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Gaston - Chapter 7
🕑 Added 2022-04-04 16:42:19 +0000 UTC---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From a distance, Villeneuve seemed to be a quaint little village. The people hustled-and-bustled, kicking up clouds of dust that hovered over the loosely cobbled streets. Despite the sordid circumstances of their country, they continued to live their lives, nearly oblivious to the outside world.
On the village’s outskirts, outside a large stone manor, a similar hustle-and-bustle was taking place. The main source of this was a woman in her thirties; a beautiful lady with golden hair and bright eyes. By her side was an old man with a beard almost entirely gray.
Gilette’d been by lady Jeanne’s side since she’d been a little girl. At this moment, he was fruitlessly trying to persuade her to restrain her enthusiasm for just a short while longer.
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon, Madam. There’s no need for this rush.” He removed his wide-rimmed hat and scratched his balding head with exasperation.
“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Gilette. It’s such a sunny day outside – a short trip would do me some good.” Jeanne reprimanded her servant good-naturedly as she packed a few things into the back of their carriage. “Besides, I’m sure they’d appreciate some real food. The lord knows they must be sick of road-rations by now.”
Her mouth turned into a small frown as she said this. Truthfully, she just wanted to get away from Villeneuve for a moment. The atmosphere became utterly unbearable when her family wasn’t present.
Gilette shook his head with a sigh. Proper etiquette needed to be observed. Despite living out here in the boonies, the La Fayette’s were still nobility.
“They are a merchant family, girl. It’s not proper for either you or the lord to personally go out to greet them: it should have been my duty.”
Jeanne didn’t mind his disrespectful form of address. Given that he’d practically raised her, he was somewhat of a grandfather figure to her.
“Please, Gilette. If you went out into the woods at your age you probably wouldn’t come back!” Her frown turned into a smile as she teased the old groundskeeper.
He huffed, but went to prepare the horses anyway.
About an hour later, the two of them were travelling along the bumpy road that led out of town via cart.
They were mostly silent, simply taking in the vibrant scenery around them. Birds chirped, leaves rustled and insects scurried busily underneath the detritus that covered the forest floor.
“The path has become rather overgrown, hasn’t it?” Jeanne asked, idly fiddling with her boot-laces as her gaze slid along the neglected dirt road.
Gilette nodded somberly. “We haven’t had much in the way of travelling lately – not many have been coming or going for that matter.” He pried a long branch out of the way with the wooden cane in his hand, the other still holding on to the reins in a practiced manner.
Jeanne nodded. “I suppose there hasn’t been much reason to keep things tidy, has there?”
Gilette’s mouth curved downwards into a small frown. “There’s also the matter of the disappearances. The lye-maker’s son, Louis…”
Before the old fellow could finish, the rattling of carriages and the faint sound of voices could be heard off in the distance.
“That must be them!” Jeanne said, her face the picture of excitement. “Let’s pick up the pace a little, Gilette.”
Over his shoulder, the senior spoke a little testily at Jeanne behind him. “I don’t think that would be wise, unless we want the horses to sprain an ankle.”
Idly, he thought that the merchants must’ve had one hell of a time navigating this overgrown thoroughfare. It would practically be a miracle if they didn’t break a wheel or crack an axle along the way.
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“Damn! I can’t believe we cracked an axle during the last leg of our journey.”
Maurice wiped at his forehead in frustration as he looked at the rear carriage, now still and unmoving, in front of him.
He continued to mutter profanities under his breath as he fiddled with the carriage’s, well… undercarriage. Margaret was by his side, trying to mend the part with a small hammer, some nails and thin wooden supports she’d cut with an old knife.
Claude had dismounted and was currently watching the two of them at work. “I think the vehicle should be left as is for now.” He ran his fingers through his beard in thought. “We can come back for it once everyone’s been settled in Villeneuve.”
Maurice stood and dusted the soil and dried leaves from his knees. “I agree.” As for why the two of them unanimously decided on this course of action, well… it needn’t be mentioned.
“Give it a rest, Margaret – the boys can walk.” He looked at Claude over his shoulder. “The lord assures me that our destination is just around the bend.”
Claude nodded at the old merchant before turning to look at his son who sat comfortably on his enormous horse. “Let Mr Le Marquand have your mount, son. You can help bring up the rear while on foot.”
Gaston nodded and slid off from Charbon’s back.
Maurice nodded gratefully and saddled the beast. He was too old to walk these kinds of distances, and was lacking in conditioning to boot.
The lot sorted out their seating arrangements within twenty minutes or so and had soon returned to travelling, although their speed had been much reduced due to half of them now being on foot.
To their credit, the boys didn’t do much complaining. Bertrand had the youngest on his back for efficiency’s sake, but his face betrayed what he thought of the arrangement. He’d almost decided on how to shove the responsibility onto someone else before Claude suddenly spoke.
“It seems there are some travelers ahead.” He looked at Maurice and communicated something silently with his eyes.
The weary-looking merchant nodded, having heard some of the La Fayette circumstances from Claude during their journey. “We will continue. At this pace, you’ll be long finished before we catch up.”
Claude silently thanked the other man for his understanding before heading off at a quick trot.
Bertrand didn’t pay much attention to this. He was too busy trying to keep his squirming little brother from falling off his back and breaking his neck.
“Stop wriggling, will you?” He said, scolding the kid.
The boy ignored his big brother and asked a question instead. “Hey, brother. What’s wrong with big sis today?”
Bertrand frowned. He’d noticed Anastasia’s absentminded state, of course. He was pretty sure it had something to do with the bastard walking behind them.
Bertrand looked over his shoulder to see the said ‘bastard’ stretching his back mid-walk without a care in the world.
The La Fayette heir had returned side by side with his pretty sister earlier this morning. It completely dampened any of Bertrand’s remaining joy from when sir Claude had slapped the cocky prick across his face.
The two of them had rejoined the group silently, not speaking a word to each other.
Anastasia herself looked frightfully pale, her lips almost having a blue tint to them. Despite her own funk, Margaret had attended to the eldest daughter with concern, sending accusing glances Gaston’s way all the while.
There was a difference between men and women, after all. It wasn’t appropriate for the two of them to be alone together. Everyone couldn’t help but wonder what they’d been doing or, more specifically, if Gaston had done something untoward.
However, their father had been unconcerned, and everyone knew their sister’s temperament. If someone wanted to do something to her, she certainly wouldn’t be quiet about it.
Bertrand’s eyes had traveled to a rough linen pouch hanging from Anastasia’s waist when she returned. He paid rather close attention to his sister (for her own safety, lest someone misunderstand) and the pouch certainly hadn’t been there when she’d first went off on her walk.
She’d covertly stashed it amongst her possessions, which had aroused his suspicion.
His gut was telling him that, whatever it was, it was important. He wanted to find out what it was, but his conscience was holding him back. That was when he remembered: hadn’t he already dug through her things in the past? What difference would it make if he did it one more time?
A burning curiosity roiled in the redhead’s eyes as he stared at the carriage ahead of him where his eldest sister was currently seated.
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Celia looked at her eldest sister, who sat next to her, out of the corner of her eye. She and her twin brother were birds of a feather, and she’d likewise noticed that her sister had brought something back. She was dying of curiosity, but had hitherto been able to keep her lips sealed.
Unfortunately, she didn’t possess her brother’s tact. Before she knew it, the questions that had been bubbling under the surface spilled from her lips.
“Did you receive another gift from that fawning toad?” Oh, whatever. She was Anastasia’s favorite sister, wasn’t she? Surely she wouldn’t mind answering one little question.
Anastasia’s sandy lashes fluttered slightly, but other than that she gave no response.
The Le Marquand’s eldest daughter was currently sitting with her eyes closed. Evidently, she hadn’t slept too well last night. She was taking this opportunity to recuperate, but unfortunately she’d been disturbed by her nosy younger sister.
She turned slightly to one side, letting her head rest against the carriage’s wooden frame.
Celia wasn’t so stupid as to not get the message. She lowered her head and sighed in disappointment.
Minutes passed in relative silence before Celia leaned over and whispered another sentence quietly to her fair sibling. “You can show me in private later, if you don’t want anyone else to see.”
Anastasia’s face took on a slightly annoyed expression.
“Celia.” She stated, her voice curt.
The girl in question’s eyes sparkled in interest.
“Yes, Anna?” She asked with a voice full of hope.
“Be silent.” Anastasia answered, dashing any expectations Celia may have had.
The rest of the girls in the carriage watched the interaction cautiously. They’d been keeping their mouths shut out of self-preservation. Neither Anna nor Celia tended to tolerate their participation in any of their conversations very well.
Surprisingly, a small voice let itself be heard.
“That was mean.”
Four out of the five girls turned to look at the youngest Le Marquand daughter where she sat, an ugly toy clasped tightly in her stubby fingers.
“Sush, Belle.”
It was one of the other sisters that quieted her. The girl in question was rather homely, with an unfortunate outbreak of pimples all over her face.
“But she said…”
The little girl, not knowing when it was time to retreat safely, continued with an accusing tone.
The same sister, now evidently responsible for damage-control, quickly put her hand over Belle’s mouth. Seeing that their youngest had quieted down after a moment, and that neither of her older sisters were going to make an issue of things, she released her grip.
They continued to sit in silence.
The horses plodded along in the early-afternoon sun while the boys chatted energetically amongst themselves outside. The air was peaceful, and it wasn’t long before most of the girls had nodded off.
Perhaps thirty minutes or so later, the lot of them were jostled into wakefulness by the sound of voices from up the road. The first voice was familiar, the worlds spoken clearly belonging to lord Claude, while the other two voices sounded like that of a woman and an old man.
The few that had woken up looked out of the windows curiously, trying to see these new arrivals.
“Oh my, could this be the lady Jeanne?” They heard their father’s voice ask at the head of their procession.
A feminine voice responded with a pleasant tone. “I am Jeanne La Fayette. You must be Maurice Le Marquand. This is our long-time servant, Gilette Cartier.”
The adults courteously introduced themselves before Margaret, who’d since brought the carriage to a halt, motioned for the girls to come out.
The six of them exited the vehicle to see a beautiful lady hugging Gaston to her chest.
“I can’t believe you wanted to leave me behind to go gallivanting with your father.” She pulled him away to look in his eye with mock disappointment.
The boy rolled his eyes at his mother, but his mouth had curved into a small smile. “I can’t believe you couldn’t wait a few more hours for our arrival.”
Jeanne slapped at her son’s shoulder in irritation before turning to look at the girls and boys who stood neatly in a line a few yards away from her.
“Oh, my! You’re a blessed man, Maurice, to have so many wonderful children.”
Her eyes came to rest on each child for a brief moment before her gaze moved on. Most of the observers didn’t notice how she lingered on Anastasia for a moment longer with a twinkle in her eye.
The girl in question did notice, however. She could guess the woman’s intentions – it wouldn’t be the first time a mother tried to matchmake her son with herself.
Jeanne smiled at the children who offered her a polite greeting in unison.
“I packed such a nice picnic for us all, but my husband tells me that you’d rather get the journey over and done with as soon as possible.” She motioned for Margaret to come forward with a basket. “I thought that might be the case, so I prepared something delicious for you to eat on the way.”
The female servant wagged her finger at the boys, who’d started leaning forward greedily to get a look at what was hidden inside the woven container.
“I don’t trust you lot not to drop the dessert our hosts have prepared with such consideration.” Her voice was quickly drowned out by a legion of boyish denials. Naturally, they had to assure her that they would never do something that clumsy!
The lady Jeanne was quick to interrupt them.
“Since you’re having some carriage troubles, I thought that the girls could accompany me while the boys follow behind.” She turned to look at Margaret. “Why don’t you distribute those treats once everyone has taken their seats?”
She walked over to the girls and picked up Belle, placing the little girl on her hip.
Smiling dotingly, she led the six of them over to join her for the rest of the journey.
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Maurice chatted with the La Fayettes’ old servant as they travelled. He had joined the fellow at the head of the boys’ carriage, and they were currently sitting side by side.
“The lady is very fond of children, isn’t she?” He asked, his tone wistful.
The old groundskeeper nodded silently, his face a little grave.
Maurice could understand his mood. He’d heard about the La Fayette couple’s difficulties with having children. He was truly thankful to God that he and his wife never had such struggles.
“I assume Villeneuve has church?” He asked the man sitting next to him with some hope.
Gilette nodded again. “Nothing fancy like you’d find in a city, sir. However, it’s certainly serviceable.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he pondered whether or not he was underselling their Christian facilities. “Oh, but it’s the priest that really makes our service extraordinary.” He nodded to himself, convinced of the authenticity of his words. “Best clergyman I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”
Maurice stroked his moustache somberly. If the man was indeed dependable, then he’d confess the events of last night. His body felt cold and numb whenever he thought about it. He prayed that he would be able to find refuge from that fear in the house of God – and perhaps even answers.
His eyes involuntarily travelled to the rear where Gaston was riding on the back of his black stallion. It was as fine a beast as he’d ever seen, and a comfortable sit too. He’d certainly be interested in having it mount one of his mares – it would undoubtably sire some quality descendants.
The horse looked him in the eyes and whinnied approvingly.
Wait, it whinnied approvingly?
Maurice took a closer look at the animal before shaking his head. His imagination was getting away from him.
He sighed. Staying awake all night certainly came with consequences.
Damn it, he wanted to be out of these woods and within the town borders as soon as possible.
He’d scarcely thought it before he spotted a thin trail of smoke rising upwards some distance away.
The others saw it as well, as they quickly started pointing and talking excitedly amongst themselves.
Maurice heaved a sigh of relief. It almost felt unreal, finally returning to civilization. The road had been long and arduous, but they’d finally made it.
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People vacated the streets as soon as they saw the first carriage come down the road, the La Fayette family crest carved on it for all to see. Claude had returned to their mansion once they’d arrived at Villeneuve.
He made some excuse or other, but his family knew the truth: it was better if he wasn’t seen accompanying the new arrivals.
The lady Jeanne and old Gilette chatted reservedly with the few people that were willing to speak with them, casually introducing the Le Marquand family who looked curiously at the town.
The place was more developed than one would have expected for such a remote destination. There were hardly any thatched or wooden buildings. Most of the structures were built from tile and stone and weren’t at all unappealing to the eye.
There were perhaps around one hundred to one hundred and fifty inhabitants in all, which was a large amount for a place out in the boonies - all things considered.
As they travelled, oblivious children and curious adults started trailing behind them in an effort to get a glimpse of the new arrivals.
It wasn’t long before they finally arrived at a stately residence situated in the middle of the town.
“Well, here we are.” Old Gilette said, bringing the carriage to a halt. Margaret was quick to follow his example.
Maurice disembarked with an appreciative look in his eye. “My…! I didn’t expect…” He turned to look at lady Jeanne with bafflement. Were they planning on giving them such a grand home?
Her conflicted smile provoked a strong feeling of discomfort in the merchant.
“Gilette, help them unpack.” She walked over to the other man’s side and spoke in a low tone. “I’ll explain the situation once we’re inside.”
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The two individuals were seated on two pieces of leather furniture – leather, for goodness sake – while the children happily ran between rooms, arguing between themselves over who would get the largest accommodations.
“This used to be the main La Fayette residence.” Jeanne said, running her eyes longingly over the meticulously crafted architecture. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t continue living here any longer.” She looked Maurice in the eyes seriously. “My husband should have said something to you regarding this.”
Maurice nodded.
“He alluded to something like that, although he didn’t specify the details.”
Jeanne sighed.
“Well, it’s uncomfortable for him to say.” She stood up from her seat. “Just know that we have no need for this place anymore.” She smiled at him, perking up a little. “We’re both glad that it could be put to use again. I’m sure it will serve you and your family well.”
She turned and started walking outside to where Gaston and the elderly servant waited in the sun.
She hesitated a little before turning around and speaking one last sentence over her shoulder.
“Whatever you hear said about Claude in the future, well… he very much regrets what happened.”
Jeanne finally turned and exited through the front door.
Neither of them noticed Margaret who’d been eavesdropping on their conversation just around the corner.
Once lady La Fayette had left, she silently made her way over to the servant’s quarters, deep in thought.
On top of last night’s terrifying experience, the family that had taken them in now seemed to have some sort of dark past.
She knew her employer would never pry into the business of the ones who had taken them in but she was different. If there was any chance that their own safety could be affected, then she’d have to find out the truth.
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Anastasia looked at the dried-up claw with trepidation. Naturally, she’d chosen the best room for herself – one with a door that could lock.
She thought back to what Gaston had whispered to her before he and his mother left.
‘I’ll stop by tonight. Keep a window open for me.’
She would never have agreed to something so outrageous before but, to her own chagrin, she was simply too curious about what had happened last night. If there was any chance of getting some actual answers out of him, then she’d bear with the impropriety.
She prodded lightly at the severed limb. It had decomposed to an outrageous extent since it’d been… parted from its body. It practically looked like a bundle of dried leaves already.
The most extraordinary feature of the hand was its bones – they were strangely metallic, like unprocessed iron ore.
Having put two and two together, she realized that it was probably sir Claude who’d severed it with his enormous axe. It was incredible that he’d been able to do that much in the first place – a testament to his enormous strength.
She felt a thread of that strange feeling from last night coil in her chest the longer she stared at the thing. This was the primary reason why she’d picked up the hand and quickly stuffed it in a pouch. She wanted to rekindle whatever embers remained of her… transformation. That feeling had simply been too wonderful to not experience again.
Gaston had simply turned and left at that time, uncaring of whether she’d pick it up or not. Well, rather than that, Anastasia thought that he was sure she’d accept his ‘gift’.
‘Who are you, Gaston La Fayette?’
She’d carefully observed both sir Claude and lady Jeanne during the day. Neither of them seemed… supernatural in any way. Well, neither did Gaston during their initial meeting. She’d have to continue to keep her eyes peeled.
Suddenly, she heard a soft knock at her door.
“Anna? Can I come in?”
It was Celia’s voice.
Anastasia couldn’t help but feel a wave of irritability wash over her.
She took a deep breath in order to compose herself. She wasn’t usually this emotional.
“What do you want, Celia?” She asked, trying to keep herself from lashing out.
There was a short pause at the other side of the door. “I thought we could chat a bit, like we usually do.”
Anastasia rubbed her temples in annoyance.
“I’m not feeling in the mood tonight. The journey has been tiring.”
A dejected ‘oh’ could be heard from the other side of the door.
“Well, in that case, rest well.”
With that, she could hear Celia’s footsteps retreat from the door.
Anastasia sighed, feeling a little guilty. Although she quickly tired of their attentions, she did love her family.
She turned around, intending to resume her investigations of the mysterious severed limb, only to be startled when she discovered Gaston standing in front of the open window.
“When did you get here?” She blurted out, not having heard even the slightest sound to indicate his arrival.
He smiled, his eyes gleaming in the dim room.
“I like your dress.”
Anastasia quickly walked over to her closet, where she’d put her things, while tossing a blanket over Gaston’s head. She was currently wearing only a thin shift that pressed tightly against her body due to a strong gust that suddenly blew in through the open window.
“Mind your gaze, lecher.” She said, her cheeks turning a pretty pink. She quickly put on something thicker behind the closer door. “Don’t expect to keep your eyes if I scream and Margaret arrives to find you in my room.”
She heard the bed creak as he made himself at home on her mattress. He really didn’t have a hint of gentlemanly behavior.
Gaston huffed in amusement where he now lay. “You’re spicy – I like it.”
‘S-spicy? Like pepper? What kind of a compliment is that?’
Anastasia shook her head where she stood behind the closet door. She really needed to get a grip on herself. He was getting the best of her since she wasn’t in the right state of mind right now.
Having calmed herself, she walked out from behind the door, now more modestly dressed. She looked down at where he lay, the side of his face pressed tightly against her pillow.
Strangely, she didn’t feel quite as offended as the situation demanded of her.
The two of them stared at each other silently for a long moment. Eventually, Gaston broke eye contact, his eyes scandalously roaming her face and body.
“This dress isn’t bad either.” He remarked, a hint of mischief in his voice.
Anastasia sighed.
This conversation was going to be difficult, wasn’t it?
