“Try it, Belle, do,” the countess said, joining them. “I grew these trees myself. Fussed over them ever since they were saplings.”
Belle looked at the pear, so heavy in her hand, so perfect, so enticing.
“You must sample one, Belle! You’ve never tasted anything so delicious,” the professor said, biting into one. “I’m on my second!”
“Actually, that’s your fourth, Professore!” the countess said, laughing as juice ran down his chin.
Belle glanced at Henri.
“I will if you will,” he said, a challenge in his eyes.
He’s my friend, Belle thought. He wouldn’t encourage me to do anything dangerous.
They both took bites at the same time. The pear’s flesh was yielding and sweet; at first Belle loved the taste, but it soon became cloying, and the orchard’s perfume dizzying.
“What do you think? I’m right! They are superior. Tell me, Belle, have you ever had the like?”
“Never, my lady,” Belle replied, not wanting to be rude. She forced herself to finish the pear and threw the core into the grass. Henri picked another and ate it, but Belle couldn’t.
As she watched Henri, the countess, and the professor enjoying their pears, a lassitude descended on her. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind dull. She felt as if she could lie down under a tree and sleep forever.
Was it the pear that had made her feel this way? She tried to recall the beetle’s words. There was a warning in them, but its meaning eluded her. Something eaten, something beaten? Was that it? Or was it not eaten and not beaten? Did it really matter? It was so hard to think, so exhausting. It was much easier to let others do it for you.
“Darling Belle, you look absolutely exhausted. Would you like to have a rest?” the countess asked.
Belle said that she would. Professore Truffatore, who was evidently not tired at all, declared that he wished to see the countess’s apple trees. It was decided that Henri would accompany him and that the countess would walk Belle back to summer house to show her to a room where she could lie down.
“I might rest, too,” the countess said as she and Belle walked out of the orchard. “A little nap before dinner sounds like just the thing.”
Dinner!
Belle’s heart lurched. She was suddenly wide awake. Chip’s party! It was to take place after dinner that very night.
And she had forgotten all about it.
“MY LADY,” BELLE SAID, panicking, “forgive me, but I have to leave right away!”
She had promised to be at Chip’s party. She’d given the decorations she’d made to Mrs. Potts earlier in the day but was supposed to help hang them. Could she make it back in time, or was it too late? How long had she been in Nevermore?
“Leave? Whatever for?” the countess asked, dismayed.
Belle explained.
When she finished, the countess gave her a look. “I see. You’re going to a party. For a piece of porcelain,” she said. “When you could be here with your friends. Your true friends.”
“Chip is my friend, too. And his mother. They’ll be heartbroken if I’m not there. Please understand, Madame Comtesse. I owe them that.”
“Nonsense!” the countess said vehemently. “You don’t owe anyone in the Beast’s castle anything!”
There was an anger in her voice that Belle had never heard before, and it startled her. But it was gone as quickly as it had come.
“Forgive me, child,” said the countess silkily. “My emotion got the better of me. I can’t bear to see a young woman constrained so, or her dear…or an old friend in dire—” She stopped suddenly, as if she’d said too much. “Mouchard!” she barked, motioning to him. “Ready a carriage for Mademoiselle Belle.”
Something about the countess’s words struck Belle. “Pardon me, my lady, but what was that about an old friend?” she asked.
“It’s nothing,” the countess said, waving Belle’s concern away.
But Belle would not be put off. She knew that she herself was the young woman constrained, but the her dear and old friend troubled her. There was one person who was both dear to Belle and an old friend of the countess’s.
“Madame Comtesse, were you speaking of my father?” asked Belle, fear plucking at her nerves. “If there’s something wrong, you must tell me. Please.”
The countess heaved a troubled sigh. “Very well. Your father and I—we’ve been acquainted for some time. I haven’t seen him in ages, but I went to visit him yesterday. I was worried.”
Belle’s eyes widened. “You saw my father?” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “How is he?”
The countess put a steadying hand on Belle’s arm. “He’s aged, Belle. He’s slower. A little confused at times. It’s sorrow, I believe. And guilt. Guilt over the fact that you took his place in the Beast’s castle. It’s eating him alive.”
Belle was not one to cry easily, but at the countess’s words, tears welled in her eyes. “If only I could do something,” she said anxiously.
“Hush, child. Don’t cry. I wouldn’t have told you any of this if I didn’t think there was a way to help him,” said the countess.
Belle clutched the countess’s hand, hope leaping in her heart. “What is it?” she asked.
“I intend to bring your father to Nevermore.”
BELLE COULD NOT BELIEVE what she’d just heard.
“My lady,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “You could do that? You could bring my father here?”
“I can try,” the countess said. “In fact, I’ve been trying. As yet I haven’t succeeded. My powers are strong, Belle, but they are not unlimited.”
“But you brought me here,” Belle said, a pleading note in her voice. She had resigned herself to the fact that she would never see her beloved father again, but now the countess had told her that she had a chance to, and Belle wanted that chance. More than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
“Yes, I did bring you here,” the countess allowed. “But that’s because the magic in the Beast’s castle augments my own and makes it possible for you to walk in and out of this world through an enchanted book. But Villeneuve…” She smiled tartly. “Well, let’s just say there is not much magic in that place.”
Belle’s face fell.
“Do not give up hope, child. I will keep trying.”
“I would be so grateful if I could see my father once again, Madame Comtesse. It would mean the world to me.”
“I want you to do more than just see him, Belle.”
Belle looked at her questioningly.
“I want you and your father to stay here. With me. Forever.”
“But that’s impossible. Nevermore isn’t real.”
“It can be. There is a way. Trust me. Let me be the author of your story, not the Beast.”
A feeling of hopelessness descended on Belle. She wanted what the countess was offering so badly, but she knew she couldn’t have it.
“Even if Nevermore could become a reality, I still couldn’t stay here forever,” she said. “I exchanged my freedom for my father’s. What’s done cannot be undone.”
The countess cupped Belle’s cheek. “Do not be so certain, child,” she said. “I have undone much in my time, and many.”
There was a fierceness to her voice, and it chilled Belle, but it also gave her resolve. Perhaps there was a way for her to live in Nevermore with her father. She wanted so much to believe that there was.
As if sensing her thoughts, the countess said, “Believe in me, Belle.”
Belle nodded her head. “I will, my lady.”
“Will?” the countess said, arching an eyebrow.
“I do,” said Belle, mustering a smile.
The countess smiled, too. Belle hugged her and thanked her, then ran down the steps to the waiting carriage. Mouchard handed her up and closed the door behind her. The driver cracked the whip and his horses picked up a trot. Half an hour later, Belle was back at the château.
Mouchard’s expression,
as always, was as somber as a tombstone as he helped her out of the carriage. He nodded as she thanked him, then closed the door and took his seat once more. The carriage rolled off toward the stables. Dusk had fallen during the return ride, and Belle stood alone in it now without so much as a candle to light her way.
As her eyes adjusted, she made her way up the drive to the portal once again. The yew trees had grown even higher during the few hours she had been in the country. They’d formed themselves into narrow, mazelike passageways. Gnarled, knobby roots snaked across the ground now, too, forcing Belle to choose her steps carefully.
She had just started down one of them when she heard it—a rustling.
Unnerved, Belle picked up her pace. She tried to tell herself it was only a mouse or some other tiny night creature scampering to its den, but it grew louder and more insistent. She stopped and held her breath, the better to listen.
“Hello? Who’s there?” she called out, her voice trembling almost as hard as her legs were.
The rustling seemed to be not behind her or ahead of her, but all around her.
Belle’s stomach pitched with fear as she realized it was the sound of branches and canes, limbs and stalks. The rosebushes, the yew trees…they were growing so fast, she could hear them.
Hurry! a voice inside her urged. Get to the book!
With a cry, Belle ran toward it. Then something grabbed hold of her foot. Pain shot up her leg. She tumbled forward, hitting the ground hard.
Belle looked down at her foot, terrified of what she might see. A tree root was twisted around her ankle like a sea monster’s tentacle. She kicked at it with her other foot. It released her and shrank back into the ground. Belle tried to scramble up, but the thorns caught hold of her sleeve. She tore her arm free and ran to the book, desperate to step through its pages to safety.
The shimmering silver reminded her of ice in a pond in December—not fully solid or liquid. She pushed her way through and stumbled out into the library’s small workroom, her breath coming in short gasps.
Belle turned and saw the book looming behind her. Hands shaking, she slammed it shut and backed away. The thorny branches, the twisted roots—she half expected them to come snaking out of the pages after her, but the book merely shrank back to its normal size, and Belle hid it in the desk drawer once again.
As she closed the drawer, a sudden volley of knocking made her jump. It was emanating from the library’s outer doors.
“I’m coming!” she shouted, hurrying out of the workroom.
“There you are, Belle!” Lumiere said, as she opened the library’s doors. “Are you ready? Dinner’s just about to be served, and…my goodness, but it’s dark in here! How do you see anything?”
He walked to a tall candelabrum standing on a table and lit its tapers.
“That’s better! Now listen, Belle….The master’s in on the surprise, too. Dinner’s nearly ready. You should see the cake Cuisinier made! We’re going to…Belle?” He paused again, peering at her closely. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his flames flaring. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Belle forced a smile. “The knocking startled me, that’s all,” she said. “I’ll be right down, Lumiere. I just need to change my clothes.”
Lumiere nodded. He explained the rest of the plan to Belle, then hurried out of the library and down the stairs. As he did, Belle pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her thumping heart.
The walk through from the château to the portal had scared her badly. The branches and roots—it almost seemed as if they’d been reaching for her, as if they’d wanted to wrap themselves around her and pull her deep within themselves where no one could see her struggle or hear her scream.
“Stop it,” she said aloud. “You’re being silly. The hedges were a little overgrown, that’s all. You let your imagination run wild and scared yourself.”
But Belle knew that wasn’t true.
“Nevermore wants me,” she whispered aloud. “It wants me to stay.”
The thought scared her.
But what scared her even more was how much she wanted Nevermore.
HENRI STOOD AT A WINDOW in the countess’s study, gazing out of it at her rose gardens.
Professore Truffatore sat on the leather settee, a book open in his lap, a pear in his hand.
All around the study—on the mantel, the bookshelves, the top of tables—vultures perched. One rested atop the countess’s forearm as she paced the study, his powerful talons gripping her flesh tightly.
“It’s worse than I thought, Mouchard. Belle actually cares for that ridiculous little teacup. Why, she even left Nevermore for him!” the countess said, stroking the bird’s black feathers. “She has feelings for all the servants now. And the Beast. She tries to befriend him, no matter how badly he behaves. And he tries, too! One day, one of them might do more than try. They might actually succeed.”
The vulture turned his beady eyes to the countess and squawked.
“I know, Mouchard, I know. I can’t have that. Not at all,” the countess fumed, scratching the bird’s bald head. “I’m playing my last card, my trump card, and it has to work. Belle is starting to doubt Nevermore. I can see it in her eyes. But she wants to be with her father so much, her heart overrules her doubts. For now, at least, but not for much longer.”
A vulture perched on the mantel stretched his wings out and screeched.
“You’re right, Truqué. She is almost bound to Nevermore. If all goes well, one more visit will do the trick.” The countess smiled slyly. “And then I win the wager.”
With a wave of her free hand, she summoned her entire flock. “Come, my darlings. We have work to do.”
Mouchard flew off her arm, and Truqué launched himself off the mantel. The countess left the room in a rustle of black silk, her vultures flapping behind her.
The professor remained on the leather settee.
And Henri continued to gaze out of the window.
Perfectly, impossibly, still.
“IS HE COMING? He’s not back yet, is he?” Mrs. Potts whispered.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Potts. He’s nowhere in sight,” Belle said, peering out a kitchen window.
“Is everything ready?”
“It is,” Belle assured her. “As soon as I see him, I’ll run back to the dining room to get everyone ready, just as we planned.”
Belle had come down to dinner, and she and the Beast had eaten their meal in the dining room as they did on most evenings. They’d hurried through this one, though. The Beast had been far too excited for Chip’s party to linger over Cuisinier’s boeuf bourguignon.
As soon as the dishes had been cleared, Mrs. Potts had asked her son to check that the doors to the stables and the chicken coop were locked up tightly for the night. The second he left the kitchen, she’d raced back into the dining room to give the signal. Everyone had snapped into action.
The Beast had quickly hung the colorful garlands that Belle had made all around the dining room. One spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHIP!
Chapeau had carried the birthday cake from its hiding place in a kitchen cupboard to the dining room table. Lumiere had followed him with plates and cutlery, and Belle had fetched the presents from a cabinet in the scullery.
“Here he comes!” she whisper-shouted now.
She ran out of the kitchen and into the dining room, shutting the door behind her, then pressed her ear to the keyhole.
Chip came into the kitchen, shaking snow off himself.
“Is the barn secure? No weasels can get into the chicken coop?” Mrs. Potts asked.
“Everything’s locked up tight,” Chip said. He looked around the empty kitchen. “Where is everyone, Mama?” he asked.
“They’ve all gone to bed for the night. Everyone was tired, I guess. I offered to finish up the dishes. Why, love? Is something the matter?”
“I thought…” Chip began. “Well, since it’s my birthday, I thought we could all…oh, never mind,” he said dej
ectedly.
Mrs. Potts gave him a sympathetic smile. “Grown-ups don’t always remember youngsters’ birthdays, but you and I can stay up and celebrate with some nice stories by the fire, can’t we?”
Chip nodded. He mustered a smile. He was far too good a child to whine or complain.
“Before we do, though,” Mrs. Potts continued, “would you check the dining room to make sure all the plates have been brought in?”
“Yes, Mama,” Chip said.
Belle peered through the keyhole and saw him making his way toward her, his sweet face downcast. Froufrou was right behind him. Chip didn’t know it, but his mother was, too.
Belle dashed away from the door. “He’s coming!” she whispered, joining the others, who were by the cake.
Lumiere quickly lit the candles. He finished just as Chip opened the door.
“Surprise!” everyone yelled.
The look of utter happiness on Chip’s face lit up the room.
“Happy birthday, Chip!” Lumiere shouted, and the whole room burst into song.
When they’d finished, Cogsworth said, “Now come, young man, and blow the candles out before they light the draperies on fire and burn the castle down!”
“Make a wish first!” said Mrs. Potts, throwing Cogsworth a look.
Chip closed his eyes. He thought for a few seconds, then said, “I wish to always have my mama, and Belle, and my other friends, and the master around me, and to be as happy as I am right now!” And then he blew his candles out with one breath.
Everyone applauded and smiled at Chip’s words, but Belle saw a hint of sorrow behind the smiles. It was as if his wish had brought back thoughts of happier times—times he was too young to remember.
As the smoke from the birthday candles rose into the air, Lumiere clapped his candle hands together as if to dispel the sad memories. “Well, now! I think I spy a present or two!” he said.
Beauty and the Beast: Lost in a Book Page 12
