Adopted Betrayal

Marielle stooped over to place the flowers on the grave. She stayed for a few seconds more than necessary, trying to stir some emotion, there wasn’t much there, some sadness, maybe some regret, but not much else.
Marc watched her as she stood at the grave. She was eighteen now, an adult, soon to be married, and he still hadn’t told her. He took a deep breath; he would do it today. He went over after she had backed away from the stone and walked with her over to a bench under a big oak tree in the cemetery.
“I need to talk to you about your mother.” He started. Why be subtle?
“What about her?”
“Well, everything I guess. You’re eighteen now, I think it’s time you know.” This was going to be even harder than he had thought.          
She stared at him, not understanding. What else was there to know about her mother? She was dead, why bring up the past? “Okay.”
“Good, I’m going to start back at the beginning, so stay with me.”


Marielle passed through the crowd, chatting and mingling with everyone, but not staying in one place long enough to start up a real conversation. She lived for these things. She could be the center of attention when she felt like it, and she felt like it often. It didn’t matter if she liked or even knew any of these people; she was the star, everyone loved her.
She flitted among the people, speaking here, batting an eyelash there. She had many offers to slip into the back room-for there was, of course, a specific room for that- but she wasn’t looking for that kind of attention. She had just moved to another group when a hand latched onto her elbow and before she could pull away she had been swung around and was face to face with a blue eyed beauty, Damien.
“I would suggest you watch yourself.” He sneered.
She looked at him confused. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Diggory is part of the radical movement and yet here you are, ambling about the king’s court.” He tightened his grip on her arm.
“No, really I have no clue what you are talking about. You assume too much.” She managed to pull away from him and take a few steps back.
“Don’t try and lie to me.” He called as she moved away.
She turned in the opposite direction and continued to socialize with people no need to make more of a scene than had already been made. The party had been going on for at least four hours and should be over soon, she just had to finish the night looking good. People didn’t seem to have noticed the skirmish. She still got more than enough stares, her dress was cut fashionably low, and she was wearing an orange garnet around her neck which complemented her blue dress and drew plenty of attention. She casually passed by a large group of people and caught someone’s eye; she smiled and continued on, noticing on her way one of the many admirers, a young nobody with soft hazel eyes looking longingly towards her.


She was sitting in her chemise on the chaise, brushing her hair out. It fell in a soft auburn wave down around her chest. The door opened to the room and she started, getting the brush stuck in a knot of hair.
“You’re back,” she said coldly. 
He stopped where he was, and the door swung shut behind him.
“Ye-es. I am.”  He was on his guard now. She was mad.
“You bloody moron! You said ‘Trust me, no one will know what I’m doing. I will be careful. No one will even suspect.’ Well you were wrong! Someone knows and soon everyone will know! I will be a nothing! No, I will be worse than that, I will be a nothing married to a rebel.”
He looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t think anyone knew. Are you sure that they really do know? Maybe they were just guessing?”
She looked at him derisively, but didn’t deem his question worthy of a response. That he would dare question her was unthinkable. She walked away from him; he was more likely to do something if he wanted her to forgive him.
She walked into her chamber, but didn’t go to bed. She had things to do, people to see.


Diggory slumped down onto his bed.  How had people found out? It was true of course; all of it was true and more. He was deeply involved in the rebellion, but what could he do about it? He could not participate in a government that he hated with every fiber of his being. He, for one, had morals. He cared and felt the need to take charge and do something if he wasn’t happy. He fell asleep trying to find ways he would be able to appease Marielle.


Marielle had moved to Versailles with Louis and his court. Diggory was a Viscount and could have stayed in Paris or gone with the King, but he went with her, of course; he would have done anything she asked. She was happy with the way her life was going. She had accomplished everything she had ever wanted in life and could die happy. The only thing she worried about was the fact that Diggory’s political inclinations were becoming known. Something had to be done; she would not risk her reputation for him.
There were gatherings at the palace all the time. She had to be properly dressed for all of them, and while Diggory may not have access to that kind of money, she knew people. She generally dragged him to the events because she had to keep up appearances. A lady just couldn’t be seen without her husband too often, she might get taken advantage of. They were on their way home from one of these parties when their carriage stopped. As she was about to send Diggory out to see what was wrong, the door was wrenched open and they were both roughly pulled out by members of the King’s Guard. They took one look at her and let her go, but Diggory they swarmed and carried away, ignoring his protests. All of this was done and over with in less than three minutes, and once they had left, she got back in her carriage and went home.


“What did you do?”
“What? Are you speaking to me? I don’t believe I have anything to say to you.”
“He was your husband Marielle. Why? What possessed you to do this?”
“Don’t you use my name as if we are even acquaintances, I won’t talk to you and you don’t have to talk to me. We can both turn around and not speak to each other. In fact, we will; I have rid myself of anything that you could use against me. Whatever will you do with your free time now?” She smirked at him and walked off.
She wandered through the crowed smiling and waving, but very few people returned her gestures. She heard snatches of conversation here and there.
“…..her own husband.”
“…..her fault.”
She looked around, confused. Were people really blaming her for this? This was supposed to make her look better; no one would have spoken to her had they known Diggory wasn’t loyal to Louis. Maybe they weren’t talking about her, but no, that wasn’t it. She knew they were. Maybe they didn’t have the right story, but again, what other story could they have? No, they knew, and they didn’t like what they knew, but why not? Hadn’t she only acted on what she thought would be socially acceptable? Everywhere she looked a malevolent face stared back at her, except in the corner, a young boy with soft hazel eyes looking, not hostile, but sad; the one face in the crowd that wasn’t critical, but she turned away from him. He was no one.
That night she sat at home, watching the fireplace. The bells of a distant clock chimed nine thirty . She got up off the chaise and wrapped herself in a shawl, as she was still dressed for the party in a thin, low-cut dress and it was cold. She walked out of the house and into the courtyard. She walked slowly, wandering aimlessly, when bushes off to her left rustled, something was there.
“Tyson?”
Someone stepped out of the bushes, but they were in the shadows, she couldn’t see who it was.
“Hello?” Why weren’t they answering? “Who’s there?”
She stepped closer to the bushes; a hand snaked out and latched onto her wrist. She screamed. The hand pulled her in sharply and its partner clamped down over her mouth. She stopped screaming and the hand moved away, only to be replaced by a mouth. After a long, welcome kiss Marielle had to surface for air.
“Oh,” she gasped, “it is you.”
“Of course,” the deep voice chuckled from the shadows, “who else would it be?”
“I don’t know, but you didn’t say anything and I couldn’t see you. Everyone was talking about me, being hateful.”
“Can you blame them?” She started to reply, but he cut her off. “Come on; let’s not worry about that now.” He took her arm and led her back to her house.


She continued seeing Tyson, why change habits? And she still went to gatherings, but stood on the outside, talking to very few people.  None of her old acquaintances talked to her anymore, and the people who did speak were below her.
At one of the parties she saw Tyson on the other side of the room and began to move forward, but Félicité got there first. She saw Marielle moving towards her and took time to sneer at her before turning her back.
‘That witch.’ She thought, but kept it to herself and turned around. She went for the door but was sidetracked by someone who stepped in her way.
“Hi, how are you?” He spoke rapidly, trying to shove as many words as possible into the little time he had to talk to her, but she couldn’t push away fast enough “That was a stupid question, of course you’re not well, but it just slipped out.” He said, answering his own question. “I’m sure it will get better though, you just did what you thought was right. Although it didn’t really work out,” he tilted his head to the side, talking himself again, “but surely you had good intentions in mind.” He finished the last of his line of thought looking at her like a lost puppy.
‘Pathetic.’
She turned and walked around him without saying anything in return, walking through the door and heading home. She had no idea who he was, but she had seen him somewhere his eyes were very distinguishing.
She sat at home reading a copy of Dante when the clock struck nine thirty. She walked outside and headed toward the gardens and sat down on bench in a far corner. Tyson walked out from behind her and sat down. She slid closer to him and her wrapped his arms around her but didn’t say anything.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed. “Félicité knows. I don’t know how she knows, but she does.”
“Oh, I see. It’s not really that big of a problem is it?” she added hopefully. “You can come and stay with me.”
“Not yet.” He told her. “I can’t, I have to take care of things first; but we can still do this….” He pulled her off the bench and into the bushes, not bothering too get back to her house.

“This is a mistake! Why are you doing this? I don’t understand?”
“We have information that you aren’t loyal to the king.”
“What! Who told you that?” She scanned the room wildly, looking for a friendly face, but she no longer had friends, no one spoke to her anymore. “Germaine, you know I am loyal! Henri, Danielle, Robert, you all know. I turned in my own husband dans l'intéret de Dieu! Tyson, help me!” but no one would give her the time of day. She watched the crowd as she was dragged away and saw Félicité come up and put her arm around Tyson, smiling and waving as she was bound and hauled into a cart to be taken away.
         Of course, she thought later in her cell, Félicité was a Duchess; she had political power and motivation. Marielle supposed this was her fate for turning Diggory in. She had so much to live for though, she and Tyson. A guard came in and pulled her roughly to her feet, only to shove her down into a nearby chair and attempt to cut her hair off.
         “No! You can’t kill me!” Knowing the reason behind the horrible hair-cut only made it worse.
         The man laughed cruelly. “Oh? And why can’t I?”
         “Because I am with child.”
         The man stared at her for a moment and slapped her across the face. He left the room and returned shortly with a doctor. She had told the truth, she was pregnant. Six months pregnant to be exact. Her execution date was put on hold until the child was born.
         She behaved so well in those three months; she tried so hard not to be a problem. Not once did she mention the pain that the baby was causing. The baby was her salvation, Tyson would know it was his, and he would come and claim it and get her out and they could be together. This child had saved her from death. Even as she loved the child, she hated it with every fiber of her being. This was pain, this was punishment. She had sinned and this was what she got. The sickness that she acquired closer to the due date was unbearable. She wished for death daily but never said anything; the better her behavior, the better her chance of getting out.
         Then the child was born, a beautiful baby girl. She woke up on a pallet with a squalling child lying next to her. She was aware that her hair was gone. How long had she been out? How sick must she have been to have had her hair cut off? Of course cutting the hair allows fevers to break more easily, but she didn’t remember anything. Shortly afterward they took her away.
         ‘Tyson must be here to get me and our child, I will let him name her.’
         When she got outside she didn’t see Tyson. She saw the jeering crowd. She saw the guillotine. She was walked up the steps and the baby was taken from her. She was then strapped down and executed. No one claimed the child.
         It was determined that it would be sent to an orphanage the next day. Unexpectedly, someone claimed it. He said that he knew the mother and couldn’t let the child be put in an orphanage. The infant’s temporary caretaker didn’t ask questions, but handed the baby over to the hazel eyed man glad to be rid of it.


“So that’s your mother’s story.” Marc concluded.
Marielle just sat there and stared at him. “No, no! That isn’t true. My mother died of the flux; she had no other husband than you! All of this is a lie, one big fabricated story to trick me. Why? Why tell me this now and think there was any chance that I would believe it?”
         Marc sighed. He hadn’t expected it to be easy, but he had hoped she would believe him. “Why would I make this up Marielle? I would gain nothing from it. I’m sorry, but it’s all true. Your mother was a troubled woman, but I did love her. I don’t imagine she ever knew my name, though I would like to believe that she did. She was so far out of my league though; she would never have given me the time of day. When she turned her husband over she tried to get Tyson to marry her, but he wouldn’t. When Félicité got wind of her husband’s affair she turned your mother in to be executed. I took you and kept you as my own. So here we are, you are my daughter whether by blood or not. I loved your mother and I love you.”
         He watched as she got up and went over to the grave which now had fresh flowers on it and sank to her knees and cried. He sat on the bench and bided his time, waiting for her to come to terms with her past and begin to ask questions that he wasn’t prepared to answer.