Author's Note: Oh WOW was that an interesting round of reactions! For those of you still completely in the dark about Antoinette, Jean Rhys or Currer Bell may be able to offer some clues. ;) Though of course, my version doesn't truly fit the madwoman in the attic mold. We're entering uncharted waters, folks, check your preconceived notions at the door!

I'm adding some footnotes going forward to clarify historical notes, references, etc. Just seeing some questions in reviews that might be better to answer more publicly!

And final thing: if you're turned off by OCs, Antoinette is my last addition to the cast of characters. So this is a good time to decide if that squicks you out enough to abandon ship. I promise I won't be offended.

- Chapter 8: Beau Soir -

I watched the small caravan of fine motorcars pull up the drive from my bedroom window with a lead weight in my stomach.

Edward and his family had all left for Seattle in the dark of the early morning to meet their guests at the train station, as well as to pick up Edward's new automobile that had finally been delivered from Detroit. Now, the round dozen of them had returned, and I couldn't shake the feeling that a great sea-change rode in with them.

Full fathom five thy father lies, I thought with grim resignation as the motorcars lined up before the entrance and began spewing forth their burden.

Sea-nymphs, indeed—the cousins, if that's what they truly were, were achingly beautiful. Two emerged from the front vehicle with Carlisle and Esme, one petite and the other willowy, both pale blonde and ethereal and wrapped in fashionable coats trimmed in rich fur. They were deep in conversation with Edward's adoptive parents as they all but floated across the gravel toward the front doors.

Behind them, chatting amiably with Jasper and Alice, were clearly the friends that had tagged along. They were a handsome couple, both dark-haired with a faint olive cast to their pale skin. The man was a few inches shorter than Jasper, with angular, lively features, and he held a protective hand against the small of the woman's back. She was lush and sensual, her unbuttoned coat flying open as they walked to reveal a burgundy dress that clung to her curves.

The compass needle of my gaze inevitably swung to the last motorcar, where my version of true north was opening the passenger door. An expectant alabaster hand appeared from the interior and Edward took it gallantly.

And then a woman emerged.

She was unimaginably lovely, with strawberry blonde hair that shone rich and lively even in the grey afternoon. Her face might have been sculpted by a Renaissance master with skin that seemed lit from within. As I watched, she sent Edward a seductive smile and leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek, her hand still in his.

My gut twisted, and I suddenly understood why Edward had asked me to keep my distance. He was the only one of the family as yet unmarried. And they certainly made a fine picture.

I swallowed my bile and turned away from my window.

- o - o - o -

I dawdled some before making my way downstairs to find Nessie, hoping to wait out the commotion.

I'd been barred from helping with any chores by an aggressively attentive Mrs. Weber, who had twisted Carlisle's recommendation that I take it easy as an excuse to prevent me from lifting anything heavier than a fork until I was out of the sling. But I could at least keep my ward out of the other employees' hair.

I snuck down the back stairs to avoid any run-ins in the entry hall. I thought Nessie might be in the kitchen, but I saw only Angela and her mother when I popped out of the narrow stairwell.

Spotting me out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Weber fixed me with a flinty stare.

"Isabella Swan," she said warningly, "if you so much as touch a pot…"

I laughed. Mrs. Weber's particular brand of unrelenting maternal nature never failed to pull me out of a sour mood.

"I won't!" I promised, holding my good hand up in surrender. "I was just looking for Nessie."

"Oh, the cousins snapped her right up," Angela said with a sly grin. "They were simply enraptured."

"Beautiful ladies, aren't they?" Mrs. Weber commented. "So very refined. Mrs. Hale told me their father was a distant relation of the Tsar, rest him. Both their parents were murdered by the Bolsheviks. Their mother's family managed to smuggle out the three girls, thanks be to God, and they've been living in Vienna since then." She shook her head, lips pursed. "Horrid business."

I clenched my jaw. Of course Carlisle's cousins were royalty in exile.

"Ah, Bella, there you are!"

Esme appeared through the door to the butler's pantry, smiling warmly. She had spent most of the prior day with Nessie and me, joining in on our lessons as Edward used to do. I liked her calm, benevolent energy; if Mrs. Weber was a loving scolding delivered from a too-tight hug, Esme was a soft hand caressing a sleeping child's cheek. Two sides of the same maternal coin.

"I came to ask if you and Nessie might join us in the drawing room later this evening," Esme continued. "We'll be dining out, but our guests would love to spend some time with her when we return."

Dining out, were they? I tipped my chin in assent to hide my raised brows. I assumed they were attempting to find excuses to not order a large meal from Mrs. Weber, but surely this ruse wouldn't hold for long in tiny Forks. "Of course, ma'am."

Esme smiled brilliantly. "Wonderful. Alice put out a new dress for Nessie—will you see that she changes after you eat? The ladies still prefer to dress for dinner."

"Certainly," I replied, my heart sinking. My only nice dress was the one I'd worn for my father's funeral five years before, shapeless and plain. I suddenly very much wished for a uniform.

"Thank you, dear," she said, a gentle dismissal.

As Esme drew Mrs. Weber into a conversation about the needs for the rest of the week, I felt entirely superfluous. I couldn't help around the kitchen with one arm, and Nessie was well-occupied until dinner. It was a new feeling for me and I didn't like it one bit.

Angela, seeing my lost expression, stepped in close and bumped me gently with her hip. "Chin up, Bella," she teased. "An idle day or two won't kill you."

I made a face at her, and she laughed. "Go relax," she urged. "Mother is making a lovely roast chicken and potatoes for dinner. I'll fetch you when it's ready."

With a sigh, I did as I was bidden and went right back up the stairs. I supposed I could read for an hour or two; I was unlikely to get the chance later.

- o - o - o -

The evening was somehow worse than I anticipated.

I hadn't seen the Cullens and their guests leaving for dinner, but I certainly didn't miss their return, the men in tuxedos and the women dripping in fine silks and jewels. I felt like a dung beetle among exotic butterflies in my calf-length black dress with its outdated drop waist—accessorized most alluringly by my off-white flannel sling.

Not that anyone paid me much attention. Nessie, dressed in a pale blue dress with a full organza skirt, puff sleeves, and a sweet navy bow at the back, was the star of the show from the moment the surreal party entered the house.

"Oh, how darling!" the shortest cousin, who I'd been told was named Irina, exclaimed as Nessie gave a practiced curtsy to greet them.

Yekaterina, the taller pale blonde whom the family generally called Kate, cooed her agreement, making Nessie dimple. "A proper knyazhna."

"What does that mean?" Nessie asked eagerly.

"A princess," replied the final sister, who came in on Edward's arm. She wore a deep green velvet gown, artfully draped to accentuate her slim figure, with elbow-length gloves in intricate black lace. Her dress matched Nessie's eyes, I noted.

The strawberry blonde elegantly withdrew her arm from the crook of Edward's elbow and bent down to Nessie's level. "Yes, you would have fit right in at the Winter Palace," she said, reaching an elegant finger out to gently chuck Nessie's chin.

"Tanya," Edward said quietly.

Tanya's gold eyes shifted to peer at Edward over her shoulder, a seductive smile curving her painted lips. "All right, all right," she giggled, standing straight. "I'll stop embarrassing the poor child."

She touched her hand to Nessie's back. "Come," she said invitingly, "I'll need your help convincing your uncle to play something for us."

I lingered in the corner of the hall as the grand procession flowed into the drawing room, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

"Miss Swan."

Edward was the last in the entry hall, staring at me expectantly beside the grand fireplace. He was a sight to behold in his tuxedo, and I wished I had the freedom to drink it in properly.

Instead of admiring him, though, I sent a pleading look, hoping he'd take pity on me. He just raised a brow and gestured to the open door to the drawing room.

I sighed and slipped around him into the room, defeated.

I spent most of the evening sitting in a corner, watching the trio of blondes and Carmen, the dark-haired woman, doting on Nessie. Even Esme and Rosalie joined in, having not had much time with the girl yet, either. She, at least, was in heaven, showing off her many projects and creations to her rapt audience.

Alice and Emmett chatted amiably with Carlisle and Edward, though they, too, were angled somewhat toward the child, glancing at her occasionally with amusement and pride.

The only person who didn't seem entirely unaware of my presence was Eleazar, Carmen's enigmatic husband. He sat slightly off to the side, ostensibly playing a game of chess with Jasper, but I caught him watching me curiously more than once. The scrutiny made me uncomfortable, and I wished I'd brought something to do. Maybe an embroidery sampler, I thought—that would occupy my hands if I had to go through this again.

I was deeply relieved when the clock struck half-past nine, signaling Nessie's bedtime. I called softly to her, and she shot me a devastated look.

"But Uncle Edward hasn't played the piano yet!" she whined.

Tanya, who had somehow managed to maneuver her way to Edward's side, saw her opening. "Oh, Edward, can't she stay up for just a song or two?" she all but purred, her hand creeping up to his lapel.

I felt myself watching him to see if his eyes would flicker to me, but they never did. He smiled indulgently.

"All right," he said. "But just one."

Nessie skipped over to the piano, and the entire party followed like she was the Pied Piper.

Edward sat slightly to one side of the bench and patted the empty space, inviting Nessie to perch on it beside him. When she was settled, he laid his elegant hands gently over the keys. He took a breath, eyes closed, and then began to play.

The soft melody danced dreamily from deep tones up to a high point, nostalgic and wistful. I didn't know it, but the others seemed to; Esme sighed happily.

Tanya stepped up beside him and suddenly began to sing in a clear, ringing voice.

It was French, I was fairly certain, and I didn't understand the words that stretched and flowed. But I understood the feeling: the kind of beauty that hurts because you know it can't last.

It was a short song that lifted in intensity and volume before resolving, quietly, gently, to a pensive finish. I found myself wishing it were longer—though maybe, I thought with a hint of sourness, without Tanya's admittedly lovely voice distracting me from Edward's playing.

"Oh, I do love how you play Debussy," Esme said, laying a hand on Edward's shoulder.

He smiled and reached up to grasp her fingers affectionately.

"Edward, you ought to sing for us, too," Tanya suggested, fluttering her lashes. "I'd love to hear something with a bit more passion."

I realized my hand was clenching in my skirt; I forced myself to let go.

"Oh, yes," Alice piped up, a sly look in her eye. "Donizetti, maybe? What's that one aria from L'elisir d'amore called? Quanto è bella?"

Rosalie, who I had barely even heard speak thus far, laughed loud and sudden from her perch on the arm of Emmett's chair.

Edward shot Alice and Rosalie a glare, then shut the fall board with a resounding thunk. "I said one song," he said tightly. "Miss Swan, please take Nessie to bed."

I couldn't quite understand what was so funny about Alice's suggestion, but it certainly seemed to annoy Edward. I'd have to look up the song at some point.

Nessie and I murmured our good nights, and I whisked her up to bed.

- o - o - o -

"Useless!"

I looked up from my coffee as Mrs. Weber burst through the kitchen door, followed by Angela and Ben.

The woman was in rare form, worked into a lather that brought spots of high color to her cheekbones. After four days of a full house, her nerves were strung tight. To my surprise, Edward had opted to dine in each evening after that first night, and Mrs. Weber saw it as an opportunity impress him so he might hire her full-time after the visitors left.

I had to admit, she was an even better cook than her daughter, but I wasn't so convinced Edward had any reason to care about the creativity and quality of the meals served in his house.

"That loafing laggard of a boy promised he'd have everything ready in time," Mrs. Weber continued in a snarl as she stomped across the stone floor.

Angela shot me a look out of the corner of her eye, lips pursed tightly against laughter, and I had to steal a sip from my mug to hide my answering grin.

"Who's a laggard?" Nessie asked.

"Oh, good morning, pet," Mrs. Weber said absently, laying a hand on Nessie's crown. "Forgive me, I oughtn't speak of anyone that way. Even the most shiftless among us deserve grace."

Angela couldn't hold it in then; a small squeak emerged that she tried to turn into a cough. Her mother sniffed pointedly but ignored the lapse.

"Mrs. Weber placed an order at Newton's earlier this week for some specialty items," Ben explained, pouring himself a cup of the brew I'd made. "They swore up and down it'd be here this afternoon, but—"

"Poached salmon in cream sauce!" Mrs. Weber cried. "Saddle of spring lamb with mint jelly! Duck fat potatoes!" She smacked the table with each dish in sharp punctuation, the pinking of her cheeks turning positively scarlet. "My entire menu, down the drain because Michael Newton"—she spat his name like the worst sort of curse—"was too busy making eyes at any girl who walked in to call their supplier!"

"Mother, do calm down," Angela said, amused. "It'll all be there by lunchtime."

Mrs. Weber harrumphed as she began pulling out the pre-prepared items for the Continental-style breakfast she'd been setting out for the household. "As if being late wasn't enough, the stupid boy broke an axel on their van so they can't deliver. How they expect us to get back into town to pick it up with enough time to start cooking…"

"I can fetch it," I offered. I still couldn't help around the house, though Carlisle had told me I could take off the sling for a few hours a day and use the arm lightly. I assumed that extended to driving.

"That would be wonderful," Ben said. "Mrs. Cullen asked if I could get the tennis court ready for play today and I've got a long list of chores already."

"Certainly," I said. It would be a relief, I thought, to get out of the house; I was sick of waiting to see if Edward would finally acknowledge me. "I'll leave after our morning lesson."

- o - o - o -

I was reaching for my coat on the hooks by the kitchen door when a familiar hand snaked out in front of me to snatch it up before I could.

"Let me help you," Edward said gruffly from over my shoulder, though his touch was gentle as he guided my arms into the sleeves.

This was the first time we'd been alone together since the day after the attack. I wanted to melt into him, but I stayed upright. "Thank you," I murmured.

He stepped into my field of vision, and I almost smiled at the familiar lines of tension on his face.

"You're going to town."

It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded. He let out a harsh breath through his nose, that beautiful mouth a tight wire as he pressed his lips together. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind, his gaze darting back and forth between my eyes.

Finally, he pulled a key from his pocket and held it out to me. "Take the Cadillac," he said. "Alice is expecting a delivery at the post office she wants picked up—I doubt it'll fit in Ben's motorcar."

I took the key from his hand gingerly, unable to avoid the brush of my fingers against his palm. I felt the electric current that always shocked me when our skin touched, and I shivered.

Edward leaned forward til his mouth was right at my ear, his breath cool on my throat. "Bella," he whispered, barely audible. "Promise me you won't go any further than Forks."

I jerked my head back to look at him, my brow furrowed in confusion.

"Please," he mouthed. His eyes, now deep amber, burned into me.

"I—All right…"

He nodded once, and then he was gone, leaving me shaking and breathless.

- o - o - o -

The new motorcar was far more comfortable than any I'd ever sat in, and once I got off the pitted logging road, I found it was fast. I made it to Newton's Market 20 minutes faster than I'd expected.

Mike Newton and his mother were both there, just as they'd been that day I'd arrived in Forks a lifetime ago. With them was a lean man who was clearly Mike's father. He cuffed the young man over the head when he realized who I was and why I was there, and suddenly I felt rather sorry for the boy.

"It's all on the 12:30 train," Mike promised, head swiveling between me and his father. "I checked with the supplier this morning—they saw to it themselves."

Mrs. Newton nodded curtly. "Miss Swan, please express our sincerest apologies to your employer," she said to me, eyes still on her son. "Mike will personally fetch the order for you from the depot when the train arrives. Is there anything I can offer you while you wait?"

"No, no, really, it's not necessary," I assured them. "I'm expecting a package on the same train. The postmaster will help me."

I made the briefest farewell I could manage and fled before I had to bear any more of this very awkward encounter.

I had some quarter of an hour to waste before the train was due and it wasn't raining for once. I hadn't been into town at all in my seven weeks at Culwoode; though there wasn't much to see, I thought I might as well wander the short stretch of buildings along the main street.

Newton's was situated at the north end, the side closest to Culwoode. I walked south down the sidewalk, passing the small hotel that housed the restaurant I presumed the Cullens and their guests had supposedly visited the first night. Though when I peered in through the window, I had a hard time picturing that otherworldly group in their fine evening clothes in this particular establishment.

Past the hotel was a drugstore with a soda fountain and then the post office with the train depot behind. No passenger trains came through Forks but the mail and goods came in from Port Angeles and beyond by rail, with timber from the town's logging camps going out the same way.

I was debating stopping for a soda when I spotted a sign that surprised me.

A library? Here?

The sign pointed down a little dirt road leading to the few houses behind the main street. I turned off the sidewalk, unable to resist the temptation.

The Three Rivers Library was really just a tiny brick extension off the back of the drugstore, but its cheery red door welcomed me in with a bell that tinkled as I pushed in.

The room was narrow but longer than I might have thought from the outside, with tall shelves jutting out on one side and tables with chairs along the other.

"Be with ya in two shakes!" a muffled male voice called from somewhere in the stacks.

I bit my lip—the librarian, I assumed, sounded young, and his affected choice of words made me want to laugh.

"No hurry," I called back and busied myself with a display of newly published books. Edward's collection was vast, but he had a rather glaring hole when it came to anything from the last two decades. There was a new Agatha Christie that I picked up immediately, needing something to occupy me through at least two more evenings in the corner of the drawing room.

I was lingering over one with a very strange name indeed—what in the world was a Hobbit, I wondered—when movement caught my eye.

"We just got that one," the young man said with a smile. He had a sweet, mischievous air about him. He was tall, taller even than Edward, with the lanky look of a boy who'd shot up to full height before the rest of him could catch up. His skin was golden brown, and his dark eyes sparked with enthusiasm above his high, angled cheekbones. "I haven't read it yet, but the kids on the rez love it."

Indian, of course. I eyed him curiously. I hadn't met many Indians before, though my father had been friendly with some of the council members down by Tokeland.

"What's it about?" I asked, picking up the book. It had a pretty illustration on the dust cover, jagged mountain peaks in blue and black with a vast green forest below.

"It's kinda like a fairy tale of a sort," he said. "This Tolkien joe's got a pretty wild mind. Dwarves and dragons and wizards, that kinda stuff." His grin broadened, showing his blindingly white teeth.

I thought of how much Nessie had loved the fantastical creatures in Wonderland. "Oh, that sounds perfect," I said, stacking the book atop the Christie novel.

"You got a kid?" I caught him glancing down at my hands with curiosity—for a ring, I presumed.

"Oh, no," I replied, laughing. "But I tutor a young girl."

His eyes went wide with a kind of nervous fascination. "You're the broad—" He interrupted himself, flushing. "Er, sorry, the lady," he amended, "that works up at Culwoode?"

Amused, I smiled at him. "Yes, that's right," I said lightly. "Bella Swan." I held out my free hand.

"Jacob Black." The heat of his hand shocked me when he clasped mine briefly. Clearly, I'd gotten too used to the cold marble feel of Edward and his family. "So, what," he began as he pulled his hand back to his pockets, "those swells up there on the hill don't have some big ol' room full of books of their own in that castle of theirs?"

I laughed. "Oh, they do," I replied. "Two, if you can believe it. But when I saw this little place, I couldn't resist rubbernecking a bit. It seems so strange that this little place would have a public library at all when they don't even have a school!"

Jacob snorted. "Yet," he said under his breath. "But I hear ya. It's kind of a cool set-up, actually."

The library, it turned out, was not exactly public at all. It was created as a partnership between Jacob's tribe and Reverend Weber's church, funded by a grant from a charitable foundation supporting educational opportunities in remote areas.

"No idea where all that money comes from," Jacob said, "but they bought this little building and built another one on the rez, too." He shrugged. "The tribe and the church trade off finding volunteers to staff both spots."

"That is cool," I said, wrinkling my nose in amusement at the term. "What a wonderful idea."

A distant train whistle instantly reminded me of the real reason I was here in town. "Drat," I said, "that'll be the 12:30."

"You gotta split?" Jacob asked, already reaching for my books. "I'll get you checked out."

An idea occurred to me. "Do you have anything you can recommend on the history of this area?" I asked. "My pupil loves the natural world especially, and I'd love to find some books I can use in our lessons."

That wolfish grin returned. "Oh boy, do I!"

In mere moments, he had a stack of books that he brought to the counter in the back. "Bring those two over," he called. "I'll get the cards filled out."

We chatted idly as Jacob fiddled with the book borrowing cards, recording my information. As he stamped the last card with the due date, he gave me a thoughtful look.

"Say, you got any interest in tribal history?" he asked, calculating.

A flutter of excitement filled me. "Oh, yes!" I exclaimed. I loved diving into a new area of knowledge, and this was one with which I had absolutely no familiarity.

Jacob reached under the counter and pulled out a rather plain-looking volume. "Our tribal elders put this together," he said, pushing it across to me. "They recorded a bunch of our legends and stories from our last chief before he died."

I looked at the cover; it was attributed to Ephraim Black. I raised my brows and sent Jacob a look.

"My grandfather," he clarified, ducking his head a bit. "Some of the war stories and stuff might be a bit much for the kid, but…"

"I'd love to read it," I said sincerely.

Jacob's face lit up. "It's my copy, not the library's," he clarified. "But you can just bring it back here when you're done. If I'm not around, whoever's working can get it to me."

"I'll take good care of it," I promised, stacking the book on top of the others. Jacob pulled a paper bag from under the counter and swept the stack inside, then presented it to me with a flourish.

"Let me know what the kid thinks of the Hobbit!" he called to me as I pushed out the door. I nodded and waved.

As I made my way to the post office, I got the distinct feeling I'd just made a friend.

- o - o - o -

The house was empty when I returned except for Angela and Mrs. Weber.

"They went hunting," Mrs. Weber said with an amused sort of reproach. "As if we don't have enough to eat…"

"Nessie went with?" I asked, surprised.

"No, Mrs. Cullen wanted to teach her to play tennis," Angela said. "Rose and Dr. Cullen went with them, too."

Ben appeared just as I was about to start unloading, pushing me gently by the back towards the house. "Mrs. Weber will skin me alive if I let you pick up one of these boxes," he said with a wink.

"At least let me take my books!" I pleaded. He obliged, laughing.

With no charge for the afternoon, I allowed Angela to fill an ice pack for me and set out to read in Edward's study for a time while I iced my shoulder. I thought I might have overdone it a bit; steering was harder work than I realized.

It had been more than a week since I'd been up to the third floor, and I found myself a little nervous to enter the study. But it had the feeling of being recently occupied; I presumed Edward had spent some time up here since he'd been back.

I settled into the sofa, leaning against the arm with my feet up to relax while the ice did its work on my aching joint. I pulled out the Agatha Christie novel—Murder at the Vicarage—and began to read.

For some reason, though, I couldn't keep my mind on the task. I kept thinking of the feel of Edward's breath on my ear, the way his fingers slid over my wrist as he helped me into my coat—

Frustrated, I put the book down. This was not the time for an intricate mystery, I decided. I needed something I could browse.

I peered back into my bag and saw the book Jacob had given me. A Tribal History, by Ephraim Black, it said in black letters stamped into red linen. I did want to read it carefully, but maybe a quick skim would be a nice way to pass the time for now.

I opened the tome and flipped through the pages. There were lovely, stylized illustrations to accompany each section. A sun and moon for the chapter on the origin of the world, according to their traditions, a wolf's head on a man's body above the story of the birth of their people. That one caught my eye—I would have to make sure to read that legend, I thought.

The narrative moved smoothly between myth and historical fact, weaving the magical in with the tangible. Thinking of my recent experiences, though, I supposed the line between those two was much less clear than I'd realized before.

And then I read something that stopped my heart short.

The Cold Ones.

The illustration was of a pale white man with red eyes.

- o - o - o -

Author's Note: Uh oh, looks like Bella's off to the races now!

Quick housekeeping: I'm not a big fan of how Stephenie Meyer co-opted a real Native tribe's history and identity. I'm trying to walk a bit of a fine line by removing what belongs to the Quileutes while keeping the relevant aspects of the Twilight characters and universe. My Jacob is a member of an unnamed tribe.

That being said, I'm still trying to be historically accurate, and I don't want to erase the actual indigenous peoples of this area and their experiences. So I'm drawing from research on many tribes of the PNW to create a fictionalized but hopefully fair representation.

I have no personal connection to the experiences of Native Americans at any point in time, so I am very, very open to feedback on how I'm handling this. Please let me know if I've gotten something wrong or if you have suggestions on how I can adjust my approach.

Footnotes:

Full fathom five…is the beginning of the second stanza of Ariel's song in Shakespeare's The Tempest. This is the origin of the phrase "sea change," as in a great transformation or new paradigm. Bella calling the cousins sea-nymphs is also a reference to the song.

The Tsar refers to Tsar Nicholas II, the last emperor of Russia, who was deposed during the February Revolution in 1917 and murdered along with his family a year later. We can assume this is Tanya, Kate, and Irina's current cover story; they are pretending to be one of the number of Russian nobility who fled the country during the Russian Revolution.

While the formality of eveningwear was on the decline for most families during the Depression, some members of the upper crust still dressed for dinner. Our favorite Russian ladies are following this rigid standard of black tie for dinner and evening socialization.

The song Edward plays on the piano is Beau soir, composed by Claude Debussy with words by French novelist Paul Bourget. It is indeed very bittersweet and lovely.

Quanto è bella is a tenor aria from Donizetti's opera L'Elisir d'amore, sung from the point of view a young man watching his secret love as she reads. The title is of course a joke about Bella and the lyrics are…well. Let's just say Alice is absolutely roasting Edward with this suggestion.

How beautiful she is, how dear she is,
The more I see her, the more I like her
But in her heart I'm not capable to inspire any affection
She reads, studies, learns
There is nothing she doesn't know
I'm always an idiot
All I know how to do is sigh
Who will clear my mind?
Who will teach me to make myself beloved?

There was no passenger train in Forks at this time but there definitely was a train for some time for logging purposes. I can't find confirmation if it ever was used for other shipments, or where exactly the tracks ran, so I'm just making up some shit.

The Hobbit wasn't published until 1937. But I feel like Nessie would have loved it so I'm pulling my artistic license card and moving up the publication date!

Cool was in use in this way in the 1930s, though with less frequency than now. I like to think of my Jake as very hip and with it, though. ;)