Beauty and the Beast: Lost in a Book

by Jennifer Donnelly

  As the excitement of the evening ebbed away, Belle’s eyes became heavy. By the time they arrived back at the château, she was hiding yawns behind her hand.

  Mouchard was down out of his seat, his hand on the door, before the carriage had even stopped.

  “Goodbye, Madame Comtesse,” Belle said as they stepped into the drive. “And thank you again for everything.”

  There was a note of melancholy in Belle’s voice. The countess noticed it. “What’s the matter, child?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Belle said wistfully. “At least, nothing that doesn’t make me sound like a complete ingrate. I just…I wish I didn’t have to leave. Ever. I wish Nevermore was real.”

  The countess smoothed a stray piece of hair off Belle’s forehead. Her touch was as cool as marble. “Does it matter if it’s not?” she asked. “Life can be so difficult, and stories help us escape those difficulties. It’s all right to lose yourself in one, Belle. Isn’t that what you’ve always done? And this one is your own story, for goodness’ sake! What harm can there possibly be in that?”

  Belle nodded. The countess was right.

  “You’re very tired, my child, that’s all,” the countess said. “Get some sleep, and then come back to me just as soon as you can.”

  She kissed Belle’s forehead, her lips icy against Belle’s skin, and then she was gone in a cloud of black, up the stone steps and into her mansion. The doors boomed shut after her.

  Mouchard cleared his throat. “This way, mademoiselle, if you please,” he said in a voice as dolorous as a tolling bell.

  Belle followed him across the large, graveled circle in front of the château, in which carriages turned around, to the drive’s narrow mouth. To her amazement, the leafy green trees had grown shaggier, the yew trees closer together, the rosebushes thornier, during the few hours she and the countess had been at the Palais-Royal.

  “The way back…is it still down there?” she asked.

  “It’s right where it always has been, mademoiselle,” Mouchard replied, handing her the candle she’d been carrying when she’d entered Nevermore.

  Belle blinked into the gloom. “I don’t suppose you have a lamp I could borrow. Something a bit brighter than this candle?” she asked, glancing back at Mouchard.

  But he was gone.

  The sense of unease Belle had felt earlier returned as she started walking. The rose canes reached for Belle like long, greedy fingers. Thorns snagged her skirt. She pulled it free and kept going.

  As she walked under a canopy of towering oaks, the darkness deepened. The rustling of night creatures filled her ears. An owl called; its plaintive whoo sent shivers up Belle’s spine. Tree roots snaked over the ground, threatening to trip her.

  A fat brown toad as big as a cat hopped onto the path in front of her, making her jump. Its golden eyes followed her as she gingerly stepped around it.

  The farther she walked down the drive, the more it narrowed and twisted. A cold dread pooled in her chest. “What if I can’t find my way back to the book?” she whispered.

  At that moment, a figure appeared in front of her. He stood as tall as a man and wore a man’s clothing, but he had a long snout, pointed ears, and pointed teeth, too. Just like a wolf.

  Belle’s heart started to hammer.

  “W-who are you?” she stammered. “What do you want?”

  The man didn’t answer her.

  The moon came out from behind the cloud just then. Belle saw that it wasn’t a real person at all, only a hedge cut to resemble one.

  Belle walked on. She took another turn, and one more, and then there it was, right in front of her—the giant book with its shimmering pages. But the shimmering silver seemed denser now, and pushing her hand through it was like pushing it into a bowl of porridge. She stepped through with effort and found herself back in the Beast’s library.

  She was in her nightclothes again. Her candle was still in her hand. Her heartbeat had returned to something like normal, but she still felt fearful.

  Why was it so much harder to get back to the Beast’s castle this time? she wondered.

  The dense hedges, the twining roots and branches that had seemed to clutch at her…it almost felt as if Nevermore wanted to keep her there.

  Lucanos had told her that she was being fed lies. Was he right? Should she be wary of Nevermore?

  Belle shook her head, convinced that she was merely letting her tiredness get the better of her.

  Surely the comtesse would have told me if I had anything to fear from the story, she reasoned. And why should I listen to that beetle anyway? He’s probably every bit as insane as his owner.

  The countess was right. Life could be difficult. Lonely, too. Confusing at times. Frustrating. Often sad.

  But Nevermore was none of those things. It was beautiful and fascinating. Inspiring. Surprising. Glamorous and fun.

  The countess’s voice echoed in her memory…come back to me just as soon as you can.

  “I will, Madame Comtesse,” Belle whispered to the darkness. “Just as soon as I can.”

  “I KNEW SKATING WAS a terrible idea,” Cogsworth said. “What if it’s not a cold? What if it’s bronchitis? Or pneumonia?” He lowered his voice. “What if it’s the black plague?”

  Lumiere, who was checking the Beast’s breakfast tray, gave him a look. “The black plague,” he said flatly. “Which hasn’t been seen in these parts in years…that black plague?”

  “It’s a cold, Mr. Cogsworth, that’s all,” said Mrs. Potts, bustling by. “The master caught a chill whilst skating. With rest and good care, he’ll soon be right as rain.”

  Belle was seated at the large kitchen table with Chip. She was eating her breakfast: brioche with jam, a bowl of oatmeal with raisins and cream, and milky hot chocolate.

  Belle was exhausted. By the time she’d hidden Nevermore away again and let herself out of the library, dawn had been breaking—too late to catch up on her lost sleep. She’d hurried back to her bedroom, where she’d washed her face, brushed her hair, and dressed. Then she’d joined Mrs. Potts, Chip, and the others in the kitchen.

  Chapeau picked up the Beast’s tray now and headed out of the kitchen. Lumiere and Cogsworth followed him, their conversation trailing them.

  “A good hot footbath would be just the thing to fend off a bout of malaria,” Cogsworth said.

  “It’s malaria now, Dr. Cogsworth?” said Lumiere. “Your ridiculous imagination is the only thing that we really have to fear.”

  “I only hope it’s malaria,” said Cogsworth darkly. “It could be leprosy.”

  Plumette was already hard at work dusting the music room. Maestro Cadenza, the castle’s harpsichord, had been complaining that an excess of dust was making his keys stick. Froufrou was patrolling for rats. Madame de Garderobe, a tall gilt dresser in Belle’s bedroom, was mending a pinafore that Belle had torn.

  As usual, the servants all had chores to do, Chip had his studies to attend to, and now the Beast was laid up in bed. Another long, lonely day stretched out in front of Belle, full of nothing to do and no one to do it with. She couldn’t wait to get back to Nevermore.

  She finished her breakfast, cleared up her dishes, and was about to head to the library when Mrs. Potts asked her if she would take a bowl of stale bread crumbs to the chickens. Chip volunteered to go with her. Chapeau had gone upstairs, so Belle hurried out of the kitchen to the coatroom to find her cloak and mittens.

  Mrs. Potts quietly followed her out and met her in the hallway as she was returning. “Belle, do you have a minute?” she asked. Her voice was low. She glanced behind herself as she spoke.

  “Of course, Mrs. Potts. Is there something wrong?” Belle asked.

  “No, I just don’t want Chip to hear me. His birthday is tomorrow. I’m planning a little surprise party for him tomorrow night, and I was wondering if I could ask you to make some decorations.”

  “I’d love to!” Belle said, happy to help. It would delay her return to Nevermore, but onl
y by an hour or so, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for Chip.

  “Thank you, Belle,” said Mrs. Potts, pleased. “Cuisinier’s baking a cake, and I have a little present for him, too.”

  Belle and Mrs. Potts started back to the kitchen, planning the best way to carry out the surprise. As Belle reached out to push the kitchen door open, Mrs. Potts stopped her.

  Frowning, she said, “You look so pale this morning, child. There are shadows as deep as midnight under your eyes, and I saw you yawning constantly during breakfast. You’re not coming down with a cold, too, are you?”

  “I’m fine,” Belle said, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up to make some hot milk.”

  “And went back to bed?”

  “And went to the library,” Belle admitted sheepishly.

  Mrs. Potts’s frown deepened. “You only just found out about the library, and already you’re spending so much time there, Belle. So much time alone.”

  “I only intended to read for a little while,” she quickly explained, “but I…um, I got lost in a good book.”

  Belle felt a twinge of guilt at not being completely honest, but she felt that Mrs. Potts would worry even more if she knew about Nevermore, and about Belle’s plans to spend as much time as possible there.

  “Belle…” said Mrs. Potts, giving her a searching glance.

  “Yes, Mrs. Potts?”

  “I know it’s very hard…your situation here. With the master. With all of us. I know this isn’t your choice….” She hesitated, trying to find the right words, then said, “Belle, it’s a wonderful thing to read about other people’s lives, but it’s important to live your own life, too—no matter how challenging that life may sometimes be. Do you understand what I’m telling you, child?”

  Before Belle could answer, the kitchen door burst open.

  “Belle!” Chip shouted at the top of his lungs.

  “My goodness, Chip! Could you possibly be any louder?” Mrs. Potts scolded.

  “Sorry, Mama,” Chip said. He turned to Belle. “Come on, Belle, let’s go!”

  “I understand, Mrs. Potts. And I’m fine, really,” Belle said. And then she hurried after Chip, relieved that the conversation was over. She was spending a lot of time in the library, yes—but not by herself.

  Belle grabbed the bowl of crumbs, and then she and Chip banged out of the back door and headed for the chicken coop.

  She never saw Mrs. Potts at the window, watching them go, a sigh rattling her lid and worry etching another tiny crack in her painted porcelain face.

  “MAMA SAYS THE MASTER feels awful,” Chip said, chattering away. “She says he’s got a terrible cough and sniffles. And that he’s very cranky.”

  “The Beast, cranky? I don’t believe it,” Belle joked.

  Chip laughed. “I was going to visit him with Froufrou to try to cheer him up, but Mama said no. She said we’ll give him a relaugh. What’s wrong with that, Belle? Lumiere says laughter is the best medicine.”

  “I think she meant relapse, Chip.”

  “Oh,” Chip said, his little face falling. “Well, there must be something we can do.”

  Just then, Belle stumbled and spilled some of the crumbs. A tiny sparrow immediately swooped down to peck at them.

  Which gave her an idea.

  “Come on, Chip!” she said excitedly, veering off toward the West Wing.

  “But what about the chickens?” Chip asked.

  “We’ll bring them some cracked wheat later,” she called over her shoulder.

  When they reached the snow-covered west lawn, Belle took her mittens off and started sprinkling the crumbs on the ground, making careful, deliberate lines.

  “What are we doing, Belle?” Chip asked, watching her.

  “We’re writing a message for him,” she replied.

  “But, Belle, it won’t work. The master won’t see the crumbs. They won’t show up against the snow.”

  “He’ll see them. I promise!” Belle said.

  Chip looked unconvinced, but he followed her as she worked. When she was finished, she put her mittens back on and walked toward the Beast’s window. A lark trilled loudly from a tree. It flapped its wings and flew down to the crumbs.

  “See, Belle? The birds are going to eat up all the crumbs!” Chip cried.

  “That’s the whole idea!” said Belle, grinning. “Now we’ve just got to get his attention!”

  She bent down, scooped up some snow, and patted it together. She launched her snowball at the Beast’s window and hit it dead center. But nothing happened. No one appeared at the panes.

  “Try again!” Chip urged.

  Belle scraped up more snow, packed it tightly, and then wound up. An instant after she fired the snowball, the window suddenly opened. Cogsworth stuck his head out…and took a speeding missile straight to the face.

  “Oh, no!” Belle cried, her hands coming up to her mouth.

  Chip quickly hid behind her skirts.

  “Raise the drawbridge! Lower the portcullis!” Cogsworth bellowed, wiping the snow away. “We’re under attack!”

  Lumiere came to the window. He pulled Cogsworth away and peered out.

  “Lumiere!” Belle called out. “Over here!”

  Lumiere spotted her. He smiled and waved.

  “Tell Cogsworth I’m sorry!” Belle shouted.

  “Do I have to?” Lumiere shouted back.

  “Yes! And can you get the Beast?”

  Lumiere nodded, then disappeared into the room.

  A few seconds later, the Beast appeared in his dressing gown, scowling—but the moment he saw Belle, in her blue cloak with her cheeks rosy from the cold, waving like mad, he smiled.

  “Look at the lawn!” she shouted.

  The Beast tilted his head; he held a paw to his ear.

  “He can’t hear us!” said Chip.

  Belle cupped her hands to her mouth. “LOOK OVER THERE!” she yelled, then pointed to where she had placed the crumbs.

  The Beast turned his head. His smile broadened into laughter.

  Dozens of birds—sparrows, cuckoos, magpies, ouzels, and larks—had spotted the tasty crumbs. They’d flown out of the woods and landed in the snow, eager to peck them up. Their quick, busy bodies formed living letters, spelling out a message: GET WELL SOON!

  “The master loves it, Belle!” Chip crowed. “I’ve never seen him laugh so much!”

  The sound of the Beast’s laughter gladdened Belle. As she watched him, she was pierced by the realization that she missed him. The castle wasn’t the same with him shut up in his room.

  Why? she asked herself. How could I miss this quick-tempered, touchy, cantankerous creature?

  Because he’s also funny, caring, and kind, a voice inside her replied.

  Unfortunately, the Beast’s laughter soon turned into a deep, hacking cough, and Cogsworth appeared in the window again, glaring at Belle and Chip.

  The Beast made an oh, no! face and pretended to bite his claws.

  Belle and Chip giggled. Cogsworth did not. He ushered the Beast away from the window and slammed it shut, but not before the Beast gave Belle and Chip one last wave.

  “Well, Chip, if laughter really is the best medicine, then I’d say we’ve cured him,” Belle declared.

  The two made their way to the feed room of the castle’s stone barn and scooped some cracked wheat from a sack. They fed the chickens, then returned to the kitchen. As soon as Mrs. Potts saw Chip, she told him that she expected him to spend a good hour studying his multiplication tables.

  Chip groaned, but he settled himself at the kitchen table with a magic slate and piece of chalk that wrote out the tables as he dictated them.

  Belle gave him a sympathetic smile, then left so she wouldn’t distract him. Out in the hallway, Chapeau took her cloak. She headed upstairs, planning to make her bed, tidy her room, and then find something—paper, maybe some fabric scraps—out of which she could fashion decorations for Chip’s party. />
  She was alone again. There was no one to sit with. No one to talk to. But she comforted herself with the knowledge that she would be with the countess again shortly. They would make their travel plans today. Her heart leapt at the thought.

  Where would they go first? London? Madrid? Berlin? Athens?

  Belle had spent her life in a tiny provincial village, and now, almost overnight, the world, with all its people and cultures, its castles and ruins, its universities and museums, was at her fingertips.

  Nevermore was more than the countess.

  It was more than a book, more than a story.

  It was like nothing she’d ever known.

  And everything she’d ever wanted.

  BELLE LOWERED THE WINDOW in the countess’s carriage and leaned out. The wind would muss her hair. The sun would freckle her nose. But she didn’t care.

  Her excitement grew as the carriage turned off the narrow lane and rolled up a hill toward a set of gates. She’d escaped into Nevermore half an hour ago and found herself dressed for a garden party in a blue-and-yellow day dress and a straw hat with ribbons.

  Mouchard had met her in the courtyard.

  “Her Ladyship is in the summer house this morning, at the west end of the estate,” he informed her. “She asks that you join her there. I have readied a coach. Enclosed this time, mademoiselle, to protect you from the sun.”

  The carriage was light and quick. It flew over the dirt roads that wound through the deep woods of the countess’s grounds.

  She must own thousands of acres, Belle thought, for the ride lasted a good thirty minutes. She reminded herself to keep track of the passing time. Chip’s party was that evening. She must allow herself time enough to get back to the Beast’s castle and help get things ready.

  Finally, woods and meadows gave way to manicured lawns and a drive lined by chestnut trees in full flower. The drive snaked past ponds framed by willows and graced by swans. A warm breeze blew as the carriage rolled through rose gardens. It tugged petals from the blooms and swirled them through the air like colorful confetti. Belle laughed out loud, delighted by the spectacle.