Of England And France | #Wattys2016

Of goodbyes and anger (2)

Although I walk away first, head held high, back straight and feet barely touching the ground I must confess it was hard. The one person I..... I dont even know what he is to me.

I step into my room to see a fuming Judith sitting cross legged on the posh red carpet. but i am too drained to be bothered by the glare and scrowl on her face. I flop down rather ungracefully and stare at the ceiling. I will my mind to memorize the design of my room but my brain will hear nothing of it.

"Are u even listening to me? Brat" Judith asked, nose flaring. I know that expression all too well. She always gets like this before she does something hurtful.

She is pacing now, my silence is unnerving her and I can feel her resolve breaking. She wants to leave here and she knows am her one way ticket out of Windsor. She also knows that if she hits me as per usual, the duke Benoit will be most displeased, or so I hope. I decide to try my luck a little bit. I know she will not be leaving with me. I made extra sure about it. When the duke asked me if my present maid would be accompanying us, I refused vehemently and also added that it would not be necessary and that a new one would be better. With the fact that today will be our last day together, I speak
"Whatever you are saying is of no relevance to my person" looking at her dead in the eye from my position on the sofa. "And you may begin to address me as Princess Marybelle Adalard the first. Or just your highness" I add to irritate her just for the fun of it.

I stand and look at her expectantly, challenging her. she holds my gaze for a while and when she finally breaks I let out a breath I didn't even realise I was holding. I move, walking towards my bed post, towards the servant service bell and I ring. She must have guessed my intention because she calls out to me. Not in the name I am known in the castle of, not the name in my papers, not the name I was given by my queen mother, but my name.

"Annabelle"

My real name, the name given to me by my mother, the name only the queen - God rest her soul- called me, a name forsaken for another, a name that should never be uttered and especially not from her mouth.

It unnerves me as she expected, but I do not give her the satisfaction. I do not even stop or change pace. I keep moving to the door without a hint of pain caused by hearing her say that name is evident in my body language.

I open the door to another maid. She smiles sweetly at me and I know it is genuine.
"Please" I begin "Judith is unable to dress me for today's activity due to emotional matters. I request another maid for today and fast as I am already late"
She nods her reply and leaves followed obediently by Judith who doesn't fail to send me a parting glare which I counter with a smug smile.

******

The ride from the castle to the port that would take us to Paris was shaky- for the lack of better word- and also quiet, very quiet. The duchess Camille did not talk as did the duke. I was beginning to wonder if life with this people would be any fun.

The duchess kept gazing out the window and the duke was busy doing whatever he was doing that kept him from polite conversation. The duke I suppose was keen to get out of English soil and onto his fatherland but the duchess's inability to contain her joy when the port came into view was something I could not understand because she was English.

The port comes into view. The sun illuminating the water, brilliant white over turquoise, beauty beyond measure. The sky is a new painting from moment to moment. The ships dancing to the beat of the ocean, so pristine, and beautiful. The rawness of the harbour and the people in it astounds me. Being used to the cleanliness and orderliness of the castle, the rowdy and lively harbour is a welcomed change.

As I step out of the carriage, taking my good time I must add. I let myself adjust to the new area. The new intensity of the sun, and roughness of the wind and the noise. The duchess, who had been looking like lost puppy is now bouncing with uncontrollable joy and energy. I stare in awe of not only her person but the majestic vessel she is now sprinting towards.

I feel a presence close to me and I look up to see the duke. He warps his hands around my small shoulders and gives it a good squeeze. His fatherly presence is needed and I relax into his touch.

"Ahh, the Camilla" I look up at him again. "The duchess?" I ask. Shaking his head no, he replies "non, her ship".
I take a good look at the massive and impressive vessel and I can't help but me in awe. I have only seen a handful of ships in my life but I know this one was expertly made.
The crew men I assume help us pack for luggage into the ship. I stand rooted I n my spot, u unable to wrap my head around the fact that I was leaving England.
The captain's call is clear as day,even in the noisy port. I feel the lord Benoit approach me but I put distance between us.
I bend down to pack a handful of English soil and put it in my purse. From the corner of my eye I can see a commotion and when the coat of arms on the racing carriage appears in clear view I dash to the ship without a moment to lose all the while laughing like a hyena.