Beauty's Beast (4 page)

But when he opened the door his hand was a man’s, not a beast’s. I knew the trick in the raven’s nest had been just that—a trick.

“They will fetch you for dinner.” His voice was so harsh.

I walked into the room, not sure what to expect.

As I looked back at the door he stepped away. “You are to do everything I ask. That is the rule you have placed upon your servitude here. You still agree to this?”

I nodded, completely defeated.

He reached in and closed the door, locking me inside the lonely room.

I didn't look at it. I turned and ran for the window that was the size of a wall in a normal house. My eyes strained, searching the grounds until I finally found him.

He was limping, hunched over, and struggling. Philip was running toward him. My poor father struggled to get on the horse—our beloved horse—and slumped forward clinging to his neck as Philip hurried for the village.

I laid my hand flat against the cold glass and watched as they left me there.

I wanted so badly to feel brave, like a heroine in a tale. But I didn't. I felt defeated, frightened, and lost.

It was the worst day I had ever lived.

But I suspected it wouldn't be the worst I would live through.

I suspected much darker moments were in store for me.

I blinked, not realizing I had fallen asleep on the floor with one hand in the air, still pressed against the glass window. My fingers had gone numb and tingly. I lowered my arm slowly, wincing as blood rushed back into the extremity.

I blinked again, seeing a flowery garden depicted in a painting on the wall across from me. The wallpaper behind it was more like art with gilded roses making the lines for the striping of differing colors.

There was a mahogany bed with four posts, covered in a lush down comforter.
It too was branded by the gilded roses
.

The hardwood floors were covered in several areas with thick handwoven carpets. Across the massive room from the bed was a large bureau with a standing mirror next to it.

I nearly jumped when I saw my reflection in it. I didn't know the girl looking back at me, but I was lost in her stare and the broken look upon her face. I shuddered but couldn't tear my gaze from myself.

Not until I was startled by a knock at the door.

I jumped and watched as a worse look crossed my face. The door opened before I could speak and in walked the very same woman who had warned me to run.

She smiled softly, again in a grandmotherly fashion. “Good evening, Miss Belle.” I could see in her eyes the look of remorse and sadness.

I sniffled and forced myself up from the floor.

“I have come to fetch ya for dinner. I took the liberty of pouring ya a bath so ya might freshen up.”

I shook my head, hardly able to speak. “I’m—I’m not hungry, thank you.”

Her eyes widened. “Ya will be. The master doesn’t like to be kept waiting so we best hurry.” She reached for me but I flinched, making her press her lips together in sorrow. “Please, miss. It’s not so horrible here.”

I wanted so badly to shout at her for lying to me, but I could see that none of this was her doing. She was a sweet old lady, no doubt also a victim of this place and that monstrous man. I nodded and walked forward, remembering the deal I had struck.

My feet ached from the running and my legs still burned, but I forced myself to limp to her, taking her arm and letting her lead me down the hall.

“Ya accustomed to being dressed, miss?”

I shook, staring at her blankly.

My mother had been a lady, a gentleman’s daughter. Her marriage to my father had been one of love, not a commonplace thing in our world. Marriages better served one’s family if they were made for convenience and not for love.

They had met in a
shop,
instantaneously knowing they were in love with just a look. Her family had forbidden her to marry him, as my father had been a gentleman before he left his family to work in a way that shamed their class, mending and inventing. He had left behind a fortune and a birthright, and her parents didn't think the match fit.

But neither of them had cared.

They had love and enough to sustain us. We never wanted, not until my mother died and his mental health took a turn.

Then I lost every comfort I had been afforded. I learned to cook and clean.

Being the daughter of gentry, I was accustomed to being bathed and dressed. But now, it had been a long time since I had been properly cared for.

And so, following the old lady down the hall to the bath, I wasn't scared. I was ready to be pampered, even if just a little.

I could smell the lavender in the steam the moment she opened the door. I stood, trying not to fall asleep as she peeled the caked dress from my chest and back. Sweat, Gaston’s seed, and tears had made my poor old dress a rag. The mud up the hem and the filth from under the bridge made it impossible to clean.

She held my hand as I stepped into the water, sucking my breath sharply at the temperature of the water. I knew it wasn't scalding but that I was frigid from sleeping on the floor.

I sat, sighing as the hot water covered my body, and leaned back, letting it envelop me, all of it—the steam, the scents, and the relaxing feeling of being weightless. As if I didn't exist.

She ladled the water over my head gently, starting to massage oils and soap into my hair. “That's nice, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

I nodded, feeling even the cockles of my heart warming.

“My name is Mrs. Potts. I am the cook and cleaning lady. Ya can call me Eve, if ya like.”

I fought the urge to ask the questions I wished to ask and smiled, even with my eyes closed. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Potts.”

She scrubbed and massaged until I was cleaner than any person had ever been. She didn't ask about any of the filth on me and she didn't talk and pretend we were old friends. She did her job with kindness.

Afterward she led me back to the room, opening the massive bureau and laying lacey looking things on the bed.

She walked to the wardrobe and pulled a silky slip dress from it. She placed it on the bed as well. Her eyes expressed her thoughts louder than anything she might have said when she spoke, “Do you need help getting dressed?”

I looked at the items on the bed and nodded. I didn't recognize a single one, apart from the slip dress. I worried there was no proper dress and that thing was it.

She held up a strange piece of lace and walked to me, holding it low to my feet as if I should step into it.

My stomach twisted when I realized it was an undergarment though it covered nothing. She pulled it up, covering the patch of dark hair between my legs and that was all. The rest of it sat on my hips and between my butt cheeks.

It was a strange form of knickers.

She then held a band of silk for me to step into. It had straps on the bottom of it. I stepped in and she slid it up my body, stopping it at my hips, as if it joined the bizarre undergarments. She then held sheer pieces of material, similar to stockings but so sheer I didn't see the point of them. I stepped in, one at a time. She slid them up to my thighs and fastened them with the straps hanging from the band.

The stockings added a bit of dark contour to my legs. It was odd.

She then lifted an item I couldn't even fathom a purpose for, apart from the two breast-shaped cups in the front of it.

I shied away as she slipped it over my arms and fastened it in the back. It held my breasts as if they were prisoners and the wire in the bottom of the cups dug into my ribs.

She didn't speak until she had slipped the silk dress above my head and settled it over my now-lifted and firm breasts. “Ya look lovely. Babette says this is all the rage in all the cities. Women are dressed this way everywhere. Height of fashion and whatnot.” She smoothed it over my hips and stepped back. Her smile didn't fool me, nor did her words. I knew this outfit might as well have been on a whore. I knew what its purpose was.

She bent and offered my poor aching feet the least comfortable shoes I had ever worn. My ankles wobbled and my toes throbbed.

I sighed and let her stand and start with brushing my hair. She got behind me and lifted the top half up into a twist, leaving the bottom half of my dark hair lying around my shoulders. She turned to me and let me see what I had become.

“There is something about this mirror, Mrs. Potts. I never recognize the girl looking back at me.”

She winced. “Ya are a vision, trust me.”

My eyes met hers in the reflection. “What is he?”

“I cannot speak of or for him. Ya must know
,
I will do anything I can for ya. Anything at all ya want. But I cannot speak of him.”

I nodded, not understanding. My honey-brown eyes and pale skin stood out against the black silk dress and my chestnut hair. If I had been looking at another girl, I might have said she was pretty. A pretty whore, since I suspected I was about to become one.

As much as I wanted to panic and run away, this fate was no worse than the one awaiting me. I knew my father had returned to town and Gaston would know I was here. Whether he rescued me or I ended up living out my life here, I was never going to have the fate I had wished so hard for.

All I could wish for now was that my father got away and he managed to escape Gaston as well.

I turned and walked for the door, even if the lush-looking bed was calling for me.

She walked with me down the hall, again not filling the tense air with chatter. She was a wise
woman, that
much was clear.

The hallway was dark and long, with dim light coming from strategically placed candles. A thin man with dark hair and a long nose was lighting the candles as we walked, only brightening up the space a minuscule amount. There were other candles and sconces in the hall; he just didn't light them.

When we got close to him, he paused and bowed, no longer leading the way and lighting it for us.

“Good evening, Lumier. This is Belle.” Mrs. Potts nodded at me.

Lumier smiled but his gaze didn't meet mine. “Of course. Good evening, miss.”

“Good evening.” I tried to cover myself the best I could, painfully aware of the dress I wore, though his eyes never graced it.

We walked away from him, but when I looked back he offered a subtle smile. Everything about the castle scared me, but when we rounded the last dark corner and walked into a room it didn't. Instead, it took my breath away.

It even made me forget I was naked and in agony.

The candles were lit in a way to create shadows and yet show off the artwork and statues. And the display of it all was stunning.

We stood on a balcony of sorts with the grand staircase spilling out below us. The floor was checkered marble and the walls were draped with tapestries and art and the heaviest curtains I had ever seen. They were as tall as the walls, making me wonder how large the windows were to need drapes so big.

It smelled divine, and to the right of the huge open space I could see a well-lit room. I was eager to be in the light again.

She walked and pointed. “This grand room was the main hall for meeting guests and dignitaries. His Highness—forgive me. I am confused. The king who was once lord of this fine castle, had parties so large that this room was flooded with guests.” She spoke as if it all were romantic. As if she were leading me on a tour.

But that was not the case.

“This painting here next to the stairs is seven hundred years old, gifted to the royal family who reigned here. And this vase came from an envoy wishing to pass through the kingdom. It was their way of showing they meant no harm and wanted to pay tribute.” The quiet Mrs. Potts had vanished as we walked down the stairs. The obvious pride she felt for the home spilled out of her in gushing waves. “These arches here were hand carved over one thousand years ago. The entire castle was once made up of only this room. It has been lovingly cared for as it has been expanded over the years to accommodate the growing kingdom.”

We arrived at the room with all the light and I was immediately stopped, stunned again.

In the doorway I paused, taking in the majesty.

It was magnificent.

A gilded table sparkled under the light of the chandeliers—seven of them. The table might have sat one hundred people but only two places were set, one at each end.

“The walls are covered in a rare satin from the East and the wainscoting is from timber in the North, very hard to come by. The portraits are of the royal family that ruled here for so many years. Each a male heir to the throne, strong and handsome.” She eyed me up, still gushing with pride. “Do ya not think them handsome?”

I nodded. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

“Oh yes, the family line is a strong one.” She curtseyed and stepped back. “But supper isn’t going to make itself so I must be going. You will be seated and cared for until the master arrives.” She laid a hand on my arm and sighed. “Take it all in stride, my dear. It’s overwhelming, but it’s not the end of ya. Trust me, it takes far more than something like this to ruin a strong woman.” She winked and walked out of the room, leaving me alone.

But for only a moment.

A voice startled me. “Miss Belle. I am Cogsworth, the butler. How lovely to make your acquaintance.”

I turned to see a chubby man with a large mustache and a very fine butler’s suit. He had a hefty pocket watch on his lapel and a wide smile, made bigger by the mustache. He bowed ever so slightly but still far more than I deserved. I curtseyed to him.

“Lovely to meet you.” I couldn't stop lifting my hands near my breasts to cover them. I felt naked in the slip of a dress Mrs. Potts had given me.

He walked to the large chair at one end of the table and pulled it out. “Please, have a seat. Do you prefer red or white wine? The dinner is roasted hen, so a red would go nicely with the herbs and potatoes.”

I winced. “I don't really drink wine, so I am at your mercy. My father never—” I paused and sighed.

Cogsworth placed a hand on my shoulder. “I am so sorry about Maurice. He was a sweet man.”

“Why did your master lock him away in the raven’s nest?”

Cogsworth swallowed hard, shaking his head and darting his dark eyes about the room. “I do not know the answer to that. I know only that your father is a very kind man.” His smile returned, but it only found its way to his lips.