The Unbreakable Curse: A Beauty & the Beast Retelling

by Jenna Thatcher

  “I….yes. That is, thank you, everything has been….” She trailed off, at a loss.

  “I understand you allow them to call you by your given name.”

  “I…well, that is only if you allow it. I would not want them to be in trouble for my sake.”

  He gave a noise that sounded like a huff and a growl at the same time. “If you wish it, I will not intervene.”

  “Thank you.”

  There was another pause as a small plate of roast was served with a side of potatoes and greens. The delicious smell closed her eyes as she enjoyed the remembered anticipation of thyme and garlic. Slowly, she picked up her fork and cut a small bite, savoring the tender meat with a sigh.

  “You must enjoy a good roast.”

  She stilled, looking into the blackness. “I must?”

  “You looked happy.”

  “I…I haven’t had meat in a long time.” She swallowed.

  “When was the last time you had meat?”

  “My...that is…no, my papa, he…that is…” she took a deep breath in and then breathed out again. “I’m sorry. My papa. He brought home a roast for my sixteenth birthday. It was…is…one of my favorite memories.”

  Another huff.

  She laid down her fork, her stomach protesting the bites she had already taken. Hands clasped, she ventured, “If you don’t mind my asking, how is it you can see me, but I can’t see anything of you?”

  “I have acquired the ability to see in the dark.”

  Her mouth opened, but then she shut it with a snap. His hints confirmed the story she had been told, and she felt butterflies flapping their wings against the walls of her stomach.

  Silence continued as her appetite fled. Her plate was taken away and an even smaller plate was laid before her. She stared at it for a moment.

  “It’s a hazelnut tart, and if my memory serves me well, it will not bite you.” She looked up startled. Had he made a joke?

  “I…well, no. I find I am no longer hungry.”

  Another huff that sounded more like a growl, and then, “The servants will send it up later if you prefer.”

  Politeness answered for her. “That’s very kind. I’m sure I will be better able to appreciate it after my stomach has settled.” She reached for another drink of water to distract herself from a new set of shivers.

  “If you are hungry, please ask at any time. It is apparent that your health has been neglected and that you are in need of increased nourishment.”

  “I….yes. Thank you.”

  His chair scraped back and she watched in horror, her mouth shut tight her nostrils wide, as his shadow shifted and moved in the darkness.

  “I will retire for the evening. Is there anything you need?”

  “No, thank you.”

  The shadow moved towards the door at the other end of the hall which opened letting in a whisper of light, and then in a burst of confidence she whispered, “Wait.”

  He immediately stopped. “Yes?”

  Somehow she wasn’t surprised he had heard her pathetic plea. “Please. I must know.” She fidgeted with her napkin, twisting it about in her lap.

  “What must you know?”

  “I know that you….that is…that you are planning on…” Horrified at what she must ask she started crying, her hands cupped over her mouth, then before her as she laid her head on her arms and started sobbing.

  Something settled on her back, something too large to be a hand, and she heard him whisper behind her, “What must you know?”

  She started shivering, wracked with the horror that he must be touching her and she burst out, “I must know when I’m to die.” His touch was released and she forced herself to take a gulp of air.

  “Die?”

  She had stopped crying, and slowly turned her head around, determined to try and face her fear with a shred of courage. He was still a very large shadow but now she could make out blurred details that left no doubt he was the very beast she feared.

  She blew out a whisper of words. “I was told you would kill me immediately. That you would….that you would eat me.”

  There was a rumble in his chest, and he moved closer. “Bring a light.”

  The footman rushed forward with a single candle and as the light hit his face that was now level with her own, she stopped breathing. His face was that of a lion, except where his snout narrowed like a wolf.

  His teeth appeared, as massive and as sharp and as frightening as she could have ever imagined. “I swear to you an oath that I will never ever hurt you.”

  Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened, if possible even wider. Truth, her knack said.

  He cocked his head slightly to the side. “Breathe, Helen.”

  She gasped and then swallowed, and then breathed again. “I….I….”

  “Definitely not the worst response I’ve received.” His mouth curled as his canines were released.

  “I’m sorry. You are…terrifying.” She breathed out the last word staring at him.

  “Perhaps this was a bit hasty on my part. I had not planned on showing you my face for some time. I merely wanted to reassure you. To show you the truth so that when I speak the truth you will believe me. This is your home for as long as you want it, and as long as you are here you will never ever come to any harm.”

  She stared at him, still feeling the truth of his words, finally settling on his eyes, which were thankfully quite human in appearance. “Your eyes are hazel.” Her voice trembled.

  There was another rumble in his chest. “Are they? I haven’t looked in a very long time.” She continued to stare unblinking until he said, “It is time for you to retire. I imagine good sleep and more roast will bring you back to health.”

  “Yes.”

  He turned and left while she continued to stare into the darkness, wondering if she was mad.

  revenge

  The rain had made the man’s leather hat useless long since, but he didn’t seem to notice as his mind whirled and hummed and did what it did best; plan the complete destruction of someone else’s life.

  He shivered, the memory of fear snaking down his spine, the cold cementing it. He called forth his plan; there was a man to destroy and a girl to steal, and then his sleep would no longer be interrupted by the horrors he had seen. His cowardice at bay, he spurred his horse towards the lights from the city. They were visible even in this drenched night; the rain slapped him from all sides giving him wings.

  ***

  A girl in the spring of her youth sat at the edge of a kitchen garden, humming as she weeded, her hands at home in the soil. Her ‘honey and jam’ hair, as her brother called it, was tied up in a kerchief, but she was much less careful with her dress, which trailed about her in the dirt and bugs. A distant clock chimed and she smiled at the lowering sun, standing to uselessly brush off the wet soil. Shaking her head, she used the pump to wash, then stepped inside with a basket of herbs and vegetables ready for use.

  Within a few minutes she had dumped her bread dough out on the table while the beginnings of a stew were on the stove. Her father had come home to mumble something and sit at his desk, while her brothers began their evening chores.

  A knock interrupted the familiar evening, and Helen flicked a strand of her hair out of the way as she kneaded her dough. “Jack, get the door would you?”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Why don’t ya get Paul to do it?”

  “Because he’s out back getting more wood, while you’re sitting here on your duff.”

  Jack mumbled. “Duff….sitting on my duff….I’ll tell you whose duff is going to…oh…hello?”

  “Who is it, lad?” Pa looked up from where he sat writing a letter.

  “Don-know. Who are you anyhow?”

  Helen wiped her hands on her apron and came to the door, her hand resting on Jack’s shoulder. “Hush now, where are your manners?” She looked up at the two men and smiled. Startled, both men stopped short. “Come in, come in. Would you care to sit down?” She ges
tured to the fireplace while her father came over with the extra set of homemade chairs and stools.

  Paul came in, put the wood in the box and then stood up with his hands crossed over his chest. Helen studied him; Paul’s knack was the ability to size up a person and know his intentions, and Paul relaxed as he stood behind his Pa, his hands resting on the back of the chair.

  The first man wore no hat, his frown painted on his stubby face and his arms folded as he stood to the side refusing a seat. The second wore a well-tailored suit and more graciously took the chair offered him as he put forth his hand. “Good evening sir, do I have it right in addressing a Mr. John Ashland?”

  Her pa smiled and returned the gesture. “Yes, that’s me. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I’m Mr. Brown, an attorney from Litmore.”

  “Litmore! What in blazes are ya doing here?” Jack gasped.

  “Indeed, it does seem quite a travel to find our little family.” John started to frown.

  “Oh indeed it does, indeed it does.” Mr. Brown was smiling. “I believe it was worth it, however. I assume you are the same John Ashland that designed the Clearwater machine?”

  Her pa laughed. “I am! Don’t tell me you’ve heard of it all the way over there.”

  “We have and in fact we’re hoping to see how it works. And if possible, commission you to make one for our town.”

  “Of course. But come, you must stay for dinner.” He motioned with his hands. “This is my son, Paul, my son Jack, and my daughter Helen.” He introduced them in turn as the lawyer nodded with each addition. The quiet man stared at Helen, and Paul flinched, his gaze narrowing.

  Mr. Brown’s smile grew. “We would enjoy dinner very much if it is not too much trouble.

  “Of course not, you are very welcome, and afterwards we can talk more of the machine.”

  “You’ll want to stay for dessert, for a quick storm’s coming our way.” Jack interrupted, raising both men’s eyebrows, and Helen laughed.

  “Stop showing off, Jack. Come, you may wash up at the basin.” Helen’s smile stopped both men short once more, with Mr. Brown recovering first.

  “Thank you, Miss Ashland.”

  Dinner was quieter than normal, and Helen noticed Paul was eating little, his forehead creased. It was not until the men had left that he relaxed as he shut the door behind them and turned to face her.

  “What is it, Paul? What’s wrong?”

  “I think they are not what they say. And yet…” Paul ran his hands through his hair then looked up at her. “Did they lie?”

  “No, I sensed only truth.”

  “I feel like there’s something not quite right. Especially with their intentions towards you, Helen. That man Barker isn’t a good sort of man, I think.”

  John Ashland looked back and forth between them. “Do you think they could be false? The money would be enough to build the riding machine I’ve been wanting to try, and of course this time Mr. Manwaring is not a part of it, so there would be no harm done.”

  Helen stepped forward, her voice calming. “For now we know they are telling the truth. And Paul is more confused than anything else, so there cannot be much to worry about, at least not tonight.”

  “It does seem too good to be true, I suppose.”

  “Oh Pa, don’t worry so. In fact, you should not have told them it was my birthday. We could have managed to make the deal tomorrow.”

  “Nonsense. Not on your birthday. One more day won’t hurt anybody.” He put his arm around her, pulling her head onto his shoulder.

  ***

  Helen turned sixteen on a day she would never forget. Her brothers hung homemade garlands leftover from the Midwinter Festival, and her father brought home a roast that she served with potatoes and root vegetables that turned pink from the beetroots. She brought out a pie made with the apples she’d dried last fall, but her brothers surprised her with a cake that leaned precariously, while her father told stories of her as a baby that got more and more outrageous as the night wore on.

  “I did not steal Mrs. Cutter’s pig when I was two, papa.”

  “You most certainly did, and –”

  She swatted him on the back of the head with her towel. “Hush, now, and I’ll sing if Paul will play.”

  Paul laughed and went to get his flute.

  “Hurrah!” Jack stood, ready to dance while Helen put away her offending towel.

  No one saw the man in the shadows who watched the house, the smoke from his pipe the only clue to his presence.

  ***

  The next morning, Mr. Brown showed up during breakfast, his suit out of kilter and breathing hard. “I beg your pardon, but I needed to speak with you and must do so without Barker here. You see,” here he stopped to take the chair brought out for him, “you are in grave danger.”

  “What?” John frowned. “You are not a lawyer then?” He glanced at Paul, who had come forward to sit and scrutinize Mr. Brown.

  “No, no, everything I told you was the truth, because Mr. Manwaring made me aware of your individual knacks. He said I must be very careful, otherwise you’d know it all at once.”

  “Mr. Manwaring!” Paul jumped up, his face set, his eyes on fire.

  “Mr. Manwaring is….” Mr. Brown looked out the window at the carriage and then lowered his voice. “I beg you to leave, sir.”

  As John opened his mouth, Mr. Brown shook his head. “Please. They call him The Destroyer, and he will ruin you and everyone you love.”

  “I don’t understand. I am well aware of his deceit, but what does this possibly have to do with the Clearwater machine? If sabotage is his game, he owns one that I gave him at our last encounter.”

  Mr. Brown held up his hands as his breathing slowed, his face wrinkled with distress. “He truly wants to purchase it, but he has not told me why. If I had to guess, I am merely a pawn in some bigger plan that I am unaware of. You must remember he has lost an enormous sum due to your efforts.” He leaned forward as he hissed his impatience. “I tell you all this at my own risk.”

  “Then this is all masterminded by Mr. Manwaring for what? Retribution?” John looked about in confusion.

  “He knew everything, Ashland. Everything about your children, each family member’s knacks, even that Helen’s birthday was yesterday. I believe he has a particular interest in your daughter, and while I am not certain, I believe he means her harm.”

  John sat down in his chair, his hand in his hair, then looked up to watch Helen come in the back door, her hands dirty from the kitchen garden. “And what would I do without her? My little light…” He held out his hand and Helen put her hand in his, quickly sensing something wrong. Jack had come in behind her, gripping a trowel and looking to take on the world.

  Mr. Brown, now with matching dents in his forehead, sighed. “He will get what he wants, but hold…” For now Jack and Paul were looking rather menacing and Jack and Helen’s mouths were set in determination. “There is no threat now, and I would not do so even if he asked. I am here only to put you on your guard. Barker has, I believe, a different set of commands, so you must be wary of him. We should talk of your machine now and whether you still want to sell it to me is entirely up to you.”

  “But if it is for naught and would do no one any good, then it is pointless.” John looked at Mr. Brown in frustration. “I realize I have offended him, but to take things to such a pitch, this is madness.”

  “Then you do not wish to sell it to me?” Mr. Brown sat back, at a loss.

  “Would he take an apology? I can’t imagine that would be enough for him, but perhaps?” John pled with Mr. Brown, who only shook his head.

  “I seriously doubt anything you say could deter him from whatever has been started.”

  Mr. Brown left shortly, and each went about their regular tasks with a somber cloud over their heads. Helen found herself staying in the garden much longer, the weeding and tending soothing her worries. It was there her father found her as the last light was fadin
g from the sky.

  He stood there for a moment in silence. “It’s hard to think of a solution to a problem when you’re tired. Tomorrow is a new day. There will be answers that come with the sun.”

  Helen stood, wiping her hands on her apron, her smile faint. “I know. I had hoped his offer was genuine. That the world was better than this.”

  “It is, dear Helen. It is. Perhaps nothing will come of Mr. Brown’s predictions.”

  “Do you think it likely?”

  John frowned at the weeds plucked and dried out from the sun. “Sometimes, I think bad things happen to remind us how often we choose good.”

  Helen frowned at the answer that wasn’t an answer as her father pulled her close, kissing her forehead. They walked in together, hope making their hearts a little lighter.

  ***

  Helen awoke in the quiet darkness, the sound of rain now gone. She wondered if it was the warning Mr. Brown had brought that kept her awake, for she found she could not turn and go back to sleep. She sat up, her legs dangling next to her bed, her toes brushing against the braided rug. Suddenly something grabbed at her ankle, pulling her off the bed and hard onto the rug. She banged her head and tried to yell, but a hairy hand covered her mouth. Picking her up like a baby, with one hand under her knees while the other still wrapped around her mouth, the man carried her out her bedroom, through the kitchen and straight through the front door. Her family remained asleep as she was kidnapped right out from under their noses.

  The beast

  That night, she dreamed of teeth. Dogs clamped their jaws over her neck again and again until it became the beast and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe…

  Helen sat up, shaking in a cold sweat, her eyes finally focusing on the fireplace. She stared at the dancing flames for a long time before she had the courage to lie down and close her eyes once more.

  She rose some time later, and with a sigh remembered where she was and her mystery of this monster that was expected to eat her but had promised her sanctuary. Frowning, she got out of bed and made her way over to the window, still slow but feeling stronger. She pulled back a curtain and saw the moon, and wondered if it was growing or shrinking.