Chapter Text
Chapter One – The First Pupil
Belle pressed her palms against the wooden desk and took a long breath.
The scent of polish and sun-warmed timber filled the small upstairs room, and she allowed herself a moment to admire her work. Three narrow desks stood in neat rows, the wood scrubbed until it shone. A mismatched collection of chairs — some borrowed, some salvaged from her fathers workplace — lined the wall. Her books, carefully stacked on two sagging shelves, were arranged by subject. The window was open to let in the warm July air, and from here she could see the church spire rising over the tiled roofs of the village.
Her gaze dropped to the freshly painted sign outside the building: Summer School for Girls. The letters weren't perfectly even, but they were bold, and they were hers.
She had spent three weeks convincing Father LeClair to let her rent the disused upper room above the church storehouse. He had been reluctant at first, muttering about "filling girls' heads with ideas," but in the end, he had agreed. Probably because her father had promissed to fix the broken church window for free.
But this was it: Her first step toward Paris.
The thought sent a thrill through her — Paris, with its bookshops and cafés, its art and its streets alive with music. If she could fill these desks with eager students, the fees — small though they were — would, in time, be enough for the train fare. From there… she'd make the rest happen.
Somehow.
And it would be an excellent addition to her resume. Maybe, just maybe a school in Paris would hire her. And then she could finally start the life she had always dreamed about.
Her job at the bookshop had been a reliable source of income, but not enough to fund her trip completely.
Monsieur Levi didn't know how long he would keep the store. He had asked her so many times to take it of his hands, but she had refused.
Her future didnt lay in this small village and although she adored the bookshop, she couldn't bring herself to be stuck here. Not even for her treasured books.
She straightened the stack of slates on the desk and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
Today would be the start of making her dreams come true. And she was ready.
The bells from the church tower chimed the hour. She glanced toward the stairs, expecting the sound of footsteps.
Instead, silence. She waited another five minutes.
Still nothing.
Perhaps they were shy, she thought. Or perhaps the mothers had decided at the last moment that learning to read was dangerous for a girl. The thought twisted something in her chest. She knew what they all thought of her.
Peculiar.
She wore the name as medal. It was better than beautiful. She hated it to be reduced by nothing but her looks. She so longed to be seen as more than just "Belle."
And that was exactly what she wanted to share with the young girls of the village. There was nothing wrong with being beautiful like the bimbettes. But they could be so much more: Brave, smart, strong, adventurous…
The heavy, confident thud of boots on the stairs shook her from her daydream.
Belle's shoulders tightened. She knew that tread. She knew it far too well.
The doorway filled with a broad frame and a smile that belonged in a tavern, not a schoolroom.
Gaston leaned one hand against the doorframe, as though he owned it, and the sunlight from behind him caught on the gold of his buttons.
Beside him, half-hidden, was a small girl with untidy dark hair and a wary expression.
"I've brought you your first pupil," Gaston announced, his voice warm with amusement. "And as it seems also your last."
Belle's jaw tightened.
"I want to introduce you to my niece, Odette." Gaston gestured to the girl. "Odette, you've heard of Belle…"
It was a mystery what the girl had heard about her and from whom, but nevertheless Belle smiled at her.
She received a small smile back.
Belle turned her attention back to Gaston. "And now you have decided that your niece will attend my school? You know if have a schedule and rules and-"
"I need this," he interrupted her. "I mean she needs this… or we…" he shrugged and suddenly it seemed like his confidence faded a little.
Shocking. Because she had never seen him not confident. Not even when she had refused him at the town dance.
"Her mother… my sister… she passed away. And her dad already left a long time ago. So the magistrate thinks I'm the perfect guardian." His tone suggested the magistrate has been out of his mind. Something Belle could only agree to. "But I have to do stuff… hunt… clean my weapons …"
"Visit the tavern…" She added.
A hint of a smile flashed in his blue eyes. "That's where you come in, Belle."
"This is a school for girls who want to learn, Gaston, not a place for you to deposit your problems."
The girl looked up, wide-eyed. "Please, Madame. Give me a chance. I promise I'll be good."
"See, she will be good." Gaston echoed.
Belle sighed and crouched so she could look in the girls eyes. "I know you will be. You are most welcome Odette. But remember: tomorrow, we start at 9."
She looked at Gaston and he nodded, obviously relieved that the girl wouldn't be his responsibility for the next couple hours.
When she stood up, he made another step towards her. The air seemed to shrink around him and he was close enough now that Belle caught the faint scent of leather and soap — infuriatingly pleasant. "Merci, Belle."
She stepped back, her spine straight. "I'm not doing this for you."
"You're doing it for her," he said, his voice lower, his eyes locked on hers in a way that made her pulse stumble. "I know. You don't like me and you would never do something to help me. I know that as well."
Belle felt heat rise in her cheeks — from anger, she told herself — she didnt have the energy to correct him. Instead she forced her gaze toward Odette.
The girl was watching them as though trying to understand a conversation in a language she didn't understand.
Turning away from Gaston, she took the girls hand. "Come Odette, take a seat. We're going to start."
The girl obeyed happily.
Before sitting down at her own desk Belle looked into Gaston's eyes one more time.
He gave her a slow, knowing smile, the kind that said he believed he'd won something.
She refused to return the look, keeping her tone as professional as possible. "You can pick her up at 4 o'clock. Today we can share my lunch. Tomorrow she has to bring her own."
"Understood," he said. Then, after a pause, "Try not to fill her head with too many ideas. Makes it harder for me when she talks back."
"Then perhaps she should talk back more," Belle replied sweetly.
He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly pleased, before tipping an imaginary hat. "I'll be back at 4."
Belle didn't watch him leave, but she was aware of him all the same — the confident stride, the weight of his presence lingering like the echo of a song she didn't want to admit she knew by heart.
When the door finally shut, she exhaled and turned to Odette with a smile. "Tell me, Odette, what do you know about Jeanne d'Arc?"