Beauty: an Everland Ever After Tale (2 page)

“It’s finished! Mrs. White said that he moved in yesterday, although since he’d had it furnished already—“

“—To his strict specifications, don’t forget—“

“Oh yes! Since it was furnished, he and his
manservant
just walked off the train and into the house, easy as pie!” Both girls giggled behind their hands—probably at the thought of someone so wealthy he could employ a servant. Arabella was uncomfortable with their ease in discussing another’s status, but had to admit that the topic was intriguing. She forced herself to focus on the ledger in front of her.

Meredith didn’t seem to mind the gossip, though. “He’s already in residence, then? Well, I’d love to meet him. Perhaps I’ll suggest to Jack that we stop by to welcome him to Everland.”

“Oh, he won’t see you, Mother.” Zelle and Briar both leaned in, as if sharing a secret, and Arabella resisted the urge to shake her head at their sensationalism. “They say he’s a recluse. He only ever comes out at night, you see, because he’s so hideously ugly.”

Briar nodded. “And they say that he has a terrible temper, and makes demands that would offend any normal person.” Both girls shivered dramatically, and Arabella realized she was watching them, rather than her careful records. “And they say he only goes by ‘signore’ because his rightful title is ‘Comte’ and he’s hiding from someone who wants to kill him for his fortune. They say he’s quite rich.”

Meredith’s laugh tinkled, again. “Come now, girls. He’s just a musician, albeit a world-renowned one, looking for some privacy. His agent told Misters King and Cole to have the house built and furnished, and now he’s just trying to retire in peace. You make him sound like some kind of—of
monster
!”

“Well, Mother, they say that he
is—“

“Who says these things?” Oh
poot
, had that been her voice? Arabella pursed her lips, but it was too late; the question that proved she was also a shameless gossip had already slipped free, and three sets of beautiful eyes turned on her.

Briar looked flustered, and it shouldn’t be possible to be beautiful and flustered at once, but she managed it. “
They
, Mrs. Mayor. You know…
them
.”

Arabella was in the process of raising one brow skeptically when Zelle defended her friend. “Mrs. White saw him play in New Orleans, she said, on his only American tour five years ago. She told Rose, who told us, all about it. She said that he’s been deformed, and is almost too grotesque to look at!” Arabella caught her breath at the girl’s description, torn between pity and disgust. Zelle nodded frantically, as if trying to assure her audience of the truth. “Mrs. White said that he
always
wears a red silk sash tied around his eyes, to cover his ugliness.”

“But doesn’t that—“

Zelle interrupted her mother triumphantly. “He’s blind, Mother, completely blind. From whatever disfigured him, Mrs. White says. He blindfolds himself so that—“

“Enough, girls.” Meredith took a deep breath, and slowly released it, keeping a stern eye on her daughter and Briar. “
Signore
Bellini is here because he wants to be left alone, and his appearance doesn’t matter to you or anyone else.”

“But, Mother—“

“Zelle, bid Mrs. Mayor good day.” Resigned, both girls sent Arabella little curtsies, and Meredith nodded once, as if to say that she’d take their bad manners in hand, and wiggled her fingers in Arabella’s direction. She’d be by the shop on Friday to pay her bill, and maybe Arabella could ask her about—

What was wrong with her? Arabella waited until her friend and the girls left, before shaking her head in bemusement. She shouldn’t ask Meredith about
Signore
Bellini. She shouldn’t even
think
about
Signore
Bellini. Obviously the poor man came to Everland to escape the whispers and the shame of having such a horrible appearance, and she should respect that. They should all respect that, and do their best to keep Rules number Two and Three. Gossiping about him—
thinking
about him—would surely contravene Rule number Two.

Be proper
.

So then why, during the afternoon lull, did she find herself wondering more about the mysterious stranger who’d come to live in Everland? Why, instead of going over her plan to ask Mr. King to accept Eddie as an apprentice, was she sitting in the cozy nook of reading chairs by the fireplace, thinking about
Signore
Bellini and the sights he must have seen on his travels around the world?

Why did she find the few little bits of gossip she’d heard about him so compelling? Was it because he sounded as far from Rule Number One as possible? If he wasn’t beautiful, if he wasn’t proper…what was he worth?

Vincenzo sat in darkness.

He always sat in darkness. Or stood in darkness, or walked in darkness. Or occasionally—he grimaced and rubbed his shin—stumbled in darkness. He and Gordy had only been in the house for a few days, though, so he had to give himself a little credit; he was still getting used to the layout. True, he
had
designed the place, down to the placement of the furniture, and his agent
had
done a decent job of arranging it all. After they’d arrived, Gordy only had to do a little rearranging to make the place match the diagram Vincenzo had been memorizing for weeks now.

Sighing, he leaned back in the comfortable leather chair—his favorite place in his new music room—and let his right hand feel around the table for the glass of brandy he had Gordy pour after dinner. Even if he didn’t attend church services, there was no reason not to celebrate the traditional big Sunday dinner, and Gordy had outdone himself. Vincenzo was pleasantly full, sipping a brandy, in his new retirement home. If not for the vague ache in his shin from that damn ottoman, things would be pleasant.

Of course it wasn’t going to last. Hearing the voices that were coming from the front hall, he felt safe grimacing into his glass. This was the third time Gordy had to turn away curious townsfolk. The younger man had told him that Everland’s denizens brought baked goods and a hearty welcome to their town, but Vincenzo knew the truth; they’d come to gawk, as had thousands of others around the world.

Hopefully the stories he’d told Gordy to tell on his behalf would help. Rumor and mystery and fear, those were the tickets to being left alone. And always, always be as different as possible from those who gawked.

He’d spent ten years cultivating those differences, playing to an audience that came half to listen to his music, and half to stare at him in front of the harsh gas lights. He knew how to play to a crowd, to appear suave or beastly by turns, depending on what they needed or wanted to see. And here in Everland, he was fine letting his new neighbors—the ones with whom he wanted nothing to do—see him as a rude, reclusive monster.

At least that way he could be alone. Alone with Gordy and Rajah and his music and his memories.

But to his surprise, the muted conversation didn’t end with the
click
of the front door. Instead, the voices—Gordy and another man—grew closer, until the door to the music room opened and they both stepped through. Vincenzo scowled, knowing his manservant wouldn’t care, but hoping to intimidate the newcomer.

His efforts were in vain. “Sorry about this, Doctor.” Gordy’s brogue was cheerful as he crossed to the side table. Vincenzo heard the sound of the gas lamps flaring. “If we’da known you were stopping by, we’d’ve spruced things up a bit.”

“If we had known you’d be stopping by,” Vincenzo growled, “I would have had Gordy tie the window shades down so you could sit here in darkness, too.”

The younger man clicked his tongue in that annoying manner. “Don’ pay him any mind, Doctor. He’s tetchy after a big meal.”

“I’m always tetchy. What did I tell you about visitors?”

“That they were a breath o’ fresh spring air, coming to share Christian charity and kindness?”

“I think my exact words were ‘I don’t want visitors, Gordy’.”

“Oh aye, that’s right.” Vincenzo could hear the grin in the rascal’s voice, damn him.

“And do you recall what I said about having you whipped if you disobeyed me again?”

“No, that must’ve slipped my mind. Also the bit about whoever’d be doing the whipping, I suppose, seein’ as how yer sitting way over there and more’n a decade older’n me.”

“Hmmm,” was all Vincenzo said, because really
hmmmmm
was all that he
could
say in the face of Gordy’s grating cheerfulness. The young man had been with him for years—since he’d tried to pick Vincenzo’s pocket in Edinburgh and yelped in surprise when the “easy mark” lifted him by his own collar—and they’d settled into an easy routine. Gordy’s perpetual good spirits were mostly cultivated to irritate his master, Vincenzo knew. He also knew that he’d long since ceased to be anything resembling a master to Gordy, and now thought of him as a sort of begrudging friend who knew all of his peculiarities and went along with them, because he was paid handsomely.

“Go on ahead, Doctor, an’ sit down. I promise m’lord won’t bite much.” Vincenzo heard the third man cross to the leather chair on the other side of the damned ottoman, and hesitate before lowering his weight. From the creaking, he sounded of an average size. Gordy took up position beside the table, shifting his feet a few times, and Vincenzo hid his smile in his beard at the younger man’s bored tone when he spoke.

“
Signore
Bellini, this is Dr. Jack Carpenter. He’s probably a few years older’n you, judging from the gray hairs at his temples.” Vincenzo heard his guest suck in a surprised breath, and knew it was in response to their deliberate rudeness. “Otherwise, his hair is dark, an’ he’s got one of those mustaches that were popular in France, ye remember? No distinguishing features, although I’m guessin’ the ladies think he’s handsome, am I right?” This last bit was directed toward their guest, who spluttered as he tried to come up with an answer. Gordy ignored him, continuing to play the game the two of them had played for years. “He’s about your size, an’ dressed nicely. Good boots, but worn.”

“What in the hell—“

Gordy continued, as if their guest hadn’t interrupted. “An’ he’s just put down one of those little black bags the doctors carry. Maybe he thought you were sick. Well,” he paused thoughtfully, “Sicker’n you already are, I mean, for doing this to the puir man. He’s glaring at me quite harshly right now, ye should know. Oops, no, now he’s glarin’ at yer lordship. …An’ now back to me.”

Vincenzo turned his chuckle into a cough at the last minute, and took another sip of the brandy. Licking the taste of the spirt off of his lips, he said noncommittedly, “Then pour the ‘puir man’ a drink to apologize for your bad manners.”

“
My
bad manners?” Gordy’s outrage was false, but well-founded. This ridiculous tradition had started six years before, in Berlin, when Vincenzo had young Gordy start describing everyone who sought an audience with him. It helped him get an idea of who he was speaking to, and it helped alienate the gawkers.

He was about to say something dismissive when the doctor spoke up. “No, thank you. I avoid spirits.”

“Do they avoid you, too?”

“What?” Dr. Carpenter had a deep voice with an accent from back East; New York, if Vincenzo wasn’t mistaken. He didn’t sound like most of the doctors Vincenzo had met on his travels—and he’d met plenty of doctors over the last decade—but he
did
sound irritated.

“My apologies, Doctor.” He waved his glass lazily in Gordy’s direction. “That will be all, boy.”

Gordy, who had to be at least twenty-five and a half-foot taller than Vincenzo, stamped his feet heavily on the wooden floor as if coming to attention and said, in every imitation of a sergeant humoring an officer, “Yes, m’lord. Very good, m’lord.”

“Oh, go away, Gordy.”

After the stamping died away and the door to the hall swung closed, Vincenzo heard the leather of the other chair squeak as Dr. Carpenter shifted. He took pity on his guest. “I
did
tell him to turn away visitors, you know.”

“I think he liked me.”

“I think you bribed him.”

There was a little exhalation from the other chair, something that might have been a laugh. “He told me that I reminded him of you, and that you’d like me.”

“I don’t like anyone.”

“Does anyone like you?”

“No.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

That earned a chuckle from Vincenzo, and he toasted the other man. The brandy was warm and rich and reminded him of Paris. “So you’ve charmed Gordy. Congratulations.”

“I know that you’ve turned away Mr. Smith and a few others who’ve come to meet you. I thought that you might want to meet the town doctor. Gordon agreed.”

“Oh, he did, did he? Did he say
why
he thought I needed a doctor?”

“Well… ah…” The other man cleared his throat, and Vincenzo could imagine him awkwardly looking anywhere else besides the ruined remains of his host’s face. “I assume…”

“Do not assume, Doctor. Despite my appearance, I am quite healthy.”

“Do your eyes pain you?”

“My eyes are gone. Removed by doctors like yourself a decade ago.” And yes, they still managed to pain him, only not as much as they used to. And he could overcome a little pain; he’d overcome so much more.

“I…see.”

“I don’t.” He couldn’t help the quip, and a snort from the other chair told him he’d judged the other man’s sense of humor well.

“So you have no eyes to pain you, and you sit here in the darkness, alone, with a silk scarf tied around your face, sipping brandy?”

“You say it like these are negative things.”

“Are you lonely?”

“Indeed not, Doctor. How could I be lonely, with all of the unexpected, uninvited visitors I have stopping by?” This time there was a definite laugh, and Vincenzo smiled deep in the thickness of his beard.

“I’d hoped that you wouldn’t mind visitors. The town is remarkably curious about you,
Signore
. The little information I’ll be able to pass on to them now will only whet their appetites further.” He managed to make that sound like a threat.

Vincenzo placed the brandy glass on the side table and leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. “And what exactly will you tell them?”

“That the rumors are correct about your ghastly manners and lonely existence.” Good, that’s what he wanted people to know about it. “And that your accent is definitely not Italian.”

Damn
. Oh well, it’s not like he really thought that he’d pass. He’d taken the name Bellini almost a decade ago, as part of his campaign to always appear just a bit exotic. He could mimic the accent quite well, thanks to his ear for music. And he’d kept up the charade as he toured—except when he visited Rome and Milan, because he knew he couldn’t fool
them
. But coming here for rest, seclusion…he’d known he couldn’t keep up the accent, and rather hoped that no one would ask about it.

Ten minutes into meeting his first Everland denizen, and he’d been foiled. “And you know a lot about Italian accents, do you, Doctor?”

“There were plenty of Italian immigrants where I grew up.”

“New York City, if I’m not mistaken.”

There was silence from the other chair. Over the years, he’d learned to feel, to
taste
the atmosphere of a room, and this one was suddenly quite chilly. Finally, his guest spoke, low and deep and not just a bit menacing. “I prefer to keep my past my private business,
Signore
.”

Vincenzo’s fingers kneaded the fabric of his trousers, and he smiled wickedly, only imagining what it must make him look like. “I’m glad that we understand one another.”

The other man must have understood the implied threat, because he was silent for a long minute. Vincenzo sat back, hoping he’d made his point; his past was his own business, the same as Dr. Carpenter’s.

When the other man spoke, it was in his normal tone again, with a hint of thoughtfulness. “I think, perhaps, that Gordon was right about you and me.”

“That we’re alike?”

He heard a faint brush of skin against fabric from the other chair, which might’ve been a nod. “And because we’re alike, I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told my other patients, whether or not you have need of me right now.” Vincenzo heard the doctor take a breath, and shift his weight. “My wife Meredith and I represent the sum of Everland’s medical professionals. The townspeople call me ‘doctor’, but I have never attended—or graduated from—a medical school. Meredith has, but I’ve gotten all of my medical knowledge from books.”

“An interesting confession, ‘doctor’.” And one that he appreciated. It was worth knowing, if he ever had need of medical services. “Why would you tell me all of this?”