VI

"The world will not be destroyed by those who do evil, but by those who watch them without doing anything." Albert Einstein

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VI.

Belle had come to conclusion that Peter Denham was safe alarmingly quickly. Most alarmingly. It was frightening to think of any man as safe, let alone a man of whom she had barely begun to know. But in listening to him talk, Belle could hear the innocence in his voice.

It was odd to consider a man innocent, but she did. The innocence in Peter's voice told Belle that he had never hurt anyone. Peter had never harmed or used anyone. Peter had never taken advantage or exploited anyone. He had certainly never abused anyone. There was decency in innocence, and Belle admired it remarkably. Remarkably enough to declare this man as safe.

He was simply a young man, a baby-faced young man, who seemed to want to talk to her, with no ulterior motive, and certainly no evil intentions. Belle had known evil. She had experienced evil. She had an intimate knowledge of evil. She had a talent for seeing it in the eyes of men, and it was talent she was disgusted by. But it was a talent that protected her, nonetheless.

But there was no evil in the blue depths of Peter Denham's eyes. His eyes were like oceans, so mixed with they with the hues of sky and cerulean. And innocent. Belle thought that 'innocent' ought to be a shade of blue, too.

But then begged the question. Why would a good, decent young man, like Peter Denham, have any desire to speak with her at all? Did he not know who she was? Did he not know what she had been? Perhaps he did not. Perhaps he was blissfully ignorant.

What he certainly was not, however, was blind, and he clearly could see the differences between them. But, like his family, Peter Denham did not possess the common prejudice that she had known too many white men to possess.

And such knowledge only increased the safety that Belle saw in Peter.

"What does that mean?" Peter asked curiously. "I am afraid my French is ... well, I never received any French instruction."

Belle frowned a little. He seemed conscious, self-conscious of this fact. Was French language tuition common? A quick glance around the table and only Susanna and the duchess, Cecily, had been able to communicate in French with Belle. The others all could not. "My English is equally diluted."

Peter smiled, and then his grinned. He had a terrifically broad smile that took up nearly half his face. Even the skin beside his eyes crinkled, and Belle enjoyed that. His smile was just another innocent characteristic. Only innocent people could smile as happily as Peter could.

Belle did not know if she was capable of a smile like that. Her smiles, her real smiles, had been stolen from her a long time ago.

"Was that a joke, Miss Desjardins?" Peter's brows rose.

Belle nonchalantly speared a sprout with her fork and popped it into her mouth. She enjoyed English food. She enjoyed any food. Food was precious. But she did wish sometimes that the cook would choose another method of preparing vegetables than boiling them. The sprouts were a little grey.

"You have a sense of humour, I think," Peter observed.

Belle could not help but smile coyly. Perhaps she did.

Before Peter could speak to her again, his attention was commanded by the duke, who proceeded to ask both he and Jack Beresford curious questions about their upcoming publication.

The duchess, and Peter's, younger brother, Jem Denham, was smiling at Belle. A knowing, almost teasing smile, as she began to attempt to understand the next topic of conversation.

Belle did not know very much about books. Quite obviously, she had never held one in her hands until very recently, and even now, she was not a confident reader.

Belle could read, though it would often take her time to work out the words, and sometimes they would become too complex for her. She had never read a book in its entirety because it was simply too difficult. Now that she could speak English passably, Susanna's lessons had stopped, and Belle was far too bashful to ask for Susanna's help again, especially as she was wrapped up in planning her wedding. Teaching Belle how to read properly would not be a priority.

Belle had not even begun to contemplate writing. The very thought made her feel utterly stupid. She could write her own name, and simple words, the words that she had memorised, but her penmanship was dreadful, and she hated to think of the mistakes there would be in her spelling.

Susanna had been the one to send away for the fabric for her gown. Belle had managed to escape writing that letter. She hated to think of what would happen the next time that she would need to place an order.

Unlike Belle, Peter seemed very intelligent. Incredibly so. Belle could often be lost in English conversations, particularly when a topic was being discussed that she did not understand. But she knew that Peter was discussing his business, and he spoke with confidence and conviction, two traits that she did admire. To work in publishing and books, Peter must have been clever, and he must have been an excellent reader.

An innocent, decent man such as he would never call Belle stupid, but Belle wondered if he would think it if he knew how little she could do when it came to reading and writing.

***

"I need the hems taken down on that one," instructed Mrs Nancy Jones as she laid down a dress on Belle's table. "Two inches at least. My Helen has grown so much this summer. Same for this dress." She added a blue, gingham dress to the pile. "There's a button needs fixing on this coat, and my husband's breeches need a little letting out. Helen is not the only one who had been doing some growing this summer." Mrs Jones tutted. "As much as you can on those." She patted the dark breeches. "I must say, I was very sceptical about having one of you negroes in the village, but it is so useful to have a seamstress. Saves me so much time not having to mend things myself."

Belle did not take offense. It was quite useless wasting time and her emotion on being offended over little comments like that. Even in her backwards way, she did think that Mrs Jones had meant to pay her a compliment. This was her home now, and Belle needed to be amenable, non-threatening, and as small and unnoticeable as possible.

"Those will not be a problem, Mrs Jones," she replied. "They will be finished by the end of the week."

"Good. I shall return on Friday then." Mrs Jones turned around and began to browse for her groceries, adding items to her now empty basket. Mr Andrews was quick to attend to her and advise her on the latest stock from London.

Belle placed Mrs Jones' items in the little production line that she had made for herself, as she picked up the socks that she had been darning before. In the back of her mind, she could hear Mr Andrews fussing over Mrs Jones, and he was quick to sell her a few extra bits that she no doubt did not need. Nevertheless, she left the shop quite happily, just as a new customer entered.

Belle did not look up right away. She did not like to. It was an act of submission, a way to make the white people feel comfortable, especially around someone who possessed a stare like Belle. She would never be caught staring. To stare was to offend, and to offend a white person was dangerous.

Mr Andrews confirmed the identity of the new customer, and this made Belle lose all her reason.

"Peter Denham!" he cried.

Belle nearly dropped the sock that was in her hand as she looked up, and sure enough, Peter was standing in the entryway, dressed for the day. He removed his top hat and a lock of his dark hair swept across his forehead.

"Mr Andrews, how do you do?" Peter and Mr Andrews seemed to know each other well, though Belle presumed that most people who had grown up in the Ashwood village would have a good knowledge of one another.

"Well, well," replied Mr Andrews. "It has certainly been a little while since you deemed it necessary to descend upon our sleepy little village. Is London too diverting?"

Peter chuckled politely. "Very diverting," he confirmed. "My business keeps me busy. I have returned to Ashwood, of course, for Lady Susanna's wedding to Mr Whitfield. As well as to celebrate the birth of my new niece. Did you hear?"

"Oh, yes." Mr Andrews nodded his head. "The dowager duchess has been very quick to spread the good news about. Many congratulations, of course." He then sighed seriously. "Now, this wedding business ..." Mr Andrews pursed his lips. "What are your thoughts?"

Belle had managed to track and translate this conversation quite well, and it was not hard to guess just what Mr Andrews was thinking, and just what he wanted Peter to say.

But Peter would not disparage Alex and Susanna. Peter did not think with prejudice or cruelty. Belle had seen it in his eyes.

"I could not be happier for the bride or the bridegroom," Peter replied shortly. "As I am certain you are very pleased about the large order Mrs Reynolds will have placed with you for the wedding breakfast."

Mr Andrews chuckled, and clapped Peter on the shoulder. Belle physically flinched on his behalf. "But, of course! Aren't we all pleased? A wedding is such a joyful occasion."

"Certainly," nodded Peter. He subtly glanced in Belle's direction, but he did little to acknowledge her. "Now we are on the subject, how is business, Mr Andrews?"

"Oh, you know, there are good days and bad days." Mr Andrews shrugged. "I manage."

Peter frowned and seemed to appear genuinely sympathetic. Belle, on the other hand, had never known Mr Andrews to have a bad day, at least not since she had been working at her table. He seemed to have an endless collection of coins rattling in his pocket.

"I've had to take on Mr Whitfield's little friend," Mr Andrews continued, nodding to Belle. "Not to worry about speaking before her. I find her English comes and goes. Having her here does deter some of the customers away." Adding in a low voice, he said, "The compensation from her little table is necessary."

Belle did not react. Of course, she did not. She would never. Curiously, though, Peter did not react either. He did not appear angry, or amused, or anything. His expression was blank.

"You do know that managing the finances is exactly what I do for Lord Jack at Beresford Press. I have a head for figures, and it would be no trouble at all to have a look over your ledger. I would be happy to help you find room to improve your profit."

Belle tried to concentrate, but there were a few words in what Peter had just said that she did not understand, but from what she could discern, Peter was trying to help Mr Andrews. Peter was good and kind, and maybe Mr Andrews was his friend.

"You're too kind, young Peter," Mr Andrews complimented. "Go on then. I'll fetch them for you." He disappeared up the stairs that led up to the apartment he kept for himself above the store.

Now that they were alone, Peter turned his head towards Belle, saying nothing, but winking at her, ever so subtly. What did that mean?

Belle forced herself to keep darning, to keep up the pretence that she was not listening or trying to follow along with what they were discussing. Mr Andrews returned only a few minutes later with a thick, leather-bound book.

Peter seemed to be quite in his element as he opened the ledger and combed through whatever was written in there. He laughed with Mr Andrews about certain things in the book, and Peter produced his own pen and paper as he began to take notes.

From the way his pen danced across the paper, Belle could tell that Peter had beautiful penmanship.

"I can see here that this is where Miss Desjardins began working in the shop," Peter commented, reading whatever was written in the book. "You have additional income here, I see. Your compensation?"

"Yes," confirmed Mr Andrews. "My sixty-five percent."

"I see." Peter nodded slowly as he began to take notes. He continued to flip the pages and scrawl.

This was certainly the longest time that Belle had ever taken to darn a sock as she had to keep forcing herself to pay attention. Except for the fact that she desperately wanted to know what was going on.

Peter kept going through the ledger as Mr Andrews attended to the customers who entered the shop, charming them and selling them his goods.

Belle did not know how long it had been, but it had certainly felt like hours by the time that Peter closed the ledger. Meanwhile, she was still tending to the same sock. Luckily for her, Mr Andrews knew nothing about darning.

"I have to disagree with you, Mr Andrews," Peter finally announced as he returned his pen to his breast pocket.

"Disagree with me?" repeated Mr Andrews. "Whatever for? About what?"

"The presence of Miss Desjardins deterring customers. That is what you said, did you not? It seems that the reality of the situation is quite the opposite, and I think you know that."

Mr Andrews tensed. Belle recognised the signs of anger immediately, and she placed her sewing down gently. She would be ready to run. What on earth was Peter thinking?

"You have taken sixty-five percent of her income from her ... when I heard that from my sister this morning, I could hardly believe it." Peter shook his head. "Since Miss Desjardins has been working in this shop, you have never been more profitable, and that is without counting what you take from her. My guess would be your profits are coming from opportunistic buyers; buyers who come to drop of their mending and end up purchasing something that they do not necessarily need. Am I right?"

Mr Andrews said nothing, save for his eyes narrowing.

"Were Miss Desjardins to take her business elsewhere, you would stand to lose the substantial profit you have been enjoying of late," continued Peter.

Peter was arguing for her. Belle could not quite believe it. She would have been honoured if she were not so afraid. Only a fool angered a white man, and she prayed Peter was not in any danger. He was innocent.

"No other shop would take her," snapped Mr Andrews.

"Are you willing to wager your profits on that assumption?" Peter challenged.

Mr Andrews bit his tongue.

"I did not think so. What will be happening henceforth is a new bargain. Miss Desjardins will pay you two shillings per week in rent for the space she is occupying in your shop. In return, she will keep one hundred percent of her own income."

Two shillings? Belle's heart quickened. All she would need to pay was two shillings and she could keep the rest? Did Peter understand what this would mean for her? He had to, or else why would he be here?

"That's a dirty trick, Peter Denham," sneered Mr Andrews.

"It's not a dirty trick," countered Peter. "It's honest business, which I highly suggest you practise. Miss Desjardins has the favour of the Beresfords. They care that she has a good deal."

Mr Andrews snatched the ledger off of the counter and clutched it tightly. "I will expect my two shillings promptly." With that, he returned to the stairs and disappeared up into the apartment above.

Peter then immediately approached Belle, looking upon her with what appeared to be apprehension. Belle was still seated and had to crane her neck to look up at the very tall Peter Denham.

"Forgive me," he begged. "I could not help myself. I spoke the truth. I learned of your situation this morning from Grace."

For a fleeting moment, Belle wondered why her situation, or anything about her at all, would have come up in conversation between Peter and the duchess.

"When I heard, I had to rectify it. This deal is fair, I promise you. This is what I do for business. I am good with numbers, and –"

"Thank you," Belle said gratefully, interrupting him. She rose to her feet, though that did not do much to rectify the differences in their heights. "You helped me. Thank you. But ... he is angry now." Belle could not erase the fear that had now settled in the pit of her stomach. What would happen when Peter left? Would ... would he ...?

"Miss Desjardins ... Belle," Peter said firmly. "I just highlighted your value to him. He knows exactly what your talents are worth to his business. Everything will be alright."

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Hope you enjoyed it!!

SMOOTH SAILING WE DON'T KNOW HERRRRRRR hehehehehe

I've seen a few comments talking about a love triangle between Peter, Belle and Jem. Um, no!! Hahahaha. Jem was speaking about a girl who had recently moved to town with her mother. I didn't reveal her name because it's comingggggggg. And I'm sure you'll be ready to ship Jem and his mystery lady in due course...... I love her, btw. I love them. I love their story. I'm sure you'll like their story. It's a good one - and covers a storyline I've never written before ;) That's enough hints for ya!!

But before I can make Jem and *insert name here* suffer, I have to make Peter and Belle suffer. It's my signature, right? I need to make you guys cry so I can drink my reader tears to keep me young :)

Vote and comment xxx