Quarrel whined and moved his nose imploringly toward her. Compared to her, in her pretty if now rumpled dress, he was hideous. Massive, wiry, and covered in patchy gray and black hair. Unsightly. Which is why I tolerated him. He was like me. With fur.
For a moment she strained her eyes to find me, but then she turned back to my dog, reaching out a tentative hand. He rushed to greet her, wagging his tail like a fool.
His head reached nearly as high as her shoulder. And he was making a complete ninny of himself.
“You are not as scary as you look, now are you?” she asked, sounding relieved. She rotated her hand to scratch behind his ear. The fool whimpered and kicked his ribs with one hind foot.
“So you’ll talk to my dog but you won’t speak to me,” I growled, humiliated by his display. Quarrel whimpered and dropped to the ground, head turned back to look for me.
She lifted her eyes, following Quarrel’s gaze, and scowled. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding irritated. “I didn’t see you back there. In the shadows.” She added that phrase with sarcastic emphasis. “You must be Papa’s Beast.”
I went cold all over. “The only beast in Briarstone Abbey is the dog,” I said, barely managing to be civil.
Silence reigned between us but for Quarrel’s whines and the murmurs of the servants.
“My name is Bet,” she said at last, stiffly. “Lilybet Haverly.”
“That’s a ridiculous name,” I retorted, on account of the beast comment.
Bet swayed but held her tongue. I snapped my fingers, and Quarrel lunged across the room, his claws clacking against the floor. He ran back into the shadows, to me.
“Who are you?” Bet asked, sounding strained.
“I am the master of this place. Everyone does as I command here.”
“That’s nice. But you must have a name,” she persisted.
I lifted my gaze from the dog to study her. She was unsteady, shifting from foot to foot, but her jaw set in a determined way that suggested I would know no peace until I answered her. Now was the time to establish the hierarchy.
I sighed. “You may call me Master.”
Something clattered. My head jerked in the direction of the kitchens. The mutter of voices rose, but when I swept a hand at the air, they fell silent. I felt them pulse in irritation, but they withered beneath my glare and faded into the shadows. I glowered a moment longer before turning back to the girl. “Dratted Lonely,” I muttered.
“Lonely?” Bet echoed, arching one eyebrow. “I heard you say that name before. Why do you call them this?”
“They can neither speak nor be seen. That makes them Lonely.” I took a steadying breath and privately acknowledged the unfairness of my impatience. In all honesty, I didn’t know what they were either. I adjusted my cloak about my shoulders to make sure I was sufficiently covered, then took a step forward, leaning my weight on my cane. I stopped just shy of the circle of light cast by the candelabra. “Yours are called Twilight and Dawn.”
“Mine? Oh, you mean the Lonely. Which one is the cranky one?”
I harrumphed. “That,” I said, “would be Twilight.” I felt a surge of temper course through the room. I cleared my throat and the assault retreated. I glimpsed one of the Lonely floating out of the room—obviously Twilight.
Ignoring her, I gripped my cane more firmly and eased the weight completely off my bad leg. “So tell me, Miss Haverly,” I said, wishing I could make my voice gentler but knowing this was impossible, “did you come of your own free will?”
Something unpleasant crossed the girl’s face, but she nodded. “I have no prospects, unlike Rosamond, who might marry a duke if she keeps her wits about her. And Sookie is too young for—for this.”
I snorted, the sound echoing back to me. I steeled myself for what must come next. “You are not exactly . . . what I had in mind for a companion.” I had imagined a demure and pleasant young maiden with a quick smile and trusting nature who liked to rescue stray animals.
For a moment the girl seemed speechless. “You want a companion?”
“Don’t look so offended,” I growled, pretending to misunderstand her hesitation. “You are not much better to look at than I am. And if I don’t suit you then you can send your other sister—the one not pining for a duke.” I waved a careless hand as if it mattered little to me.
Her expression shuttered, like a window abruptly closed. “That’s impossible,” she said coldly. “No, we are both stuck, I fear.” She lifted her chin and stared right at me.
Now I was intrigued. I wanted to know what had elicited the change in her. Was it the insult to her looks?
“Perhaps we are well suited then,” I pressed, keeping my tone disdainful and detached. “Tell me, why did you come here?”
Though a moment before she had met my gaze squarely, now she suddenly paled and looked away, her gaze searching out Quarrel’s scruffy form as though for comfort. “I came to offer myself in my sister’s place.”
“Did you not consider the danger? I said I would come and get your sister, so that she need not face the Neverway alone. You must have known you would be risking your life to do this thing.”
“I did.” She still would not look at me.
It might surprise her if she knew, but I began to appreciate her decision. It seemed she had not come to me in a fit of temper, to deliberately plague me or disregard my demands. She came because she loved her sister.
This I found appealing.
“Since you have offered to take your sister’s place,” I began, trying not to falter over the words, “you must be informed of the facts. I am in need of assistance with a—with a delicate matter.”
She glanced over then, her forehead furrowed.
I did not want to scare her away by telling her too much at once, but she needed to know the peril. She needed to know that much was at stake. I chose my words with care. “There is a danger here. At Briarstone. I need someone to share my life, to help me fight it.”
“And you picked my little sister? For that?” she demanded, incredulous. “You are mad if you think I will believe this tale of yours. This is ridiculous!”
My thoughts on her capacity for intelligence aside, I could not believe her rudeness. “You have a bad temper, Miss Haverly, and I find your tone irksome,” I managed, struggling to control my own rising irritation.
She sniffed. “If you wanted someone who wasn’t irksome, you should have been more specific.”
“I believe I was specific.”
My words finally silenced her. She looked away from me, clearing her throat. I took the opportunity to study her. She was short but solid, with untidy hair and features that betrayed her rapidly changing moods. She also had quick wit and courage. Most people could not speak so bluntly to me. Even her father had cowered at my feet.
“Well,” I said quietly. I shook my head side to side. “Well, I suppose you must find me irksome as well.”
“Indeed,” she agreed.
I reminded myself that, considering how I had taken advantage of her father in a moment of distress, her honesty—and bluntness—should not surprise me. It was not the reaction I had hoped for in our first conversation, but it was probably the reaction I deserved. “Which sister I picked does not matter now that you are here. If you are still willing.”
“I’m sure I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
I ground my teeth together. Merciful After, I had not believed such a trying woman existed! I tried to shove my emotions back where they would not interfere with what I needed to accomplish here. My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. I peeled it loose by sheer willpower. “Miss Haverly, will you marry me?” The words stuck like stones in my throat.
Immediately the air felt oppressive. I watched horror take control of her features. I tried to shield myself from her revulsion, tried to imagine my heart as stone, unyielding, unbreakable. But the blood coursing in and out of that traitorous organ revealed the utter failure of my efforts.
/> It hurt. Of course it hurt.
“Do I have a choice?” she stammered.
I did not answer immediately. “Yes,” I finally admitted.
“Then no,” she retorted emphatically. “No, I will not.”
I waited for a surge of anger but felt only despair. It was not all mine. The Lonely wept, and Briarstone’s thoughts on the matter were quite clear. Every door in the Abbey began banging simultaneously.
There was much more I needed to say to this girl. But she was in no humor to hear the truth—not from me, and not tonight. I leaned heavily on my cane and limped toward the door with Quarrel hot on my heels. I turned my face from her so that I would not have to look at her when I hobbled past. “Pick up your plate, Miss Haverly. The Lonely will escort you back to your chambers,” I muttered.
After what I had done to her, I should have expected no better.
Chapter 7
Bet
I COULD NOT believe that he expected me to marry him.
The Lonely tucked me into bed on the settee, but I lay awake, too aware of the hard bed, the smelly hide blankets, and the lack of sisters breathing nearby. I missed them more than I had thought possible.
At one point I rose to test the doors, but they were obviously locked.
In the morning, the Lonely fed me hard-boiled eggs and dried fruit. The sunlight refracted through the invisible servants as if through crystal, dotting the stone floor and walls in wobbling shards of color. They were like the prisms Papa had brought home for Rosamond one year, which now hung in our bedroom window.
After breakfast, Twilight made me take a bath in the tub and scrubbed me harder than I felt was necessary. Dawn dressed me in a beige dress that bunched beneath the bust and flared to my ankles. She then offered me a pair of brocade slippers. At least they were flats.
They led me through the Abbey, down long hallways and narrow staircases. I could see cobwebs in the windows, mildew on the stones, and stains on the carpeted runners that covered the floors. Eventually they led me to a doorway open to the outside. As soon as I passed through, the door slammed shut behind me, smacking me in the behind. I twisted with a yelp, but no one was there.
I had half expected to find Papa’s Beast waiting for me, but as I surveyed my surroundings I realized that the Lonely and I were alone. I picked my way down a weedy path and turned back to survey the Abbey from the outside. We had apparently exited through a side entrance at the base of a tower. Briarstone Abbey seemed to have been constructed with minimal design beforehand, having windows in odd places and towers and parapets popping out at random. One side of the castle contained a massive stained-glass window, but many of its panes were shattered or missing. Battlements topped the many high towers, with ugly gargoyles glaring out over the Neverway.
I turned to take in the rest of my surroundings, from the path winding into an overgrown garden to the imposing wall of briars beyond it. I could see no end to the briars. They appeared to form a solid barrier around the Abbey.
I knew for certain then: I was completely trapped.
They made me return to the Abbey for a light luncheon of overbrowned bread and cold ham, but the sun rose and set without a word from the “Master.” The fact that he was waiting when Twilight and Dawn deposited me in the dinner hall only chafed me more. Why ignore me all day?
He was already seated at the far end of the table. When he motioned for me to be seated across from him, I complied noisily, scraping the heavy chair across the ground. At least there were a dozen chairs between us. I should be grateful for that.
I sniffed the air, glancing down. I saw it then, beside my silverware: a large black rose. Its petals were wilted and curling, the stem soiled with dark spots. I wondered what I was meant to do with it. It was probably intended as some sort of peace offering.
I left it be.
Awkward silence hung in the air between us. “How did you sleep?” he asked at long last.
“I didn’t, thank you,” I replied, just as stiffly.
Silence fell again. Two Lonely appeared from the kitchens with platters of food. I found myself only able to pick at the food they offered me. The meat was stringy and the vegetables boiled to mush. Apparently communicating was not the only thing the Lonely did poorly.
“I was wondering if you found my gardens.”
I deliberated whether this was an accusation or his idea of polite conversation. “They weren’t much to look at,” I finally grumbled.
“Oh. I agree, they are . . . not as fine as they once were.” He sounded annoyed. I could not see much of him. The oil lamps on the wall were turned down, and the two candelabra on the table stood at my end. “But it isn’t for lack of effort. They’re . . . sick.”
I said nothing, shoving the dark stew around on my plate. Quarrel crept to my side, crawling across the floor as though he didn’t want to be seen. I glanced up at my host from under my lashes and then slipped some gristly meat down to the dog. He swallowed it in one gulp.
“I require assistance in tending them,” the Master continued, still on about his gardens, his spotty roses. “I cannot keep them on my own.”
I sincerely hoped he was not about to renew our conversation from the night before. I had no intention of being his “companion.” I glanced up at the cobwebs draping the beams above our head. The entire Abbey was falling down around his ears. I wondered if he meant for me to scrub the floors as well as water the creeper-loving roses. He didn’t want a wife. He wanted a slave. I slipped another hunk of meat to the dog.
“Are you unwell?”
I glanced up. He had seen. “I’m fine,” I said between my teeth. “I’m just not hungry.” His presence seemed to have chased away my appetite.
His expression hardened. “I apologize if our humble fare displeases you.” He lifted a chunk of the stringy meat and shoved it into his mouth with his fingers. We stared at one another, neither of us speaking as I watched him chew and swallow, and it suddenly struck me as odd.
“You eat?” I asked in surprise.
His pale, knobby hands lowered to the tabletop. “Of course I eat. I’m not dead yet.”
Well, I’d already determined he wasn’t a Creeper. “I thought you preferred blood.”
His lips turned down. “Is that what they say now? That I’m a bloodsucker?” He snorted and shook his head from side to side. “Small-minded fools.”
I bristled at the insult. I was not small-minded. “You’re the one who introduced himself by drinking my blood!” I laid my arm across the oak tabletop and yanked up my lacey sleeve to reveal proof disputing my “small-mindedness.”
“I wasn’t drinking your blood!” he growled, slamming his hands down on the table. The dishes rattled; the candles sputtered. “I was sucking out the poison! If I hadn’t, you’d be dead right now. Dead, Miss Haverly.”
I felt suddenly cold. “Dead?” I echoed and replayed the events in my mind. I realized, unhappily, he was probably speaking the truth. “Oh.”
He learned forward, and the lamps cast a hint of light across his prominent features, creating dark shadows where his pale eyes should be. “Oh, indeed,” he mocked.
By the Never, how was I to know? I hadn’t been exactly coherent at the time. I tugged my sleeve down and drew my arm back into my lap, frowning as I stared off to one side.
“Bloodsucker. What a notion!” he muttered. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and saw him cross his arms over his chest and glare in the opposite direction, sulking. I barely managed to strangle the impulse to laugh. It came out as an unladylike snort. I coughed, hoping to mask the blunder.
His gaze swiveled back to mine. “What?”
I didn’t want to say, because I suspected I had done enough antagonizing for one night. He squinted at me, frowning. Then he shoved back his chair and moved toward me. I shrank back, my hands falling to grip the smooth arms of the chair. He did not stop until he stood right beside me, staring down at me.
He was so big. This was the
first opportunity I had been given to truly study him. He was awfully pale, as if all pigment had been drained out of him. Even his eyes were milky white, with only a touch of pale blue in the irises. He had hairless, jutting brows and a fat, squat nose. His face was the wrong shape for a human, however, the jaw too square and jutting forward. And when he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were those of a wild animal. He really was the ugliest living thing I’d ever seen.
“I wish to know what you are thinking. Why you laughed just now.” It was a command, not a request, although he spoke softly enough.
I became uncomfortable in the silence. For once the servants were quiet, as if the entire Abbey were holding its breath. I swallowed hard, fidgeting. “We both seem to have bad tempers, is all.”
“And you find this amusing?”
“I find it apropos. Contrary to your hopes that the better daughter might still be sent to you, I fear I’m the best suited.” My voice had dropped to a whisper. If I hoped to be sent home, listing compatibilities was not the proper plan of attack. I tried to retrench, regroup my thoughts. If I intended to be home before Sookie’s birthday, I didn’t have time to make mistakes.
His expression no longer seemed angry, merely curious and perhaps a little wistful. “So.” He said the one word as if that were all he intended to say. But then he cleared his throat and tried again. “So you will marry me then, Miss Haverly? I do need your help.”
The air hissed between my teeth, loud enough he must surely have heard it. His gnarled hand settled on the table beside me, only inches from my folded hands. I stared at his long fingers, unable to meet his eyes.
“No,” I said uneasily. “I have no intention of marrying a complete stranger. Most men introduce themselves before they start throwing around proposals of marriage.”
This caused him to flinch. “It would make things easier.”
It would make things easier for him, certainly, but not for me. He had not put forth any sort of effort to spend time with me—and then, at a snap of his fingers, he expected me to capitulate to his wishes.
Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories Page 12
