Beauty and the Beast (19 page)

Clarissa reaches out to grab the wall to steady herself.

I find a corner of Papa's bed to sit on, speechless as well. And then I feel it. This is my future. Not Papa's, not Clarissa's. I stand up and put my hand on Papa's shaking arm. “He is clever, this man who pretends to be a beast. It was my fault you took the rose, Papa. It is me he wants. It is me he shall get.”

“No!” Papa says, pulling away from my grasp. “I shall go back. You have your whole life ahead of you. I cannot let you give it to a beast!”

“Look at all this,” I say, waving my hand around. “With these books and the money you could make from selling the rest, you can be the leading bookseller in all the kingdoms. You can both move back into town, in the grandest house in the village. You have worked hard your whole life and sacrificed much for us. That is the life you should lead, not this one.”

“And you?” Clarissa asks. “You will go live in a castle with a beast? In a cold, dark dungeon, no doubt? I hardly think so!”

“We cannot let Papa go!” I reply. “Look at him! He will surely die. I am strong and resourceful. I have traveled far, too, and saw no sign of magic, dark or otherwise. I do not believe in walking, talking, vengeful beasts. I shall unmask him — this man who has treated you so horribly — and return home, I promise.”

Papa begins to weep, silently now. Clarissa opens her mouth to argue with me, but I know she sees the sense in my words.

None of us sleep more than a few moments that night. I have packed my belongings, and now I wait for the carriage to collect me. Clarissa has offered to go to the monastery to fetch Veronica so that I may say good-bye. She also assured me she would apologize to Master Werlin for my leave-taking. It seems I am not so reliable an assistant after all. As fine a job as Clarissa did while I was away on the quest, I do not think she will be returning to work at the shop. She and Papa will be busy making a new life for themselves.

Veronica runs in, followed by a panting Clarissa. Soon my lovely sister shall have horses again to carry her long distances, and shoes too fine to run through forests in. And hopefully, a young man she loves, to share her life with. Perhaps now that our family is wealthy again, some of her previous suitors will return.

“Well!” Veronica says, her hands on her hips. “I take you on one quest and suddenly you are brave enough to live with an evil beast in some faraway castle?”

I suppose I am indeed braver than when I left. But it is Veronica's willingness to march into her future that is allowing me to march into mine. My lips twitch into a smile. “Do not worry about me. I have a few tricks up my sleeve. If the beast gets out of control, I shall simply lock him in a latrine when he takes a bath!”

She laughs, then stops and studies me for a moment, searching my face for I know not what. Then she pulls her necklace over her head, reaches up, and slips it carefully over my hair. “I cannot take this,” I argue. She only shushes me and pushes my arm back down. As the stone passes between our two faces, I can see Veronica bathed in a pure white light, like she is glowing from the inside. I startle for a moment, blinking. A strange trick of the light perhaps, but it continues. I see she is looking through the stone at me as well, her expression full of delight. She is still smiling as the stone falls upon my chest, right next to my mother's locket. It feels warm, even through the many layers of clothes Clarissa insisted I wear since winter is fast upon us. Veronica looks like her normal fairy-like self again, the bright light around her gone.

“Are you certain you want to give this to me?” I ask, clutching it. “You went to such great lengths to get it.”

She nods. “You need it more than I right now. We shall see each other again, and you can return it to me then.”

I do not see how I could “need” a necklace, but I do not want to insult her by arguing further. “I shall keep it safe for you,” I promise. My throat is too tight to say any more. Veronica gives me one last fast embrace and runs out the door. Clarissa reaches for my hand. We stand together in the quiet until the clomping of the horses outside makes us all jump. Papa, unable to help it, cries out.

“Take good care of him,” I whisper as I hug Clarissa tight. “You must promise not to worry for me. How bad could life in a castle be?”

She tries to smile, but does not quite make it. Papa hugs me so tight I am afraid he shall shatter the crystal. “I am so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely.

“This is not your fault,” I assure him, pulling away. “You were tricked. I shall make it right.” I may sound brave, but for a split second I almost suggest we run away instead, leaving the riches and Papa's obligation to the beast far behind us.

But I cannot run from this. So I clamp my lips shut and allow the coachman to lead me to a carriage so grand it makes the one we slept in that night at the inn look like a child's plaything. This is the carriage of a king. Ornate patterns of gold and silver leaves twist and twirl around the dark, gleaming wood. The two white horses are twice as large as any I have ever seen, and they wear gilded harnesses and jewels down the front of their noses. Inside, the benches are covered in velvet and silk. I sink deep into the soft cushions, feeling uneasy. Why would a servant — for surely that is what I am to become — be treated like royalty?

Before I can do more than wave to my family out the window, the coachman yanks down the shades. “I am sorry, miss. I cannot let you see our path.”

He shuts the door, leaving me in near-total darkness. I quickly lose track of time. From the noises outside I can tell when we are in a town or the woods, but other than that I am lost. We stop occasionally to stretch our legs and eat from a large basket of fruit and cheese. I ask about the beast, but the coachman only shakes his head. “Not my place to talk of him,” he says. “I do not want to end up like the royal family.”

Though they are strangers to me, I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the cold. “Why? What happened to the royal family?”

But he only shakes his head again and hurries me back into the carriage.

After three or four days of nonstop travel, we find ourselves in a terrible storm. The horses snort with the effort of pulling us through snowdrifts, and the wheels creak and groan. I pull my cloak tight around me and huddle against the seat. It dawns on me that my thirteenth birthday came and went sometime in the last day or two, with nothing to mark the occasion but darkness and the clanking of metal wheels.

Finally, the carriage stops completely. At first I assume we must be stuck in a drift, but when the coachman opens my door he says, “We are here. The beast's castle.”

At first I do not move. Snow swirls on the ground here but does not cover the grass. Then I look up at the enormous stone and wooden entranceway before me, and the rows of windows behind it. I had not even thought of what a castle might look like, but this is surely the grandest in all the land.

I remember something Clarissa always said when we went to parties at the finest houses in the village.
“You cannot walk in empty-handed. A lady always has good manners.”
We always brought a pie, or flowers, or a scarf. Even without a mother to guide us in such things, Papa always made sure we had social graces. Or that Clarissa did, at least. I force myself not to think of my family now. They are safe and shall not want for anything. I must focus on the task ahead if I am to succeed.

I shall show this “beast” that I am not afraid of him. I allow the coachman to help me out of the carriage, then I ask him to take me to the garden. I may be a prisoner here, but that is no reason to be rude.

The day arrives sooner than I would have liked. I know I am supposed to hope a beautiful girl walks through the front door, but a part of me hopes it is her father, instead. Alexander can coach me all he wants, I will no doubt still be awkward and do all the wrong things. Having a girl living three rooms down from me has me in a panic.

A terrible early-winter storm sweeps in midday, and I worry that the carriage will get caught in the snow. I would feel dreadful if any harm came to the inhabitant. But as we all push our food around our dinner plates, Parker knocks on the door of the private dining room.

I wait till my invisible family drops their spoons. “Enter.”

“Your …
guest
has arrived.” He gnashes his teeth at the word “guest.” I cannot blame him. I had told him that a young lady may be coming to stay here. He clearly does not approve. “She awaits you in the parlor.”

“Hurrah!” Freddy shouts. “It is a
she
!” My stomach does a nervous flip. I am glad I did not eat much. I pick up my glass of water and drink deeply. It does nothing to appease the tightness in my throat.

“I shall be out in a moment,” I tell Parker.

He nods curtly and closes the door behind him. Everyone starts talking at once. I put up my hand and say, “I do not want her sitting alone for long. She is likely frightened half to death already, and seeing me will only make it worse. I best get it over with.”

“We will be right beside you,” Mother promises.

I nod, grateful. Mother has asked Godfrey and Freddy to keep out of sight for a while. She fears their presence would cause the girl to ask questions that might lead to her figuring out who I am. We cannot risk that.

“Remember everything I taught you,” Alexander says.

I nod again but am so nervous that all I can recall is that I should not throw a spider at her. I take a deep breath, stand straight, and then duck through the door. I see the girl before she sees me. She is standing beside a painting of the gardens behind the castle. We hid all of our family portraits, since we do not want Beauty to know about the “missing” royal family. Her village is so far away, she would not have heard of us, and we intend to keep it that way. It would be even harder to fall in love with a beast if you thought he ate a whole family.

I watch as she peers closely at the painting, then reaches out with a finger. Her other arm hangs at her side, grasping what looks like a handful of wet flowers. She is tall for a girl, and dressed in a well-made cloak. Her brown hair is pulled back to reveal a regular sort of face, square-shaped, with cheeks flushed from the weather, or the fire, or fear. As she admires the painting, her features relax into something that one might call pretty.

“
She
is called Beauty?” Alexander whispers. “Her name should be
Plain
.”

“Shh!” I elbow him.

“Ow! That was my head!”

“Good!”

The girl turns slowly in our direction, lowering the finger she had been running down the length of a painted tree. I straighten up and tug on my waistcoat. Her eyes grow wide. I get the feeling she is examining every inch of me, taking in the fur not quite hidden by my long sleeves, the nails I cannot believe I forgot to cover with my gloves, the hawk-like nose, the wide face, the lion's mane of hair that Godfrey combed this morning until it gleamed. Now I feel foolish that I did not tie it back. I clear my throat. “Um, I am the beast. Welcome to my castle.” And then, as I practiced a hundred times this week, I add, “The name Beauty suits you.”

Her lips move in a twisty sort of way, and I fear she is either going to scream or throw up her last meal. Instead, she looks me directly in the face and laughs.

“Why are you laughing?” the beast asks, with what I think is a look of bewilderment, but I cannot be sure because of all the hair flopping in front of his face. He pushes it out of his eyes and asks again.

What should I tell him? That I find it hilarious that Papa would think this man is actually a beast when his costume is such obvious trickery? Or that I have waited my entire life for someone to say my name suits me, and then when someone does, it is someone like him? Or perhaps I should blame my laughter on nerves, like Handsome does. Instead, I hold out the flowers. “These are for you.”

His bushy eyebrows rise. “You brought me flowers?”

I nod, then remember how possessive he is about his flowers. Papa picking that rose is what led to me being here. I hold my breath. Even a fake beast can be dangerous when angered.

But all he says is “Thank you. You might want to put them on the table. I do not want to stab you with my nails.”

I do as he says, noting that his nails are pointier than the apothecary's sharpest knife. The large table is made from a single slab of dark oak, and I cannot help admire its smoothness. The stone floors beneath it gleam with firelight from carefully arranged sconces on the walls. All around me are plush couches and colorful lounge chairs and unique pieces of art. I certainly cannot fault him for his taste in decorating. Judging by what I can see, he is in no need of free labor. I force myself to look away from all the beauty around me and stare him full in the face. He is not exactly ugly. Rather, his features do not seem to go together well. Like he reached into a costume bag and pulled out the nearest items and stuck them on.

“No one has ever brought me flowers before,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

“Perhaps more people would,” I snap, “if you did not dress up like a beast and threaten people's lives.”

“Dress
up
?”

“Forgive my rudeness, for I do not mean to insult you in your own home, er,
castle
, but this is a pretty poor costume. The wig is much too long, the nails are obviously stuck on with some kind of glue, and the fur, well, the fur simply looks ridiculous, all blotchy like that. And part of it is green.”

I hear what sounds like muffled laughter behind me, but when I spin around I see no one. Papa had said the beast lived alone, so it must be the storm picking up again. I continue. “I have seen a man nearly your height before, but no one could be as wide as you. Clearly you have pillows under your clothes. And your nose! It must be made out of wood and poorly worked into shape. Why you would go to these lengths simply to frighten an old man into sending you his daughter as a servant I cannot imagine.”

The beast stares at me, then squares his shoulders. “'Tis no costume, I assure you.”

I know I should hold my tongue, but his lies are simply too much to bear. “You frightened my father nearly to his grave with your lies, and now you shower me with them as well? Shame on you.”

His eyes fill with water. Could he be about to … cry? He blinks rapidly and looks around the room as though looking for some support in the shadows. Then he says, “Please, come see for yourself. I will not hurt you.” He steps closer and bends down. His hair is within arm's reach now. “Pull,” he instructs.

I hesitate, then my anger rises up again. I grab a handful of the coarse hair and give a soft tug. Then a harder one. Then a full-out yank.

“Ouch,” he says, backing away.

I stare in surprise. Not a single hair came out in my hand. The beast leans over the back of the couch and neatly slashes a pillow with just one fingernail. I swear I hear a gasp from across the room, but we are still alone. He quickly turns the pillow over and pats it once, almost like he's apologizing to it.

“All real,” he says, wagging his fingers in the air. “Trust me, I would not have them if I had a choice. They make even the simplest chore quite difficult. Forget trying to wash my face or even lace up my boots. I have run out of ointment for my gashes.”

I back up until I bump against the side of a large chair. My mind is a whirl. Could he possibly be telling the truth? Is he half a man and half an animal, or a talking animal? Or a mixture of many different animals? If such a thing is possible, then are all the other things possible, too? Was Veronica right to believe in unseen forces after all? And
trust him
? How am I supposed to trust such a creature as this?

“Do you need to lie down, Beauty?” he asks, with a note of genuine concern. “I am indeed a beast, but I will not hurt you. Someone once told me my bark is worse than my bite.”

I study him from across the room. He is large, but I am fast. I could probably run out the door and be gone before he could lumber after me. But as he awaits my answer with an expression both hopeful and hopeless, I realize I cannot run away. I am not a quitter and I made a promise. “Were you … were you born this way?”

He shakes his head, then pushes the hair from his eyes again with a bit of annoyance. He should just tie it back. “I was the victim of a curse. But more than that I cannot say.”

“So magic is real, then?” I ask, holding my breath.

He nods. “It would appear so.”

I sink down into the chair. “Witches and goblins and fairies? Princesses that sleep a hundred years?”

“I cannot speak to all of those,” he says. “Only to the witch.”

“Was she … horrible?”

He grimaces with the memory, then says, “Not at first.”

I feel a tiny door in my heart open up for the beast. Yes, he frightened Papa and basically kidnapped me, but something truly terrible has befallen him. Unless perhaps he did something truly terrible first! “Why did the witch curse you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. “A punishment for an evil deed? Did you cheat or lie or rob an old woman of her last penny?”

“What? No! Why would you think that?”

Now it is my turn to shrug. “In the stories, witches do not simply go around cursing people. The person usually does something to bring it upon himself.”

He begins to pace, his huge feet thumping against the floor. “Well, your stories must be wrong, then, for I did nothing to bring it upon myself.” Then he pauses. “Or nothing that I know of, anyway.”

“You do not sound certain of that.”

He scowls. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

For some reason that makes me laugh. “What do you have in mind, the weather? It is early for a winter squall, is it not? Is that what you prefer we speak of?”

Another chuckle behind me, but again, it belongs to no one. Perhaps all this talk of magic and curses is muddling my thoughts and making me hear things. “I think I would like to lie down after all.”

He nods. “I shall show you to your room.”

I half expect Clarissa to be right, that my room would be the dungeon below the ground. But the beast leads me to a room upstairs, where a window seat overlooks the back lawn and gardens. The gardens are nearly upstaged by the pinkness of the room itself. Pink flowers, pink canopy over pink blanket, pink pillows, even a pink ceramic bathtub. And frilly! So much lace everywhere. Out of politeness, I suppress a shudder. Clarissa would think she died and went to Heaven.

“Are you in need of anything?” the beast asks, hanging back in the hallway.

I shake my head. A glance around the room reveals that my belongings have been not only brought up to the room but unpacked. The comb that Clarissa snuck into my bag rests on the dresser next to a washing basin and a towel. I suppose if I am to believe in witches and beasts, I may as well believe that my belongings unpacked themselves.

“I shall leave you, then, to recover from your journey. And, um, everything else.”

The silence when the door closes is complete. I untie my boots and lie down on the softest bed I have ever felt. It must be made from a cloud! I stare up at the pink canopy and pull Veronica's necklace out from under my collar. The stone warms my hands and makes me miss everyone that much more. No doubt they are worried about me, and I wish I could tell them I am not locked in a dungeon. Unless dungeons come in pink. By now they are surely in a comfortable home back in town. That thought brings me a bit of comfort.

The sound of a church bell startles me. The bell chimes a few more times until I realize it is not a church bell at all, but a clock signaling a new hour. I never knew anyone who could afford a real clock. But, of course, the beast must be wealthy beyond measure. I wonder how he came to possess this castle. Even though he seemed sincere before, I far from trust him.

The last rest stop I had was hours ago, and my bladder is becoming harder to ignore. I wait a little longer, staring out at what truly is a magnificent garden, until I can wait no more. Halfway down the hall, I realize I forgot to put my boots back on.

I creep as quietly as possible toward the door at the end of the hall, which I figure is most likely to be the one I need. But when I open it, instead of finding the dung chute, I am greeted with a narrow stairwell and a sign with the words
Enter at Your Own Risk
. I suppose it makes sense in a house this large to separate the dung chute from the living quarters. I begin to climb. The door at the other end is open a crack, so I push it the rest of the way, expecting to find the toilet.

Instead, I find a young boy. Singing. And dancing. With a green monkey. In what looks like a laboratory, even larger and better stocked than the apothecary shop.

I blink, but the boy and the monkey are still there, whirling around a boiling cauldron.

I should clarify that only the boy is singing. The monkey remains silent.

I am fairly certain now that madness has overcome me.