The air hung heavy with incense and prayer.
One hundred feet below, the congregation knelt and bowed their heads at the instruction of the priest. He silenced a scoff against his sleeve. He was not above the sincerity below, except literally. He listened with an open heart to the self-proclaimed disciples. Singing away loneliness and bitterness with the choir. Praying away hatred and distrust with the priest.
Some of them sang louder and prayed harder than the rest, as they felt the creeping sensation of the end draw near. Overwhelmed with desperation. Hearts cracked open. Clinging to their last and only hope: a benevolent protector looked down at them, waiting with open arms to bring them into eternal paradise.
They were half right.
One person looked down.
The higher power, where there was none.
When that final note of the recession hymn lingered in the organ pipes, he selected one. He left the rafters to the pigeons and followed. To their house, to their place of work. Waiting for a moment when they would linger alone for a second too long. Where his voice could coax them further into shadow and his face would draw them within arm's reach.
In the end, their prayers would be answered. They could not covet their neighbor's husband six feet underground. Their tongues could not lie if they lay still and cold. They could not go hungry without blood in their veins.
Everything was color. Trees rose toward the sky, letting the pale sun through their branches. Vines crept up the walls of the valley. The grass was so bright it appeared polished. The flowers stood sharp against the green valley of the blue-grey morning. They grew in purple and yellow and white. It was vivid and beautiful enough that it hurt her to look at it.
Isabella Swan tore her attention away. She sat in the carriage, hands folded neatly in her lap. The driver had given up on pleasant conversation an hour into the ride after several distracted hums and courteous affirmations. It left Bella to her own reflections, where she often dwelt.
The carriage rumbled to a slow stop outside the grand house centered in the lush gardens.
The Swans were pleasant, and quite satisfied with their allotment in life. Sir Charles Swan managed his properties with honor and integrity, while Lady Swan ran the house with effortless efficiency. The Swans reigned over the seaside town of Forks as mightily as a couple in their class could. When they entered a room, heads turned, to see what Lady Swan wore and hear what Sir Swan had to say. Beyond their charming good looks, both were well-read and could speak intelligently on current affairs and fiction.
Along with their main house, a respectable distance outside of town, the family owned a private manor in the country. They could easily afford a home in London, but Sir Charles Swan preferred to conduct business in a smaller town over the hustle and bustle of the city. And Lady Swan preferred to lure that fact over her neighbors instead of living in the city herself. Though their home was expertly decorated in a comfortable traditional style with enough modern features to make it unique, the gardens were the true appeal of the property.
The Swans threw elegant parties in their gardens all summer long. True spectacles of light and color, marveling guests. Even previous attendees were rendered speechless. These parties were the talk of the country for months after, to the Swans' utter delight.
Perfection was well within reach. However, as in most cases, it eluded them.
They bore no son. Only a quiet, thoughtful daughter.
Bella walked slowly, struggling to place memories in her childhood home. No loving embraces in the foyer nor romantic trysts in the nook behind the pianoforte. A nothing, unremarkable girl roamed these halls. She left as little marks on it as it left on her. Now a woman, Bella felt no change.
The maids led Bella straight to her mother. Lady Swan stood in her drawing room, centered in the large window that overlooked the gardens. A beautiful tea sat before her, decorated in a lovely floral pattern that would be more beautiful if it weren't in front of the window. Among the kettle and cups sat an assortment of treats. All lacking the height and shine of a well-baked pastry. Bella had made better pastries when she was an amateur. To see such laughable treats was an affront to her talent. Bella would have taken it as an insult, but deep inside, she knew her mother did not think of her enough to contrive a personal insult. Lady Swan's insults were plentiful, but superficial.
Lady Swan greeted her daughter with a neutral smile, hiding the worst of her judgment behind poise and grace. Bella knew what her sharp eyes captured. She wore a dress from four seasons ago. Her bonnet did not highlight her coloring as well as it could. She looked haggard from the long trip. All things Lady Swan would mark against her character.
"Isabella, Pet."
She moved with effortless grace, like she was floating rather than walking. Bella inherited her prominent cheekbones and full lips from her mother, but received none of her grace. Bella would have preferred being able to walk over the large dark eyes they shared.
The ladies embraced.
"It's nice to be home."
"Ah, it would be better if it were a choice, and not out of necessity."
Bella closed her mouth, unsure how to respond.
The butler proceeded Sir Swan, ensuring the ambiance of the room was to his liking.
"You've been inParis, Isabella," Lady Swan griped as she fussed over her husband's refreshments. "A city of fashion. I know you were working, but I expected you to come back with at least an air of style and dignity. I spent a few, short months in Paris years ago, and I still hold myself in the way those girls do. You've been there foryears.Yet you still blend into the background. Why, if I don't look at you directly, you fade out of my vision entirely, my dear."
Bella's father entered the room, ending Lady Swan's admonishment before it could grow any real teeth. He took Bella into his arms with slightly more warmth, but maintained the coolness any parent might feel towards an estranged child. However, unlike his wife, he did not look at her dress nor the state of her hair and asked, "Have you been well?"
"Yes. Very." Up until recently, it had been true.
"Good," he nodded, approvingly. "Tell me of your trip."
"Uneventful. Mr. Rosen took great care to ensure my comfort."
"He's a good man."
"He is."
"I hope your comforts will be met here, as well."
"I imagine they will be, Sir."
"It was very kind of you to return to help Mr. Baily after…" he left the statement unfinished and tried another, "Mr. Baily will be grateful to have your talent at the bakery. You'll spoil our little corner of the country with authentic French pastry."
Bella colored, pleased. "I certainly hope so."
Bella left her family in disgrace when she stepped down from her place in the gentry to become a working girl. Lady Swan let the rumors spread of all the nefarious reasons a young girl would flee to Paris. It had been one of Bella's few friends to set them right. She left to become an apprentice to a baker. There was no secret suitor nor baby out of wedlock. Bella moved to Paris to learn how to makecrème fraîcheand the art of lamination.
"I will have access to the kitchens, correct?"
"Would you like a room in the servant's suite, as well?"
Bella was tempted to say yes simply to silence her mother, but her father maintained his composure, "She will be in her old room. And yes, Arthur is aware of you. He will set aside a corner in the kitchen for your use."
"Thank him for me. Oh! I will do it myself. Since I will see him regularly, I suppose."
Lady Swan scoffed loudly.
"I have thanked him. But I am sure he will be grateful to hear it from you as well."
"She will not be in the kitchen tonight," Lady Swan stated. "People are coming to see you, Isabella. You will give them something pleasant to look at. I don't want our guests to have to lie when they extend common courtesy to say that you look well."
"You've had a long trip, Isabella. Perhaps some fresh air will do you some good." Sir Swan deflected. Bella understood the true assignment: put distance between yourself and your mother.
"Wonderful idea, Charles," Lady Swan said, "Along the sea, Isabella. It will add color to your cheeks."
Eager to be freed of the room, Bella agreed. She didn't bother with the front door or her mantle and rushed out the back door through the kitchens. It was a long walk through the Swan Gardens and part of town, but her father had been right. The trip from Paris to Northern England had been tiresome and tedious. It felt good for Bella to use her legs.
Unfortunately, her mother was also correct.
The seaside was glorious and invigorating. It had been the main draw Bella when she agreed to return to her childhood home. The baker's wife had passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. Then, only a few months later, his eldest daughter. Old friends reached out to Bella, urging her to return to help him. Bella reluctantly agreed. People could frown at her appearance and whisper about her state as a spinster. No one could deny that Bella crafted excellent pastry.
Bella continued along the path. Far below, large waves broke against the cliff face, spraying clouds of mist in their wake, The crisp air colored her cheeks, and the wind swept the fine stands of loose hair. Entranced by the wide wingspan of a low-flying seabird, Bella nearly missed the figure waiting for her up along the path.
"Miss Swan."
Bella jumped, startled by her own name.
Before her stood a gentleman of fine face and fair hair. His expression was open, welcoming, and expectant in a way that caused Bella to immediately reel back.
She attempted a smile, for kindness' sake, if nothing else. "Hello."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Are you having a nice walk?"
The pleasure was all his. Bella much preferred her own company to this conversation. For she knew where it was headed before it even began.
He placed an apologetic hand on his chest. "I see I have overstepped. You do not know me as I know you. Your mother told me of your arrival. I recognized you immediately."
Bella should have expected this. Naturally, her mother would speak to every man in need of a wife. Heedless to Bella's wishes or wants. If Lady Swan could dress Bella up and serve her on a silver platter like a Christmas goose, she would.
The gentleman took another step forward. Bella took another step back. "You and your mother look so alike, I would mistake you as sisters."
Similar things were often said. Bella never knew how the compliment was to be received. Her mother disdained Bella's appearance and Bella was but seven-and-twenty.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly." Another step forward; another step back. "I am Mister Michael Newton."
Bella politely ducked her head. "Charmed."
"Charmeddoes not begin to cover it." His features shone with obvious admiration.
Admiration Bella could never reciprocate for all the world.
"Will you walk along this path often?"
"No," Bella said simply. Even if it weren't true, her answer would have been the same. "Typically, I will be at the bakery at this hour."
"Oh?" Mr. Newton's eyebrows touched the brim of his hat. "Do you mean the tearoom? That is where ladies of your ilk gather from dawn till dusk, chattering away. I've been known to pop in occasionally. Perhaps more, now that there is a pleasant incentive."
Bella was more grateful for her job than ever. "No. Just as I said: I will be in the bakery."
"What would you be doing in a bakery?"
"Baking."
The look she received from him had Bella discreetly check her neck to ensure she hadn't grown a second head.
"I see."
Bella realized two things at once. First, her mother lied about the reason she was in town. Either to protect Bella's reputation or her own. Bella assumed the latter. She wondered how Mrs. Swan planned to keep it a secret. People would see her at the bakery. They wouldn't see her galivanting with other gentry women. Eventually, the daftest person would put two and two together.
Second, Mr. Newton's affection would be more difficult to dissuade than expected. For once the shock passed, his eyes swept across her face with an ardent tenderness she had seen once before. On a face she could picture perfectly, but would not dare to.
"You like to bake?"
"Yes."
"What is your favorite to make?"
"Whatever challenges me most. Right now, it is Kouign-amann."
"I've never had the pleasure of Kooga-mon." He butchered the pronunciation. "What is it?"
"A sweet, round, laminated dough pasty." She held her fingers in a ring to demonstrate the size.
"I would love to try one."
"Once I have mastered them, they will be available at the bakery."
"That suits me. I'll frequent the bakery as often as my waistband will allow." He chuckled. "I imagine with you working there, the tailor will have an increase of customers as well."
Bella's laugh sounded thin and high in her ears. She wondered how Mr. Newton's delight stayed on his face after hearing such an obvious placation.
"You like to bake," he repeated, testing the concept on his tongue. The smile was a bit too broad to be natural. Bella chose to look past that. "Such a wonderful thing."
"It was a stroke of luck that I could make a career out of a passion."
"Ah! I know precisely what you mean."
"Oh? What is it that you do?"
"I apprentice for my father's mercantile company. We bring in sugar from the new world and spices from the old one."
Bella bit back a smile. As if passion could be found in a family business.
"I suppose I have you to thank for éclair."
"You are most welcome. I know how you can make it up."
"I'll set aside special pastry for you and your service."
"What I would ask of you would require no sugar nor spices."
"Croissant?"
"Miss Swan, it would be my greatest honor and delight to become acquainted with you."
Bella clasped her hands behind her back before he could take one. Her heart was no longer hers to give, even to handsome men by the seaside.
"I really must be going," Bella said, her tone brusque.
"May I accompany you on the rest of your walk? I would love to hear of Paris."
"Perhaps another time. I am going home."
Mr. Newton persisted. "That suits me. Your way home is the direction I am headed."
"I am going to sit first." Bella wished she were a better liar. "I am quite fatigued after a long day of travel."
"All the more reason for me to go with you." Mr. Newton insisted. "There is no place to sit. I will assist you."
"I will sit on the ground."
Mr. Newton looped his arm through hers. "That is silly. If you are tired, let me help you."
"Please," Bella squeaked.
She rudely wrenched her arm from his and spun round. Embarrassment rid her of her bearings, haste made her clumsier. She tripped on her shoe, then her hem, then a rock.
Then, she was falling.
She registered the chill of the water before the fact that she was in it. She spread her arms to swim when a strong ocean current swept her out to sea. She tumbled, lost in the vast expanse. Everywhere she looked, she saw nothing but blue.
A string of bubbles slipped from Bella's lips. The last air she had left. She attempted to follow the bubbles to the surface, only to sink further into the black abyss. Any progress she made was instantly thwarted by the sea, as it pulled her down by the skirts. Upon that realization, she tugged at them, uselessly. She clawed at her buttons with numb fingers, sinking further. The dress was one of her favorites. Now its weight and fabric were killing her.
Helpless and hopeless, she sank further down. The dark water turned into stripes of color. Pristine white, the color of moonlight on freshly fallen snow. Orange, the color of autumn leaves that set a once-green forest ablaze. And red. Like blood.
She reached for the colors in one final burst of desperation. Miraculously, they reached back.
Blackness became a sudden burst of daylight. Bella found herself on the shore. Lungs burning with each exaggerated exhalation, she sat up. She clutched at her chemise, with no memory of successfully removing her dress. Yet it sat in the sand, neatly folded beside her. She glanced around to thank her savoir but found no other soul on the beach nor vessel on the waves.
Clouds swirled over the sea, so thick they seemed made up of liquid. It looked deeper as it moved, solid as water. Tilting her head up made her dizzy with wondering if it too held a deadly current, a mirrored ocean in the sky. Past the dizziness, in the far reaches of her mind, Bella recalled the sensation of strong, capable hands. Hands she once knew. A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the chill. Slowly, she cupped her upper arm. Then, ran her thumb along the line of her jaw.
Her skin burned at the places those hands touched, as if she'd been brandished.
Is this fic Impeccable Face Value again but more gothic and set in Regency England? Maybe so. But you all had such a good time with that one, I figured we could continue with the fun.