Chapter Eleven
Isabelle didn’t go back downstairs after her meeting with the beast, instead, she snuck back to her own room. She didn’t feel like spreading the salacious gossip. She possessed a truth which could shatter their illusions of their precious master. Far from feeling triumphant, Isabelle just felt hollow. She had thought her own fate was bad enough, but Erik’s parents had let their son become a monster.
Isabelle sat at her window for a long time, watching the darkness for any signs of his hulking shape. She saw nothing. She was running the risk of falling asleep in her window seat, reluctantly she got up and got into bed. She left the curtains drawn as she undressed, just in case, if Erik was attracted to her then she wanted to give him as many reasons as possible to return.
Charlotte bustling busily in her room woke her and she sat up quickly, pulling the blankets around her tightly, feeling very mortified for sleeping naked. Nobody had come into her room since her first day here and she felt rather defensive about the intrusion now.
“Goodness me what a mess!” Charlotte clucked as she picked her way through discarded clothes and towels. Isabelle blushed, she wasn’t ever the tidiest of women and she’d spent so much time cleaning downstairs, when she came upstairs, she was exhausted. “You need to get up young lady. The day is ticking on and you have work to do.”
“I’m still tired.” Isabelle protested.
“Aren’t we all dear.” Charlotte responded, but there was no kindness in her tone, “and the rest of us have been up for hours working already. I’m not about to let you start shirking your work.”
Isabelle frowned, a realisation coming to her.
“Why not?” she asked tartly.
“Excuse me?” The other woman stopped her fussing around the room and turned a shocked look on Isabelle. If there was a warning in her gaze, then Isabelle was too tired to notice it.
“I’m not getting paid. I’m a prisoner. I’m not sure your Master ever intended for me to be a servant at all. Look around, I have dresses that were clearly made for me and a room like no other maid has. The beast certainly doesn’t want me to look like a maid, so why must I work like one?” Charlotte’s mouth opened and closed again without response to Isabelle’s comment. But the brunette wasn’t about to back down, she’d had enough. She was done working herself to the bone for no purpose, it wouldn’t earn her freedom. “I’m playing along anymore, I’m not cleaning and if your Master has a problem with it? Then he can come and order me differently himself. Unless you’d like to tell me exactly why I was brought here in the first place?”
“Isabelle you’re being-” Charlotte’s expression was grave, but Isabelle didn’t trust it, she didn’t trust Charlotte at all. There was something which didn’t fit, she was hiding too much. Isabelle was convinced she knew far more than she was letting on.
“No, I’m done with the lies. Now if you’d kindly leave my room, I’m going to get some more sleep.”
“If you think we’re going to bend and cow to you because you’ve gone and gotten ideas above your station-”
“What is my station Mrs Hands, has he told you? Because I am in the dark I’m afraid. Am I a servant? An employed servant? Are you going to fire me? Does that mean that I am free to leave and go home?” Isabelle held the gaze of the old woman. “No.” She shook her head, reading nothing from Charlotte’s stony gaze. “I didn’t think so. This is my home now; the beast has demanded it. And I fully intend to appreciate the lavish lifestyle which he has forced upon me.”
There was silence for a long time before Charlotte swept out of the room angrily, closing the door behind her. Isabelle let out a breath which she hadn’t known she was holding. She never expected that to work, she’d half anticipated being beaten or yelled at.
But she hadn’t, and now she was alone. No jobs, no orders, no obligations. Isabelle was far too exhilarated to go back to sleep. She leapt out of bed and went to turn the taps on in the bathroom. Whilst the bath was running she rifled through her wardrobe, finally settling on a dress she laid it out over her bed, grabbed a fresh towel and went to bathe.
By the time she walked downstairs she was feeling optimistic for the first time since she had gotten here. Her gown was beautiful, they all were, the beast clearly had more experience in choosing dresses than she did. Briefly she wondered whether he would notice she was finally dressing as per his subtle instructions. Maybe that would be enough to get his attention?
“Isabelle!” Maggie caught her at the bottom of the staircase, “what happened last night. When you didn’t come downstairs we thought he’d killed you! I had to tell Charlotte everything.”
“That explains why she was in my room this morning.” Isabelle mused.
“Why are you all dressed up?” Maggie raked her eyes enviously over the brunette, “is that another new dress?” Her hands reached out to brush along the crushed velvet, eyes drinking in the deep purple fabric.
“I felt like it,” she grinned.
“We have work to do,” Maggie spoke the words, but Isabelle could tell she was too in awe of her gown to put up much protest. Isabelle decided then that she would have to sneak Maggie upstairs one of these days and let her pick a dress from Isabelle’s extensive collection, perhaps she could even lure her away from Charlotte’s dictatorship too and the two of them could take tea in the dining room. It wasn’t quite friendship, Isabelle wasn’t sure what she felt towards the girl, but if there was one thing she understood it was elaborate gestures. She wanted to keep Margaret on her side, and a dress would certainly help with that.
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve been desperate to explore the library.” She grinned again as Maggie pulled at the golden rope which formed a belt at Isabelle’s narrow waist. Maggie’s eyes widened.
“We can’t, not the library!”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not supposed to go in there.” Maggie insisted, keeping her voice to little more than a whisper. “They treat it like a museum, we’ll be whipped.”
“A tad dramatic.” Isabelle mused playfully, “but, don’t you think the library needs dusting?” There was a wicked glimmer in her eyes. “And the number of books there are in there, we’re bound to find something about the beast and the old owners of the castle.”
“I-” Maggie glanced behind her before meeting Isabelle’s dark eyes, “I can’t read.”
“What?” Isabelle was genuinely surprised. She hadn’t thought there was anybody who couldn’t read, not in this century anyway. “Well,” she linked her arm with the blondes and plucked the broom from her fingers, “I will teach you.”
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte found the two young women in the library some hours later. Sat on the floor, Isabelle’s gown was splayed out on the floor, various books strewn over the expensive fabric. Margaret was attempting to read some words under the brunette’s watchful gaze. The entire room was a mess and a scowl darkened her features, Isabelle caught the look of disapproval in her peripheral vision. Isabelle had known the moment the old woman had entered, it was like a grim cloud of condemnation enveloped the room.
Isabelle remained attentive to Maggie’s fumbling over letters, patiently correcting her. The last thing she wanted to do was give Charlotte the satisfaction of knowing her presence bothered her. Charlotte picked her way around the discarded cleaning equipment and walked up the shallow steps to the reading area. The click of her heels on the floor caused Maggie’s eyes to fly up, Isabelle watched her friend stiffen, the colour draining from her in terror. Did she genuinely think Charlotte was so intimidating? Perhaps it was for the best that she had never come face to face with Erik.
With her hands on her hips, Isabelle waited as Maggie stumbled to her feet. The blonde couldn’t apologise enough.
“I’m sorry, I lost track of time,” she scooped up the broom from beside Isabelle, before daring to look at Charlotte again. “I’ll make it up.” Isabelle folded the book closed, not quite closing it, and w
atched them casually. There was a sincerely sweet smile pasted to her lips as if she had done nothing wrong and this was normal.
“You will young lady. And quickly too if you want to be finished in time for dinner.” Charlotte snapped firmly.
“But it’s not even lunchtime yet.” Maggie protested, but she closed her mouth quickly under the stare of her mistress. “I’m sorry,” she insisted again. It was sad, Isabelle watched the defiance drain from her, there was no further protest. A part of Isabelle was disappointed, she wanted to see Maggie stand up for herself, if she did then perhaps others would follow. It would be amusing to watch Charlotte’s authority crumble.
Unfortunately, Maggie merely nodded mutely.
Charlotte had effectively banned her from lunch, without even needing to say the words. “Thank you for the lessons,” she shot politely to Isabelle, before disappearing off to get on with her work.
Isabelle moved her eyes back to her book, opening it back to the exact page that Maggie had paused on, ignoring the hard stare of Charlotte. This had been one of her favourite stories when she had been a little girl, she had fond memories of her father reading it to her. It was strange to have found it here, after so many years not thinking about it.
“You may have decided work is beneath you, but I’d kindly ask you to cease distracting my staff.” Charlotte interrupted her reading.
“Everybody is entitled to some time off, aren’t they?” Isabelle made sure there was nothing challenging in her tone, just innocent observation.
“If she fails to be productive, or finds herself otherwise distracted, then Margaret may well find herself with an endless amount of time off.” She let the threat of Maggie losing her job hanging in the air for a while,
Isabelle watched her for a minute, shrugged and then turned her attention back to the book.
“I really love this story, have you read it? It’s about a poor young girl who’s kept prisoner by her wicked step-mother, she’s forced to do menial tasks, fetch and carry and clean.” Isabelle looked up from the words and met Charlotte’s eyes. “It’s okay though, she meets a prince and he’s so blown away by her beauty that he marries her. In the end, she has her step-mother beheaded. I do love a happy ending.”
If this was a battle for dominance, Isabelle planned to win. Of course, she didn’t want Margaret to lose her job, she just wanted to broaden her horizons. Maggie was a distraction, a project; but it was the closest thing to a friend Isabelle had ever had.
Charlotte turned to leave, but as she got to the doors Isabelle’s soft, tuneful voice interrupted.
“I’ll take my lunch in the dining room; shall we say one o clock?” Charlotte froze, her back to the teenager, Isabelle could feel the rage radiating from her. What must she feel? Charlotte had presided over this castle, presumably, for most of her life. She had been a loyal servant to her frightful master. A servant above, but a queen below. And now their exalted beast had brought Isabelle to them, upsetting the balance. Charlotte had tried to assert her authority, tried to make her a part of castle life, but Isabelle had declined. Now they were forging their way into a new order of things and Isabelle was most definitely not going to let a self-important old woman dictate the terms of her imprisonment.
“Certainly,” Charlotte spoke tartly, before scampering from the library.
Isabelle spent the rest of her morning picking through various titles, she was somewhat disheartened that she had found nothing about Erik or his family. There was no mention of any Kings or Queens, or their son or daughter, and nothing of a curse. The library was vast though, and she retained hope, she’d barely scratched the surface this morning. She diligently replaced the books she had taken down before abandoning the library and beginning her full exploration of the rest of the castle. It was different now, she knew her way around, but whilst before cleaning had distracted her, now she was seeing her surroundings through fresh eyes.
No longer did she feel like an interloper, fumbling her way through the many mazes.
Unfortunately, it did little to stave off her boredom, not the sight of the ballroom with its marble floor and golden, glittering vaulted ceiling. Nor the various living rooms with their huge windows overlooking the sweeping mountains surrounding them. All she could think about was the beast, no, Erik she corrected herself endlessly. He had a name. He’d been a person, a child. She had so many more questions, how long had he been a beast? How had it all gone so wrong? A lesson had turned into a child slaughtering his entire family. Was his isolation his coping mechanism for the guilt? Was he afraid he’d kill more people? If his parents were dead, would the curse ever be lifted? Was he stuck as a Beast forever?
If she thought a day off would have cheered her up, or taken her mind off him, she had been sorely mistaken. With no interruptions her mind raced, always falling back on the monstrous visage of her beastly captor. She paced the castle, without purpose, or excitement. He penetrated every thought, every shadow.
Dinner was a lonely affair, she sat in the enormous dining room, at a table which stretched across the vast room, she could scarcely see the other end of it. One of the maids brought her plate through and hovered in the doorway as she ate, ready to collect it when she finished.
“Maria, isn’t it?” Isabelle asked, but she didn’t speak, and Isabelle was too consumed by her own thoughts to pick up the slack and further bridge the awkward gap. She barely ate, just sat there for a while and pushed the food around. This wasn’t the cheap crockery of the kitchen; this plate was bone china and beautiful. It seemed a shame to mar the pattern with something so mundane as food. Eventually, she gave up, surrendered her supper and went to find some other form of entertainment.
It took mere moments for her to turn her attention to the vast outside, the heavy snow had thawed and though the ground was still sodden, the sun was bright. Spring was coming, albeit slowly. Isabelle found some heavy boots, ones that didn’t much go with her dress, and headed outside. The courtyard looked different now the snow had been swept away. The muted, silent beauty of the white blanket gone, instead was the stark, intimidating fortress in all its glory. There were spires, gargoyles and dark colours everywhere she turned. There were trellises spanning many of the walls, and she imagined in spring they did a lot to soften the appearance of the castle, but for the moment they were bare and the whole thing looked exactly like what it was. A prison.
There was a fountain in the centre, it had been frozen when she first arrived but now there was a trickle as it began to melt. Isabelle picked her way across the cobbles to look down the winding road, she could see the bridge in the distance and the vast gates. Would her father ever come back for her? Would he ever think of her again? The grounds were enormous, turning her attention away from the melancholy thoughts of home, she focused instead on everything she had to explore. The steep forests and the many gardens, perhaps even the city beyond.
Chapter Thirteen
Both her boots and the hem of her dress were thick with mud by the time Isabelle made it back to the darkening courtyard. What she hadn’t expected, when she had been halfway up the mountain to the west, was to see a wagon trundling up the winding path. Excitement had overtaken her, and she had run all the way back. Thus, her cheeks were flushed and lips pink, as she panted to a stop, doubling over with her hands pressed into her hip she tried to catch her breath. Isabelle was disappointed to find the courtyard empty.
It wasn’t an unsolvable mystery however; the wagon had tracked mud along the cobbles and she followed the trail around the back of the castle. The wagon was parked outside of the kitchen door, which was wide open, and Isabelle cautiously walked towards it.
“You’re back then?” Charlotte greeted her, archly, without looking up from the list she was busy scrutinising. There were boxes and crates piled high on the wagon, and Isabelle stepped forward to peer at them.
“What’s this?” Isabelle asked, picking an apple out from one of the baskets. It was cold and hard; she didn’t let that
deter her. The exertion of the walking had cured her loss of appetite substantially and she was starving.
“That’s an apple,” Charlotte responded without a glimmer of jest. Isabelle met her eyes incredulously before she bit into it. “Did you think that food appeared here by magic every month?”
“We get deliveries?” Isabelle asked, renewed interest in her voice, “people actually come here?”
“We’re not hermits Isabelle.” The other woman sighed with exasperation, glaring at ‘Belle before her attention shifted back to her list.
“Hello!” A man spoke, Isabelle watched him as he walked towards the wagon. He dropped an empty crate by her feet, “I don’t think we’ve met, are you new here?”
“You are honoured, Peter,” Charlotte said scathingly, “to be greeted by our new mistress.” Isabelle glowered at the old woman.
“New mistress?” The man’s brow furrowed, he could tell he was being teased, but it was clear that he wasn’t sure what the punchline was.
“She’s being mean, to me, not to you. It’s me she doesn’t like.” Isabelle filled him in.
“You do rather make it difficult to like you.” Charlotte interrupted,
“I’m their prisoner. I’m not allowed to leave. Unless some gallant knight arrives to save me from the fearful beast who has locked me away here.” Isabelle pouted, clasping her hands before her and quite intentionally causing her breasts to more adequately fill her corset. It was fun, there was another man to play with, Thomas was proving to be frightfully innocent and Mr Hands had barely said two words to her since her arrival.
“You don’t look particularly hard done to, for a prisoner,” Peter said, his eyes taking in her appearance fully. Isabelle smiled alluringly, she supposed she didn’t look like an average prisoner. Breathless and muddy from exploring the vastness of the castle grounds unsupervised, a dress which probably cost more than all the groceries in his wagon and verbally sparring with the old woman who ruled the place with a rod of iron.
The Beast Queen Page 8