Little Black Book

Little Black Book

By Heidi Bacon

January 22, 2021

Belinda had seen it there before, an unassuming little black book over on the very end of the third shelf in the library, sandwiched between the Anthology of Ancient Times and Dogbert’s Management Handbook. The last time she noticed it, the volume had been slightly pulled forward, which brought it to her attention and made her wonder if someone had recently slid it into place, or if it was left askew as the neighboring book had been pulled from the shelf. Had it been there all along or was it a new addition? And why would it matter either way? Up until last week, no one would have cared.

Belinda Maris was not one to trifle with, as was made very clear only a few days prior when her extensive family gathered to pay their respects to the matriarch of the family, Grand Duchess Amelia Maris. Any guest present who was not already familiar with the oddities typical of the Maris clan may have found the macabre customs a bit off-setting, if not altogether frightful. Belinda, however, was accustomed to the odd behaviors, and not knowing anything else, believed them to be quite normal. Which is why, when everyone raised their cordial glasses in the traditional toast, wishing Grand Duchess Amelia a quick and painless death, Belinda, out of sheer curiosity, raised this question as well; “Why not a long and painful one?”

After all, Grand Duchess Amelia had been nothing but horrible to each of the family members gathered, having belittled and humiliated them over the course of their existence. The Grand Duchess herself had endured a similar fate during her prolonged life, as her parents knew nothing of nurturing love. For Amelia, and the rest of the Marises, shameless mediocrity was a way of life and nothing less than a similar behavior was expected.

With a dismissive wave of her gloved hand, the Grand Duchess announced in a condescending tone, “No matter, Belinda is not really one of us, so her ‘opinion’ need not be heard. Now, I believe it is time to adjourn to the library.” And with a flourish befitting her magnified view of importance, Grand Duchess Amelia glided from the drawing room to the library, followed by the glum group of relations who would much rather be anywhere else at that particular moment.

Belinda was left alone in the drawing room wondering if, in fact, she had actually said what she had been thinking out loud, and realizing that it was, indeed, the case. “Oops…” she thought, kicking herself for about a half of a second before mentally congratulating herself on the back. It was, after all, what everyone was thinking. She knew that for a fact because ever since she was very young, Belinda was able to tell what other people had on their minds. It came quite naturally for Belinda - it was a normal thing to have a thought pop into her brain which, in turn, then came straight out of her mouth. As her talent became clear to those around her, they realized that she may at any moment reveal their deepest and darkest thoughts. As a result, friends and family alike began to distance themselves from her.

The fact that she had voiced what several in the group were thinking a few moments before didn’t bother her nearly as much as what Grand Duchess Amelia had said directly after...what did she mean by not “really” one of us? Curious to discover the reason behind the comment, Belinda joined the rest of those gathered in the library, determined to find out more.

The Maris family was an ancient one, which was celebrated throughout the Grand Duchess’s Chateau with portraits and sculptures of men and women of importance in their grandiose lineage. The structure of the Chateau itself was said to have been built on an ancient fort with layer upon layer upon addition added over the centuries. As children, Belinda and her cousins would explore the nether regions of the bastion and squeeze through fallen rubble in the old tunnels. They knew every nook and cranny there was.

Belinda was the last to enter the library amidst the chorus of the traditional family tune, sung with great flourish by everyone except Belinda’s mother Clarissa who instead, had her stony gaze fixed on Grand Duchess Amelia.

”Curious…” thought Belinda as she looked at the two, perplexed as she joined in with the last verse of the song.

“...and may our blood live on, as only it can, through our words and deeds, forever may it be so. La la la la la la la la, forever may it be so.”

Then, as tradition dictated, each member of the family threw their cordial glass into the fireplace, creating several bright flashes in the fire until only Clarissa was left, still grasping her glass, distracted. At that moment, a thought flashed through Belinda’s mind, one that shook her to the core. As the words pounded in her brain, her widened eyes fell upon Clarissa who was staring at the little black book on the very end of the third shelf...and how it was just so very slightly pulled out a bit from the rest of the books.

Clarissa broke out of her trance-like state and raised her glass. “I propose a toast to my grandmother, the Great Grand Duchess Amelia.” The rest of the family murmured amongst themselves, after just throwing all their cordial glasses into the fireplace, they were not able to participate, and a bit muddled. “To Amelia!” a few of the relatives proclaimed, scrambling to still participate in some way.

Clarissa downed her drink quickly and tossed the glass in the fire. She was tipsy as she leaned into the Grand Duchess and kissed her cheeks, whispering discreetly in her ear, then faltered a bit and fell toward the Grand Duchess, causing her to fall backward, inadvertently impaling the matriarch on a miniature Egyptian obelisk. A shocked hush filled the air, then mayhem ensued as the attendees rushed from the room, down the long hall, the grand entryway, scurried out the towering doorway to their vehicles. Then a progression of engines gunning, tires screeching, and the fading sound of their motors as they sped away, leaving Clarissa and Belinda alone in the library with the mortally wounded Grand Duchess.

“Tell me why I’m not ‘really’ a part of this family.” Belinda demanded. The Grand Duchess laboriously mouthed a few words, barely audible. Belinda and Clarissa bent over, closer to Amelia to be able to decipher what was being said.

“Imbecile! You have no... idea...what... you’ve... done…” and with that, she breathed her last.

Belinda, however, did have an idea, as she ‘heard’ several passing thoughts from both her mother and the Grand Duchess which raised more questions than answers. Also confusing was the words her mother whispered into Grand Duchess Amelia’s ear that also reached Belinda’s mind: “She will know the truth and you can’t stop me.”

That had transpired a few days ago. The police had been there, the accident acknowledged, the body cremated and frankly the entire town was relieved that the Grand Duchess was no more. Her impact on the community left its mark, and it was not uplifting.

In reviewing everything that transpired, Belinda’s thoughts kept returning to that little black book. She had grown up pouring over every book in every row on all four walls and both levels of the extensive library at the Chateau. Books had been Belinda’s source of refuge where she could ‘escape’ through her imagination as she traveled everywhere the volume would take her. The shouting, the anger, the belittlement would all disappear as soon as each page was turned, transporting her far, far away. Normally, one little black book would not even be noticed if it had or had not been there previously, or if it was askew on the shelf, but Belinda KNEW that book hadn’t always been there. How long it had been there, she did not know. After her mother refused to reveal any more about the altercation with the Grand Duchess, Belinda decided she must discover the truth on her own.

Belinda gingerly reached for the little book. Its black leather binding was well worn and obviously very old. The edges had been rubbed from use, the edges gilded in gold. There were no markings on the front or the binding indicating a name or author. She carefully opened the first page and read the inscription.

“To my only love, my life, forever yours, Antoine”

The pages were crisp and brittle. A slight musty smell wafted up, ticking Belinda’s nose. As she turned the page, a dried ‘Forget Me Not’ flower fell out and disintegrated into pieces as it reached the floor. Belinda felt a twinge of regret that after being trapped in the book for so long, the delicate flower was now gone. With renewed care, she turned the next page which held an image of a young woman, in 18th century clothing and hairstyle. Shocked, Belinda almost let the book drop from her grasp as she realized the drawing was identical to her own face. She held the open page next to her cheek and viewed both images in the mirror over the fireplace. The resemblance was uncanny. Who was this person?

She read further and discovered that the book was of poetry written for the young lady pictured, penned by the same Antoine who dedicated the book inside the front cover. Immersed in verse, Belinda was transported to the mid 1700’s as the poems were a progression of the young lover’s courting history. It was evident that as each poem was penned, a greater respect and familiarity was growing between the two.

Belinda had settled herself into one of the large, soft leather chairs that sat directly in a beam of light filtering through the ancient wavy glass of the windows. Similar to her ability to be aware of other people’s thoughts, as she read, Belinda could smell the roses mentioned in the poems, feel the summer breeze, and hear the birds sweetly singing as if she was in the garden, courting with her love.

Such sweet words - words and emotions that Belinda had not had the privilege of yet knowing. This love between the two was beautiful and endearing.

She turned the page and all the sensory experiences came to a screeching halt. The last poem in the book was full of grief and sadness, of the loss of the woman who was dear to Antoine’s heart. The pain Belinda felt was overwhelming. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, falling like tender raindrops onto the pages. A small card fell from the last page of the book. Belinda quickly retrieved it and read; “Our beautiful flower has faded, our hearts will only heal by the love we bestow upon her baby daughter. The Duke and Duchess d’Anjou, the year of our Lord, 1754”.

“I was hoping you would find it”. Belinda had not noticed that her mother had joined her in the library. Clarissa sat down and said “Let me explain”.

“Antoine Maris loved Margrite d’Anjou but their families were bitter rivals and forbid their relationship. When Margrite was found to be pregnant, they sent her to a monastery where she died in childbirth. Her sister raised the baby as her own child and both families hid the scandal. This book was in a trunk your father inherited from his Anjou side. I told the Grand Duchess, with the hope that the feud would now be over with our families united, she forbade any mention of it. She never liked your father and because you look just like the drawing of Margrite, she liked you even less.”

“Thanks to this little black book, we know the truth. Now, let me tell you about the secret passageway…”

To be continued....