Loved by the Beast

by T E Elliott

  “But listen to this, if you even consider leaving town, I will have you hunted down, and you will know not only the full wrath of the law but mine as well. Now go!” The flames flared up in her eyes and Du Bois believed every word she said. He left without hesitation and without stopping until he found his way back home.

  Duchesse d'Aramitz, however, stayed planted in place. Thoughts and plans were weaving together, taking form until an idea was born. She turned to Lambert, “We’ll let him sleep fitfully tonight. Tomorrow morning have the carriage ready for me. I have an idea.” A cunning smile came over her face as she left the room.

  Chapter 2

  Léa made her way through the village streets, basket on her arm with two books and lunch for the day. She always walked quickly, trying to avoid conversation with the villagers. Unlike her sisters, she loved their mountain home and the woods beyond it, and she didn’t despise the villagers for being poor. They were now poor too after all. However, she couldn’t quite converse with them easily either. The villagers’ world was small and many of them couldn’t read, so conversation revolved around things like how good the harvest was that year, whether or not the milliner had asked the butcher’s daughter to marry him yet, had Henrietta had her baby, had Antoine built his house…it never varied. Léa understood that this was life as they knew it, there was nothing outside of the day to day for them, but she was at a loss as to how to truly be a part of it herself.

  More than that, interacting with the villagers had become downright uncomfortable. There was this fascination with her appearance. They couldn’t see beyond her outward beauty—her gentleness, her refined manners, her cleanliness, her sophisticated bearing, and, especially, her beautiful features and feminine form. In fact, they all called her Beauty. This pet name was given to her when she was little, and it managed to follow her to her new home. “You’re so beautiful. When will you marry, Beauty? Have you met my son, Beauty?” were often the topics of discussion. The young men fawned over her, the young women were jealous, the older women meddlesome, and the older men adorably flirtatious. Beauty had a kind heart, so she took it all in stride, but it did wear a soul down and make it hard to find true friends. She just wished she had someone she could talk to, someone who took the time to see past her outward appearance.

  Thus, for those reasons, she walked quickly and made as little eye contact as possible. This gave her somewhat of a reputation as being unsociable and odd, as a large part of village life was being involved in the lives of your neighbors, but Léa preferred the loneliness to the discomfort of not being seen and accepted for who she truly was.

  Today was Thursday, her favorite day of the week. The one person she could talk to with ease was Madame Beaumont, a once wealthy lady who now lived in reduced circumstances, much like Léa. She ran a small school for the peasant children. Madame Beaumont understood that if they could just learn to read, it would open up a much wider world for them. Léa assisted her once a week. She loved hearing Madame talk about her travels and borrowing her books. She also loved the children. They were so open to new ideas and full of the wonder of childhood. The children were enamored with her beauty as well, but it was far more innocent and endearing. This was the one place she felt truly at ease.

  Madame Beaumont was just finishing a story as Léa stepped in. The hefty older lady, full of life and love, sat on a stool with a little over a dozen children seated on the floor before her. She was an excellent storyteller. Although she was able to bring some of her books with her when she moved to the village, it was but a small library. To make do, she told stories instead. It also ensured that the children would remember them and perhaps be able to pass them on to their families, especially if the children could not attend the school long enough to learn to read. Oftentimes they were called away without warning to help with their family’s farm or trade.

  “And so the young prince lives in his tower to this day, alone and lonely, waiting for the day when someone can look past his mangled form and show him the love he so deeply yearns for.”

  A small hand popped up. “Yes, Marcus?” the teacher responded.

  “Teacher, is your story about the monster that lives in the Rousseau house?” Marcus asked in his sweet little boy voice.

  “If I were, Marcus, do you think the young man in my story would appreciate being called a monster?”

  Marcus thought for a moment, “No…but Monsieur Rousseau is a monster, isn’t he?”

  “I heard he has fangs,” another voice spoke up.

  “I heard he prowls at night looking for stray children to eat,” an older boy said as he pounced on his little sister next to him, causing her to yelp.

  Then the room broke out into a chorus of “I heard” until it was rather like a nest of baby birds all crying at once for their mother’s attention.

  “Children, children, please,” Madame called out as she attempted to hush the crowd. She looked at each of them with her no-nonsense, listen-to-my-wisdom look that Léa loved so much. Léa put a finger to her lips to cover an amused smile as the children calmed down and gave the teacher their attention.

  “How would you feel, my dears, if you had something different about you and were called a monster for it? Hmm? Have any of you actually seen Monsieur Rousseau for yourselves?”

  They all hung their heads in shame as they contemplated.

  “Can anyone tell me what the lesson is from the tale I have just told?”

  A few hands popped up. The teacher picked one and the child replied, “To make yourself as beautiful as possible so you don’t end up alone.” The children burst out in laughter.

  “Not quite,” she said as she lifted her hands to calm them. “Anyone else?”

  One hand raised up slowly.

  “Yes, Antoinette?”

  “I would say, to not be afraid of people who are different, because there may be more to the story than we know.”

  Madame beamed at her, “A very good answer, my dear. Now, all of you play in the yard for a little while before our lesson.”

  The room exploded with whoops and hollers as all the children stumbled over each other to get outside. They all said their hellos to Léa as they went. Madame Beaumont eased up from her stool and greeted her, kissing her on each cheek, and taking her hands.

  “Who were the children speaking of?” Léa asked.

  “Do you not know?” Madame asked in surprise. Léa shook her head.

  “I know you have not been here long, but I thought surely you’d have heard the tales by now. Anyway, come, sit by the fire and we’ll talk for a spell.”

  Madame Beaumont’s home was warm and inviting. The fire and neatly arranged furniture helped, but it was her motherly love for all who entered that made it so. Her house was finer than the average village cottage. She had a floral rug on the floor and beautiful statuettes on the mantelpiece. They sat across from each other in a pair of elegant, though worn, armchairs. All a sign of her fading wealth.

  “There is a lot of mystery and, frankly, a lot of fear that spurs on the stories. However, the lady of the house rather encourages the talk herself.” Léa was confused, but Madame continued, “They say that the son of Duchesse d'Aramitz and the late Duc Rousseau was born a hairy beast, more animal than man. The stories have grown over the years to the tales the children have heard, no doubt as a means to make them behave more than anything. The truth is no one knows what the young monsieur is like as no one has seen him. He is kept hidden away and no one from the household even comes to the village anymore.”

  “You said the lady of the house encourages these tales, why?”

  “I was a bit misleading by saying that, she does not encourage the stories as such, but she makes sure that no one steps a foot on her property. Anyone found there is treated harshly and always comes away with some charge brought against them. So, she makes people afraid of her and in a way confirms the stories that are told. I do my best to counter them with my own stories. I don’t know why Duchesse d'A
ramitz has chosen to do these things or what birth defect has perhaps afflicted her son, but the fear will only lead to trouble I’m afraid.”

  “Hm, how lonely he must be,” Léa spoke barely above a whisper as she stared into the fire, a faraway look on her face.

  Madame leaned toward her and put a hand on her arm. “And how are you, mon chou? Lonely yourself perhaps.”

  Léa shook herself from her daze and smiled ruefully, “Perhaps. Shall I get the readers out for the children now?”

  “Yes, but don’t think you can hide your feelings from me, I see it in your eyes.”

  Léa sighed as she pushed up from her chair and stood before the closest bookshelf. “I may not be able to hide from you, Madame, but no one else sees. Some things are hard to talk about, even to you.”

  “Beauty, come here, child.”

  Madame held out her arms as Léa picked up the readers and came to kneel before her. The woman took her shoulders and assured her, “Someday someone will see the beauty that is inside you just as much as they see your beautiful form.”

  Léa looked down at the books in her hands and asked with a hint of sadness in her voice, “And how do you know?”

  Madame gently lifted Léa’s chin and said, “I just know.”

  After lessons were finished, the children had all gone, and Léa finished cleaning up, she stepped out into the waning afternoon sunshine to return home. Few people remained in the open square as many were busy at home preparing the evening meal. She enjoyed the quiet and walked at a more leisurely pace than she had earlier in the day.

  The one place that was still busy was the tavern. As she neared it she heard raucous laughter and male voices coming from inside. An elderly man sat on a low chair outside the door. Léa smiled as she approached. Martin was a kind, simple man who was quite fond of her.

  “Hello, Martin! How are you today?” she called out as she approached and stopped to talk with him while no one else was around.

  “Oh, I can’t complain. And how is my Beauty? Those little scamps haven’t been giving you too much trouble have they?”

  “Not too much today,” she laughed. Martin’s skin was suntanned and leathery. What teeth he had were rotting, and he was hunched over with a back that had been worn down by many days of hard labor. Léa liked him.

  Before they could continue their conversation further, a loud voice called from inside, “Beauty, my darling!”

  A young man, handsome and muscular, appeared in the doorway, followed closely by Léa’s youngest brother, François.

  “Olivier,” she responded without emotion, stepping back as she did.

  Olivier was a hunter, and that of bigger game than her father. And unlike her father, he was quite good at it. His chiseled features, ample upper arms, and exceptional height made him arguably the most handsome man in the village—and he knew it. It was only right, according to him, as the handsomest of men that he should marry the most beautiful of women, and that happened to be Léa. He drew closer in spite of her rather obvious move to step further away. As he loomed over her, she boldly stared up into his face. It was handsome, yes, but his smile hid something. Something that Léa couldn’t put her finger on but didn’t like. He had the scent of ale on his breath and that of dead animals and forest on his person.

  “How are you today, Beauty?” he asked but didn’t wait for the answer, “I was hoping to spend more time with you and here you are! I shall walk you home.”

  “Oh, that’s really not necessary, Olivier, I’m sure my brother can escort me,” she eyed her brother pleadingly. He leaned against the door frame and took a long drink from his mug.

  “I’m not coming home yet, you go on,” his expression was sullen and indifferent, partly from being drunk and partly because he truly did not care.

  Sensing her discomfort, Martin struggled to stand and pushed at Olivier with his cane, “Move aside, young man, I was getting ready to take Beauty home.”

  Léa appreciated his kindness and understanding but feared Olivier wouldn’t give up on his prey so easily. Yes, that is what his smile hid, he was on the hunt and she was his prey. He was rather like a beast. A very pretty beast.

  “Move aside, old man,” he mocked as he shoved Martin back into his seat.

  Léa swallowed hard. “Leave him alone, Olivier,” she said as her hands began to shake. She clenched them to steady herself.

  He turned back to her and seeing her expression, softened his tone, “Shall we go?” Flashing a charming smile, he swung his arm around her shoulders.

  “No, I’d rather we didn’t,” she spoke a little too loudly and pulled her shoulder away. “I can walk myself.” Taken aback by her lack of compliance, he stepped away for a moment.

  François held his mug halfway to his mouth and glared at her disapprovingly. Just then a rowdy group of men came out of the tavern and surrounded Olivier. Léa didn’t wait, she took off toward home.

  Well away from town now, open fields lay before her on either side of the road. Tall emerald grass swayed in the breeze. It was so inviting, so peaceful in the warm orange glow of late afternoon. Her hands were still shaking and her mind tumultuous, why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She glanced behind her to make sure no one was following, then took off into the field and just ran until her body relaxed and her mind eased. Dropping her basket, she plopped down into the grass, sprawling out to watch the clouds for a bit. She closed her eyes and released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

  Olivier’s behavior she’d come to know and expect, though it still affected her, it didn’t hurt her as much as her brother’s indifference or, even worse, his encouragement of the behavior. The truth was François wanted her to marry Olivier. The man was well enough off that it would help their family, and his influence among the villagers might promote François’ own chances of eventually getting back to Paris, and thus the life he was used to. Father would never force her into marriage, he relied on her too much, but if François were able to persuade their oldest brother that it was a good idea, would her own resolve stand? Her options were limited.

  Léa sat up and took out the book that she’d brought with her from Madame Beaumont’s house. Inside was a picture of a milkmaid and farm boy, blissfully gazing into each other’s eyes in an idyllic garden. Léa touched the page and sighed, then looked up at the wide open sky. “What does my future hold and what is there for me here?” she said to herself. I have a plan for you, a whisper of a voice blew past her on the wind. Shaking her head, she closed her book, picked up her basket and ran until she reached the safety of her family’s cottage.

  Chapter 3

  Before she’d even reached the door, Léa’s second oldest sister, Marie, came bursting out.

  “Beauty! What took you so long?” She was irritated. Panting lightly from the jog over, she went on, “Something has happened to Father, he hasn’t said a word all afternoon, says he’s waiting for all his children before he explains.”

  “Explains what? Is he hurt?” Léa started toward the house, worried for her father.

  “Didn’t I just tell you he wouldn’t tell us anything?” Marie put a hand on her hip and gave Léa a sour look.

  Léa didn’t respond to this, but quickly pushed through the partially open door. Her father sat in his chair in front of the fireplace, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Léa rushed to him and knelt down.

  “Father, dear, what has happened? Are you ill?” She placed a hand on his arm.

  He slowly lifted his head and glanced at her then stared into the fire. She couldn’t tell if his expression was one of sorrow or guilt, maybe both.

  “I am well, Beauty, do not trouble yourself on my account,” his words were tender, but he didn’t offer more than that. Rather than easing her fears, his words just added to the confusion, for something was terribly wrong even if he wasn’t physically wounded.

  “What has happened? Is there anything I can get you?” she had to ask. Marie stood at the door
and rolled her eyes.

  Du Bois turned and gave Léa a wan smile. Patting her hand, he said with more warmth, “My ever helpful Beauty. I will explain all when your brothers come in from the field.”

  “François is at the tavern, it will be a while before he returns.” She stood and stared down at her father. “I will fetch Pierre and Jacques. If something has happened, they shouldn’t be left to dawdle their way home. Marie, where is Juliette?”

  Marie groaned and crossed her arms, “Must you always be a mother hen and boss everyone around? How should I know where Juliette is? She left the room a while ago, and I didn’t ask her where she was going.”

  “Well, go and look for her! Now!” Even good-tempered Léa could reach her limit. She rushed down the short hallway to the kitchen and out the back door. Scanning the field in front of her, she was both relieved and annoyed to see Pierre, Jacques, and Juliette sitting by the well. They seemed relaxed, talking and laughing as if nothing was going on. Léa stepped back toward the hall and called to Marie that she’d found Juliette. Marie hadn’t moved from her spot by the door. Léa’s hackles rose. Normally she could forgive her siblings’ rude and lazy behavior, it was only natural after living a life of luxury all their lives and then being plunged into work they were not trained for or accustomed to. However, their complete thoughtlessness and lack of concern for their father was beyond reason even in light of those circumstances.

  Léa stalked to the well. Pierre was leaning against it while Jacques sat perched on its edge. Juliette faced them as she told her story and examined her nails. They didn’t even look up as Léa neared.

  “Juliette, didn’t you tell them that something is wrong with Father? Why are you all still standing here?” She was trying not to accuse them, but she couldn’t keep all of the edge from her voice.

  “Yes, I told them,” Juliette responded with an unaffected glance. “We figured you would find us when you returned, there was nothing for us to do for Father inside.”