“It’s a very long journey, my lamb,” Mrs. Potts said sweetly. “Let me fix you up before you go. I have found in my experience that most troubles seem less troubling after a bracing cup o’ tea. Isn’t that right, Madame de Garderobe?” Mrs. Potts turned and addressed the armoire, who was still fast asleep. “Madame! Wake up!”
With a jolt, Garderobe awoke. “What?” she asked, sounding sleepy and confused. “I fell asleep again?”
“Madame used to sleep eight hours a day,” the small teacup piped up. “Now she sleeps twenty-three.”
“That’ll do, Chip,” Mrs. Potts warned. “It’s not polite to discuss a lady’s habits.”
But Chip, as Belle now knew him, had given her pause. And since she had gotten no answers from Garderobe earlier, she decided to try again. “What happened here?” she asked. “Is this an enchantment? A curse?” That could be the only logical explanation for the castle’s oddities, in Belle’s opinion. She had read many a story about such things, but she had never thought they could be real.
“She guessed it, Mama,” Chip said, lisping in his little voice through the chip in the front of his cup. “She’s smart.”
As he spoke, his mother hopped over and filled him with tea. Then she nudged him toward Belle. “Slowly now, Chip,” she warned. “Don’t spill tea. Or secrets.”
Belle smiled despite herself as she picked up Chip. He was so obviously a little boy, yet somehow he was trapped in the shape of a cup. How sad it must be, Belle thought, to not have the ability to do little-boy things.
As if sensing what she was thinking, Chip asked, “Want to see me do a trick?” Belle nodded, and Chip took a deep breath. Then he started to blow bubbles. The tea splish-splashed inside his cup, making Belle laugh. The sound echoed nicely through the room, and Mrs. Potts smiled.
“That was a very brave thing you did for your father, dear,” she remarked.
“We all think so,” Garderobe said, nodding in agreement.
Belle’s smile faded at the mention of her father. “I’m so worried about him,” she said softly. “He’s never been alone.”
“Cheer up, my poppet,” Mrs. Potts said, trying to get back some of the earlier levity. “Things will turn out in the end. You’ll see. You’ll feel a lot better after dinner.”
Belle looked at the teapot and cocked her head. “But he said, ‘If she doesn’t eat with me, she doesn’t eat at all.’” She had dropped her voice and tried to make it sound as scary and mean as possible. Mrs. Potts held in a sigh. The master really had made a bad impression on the poor girl.
“People say a lot of things in anger,” she said. “It is our choice whether or not to listen.” As she spoke, she turned the serving trolley toward the door and began to leave. Turning to look back at Belle, Mrs. Potts smiled. “Coming, poppety?”
Belle watched as the teapot disappeared out the door. Her stomach rumbled. Fine, she thought, I’ll go have dinner. But just this one meal. Then I am leaving…once and for all.
The kitchen staff was ready. Lumiere had seen to it as soon as Mrs. Potts had told him she was going to speak with Belle. He knew it was only a matter of time before the kind teapot convinced Belle to come down for a quick bite.
But Lumiere had no intention of this being any small, quick bite. This meal was going to be one Belle would remember forever. It was going to involve the tastiest of hors d’oeuvres, the most delicious of entrees, the most delightful of drinks, and, of course, the most decadent of desserts. By the time Belle put her fork down, she would never want to leave. At least, that was what Lumiere hoped.
Bursting into the kitchen, he clasped two of his candles together. “They’re coming!” he said excitedly. “Final checks, everyone, tout de suite!” With pleasure, he watched as every member of the kitchen staff sprang into action. They all knew as well as he how important this dinner was.
All of them, that is, except apparently Cogsworth.
“No, you don’t!” the clock said, shuffling into the middle of the fray. He folded his two little arms across his gears. “If the master finds out you violated his orders and fed her, he will blame me.”
Lumiere turned and stared at his friend. Then he sighed. How could Cogsworth be thinking of himself at a time like this? Making his way over, he nodded. “Yes,” he said, his tone teasing but his intent serious. “I will make sure of it. But did you see her stand up to him? I am telling you, this girl is the one! They must fall in love if we are to be human again, and they can’t fall in love if she stays in her room.”
“You know she will never love him,” Cogsworth said softly.
“A broken clock is right two times a day, my friend,” Lumiere replied, refusing to let the stodgy majordomo get him down, “and this is not one of those times. We must try.”
Turning away from Cogsworth, he moved over to Cuisinier. Pots and pans bubbled and steamed on the stove, filling the air with a tantalizing smell. Behind him, Lumiere could feel Cogsworth’s eyes on him, and he knew that the majordomo was struggling. Lumiere didn’t blame him. He was right. The master would think this was all Cogsworth’s doing if he found out. But they had no other choice. It wasn’t every day a girl happened upon the enchanted castle—and a girl with the strength to stand up to the master, at that. No, Lumiere thought, shaking his head and straightening his candles with resolve. This dinner was going to happen—with or without Cogsworth’s blessing.
Finally, the clock sighed. Lumiere waited.
“At least keep it down,” Cogsworth said, his voice soft.
A smile spread across Lumiere’s face. But he wiped it away before turning to his friend and nodding. “Of course, of course,” he said. “But what is dinner without a little…music?”
“Music?” Cogsworth cried, his voice no longer quiet. He began shaking his head.
But it was too late. Lumiere was already guiding a harpsichord into the dining room. “Maestro Cadenza,” he said as he set him up in a corner of the room, “your wife is upstairs sleeping more and more each day. She is counting on you to help the master and this girl fall in love.”
With a flourish, the harpsichord played a scale, grimacing when one of the notes fell flat. “Then I shall play through the pain,” he said bravely.
At that moment, Mrs. Potts led Belle into the dining room. The girl looked around, awed by the elaborate spread set out on the table, but clearly still hesitant to be there. Lumiere saw the uneasiness in her eyes, and his resolve to make her comfortable grew stronger. He gave the staff one last knowing look, and then, with a flourish, he leapt onto the table.
“Ma chère, mademoiselle,” he began as a beam of moonlight streamed through the window, making it appear as though the candelabrum were in the spotlight. He bowed. “It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. We invite you to relax”—he nodded and the chair behind Belle moved in so that she sat, with a little squeak of surprise, and was pushed in to the table—“while we proudly present…your dinner.”
At first Belle sat with her hands on her lap as Lumiere guided her, course by course, through her meal. But as she listened to him describe the food and watched as the enchanted silverware and dishware made a show and dance, she began to relax. Her hands unclenched the napkin she was holding and her foot tapped to the rhythm of the harpsichord. By the time Lumiere referred to the “gray stuff” as delicious, Belle was smiling. She looked around at the plates and plates of food that seemed to multiply before her very eyes, her stomach growling nearly as loudly as the harpsichord was playing.
While Lumiere and the other staff continued to entertain her, Belle proceeded to eat to her heart’s content. She tasted beef ragout and cheese soufflé. She dipped a freshly baked baguette in foie gras and sighed with pleasure as the food melted on her tongue. Each dish presented was better than the last, and every time Belle thought she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite more, a platter presented itself and she found room.
Throughout it all, the music played, as wonderful as
the food itself. By the time the meal was over, Belle was enchanted. It was hard not to be when all the servants seemed so happy to have her there, so pleased to be working. It occurred to her that with a master like the Beast, they might have been lonely and perhaps even a bit bored. She doubted very much that he had elaborate meals or required much assistance. While at the beginning of the meal she might have thought it silly to feel bad for a talking candelabrum, clock, or teapot, by the end of the meal she had ceased to see any of them as mere objects.
Pushing herself away from the table, Belle thanked everyone and said her good nights. Then she followed Mrs. Potts out of the room. After the warmth and frivolity of the meal, the rest of the castle now seemed colder and darker.
“I don’t understand why you’re all being so kind to me,” Belle said, giving voice to a thought that had been in the back of her mind since she had met Lumiere, Cogsworth, and Mrs. Potts.
Riding atop her serving cart, Mrs. Potts smiled gently. “You deserve nothing less, my love,” she said in a sweet motherly tone.
“But you’re as trapped here as I am,” Belle pointed out. “Don’t you ever want to escape?”
Mrs. Potts didn’t respond right away. “The master’s not as terrible as he appears,” she finally said. “Somewhere deep in his soul there’s a prince of a fellow, just waiting to be set free.”
Belle cocked her head; the words prince and free sounded like pieces to the puzzle she was trying hard to put together. “Lumiere mentioned something about the West Wing…” she went on, hoping to get a bit more information out of the kind teapot.
But Mrs. Potts wasn’t falling for it. “Oh, never you mind about that,” she said as they reached the bottom of the stairs that led up to Belle’s room. “Now off to bed, before the sun starts peeking through the trees. Can I get you anything else, dearie?”
“No, you’ve already done so much,” Belle said sincerely. “Thank you. Good night.”
“Nighty-night,” Mrs. Potts replied as her serving cart turned and headed back toward the kitchen.
Belle watched, her hand on the railing, until the trolley and Mrs. Potts had disappeared from view. Then she glanced up at the stairs in front of her. She began to climb, her mind whirling. She knew that was her chance to get back to her room and make her escape, yet something was stopping her. She paused on the stairs’ landing. If she went to the left, she would get back to her room and, perhaps, freedom. But if she went right…She gazed up the set of stairs that must lead to the West Wing.
Her mind made up, Belle took a deep breath. Then she turned right. She still had a little time before sunrise. She would just take a quick peek in the West Wing. After all, what harm could come from a quick look?
BELLE WAS BEGINNING TO THINK she had made a very big mistake. While her wing of the castle wasn’t exactly bright and colorful, it was a breath of fresh air in comparison with the West Wing. As she walked down the long corridor, her eyes widened. The place felt lonely. And it looked downright depressing. The walls were scratched and bare, though it was clear from the empty picture hooks that still hung that hadn’t always been the case. The rug beneath her feet was faded and worn, torn in spots by the Beast’s long claws. Even the air was heavier somehow.
Belle was on the verge of turning around when she saw light at the end of the hall. A door had been left slightly ajar and through it, Belle could just make out what looked to be a huge suite. Curiosity overtaking her fear, Belle walked forward and slowly pushed open the door.
Instantly, she wished she hadn’t. If the hallway had been unnerving, this room was ten times more so. Everywhere she looked she could see evidence of the Beast’s temper. Curtains hung in shreds from their rods. Vases that must once have been beautiful lay shattered on the ground. On the huge four-poster bed, a gray coverlet lay, faded and covered in dust, clearly long since used. As her eyes drifted over the room, she saw the reason why. Tucked in a corner was a sort of giant nest made from torn bits of fabric, feathers, and antlers that had been shoved together. Belle felt a rush of foreboding at the sight of such a wild and animalistic area in the castle.
She turned and shouted as she found herself staring at a pair of bright blue eyes. For one long, tense moment she thought someone was staring right back at her—until she realized that the eyes belonged to a boy captured in what was clearly a royal portrait. Her heart thudding, Belle leaned forward. The boy’s face had been slashed beyond recognition, that part of the canvas in pieces. But the eyes had been left untouched. Belle leaned still closer. They looked so familiar….
Her breath caught in her throat as Belle realized that they reminded her of the Beast’s eyes. Mrs. Potts’s words came back to her. A prince of a fellow, she had said. This must have been the prince she was referring to. She glanced again at the portrait, looking for clues to the past. There were two other people in the portrait—a handsome king and beautiful queen. And though the woman’s image—which included kind eyes full of laughter and love—was still pristine, the king’s cold, distant stare had been slashed, as well. Belle wondered what the boy in the portrait must have been like, what anyone would have been like, growing up with parents such as those, inside these castle walls.
As Belle dragged her eyes from the portrait and tamped down the odd feeling of melancholy that once again formed in the pit of her stomach, her attention was drawn to the far end of the room. Huge doors had been left open, revealing a large stone balcony on the other side. But it was what was in front of the doors that caught her interest. Amid the chaos and destruction of the room, the table would have stood out just based on the fact it was still upright. But it especially caught her eye because of the glass jar that sat on its surface.
The jar was made of delicate glass, blown so thin it seemed as though it could break with the slightest of touches. Intricate patterns had been etched into the jar’s side, looking like frost on a windowpane. And inside, floating as if by magic, was a beautiful red rose. It glowed, the color rivaling that of the most beautiful sunset Belle had ever seen.
As if in a trance, Belle made her way to the table. Slowly, she reached her hand toward the jar. Belle’s fingers tingled as she moved them closer to the smooth glass, unable to resist the sudden rush of desire to lift the bell jar and touch the rose’s silky petals. Her fingers inched closer…closer still…and closer…
“What are you doing here?” The Beast’s voice roared over Belle, shocking her out of her trancelike state. He appeared from the shadows, his blue eyes blazing, his paws clenched with barely controlled rage. He looked at the glowing rose and the fire in his eyes grew wilder. “What did you do to it?”
She quickly backed away from the table. “No—not—nothing,” Belle stuttered, her heart thudding in her chest.
The Beast kept coming toward her. “Do you realize what you could have done?” he snarled. “You could have damned us all!” Lashing out, the Beast’s claws tore into one of the thin columns that accented the balcony doors. There was a terrible ripping sound and the column began to crumble, pieces shattering and falling close to the glass bell jar holding the rose.
Panic filled the Beast’s eyes. Not looking back at Belle, he threw his body over the rose, desperate to protect it. “Get out!” he roared over his shoulder.
Belle didn’t need to be told twice. Turning, she fled back the way she had come. She ran through the room and out the open door. Then she raced down the long hallway and the even longer stairs. She barely registered the shocked looks of Lumiere and Cogsworth as she passed them on the landing, and when they asked where she was going, she didn’t stop to speak to them. “Getting out of here!” she cried over her shoulder and kept running.
Because that was exactly what she was going to do—get out. It was what she should have done already. But she had been distracted by Lumiere and his dinner entertainment, and then the castle mystery had lured her in further. But she was done with all that. She was going to get out of this place, with its talking dishware and enchanted c
andles and clocks, and get back to her father. No matter what.
Unfortunately, the castle didn’t want to see Belle leave just yet. Hitting the bottom of the grand staircase, she ran straight toward the front door. To her dismay, the door seemed to see her coming, and before she could reach it, the bolt slid shut. Chapeau, the tall coatrack, slid in front of the door a moment later, blocking Belle’s exit.
Belle’s pace slowed. What was she going to do now? She didn’t know the castle well enough to go running through it blindly trying to find another exit. Then, just as she was about to give up hope, she heard the sound of a dog barking. Turning, she saw Froufrou, the dog turned piano stool, who had run of the castle. He barked wildly as he gave chase and for a brief moment, Belle was worried he was going to pounce on her.
But to her surprise, he ran right past her and scooted through a smaller door that was built into the much larger main door. Belle nearly cried out. Her way out hadn’t been blocked. Once again picking up her pace, she shimmied through the smaller door, but not before grabbing her cloak from a befuddled Chapeau. Behind her, Belle heard Mrs. Potts’s tea tray rolling across the floor and Lumiere shouting. Still, she kept running.
It didn’t take Belle long to find Philippe. The big animal had made himself quite comfortable in one of the stable’s roomy stalls. Hearing Belle’s footsteps on the cobblestones, he looked up mid-mouthful of hay and cocked his head as if to ask, What are you doing here?
Throwing the saddle over his back, Belle didn’t answer his questioning look. She pulled him out of the stall instead and quickly mounted. Then she gave his sides a kick. Philippe didn’t hesitate. He broke into a canter and headed toward the castle’s gate.
Beauty and the Beast Novelization Page 7