The Beast’s Heart

by Leife Shallcross

  ‘That’s …’ murmured Isabeau, also, it seemed, speechless.

  ‘Outrageous,’ I muttered. But Isabeau looked up at me and laughed and pulled me forward for a closer look. As we hurried down the slope, I fancied I could hear the far-off fiddles and flutes of the dance at the Chateau Villemont out here in the warm summer air. Then, as Isabeau and I stepped under the first string of lanterns marking out the square, the music rose around us.

  ‘Oh, listen,’ cried Isabeau, peering up at the sky in delight, as though the musicians were to be found there. She pulled at my arm again.

  ‘Come on, Beast,’ she laughed, ‘we must dance!’

  ‘I don’t know these dances!’ I cried in panic – and I didn’t. I had only learned those dreadful courtly dances, where everyone steps solemnly around each other like the figures on a cuckoo clock.

  ‘It’s easy!’ she cried, still laughing. ‘Just go around in circles!’ She linked her arm through mine and started dragging me about in dizzy spirals. For a few moments I felt like the hulking, awkward beast I was, but then I looked down into her laughing face and something else in me awoke. I couldn’t help but laugh back at her.

  ‘Is that all there is to it?’ I asked. ‘Well, then!’ And, clasping her arm firmly in mine I began to swing her about even faster. For once my superior size and strength came in handy, and within moments she was shrieking in delight. We capered around in this fashion until we were both so dizzy we began to stumble and nearly ended up in the fountain.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Isabeau gasped, hanging on to a pole in an effort to stay upright, while I simply gave in and dropped to my knees. ‘I don’t think that’s quite how it’s done.’

  ‘No,’ I confessed, ‘I suppose not.’

  The music continued going around and around, however, in joyful repetition, so when she had caught her breath, Isabeau held out her hand to me once more.

  ‘Shall we try again?’ she asked. ‘With a little more decorum this time?’

  How could I resist? This time, however, I tried my best to remember some of the dance steps I had seen earlier in the evening. I very much doubt there is any country dance anywhere in the world quite like what Isabeau and I ended up doing together that night, but as the only people present we were both very well pleased with our performance, so I do not suppose it matters.

  When we were really too tired to dance another step, we turned to find a table and chairs set out by the fountain with a bowl of cold punch ready for us to drink. I had served Isabeau her drink, and was just ladling some into my own glass, when a loud bang sounded nearby and in shock I dropped my glass. It hit the edge of the fountain as it fell and shattered spectacularly. I stared at it in dismay.

  ‘Ohhh!’ breathed Isabeau, beside me. Her upturned face was spangled with light. I followed her gaze skywards and saw the fading blooms of fireworks falling through the night. We watched in silent delight for a few minutes as new bursts of pink and gold lit up the sky.

  ‘Thank you, Beast,’ said Isabeau, looking over at me with shining eyes.

  ‘If I had planned it I would by all means take the credit,’ I said, my heart skipping at the look on her face. ‘But I confess I had no thought but to be content with listening to you playing in the music room.’

  ‘What happened to your glass?’ she asked, seeing my empty hands.

  ‘I dropped it and it broke,’ I said, puzzled no replacement had materialised.

  ‘Here,’ she said, refilling her own glass and handing it to me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said gravely, trying to stop my hand trembling as I took it from her.

  ‘Pour me another when you are finished,’ she said artlessly, putting her chin in her hand and looking up at the latest burst of fireworks overhead. A satisfaction that was almost painful welled in my breast. I was almost afraid to think on how perfect this moment was. She had told me her evenings were lonely without my company; we had danced; and now we sat, watching fireworks and drinking punch from the same glass. If it had been pure brandy I could not have felt more intoxicated.

  But, as I put the refilled glass down in front of her and she threw me a happy glance as she took it, I understood how the evening would end. A chill weight settled in my stomach.

  Almost as though the magic had been awaiting my unpleasant revelation and did not mean to allow a moment for my courage to desert me, the fireworks erupted in one last spectacular explosion of colour and then fell away into darkness. Even the lights around us had grown softer and the music faded once more to distant strains.

  ‘That was beautiful, Beast,’ Isabeau sighed.

  ‘Isabeau, will you marry me?’ I blurted out painfully, realising the evening had now come to a close.

  Isabeau sat very still for a moment, then swallowed visibly. She turned to me, her eyes wide. ‘No,’ she said carefully, ‘but I would be very pleased if you would invite me to dine with you again tomorrow night.’

  ‘Will you dine with me tomorrow night?’ I asked obediently, trying to keep my voice calm.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Beast. I will,’ she replied cordially.

  Chapter XXVIII

  Our meeting in the music room the next day, to my regret, did not have the same sense of easy familiarity that had been building between us of late. But I was determined, and Isabeau seemed equally so, not to let the awkwardness of my most recent proposal sour our relations.

  So she played to me, and I did my part by listening and basking in the pleasure of her company. When she went out for her walk she made sure I would meet her in the library that afternoon. And when she had had her fill of sketching and being read to, she mentioned how she was looking forward to our evening meal.

  ‘For I am tired of dining alone,’ she added, putting her pencils away. ‘Will you meet me in the entrance hall again tonight, Beast?’

  ‘Yes, if it pleases you,’ I said, laying aside my book.

  Isabeau nodded. ‘I will see you then,’ she said and, favouring me with a last smile, she left the library.

  The hour arrived and found me at my station at the foot of the stairs. She did not keep me waiting. I caught my breath as she appeared at the top of the staircase. Once more she had dressed for dinner as though attending some function of regal proportions. This time her gown was of pale, sea-green silk, with some floral pattern worked in gold, echoing the colour of her honey curls. A collar of aquamarine jewels glittered about her throat.

  ‘Good evening,’ I said, bowing as she descended.

  ‘Good evening, Beast,’ she replied, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘Am I grand enough for you tonight?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said airily, trying to conceal my pleasure and offering her my arm. My answer must have pleased her for she gave me an amused smile and tucked her hand through my elbow.

  The meal was superb. It even surpassed the meal Isabeau and I had been served the first evening she had dined with me. A centrepiece of ice carved in the shape of a giant cockleshell contained numerous Venetian glass bowls of ices in a variety of flavours, and in the end Isabeau abandoned all interest in the other dishes and concentrated on sampling as many of these as she could manage.

  I sat back, drinking a delicious, pale golden wine and watched her, trying to stave off the inevitable. But, at last, she laid down her spoon and pushed her bowl away and propped her elbows on the table.

  ‘That was delicious,’ she said contentedly.

  ‘Isabeau,’ I said, ‘will you marry me?’

  The happy, relaxed expression on her face froze. She closed her eyes. I waited. She opened them again and tried to smile at me.

  ‘I had hoped the after-dinner conversation would last a little longer before we reached this point,’ she said in an attempt at a light tone.

  ‘I must ask,’ I said.

  ‘No, Beast,’ she said. ‘I cannot.’

  We sat in silence, looking at each other across the table.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said sorrowfully.

  I shook my head. ‘You
are honest,’ I said.

  ‘I really am sorry,’ she repeated.

  I nodded and rose from my seat.

  ‘Can we not just be friends, Beast?’ she asked, pleading.

  ‘We are always friends, I hope,’ I answered. As usual, my question had killed the conversation, so there seemed little point in prolonging the awkwardness between us and I left. As I stepped through the door, though, I thought I heard her catch her breath as though to speak to me. But she did not and I gently pulled it closed behind me.

  It had all happened just as I’d thought it would. I had asked, she had refused. Still, I could not help the disappointment and hopelessness that rose within me. I thought of going straight to bed, but I feared in my present mood I would just toss and turn. So, instead, I went to my study to see if I might distract myself by looking in on the de la Noues.

  They were a quiet family party that night, sitting peacefully around the fire. Isabeau’s father was reading, Marie was writing in her book and Claude was sewing. They spoke little, but de la Noue would cough every now and then and Claude was humming ever so quietly as she worked. The melody was familiar and after a moment I recognised it as one of the tunes from the Vicomte’s dance. As I watched, Marie glanced up at her sister and a knowing smile twitched at her lips.

  This was not much, but it was enough to turn my thoughts from hopeless contemplation of the impossible task of winning Isabeau’s hand back to the successes I had most recently gained in restoring her to the land of the living. Thus I was able to go to my bed with a tolerably peaceful mind.

  If the worst of my disappointment was soothed by witnessing this vignette, all the old fears for Isabeau’s health sprang back into life when, some hours later, I was awoken by the whispering echo of Isabeau weeping. These were not the desperate, heartbroken sobs that had drawn me from my bed some weeks earlier. But it was not possible for me to hear her in any kind of grief without attempting to somehow ease it.

  As I drew on my robe and hurried through the house, the sounds stopped and started again several times. But when I stood outside her door at last, I could still hear the hushed, sad noises issuing from the other side.

  Hesitantly I knocked upon the door and called, ‘Isabeau! Can I help?’

  There was a brief silence, then the handle turned and the door opened. Isabeau stood there in her nightgown with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  ‘Beast,’ she murmured, wiping the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand. ‘How is it you always know when I want you?’ She gave me a watery smile and stepped away from the door, inviting me in.

  ‘I – I heard you,’ I confessed uneasily. ‘I don’t want to intrude. But … is there is something I can do to help?’

  She gave me another sad smile. ‘If you would just sit with me a while, I would be grateful,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, the constriction about my heart easing a little. ‘May I get you anything?’

  ‘No, no,’ she shook her head and turned back towards the fire. I took a step to follow her, then stopped. There were two chairs now, where there had only been one before. Isabeau seated herself.

  ‘You were expecting me?’ I asked as she sat down. Another shawl was lying on the end of the bed, so I took it up and spread it over her knees. She gave me a far more convincing smile at this and I sat down, warmer than simple proximity to her small bedchamber fire could account for.

  ‘It has been here since the morning after you last visited me in the middle of the night,’ she explained, a hint of amusement in her smile. ‘It is just as well really. For you are far too big to sit hunched up on the footstool like you did last time. And I know you too well to think I might have any hope of convincing you to take this chair, while I sat on the footstool.’

  I had to smile at this.

  ‘Are you sure you do not want anything?’ I asked.

  Isabeau made a face. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I do make a poor hostess. Beast, surely I should be offering hospitality to you, don’t you think? Do you want anything?’

  I made a thoughtful noise deep in my chest. Isabeau looked delighted.

  ‘Did you just growl at me?’ she asked.

  ‘No!’ I said, offended. ‘But as it happens, since you have woken me in the dead of night, and I presume my task is to get us both back to sleep, I consider some mulled wine is in order.’

  ‘That is a superb idea!’ she said and clapped her hands imperiously. ‘House!’ she cried. ‘Mulled wine for two, please.’

  Immediately a pewter jug and two tankards appeared by the fender.

  ‘Very good!’ cried Isabeau and she took up the jug and poured a tankard for me. It reminded me of Marie serving mulled wine to Dufour and her family and I must have stared a little, for Isabeau frowned at me.

  ‘Beast?’ she asked. ‘Is something amiss?’

  ‘No, no,’ I answered. ‘I was just thinking you reminded me of someone.’

  She poured a cup for herself and we drank in silence for a minute or two.

  ‘Isabeau,’ I said eventually. ‘Will you tell me what upset you so?’

  A shadow fell across her face and she gave me a quick, guilty glance, then looked moodily into the fire.

  ‘You don’t—’ I began, not wanting to pry. But she waved a hand at me and I fell silent.

  ‘I …’ she began, then stopped. She took a deep breath and started again.

  ‘I’ll tell you, Beast,’ she said, her chin lifted obstinately. ‘But only on condition you pretend to be someone else!’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ I asked, startled.

  ‘Can you do that?’ she persisted stubbornly.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I confessed.

  Isabeau gave an exasperated sigh and closed her eyes. ‘Just try,’ she said, with her eyes still closed.

  ‘Very well,’ I said, still puzzled.

  ‘I have a friend,’ she said, keeping her eyes shut. ‘Today he asked me something, and I did not give him the answer he wanted.’

  My heart lurched within me, but I stayed silent.

  ‘My answer made him sad. I know it did. And so I was upset. But—’ Here she opened one eye and glared at me. I sat very still, staring at her in dismay.

  ‘My friend has a tendency towards despondency,’ Isabeau said, an edge of severity in her voice. ‘If he knew I had been upset, he would be sad. And then I would be more upset and he would grow sadder and— ’ She paused and opened her other eye, fixing me with a very direct stare. ‘Do you see my dilemma?’

  ‘I do indeed,’ I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. ‘Perhaps …’

  ‘Yes?’ asked Isabeau, an edge to her voice.

  ‘Are you quite recovered?’ I asked.

  ‘A little better,’ said Isabeau.

  ‘Then perhaps if you were to get a good night’s sleep and show him a cheerful face on the morrow, he will have no cause to be despondent,’ I finished awkwardly.

  I was rewarded with a droll smile from Isabeau. I smiled nervously back. In response she reached out with one bare foot and nudged my leg sharply. We looked at each other and she giggled. My small smile became a grin and she grinned back at me happily.

  ‘I suppose that is a hint for me to turn you out and go back to bed, then?’ she asked, stifling a yawn.

  I drained my cup. ‘Yes,’ I said, firmly suppressing my strong inclination to sit here, drinking mulled wine with her until dawn. Really, it wouldn’t do. I stood up and she stood too.

  ‘Goodnight, Beast,’ she said, holding out her hand.

  ‘Goodnight, Isabeau,’ I said, taking it and kissing the back of it with more confidence than I felt. She smiled at me again.

  When I returned to my own bed, sleep came to me instantly and I do not think I ever slept so deeply or so well as I did for the remainder of that night.

  The next day passed pleasantly enough. In the afternoon, as Isabeau was putting her brushes and pencils away, she said, without looking at me, ‘Do we dine toge
ther again tonight, Beast?’

  ‘Certainly,’ I said, a happy warmth flushing my body.

  Again, I met her at the stairs, and again we dined, and again, when we had eaten our fill and Isabeau laid down her spoon, I asked her the question I had to ask.

  ‘Isabeau, will you marry me?’ I begged.

  The light went out of her face.

  ‘No, Beast, I cannot,’ she replied sorrowfully, looking down at her lap.

  ‘Then,’ I said, choosing my words carefully, ‘will you consider indulging me in a game of chess, perhaps?’

  She lifted her face to look at me and the shadows receded from her eyes.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, her voice warm with relief.

  So we took ourselves back to the library, where we found two comfortable chairs and a chess set all ready for us by a good fire, and played until it was very late indeed.

  Chapter XXIX

  In the absence of Isabeau fully and freely returning my regard, I was now as content with my life as it was possible to be. We dined together daily. And, while on the nights I chanced to make my proposal that same haunted look came into her eyes, instead of fleeing from her with my tail between my legs, I would offer her my arm and we would go together to the library to play at chess, or draughts, or fox-and-hounds, or some other such game, until it was time to retire.

  My time to look in upon Isabeau’s family became fairly well restricted to the mornings, when Isabeau took her walk, or the late afternoon when we parted from reading in the library. However, the de la Noue household was also enjoying a similar period of contentment and prosperity. René Dufour continued his quiet, modest courtship of Marie and the Vicomte once more took a direct hand in steering the course of his own path to happiness in securing the affections of the fair Claude.

  He scarcely waited a week after the summer dance before waylaying Claude on her return from the markets. ‘Waylaying’ is perhaps an unfortunate term to use, but this time Claude did not look at all disconcerted, only pleased at the happy ‘chance’ that saw him cross her path.

  He greeted her and instantly dismounted, and was readily granted the favour of walking with her for a short time. Claude was even so good as to overlook the further coincidence that he happened to be carrying with him a small bag once more filled with oranges from his hothouse that he thought the sisters would be happy to make use of.