by Boyd Brent
Journal entry no 6.
During the hours that followed, my mind conjured such an array of hideous fates at the Beast’s hands I decided that for the sake of my sanity, I must leave without delay to discover the truth. Having made up my mind, and being filled with wretched anticipation, I threw some necessities into a bag. Then, readying myself for the happy go lucky performance of my life, I presented myself in the parlour as a traveller off on nothing more than an adventure to the countryside. The open-mouthed expressions that greeted me suggested that my family believed I had lost my marbles. In truth, it felt as though if I did not confront and plead with this creature sooner rather than later, I would lose them.
“How ... commendable,” smiled one of my sisters.
Father stood up and approached me. “What’s this? You mean to go now?”
“Yes, Father. To be honest, since I heard I would be going on this, this adventure, I've been chomping at the bit to set off …”
“Brave as well as beautiful,” replied Father, welling up.
I straightened my back. “Please tell my brothers that I said goodbye and that I love them dearly. And that they must not do anything rash …”
“Yes, of course. They can be hot-headed; I will impress upon them the futility of challenging such a creature.”
I nodded. “Thank you. I mean to leave now.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I know with all my heart that you will charm the Beast,” said Father, hugging me close.
“I mean to do my best. Now tell me, how am I to reach my destination?”
“I am reliably informed that the horse that conveyed me home knows the way back …”
“Excellent!” said one of my sisters. “And now we've emptied the carriage of all our presents, there'll be plenty of room for you.”
“That was my thinking …” I reached down to pick up my little bag, but Father got there first and then offered me his arm. I clung to it as we made our way outside to Beast’s carriage.
Father stood tearful yet stoic as I made myself comfortable inside. Meanwhile, my sisters, huddled together by the front door, struggled to conceal their delight.
“Fear not, Father, for you have raised a strong and independent daughter … one quite up to the task of dealing with whatever this land might throw at her.”
Father nodded and smiled as best he could. “You will come back to us, Beauty. I know you will.”
I glanced at the only home I had ever known, the place I had always felt secure and happy and, seeing Betty’s hand pressed to an upstairs window, felt my resolve begin to crumble. “… And now I must be going.” As though it heard me, the horse set off for its home, and as much as I would have liked to look back, I dared not.
The carriage wended its way down narrow country lanes where fields of emerald green rolled far into the distance, and lambs grazed without a care. “What could there possibly be to fear on such a lovely day?” I told myself.
I should know by now not to ask such questions, as before very long, the bright cheeriness of the day had been crowded out by darkening skies. What is more, a forest sprung up from nowhere and encroached upon the carriage like an inquisitive creature. I gazed into the forest’s canopy where it looked as though the uppermost branches of the trees were coming together to shut out the light. “It’s grown so cold,” I shuddered, condensation leaving my lips. I hugged myself for warmth and, at the sound of howling wolves, huddled as far back in my seat as I could. The fear of a ravenous wolf leaping over the side of the carriage and devouring me goes some way to explaining why my first glimpse of the palace was not entirely unwelcome. In its eagerness to get home, the horse quickened its pace, and before long, the palace was revealed to me in all its eerie beauty. Let's be honest, eeriness and beauty are not natural bedfellows, but this vision of a dark fairytale palace was exactly that: its turrets, once pastel coloured and resplendent, had faded to grey and now wilted as though from sorrow. Its windows, too numerous to count and that once upon a time must have reflected the sun for miles around, were shuttered and filthy with grime. Indeed, the palace had a look of such bewildering sadness about it that it brought a lump to my throat.
As we drew near, the palace's gates opened as though having sensed our approach. And once we had passed through them, their creaking as they closed gave me goosebumps. The carriage came to a halt on the palace’s forecourt, and as I looked nervously in the direction of its imposing front door, it, too, began to open. I braced myself for the outline of a person, no, a Beast to appear in the illuminated rectangle. No one appeared, and my attention was taken by the sound of the horse’s bridal being unbuckled. I rose in my seat for a look at the person doing this and, seeing no one, sat back down and swallowed hard as the horse was led away from the carriage by an invisible something. A chill wind picked up and seemed to nudge me in the direction of that rectangle of light. I stood, picked up my little bag and climbed down upon the pebbled forecourt. With my hair blowing in my face like tic-a-tape, I made my way up the steps and, following a brief hesitation, stepped through the front door.
I found myself in a palatial entrance hall where a staircase swept away in two directions to the floor above. A sparkling chandelier, easily the size of the carriage I had just alighted, hung down from the ceiling. Unlike the exterior, the interior of the palace was clearly tended by a great many servants. This realisation that I was not alone with the Beast was a comfort of sorts.
The walls were hung with a great many portraits, but my gaze was drawn by one in particular. It hung above a fireplace on the far-right where the light from candles in sconces on either side cast a luminous glow upon its sitter—a beautiful young man with dark wavy hair. His comeliness, coupled with his look of profound melancholy, had me crossing the sea of black and white marble towards him.
I stood before the mammoth fireplace, the top ledge of which was at least a metre taller than me, and gazed up at the painting. I wonder what has happened to make one so beautiful and privileged so melancholy, I thought. I was startled from my thoughts by something moving in my peripheral vision. I braced myself and spun round to behold not the Beast but a silver salver floating in mid-air! I drew breath and, having taken a step back, saw that it held a writing pad. A pen appeared from nowhere, as though pulled from an invisible breast pocket, and began to scratch out the following words on the pad, 'Please do not be alarmed, Miss.'
“If, if you say so …” I said, leaning a little to read them.
The words 'I'm to show you to your quarters, Madam' were scratched out below the others.
“Are … are you the Beast?” I asked.
'Goodness me no. I'm the butler, Ashcroft.’
I felt myself taking a step back. “Are you a ghost?”
'I do not believe so, Madam. However, I have been this way for so long it's difficult to tell.’
“What way?” I breathed. The pen hovered thoughtfully for a moment before writing 'Without form or speech, Madam.'
“How horrid …” I said, glancing up at the portrait of the beautiful young man. “What has happened here? Is this your Master?”
'He was, once upon a time, before …'
“The Beast?”
'What keen instincts you possess, Madam.'
“Did … well, did the Beast kill him?”
'I fear I have written too much already. Any further questions must be for the Master, Madam.'
I glanced nervously around. “And where is your Master?”
'I've little doubt that he will make himself known soon enough. And now, if you would kindly follow me, I will lead to your room.' I followed the silver salver, now lying flat against what I assumed to be the outside of Ashcroft’s right leg, up the grand staircase.
At the landing above, it floated down several corridors where paintings and furniture of the finest quality lined every wall. We approached the end of one such corridor where a set of double doors opened as though by magic. As we passed through them into a bedroom, the following
question left my lips with a tremble, “Presumably … you are not the only servant here?”
The salver hovered the right side up, and the following was written on the pad: 'No, Madam, I'm not. The palace requires a staff of one hundred to keep it pristine.’
“And are all the servants invisible like you?”
'Yes. You will neither see nor hear any of us.'
“So, I assume that someone just opened the doors?” I said, glancing around the room that contained a four-poster bed, a wardrobe of dark mahogany, and a dressing table.
'You assume correctly, Madam,’ wrote Ashcroft. ‘Although, I am the only servant to whom the master has given his permission to communicate with you. Your attendant maid has been forbidden to do so.'
“Then, how am I to communicate my needs?” I asked, glancing towards the door.
'Just speak them aloud, Madam. Your attendant maid has ears.'
“And does she also have a name?”
'Her name is Molly. And now, if that is all, I have duties to attend to. I will return shortly to escort you to the dining room where dinner will be served at 7pm.'
“I see, and … will your master be joining me?”
'We have instructions to prepare dinner for two, Madam.' I watched the salver float through the door and then noticed my pale and startled reflection in the dressing table’s mirror. Feeling exhausted, I stepped towards the four-poster bed that, although fit for a princess, had a hideous gargoyle carved into its headrest. I stopped in my tracks. “Please tell me this carving is not an image of your master? How rude of me,” I said, approaching the dressing table in search of writing materials. I sat down on the stool and opened the top drawer. Inside was a hairbrush and mirror. I slid the drawer closed and opened the one below it … “A diamond tiara and matching necklace? My sisters would be impressed …” I murmured, sliding the drawer closed. The contents of the third drawer brought a smile to my lips. I lifted out the small writing bureau within and placed it on the dressing table. Inside was a writing pad, inkwell, and pen. I picked up the pen, dipped it in the well and swivelled round to face into the room. “I hope that we shall become friends, Molly. You see, I have been told that I am a captive here, and without at least one friend, I fear my captivity will be unbearable. Of course, that’s only supposing that your master does not devour me at supper. Anyway,” I said with a shudder, “my father came here recently, maybe you saw him?” I held out the pen for her to take. Half a minute passed, and it remained in my hand. “Molly,” I said, steeling myself, “I am not as confident or brave as I seem. You see, Father brought me up to always put a brave face on things. I may never see him nor any of my family again. So, I’m endeavouring to remember all he taught me for fear of falling apart.” Tears filled my eyes, and I felt the pen being drawn from my fingers. I breathed a sigh of relief as the words ‘Please don’t be afraid. The master would NEVER eat you’ were scratched out on the pad.
“Thank you, Molly. That’s good to know.”
Again, the pen began to write, ‘I did see your father. We all did. Our first visitor for a very long time. He caused quite a stir.’
“My father spoke very highly of the hospitality you provided him.”
‘Thank you, Miss.’
“Please, call me Beauty. It’s the name my parents gave me. I’m not big-headed.”
‘It suits you.’
“Thank you, Molly. If only I could see you, I’m sure I would find that it suited you too. If I may be so bold, what has happened to render you invisible and dumb?”
The following words were scratched slowly on the pad, ‘You don’t know?’
I shook my head. “The only thing I know about this palace is that somewhere within it, there lurks a Beast who would only spare my father’s life if I took his place. Did ... well, did the Beast do this to you?”
‘Oh no, Miss! We have all been cursed here. Including the master.’
“Cursed? By who?”
‘That is for the master to say.’
“Then I shall ask him.”
‘Please don’t say it was me who put the notion of a curse in your head. I would get into ever so much trouble.’
“You have my solemn promise that no one will ever know of our conversations.”
‘Thank you.’
“Are all the other servants here as lovely as you?”
‘We do our best. Mr Ashcroft is oft to point out that being trapped here for eternity with only each other for company will feel like an eternity if we don’t get along.’
“Mr Ashcroft is very wise.”
‘So he likes to tell us. And now we should begin your preparations for dinner, Miss, I mean, Beauty.’
“Preparations? …” As soon as the word left my lips, the pen and pad floated down upon the dressing table. Its top drawer opened, and the brush inside rose into the air. The brush hovered close to the side of my head for a moment before pulling itself gently through my hair. “Thank you, Molly,” I sighed, “I have always found having my hair combed soothing …”
Once my hair had been brushed, a power puff floated from the back of the same drawer, and my pale cheeks were given a rosy glow. The power puff floated back inside the drawer, and a moment later, the wardrobe doors opened. I swivelled on my stool to see a ball gown float out of it. It was black and red, strapless and made of the finest silk and taffeta I had ever seen. Quite simply, it was fit for a princess. “It’s lovely …” I breathed. I stood up and stepped towards the gown that hovered before me. “I have only ever known one set of clothes … which is why my friend Betty and I … although we should obviously never discuss such things, considered the possibility that I was an important character. Particularly when you consider that my name is not only impossible to live up to but also doubles as a sweeping statement …”
The gown floated down upon the bed, and the pen and pad floated into the air. ‘It seems the time has come for another dress is to be part of your story’ was written upon it.
I reached down to feel its red silken sleeve. “Apparently so …”
Soon after, I was standing before the full-length mirror in my room, wearing the gown. “… It feels odd, so much heavier than the dress I’m used to but …” I heard the scratching of pen on paper and, in my peripheral vision, saw the paper floating towards me. ‘You look beautiful in it!’ it read.
“Thank you, Molly.” A tap on the door startled her, and the pen and pad flew towards the dressing table where they landed with a clink and a clunk. “Have no fear, your secret is safe with me,” I whispered before calling “Come in!” The doors opened, and the silver salver hovered into the room and then beckoned to me. I nodded, followed it out into the corridor and stepped cautiously towards my date with destiny.
Journal entry no. 7
Much of that walk behind the floating salver is a blur to me now. Despite the reassurances from Molly that the Beast would not devour me, I could not help but wonder if the lovely girl had only been trying to quell my fears. And Father’s report of the Beast had been very different. Indeed, its behaviour had been so fearsome that he would have promised it anything to spare his life. And that anything turned out to be me. The only saving grace of this whole situation? I would not wish the apprehension that I felt during that walk upon anyone. I had promised Father that I would attempt to reason with the Beast, but as the doors to the dining room began to open, I wondered if such a thing were possible. Reason may be beyond this creature! I thought as I lay eyes upon it for the first time. The Beast was seated at the head of a dining room table and looked so bulky, squat and lumpen that I wondered how its throne-like chair had not buckled and collapsed. Its features were obscured not only by the shadows cast by the fire that crackled behind it but also by the thick fur that covered its face. I dug deep for the strength I needed to walk towards the table, but halfway there, I stopped in my tracks, quite unable to move. The Beast rose slowly from its chair and to a height beyond that which any living creature that stands upon two l
egs has a right. I felt so tiny. So frail. So … mortal. The Beast must have sensed this, for its first words were clearly an attempt to reassure me. And reassure me, they might—had its voice, unnaturally deep and monotone, not reminded me of a predatory lion. “Please, come closer; you have nothing to fear from me,” it said.
The confident sound of my own voice, once summoned, surprised me. “Nothing to fear? Am I not your prisoner, sir?”
“You are my guest.”
“Guest? I did not come here by choice.”
“Someone made you come? Show me this brute, and I WILL …”
“You will what!?” I gasped.
The Beast’s eyes, yellow-tinged and reflective like those of a cat, skirted nervously about the room as though in search of words. “It may be true,” it began, “that your father was given the impression that his life was in danger if … if you did not take his place.”
“May be true?” I replied, and feeling my blood rise, I took several steps forwards and stood behind a chair that had been pulled out. “Did or did you not force my father into this odious bargain?”
“I suppose I did. In a manner of speaking.”
“There was no manner of speaking about it!” At such close quarters, no more than four metres, I imagined that I saw the hint of a smile on that face that, like the face of any beast, has not the capacity to show emotion. The Beast sat slowly, I think so as not to startle me with any sudden movement, and placed its great paws upon the table. Even seated, it was a head taller than me.
I raised my chin. “I have said something that amuses you?”
“To be honest, I was not in the best of moods when I witnessed your father picking that rose.”
“You can say that again.”
“Are you to stand throughout? Please sit,” it said, indicating the chair before me with a wave of its paw.
I sat in the chair that moved forwards and placed me closer to the table. A crystal jug rose into the air and poured some water into my glass. “An invisible servant?” I asked.