Beauty: an Everland Ever After Tale

by Caroline Lee

  Why did she find the few little bits of gossip she’d heard about him so compelling? Was it because he sounded as far from Rule Number One as possible? If he wasn’t beautiful, if he wasn’t proper…what was he worth?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Vincenzo sat in darkness.

  He always sat in darkness. Or stood in darkness, or walked in darkness. Or occasionally—he grimaced and rubbed his shin—stumbled in darkness. He and Gordy had only been in the house for a few days, though, so he had to give himself a little credit; he was still getting used to the layout. True, he had designed the place, down to the placement of the furniture, and his agent had done a decent job of arranging it all. After they’d arrived, Gordy only had to do a little rearranging to make the place match the diagram Vincenzo had been memorizing for weeks now.

  Sighing, he leaned back in the comfortable leather chair—his favorite place in his new music room—and let his right hand feel around the table for the glass of brandy he had Gordy pour after dinner. Even if he didn’t attend church services, there was no reason not to celebrate the traditional big Sunday dinner, and Gordy had outdone himself. Vincenzo was pleasantly full, sipping a brandy, in his new retirement home. If not for the vague ache in his shin from that damn ottoman, things would be pleasant.

  Of course it wasn’t going to last. Hearing the voices that were coming from the front hall, he felt safe grimacing into his glass. This was the third time Gordy had to turn away curious townsfolk. The younger man had told him that Everland’s denizens brought baked goods and a hearty welcome to their town, but Vincenzo knew the truth; they’d come to gawk, as had thousands of others around the world.

  Hopefully the stories he’d told Gordy to tell on his behalf would help. Rumor and mystery and fear, those were the tickets to being left alone. And always, always be as different as possible from those who gawked.

  He’d spent ten years cultivating those differences, playing to an audience that came half to listen to his music, and half to stare at him in front of the harsh gas lights. He knew how to play to a crowd, to appear suave or beastly by turns, depending on what they needed or wanted to see. And here in Everland, he was fine letting his new neighbors—the ones with whom he wanted nothing to do—see him as a rude, reclusive monster.

  At least that way he could be alone. Alone with Gordy and Rajah and his music and his memories.

  But to his surprise, the muted conversation didn’t end with the click of the front door. Instead, the voices—Gordy and another man—grew closer, until the door to the music room opened and they both stepped through. Vincenzo scowled, knowing his manservant wouldn’t care, but hoping to intimidate the newcomer.

  His efforts were in vain. “Sorry about this, Doctor.” Gordy’s brogue was cheerful as he crossed to the side table. Vincenzo heard the sound of the gas lamps flaring. “If we’da known you were stopping by, we’d’ve spruced things up a bit.”

  “If we had known you’d be stopping by,” Vincenzo growled, “I would have had Gordy tie the window shades down so you could sit here in darkness, too.”

  The younger man clicked his tongue in that annoying manner. “Don’ pay him any mind, Doctor. He’s tetchy after a big meal.”

  “I’m always tetchy. What did I tell you about visitors?”

  “That they were a breath o’ fresh spring air, coming to share Christian charity and kindness?”

  “I think my exact words were ‘I don’t want visitors, Gordy’.”

  “Oh aye, that’s right.” Vincenzo could hear the grin in the rascal’s voice, damn him.

  “And do you recall what I said about having you whipped if you disobeyed me again?”

  “No, that must’ve slipped my mind. Also the bit about whoever’d be doing the whipping, I suppose, seein’ as how yer sitting way over there and more’n a decade older’n me.”

  “Hmmm,” was all Vincenzo said, because really hmmmmm was all that he could say in the face of Gordy’s grating cheerfulness. The young man had been with him for years—since he’d tried to pick Vincenzo’s pocket in Edinburgh and yelped in surprise when the “easy mark” lifted him by his own collar—and they’d settled into an easy routine. Gordy’s perpetual good spirits were mostly cultivated to irritate his master, Vincenzo knew. He also knew that he’d long since ceased to be anything resembling a master to Gordy, and now thought of him as a sort of begrudging friend who knew all of his peculiarities and went along with them, because he was paid handsomely.

  “Go on ahead, Doctor, an’ sit down. I promise m’lord won’t bite much.” Vincenzo heard the third man cross to the leather chair on the other side of the damned ottoman, and hesitate before lowering his weight. From the creaking, he sounded of an average size. Gordy took up position beside the table, shifting his feet a few times, and Vincenzo hid his smile in his beard at the younger man’s bored tone when he spoke.

  “Signore Bellini, this is Dr. Jack Carpenter. He’s probably a few years older’n you, judging from the gray hairs at his temples.” Vincenzo heard his guest suck in a surprised breath, and knew it was in response to their deliberate rudeness. “Otherwise, his hair is dark, an’ he’s got one of those mustaches that were popular in France, ye remember? No distinguishing features, although I’m guessin’ the ladies think he’s handsome, am I right?” This last bit was directed toward their guest, who spluttered as he tried to come up with an answer. Gordy ignored him, continuing to play the game the two of them had played for years. “He’s about your size, an’ dressed nicely. Good boots, but worn.”

  “What in the hell—“

  Gordy continued, as if their guest hadn’t interrupted. “An’ he’s just put down one of those little black bags the doctors carry. Maybe he thought you were sick. Well,” he paused thoughtfully, “Sicker’n you already are, I mean, for doing this to the puir man. He’s glaring at me quite harshly right now, ye should know. Oops, no, now he’s glarin’ at yer lordship. …An’ now back to me.”

  Vincenzo turned his chuckle into a cough at the last minute, and took another sip of the brandy. Licking the taste of the spirt off of his lips, he said noncommittedly, “Then pour the ‘puir man’ a drink to apologize for your bad manners.”

  “My bad manners?” Gordy’s outrage was false, but well-founded. This ridiculous tradition had started six years before, in Berlin, when Vincenzo had young Gordy start describing everyone who sought an audience with him. It helped him get an idea of who he was speaking to, and it helped alienate the gawkers.

  He was about to say something dismissive when the doctor spoke up. “No, thank you. I avoid spirits.”

  “Do they avoid you, too?”

  “What?” Dr. Carpenter had a deep voice with an accent from back East; New York, if Vincenzo wasn’t mistaken. He didn’t sound like most of the doctors Vincenzo had met on his travels—and he’d met plenty of doctors over the last decade—but he did sound irritated.

  “My apologies, Doctor.” He waved his glass lazily in Gordy’s direction. “That will be all, boy.”

  Gordy, who had to be at least twenty-five and a half-foot taller than Vincenzo, stamped his feet heavily on the wooden floor as if coming to attention and said, in every imitation of a sergeant humoring an officer, “Yes, m’lord. Very good, m’lord.”

  “Oh, go away, Gordy.”

  After the stamping died away and the door to the hall swung closed, Vincenzo heard the leather of the other chair squeak as Dr. Carpenter shifted. He took pity on his guest. “I did tell him to turn away visitors, you know.”

  “I think he liked me.”

  “I think you bribed him.”

  There was a little exhalation from the other chair, something that might have been a laugh. “He told me that I reminded him of you, and that you’d like me.”

  “I don’t like anyone.”

  “Does anyone like you?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  That earned a chuckle from Vincenzo, and he toasted the other man. T
he brandy was warm and rich and reminded him of Paris. “So you’ve charmed Gordy. Congratulations.”

  “I know that you’ve turned away Mr. Smith and a few others who’ve come to meet you. I thought that you might want to meet the town doctor. Gordon agreed.”

  “Oh, he did, did he? Did he say why he thought I needed a doctor?”

  “Well… ah…” The other man cleared his throat, and Vincenzo could imagine him awkwardly looking anywhere else besides the ruined remains of his host’s face. “I assume…”

  “Do not assume, Doctor. Despite my appearance, I am quite healthy.”

  “Do your eyes pain you?”

  “My eyes are gone. Removed by doctors like yourself a decade ago.” And yes, they still managed to pain him, only not as much as they used to. And he could overcome a little pain; he’d overcome so much more.

  “I…see.”

  “I don’t.” He couldn’t help the quip, and a snort from the other chair told him he’d judged the other man’s sense of humor well.

  “So you have no eyes to pain you, and you sit here in the darkness, alone, with a silk scarf tied around your face, sipping brandy?”

  “You say it like these are negative things.”

  “Are you lonely?”

  “Indeed not, Doctor. How could I be lonely, with all of the unexpected, uninvited visitors I have stopping by?” This time there was a definite laugh, and Vincenzo smiled deep in the thickness of his beard.

  “I’d hoped that you wouldn’t mind visitors. The town is remarkably curious about you, Signore. The little information I’ll be able to pass on to them now will only whet their appetites further.” He managed to make that sound like a threat.

  Vincenzo placed the brandy glass on the side table and leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. “And what exactly will you tell them?”

  “That the rumors are correct about your ghastly manners and lonely existence.” Good, that’s what he wanted people to know about it. “And that your accent is definitely not Italian.”

  Damn. Oh well, it’s not like he really thought that he’d pass. He’d taken the name Bellini almost a decade ago, as part of his campaign to always appear just a bit exotic. He could mimic the accent quite well, thanks to his ear for music. And he’d kept up the charade as he toured—except when he visited Rome and Milan, because he knew he couldn’t fool them. But coming here for rest, seclusion…he’d known he couldn’t keep up the accent, and rather hoped that no one would ask about it.

  Ten minutes into meeting his first Everland denizen, and he’d been foiled. “And you know a lot about Italian accents, do you, Doctor?”

  “There were plenty of Italian immigrants where I grew up.”

  “New York City, if I’m not mistaken.”

  There was silence from the other chair. Over the years, he’d learned to feel, to taste the atmosphere of a room, and this one was suddenly quite chilly. Finally, his guest spoke, low and deep and not just a bit menacing. “I prefer to keep my past my private business, Signore.”

  Vincenzo’s fingers kneaded the fabric of his trousers, and he smiled wickedly, only imagining what it must make him look like. “I’m glad that we understand one another.”

  The other man must have understood the implied threat, because he was silent for a long minute. Vincenzo sat back, hoping he’d made his point; his past was his own business, the same as Dr. Carpenter’s.

  When the other man spoke, it was in his normal tone again, with a hint of thoughtfulness. “I think, perhaps, that Gordon was right about you and me.”

  “That we’re alike?”

  He heard a faint brush of skin against fabric from the other chair, which might’ve been a nod. “And because we’re alike, I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told my other patients, whether or not you have need of me right now.” Vincenzo heard the doctor take a breath, and shift his weight. “My wife Meredith and I represent the sum of Everland’s medical professionals. The townspeople call me ‘doctor’, but I have never attended—or graduated from—a medical school. Meredith has, but I’ve gotten all of my medical knowledge from books.”

  “An interesting confession, ‘doctor’.” And one that he appreciated. It was worth knowing, if he ever had need of medical services. “Why would you tell me all of this?”

  “Most of Everland knows, Signore. I don’t think it’s fair to pretend to be something I’m not, when lives are at stake. It hasn’t stopped them from coming to me for treatment, or calling me ‘Doc’. I’ve patched up everyone here at some point or another.”

  “They must consider you competent.”

  Another creak of the leather. “I like to think I am. I’ve saved more people than I’ve killed, definitely.”

  Can I say the same? Vincenzo felt for the glass of brandy, and took another burning sip. His unexpected visitor was becoming unexpectedly interesting. ”I think, Doctor—“ he would join the rest of his new neighbors in giving the other man the title until proven otherwise, “that you must have some fascinating stories. I know that we’ve just agreed to leave each other’s past alone, but if you ever feel the need to unburden yourself, I’d be very much interested in hearing how you ended up here.”

  There was a snort from the other chair, and Vincenzo heard the smile in the man’s voice when he spoke. “Likewise, I hope you’ll consider me a friend one day, and unburden your own past. My wife and daughter have been clamoring non-stop to know more about you, and to hear you play.”

  He’d kept his past a secret for a decade, but was there any real need for it? Now that he’d given up touring, now that he had more money than Midas, now that he just wanted some peace and solitude? He shrugged and toasted the other man. “It’s unlikely Doctor, but I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

  “You can call me Jack, you know.”

  Can I? Vincenzo thought about it. Calling the man by his given name would imply they had a bond, a connection. It would mean he was a friend.

  He was saved from trying to answer by the door from the hall opening again. This time he didn’t hear Gordy’s heavy tread, but the fleet four-footed patter he knew so well. He whistled between his teeth, hoping that for once Rajah would come when called.

  The big cat’s steps skirted the doctor’s chair, and Vincenzo braced himself as he heard his pet leap. Rajah’s weight landed in his lap at the same time he heard his guest suck in a startled breath. Grinning slightly, Vincenzo stroked the large cat as if being sat on by a giant feline was an everyday occurrence in his life. Which it was.

  Rajah made a noise deep in his throat which sounded a bit like a clicking growl, but which Vincenzo knew to be a purr. He moved his left hand—he was still holding his brandy in the other, after all—up to the sensitive spot behind the cat’s pronounced ears, and the purr became a rumble.

  “Good God, man.” The doctor’s voice was strained, barely above a whisper. “Is that a leopard? You’ve got a leopard sitting on your lap?”

  Rajah seemed to know when he was being mentioned, because his head whipped towards their guest. Vincenzo scratched under the long chin, and the cat made a pleased noise. “This is Rajah, Doctor. Rajah, meet Doc Carpenter. He’s not a real doctor, but I think we can forgive him that, can’t we?”

  The cat, bless his soul, chose that moment to let out a meow that didn’t sound anything like a house cat. “Rajah is a serval, Doctor, from Africa. He was given to me by the Tomasi family, the Princes of Lampedusa in Italy. The serval is on their crest, and rather important to them. Rajah was hardly a kitten when I received him, and would only answer to the ridiculous name they’d already pinned on him.”

  “He’s not a leopard?” The other man’s voice was still strained.

  “No. A leopard wouldn’t be able to sit on my lap, nor would I want him to.” There was a slow, controlled exhale from the other chair, as if the doctor was relaxing again.

  “Why do you have a…a serval?”

  “I told you; he was a gift. He’s been my only companio
n, haven’t you, boy?” He scratched harder and was rewarded with a meow that made him grin.

  “Except Gordon?”

  “Well, Gordy hardly counts, does he?” It was an ongoing joke between the two of them, but the doctor didn’t need to know that. “Doctor Carpenter, Rajah is my pet, and is quite used to me. I assure you that however fierce he may look, whatever stories you may have heard about wild beasts, Rajah is quite gentle. He knows he’s a bit of an oddity, and I think he likes it.”

  It wasn’t until the silence stretched for a little too long that Vincenzo reviewed what he’d just said, and realized the implications. Oh, damn. The other man wasn’t going to ignore them, either. “Rather like yourself, I think, Signore.”

  Vincenzo didn’t reply, focusing only on the short fur under his callused fingertips and the steady rumble from the animal on his lap.

  “You know, there are some people in this town who are here for the same reason you and I are. People who want to leave their pasts behind them. Everland is a good place for that.”

  “I’m glad I picked it, then.” He hadn’t; his agent had, but there was no need to tell the doctor that.

  “And with a few notable exceptions, the people of Everland are good as well. We’re a community, Signore. There are people here who will gladly welcome you, who look forward to the chance to become your friend.”

  “I’m not looking for friends, Doctor.”

  “Everyone needs someone, Vincenzo.” He hadn’t given the other man permission to use his name, but he couldn’t bring himself to fight it. The creaking of the leather told him that the doctor had shifted forward in his seat. “There’s got to be something—someone—in this town, among your neighbors, who you’d like to have in your life.”

  Vincenzo resisted the urge to deny it outright. Was there something missing from his life? There was plenty missing; but was there something that this town could provide that none of the Eurasian capitals of the arts could?