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XXIV


"No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side.

Or you don't." Stephen King, The Stand

----

XXIV.              

"Is that her?" Zara whispered to Cressie, her excitement evident in the way her voice rose an octave as she spoke the pronoun. "Oh, this is another reason as to why I am pleased it is you escorting me this Season, and not Grandmamma. I do not think her prejudice would allow me to be dressed by a woman like Belle Desjardins."

Cressie briefly wondered how many mamas and grandmammas prevented their daughters from being dressed by Belle due to their own shameful follies. She then wondered how many of the women in this shop still held those prejudices but would dismiss them long enough to secure a couture gown for their daughter's debut.

Fools be damned. "She is an excellent woman," Cressie quietly informed her niece as Belle began towards them. "You would be lucky to know her grace, and not the other way around."

Zara did not have time to reply as Belle reached them in mere moments. Though, by the expression on Zara's face, Cressie could guess as to what her niece would have replied. Zara appeared utterly and completely starstruck. For the poor debutante, though, Belle's eyes could only find Cressie.

Belle had news of him.

The thought crossed through the forefront of Cressie's mind so suddenly, it caused her to stumble backwards, as though someone had slapped her across the face with the notion.

Zara gasped as she laid a hand on Cressie's arm. "Are you alright?" she inquired with a furrowed brow.

"Yes," murmured Cressie, "I merely momentarily lost my footing. I am quite alright."

But the thought had not left her mind. Never in the five years that had passed had Cressie ever been so close to news of him. She had to but breathe the words, to utter his name, to learn something, anything. How was he? Was he well? Was he happy? Was he married?

"I am Belle Desjardins. Welcome to my couturier," Belle said, finally tearing her golden eyes away from Cressie, before settling them on a very appreciative Zara. "Congratulations on your impending debut, Miss ...?"

"Delaney," replied Zara helpfully. "My name is Miss Zara Delaney. And thank you. I am very excited."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Delaney," Belle said tentatively, speaking over Zara's surname, and indeed Cressie's, with heightened caution. Her eyes flicked back to Cressie, before she said, "I am glad to meet with you again ... Mrs Delaney." Cressie could still hear the deep French inflection on her words, but it was not as pronounced as it had been five years earlier.

"Oh, Cressie!" exclaimed Zara. "She remembers you! How delightful!"

Both Cressie and Belle had to have been thinking the same thing. Belle did not remember Cressie because she had purchased one or two of her dresses. Cressie could ask her right in that moment. She could say the words, articulate his name, find out anything, anything that had happened to him since they had parted.

Did he still care?

Oh, what a wicked thought!

Cressie hoped he didn't. She knew that she should hope that he did not care. She would not want him to feel what she had done. The good part of her should wish that he had moved on and found the happiness that he deserved. Why should both of them have had to suffer? Cressie would never wish that on him.

As these thoughts flooded her mind, Cressie began to feel the deep, crushing, searing intensity of her old wounds, the wounds that had since been eclipsed by Everett. She felt them like they were healing scabs, and if she were to pick at them, they would bleed and never stop. Cressie couldn't bleed. She didn't have the strength to bleed any more than she had.

Cressie took a subtle, quiet breath, and pushed it away. She pushed the memories, the questions, and the pain to the back of her mind, and put all of her attention and focus on Zara.

Zara took her opportunity then. She said something in French, her tone indicating that it was a question.

Belle tore her eyes from Cressie and replied to Zara in flawless French. Zara's smile broadened and Cressie could only infer that the two ladies had begun to speak about what Zara desired for her debut gown. Belle led them over to her large worktable and brought over a basket of neatly folded scraps of material. They were not really scraps, Cressie supposed, as the edges were all neatly sewn in. They were samples, and Belle laid them out in front of Zara to inspect and feel.

Belle reverted to English as she said, "These are some of the newest fabrics that I have received from the Continent. They are all so very beautiful and will make an elegant debut gown."

"They are!" gushed Zara as she reached for an embroidered sample of white silk.

Belle momentarily ducked down and reached for something that was stored underneath the worktable. She returned promptly with a few sheets of parchment and a charcoal pencil. As Zara continued to look through the fabrics, Belle began to draw. It was hard not to be entranced as Cressie watched Belle scrawl line after line which quickly began to resemble a woman wearing something magnificent.

Belle began to articulate her thoughts on the neckline, bodice design, and the type of sleeve to Zara, all based on her observations of Zara's figure and complexion. Zara agreed with it all, though Cressie suspected that Belle might have suggested she wear a potato sack and Zara would have enthusiastically agreed to it.

After a little more time selecting a few fabric samples that would work with the idea for the design, Belle had one of the other women who worked for her take Zara into the back room to take her measurements, which left Belle with Cressie on the shop floor. Of course, they were not alone. There were several other parties about, but for all Cressie could feel, it was her alone with the inquisitive golden eyes of Belle Desjardins, Belle Denham.

"Cressie," Belle breathed softly, "may I still know you as that? I suppose not."

"No," Cressie said abruptly. "Of course, you may." Very few people in her life now knew her by her preferred name.

"Cressie," Belle said again, as though she was testing the name on the tip of her tongue. Her brows furrowed as her appraising eyes swept over Cressie quickly. "I recognised you immediately but ..."

Belle did not finish her sentence, as though she was deliberately holding her tongue. Cressie felt herself suddenly on edge. "But what?" she prompted.

"It does not matter. It is not for me to say," Belle dismissed.

Cressie could see that Belle did not want to remain quiet. She was asking permission. She had something, clearly, undesirable to say, and was wanting Cressie's approval to do so. "Please," invited Cressie. What was one more comment to add to the armoire of verbal licks that her husband had so lovingly filled.

"From a distance, you look as you did when I knew you," Belle murmured carefully. "But upon seeing you now like this, I can see great change in you."

Cressie knew that Belle was not offering her a compliment to her growth and evolution in marriage. She was conveying her sympathy towards Cressie, no doubt looking upon her eyes and seeing dullness where there was once fire. This thought affected her like a searing burn. And one's instinct when they were burned was to get away.

Cressie did this on instinct, immediately retreating from Belle abruptly. She instead walked towards the curtained room where Zara was being measured. "How are you going in there, Zara?" she called.

"Fine, thank you!" Zara replied back through the curtain. 

"Cressie," Belle's sympathetic voice sounded from behind her. "Please, forgive me. I spoke out of turn."

Cressie took a deep, composing breath before she turned around to face Belle. She ensured that her face was blank and free from any evidence that she had been so affected only moments ago. "Do not think anything further of it," she replied coolly. "It was nice to see you again, Mrs D-Denham."

Cressie cursed herself internally for stammering over Belle's married name. It was the first time in five years that she had uttered it aloud, and the charade of her composure threatened to crumble. She needed to turn away. Cressie felt foul for her behaviour towards a woman who had been nothing but good to her, but Cressie feared that she would potentially crack in front of a room full of strangers if Belle persisted. She had done so well to master this façade and it could not unravel already.

Belle did not speak again. After a few moments, Cressie subtly checked over her shoulder to see that she had begun speaking to another young lady who seemed just as excited to receive her attention as Zara had been.

It did nothing to dissipate Cressie's guilt. But at least her charade was safe.

When Zara concluded her measurements, the order for the dress was placed, and was promised swiftly.

***

Belle locked the door to her shop just as soon as the last customers had left and leaned against the door, feeling more exhausted than she had done in months. Of course, the lead up to the Season was her busiest time, but today had been different, and she knew exactly why. Her mind had been racing ever since she had laid eyes upon that familiar face.

After taking a breath, she dismissed her three seamstresses, Nadine, Marie, and Marguerite, and allowed them to retire to the flat above the shop which had once been the home she had shared with Peter. They had each come to her at different times over the past few years, having heard of her story and possessing one of their own. They each had either escaped enslavement, or had been freed from it, and had made the treacherous journey across the Atlantic from varying islands in the Caribbean.

This shop had been Belle's dream, but for Nadine, Marie, and Marguerite, it was a safe harbour. Belle knew all too well the need for a safe harbour. She wondered if Cressie Martin knew that she still had one with Belle as well.

"Bonne nuit, mes amis," Belle called as the three went to the stairs. They all replied a similar parting greeting. 

Belle busied herself tidying while she waited for her carriage. She organised the workbench and straightened the bolts of fabric that had been brought out and shown to the customers. She then came to the material swatches she kept and ran her fingers over the ones that had been shown to the young companion of Cressie's. Who was she? Belle wondered. A stepdaughter?

She was obviously a relation as they shared a surname. Belle ought to have asked, but she had been so caught up in the fact that she was seeing Cressie again that the idea hadn't occurred to her. She had been truthful in what she had said to Cressie. When Belle had first seen her, she had recognised her instantly.

Cressie was as beautiful as the day her mother had all but begged for Belle's assistance during her Season. She had the dress and style of a married woman now, but the fair face was quite the same. But as soon as Belle had drawn closer to her, she had seen that the woman who had walked into Desjardins was perhaps the furthest thing possible from young Cressie Martin.

She was the ghost of Cressie Martin.

Cressie's eyes were dead, soulless. It was almost harrowing to look upon, and it twisted Belle's insides with concern. She was pale and expressionless, and looked as though she had not felt and emotion in decades. She held herself with a strange, unnatural poise, and she spoke with a voice that sounded nothing at all like her own.

Of course, it had been five years, and so Belle's memory could be a little foggy, but it was hard to forget a voice as musical and spirited as Cressie's. She made an impression. She had been an impressive young lady with an energy to match.

Whomever that woman was, she was not Cressie.   

And Belle could only begin to imagine what had happened to cause such a change in her. She, herself, had enough experiences of her own to begin to paint a picture of Cressie's potential last five years.

A knock at the door made Belle jump, and her head snapped around to see Peter through the glass as he stood at the door. The moment he registered that he had startled her, his eyes narrowed with concern. Peter was so very aware of her. Belle adored his perceptive nature nearly as much as she adored how he managed to stumble through an affectionate affirmation. Peter seemed to read her mind, read her every expression, and he knew exactly how to care for her, sometimes better than Belle knew herself.

She flitted to the door and unlocked it, and Peter pushed it open immediately.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with as much concern as Belle had predicted. His hands cupper her cheeks as he looked upon her with his lovely blue eyes.

"Yes," she assured him. "My mind was elsewhere. I was not at all present." In seeing her husband, her mind went to his brother for the first time all day. The resemblance between the brothers could do that, and Belle suddenly felt quite guilty for not thinking of Jem earlier. But her first concern had been for Cressie. Seeing such lifelessness in her had been quite unnerving.

What would Jem think if he knew that Belle had seen Cressie? Jem never spoke about her. He hadn't in years. Nobody brought her name up in conversation, and the accepted belief amongst the family was that Jem was fine.

In Belle's opinion, fine was not a feeling. Fine was not an emotion. Fine was not a state to be in. To be fine was like living in limbo, teetering one way and then another.

Jem had not married himself. He had not courted. He had never shown an inkling of interest in any other woman. He had simply returned to Ashwood and had thrown himself into his worker as Adam's Land Steward.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Peter murmured, the alarm not leaving his face.

Had not Belle just thought the same thing only moments ago? Peter really could read her mind. "I think I have," she said quietly. "I think she was a ghost."

"Who?" pressed Peter.

"Cressie Martin," Belle replied as her stomach clenched. "I saw her, the ghost of her, today. Here. Peter ... Peter, I don't think she is alright."

----

Hope you enjoyed it!!

Omg this chapter did not want to get written. I was too tired to finish last night, so I wrote some more this morning, and then it was midday and I needed to get started on my Sunday chores like my laundry and meal prep for the week. So I was going to finish this tonight. I was nearly finished and then my whole screen froze and then crashed. I always save as I go so I wasn't concerned and just restarted my computer. But then I open up my documents and An Innocent Affair is GONE. Like the whole file is not there, doesn't exist. I had a whole freak out on my Instagram stories lol. I searched everywhere, and then suddenly it reappeared like magic. THANK YOU WRITING GODS! But word to the wise, SAVE AS YOU GO!

Anyways, it's 12:20am. I have to be up in six hours. I'd better get to sleep so I can coherently educate children tomorrow!

Have a wonderful week xxx vote and comment!!

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