Pulchritude

by Ana Mardoll

  He rose to his feet and the prince looked up at him with wet black eyes. "It will be all right," Guerrino said firmly, echoing his earlier attempt at comfort. "We will stay here at the castle together, and wait for an opportunity to break the curse. A woman will come to the castle eventually -- if nothing else, the beggars can't stay away forever -- and when one does, we'll be ready."

  Relief was visibly etched on the prince's beastly face at this announcement, but still he hesitated. "What will we do in the meantime, for ... for food and things?" he asked plaintively.

  Guerrino pursed his lips in frustration. He supposed a 'thank you' would have been too much to expect from the prince. He pushed his irritation away; it would do no good right now to dwell on his ingratitude. He walked tiredly over to his workbench where his grimoire still lay open. "Fortunately, Your Highness," he said stiffly, "I know quite a bit of magic."

  Chapter 4 - Bella

  Bella gingerly touched the dark circles under her eyes and frowned. Her reflection in the mirror frowned back at her and she quickly reverted to a neutral expression to smooth out her creased brow. "Bad enough that the storm disturbed your sleep enough to leave those dark circles," she chided herself automatically. "There's no need to compound the problem with an ugly scowl."

  She reached for the tin of cosmetic powder on the vanity table, but noticed as she removed the lid that the tin was nearly empty. She sighed and mentally added cosmetic powder to the growing list of things she needed to ask Father to buy, once she could catch him in a good mood. Briefly she wondered if she should forgo the powder today and stretch her supply, but if she was going to ask Father for favors, it was all the more important to be as pretty and pleasing as possible. With the tip of her finger, she dug out what powder she could and spread the light substance under her eyes before carefully replacing the cover and setting the tin back on the table.

  Bella fought the urge to chew her lip, reminding herself that she was trying to break that habit. The list of items she was running out of was growing quite long. Yet every time she had tried to broach the subject, Father had made it clear that he was not in the mood to listen. "He's been so cheerful since Venizia paid off his debts," she thought doubtfully but, even with him calling her his 'little princess' again and laughing all the time, he still seemed distant.

  It was nice to see Father smile again, but Bella had expected that his remarriage would return everything to the way it had been four years ago, when Mother had been alive. Back then, the family had accounts with the village stores and Father paid the bills without question. When Mother died from the winter illness that had left her weak for months, Father sank into debt and depression. Their accounts had been closed, but he and Bella had gotten through the worst of it. Now that finances were back on a solid footing, Bella couldn't understand why things hadn't gone back to the way she remembered them.

  "Isabella!" The call came from somewhere down the hall, in what Bella was beginning to recognize as her new stepmother's no-nonsense tone. She pursed her lips in annoyance and decided not to respond. Deliberately, she began to brush her hair, trying to decide whether to braid it or leave it loose. "Isabella?" The voice was closer now. "I'll braid it," Bella decided firmly, blocking out the noise. The air was so thick from last night's rain that, if she didn't pull her hair back soon, it would be curled and tangled by evening.

  There was a light knock on her door before Venizia strode into the room. Through the reflection in the mirror, Bella saw her stepmother enter but she didn't turn around to acknowledge the intrusion. Instead, she drew a long ribbon from the drawer of her dressing-table and began carefully braiding it through her thick honey-blonde hair. "Isabella?" her stepmother asked in her lightly accented voice. "Are you all right? I called, but you didn't hear me." Venizia's tone was polite, but skeptical.

  Bella met her stepmother's gaze through the mirror's reflection. "I didn't realize you were calling for me," she said simply, with a light shrug. Casually, she returned her gaze to her own reflection as she concentrated on weaving the ribbon through her hair. Her hair was so much like Mother's, long and thick. "I wonder if Father will even notice that I'm wearing one of Mother's gowns today," she thought sadly.

  Her stepmother frowned in irritation, and Bella studied Venizia from the corner of her eye. She was fairly certain that Father loved Venizia for more than just her fortune, but she hadn't figured out what had compelled her father to marry the wealthy widow so soon after meeting her on one of his trade visits to the city. "I wonder if he likes her because she looks so different from Mother?" she thought. Venizia was lovely in her own way, as were her daughters, but her deep black skin was a sharp contrast to Bella's own paleness.

  "Excuse me, Bella," Venizia said, carefully enunciating the sobriquet. "I am sorry. I forgot that you prefer not to be called 'Isabella'."

  The apology was stiff and tinted with obvious exasperation, but Bella felt that she owed it to her father to be gracious to his new wife. She smiled and acknowledged the correction by turning around to face her stepmother. "Can I help you?" she asked politely.

  Venizia hesitated for a moment, while Bella held her smile in place and tried not to sigh impatiently. The ends of her unfinished braid hung loose down her back, and she could feel the whole thing beginning to unravel. "I'll have to start all over again once Venizia leaves," she realized.

  "Your father has business in the village today, but he says he has an important announcement to make tonight at dinner," Venizia said, a little briskly. "He asked me to make sure that the whole family will be at the table."

  "Oh." Bella blinked in surprise. That was unusual; ever since he started working again, Father rarely made it to dinner, and he wasn't especially given to formal announcements. Her stepmother seemed to be lingering for some kind of answer, and Bella found herself filling the awkward silence. "I wasn't planning to stay late in the village today. I'll just make a few quick social calls and be home in plenty of time for dinner." Her voice trailed off and she wondered why she was volunteering any of this. It certainly wasn't Venizia's concern how she spent her time.

  "Thank you," Venizia said with a hint of warmth and a tiny smile. "I'm sure your father will be pleased." She turned to leave, but paused at the door. She looked back at Bella, and raised a hand to absent-mindedly push her dark curls away from her face. "Bella," she asked tentatively, "Would you like me to braid your hair for you?"

  Her smile was kind, but Bella was so surprised by the unexpected offer that all she could do was shake her head. Venizia smiled again, a little awkwardly, and left, closing the door gently behind her.

  Bella waited until her stepmother was gone before turning back to the mirror and beginning the process of brushing out her hair and braiding it again. Butterflies churned her stomach as she worked her fingers through the snarls in her hair. What could Father possibly have to say to them that would justify a formal dinner announcement? And why couldn't he tell his news without theatrics? The only announcement Bella could ever remember him making was two months ago, when he'd cheerfully informed her that he was planning to marry a woman she'd never met. She yanked out a snarl and thought darkly, "I hope he's not planning to make these little surprises some sort of habit."

  The thought struck her that Venizia might be pregnant, but after a horrified moment she decided against it. Venizia was younger than Father, but with two grown daughters already, Bella guessed she wasn't quite young enough to conceive again. At least, she hoped not; it was hard enough to suddenly share Father with two new stepsisters, let alone with an infant brother or sister. She sighed in frustration and set the brush down firmly on the vanity. She would just have to put up with the anxiety until tonight.

  "Probably the announcement is something completely unimportant," she consoled herself. Maybe Father had found a suitor for Marchetta. Goodness knew the sour girl would need any help he could give. In the short time Bella had known her older stepsister, the serious girl had shown no interest whatsoever in any
of the eligible men in the village, despite being more than old enough to wed.

  Bella tied her braid and examined her work in the mirror. Wearing the faded blue gown that had been her mother's and with her honey-colored hair tied back in that way, she imagined she looked like her mother's portrait, the one that Father had kept in a locket until he accidentally sold it off with the rest of the jewelry. She patted back a loose strand and smiled at her reflection. With her creamy skin and bright smile, her friends had no trouble remembering her nickname, Bella. The boys had teasingly called her bella-the-beautiful as children, but now her childhood name was used with varying degrees of shy stutters and awkward glances. "Maybe a suitor isn't such a bad idea," she thought absently, her thoughts trailing back to Marchetta and Father's mysterious announcement. "I could find a nice one for myself ..." Her thoughts trailed off as the butterflies started up again. Surely Father wouldn't arrange a match for her without speaking privately to her first. Would he?

  A few years ago she would have laughed at the idea. Father had never pressured her, not even when their debts were at the worst and more than a few of the men in the village would have paid a good bride-price for her. But now she wasn't so sure. "He's been sweet words and kind smiles again since the wedding," she thought doubtfully, "but he still flies into a rage at the slightest request." Several times in the past year he'd accused her of being an ungrateful daughter, a millstone around his neck. She had become accustomed to his moodiness and was hoping to ride out these dark suspicions, but what if it was too late?

  Bella shook her head and put on her best smile again. Worrying wouldn't do anything but put creases in her eyes, and a quick jaunt to the village would make her feel better. She slipped her feet into her shoes and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders to protect against the damp air. As an afterthought, she grabbed her small purse, wishing she actually had coins to fill it. "Maybe I can talk the merchants into opening an account for me while I work on improving Father's mood," she mused.

  As she stepped out of the house into the cool morning air, she was surprised to see Father still in the yard, struggling with the saddle on his mule. "Bella!" he bellowed with his usual loud cheer. He tugged the saddle strap tighter and stepped away with a satisfied nod. "How is my lovely little princess this morning?" he asked, opening his arms for a hug.

  Bella smiled guardedly and picked her way through the damp grass to hug her father. "I'm very well today, thank you," she said with more warmth than she felt. "And you, Father?"

  "I couldn't be better," he said heartily. "Your mother has cooked me the most delectable breakfast and now I'm off to the village on business," he said with a conspiratorial wink.

  "So I heard," Bella said guardedly, politely ignoring the reference to Venizia as her 'mother'. Nor would she challenge Father's fancy that Venizia was the one doing the cooking and not the servants she had hired when she moved in. "Perhaps I could walk with you? I'd love to keep you company," she suggested sweetly. "Maybe we can talk on the way to the village," Bella thought wistfully.

  "I'm in a hurry," he refused abruptly. He drew back from her and stared at her with a frown while she fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Why are you going into the village?" he asked suspiciously. "Shopping or suitors?"

  "Neither," Bella lied, laughing as lightly as she could. She smiled reassuringly, wishing she could disappear back into the house. "I'm overdue to return a few social calls," she offered. She hoped her explanation would smooth over the tension, but he continued to frown at her.

  "Take Marchetta with you," he finally said, turning away from her to fuss with the mule again. His voice had a stern note to it; his curt statement sounded more like an order than a suggestion.

  "Marchetta?" she repeated in surprise. "But she doesn't ... she won't want--"

  "Then stay home!" He cut her off angrily. "There's no need for you to go into town just to jabber with your friends." He climbed into the saddle with some difficulty and kicked the mule. He rode away at a light trot without glancing back at her.

  Bella stared after him, feeling her throat constrict and her eyes prick with tears. "Don't cry," she thought furiously. "It ruins your complexion." It would only make Father more upset if he saw her red-faced and puffy-eyed at tonight's dinner. Besides, she couldn't break down in front of the strangers living in her home: Venizia and Marchetta and Fiorita and the house servants whose names she couldn't even remember. She wiped her eyes on the corner of her shawl and took a few deep breaths.

  "Pull yourself together," she thought sternly. "It's not the first time Father has been in a bad mood." She took a deep breath, and imagined counting all her fingers and toes until her heart stopped pounding so quickly. Everything was going to be fine, she reassured herself. She just needed to convince him that she wasn't his enemy, that she loved him more than anyone else ever could. How she was to accomplish this, though, she couldn't begin to imagine.

  The thought struck her that she wouldn't be able to ask him for anything, not for a long time. Bella ran through her mental list of immediate needs and started to panic. She really couldn't go without her cosmetics, and certainly not if she wanted to land a suitor quickly. If she couldn't ask Father for the money, she would have to ask the village merchants to open an account for her. Her thought trailed off as a new idea popped up in its place. "Father isn't the only one in the house who has money," Bella realized suddenly. The trick would be getting that money without Father finding out.

  She watched the empty road for a long moment before wiping her eyes one more time and walking resolutely back into the house.

  Chapter 5 - Marchetta

  Marchetta counted off with increasing satisfaction the mental list of things she needed to accomplish, while she climbed the stairs with an empty laundry basket on her hip. In the weeks since they had moved in with Cienzo and his daughter, she'd managed to rearrange the almost unused kitchen to her liking and had found a cook that seemed acceptably skilled, as well as a kitchen boy for running errands and washing dishes, and a laundress who came by once a week to take away the dirty clothes and leave behind the clean ones from the previous week. In light of Mama's request that tonight's dinner be appropriate for an announcement that Cienzo was planning to make, she had asked the cook to put on a roast, and she was fairly confident that the meat would be tender by dinner-time.

  "Not that the household is fussy," Marchetta admitted wryly to herself as she stepped into the second floor hallway. Mama and Fiorita would eat whatever she served, and she doubted that Cienzo or his 'little princess' would deign to complain about anything she put in front of them. Still, she had her standards and was determined to live up to them.

  She pushed open her bedroom door and was surprised to see Bella bending over her vanity table and examining with intense interest the few jars that Marchetta kept on it. "Speak of evil," Marchetta couldn't help but think, but she bit back the sharp questions that immediately leapt to her throat. She had promised Mama that she would try to get along with her new stepsister, but Marchetta had found it hard to make the effort. She forced herself to smile and greet her stepsister. "Bella, are you all right?"

  "Oh!" Bella jumped at the question and spun around to face her. Marchetta was gratified to see that the younger girl had the good grace to act embarrassed. "Please forgive me," Bella said bashfully, "I'm out of chamomile hand cream and I was hoping to borrow some from you, only I couldn't find you." She gestured weakly to the vanity behind her.

  Marchetta gave her stepsister a wary smile. "I'm sorry," she said, as politely as she could, "I'm afraid I don't have any either." There was a moment of awkward silence and, peering at the younger girl more closely, Marchetta was surprised to see her eyes were red, as though she'd been crying. "Would ... would you like me to put your hand cream on my weekly shopping list?" Marchetta offered, a little uncomfortably.

  "Well ..." Bella hesitated. "Are you going into the village today? May I come with you?"

  "What, now?" Marchetta was t
aken aback. She could count on one hand the number of times her stepsister had spoken to her away from the dining table, and she could count on no hands the number of times Bella had asked her for anything at all, except perhaps to pass the salt.

  "We could get the shopping done," Bella offered. Her voice was a little brighter than before, almost hopeful.

  Marchetta hesitated. She very much didn't want to go shopping; she'd planned to get the laundry ready for tomorrow and then to balance the financial books. She also wanted to stay close to the kitchen until she felt more assured of the new cook's skill in the kitchen. It would be very humiliating if the first 'official' family dinner was ruined on her watch, even if Cienzo would just laugh it off in that guffawing way of his.

  On the other hand, as strange as it was to find her stepsister trespassing in her room and on the verge of tears, Marchetta suddenly felt a surge of pity for the younger girl. "I suppose it's not easy suddenly to have to share your father and home with a trio of women you've never met," she thought. Although Bella was a very pretty girl of eighteen years, she never seemed to have any friends visit the house. If she was this hopeful at the prospect of a shopping trip, then perhaps the girl was lonely and trying to make an effort to get to know her older stepsister. Swallowing her irritation at having to change her plans, Marchetta nodded at Bella and smiled. "Let me just get my list," she said, forcing some cheer into her voice, "and I'll meet you outside."