Ladybird

Sunlight came in as woven strands, that dawned through the windowpanes of Alouette’s bedroom. She squinted in its glimmering presence, whisking her head to the other side of her room with her scarlet locks flanking at almost every angle around her head. Nature’s lullaby sprung in next. White noises were always something the redhead despised; she was a light sleeper, after all. Then, the door crashed open.

“Annie! Annie!”

Tiny legs scurried their way to her bed, jumping and screaming to jolt the twenty-two-year-old girl awake.

“Daisy…Hazel…get off.”

“But we can’t!” One of them said – Alouette reckoned it was Hazel who spoke. “The spring cotilion is today, and grandfather told us to wake you up. It’s almost noon.” A small smile cracked through Alouette’s groaning face. It remained to amaze her that her six-year-old sister was even aware, let alone pronounce, the word, “cotilion,” so perfectly.

“Fetch Isabelle first,” she said, muffled by her soft pillow.

“Izzy is already awake,” the twins said simultaneously. Alouette always did find it so eerie when the twins did that. They shared the same egg; did they share minds too? On cue, their eldest sister walked in on them.

“Al, get up,” she said.

Alouette groaned back. “No.”

“Grandfather is expecting you.”

“Then why not you attend to him first?”

“Alouette…” All movements halted from the sound of the master of the house. The twins immediately got off Alouette’s bed, straightened their matching pajamas, and had their hands behind their backs. Isabelle’s back straightened and held her head high as her father approached the room.

“Good morning, grandfather,” Isabelle and the twins greeted.

“Morning? Good Lord, it is near noon now,” he huffed, puffing out a cloud of smoke that nearly made Isabelle gag from its potent smell; she hated cigars with passion. They all did.

“Leave us,” he ordered. Grandfather’s tone rasped in authority despite his frail age. Isabelle gestured for the twins to follow her. Alouette heard her grandfather sigh as he said her name in full.

“Alouette Jeanne Salvatore, if this is your form of rebellion against the cotilion I have painfully concocted for you, young lady, it is child’s play. Your mother did a lot worse than this trivial act.” The Duke of Genevie let out another puff close to his granddaughter’s face. She jolted up and choked.

“Grandfather!” She scolded, fanning away the remaining smoke that had yet entered her nose. She heard him snicker and gave him a cold glare.

“Come along, we’ve got many things to do on our plate, first being the numerous gowns I have ordered and tailored for your petite size, and then discuss the dining menu that your older sister has so carefully and attentively created, and then we have the decorations to watch over – making sure they are to our taste and the tastes of our guests…” His list went on and on as he walked around Alouette’s room, turning after each point was made. Had Alouette been a few years younger, she would be as thrilled as her grandfather for hosting a ball just for her. But that was before she knew what the Salvatore balls were for.

“Grandfather, I’ve told you many times…”

“Do not interrupt me while I still speak, Alouette.”

Alouette pursed her lips, knowing that nothing she say could halt her grandfather’s impetuous mouth from blabbering. How she wished to run downtown, to the calm marketplace or the great lake beyond their meadow. It was her mother’s favorite place.

“Alouette, are you even listening to a word I say?”

“No, I am not,” she replied with acute annoyance. “Grandfather, I’ve told you, I do not care how much of an effort you and Isabelle and God knows, how many other servants you’ve ordered to perfect this cotilion. I will not and shall not go through with it. I despise your idea and I despise the idea of marriage for politics or power, or-or fame, or wealth.” She then came down from her bed. “Men are even afraid of my red locks, and emerald eyes. What makes you think a nobleman in our small town would even come to take my hand in theirs?”

“Your sister could. She charmed a viscount, did she not?”

“Isabelle is different,” Alouette argued back. Her sister had God’s favor to be wedded to a man she had already come to love. Albeit, their relationship did not start with roses and gifts. It was their friendship that saved them both. Their friendship that bloomed into a love so bright, it burned all obstacles that came at them, including the red locks she shared with her sisters. Viscount Cromwell loved Isabelle with all his heart, and he cared not for the way she looked or the background of her imperial wealth.

“That is all I ever want,” Alouette told her grandfather. “A love based on friendship. Why do you deny me that privilege?”

“Because love is not a fairytale, Alouette.” The Duke put his cigar away from his mouth. “I do not deny the great love I see between your sister and the viscount. It is a rarity; I’ve come to realize the great and powerful true love you ladies dream of so frequently. But that does not happen to everyone, even if I were to wish it for you, dearest. And if you are to believe that I would bless a marriage between you and that commoner of a man, Damon, you are highly mistaken.”

Alouette was about to retaliate, but the Duke was not finished. “I do not wish for any more pointless arguments with you, child. The cotilion will happen tonight, and you will attend. Do not even attempt to run away, for I will have our servants and guards around the premises of our home.”

Alouette sighed not in defeat, but in disbelief. The Duke clapped his hands twice and a line of maids filed in with gowns of extravagant silk and embroidery.

“Madam Fleur has told me that these gowns and jewelry are of the latest fashion. Wear any you like and make yourself the flower of tonight’s cotilion for by the end of this day, you will have a noble on his knee, and a ring around your finger.”

* * *

The story of great-grandma Alouette never ceases to surprise my daughter.

“So, what did great, great grandma Alouette do?” Robyn wondered. I tucked her blanket in once more, doing my best to make her as comfortable as I could for a smooth night’s sleep. It was the least I could do before my flight to Genevie. Robyn begged me to stay with her; she told me of the nightmares she’d been having, and the last thing she needed was to be alone in our apartment, although Alex, my darling husband, and world-renowned archaeologist, would arrive back home from his adventure in Tibet, minutes before my scheduled taxi. Robyn was always interested in the history of our family, just as I was when I was her age, but she was still far too young to travel with me to Genevie. Nevertheless, I had to go back. There was something I needed to give; something that deserved to rest alongside the remnants of poor Alouette.

“Great-grandma Alouette had no choice but to go along with the arranged cotilion. As much as she hated the idea of being married to a stranger and the fact that it was by her own grandfather, she still loved him dearly. But the ball didn’t go as well as both Alouette and the Duke had hoped…”

* * *

Anneliese lifted her gown and ascended the stairs so quietly she could be floating. The luminary canvas guided her worn heels from the dance floor, all numb and swollen from hours of waltzing into the moonlight. Above her, stunning chandeliers filled every area of the large ceiling. Their crystal arms dawned on the marbled floor, shimmering like they were. Every suit and gown astonished one another in contention, as though a hidden pageant was orchestrating through the elegant band behind the screen. The spring cotillion was, indeed, bringing joy to its guests, including those of prominent dukedoms such as the Brightons and the Hastings, but it certainly was not to its main host.

Anneliese wanted no part of it. She despised it all. She despised putting up a façade for the friends and nobles that came to congratulate her twenty-second birthday – a day that should be celebrated in Genevie, for it marked a woman’s adulthood, but that symbol also meant one thing, and one thing only: marriage. Anne had reached the suitable age of marriage for women and knowing her title and position, bachelors would come bustling in to ask for, firstly, a dance, then a drink, and if they were daring enough, an invitation to a drawing-room, alone. She excused herself from the adamant suitors by informing her grandfather that in light of the grand ball he had done in honor of her womanhood, she had come to drink far too much wine, and thus, requested to be excused back to her quarters. In truth, however, she was escaping. Locking her bedroom door, she opened her window and slid out the makeshift rope she made using blankets and dropped safely just outside the back entrance. While many of their servants feared the wrath of her grandfather, there was nothing money could not buy.

“Now, what is it you shall say if grandfather asks of the carriage riding away?”

“Lady Salvatore has ordered medicine to soothe her vial headache and upset stomach,” the servant, Mary, recited.

“Well done,” Alouette complimented, before giving her a pouch full of money that could buy her a new set of clothes and accessories. Mary bowed in thanks.

“No one must know, do you understand? Should you even think of betraying me, not only will I strip off the pounds of gold I’ve given you, but also the fact that you have been sleeping with Marcus at the abandoned storage room, just doors away from the twins’ room, do you understand?”

Mary nodded her head in quick understanding. Just before Alouette entered the carriage, she looked back at Mary one last time.

“Of all people, Marcus? Really? Surely, I expected your taste to be better than that.”

“I could almost say the same for you, milady,” Mary almost said back. For why go for a commoner when you could have a duke?

The carriage halted at the entrance of the great lake. Anne paid yet another hefty bargain of gold to the coach who bowed his head in thanks.

“Remember, a clear and loud signal five minutes before we are to leave, do you understand?”

“Yes, milady.”

“Good; thank you, James. Your cooperation is much appreciated.” Anne got off the carriage and scurried her way into their secret hideout.

One thing Anne loved about the great lake was the magic she believed it possessed. For the fireflies that hovered all around, the trees glowed in perfect unison – as if the stars themselves had come to pay a visit to the scarlet maiden. Despite the growing leaves on the dirt path, Anne remembered the route by heart. It was one of the last few things her mother left to her before the tragic accident. An accident she refused to ever allow to resurface.

“And to what do I owe such pleasure of having a young and beautiful maiden lingering around my enchanted forest?”

A smile tugged Anne’s lips as she turned around to face the light of her life, the soul to her heart.

“Your enchanted forest?”

Damon returned her smile with a charming one of his own, and it made her knees buckle. She ran towards him, putting her arms around his neck as he wrapped around her waist. They looked into each other’s eyes, green embracing brown, before greeting each other once more with a soft kiss that melted the cold their skin prickled in.

“I’ve missed you,” Damon breathed out, seconds before driving back into her lips.

“And I, you,” Anneliese whispered as she came in for another kiss. It grew deeper with each passing second, both desperate for each other’s touch and each other’s warmth. Three weeks felt like an eternity for the young lovebirds. He slowly cornered her into a tree, an arm against it to prevent her head from getting scratched by the claws of the tree bark. Anneliese’s arms dropped from Damon’s neck for a moment to pull away from her gloves that separated their skin from contacting one another and then spiraled back into his hair neck, groping them with a burning passion that let out a growl from the man she loved. She reveled in those sounds.

“Take it off,” she sighed out. Damon looked at her as if he were in a trance.

“My dress; take it off.”

* * *

“What?! Don’t stop there!” Robyn cried. “What happened when she entered the woods? Who was waiting for her?”

I smiled at my beautiful daughter. Did you really think I would actually tell her that bit of the story? What kind of horrid mother did you think I was?

“Great-grandma Alouette met Damon in the woods, where they professed their love to one another.”

“What does profess to mean?”

“It’s how mama and papa say, ‘I love you’ to each other all the time.”

Robyn nodded with an ‘ahh.’ Before I could continue the story, I heard the sound of footsteps coming up.

“Hello, my sweet-loving ladybirds!”

Robyn’s eyes beamed with glee. “Papa!” She sprung out of her bed and jumped into her father’s arms who attacked her with a thousand kisses. When our eyes locked, I joined them, hugging my loving husband whom I had longed to see for months. Life as an archaeologist was difficult, but I understood his passion for it just as much as he understood my love for history.

“Hello, there,” he whispered, kissing my forehead softly.

“Hello,” I hummed back.

“Mama was just telling me the story of great, great grandma Alouette!” Robyn exclaimed.

“Was she now?” Alex said before giving our daughter another peck on the cheek. “And speaking of my beloved great grandmother, shouldn’t you be on your way to the airport, love?” On cue, a beeping noise erupted from my phone.

“That must be the taxi.” I hurriedly grabbed my phone and luggage outside Robyn’s bedroom.

“But mommy, you haven’t finished the story yet,” Robyn whined. I looked at her in sadness and love. “Sorry love, but I promise I’ll finish when I get back, hmm?” The pout on Robyn’s face did not cease.

“Come now, Robyn, what did I tell you about giving mommy the pouty patty?” Alex then pouted at Robyn as well, which earned him a giggle from his little princess. “Besides,” he continued, “mommy is actually going on a journey to Genevie.”

“Really?!” Robyn veered her attention back to her mother. “Are you really, mommy? Are you going to the Genevie mansion?” I gave her a chuckling smile as I tugged her scarlet hair back.

“That’s right, and so, when I get back, I’ll have even more stories for you; it’ll be lots of fun, I promise!”

“Pinkie promise!” And pinkie promise, we did. I gave her one last kiss, and one as well to my husband.

“Be good, both of you, and try not to burn the house until I get back.”

“Don’t forget the diary,” Alex reminded, to which I slipped out a vintage leather journal from my handbag.

“Wouldn’t leave without it.” The diary of Damon Branwen. And the last few pages were written as such:

I wasn’t sure what came over us that night. We were young and loved each other so much, all I wanted was to feel her, and allow her to feel me. I wanted to delve into her soul as she has delved into my heart. I wanted her to feel the fire that burned within me – the light that gave me life from the moment I laid eyes on her at the market alley.

I felt everything that night, and I wished for more. I wanted more. How could we have known that hidden amongst our sacred place, a raven masks itself in the fog of our meadow’s border, spying on us, like the devil in the shadows?

* * *

A great fog succumbed to the forest. Neither lover realized this, for they were too occupied in each other’s arms, gripping one another as though their lives depended on the heat they shared. But a silhouette, just meters away from them, stood tall and bigger the closer it approached.

Isabelle knew something didn’t feel right when Mary claimed that her dear sister was ill in bed. The cotilion was cut short because of her sudden illness. Grandfather took it too easily that his second granddaughter would actually go berserk with the drinks at a party Anne wasn’t even looking forward to. Something just didn’t seem right about that. So, as guests were being guided back to their carriages, Isabelle set out to the stables and readied her stallion. She rode through the night, knowing of where Anne may exactly be, and prayed that she was there, alone, with no one else.

Isabelle hadn’t been to the great lake and its magnificent forest since her parents had passed on. It was a place of memory. A memory of love and laughter. Remnants that died along with the joyous couple that brought so much light and love to the Genevie estate and townsmen. She trotted through the forest with her horse, only to discover the horrid scene unveiled before her.

“Anneliese Salvatore!”

The naked young woman pulled herself away from the man on top of her, covering herself – barely – with the robes that lay beside her.

“You fool! How in the…What on earth…How could you…?!”

Horror seeped into the eyes of all three of them, the most coming from Damon’s eyes. What had he done?

“Milady, it was my fault; I shouldn’t have acted so hastily…”

“No!” Anneliese rebuked. “I asked you for it; if anyone is to be blamed, it is I.”

“It matters not who is to be blamed!” Isabelle screamed. “You have no idea what you have just put yourself in, Anneliese! What you have put Damon in!”

Anneliese had never seen Isabelle so furious and upset. It unsettled her.

“I just saw you two, together and alone in the forest of our family, and making love to one another. Do you have any idea what that means?” Isabelle then looked to Damon, who was startled at the daggering glare she was giving him.

“You must wed my sister, or you and my family shall be ruined.”

Damon looked baffled. “But…I am just a humble stable boy; t-the lady Anneliese…surely, she deserves someone better than I.”

“Whether or not you marry Anneliese, your lives are already tied to one another. You now have a witness of your affairs.” Isabelle stepped closer to Damon. “If you do not marry my sister, she shall be ruined, and you will be banished from both the house you serve, and Genevie.”

“And what of the Duke, milady?” Damon asked. “Surely, he would never agree to this marriage.”

“We can try to convince him. Show him the strength of our love and…” Anne tried to explain but was cut by her sister’s sharp tongue.

“Oh, be silent, you foolish girl!” Isabelle walked towards Anne, fists clenched, and eyes narrowing down at her – looking down at her as a master would to his servant.

“You are a disgrace to this family.”

“Izzy…” Anne reached out to her sister.

“Do not touch me!” Isabelle sauntered back to her stallion, and rode away, leaving the two overwhelmed lovers to think of the consequences of their actions.

How should one react to such a law? That if a man and a woman were to be seen alone, it is absolute that they are to be wed, lest they wish to have their names, title, and family be ruined? Of course, none of that mattered to a poor man like me, but Anneliese…my angel and ladybird…I could not. I could not go with it. Not because my love for her is lesser than hers. Heavens, my love for her continues to burn brighter than the sun, but I knew that if we were to be man and wife, our lives would crumble the moment we say, “I do.” Anneliese deserves more than what little I can give, and I cannot settle as being a Lord or a noble for that matter. Such life, though as luxurious and prosperous as it is, does not fit a stableboy like me.

I tried to tell Annie this, but she would not listen. She saw our exposure as an opportunity to be together. My heart soared for her childlike love for me, but it would not be enough to overcome even the wrath of the Duke of Genevie…

“Annie, I cannot marry you.”

“And what is it that is stopping you?”

“Look at me!” Damon howled at her – something he had never done before to the love of his life. “I am a mere stableboy of a humble family. I have nothing to give you – no family, no dowry, nothing! You must be out of your mind if you think your grandfather would immediately consider welcoming me in with open arms to your family. He already despises me, Anneliese. I do not need any more reason for him to put an ax down my neck.” Damon then lowered his tone into a subtle and sweeter voice. “Perhaps we can make a bargain with your sister. It is as she said, it is only she who witnessed us being alone. We can come to an agreement with her. One that will ensure she tell no soul about our play.”

Anne staggered back. “A play? Is that how you see my affections for you?”

Damon sighed. “Of course, not! But Annie, your status is on the line. My job is on the line!”

“And that can be all solved if we wed! Don’t you realize it? Even if my grandfather were to despise me for the rest of my life, he has no choice but to give me the dowry my parents bestowed on me for marriage. I have already taken a look at it; it can support both of us. I found this small, but beautiful cottage a little away from town. It would be a fitting place to start a family, raise children, perhaps breed our own livestock, or-or plant our own harvest. It will be just as we used to picture our life together! Far from the eyes of the court and crown. Only us and the future.” Anne held Damon’s hands over hers. “Is that not what you desired? What we both desire?”

Damon thought of it and for a brief moment, his eyes looked in favor of the future Anne had imagined them to have until his heart caught on to another revelation behind her words.

“You planned all this, didn’t you?”

Anne pursed her lips. “Damon, I…”

Damon pulled his hands away from hers. “You knew what would happen if we were seen. You planned all this to happen just so you could have me by force.”

“Dearest, please,” Anne spoke with a trembling voice. “I did not expect my sister to be the one to see us…”

“So, you planned on fucking me until someone of your estate caught us?”

“Damon…”

“Why, Anne?!”

“I was desperate!” She snapped. “I was about to be swept away to a man I do not know, and a married to one whom I do not love! I was about to be separated from the one thing that felt right after the death of my parents from scarlet fever!” Anne took a deep breath in. “I fell in love with you. And I cannot imagine my life without you. That is why I did it.”

“And what of your family? Did you ever think to consider how your actions would affect them? Their reputation? Your grandfather’s health, your younger sisters’ chance of ever getting married to noble families? Lady Isabelle and Viscount Cromwell’s reputation – did you ever consider them?”

“Of course, I did; I just…hadn’t thought that far, yet.”

Damon scoffed. “Really? God, I didn’t realize.”

“Stop it, Damon! Clearly, my plan has not gone the way I had hoped it would, and the last thing I require is for you to make fun of me.”

Damon pursed his lips, releasing a hardened and heavy sigh that he only wished could carry the shame and anger he felt for himself and Anneliese.

“This…was all a mistake.”

Stunned, all Anne could do was look at him in shock, using only her eyes to convey her fear and confusion at that seemingly harmless phrase.

“Your sister says we do not have a choice but to wed. Well, I say, there may still be a way.”

“And…what would that be…?”

“Why? So, you could jeopardize it and plan out another way for us to live happily ever after? Our world is not a fairytale, Anneliese. I apologize for giving you those false hopes if I had, but we can never become possible. You live a life of luxury and gold. I live a life of scraps and bones; your world and mine can never coexist.”

It was Anneliese’s turn to shake her head. “Why are you saying all this to me?”

“Because I love you,” he said. “And you deserve more – so much more – than what little I can give.”

* * *

Genevie was a town of beauty among the horizons. Home to the most wondrous cottages and grazing livestock bred for the golden bellies of Great Britain. It had become quite a tourist attraction for many people, worldwide. The great mansion Genevie sat atop a vast meadow of rainbow blossoms that spread around the home like a river of flowers. East of the mansion resided the great lake, or as we call it, nowadays, the weeping willow. Many tourists claim that if one were to linger in the woods of the great lake territory at a specific time of the evening, you could hear the faint cries of a young woman, whose heart was broken from the tragedy that struck her on her birthday: the loss of a loved one, abandoned by him for his own selfish needs, they said. I wondered how the people would react once I showed them the diary:

Every day, I come to regret the night I left Anneliese. To gallop away from the woman that wept for the pain I had caused her, but I knew I did what was best for her. I wrote to the Lady Isabelle that same night, pleading her to reconsider telling the Duke of our sin. I did not wish for Anneliese to be ruined, and I believed Lady Isabelle did not want to, either. I swore to her that they will never hear of me, or my whereabouts forever; that as soon as she read the letter, I would be on my way out of Genevie, never to be seen again.

Rain penetrated the sky with such ferocity, that a flash flood could occur at any moment. Dark clouds engulfed every speck of light that glimmered minutes ago. Doors of the old mansion were shut tight, as were the windows. The storm was causing a delay for the manager of the Genevie museum to arrive at the mansion; I was the only one waiting there.

I descended the stairs to the basement. Curiosity had gotten the best of me. The Genevie estate was a mansion that was first built during the period of King Henry VIII. Though much of its origins had been reconstructed, the essence of Alex’s ancestors lingered through the rough gaps of the brick walls. There were no windows built in the basement – only a line of lanterns that shone doors on each side of the hallway. Most of them were used as storage rooms for bourbon and cigars. Selling them was how the Salvatores grew into a powerful and wealthy family. Then, a particular door caught my attention.

‘This room is not for showcasing; Do not enter.’

I did, anyway.

A chilly breeze kissed my delicate skin. Strange; there were no windows in the room for the winds outside to enter through. I took a step forward, and another breeze passed by. The lanterns outside seemed to have grown dimmer. Perhaps, it wasn’t the best idea to venture through the mansion alone, especially when it was the very place Alouette…

Hu…hu…hu…

Loose hair stood on end and a chill crawled through my arms, aggravating the tiny bumps prickling his skin. And yet, something beckoned me to enter deeper into the room. I took cat-like steps the further I walked in, as if a sudden stomp would anger the restless spirit caged inside. Cobwebs flourished the four corners of the bedroom, sailing like torn fabrics of a thin curtain. A dusty lone bed laid at the very center of the large quarter with a medium-sized dresser standing beside it, all dusty and worn after centuries of abandonment. I knew right there and then where I was.

“Mrs. Salvatore?”

A yelp jolted out of my throat as I turned around to be greeted by a middle-aged woman.

“Jesus Christ, you gave me a fright!”

The smile on the old woman’s face faltered and apologized.

“I should hope you were aware of the sign, yes? I must say, you are quite bold to have entered the room where the Lady Alouette lost her life.”

That’s right, I realized. I remembered Alex telling me the story behind her death: childbirth. Alouette Salvatore died giving birth to a son who would be known as Talon Salvatore, named in honor of Alouette’s father. He was also given her maiden name in honor of both Alouette and the then Duke of Genevie.

“May I just say that it is an honor to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Dové-Lina,” the manager said.

“Please, call me Dove,” I replied. We shook each other’s hands, although she seemed rather more excited than I was about being in the Genevie mansion.

“I’ve always wanted to meet a member of the Salvatore family ever since I was given the responsibility of preserving the Genevie mansion.”

“Well, I’m married to a member of the Salvatore family, but I’ll make sure to send my husband your regards.” We both laughed before settling into her office on the third floor to discuss the actual reason I decided to visit the Genevie mansion.

“I’ve heard from your agent that you are here because you have something you’d like to give to the museum.”

I nodded my head and pulled out the diary from my bag.

“This once belonged to Damon, Alouette’s lover. It’s his diary.”

“Good Lord,” he said, taking the book from my hand, and flipping through the pages. “Is it really? Yes, the handwriting does seem similar to the letters we know he often writes to Alouette.”

“I’ve been holding on to this diary for quite some time. My grandmother passed it down to my father who then passed it down to me. I often wondered what purpose my family held to hold onto a diary that seemed to tell nothing but a forbidden love story of the regency era. It wasn’t until I met my husband did, I realize what this diary meant to my family.” Now, I only wished for it to return it back to its rightful place.

“I believe this diary deserves to be showcased in Alouette’s old bedroom – oh, and I also brought some of the letters my family’s been collecting.” I showed her a ziplock full of unopened letters. “I was told that these were the letters Damon intended to send Lady Alouette when they separated, but he never had the courage to.”

The manager looked at me in astonishment. “All we ever had of Damon Branwen were the drawings he used to make for Alouette. How on earth did you get your hands on them?”

“Would you believe me if I tell you?” I told him. He gestured for me to go on.

“Damon Branwen was my great-grandfather.”