Beauty and the Beast: The Only One Who Didn't Run Away

by Wendy Mass

  His eyes grow huge. “For … for how long would I need to be here?”

  Foolishly, I had not anticipated that question. “Until I decide otherwise,” I reply.

  He clutches his hat harder. “But I cannot. I have two daughters at home.”

  I pause before my next line until I sense another pinch coming. “Then you shall send your hardiest daughter in your place.” I try not to cringe as I say this. Who would send his daughter to live with a scary beast?

  “I could do no such thing!”

  Mother figured he would say this, so I am prepared with my response. “Then my carriage shall return for you the next morn, after you have said your final farewells to your daughters. I will not send you home empty-handed, though. You may fill my carriage with as many fine jewels and objects as you like. We even have a large collection of rare books. Your daughters will be well taken care of for the rest of their lives. If I find you have fled, I shall take it all away and it shall be the dungeons for you.”

  His eyes open wide again. He begins to speak, falters, and then nods. He must know he will not get a better offer. He is gone by midday, along with two trunks filled with gold, jewels, and rare books. Mother had wept quietly as her jewelry was dropped into the first chest. Father remained silent as Beauty’s father pulled book after book from the library shelves. The man must know his business well, for he chose the most valuable ones. I suppose it is only fair, since if the plan works, he will be surrendering what he holds most dear.

  The whole experience has left me feeling beastly. I must go lie down.

  A week has come and gone, and Papa has not yet returned. I can tell by the way Clarissa has cleaned every inch of the house that she, too, is worried. At night, to make the time go faster we play cards and Clarissa tells stories of how grand life will be when we are wealthy again.

  On the eighth day of his absence, Veronica comes to the shop. She had dropped off a pouch of coins for me earlier in the week, but I had been on an errand. “It is good to see you,” I say, meeting her halfway across the floor.

  “And you,” she says. Her hair is back to its regular color again, and I am struck at how different she looks. I quickly realize it is not only her hair that makes it so, it is her bearing in general. The crystal hangs from its string on her neck. She could have replaced the leather with something a lot nicer, but she did not.

  “Is that what you sought on your quest?” the apothecary asks, coming to peer closer at the necklace.

  She nods and holds it out to him. “It is rose quartz.”

  He shakes his head. “No, it is something much rarer than that. I have never seen so brilliant a stone. It is very special.”

  She lets it fall back. “I know.”

  The front door of the shop flies open and Clarissa runs in.

  “Could not stay away, eh?” the apothecary asks.

  But Clarissa ignores him, which is not like her. She is never rude. My heart picks up its beats and I grab hold of the counter.

  “Beauty!” Clarissa says, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the door. “You must come home. ’Tis Papa!”

  I feel my hands grow icy, although the cauldron heats the shop quite well. “Is he all right? Has there been an accident?”

  “He is home,” Clarissa says. “But I have never seen him like this. You must come quickly.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” asks Veronica.

  “Is he ill?” asks the apothecary.

  Clarissa shakes her head. “’Tis a family matter only, I think.” She pushes me ahead of her out the door before I have a chance to say anything to appease their worried faces.

  My sister is pinching the cramp in her side by the time we reach the house. I would have run even faster, but did not want to leave her behind. In the old days, Clarissa never would have been able to run all the way to town and back as she did today. She is getting stronger.

  Papa jumps up from the front step when he sees us. His face is completely devoid of color, his eyes wild with fear or pain, I cannot tell. He has twisted his hat so many times that it hangs in shreds in his hands. Yet still he twists it.

  “Papa!” I run to him. “What is it? What happened?”

  He stumbles over to the chair and nearly falls into it. “The beast! I took a mere flower from his garden and now I must return to his castle forever.” He buries his head in his hands and begins to sob. Clarissa and I look at each other, stricken. Has Papa eaten some bad berries? Has he gone mad?

  “What are you talking of, Papa?” I ask, kneeling beside him. “How can an animal have a castle?”

  He shakes his head. “This was no animal. He was huge, taller than the tallest man! And wide as two men!”

  “Not every large man is a beast,” I tell him, thinking of Flavian. “He might appear a bear on the outside but be a kitten within.”

  “He was no kitten, nor a bear, either. ’Twas a talking beast, I tell you. With long hair and fur and nails as sharp as knives!” It takes him a while — with many interruptions for clarity by me and Clarissa — but he finally gets through the entire story. After a moment of stunned silence, we follow him to his bedroom behind the kitchen.

  He takes a deep breath and pushes open the door. Our mouths drop in unison. Treasure — for that is what it must be called — covers the room nearly from floor to ceiling. Jewel-covered books and bracelets and rings and gold figurines. Fine robes and shoes and headpieces. And on top of it all, a crumpled red rose.

  For the next few days, we polish the silver and gold tea sets, scrape food and grime from in between stones, sweep the rushes under the tables and the cobwebs from the corners. I can easily reach the ones on the ceiling, so that becomes my main job. It is also my job to throw away all the objects I have either smashed or slashed by mistake. If it is the girl who chooses to come, I do not want to frighten her even more with the evidence of my strength.

  Mother happily clips flowers from the gardens and places them in bowls around the castle. I have asked many times what we will do if Beauty’s father returns instead of Beauty herself, but Mother says we will cross that bridge when we come to it. This does not make sense to me. If one does not know how one will cross a bridge, one best figure that out before one reaches it. Otherwise, it is just poor planning. But no one listens to me.

  Mother spends most of her time turning the largest guest room into an explosion of pink. I think she always wanted a girl. She hangs large, ornate mirrors and colorful artwork on the walls, and drapes a silk canopy above the bed. Freddy proves to have an excellent eye for detail, and she has taken to asking him for advice on exactly where to place a decorative pillow or a washing basin.

  When not busy running into town on an errand for Mother, Freddy has dedicated himself to figuring out how to rid my fur of its greenness, which has, if anything, gotten brighter. So far he has had no luck.

  Alexander keeps me busy by coaching me on the right and wrong things to say to a girl. Asking her if she likes spiders and then tossing one on her is wrong. Asking if she likes flowers, and then pinning one behind her ear is right. Talking about myself is wrong. Asking about her is right. I am not to talk about the stars, unless it is to point out a pretty one and compare her to it. I am not to bore her with any scientific talk of alchemy, my experiments, or anything to do with the witch and the spell.

  I am to chew on cinnamon sticks as often as possible to keep my breath smelling sweet. Apparently, as the beast, my larger mouth is more likely to collect morsels of food.

  I am also not allowed to play the bagpipes due to them sounding “like a whole herd of buffalo groaning at once.” I highly doubt Alexander has ever heard a buffalo groan in his whole life, let alone a herd of them.

  Basically, I am supposed to keep my mouth shut most of the time. I do not know how doing, or not doing, these things is supposed to make her fall in love with me. But Alexander must know what he is talking about. He always has plenty of dates. Well, he used to before the witch brought a swift hal
t to his busy social life.

  I have taken to hiding in any place large enough to conceal me.

  Clarissa reaches out to grab the wall to steady herself.

  I find a corner of Papa’s bed to sit on, speechless as well. And then I feel it. This is my future. Not Papa’s, not Clarissa’s. I stand up and put my hand on Papa’s shaking arm. “He is clever, this man who pretends to be a beast. It was my fault you took the rose, Papa. It is me he wants. It is me he shall get.”

  “No!” Papa says, pulling away from my grasp. “I shall go back. You have your whole life ahead of you. I cannot let you give it to a beast!”

  “Look at all this,” I say, waving my hand around. “With these books and the money you could make from selling the rest, you can be the leading bookseller in all the kingdoms. You can both move back into town, in the grandest house in the village. You have worked hard your whole life and sacrificed much for us. That is the life you should lead, not this one.”

  “And you?” Clarissa asks. “You will go live in a castle with a beast? In a cold, dark dungeon, no doubt? I hardly think so!”

  “We cannot let Papa go!” I reply. “Look at him! He will surely die. I am strong and resourceful. I have traveled far, too, and saw no sign of magic, dark or otherwise. I do not believe in walking, talking, vengeful beasts. I shall unmask him — this man who has treated you so horribly — and return home, I promise.”

  Papa begins to weep, silently now. Clarissa opens her mouth to argue with me, but I know she sees the sense in my words.

  None of us sleep more than a few moments that night. I have packed my belongings, and now I wait for the carriage to collect me. Clarissa has offered to go to the monastery to fetch Veronica so that I may say good-bye. She also assured me she would apologize to Master Werlin for my leave-taking. It seems I am not so reliable an assistant after all. As fine a job as Clarissa did while I was away on the quest, I do not think she will be returning to work at the shop. She and Papa will be busy making a new life for themselves.

  Veronica runs in, followed by a panting Clarissa. Soon my lovely sister shall have horses again to carry her long distances, and shoes too fine to run through forests in. And hopefully, a young man she loves, to share her life with. Perhaps now that our family is wealthy again, some of her previous suitors will return.

  “Well!” Veronica says, her hands on her hips. “I take you on one quest and suddenly you are brave enough to live with an evil beast in some faraway castle?”

  I suppose I am indeed braver than when I left. But it is Veronica’s willingness to march into her future that is allowing me to march into mine. My lips twitch into a smile. “Do not worry about me. I have a few tricks up my sleeve. If the beast gets out of control, I shall simply lock him in a latrine when he takes a bath!”

  She laughs, then stops and studies me for a moment, searching my face for I know not what. Then she pulls her necklace over her head, reaches up, and slips it carefully over my hair. “I cannot take this,” I argue. She only shushes me and pushes my arm back down. As the stone passes between our two faces, I can see Veronica bathed in a pure white light, like she is glowing from the inside. I startle for a moment, blinking. A strange trick of the light perhaps, but it continues. I see she is looking through the stone at me as well, her expression full of delight. She is still smiling as the stone falls upon my chest, right next to my mother’s locket. It feels warm, even through the many layers of clothes Clarissa insisted I wear since winter is fast upon us. Veronica looks like her normal fairy-like self again, the bright light around her gone.

  “Are you certain you want to give this to me?” I ask, clutching it. “You went to such great lengths to get it.”

  She nods. “You need it more than I right now. We shall see each other again, and you can return it to me then.”

  I do not see how I could “need” a necklace, but I do not want to insult her by arguing further. “I shall keep it safe for you,” I promise. My throat is too tight to say any more. Veronica gives me one last fast embrace and runs out the door. Clarissa reaches for my hand. We stand together in the quiet until the clomping of the horses outside makes us all jump. Papa, unable to help it, cries out.

  “Take good care of him,” I whisper as I hug Clarissa tight. “You must promise not to worry for me. How bad could life in a castle be?”

  She tries to smile, but does not quite make it. Papa hugs me so tight I am afraid he shall shatter the crystal. “I am so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely.

  “This is not your fault,” I assure him, pulling away. “You were tricked. I shall make it right.” I may sound brave, but for a split second I almost suggest we run away instead, leaving the riches and Papa’s obligation to the beast far behind us.

  But I cannot run from this. So I clamp my lips shut and allow the coachman to lead me to a carriage so grand it makes the one we slept in that night at the inn look like a child’s plaything. This is the carriage of a king. Ornate patterns of gold and silver leaves twist and twirl around the dark, gleaming wood. The two white horses are twice as large as any I have ever seen, and they wear gilded harnesses and jewels down the front of their noses. Inside, the benches are covered in velvet and silk. I sink deep into the soft cushions, feeling uneasy. Why would a servant — for surely that is what I am to become — be treated like royalty?

  Before I can do more than wave to my family out the window, the coachman yanks down the shades. “I am sorry, miss. I cannot let you see our path.”

  He shuts the door, leaving me in near-total darkness. I quickly lose track of time. From the noises outside I can tell when we are in a town or the woods, but other than that I am lost. We stop occasionally to stretch our legs and eat from a large basket of fruit and cheese. I ask about the beast, but the coachman only shakes his head. “Not my place to talk of him,” he says. “I do not want to end up like the royal family.”

  Though they are strangers to me, I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the cold. “Why? What happened to the royal family?”

  But he only shakes his head again and hurries me back into the carriage.

  After three or four days of nonstop travel, we find ourselves in a terrible storm. The horses snort with the effort of pulling us through snowdrifts, and the wheels creak and groan. I pull my cloak tight around me and huddle against the seat. It dawns on me that my thirteenth birthday came and went sometime in the last day or two, with nothing to mark the occasion but darkness and the clanking of metal wheels.

  Finally, the carriage stops completely. At first I assume we must be stuck in a drift, but when the coachman opens my door he says, “We are here. The beast’s castle.”

  At first I do not move. Snow swirls on the ground here but does not cover the grass. Then I look up at the enormous stone and wooden entranceway before me, and the rows of windows behind it. I had not even thought of what a castle might look like, but this is surely the grandest in all the land.

  I remember something Clarissa always said when we went to parties at the finest houses in the village. “You cannot walk in empty-handed. A lady always has good manners.” We always brought a pie, or flowers, or a scarf. Even without a mother to guide us in such things, Papa always made sure we had social graces. Or that Clarissa did, at least. I force myself not to think of my family now. They are safe and shall not want for anything. I must focus on the task ahead if I am to succeed.

  I shall show this “beast” that I am not afraid of him. I allow the coachman to help me out of the carriage, then I ask him to take me to the garden. I may be a prisoner here, but that is no reason to be rude.

  The day arrives sooner than I would have liked. I know I am supposed to hope a beautiful girl walks through the front door, but a part of me hopes it is her father, instead. Alexander can coach me all he wants, I will no doubt still be awkward and do all the wrong things. Having a girl living three rooms down from me has me in a panic.

  A terrible early-winter storm sweeps in midday, and I worry that
the carriage will get caught in the snow. I would feel dreadful if any harm came to the inhabitant. But as we all push our food around our dinner plates, Parker knocks on the door of the private dining room.

  I wait till my invisible family drops their spoons. “Enter.”

  “Your … guest has arrived.” He gnashes his teeth at the word “guest.” I cannot blame him. I had told him that a young lady may be coming to stay here. He clearly does not approve. “She awaits you in the parlor.”

  “Hurrah!” Freddy shouts. “It is a she!” My stomach does a nervous flip. I am glad I did not eat much. I pick up my glass of water and drink deeply. It does nothing to appease the tightness in my throat.

  “I shall be out in a moment,” I tell Parker.

  He nods curtly and closes the door behind him. Everyone starts talking at once. I put up my hand and say, “I do not want her sitting alone for long. She is likely frightened half to death already, and seeing me will only make it worse. I best get it over with.”

  “We will be right beside you,” Mother promises.

  I nod, grateful. Mother has asked Godfrey and Freddy to keep out of sight for a while. She fears their presence would cause the girl to ask questions that might lead to her figuring out who I am. We cannot risk that.

  “Remember everything I taught you,” Alexander says.

  I nod again but am so nervous that all I can recall is that I should not throw a spider at her. I take a deep breath, stand straight, and then duck through the door. I see the girl before she sees me. She is standing beside a painting of the gardens behind the castle. We hid all of our family portraits, since we do not want Beauty to know about the “missing” royal family. Her village is so far away, she would not have heard of us, and we intend to keep it that way. It would be even harder to fall in love with a beast if you thought he ate a whole family.