The cat sits and turns my way. I assume this means he wants me to come now. Obedient, I push myself to my feet and make my way toward him. The rabbit lies still on the ground, perfectly unblemished.
“How did you kill him?” I ask, surprised.
Puss licks his paw, obviously pleased with himself. “I snapped his neck.”
“Impressive.” I gingerly pick the animal up by its paw. “We’ll be eating well tonight.”
“There will be more for that later. This one goes to the village.”
“Why?”
Already trotting toward Glenridge, Puss says, “You’re going to trade it for a bag.”
I hurry to keep up with him. “A bag? What kind of bag?”
Tired of questions, the cat hurries ahead, ignoring me until we reach Glenridge. “Go see the tailor. Hurry before he closes shop.”
With a frown, I hold the poor creature away from me as I walk down the street.
A few people I know call their greetings, and several people give me odd looks. It’s not every day I carry a dead rabbit through the streets.
I’m almost to the tailor’s when the young man from the chocolate shop turns the corner. Our eyes meet, and his gaze drops to the rabbit. For a fraction of a moment, I mistake him for the man I escorted to the bookshop. My heart picks up its pace, and I nearly drop Puss’s kill.
But the chocolatier’s hair is short and brown, not blond. It’s not light, nor is it dark, but a perfectly normal, unremarkable color somewhere in between. There’s a handsomeness to him, even if it’s not in a conventional way. Most of his features are plain, but for some reason, he’s striking—even if nothing in particular truly stands out.
I can’t help but notice he’s immaculate, as always, and here I am in a dress covered in dirt. With my free hand, I quickly brush strands that have escaped from my braid away from my face.
He smiles. “Your pet has seen better days.”
“Oh,” I glance at the dead creature I’m holding, and my face grows warm. “It’s not–”
“I didn’t figure it was. You do have a purpose though, don’t you?” His eyebrows furrow, and he motions to the rabbit, a secret smile in his eyes. “Or do you simply make a habit of walking the streets with a dead hare?”
“I’m going to the tailor’s.” My cheeks grow almost painfully hot, and I can feel the blush spreading to my neck and ears as well. “To trade the rabbit for a bag, if he’ll have it.”
“What kind of bag?” The chocolatier takes a step nearer, and his smile grows.
I gaze at him for several moments, off-kilter. As he grows closer, I notice his eyes, which I assumed were brown, are actually green like the smooth, pale rocks I would sometimes find at the bottom of the creek when I was a child. It’s an unusual color, unsettling but fully mesmerizing.
“I don’t really know,” I finally answer.
He gives me a quizzical look and appears to be fighting back an amused grin. “I have a bag, but I have no rabbit. Perhaps we could make a trade?”
A laugh builds in my chest. Before it can escape, I mentally slap myself. “Yes…of course. If you would like the rabbit, that would be fine.”
With a nod of his head, he motions for me to follow him to the chocolate shop. As we walk down the street, I glance back at Puss, who is sitting on a fence post at the edge of town. His tail twitches, and I can feel waves of feline judgment roll off of him.
I wrinkle my nose at the cat and then transfer all my attention to the man I’m walking with.
“I’m Suzette,” I say after a moment.
He turns. “Really? I was told you preferred Etta.”
“You’ve asked about me?” Though only curious, my voice sounds a little high-pitched, like maybe his answer means more to me than it does.
Looking faintly embarrassed, he clasps his hands behind his back and looks forward. “You come to the village several times a week, and yet you’ve never visited my shop.”
It’s my turn to look uncomfortable. After all this time, I still come to Glenridge hoping to run into Kerrick at the bookshop. Of course I haven’t seen him. After all, how many birthdays can his father have?
Idly brushing more dirt from my dress, I say, “I’m afraid your shop is a bit extravagant for my family’s budget.”
“You didn’t hear?” he asks.
I dare a peek at him. “Hear what?”
A slow smile builds over his face, making him look even more handsome. “I offer free chocolate for every customer who comes to trade a rabbit for a bag.”
Laughing out loud, I say, “You do not.”
He nods with earnest. “Yes, I do.” His smile twitches to crooked, and he laughs. “I implemented the incentive just moments ago.”
“I’ve told you my name. What’s yours?” I ask softly. The question is forward, but I don’t care.
His smile softens, and his eyes grow warm. “Beau.”
I give him a small curtsy, which is awkward with the rabbit in my hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
He unlocks the shop door and motions me inside. “Truly, Suzette, the pleasure is mine.”
The smell is indescribable. The moment it hits my nose, I stop and close my eyes. The fragrance is sweet and rich. It’s nothing short of decadent.
“It tastes better than it smells,” Beau assures me.
“Impossible.” I take another deep breath and then open my eyes.
“Shall I relieve you of the…?” He motions to the rabbit, still amused.
“Yes, please.” Just as he’s taking it, I pull it back, teasing. “As long as you have my bag.”
“I do.” He grins. “I swear.”
“Very well.” I hand the rabbit over, more than happy to be free of it.
After promising he’ll be right back, Beau climbs the stairs to his living quarters. As I wait for him to return, I browse the confections behind the counter. They’re all tiny. Some are covered in icing like cakes, but others are simply brown.
“They’re all too pretty to eat,” I say when Beau comes back down.
He goes behind the counter, chooses several of the small candies, and wraps them up.
“You really don’t have to—”
Beau hands me the package, cutting me off. “These are for later. I have something else I want you to try now.”
Almost as an afterthought, he hands me a satchel-sized bag with a drawstring top. It’s nicer than anything the tailor would have traded me for.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
I glance around the shop. The windows are fitted with glass, and various pieces of art hang on the walls. My gaze, again, drops to my dress. I don’t belong here.
Beau takes out a small pot and adds milk and a chunk of dark brown chocolate to it. “Every morning, I roast the cocoa beans in a large pot over the fire. Then I shell them and grind them with sugar until the hot mixture is a thick, buttery liquid. After that, I let the concoction cool in blocks.” He places the milk and chocolate mixture on a grate over the low-burning fire. “That’s how I make chocolate.”
I take a seat on a stool and cross my arms on the thick wood counter. “Where do your beans come from?”
He stirs the milk with a wooden spoon, and the chocolate slowly melts, turning the white liquid brown. “From tropical regions far over the seas. A traveling merchant who has a route to Rynvale delivers them to me once a month.”
“Have you ever been there, where the cocoa beans grow?”
Beau removes the steaming liquid from the grate and then pours it into two porcelain cups. “I have. My father captained a ship, and I traveled the world with him before I set out on my own.”
I notice the way he stumbles when he mentions his father in a past-tense way. How long ago did he lose him? Since we’ve only just met, it would be very rude to ask.
“And yet you find yourself here,” I say instead.
“This was my father’s land. After he passed, I felt as if it was my duty to visit.” He slides a cup to me.
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I breathe in the steam. “You almost make it sound as if you’re not here to stay.”
He leans down across from me, resting his elbows on either side of his cup. “Who’s to say? Will I make my home here forever?” He shakes his head. “Not likely. But I’m here now.”
Feeling warm, I take a small sip of the drink in front of me and suck in a gasp. The mixture is dark and sweet—sweeter than honey and richer than the coffee I had forever ago on a birthday long passed.
“What do you think?” Beau asks.
“It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.” I take another sip. “Thank you.”
He drinks from his own cup. “It’s becoming quite popular with the nobility.”
“Why did you choose to set up shop in tiny Glenridge? You’d have likely done better in Rynvale, near the castle.”
“I like it here, and we’re close enough to Rynvale. The elite can come to me if they wish.”
Somehow I make the drink last far longer than it should, and it’s dusk when I step out the door. My brothers will be missing me.
“Thank you for the bag,” I say.
Beau holds the door. “Thank you for the rabbit.”
A warm, friendly moment passes between us. Just as I’m wondering if it’s foolish holding hope of seeing Kerrick again when this man lives right here in the village, a loud and insistent yowl sounds behind me.
Closing my eyes and gritting my teeth, I say, “That would be my cat.”
Beau peers around me into the street. Puss sits in the middle, an unamused look on his feline face.
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
Puss is handsome—brown and large with long, luxurious fur, but he’s also a nuisance—was before I even knew he could speak.
“Thank you again,” I say.
Beau’s eyes are bright in the dim light. “Come back and see me.”
I bite back a smile as I nod and turn away. Before I can go, he catches my hand and draws me back. “Promise me.”
My chest grows warm. “I promise.”
Chapter 7
“Stop sniffing around the boy at the chocolate shop,” Puss says. “I have greater things planned for you.”
We’re nearing the mill, and it’s grown dark. The summer moon is just cresting the horizon, and crickets chirp in the underbrush.
“He’s the son of a captain, cat,” I say, coming to Beau’s defense even if I don’t believe I was “sniffing around” Beau in the way Puss means. “And he’s very fine.”
Puss only makes a disdainful snort—a practiced sound only a feline could execute well.
“I still have to wonder if I’m going mad,” I say. “I can’t grow used to you speaking.”
“You’ll have to accustom yourself to it. I don’t plan on stopping now.”
The cottage’s shutters are open to the night, and cozy light glows from within. I prepare myself before I go in. Eugene will likely lecture me for staying out so late.
When I walk through the door, I’m greeted by a feminine laugh.
The scene before me is so domestic, I hesitate in the door frame.
“Hello, Etta,” Sarah-Anne says from the fire.
She wears a long apron over a pretty dress, a dress I’ve never seen before, so it must be new, and she dabs butter over a browning hen on the spit. Eugene is at the table, watching her with that wistful expression he gets whenever she’s near, but Thomas has eyes only for the bird.
“Where did the hen come from?” I ask as I hang my new bag on a hook by the door.
It’s been a long time since we’ve had this much meat. Sometimes we barter for eggs, and Thomas will occasionally bring home fish on the days Eugene doesn’t need extra help with the field or the mill, but chickens are a rare treat. They have been since we lost our laying hens to a fox who sneaked into the hen house last summer.
We still haven’t been able to replace them.
“I did some extra mending for Mrs. Fletcher. In exchange, she gave me the bird,” Sarah-Anne says.
“It was kind of you to share.”
I pull my precious package of chocolate from my apron. Tonight I have something to contribute as well.
Sarah-Anne waves a hand likes it’s nothing. “We have too much as it is.”
Uncomfortable, I look out the darkened window. It must be nice being the butcher’s daughter.
Sarah-Anne notices the looks on our faces. Instantly paling, she murmurs, “I’m sorry.”
Eugene goes to her side. “Don’t be sorry. The field is growing well this year. By autumn, we will have recovered.”
The blond-haired girl smiles up at my eldest brother, and they share a look that makes me feel as if Thomas and I are intruding. Again, a pang of guilt plagues me. I have no doubt the two would be married already if it weren’t for us.
Thomas, obviously thinking the same thing, busies himself with his knife and a short, thick limb that he’s whittling.
“What are you making this time?” I ask from behind him as I look over his shoulder.
My brother works with agile fingers. “I’m not sure yet.”
“I think it looks like a fairy.”
He glances back at me. “You always think they look like fairies in the beginning.”
I shrug and look for something to occupy myself with. Sarah-Anne seems to have supper taken care of.
“Why were you out so late?” Eugene finally asks.
Grimacing, I take a seat next to Thomas. “I met the chocolatier. He invited me in.”
The room goes quiet, and every eye turns on me. My brothers don’t say anything. They’re obviously a little shocked that the man would speak with me.
“Be careful with that one,” Sarah-Anne says, her voice quiet.
I turn to her, ready to defend Beau. “He’s kind.”
She gives me a small smile. “Yes, and a little too handsome, perhaps.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Sarah-Anne wrinkles her nose. “Everyone’s quite taken with him, but he seems a bit aloof.” She pauses. “A little high and mighty, if you will.”
Her words don’t match the man I met. Beau is friendly and generous…and the way he looked at me made me feel special. I’ve never felt special before.
Except for the time I accompanied Kerrick to the bookshop.
I bite my lip, thinking again of the young man I haven’t seen since the beginning of spring. How did he infiltrate my thoughts so completely? It’s been months, and yet I can still remember his smile after an encounter that lasted only minutes.
Eugene watches me with narrowed eyes. “You’ve grown rather pretty, haven’t you, Etta?”
Offended, I frown at him. “Are you saying, at some point, I was a troll?”
My older brother laughs, but he looks uncomfortable. “I’ve never stopped to notice, is all. Perhaps you should be careful.”
Heat stains my cheeks, and I look away.
Changing the subject, Sarah-Anne goes on to tell us about her day, but I barely listen.
Though I’m sure they’re wrong about Beau, he’s not the man in danger of breaking my heart.
The sun is nearing its apex in the sky, and I’m, again, lying on my stomach, flat on the ground. Sharp weeds stab at me, and meadow grass tickles the bare skin on my arms. Like before, we’re just beyond the mill, still on Eugene’s land.
“Now, as soon as the rabbit wanders in the bag to eat the greens and grain,” Puss instructs, “you’re going to yank on the string and trap him inside.”
A young, fat hare sniffs around the edges of the bag. I wait, wondering if this will truly work. Then, before my eyes, the foolish creature hops into the bag. I yank on the strings and successfully trap the rabbit inside.
“It worked!” I exclaim as I leap to my feet.
“It won’t work again if you don’t keep your voice down,” Puss hisses. “You’ll scare away everything within a mile of here.”
My stomach sinks when I see the poor ra
bbit struggling against the confines of the bag. “Now what—”
Before I can say the words, the cat leaps onto the bag, catching it in his clutches. Within moments, the rabbit goes still. Horrified, I stare at the lifeless bundle.
“Next time, you’ll take care of it,” Puss says. I begin to shake my head, ill at the thought of snapping a living creature’s neck, but the cat hisses. “I can’t do everything for you.”
Gulping, I nod.
Two and a half long hours later, I’ve bagged four rabbits. Covered in dirt and feeling weary, I carry the full bag into Glenridge.
“Take them to the butcher,” Puss says, and then he narrows his bright green eyes. “Not the chocolatier.”
I roll my eyes and stalk down the street. I push through the door to the butcher’s shop. Sarah-Anne sits behind the counter, plucking a chicken.
“Etta.” She smiles when she sees me. “What can I do for you?”
Her father steps from the back when he hears he has a customer.
I set my bag on the counter between us. “I have three young rabbits that I would like to sell.”
Surprised, Sarah-Anne raises her eyebrows, but the butcher only opens the bag. He inspects my catch and nods.
“These are fine hares, Etta. You don’t want to sell the fourth?”
“Thank you, sir. And no, that’s for our supper.”
After he weighs them, he hands me five copper coins. “Tell your brothers I’ll buy more if they trap them.”
“Oh, I…” I shrug. What difference does it make? “All right.”
Sarah-Anne gives me a wave as I slip out the door, and I walk into the street, very satisfied to have coins jingling in my apron pocket. I find Puss on his favorite fencepost at the edge of the village.
“Now go to the tailor’s,” the cat says, “and buy a pair of breeches and the material to make yourself a shirt.”
“Breeches?” I ask him in disbelief.
Puss twitches his whiskers. “You can’t hunt in a dress. Go.”
Giving in, I turn back toward the tailor’s shop. And then I wonder why, exactly, I am taking orders from a cat. But the answer is simple. I have more coins in my pocket than I’ve ever earned on my own. And they’re mine.
The Marquise and Her Cat: A Puss in Boots Retelling Page 3