‘Papa!’ exclaimed Claude, but she looked pleased.
‘No, but there is also Isabeau to consider now,’ said de la Noue, shaking his head. ‘René had only thought to take in you and I. Perhaps we should stay here.’
Claude bit her lip and was silent for some moments.
‘Why don’t you go and find her?’ she suggested at last. ‘She did not finish her breakfast, and you two have had so little time together.’
‘Ah, that is a good idea,’ said de la Noue, but he looked anxious. He rose from the table, clearing his throat and brushing breadcrumbs from his hands. He looked at Claude, who held out the blue bowl to him. He hesitated as his daughter looked at him pointedly, then his shoulders sagged the merest inch. ‘I will take her one of these. They were ever her favourite.’
Isabeau was not hard to find. She was, in fact, seated on a rough little wooden bench up against the back wall of the house, watching Marie’s chickens pecking at the ground around their henhouse. She did not notice her father at first, being deeply involved in her own thoughts. But as he approached her she looked up and her eyes brightened.
‘Papa,’ she said, taking the brioche he offered her.
‘Hello, my chick,’ said de la Noue, sitting down and taking up Isabeau’s hand. Isabeau smiled at him fondly. To my eyes, however, her smile was strained and her face pale.
‘At last I have you to myself,’ he said, patting the hand he held. ‘I cannot believe you are returned to me.’
‘Papa,’ said Isabeau unsteadily, ‘I have so many wonderful things to tell you.’
Her father turned his face away from her and began to blink.
‘It is enough for me to know that you are safe at last,’ he said gruffly.
‘But it is not enough for me,’ said Isabeau.
I waited, on the edge of my seat with anxiety.
‘I have always been safe, Papa,’ she said. ‘I was never in any danger. The Beast has been so good to me. I cannot tell you how good.’
‘I do not want to hear about the Beast,’ said de la Noue roughly. He began to cough. For a moment Isabeau looked as though she wanted to argue with him, then she took a deep breath and waited until his coughing subsided.
‘Then let me tell you about myself,’ she said. ‘Surely you will want to hear how I have been going on? I know all about you, you know. Marie has been writing me letters.’
De la Noue turned to her, his face a picture of surprise and disbelief.
‘Yes, really,’ said Isabeau, pressing on. ‘I have heard all about René and his kindness to her and how she loves him so. I think they will be very happy together. And she told me of the henhouse you built.’ Here she paused and I detected a devilish gleam in her eye. ‘She was so proud of that. And,’ her voice dropped to a hush, ‘she has told me all about Claude and her Vicomte. She is certain they will make a match of it. Do you think so?’
‘Well, he has been very attentive,’ said de la Noue uncertainly.
‘Marie thinks he is quite head over heels in love with her,’ said Isabeau in a conspiratorial tone. ‘And from what I have seen, I think he will suit her very well. Indeed, I cannot imagine her married to anyone less grandiose than a Vicomte. Yes, I think they will do very well. I think both my sisters will do very well.’
‘And you?’ asked her father sharply.
At this, Isabeau’s cheeks reddened slightly, but she affected an air of unconcern.
‘Me?’ she laughed. ‘Well, I have spent my days playing the piano, drawing, going for walks in the Beast’s gardens, listening while he reads to me. He reads very well, you know.’
De la Noue’s face had also grown red. ‘I do not care to hear about the Beast,’ he growled.
‘Papa,’ said Isabeau firmly, ‘I am afraid that if you want to hear about me, you will have to hear a little of the Beast. He is all I have for company, you know.’
‘You should have your family for company,’ snapped de la Noue, his anger bringing on another spasm of coughing.
‘What I want to tell you,’ said Isabeau, her voice soft again, ‘is that you really have no cause to worry about me. The Beast is no tyrant. He doesn’t make me do anything I do not want to do. Indeed, I rather think he indulges me too much. I live in the kind of comfort we used to know, in the city. I want for nothing.’
Unfortunately, this was the wrong thing to say.
‘Nothing?’ spat de la Noue, red-faced. ‘Nothing? What of the society of human beings? The presence of those you love? So he keeps you in comfort, does he? Like a little caged bird to amuse him with your singing? This is not what I would have had for you. As you are so good to point out, I have one daughter well established and another in a fair way to be so. But what of you? What of you? Where are your suitors? What are your prospects? Do not ask me to be grateful to him. I am only grateful you have escaped him at last.’
Having delivered this tirade he pushed himself up from the bench, but Isabeau was before him. She leaped up, as straight as a poker, her hands clenched by her sides. Her face was as flushed with anger as her father’s and her eyes blazed. She was magnificent.
‘I do ask you to be grateful!’ she cried. Her father’s mouth opened in shock. ‘Look at what we were when you left us last winter. Claude, wasting away from grief over Gilles. Marie in such deep despondency she never left her bed. And me! I was never so tired in my life from looking after you all.
‘You cannot imagine the pleasure it is to me to see my sisters happy, busy and glowing with love. Without me they have each found tasks to keep them busy and to help them get on with their lives. I do not see Claude pining over her worthless lover, or her gowns or her balls, or Marie sighing for her books and a secure future.
‘I’ve just seen the sister who thought her dowry was her only claim to attraction married to a man she loves and leaving us as eager for her life as a farmer’s wife as she ever was for any new book of philosophical essays! And even you cannot doubt the happiness Claude will find with her Vicomte.’
De la Noue opened his mouth to respond, but Isabeau continued, her voice high and angry.
‘I spent nearly a year worried to death our reversal of fortune would be the end of each and every one of you and working myself to the bone to try to stave that off, and to do all the things that needed doing which no one else would do. And now, to see my sisters as happy as they ever had a hope of being when we lived in the city! Papa, you cannot discount what a precious gift that is.’
‘Gift?’ echoed de la Noue in furious amazement. ‘Gift? You are asking me to believe this is the Beast’s gift?’
‘Marie has written as much to me,’ Isabeau threw back at him. ‘She says if I had not suddenly gone away, and she and Claude had to shift for themselves, who knows but they might both still be lying about moaning over the life they used to lead. But instead Marie is married and Claude is receiving the attentions of a Vicomte.’
De la Noue opened his mouth to retort, but Isabeau barrelled on.
‘And you, Papa, this is to say nothing of you! If you had not come upon his chateau in the forest, you would certainly be dead of cold. And if you had died then, where would the rest of us be now? He has given me you, Papa, and both my sisters’ happiness. Papa—’ The fire faded from Isabeau’s eyes and her voice became warm and coaxing. ‘Cannot you bring yourself to feel a little more gently towards my Beast? And to cease to worry about me?’
De la Noue’s expression did not soften. ‘Your Beast?’ he asked, a dangerous tone in his voice. Isabeau flushed deep red. ‘And tell me, daughter, why should I worry about you, now you are home at last?’
Isabeau looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
‘I have not escaped, Papa,’ she said sullenly. ‘I asked to come home to see you, and the Beast granted my request. And I am going back.’
‘You are not.’ De la Noue’s voice was flat with anger. Simultaneously Isabeau and I both winced at his tone.
‘I have given my word,’ said Isabeau, her face
pale and set.
‘Do you scruple to keep your word to such a creature?’ said de la Noue bitterly.
‘He is not a creature,’ Isabeau flashed back, her eyes beginning to flame once again. ‘He is a good man!’
Chapter XXXIX
I cannot tell you exactly what happened next between them. I was overcome, stars spinning across my vision and my heart leaping wildly. I barely registered both Isabeau and de la Noue’s voices raised in anger and the sound of something breaking. When finally I could breathe again and my sight cleared, my mirror showed me only de la Noue standing by his cottage, his fists clenched in hopeless rage. Isabeau was nowhere to be seen.
I sat on the edge of the seat, gripping the arms of my chair, willing it to show me my Isabeau. As much as I wanted to find her in the mirror, however, it now grew cloudy, obstinately clearing to show me nothing but my own fearsome face. I turned away in frustration. Clearly I had seen what it wanted me to see and I would be shown no more for the present.
Suddenly possessed of an irresistible surge of energy, I leaped out of my chair and began to walk. I have no clear memory of where I ranged – over the house, over the grounds, along the hedge that sketched the limits of my existence. I paced restlessly everywhere I could, her words echoing in my brain: ‘a good man!’
Had she heard herself? Did she comprehend what she had said? I was convinced, now more than ever, her heart saw me clearly, if only she would listen to it.
I was recalled to myself only hours later, when I caught sight of my house from wherever it was I had roamed to and saw it lit up, its windows gleaming golden, the shape of its bulk black against the darkling sky. I looked down and could barely see the black of my paws in the dim light.
I made my way back to the house slowly, the memory of her words glowing within my heart, warming away the cold grief of her absence. As I entered the house I heard the chink of cutlery and saw the door to our dining room standing open. Within was all aglow with candles and the repast set out to tempt me included all of my favourite dishes.
I turned my steps from the grand staircase towards the dining room and seated myself. The platters and dishes jostled each other in their attempt to serve me with their contents, and my wine was so eager to pour itself it even splashed a few droplets over the snowy linen. I was in humour enough to find amusement in the way the carafe, after so disgracing itself, retreated in a mortified fashion to the furthest corner of the table. However, I had not taken many mouthfuls before I realised my magic glass may now have relented and I leaped up, leaving it all uneaten, and raced off to my study.
As I opened the door it was all darkness within. However, the candles and fireplace sprang to life a moment later. They did not burn with the same merry intensity as I was used to, but I ignored their reluctance and sat myself in my chair. The curtains to my mirror parted half-heartedly, and slowly the glass cleared to show me Isabeau seated in the parlour of the cottage with her father and sister.
There was little conversation occurring and I surmised that Isabeau and her father had not yet properly made up after their argument. De la Noue stared moodily into the fire and Isabeau stared moodily into space. Claude appeared to be trying to concentrate on her sewing, but kept darting anxious glances at each of them.
‘I wonder if Marie is settled at the farm yet?’ she enquired of no one in particular.
Isabeau glanced at her and smiled wanly. ‘Hardly, I should think,’ she answered. ‘I doubt you will find her settled when you go to her next week.’
De la Noue made a bitter noise that sounded like ‘Pah’.
‘It is just as well for you, though, she has insisted on such a brief honeymoon,’ Isabeau continued, clearly intent on ignoring her father. ‘She has become such a delectable cook. I swear I have never had better than that terrine she left for us to eat today. To have to put up with my poor efforts in the kitchen after becoming used to her wizardry.’
De la Noue turned his face away from his daughter and in the firelight I saw tears glinting in his eyes. But Claude bravely tried to carry the conversation forward.
‘Nonsense,’ she said loyally, ‘although, speaking of magic, do you know, she did say she often thought cooking was a kind of alchemy.’
‘Yes!’ exclaimed Isabeau. ‘She wrote that in one of her letters to me.’ She paused, then said in a wistful voice, ‘Do you suppose she will have time to write to me now she is married?’
‘Oh, heart,’ said Claude, leaning over and clasping Isabeau’s hand, ‘I am sure she will.’
De la Noue stood up abruptly. ‘Goodnight,’ he said gruffly and stumped out of the room.
Claude made a face and set her sewing aside. ‘One moment, father, I will light you up. There is something I need upstairs.’
She hurried after him with her candle. For several minutes the mirror showed me only Isabeau, seated by the fire, alone with her thoughts. They were not happy ones, that much was evident. For no sooner had Claude left her to herself, Isabeau curled up in her chair and hid her face in her hands.
Wish as I might, she grieved for missing my own self, I was satisfied it was the breach with her father that was now causing her heartache. I could understand it well enough. To have forgone her beloved father’s company for so long, only now to be at odds with him when she had only a few short days to spend with him. I wanted to comfort her somehow, to hold her close, or kiss her hands, but I was so far away and could do nothing but watch.
After several long minutes, Claude returned. At her light footstep on the stair, Isabeau straightened up in her chair. However, her efforts did not appear to fool Claude in the least. When she re-entered the room she stopped at the sight of her younger sister and exclaimed, ‘Oh!’ before hurrying to her side and picking up her limp hands.
‘Dear Isabeau,’ she said warmly as Isabeau’s eyes began to overflow anew. ‘It is such a shame. I have just spoken with him as plainly as I dared and told him how senseless it is to be so cross when you are only here for a few days.’ She shook her head. ‘He shut his door in my face, so I had to say most of it through the keyhole, but I am sure he heard me.’
At this, a breath of laughter left Isabeau’s lips.
‘Oh, Claude,’ she said. ‘How that must have infuriated him.’
‘I don’t pretend to manage him anywhere near so well as Marie does,’ said Claude, ruefully shaking her head. ‘But I certainly had to tell him how badly he is behaving tonight.’
‘I told him I was going back to stay my year out with the Beast,’ said Isabeau, looking apprehensively at her sister.
‘I guessed,’ said Claude, going back to her chair and picking up her sewing.
‘We fought about it,’ confessed Isabeau.
‘Oh, I heard that,’ said Claude frankly.
Isabeau went pink. Then, frustration creeping back into her voice, she said, ‘Papa will hear not one good word about the Beast.’
‘I did warn you,’ said Claude, not unsympathetically.
‘The shame of it,’ continued Isabeau, an edge of anger in her voice, ‘is the Beast is just the sort of man Papa would be sure to like, if he really knew him.’
My skin tingled and all my fur was stood on end. She had done it again.
Claude noticed this as well, for she put down her sewing and looked searchingly into her sister’s face.
‘But he is not a man,’ she said.
Isabeau stared at her sister as though Claude had slapped her. Her face went very pink and she dropped her gaze in confusion. She murmured something indistinct into her lap, but when Claude begged her to repeat herself, Isabeau just shook her head and rose from her chair.
‘I think I will go to bed too,’ she said, not looking at her sister. ‘Tomorrow we should really begin to pack away the house. It will be best to get an early start.’
She left quickly and hurried to her bed. But she did not sleep for a long time. Instead she lay looking out into the darkness, her large grey eyes open and staring at things only
she could see. I watched her until eventually her eyelids fluttered down and she finally slept, all the while aching to be close to her, to offer her what comfort I might.
I did not go to my own bed that night, but sat for many hours in my chair, my chin in my hands, thinking about the words she had spoken that Claude had not heard. Somehow the magic of my mirror had picked up her whisper and delivered it to me as clearly as if she had spoken directly into my ear. All night those words echoed in my head and even when I finally dozed off in my chair, they repeated throughout my dreams.
‘I had forgotten,’ were the words my Isabeau had said to no one in particular.
The next morning, I woke in my chair to see in my glass a vision of the de la Noue family at breakfast. Claude was the only one who looked as though the night had afforded her any rest. Indeed, the shadows under Isabeau’s eyes were more deeply marked than the day before. She was so lost in her own thoughts she was barely conscious of her family around her. Her father, on the other hand, kept glancing anxiously at her with such a look of longing on his face I found myself in sympathy with him. Clearly Claude’s words, spoken through the keyhole as they were, had been heard and heeded.
Claude herself bustled around, chatting brightly and trying to make up for the want of spirit in both father and sister. As Isabeau washed the breakfast things, Claude announced the two young women would walk into the village that day.
‘For it is market day today,’ she said, ‘and for all that we will be moving to René’s farm, there are a few things I want. In any case, we can get some fresh bread from Madame Minou and see if she has news of René and Marie.’ As she spoke I noticed the filigree heart was once more hanging about her neck.
The plan was agreed to and an hour or so later saw the sisters take leave of their father and walk towards the village. De la Noue hugged Isabeau particularly closely as she bid him goodbye. Although no words were exchanged between them, she kissed his hands fondly and left him looking much happier than she had done at breakfast.
‘You see,’ said Claude when they were out of earshot, ‘you two will make it up.’
The Beast’s Heart Page 29