Masquerade

Epilogue

London, England, 1871

(Paulette's POV)

"Do you really have to go?" Paulette asked, with a slight pout. She had been watching as her friend had changed from the day gown that she had worn that morning, into the black leggings and white peasant top that she had sported on the ship. Paulette knew that Mari had to go—not that it made the thought of being alone in London any better—but a small smile appeared on her face as she thought of Charles. She wasn't alone, after all.

"Yes, Paulette, I do," Mari replied, as she laced up her boots, "I need to find out more about my mother, and finding my grandparents may be the key to that." Paulette continued to watch as her friend put the journal that was found on the dressing table, as Mari took a minute to plait her curly mane.

"Well, then, let me come, I will go and get my things right now," Paulette said, turning to leave the room, but Mari was quicker, taking her arm and pulling her back.

"No, Paulette, you will not," Mari stated, firmly, "I have seen how happy you are while we have been here. I will not let you put an end to that just to follow me across the world."

Paulette felt the oncoming of tears; she and Mari had been through a lot together since their escape from Alabastor—a place that they had both called home at a point in time, now a mere memory.

"Please don't cry Paulette," Mari said, in a begging tone, as Paulette closed her eyes, tightly, and then felt herself being pulled into her friend's warming embrace. Paulette's body shook as she sobbed, expressing how grieved she was about her friend's departure. "You are going to be fine, you don't need me anymore."

Paulette sobbed harder, and then she pulled away, and let out a wet chuckle as she took a handkerchief that Mari offered. Dabbing at her eyes and nose, Paulette chuckled again.

"Walk with me, Paulette, please," Mari said. Paulette nodded, and thread her arm through Mari's held-out one. Mari used her empty arm to pick up the journal, and then the two of them left the room.

It was almost evening, the sky presenting a golden glare as the two women descended the staircase. One of the maids came to the bottom, as Mari and Paulette reached the bottom step.

"Miss Johnson," she said, looking between the two, "Yours and Miss Bensen's presences are requested in the parlor."

"Thank you," Paulette replied, nodding. Then, she looked over at Mari, who had looked confused, "Come, my friend." Paulette proceeded to lead the way to the parlor.

In the parlor, which had been redecorated, recently, with flowered wallpaper and wood paneling, cushy settees and a wine-colored chaise lounge, Janette set on one of the settees, looking very well-put together. Her honey-colored hair was plaited in a French braid that ended in the middle of her back; she wore a spring green colored gown, with pastel green ruffles across the bodice and down the middle of the skirt. Small pink roses lined the top of the bodice, and a white satin ribbon was tied under it.

Thomas Hamilton stood by the small bookshelf, examining the volumes it held. Charles Toting sat on the end of the chaise lounge, by the fireplace.

"What is this?" Mari asked, clearly, surprised at the gathering that had taken place.

"We just wanted to say goodbye," Janette said, standing up from the settee.

"Well, you look positively delightful," Mari said.

"Thank you, Mari," Janette said, smiling, "In fact, I owe this to you."

"To me?" Mari asked, confused, as she perched on the arm, "How do you owe this to me?"