, and perhaps take some tea while he was at it, and maybe, just maybe, raid the cookie container full of the sweets she had baked to put in his lunches.
Now that he had a plan, all he had to do was to put it into action. Dove was sent on some pointless errand that would take him a good hour or two, and he went back to the Victorian, a spring in his limping gait that spoke more of his anticipation than lack of pain in his ankle and leg. He put the key in the door and silently as he could, went in search of his newest employee.
The first thing he noticed was the lack of the dinner smells that he had come to associate with coming back in the evenings. The second was the lack of noises. There was no vacuum, no music that she might be listening to while she worked, no dishes clattering, no cabinets shutting, nothing. A sort of ire settled over the excited attitude that had been there before. While the cat's away the mice will play, flashed through his mind, as he made his cane make as little sound as possible, apprehensive that perhaps Miss French fled his home during the day to dally with friends, or that he would find her shirking her duties.
The kitchen was his next place to venture and there he found her, her back towards him, her feet crossed and propped up on the breakfast table, book in hand, her shoulders and head all leaning towards the story as if her whole body could soak in the words found there. The ire that had begun now bristled and turned into annoyance and a bit of anger. She was shirking her duties! Reading on his dime and lounging around-what did she think she was doing?
'Is it too much to ask that you appear to do your job?' His voice broke the silence sending a squeak from Miss French, her whole body jerking up and the book in her hand flying up and landing on the floor, her losing her balance in the chair and following after the book, landing with an 'oof' on the hard tile.
'M-Mr Gold?' She stammered, clearly guilty, and it made him livid.
'Just came to collect something I left here, and good thing I did, apparently. Didn't think I would be checking your work? I assumed my reputation would have you too afraid to be shirking your duties. Is your father's little shop not worth a few hours of your day? Done with your deal already?'
The words were lashing out of his mouth with hardly a thought, and barely a notice that Miss French's eyes were blazing blue embers of fire, and she had now composed herself and her fists balled up to her side.
'I know you are new to the idea, but I was on my lunch break! I assume that I at least get a thirty minute lunch when I am working twelve hour days? If not, perhaps you should have specified before barging in here berating me. I am only just now stopping to eat because I worked on dusting all the pieces in your den and cleaning the floors in there. So sorry you caught me in the one moment I dared rest for a half hour, but I won't apologize for eating lunch.'
She was shaking. Whether from fear or sheer passion he wasn't quite sure, but it defused all the anger that had clouded his observations thus far. The fog being released, he noticed the dust lodged on her clothes, the little pile of cleaners just sitting on the door frame of the kitchen, in the direction of the den, the small plate with a couple of pieces of apple, remnants of a lunch she was trying to finish.
Guilt was not a sensation he was used to feeling, and yet he had felt it more since she had been here than ever before. Trying to hang on to any sort of power or pride he held, wanting to retain the illusion that he wasn't terribly wrong, even if she was absolutely correct, he tried to come up with something to say.
'Well then, carry on with your lunch, it seems I was…mistaken.'
She still looked a bit indignant, as she most likely had no idea that he had never admitted he was wrong before. Her face wore flashes of hurt as she picked up her plate, cramming the last bit of apple in her mouth and putting the plate in the sink. Gold hobbled away feeling, not for the first time, that he did not properly plan for all eventualities when he made the deal with Miss French, for surely he did not plan for feeling surges of guilt and the strange urge to go back and properly apologize.
He went back to his shop, wishing he had never given in to a moment of weakness and gone back to the house. If he had only stayed at his shop…
He parked his car, dreading going inside. Would he face her hurt? fury? silence? He had decided that he had been a little too hurtful with his words, more so than were necessary, even if he thought she had taken a break in the middle of the day. He had noticed the house getting cleaner, and she always had supper ready in the evening, and spent until the eight at night he had specified, cleaning the kitchen, and always finding something to work on until that time. Had she really been slacking, even a little, he had no call to berate her like he had done since it was clear that she got everything he actually wanted done. He hated above all else to admit he had done wrong, but he did so internally and found himself coming up with a way of making it up to her.
He opened the door and the smell of bacon and frying potatoes filled his nose and made his stomach growl despite his apprehension. He went to wash his hands at the downstairs bathroom and followed the smell to the kitchen, where Belle was bent over a pan of potatoes and turned to him and gave him a small-smile? It wasn't one of her normal ones, but it was there, and no hurt or fury could be found. The girl was much too forgiving for his comprehension.
'Felt like breakfast food for supper, I hope that's okay?' She was biting her lower lip, as if she were actually nervous he might bite her head off for daring to make something out of her venturing a little out of the normal (as if everything she seemed to do was out of his realm of normal). 'It's nothing fancy, and it was easier, but I worked all the way up until time to cook. I just realized that I hadn't thawed meat for tonight-I might have been a little, um, distracted to remember to pull one out.' She shrugged instead of showing any residual anger, and he felt that stinging sense of guilt again.
'I don't mind.' He said simply, not sure what he could feasibly say without a pathetic display of his guilt. He said it without his normal uncaring coolness, and that in and of itself was a change.
They ate in silence and he heard the clattering of dishes being washed when it was over. When he felt it had been long enough for her to be about done, he limped into the kitchen, clearing his throat, causing her to jump, sending soapy water flying in all directions, including his expensive suit.
'Sorry, Mr. Gold, you scared me!'
'I seem to have a knack for that, it seems.' He dared chuckle. She gave him a small smile in answer and bit her lip.
'Do you need anything? I was planning on bringing tea to the den, though I can leave it here for you, if you are planning to go into your study.'
'Wait on the tea-I wanted to show you something.'
Her head tilted to the side, and her forehead wrinkled in curiosity. He quite liked that look on her, perhaps even more than her fiery rage, since this one didn't simultaneously send painful darts of guilt and remorse to his soul.
He could hear her footsteps behind him, the otherwise silence of the hall felt oppressive.
'Temper any excitement, this is merely another room for you to dust.'
'But this is your study.' her forehead was even more wrinkled than before.
'It is, but I decided it was in dire need of some dusting.' He shrugged, playing off any concern he might have had before. Everything he didn't want her to see was safely locked away in the drawers, and thus, it would still be his sanctuary, but perhaps it could be hers too, in a way.
He unlocked the door, letting her go ahead of him, he waited under the door frame, smirking as he saw her gasp and go all wide eyed. Her eyes were so blue and wondering.
'This is amazing' She gasped.
'And dusty.' he muttered.
She looked at him, after gaping for some time at the row upon row of built in bookshelves spilling over with books, her eyes full of unasked questions.
'I think that an hour break during the day is more than fair for the amount of hours you work. Feel free to borrow one of the books here. And as long as you've gotten the kitchen cleaned after we eat, I don't mind you ending the day a little early to read or do whatever it is you want to do-I only ask you not disturb me while I might be in here.' He tried using his hands to gesture around as if offering such things weren't leaving his mouth a little dry from the effort.
The wrinkled curiosity was there in her face again, and her smile went all the way to those blue eyes.
'For now, tea in the den?' he managed, trying not to get lost in those eyes.
She bit her lip, nodded and bolted out, and he sighed a bit of relief as he headed to the den. Miss French surprised him, while handing him a cup, she laid her small, white hand over his rough tanned one. He looked up at her in shock, with her smiling at him.
'You aren't exactly who I thought you were, and you know what? I'm glad.' Her smile got wider.
Her eyes went down to her feet and he had no idea how to respond to that, so she left.
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed that chapter! There is so much to come, so I hope you are enjoying what you've read so far. I really appreciate the comments, they encourage me as I write :) Thanks!
Also-If Gold seems a little bit more of a jerk in this universe than some of my other stories, you would be correct-if you can make it through being irritated with him a bit it will be worth it later (or at least, I hope!). He is a mix of Rumple of FTL and Mr. Gold, the wealthy landlord, as I am featuring so many of the Dark Castle scenes.