The Beast (3 page)

I find myself in front of his chambers. There
are no guards on duty today and the hallway is dark and quiet. I
enter without knocking. As I expected, it is empty. I walk across
the anteroom, and for the first time enter the monster’s bedroom.
The chains lie in a heap in one corner. I hesitate to touch them.
They’re stained with blood from his struggles to free himself.

The fireplace is cold, a mound of ash and
soot the only evidence of life. I pull the heavy drapes aside to
reveal magnificent windows and a glass door leading out to a
balcony. It overlooks the courtyard. From here, I can see the
abandoned road for miles beyond the dark forest. I see my village
in the distance. I think of my father, and my sisters. It has been
months since I have seen them last. I pray that they are well.

As I turn away, my gaze snares on a portrait
hanging on the wall. It is ruined, torn to pieces, many of them
missing. What remains of the canvas hangs in strips along the
sides, twisted to hide their subject.

I have seen similar paintings around the
castle, set aside to be disposed of. Portraits of my Beast, and the
man he used to be, each torn as though one part of him could not
stand to look at the other. I can imagine him stalking through the
castle, seeking them out to tear them apart. As man, and as beast,
each refusing to abide any hint of the other’s existence.

This one is different, I know. It has not
been put away. It hangs in its proper place, a place of honor in
the middle of the wall, where sunlight from the windows shines
directly upon it. Why keep this one? What significance does it
have?

Curiosity compels me closer. If I move the
pieces back together, will I see the Beast, or the man?

With careful fingertips, I grasp each strip
and uncoil it. The canvas is warped and does not straighten
completely. If I force it, the paint will crack and peel. I see
evidence that someone has tried to repair the canvas; by the looks
of it, again and again. There are layers of glue on the underside,
and some miniscule pieces of canvas still stuck to the backing.
Whoever repaired this, only to have it destroyed again, took great
care to restore it. With humble respect for such devotion, I hold
each piece in place as I add new ones, so absorbed in my task I do
not even look at the subject until all the pieces are back in
place.

I cannot believe what I am seeing.

Neither Beast, nor man.

It is me.

A festival is taking place in my village
today. Like so many times in the past, there will be colorful
banners and ribbons streaming from every post. The baker will have
his wares laid out on a table in the middle of the square to tempt
passers by, and the musicians will stroll through the streets,
collecting an eager crowd in their wake.

My father and sisters will be there.

I miss them.

I wonder if they think of me. Do they worry?
Have they already forgotten about me? Amalia and Marguerite are of
marriageable age now. Have they found suitors yet, or does my
absence darken their prospects. As the eldest, I know Marguerite
must marry first. But Amalia was always the kinder one.

I worry for my father. Though all of us love
him very much, neither Marguerite nor Amalia have ever shown the
slightest bit of concern over him.

They do not see the way he sinks into his
chair at the close of each day. They do not hear his weary sigh as
he hangs his head for a moment before he tugs his boots off his
aching feet. My sisters, so concerned about their own looks, do not
notice the many wrinkles creasing their beloved father’s face, or
the gray of his hair.

Monsieur Lafarge gave me his word when I left
that he would look after my family in my absence. I can only pray
that it is so. The thought that there is no one to care for my
father, to cook him stew and make his bed weighs heavily on me. I
look around this castle, and guilt falls on my shoulders for being
here alone.

They should live in such luxury, not I. I’ve
done nothing to deserve it.

And today, it makes me feel so awfully
alone.

The moon is new tonight, and still my Beast
has not returned. The servants tell me he has recovered from the
poison, but have no answer as to why he still keeps away.

I dream of him nightly. Sometimes I see him
as a man, screaming his rage, fighting his bonds like a maddened
animal. In those dreams, I feel that if I could just get close to
him, if he would just let me, I could calm his fury. I could make
him happy.

Other times I see him as my Beast, staring at
a picture I cannot see. The look in his eyes is despairing. He is
surrounded by beautiful things, and people who love him and wish
only the best for him, but he will look at none of them. Only that
picture. He looks at it as though he yearns for it desperately, but
knows he can never possess it.

That is a strange vision. My Beast is the
master of all in this place. It is all his. He has but to ask for
something, and it is brought to him on a silver platter. So much
wealth and bounty… Why can he not be content?

I sit on the edge of the fountain. The sun
shines down brightly, making the water sparkle like diamonds as it
falls into the pool. Stone angels stand tall in the middle, other,
playful ones sitting and leaning all around them. My gaze turns to
the row of trees far in the distance. Beyond it, the road to my
village. My home.

I look back at the castle, my new home. I
seek out a window high above. The drapes flutter closed and I sigh.
He watches me, I know. I will him to come to me, but he does
not.

A thought occurs to me; one so horrible I
push to my feet and run back inside. Jacques calls after me as I
pass him, but I do not slow. My skirts make me trip on the
staircase, but though I bruise my knee, I get up and keep going. My
heart races and the stays of my corset feel too tight to take a
breath.

The corridor to the Beast’s chamber is dark
again. I race to the grand portal of his chambers and bang on it
with both fists. “Let me in!”

The last time I was here, the man told me I
can free one version of him by killing the other. I hit the door
harder, and finally kick it. “Is it true?” I demand. “Is that why
you’re hiding?”

There is no answer.

Tears burn my eyes. I look around for
something, anything. The wall sconces are shaped like metal
torches. I have to rise up on my toes to wrestle one out of its
brace. It is heavy, but makes a satisfyingly loud noise when I bash
it against that door. Like the creature behind it, it is immovable.
But I cannot stop. “You monster! How dare you be afraid of me!”

The door opens and there stands my Beast. He
towers over me, his paws as big as my head and claws almost as long
as my fingers. Still, he says nothing.

I clutch the torch tighter, though my fingers
are cramping. “How could you,” I sob, “for even an instant, think I
would deliberately do you harm?”
How could you think me such a
beast?

The Beast drops his gaze; it seems he has
nothing to say. We stand at an impasse, on either side of the door
that can be closed at any moment. We can each pass through and join
the other. But we are both rooted in place, some invisible barrier
keeping us apart. I want him to meet my gaze and tell me it was a
lie. I need him to just look at me and acknowledge my presence. I
cannot see inside his mind; have no way of knowing what thoughts
swirl behind that fathomless, lost gaze.

And he will not tell me.

I can almost hear the man he turns into,
laughing cruelly at his own jest. He has scored a tremendous
victory.

I drop the torch and walk away.

I can see the carriage emerge from the woods.
Though I am smiling, my hands twist in my skirt nervously. That
carriage holds everything I cherish in this world – my family.

Jacques announces himself with a knock on the
door and, “My lady—”

I rush past him before he can finish.
“They’re here!”

The servants gawk as I run down to the grand
entry hall, but they smile also. It is the first smile I see on
their faces since the last full moon. Louis opens the front doors
wide and I run outside to greet my father and sisters on the drive,
just as they are emerging from the posh carriage.

My father weeps with joy at the sight of me.
My sisters embrace me warmly, but their eyes are on the castle and
its grounds. They’ve never seen such grandeur before. I take them
inside and show them where I’ve been spending my days. I give each
of them the same warning the Beast first gave me: Do not enter the
west wing. They nod, but when I turn my back, I can see in the
great mirror in front of me my sisters exchanging a conspiratorial
look.

Jacques sees it also. He inclines his head to
me in a silent message. He will keep my sisters away from where
they ought not be. I am grateful for his vigilance.

When at last I have shown them all there is
to see, I leave my family in the capable hands of the maids. They
will show my father and sisters to their rooms and make certain
they have everything they need.

“A successful welcome, if I may say so,”
Jacques says. He is courteous and obliging as always, but I can
sense he is happy for me. These last few days have not been easy on
me. Having been shunned by the very man I am meant to save, I
thought about running away. So many times I came to the doorway
with my cloak about my shoulders, only to stop. I am the greatest
of fools. Even after everything, I still cannot abandon him.

But that does not mean I will tolerate his
treatment of me in silence. I smile, and it feels genuine. “It was,
indeed. I take it as a good sign that they’ve not run screaming
yet.”

“Well, perhaps that will come later.”

Despite myself, I laugh. “Do not dare jest
about such things.”

Jacques bows to hide his smile. “My
apologies, Lady Lyssette. I am sure the master will be on his best
behavior.”

I hope so. My father has already seen the
master of this castle, and it speaks highly of his bravery, and his
love for me that he came back here. My sisters, on the other hand,
have no prior knowledge of the Beast. And I fear their curiosity
will lead to their ruin. “See that he does,” I tell Jacques
playfully. “Or he and I shall have to have words about it.”

Jacques chuckles on his way out. As he opens
the door, Marguerite straightens guiltily. I can tell from the
blush staining her cheeks that she was eavesdropping. Jacques
prudently says nothing; pretends he does not see her.

“Come in, please.”

Marguerite drags her feet into the parlor,
looking around. “So this is where you were. And to think Father was
so terribly worried about his little girl Lyssette.”

There is bitterness in her voice. It should
have been Marguerite, not me. That was the agreement struck between
my father and the Beast. A single rose cut from his gardens, my
father’s life and freedom, in exchange for his eldest daughter.
Marguerite would be living here now, had I not run away to take her
place instead.

“Looks can be deceiving. Perhaps Father was
right to worry.”

Marguerite picks up a candlestick. It is made
of solid gold. “I am sure,” she says.

Perhaps before emerging onto the beautifully
tended grounds, Marguerite worried also. Perhaps she even felt a
little gratitude to me, for having spared her the horrid fate of
being a Beast’s prisoner. What must she think of me now? And of our
father! Does she think him deluded? Senile in his old age, to have
said he saw a great and terrible beast within this castle?

I try not to think too much about that. “Tell
me of home. Has Monsieur Lafarge offered his patronage?”

“Oh, of course he has. He comes by every week
to see if we’ve everything we need. And he never forgets to ask
about you.
And how is Lyssette? When is she expected back?
He expects you to marry him, you know.”

Surprise makes me startle.
Marry
him?

“He’s made no secret of it. The entire
village is talking about it. The great wedding of Monsieur Lafarge
and the pauper Lyssette. The children are all dutifully on the
lookout for Cinderlyssette’s lost glass slipper.”

My heart races and my cheeks flush. I feel
overheated. Somehow I make it to the plush seat by the window and
lower myself into it. Monsieur Lafarge is three times my age, if
not more. He is also the richest man in our village, though
compared to the master of this castle, he himself might be called a
pauper.

When I asked him to look after my family, I
never intended for his help to be in coin. And I certainly never
imagined this was how he would want that debt repaid. My God, what
have I gotten myself into now? What would Monsieur Lafarge do if I
refused him? He could ruin us.

Marguerite smiles acidly. “Did you really
think you’d find your happy ending by running away from the life
you were meant for?”

“You’re not marrying him.”

I’ve no idea when or how the Beast appeared
in the parlor, but he is here now, glaring at the door Marguerite
just closed behind her. “Finally, you decide to come out of
hiding.”

His mouth pulls away from his big, sharp
teeth. “There are… people in my home,” he says. “I don’t like it.
And you’re not marrying him.”

I never intended to, but I do not feel
merciful enough to tell him that now. “I might not have a choice.
You heard my sister, Monsieur Lafarge has gone to great lengths to
take care of my family in my absence and—”

“Lafarge is a bilious, tight fisted wretch.
He was a bastard fifty years ago, and he is still a bastard now.
You are not marrying him.”