The Beast’s Heart

by Leife Shallcross

  She looked at me and shook her head silently again. She looked away and said, ‘I can’t ask it.’ She took another quick breath that sounded almost like a sob and then her eyes met mine and slid away.

  ‘Beast,’ she began again, ‘could I go home for a visit? Just for a visit? Just to reassure Papa.’ She looked back up at me, her eyes pleading. ‘If I went tomorrow I could see Marie married.’

  She stopped abruptly as she saw the expression on my face.

  ‘I mean just a visit,’ she said pleadingly. ‘Just for, say, a week. I would come back and see out the year. I promise. I would even stay an extra week, to make up for it.’ She came forward and took my paws in her hands.

  ‘Please, Beast,’ she entreated.

  I was frozen. I could not breathe. A huge weight had settled upon my chest and was suffocating me, pressing my heart in my chest so it could not beat and stopping the breath in my throat. For her sake I would have tried to school my face into a neutral expression, but I was frozen to the quick.

  ‘Isabeau …’ I managed to croak.

  ‘Please, Beast,’ she begged, ‘at least think on it. Don’t say no. Please say you’ll think on it.’

  Stiffly I managed to nod. It was a reprieve.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said earnestly. She held my paws for a moment more, then released me and stepped away. I tried to shake off my stupor and managed to take a new breath.

  ‘You should go to bed,’ I managed to whisper, ‘you must get some rest.’

  Isabeau nodded, looking at me with concern.

  ‘And you,’ she said.

  ‘Of course,’ I lied. So she said her goodnights and thanked me again for my patience with her night terrors, then returned to her rooms.

  It was only after she had left I realised she had not challenged me for keeping the mirror a secret for so long. This thought only distracted me for a moment, however, from the deeper disaster of her request to return home.

  There was, of course, no more sleep destined for me that night. I did not even try to return to my bed. Although I did challenge sleep to take me unawares by sitting motionless in my chair, staring into the fire until the sun arrived and woke the world.

  There was no true dilemma. She had asked; I could not refuse her. My contemplations were more selfish – how could I convince her to stay with me? How could I get her to change her mind? Oh, do not credit me with more nobility than is my due. From when she left me for her bed until I saw her again, my mind was busy concocting schemes by which I could convince her to stay.

  In the end, when I felt her stirring, I returned to my rooms and dressed. While she rose and breakfasted, I ordered the air to pack trunks with more fabulous contents in readiness for her departure. When she emerged from her chamber and came down to the music room, I was there waiting.

  Her trunks were there and when she entered and saw them, she looked over at me in surprise. I could only nod gravely and hand her the fur-lined cloak that lay across them, as though she were about to undertake a journey by more conventional means.

  It was very early, far earlier than our usual meeting time in the music room. The winter sun was only just warming the eastern horizon.

  ‘If you go quickly, you will be there when your family awakes,’ I said, not wanting to entertain any further questions about whether or not she should go.

  ‘Beast,’ said Isabeau, her voice thick with some emotion. Gratitude, I supposed. Or overwhelmed at the thought of being once again with her dear Papa and sisters. I waved away her words irritably and helped her into her cloak. When she was ready I took a ring from my pocket and held it out to her. A twisted band of gold. She looked at me in puzzlement.

  ‘Take it,’ I said. ‘Put it on. Twist it once, clockwise, and it will take you back to your family.’

  ‘Oh, Beast, thank you,’ she said, taking it from me and putting it on at once. ‘And to return?’ she asked.

  ‘Isabeau,’ I said, shaking my head, hoping to disguise the trembling that threatened to overwhelm me. Would she really?

  ‘And to return?’ she asked more firmly.

  I shrugged.

  ‘Twist it twice, in the other direction,’ I said, making it up on the spot. I’d made the ring up on the spot. But the idea of her wearing a ring I had given to her, whether she returned or no, had its appeal.

  ‘Isabeau, you do not need to return,’ I said. The time had come for truths. ‘I release you from your promise.’

  ‘No!’ she said sharply. ‘I did not ask you to release me. A promise is a promise. I will return in a week.’

  ‘A week then,’ I said, not wanting to hope too much.

  She turned back around to face me then, her large grey eyes looking out at me beneath the silver fur of her hood.

  ‘Isabeau, I will miss you!’ I rasped out, unable to help myself. I wanted to embrace her and hold her to my heart.

  She gave me a thin smile. ‘It is only that you are grown used to the company now,’ said Isabeau. Even though I knew she was only trying to lighten the mood, it wounded me she so easily dismissed my love for her.

  ‘If it pleases you to think so,’ I said, trying to keep the hurt from my voice. I must not have succeeded, however, because Isabeau went red and looked away.

  ‘Beast,’ she said uneasily, clearly trying to find some way of softening her tactless remark.

  ‘Isabeau,’ I interrupted, ‘please believe I would never have asked for your hand if I did not truly love you. Were you gone for a week or forever—’ I stopped. It would not do to try to make her feel guilty for leaving me. Even I must own she had a duty to her family, not to mention how she must miss them in any case.

  ‘I will return, Beast,’ she said anxiously, looking me in the eye. ‘I promised you a year, and I have not yet fulfilled that.’

  I shrugged and tried to smile, though I wanted to weep.

  ‘And I have released you from that promise,’ I said to her. ‘I will be most grateful if you return, but you are not bound to do so.’

  She looked at me with the strangest expression on her face. I could not read it.

  ‘But I want to come back,’ she said earnestly.

  As I looked at her, I could not help but reach out and touch her face; not with my shining, vicious talons, but with the back of my hairy black paw. To my surprise, Isabeau did not flinch, but put her own hand up to clasp mine to her cheek.

  ‘I cannot tell you how grateful I am for everything you have done for me and my family,’ she said. ‘And your friendship means a great deal to me.’

  My surprise grew as tears welled in her eyes and one slid down her cheek, becoming lost in my coarse dark fur. I could only nod, too overwhelmed to speak. She stared at me for another long moment, as though waiting for something, before she released my hand and stepped back, laying a hand on her trunk.

  ‘Goodbye, Beast,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘I will see you in a week.’

  Then she twisted the ring on her finger. There was a brief gust of wind from nowhere and she and her trunks vanished. I was left staring at nothing, in an empty room.

  ‘Goodbye, Isabeau,’ I said hoarsely, my throat so strangled with grief I could barely speak the words. I looked down at the hand that tingled with the memory of her touch. The fur that had been wet by her tears was now a streak of silver in my otherwise coal-black pelt.

  Chapter XXXVI

  I only remained in that hateful place for a few seconds. I turned and left, striding through the house to my study, then running in my haste. I threw open the door and in three steps was before my mirror. The drapes were already cast back and it showed a tiny attic room in the cottage, furnished with a simple bed.

  Isabeau was sitting on one of the trunks that now stood at the foot of her bed. Her expression was not one of overwhelming joy. In fact as she looked around her old bedchamber, she looked decidedly forlorn. She sat there for some time, looking down at the ring on her finger and twisting it to and fro. But not twice, anti-clockwise, al
l the way around.

  There was a muffled thud from below, followed by more noises, and Isabeau looked up, listening. I was surprised to see the tracery of tears on her cheeks. My heart contracted with longing for her, but I instantly began to second-guess myself. Was she crying for me? Did she really miss me already? Or was she just overwhelmed to be back with her family?

  There was the disappearing sound of footsteps on wooden stairs and I surmised Marie had risen and was making her way down to begin breakfast. Isabeau, finally starting to smile, lifted her hands to cover her mouth. A few moments later the sound of humming was heard from the room below.

  ‘Claude!’ whispered Isabeau, a delighted grin spreading across her face. But still she sat there. Then, from far below, came the muted rumble of a more masculine voice.

  ‘Papa!’ she gasped, and sprang to her feet. But, she did not rush out. She took off her cloak with trembling fingers and then went slowly down the stairs, letting the creak of her step announce her presence before the others saw her. The voices in the kitchen suddenly fell silent. Then, mischievous girl, she went through the doorway into the kitchen, stretching like she had only just awoken.

  ‘Good morning,’ she yawned.

  Marie found her voice first. ‘Isabeau!’ she said weakly.

  Then Claude shrieked out loud and flew across the kitchen to hug her younger sister.

  ‘Isabeau?’ asked de la Noue, sounding shocked. The look upon his face said he could not believe his eyes. Marie sat down on the bench by the table, looking very much as though her legs would not support her any longer.

  ‘Hello,’ said Isabeau a little sheepishly, still wrapped in Claude’s arms. ‘I came back.’

  What chaos there was then. Isabeau was hugged and kissed over and over by each member of her family so many times it was almost as though she had returned to an army of relatives, not just three. It seemed to take quite some time for her father and each of her sisters to be satisfied it was, indeed, Isabeau returned to them and not just some apparition.

  ‘You really are back,’ said Marie wonderingly, once more sitting at the table, when all had quietened down once more.

  ‘Of course,’ beamed Isabeau, standing behind her father, who was sitting beside Marie. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned on him comfortably. ‘I had to come back to see my sister married.’

  ‘But how—’ asked Claude, when she was interrupted by Marie, who gave a gasp of pleasure, her hands flying to her mouth.

  ‘You have been receiving my letters?’ she cried happily.

  ‘Yes,’ said Isabeau. ‘I give you joy, Marie. I’m happy to see you so happy.’

  Entwined in Isabeau’s arms, Monsieur de la Noue frowned, looking puzzled. Then he patted Isabeau’s hand where it lay upon his shoulder.

  ‘And are you well, child?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ said Isabeau, bending to lay her cheek against his. ‘I am very well. I am here among you again. I am very well indeed.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, reaching up to press her more closely against his whiskered cheek. But the frown did not entirely leave his face.

  Of course Isabeau’s arrival put them all out of order for the morning, but eventually Claude remembered she needed to go into the village to run some errands that could not wait. As she left, Marie stopped her at the front door.

  ‘Claude,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Yes?’ asked Claude, pausing in the door with her basket over her arm.

  ‘When you go, be sure to tell someone we have had word Isabeau is returning and will be with us tonight,’ said Marie, peering over her shoulder.

  ‘Of course,’ Claude whispered. ‘It would seem so odd, otherwise.’

  ‘It will probably look odd anyway,’ said Marie, grimacing. ‘But I cannot think of any other way to explain it.’

  Claude nodded, and was gone.

  I sat by the mirror the whole day, watching Isabeau and her family. There were a few odd moments. The first occurred when Isabeau went to fetch the crock of butter from the pantry for Marie. She went directly to a corner as though expecting it to be there, but it was not, and she had to ask her sister where she had put it. Marie told her quickly enough, but I watched Isabeau pausing in the pantry, looking at the crock in her hands, then the place where she had first sought it, then at the shelf on which she found it, the tiniest of frowns upon her face.

  Another moment came when Marie offered to brew coffee for them all. Isabeau went to get the cups, but Marie put one back and selected another, saying, ‘Papa always has this one.’

  She did not know where Claude kept the tablecloths and napkins, or where Marie had stored the wine gifted to them by Dufour. When her father went outside to see to some task, she went looking for his scarf at Marie’s exhortation, but could not find that either. Each time I saw her look a little lost, I ached for her. I could see it written so clearly in her face: after all this time she felt like a stranger among her own family. My heart twisted. Isabeau did not feel herself to be home. A little flame of fierceness surged within me at that thought. I found myself thinking, No. Her home is here! But a moment later I sagged back into my chair, watching her set the table for her family’s evening meal. It mattered no longer. Her home had been here. It should have been here. And perhaps she might return. But, for now, she was home with her family and I must bear it as best as I could.

  As they ate, I grew conscious of a delicious aroma. I turned away from the mirror to see a table set beside me with all manner of good things to eat. A roasted fowl, a glass of wine, a silver dish of green beans topped with a curl of butter slowly melting away. There was a golden-crusted pie emitting a savoury smell and some confection of cream and sugared fruit. My stomach clenched painfully and I remembered I had not eaten all day.

  I took a slice of the pie and some of the fowl. I ate a few mouthfuls, watching Isabeau’s family eating their somewhat plainer fare. Isabeau was very quiet, listening to her sisters talking over their plans for the wedding the next day. Their father sat, an odd smile on his face. I put my plate aside and leaned forward to look closer at him. Despite my expectations, despite the fact his youngest child sat by him, healthy, whole and apparently happy, the lurking grief had not been chased from his expression. Indeed, I fancied sometimes when he looked too long at Isabeau, his smile would waver and his eyes would grow bright.

  At that point I comprehended another subtle awkwardness about the family in the glass. All day Isabeau had kept within sight of one or other of her sisters, offering to help with chores, chatting to them about the coming wedding or their acquaintances in the village. Each time any of the family sat down together – to eat a meal or drink a cup of coffee – Isabeau would sit by her father and hold his hand or tuck her arm through his. But she had not sought out his company alone and I began to be convinced he may have taken some pains to avoid being alone with her as well.

  And now, as they all sat together, I noticed something else.

  They had talked almost exclusively of Marie’s wedding, all through the meal. This would not, perhaps, have been so extraordinary, except their youngest member had just returned unexpectedly from an absence of some eleven months’ imprisonment in the den of some monstrous beast. I grasped what was wrong as the sisters were discussing their arrival at the church the next day.

  ‘And now I shall have two bridesmaids,’ said Marie happily.

  ‘Oh,’ said Claude, frowning. ‘But, Isabeau, what shall you wear?’

  Isabeau gave her an enigmatic smile.

  ‘I am sure I will have something suitable,’ she said, a twinkle in her eye. ‘You should see the size of the trunks the Beast has sent home with me.’

  There was a sudden silence and the expression on her father’s face froze.

  ‘Excellent!’ said Marie brightly, a heartbeat too late. ‘There is no need to worry over that, then.’

  The twinkle had vanished from Isabeau’s face and she looked lost again.

  �
��Well, is everyone finished?’ asked Marie, blithely. ‘Papa, should you like to go and sit in the parlour now?’

  My heart grew cold and heavy. Clearly there was to be no discussion of me or Isabeau’s time here. She was back in the fold and they were happy, but there had been no questions about her life in my domain.

  A gloom descended upon me. I sat staring despondently into the mirror. It took me some minutes to notice Isabeau, too, had realised the prohibition. She began to collect the plates into the washing basin, and when Marie tried to shoo her into the parlour to sit with her father, she shook her head and silently went about her chore. Marie stopped to watch her, frowning. I saw it immediately. It was as if a light inside Isabeau had been doused. She was holding her lips very tightly together, but every now and then they quivered.

  I could not help myself – in a moment I was out of my chair and standing beside the mirror. She needed comfort and I was so far away. I leaned my forehead against the wall so my muzzle was a mere inch from the image the mirror showed me. It was a hopeless, pointless thing. But I lifted my paw and laid it against the glass.

  A tear slid down her cheek. She dashed it away, but another followed. She put her hand to her cheek, directly under my paw, as though she was trying to hide her tears. I seethed in impotent frustration. I could do nothing.

  Then Marie came up behind Isabeau and put her arms around her younger sister.

  ‘Shh,’ she said. ‘Depend upon it, Claude and I want to hear all about it. But perhaps not in front of Papa just yet.’

  Taking a sharp breath, Isabeau nodded, then managed to turn a watery smile upon her sister. Marie squeezed her tight again and kissed her cheek and left her to the washing.

  At this, Isabeau rallied and I returned to my chair. But my meal was cold and I had lost my appetite, so I sent it away. I watched, a little resentfully, as Isabeau sat by her father for the remainder of the evening, touching his knee or his arm each time she spoke to him. Eventually, however, Monsieur de la Noue rose and kissed his children, saying he could barely keep his eyelids open.

  After their father had retired, there was a tense silence, as Marie and Claude’s sense of propriety warred with their curiosity and they tried to think of ways to delicately frame impertinent questions they were desperate to have answers to. After pretending to be distracted for a few minutes, Isabeau eventually began to laugh.