Anjolie du Barre
Her eyes flash; glittering, cerulean blue eyes as mesmerizing as a crystal clear sea, wide set and fringed with dark lashes. For the moment that is all you see until Anjolie lowers her gaze and the rest of her comes into focus. She is tall enough but not too tall, just the right height to tuck under the chin of a well-grown man; lithe yet endowed with alluring curves and hollows. Anjolie tilts her chin, perhaps arrogantly, which makes her small, straight nose seem aristocratic above a mouth that suffers from an overly generous lower lip.Anjolie is surely not the common lass that she claims to be. She moves with too great grace, speaks with too melodious a tone, and extraordinary happenings often occur in her presence. Although she is dressed in rags her manner is that of nobility born and bred, even as she fights against injustice with the determined might of a chevalier.
If Anjolie stands with too much a lady's dignity and too little a debtor's remorse, it is only to salvage the last remnants of her pride. She has no difficulty imagining how pathetic she looks in soiled rags with iron fetters on her wrists and ankles. Hiding her true identity, she keeps her expression carefully passive, her luminous gaze shielded by a silken fringe of dark lashes resting on creamy, ivory cheeks now grimy and smudged with dirt. A frayed, dingy kerchief covers her once lustrous tresses; the cloth and her hair tied in a tangled knot at the nape of her neck. As crude as it is, the headpiece fails to detract from the arresting beauty of the beleaguered young woman.
Having been bought out from Newgate into a whoredom, by heaven's grace Anjolie is rescued from unspeakable perdition through the intervention of a band of intrepid heroes whose friendship sets her on the road to redemption. Although a quirk of destiny has saved her from a 'fate worse than death' Anjolie is haunted by the demons of her past. In search of justice and restoration of what is rightfully hers, the impoverished Anjolie bides her time until the fateful night when she comes face to face with the contriving devil whose evil machinations have denied her all.
That Anjolie was shaken there was no doubt; fear had paled the rose of her cheeks. Even as she sat silently with her gaze downcast and her thoughts hidden behind the silky fringe of her lashes, her hands were atremble upon her lap revealing her distress. Realizing too late that she may have jeopardized their cause, quietly Anjolie had endured humiliation at the hands of Francescas servants, and uncomplainingly she had suffered John Blackburns sharp scolding and the displeasure of her friends; yet in her heart was conviction of her right in the matter.
For Seans sake I am truly sorry, Anjolie spoke at last, her voice husky with emotion as she lifted tear-filled eyes to John Blackburn, but for my own sake I regret not a word. Anjolie hesitated uncertainly for a long moment not sure how much she should reveal then and there with servants nearby, deciding in the end that it was not she but Chatham who needed to fear the truth being told.
That gentleman is no gentleman at all, Anjolie began, slowly pulling the words one by one from the ache in her heart. He is Lord Henry Chatham, my uncle by marriage, the murderer of my parents, and thief of my birthright . . . her voice quavered as she glanced from face to face, and now he plays a devious game of political machination, toadying to the King to maintain his hold on my rightful estates. He would gladly see me dead, indeed he has declared me dead to prevent any claim against him.
At the start of Cromwells war Chatham conspired against my father, offering up slander to see my parents falsely charged and executed in order to seize my familys wealth and property. As a girl I was rescued from death at his hand by those loyal to my father and mother. These past years I have been living in hiding from him for if his spies had been able to find me then his assassins most certainly would have seen me slain.
He was as surprised to see me tonight as I was to see him, and he recognized me . . . of this I have no doubt. Was I to turn and run allowing him to stand excused, knowing that he would hunt me down in some dark place and have me killed? Anjolie implored their understanding. Perhaps that is what was expected of me, but I cannot, I will not run from the devil any longer . . . her voice broke into a sob, and so I confronted him publicly to protect myself.
Last post 23 June 2016