The Beast’s Heart

by Leife Shallcross

  ‘You two look as though you are about to burst,’ she cried. ‘Ask me! Am I so changed you stand on politeness now?’

  Marie and Claude hesitated for a heartbeat more, and then Marie smiled.

  ‘Do you live in the lap of luxury?’ she asked. ‘It is something I have imagined to myself after Papa’s tales of the Beast’s house. It made your fate more bearable.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Isabeau, smiling mischievously. ‘All the books and all the gowns and jewels I have.’

  Marie frowned as though this phrase had some meaning she could not quite catch.

  ‘That’s what you wrote in your first letter to me,’ explained Isabeau. ‘You said you imagined me living in luxury, surrounded by all the clothes and jewels and books you and Claude could desire between you. I’ve read it so many times.’

  Marie pulled Isabeau close and Isabeau rested in her sister’s embrace for a moment. When she sat up, Marie brushed tears away from her own eyes and laughed to see the tears in Isabeau’s.

  ‘Well, my letters have done more good than I ever hoped,’ she said fondly. ‘For not only did they comfort us both, but they have brought you home on the eve of my wedding. I cannot tell you how happy I am you will be there.’

  ‘Marie, I am so glad for you!’ said Isabeau in a voice very close to a sob. ‘I cannot tell you how happy I am you have found someone to love.’

  If Marie was surprised at her sister’s sudden emotion, I remembered Isabeau’s despondency when she first heard of Marie’s engagement. I watched the sisters embracing and wondered if my epiphany of the previous night held any truth, if Isabeau had indeed found her own match in me and was breaking her own heart by failing to admit it.

  ‘You will come to love him, too,’ Marie said. ‘Indeed, you must! For you are all to come and live with us, you know.’

  ‘Papa and Claude are leaving the cottage?’ asked Isabeau, startled.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Marie. ‘Have I not have mentioned it in my letters?’

  Isabeau shook her head.

  ‘We are all to go and live with René,’ said Marie. ‘It is especially convenient now winter is coming on again. And there are other reasons.’ She looked significantly at Claude here, who presumably would therefore be closer to her lover. Claude’s composure was not at all ruffled, however, and she completely ignored her sister’s insinuation.

  ‘Do not say you will miss this awful house?’ she asked, seeing Isabeau’s dismay.

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Isabeau looking worried. ‘It will be harder to imagine you all somewhere I have not seen.’

  Marie’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘What do you mean “imagine us”?’ demanded Claude, sounding alarmed.

  Isabeau looked at them, belatedly realising she had revealed her return was not permanent. Her worried expression deepened.

  ‘I didn’t say before, when Papa was still here. I will tell him tomorrow, but I am going back.’

  I felt a warm shock of unexpected pleasure at this. She did mean to return!

  ‘What?’ demanded Claude, sounding angry now. ‘Did you not escape from him? Why would you want to go back?’

  ‘I didn’t escape,’ said Isabeau carefully, ‘he released me from our bargain.’

  Claude began to rise, exclaiming again, but Marie put out a hand to stay her.

  ‘Your bargain?’ she asked, just as carefully.

  ‘Yes,’ said Isabeau, looking down at her hands in her lap.

  ‘You made a bargain with the Beast?’ repeated Marie. ‘And he released you from it to visit us?’

  I could not tell from her tone what she made of this, whether she was outraged or had perceived some unexpected magnanimity.

  ‘Yes,’ Isabeau said and looked up. ‘The day after I arrived, the Beast told me he had tricked Papa into bringing me because he was so lonely.’

  ‘Tricked?’ asked Claude.

  ‘Yes,’ said Isabeau firmly. ‘He told me he would never have harmed Papa.’

  I felt a surge of pride. She was defending me.

  ‘He has been alone in his chateau for a very long time,’ she continued. ‘He was terribly lonely and just wanted to meet me. But the day after I arrived he told me I was free to leave. He begged me to stay for a year, as a favour to him, but he would not keep me against my will.’

  ‘And you chose to stay,’ said Marie flatly.

  ‘It was only for a year, Marie,’ said Isabeau in a voice that begged for understanding.

  ‘Do you know what Papa has been through in these last months?’ asked Marie. She was clearly angry now. ‘Did you not think of us at all?’

  Isabeau flinched.

  ‘Of course,’ she whispered. Then in a stronger voice, ‘But I talked to Papa before I left. The Beast promised him—’

  ‘He blames himself entirely,’ Marie interrupted, ‘for your premature death, torture, whatever.’ She waved a hand to indicate subjects that did not bear thinking of.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ said Isabeau tearfully, ‘the Beast is very sorry too. And I was so tired. I could not bear to see you both so—’

  There was another awkward silence.

  ‘The Beast is sorry?’ asked Claude eventually.

  ‘Yes,’ cried Isabeau in a low voice, seizing on something positive. ‘Of course he is.’

  Marie and Claude looked at each other.

  ‘You must talk to Papa,’ said Marie seriously. ‘And go gently. He can hardly bear to have the Beast mentioned in front of him.’

  ‘I will, tomorrow,’ promised Isabeau. She looked at her sisters, nervously twisting her hands in her lap. ‘After the year is up I will come home for good.’

  The pleasure I had felt before died and I was left feeling cold and sick.

  ‘He is making himself ill,’ said Marie. ‘But only for love of you. Now you have come back and shown his fears to be groundless, he may be easier.’

  Isabeau nodded and Marie, giving in to her youngest sister’s distress, put her arms around her again.

  ‘And when I am married,’ Marie continued, ‘I am sure René will think of things to keep him from dwelling on his demons. He manages Papa very well, you know.’

  ‘Oh don’t let her get started,’ said Claude, rolling her eyes and clearly trying to lighten the mood once again, ‘we will hear of nothing but René for the rest of the evening. We want to hear about the Beast. Is he very ferocious?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Isabeau, and I was gratified to hear her sound shocked. ‘Not at all. He is very gentle. And so generous. I am completely spoiled.’ She told them about the invisible servants, the many-seasoned gardens, the music room and her wardrobe that produced whatever she had a whim to wear.

  ‘And he reads to me, you know,’ she said, looking shyly at Marie. ‘Most afternoons.’

  Marie’s eyebrows rose. ‘And does he read well?’ she managed to ask.

  ‘Very well,’ said Isabeau smiling. ‘I asked him to do it because it reminded me of you, you know.’

  ‘And what did you do to remind yourself of me?’ asked Claude.

  ‘I ate your favourite mousse,’ said Isabeau mischievously.

  Claude cried out in mock frustration. ‘You did not! Oh, I do not believe it. I have a mind to come and visit you.’

  Isabeau frowned in thought.

  ‘I wonder if you could?’ she said thoughtfully.

  Claude’s face became a picture of dismay.

  ‘Oh no, really I would be far too frightened,’ she said fearfully. ‘I am afraid of mice. Even your monkey used to make me nervous. I cannot conceive of confronting something man-sized.’

  ‘Oh, somewhat larger,’ said Isabeau teasingly. ‘He is far taller than any man I ever met.’

  My heart revived a little – was that a hint of pride in her voice?

  ‘Is he not ugly?’ asked Claude curiously. ‘Papa said he was hideous.’

  To my shock, Isabeau shook her head emphatically. ‘No, not ugly!’ She hesitated. ‘There is something a little d
isconcerting about him at first. I’m not certain what – perhaps it is that despite his appearance he dresses and behaves as a man. Really, he is not frightening at all. He is very gentlemanly and kind.’

  Marie and Claude exchanged surprised looks. There was an awkward pause as the elder sisters tried to reconcile Isabeau’s version of me with the tales told by their father.

  ‘Why is he there?’ asked Claude eventually.

  Isabeau did not answer immediately. ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually, shaking her head. ‘I have wondered if he might have been a man once. But he says he used to live in the forest and terrorise all who entered it. It was certainly he who gave it its evil reputation. Perhaps he was just some forest Beast and someone imprisoned him to make the forest safe again. Perhaps the effect of the magic over all the years has made him become more like a man.’

  ‘But, then, why would the forest have kept its reputation?’ asked Marie. ‘Surely if he was imprisoned to make it safe, whoever cast the spell would have made it known he was contained. And why imprison him? Why not just kill him?’

  ‘I’ve wondered that too,’ said Isabeau, still shaking her head. ‘I don’t have answers.’

  ‘Have you asked him?’ asked Claude timidly.

  Isabeau uttered a humourless laugh. ‘That would be breaking with all propriety,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Claude.

  ‘Well, he never speaks of it, so I assume the subject is taboo,’ said Isabeau. Her expression became pensive and she opened her mouth as though about to say something else, but hesitated. I suddenly became afraid she was going to tell them about my proposals of marriage. I could not fully explain it, but I did not want her to share that with them. If she told them, they might urge her to continue to refuse me. I had no real hope of Isabeau ever accepting me now, but I wanted this to be her decision alone and not spurred on by her sisters’ influence. And what could any responsible sister in their situation do, but try to prevent their youngest from being wed to a monster? I did not doubt even Marie, with all her attempts to think of me in a positive light, would baulk at such a prospect.

  Isabeau looked up at them. ‘He seems so sad,’ was all she said.

  Soon after this, the sisters retired to bed. I watched them go, laughing and happy again, Marie insisting both Isabeau and Claude share her room, as she would not have the opportunity to sleep with her sisters again. I drew the drapes across the mirror and looked around my study – dark, save for a single candle. My large, empty house seemed larger and lonelier than ever before. But, as I lay down to sleep that night, rather than dwelling on my renewed solitude, my mind found comfort in the way Isabeau had spoken of me to her sisters. At least, if she could not love me, she felt kindly towards me. And she was clearly eager for her family to share her good opinion of me. Really, I could not ask for more.

  Chapter XXXVII

  Sleep was a fey creature for me that night. Unable to lie still, I abandoned my bed to prowl the halls of my chateau at a very early hour. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed the shadowy corners were already filling with cobwebs and the paint beginning to peel from the walls, even though Isabeau had been absent for less than a day. Eventually, as the sun crested the edge of the forest, dusting the darkened treetops with gold, I threw myself into my chair in my study. I was exhausted, but burning with a feverish energy. I intended to remain in front of the mirror all day. It was the only means of escaping the terrible solitude of the house.

  At first all I saw was the empty kitchen, cold and grey in the morning light. Even the coals of the fire were covered over with a soft layer of grey ash, hiding their burning hearts. But the ascending sun must have been the de la Noues’ cue to rise, because it was not long before I began to hear muffled sounds, and only a little longer before Marie arrived in the kitchen. She moved purposefully about, rekindling the fire and setting the table. She stopped for a moment as she laid out the plates and utensils, then smiled happily and added an extra place.

  Her father appeared a short time later, and then Claude. They greeted each other quietly and Marie served them slices of toasted bread and large cups of steaming milk, but neither of them paid much attention to the food. There was an air of anticipation in the room, and all of the family kept glancing towards the door. Finally Isabeau appeared, wrapped in a shawl and yawning hugely. The tension in the room eased palpably and Monsieur de la Noue’s face lost its anxious expression as she went straight away to kiss him.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’ she asked Marie, clearly pleasantly surprised by the scene of orderly domestic felicity before her. ‘It seems inappropriate for the bride to be serving us on her wedding day.’

  Marie laughed and shook her head. ‘Sit yourself down,’ she said, ‘I have to prove to you I can take care of you as well as you took care of me.’

  Isabeau snorted. ‘You need do no such thing,’ she said, sliding onto the bench beside her father. As she did so, however, I noticed she was pale, with shadowy smudges beneath her eyes. There was also something heavy about her movements. My heart lurched at the familiar signs; she had slept badly.

  Marie also noticed this, for as she handed Isabeau an earthenware cup of something hot and steaming, she said to her, ‘You did not sleep well?’

  Isabeau smiled up at her sister and shook her head.

  ‘No,’ she said ruefully. ‘I fear I have grown too used to feather beds, pampered as I am.’

  I looked more carefully at her. It sounded feasible enough, but I was sure it was something of a white lie. I also noticed Isabeau’s father watching her closely, but I could not tell if he also thought this may not have been wholly true. Isabeau turned to her father as though she had sensed his scrutiny and took his hand.

  ‘Do not think I would not give up all the feather beds in the world, though, to be here with you today,’ she said warmly.

  De la Noue covered her hand with his own and smiled back, although his smile was weak and his eyes watery.

  After they had eaten, Marie asked Isabeau what she would like to do in the next hour, before they had to begin making themselves ready for the wedding.

  ‘Well,’ said Isabeau slyly, ‘I have spent most of yesterday admiring Claude’s domain, perhaps it is time for me to see the garden and the fabled henhouse.’

  Both Claude and Marie laughed, and their father flushed with pleasure and sat up a little straighter on the bench.

  ‘I am rather proud of it,’ said de la Noue, and I saw Claude lift a hand to cover a smile.

  ‘I will show it to you directly,’ said Marie. ‘Just let me clear these dishes away first.’

  ‘By no means!’ Claude cried out. ‘This is one thing you are not to do on your wedding day! What will René think if you arrive at the church with your hands all wrinkled from washing dishes?’

  ‘He will be thankful he has chosen a bride who is not afraid of work,’ said Marie dismissively.

  ‘But Marie,’ said Isabeau with a most mischievous twinkle in her eye, ‘cannot you see you are depriving Claude of the opportunity to greet the Vicomte with wrinkled hands? If he sees her in such a state, he will surely be inspired to rescue her from such a desperate situation and whisk her off to his chateau.’

  Claude blushed pink, but Marie laughed out loud.

  ‘Oh sister,’ she said to Claude, ‘I may have promised not to tease, but Isabeau has made no such pledge.’

  When it was finally time for Marie to begin readying herself for the church, the sisters all ascended together one last time to her room. There was a great deal of fuss as the wedding clothes were brought out along with all the other finery the sisters would wear. As Isabeau had predicted, a dress had been found in one of her trunks that was a perfect match to the one Claude had set by for herself. As Claude began to unhook the back of Marie’s dress, I realised what was about to happen and leaped from my chair, vacating my study to pace the corridor outside until I heard Claude declare Marie was ready to have her
hair done. I deemed it safe to return and seated myself once more in my chair as Isabeau claimed this duty for herself, and Claude agreeably ran outside to pick some late roses to add the final touches. She left and Isabeau picked up a comb and started to brush out Marie’s long, dark tresses.

  ‘Was it truly the bed?’ asked Marie abruptly, into the silence.

  Isabeau looked up at her reflection in the glass, frowning in confusion.

  ‘You said you did not sleep well because of the bed,’ said Marie, ‘but I am wondering if that was the whole of it.’

  I sent a silent thank you to Marie. Something was surely troubling Isabeau. Perhaps her sister could soothe away whatever it was.

  ‘No,’ said Isabeau quietly, and she looked down, forgetting the curls of Marie’s dark hair in her hands. When she looked up at Marie, her eyes were brimming with tears. My heart lurched to see her so sad.

  ‘Marie, have you ever had a dream where someone appears to you, and you know they are a person you know well, but they wear a stranger’s face?’

  Marie frowned. ‘Yes, I think so,’ she said, ‘but not very often.’

  ‘I do,’ said Isabeau, as though she were giving up a secret. ‘Every night.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Marie.

  Isabeau took a deep breath and again began winding curls into Marie’s hair.

  ‘In the Beast’s chateau,’ she said, ‘he has a long gallery full of paintings – portraits of people. Some of them are very old. But at one end, there is a space where a painting used to hang. I asked the Beast about it and he showed me where it was. He said it disturbed him, so he had it taken away and put in an attic.’

  I leaned forward in my chair. Not even the house falling down around me could have distracted me from the mirror at that moment.

  Isabeau shrugged.

  ‘It was a picture of a young man. I could see nothing disturbing about it. He was handsome enough, well dressed, with the usual hound and horse. There was something rather arrogant about his air, but,’ she smiled wryly, ‘compared to the expressions on some of the faces in the gallery he looked quite amiable.’