by Boyd Brent
'Of course, it's me' was written above the words she had already written, which were: 'A coach has been made ready to take you home.'
“I am to return home today, yes!” I said, securing the belt about my waist which, as is generally the case with fairytale characters, must be pulled ridiculously tight to reach its single fastening.
'PLEASE say you shall return! All the servants are so worried that you're not going to,' Molly scratched on the pad.
“That's very sweet of everyone. Please reassure them that I have every intention of returning …”
'When?'
“In just six days’ …” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on my shoes.
'Do you promise?'
“I do,” I said, standing. “In one week, your master and I are to embark upon an adventure …” I crossed to the dressing table and sat down. I picked up the brush but felt it pulled gently from my fingers. As Molly began to comb the tangles from my hair, she somehow managed to write with her free hand, 'An adventure to help the master???'
“I hope that its outcome will lessen his guilt and restore his peace of mind, yes. You see, we're to search for the witch that banished his brother and rendered you all invisible.”
'And if you find her?'
“When we find her, we shall start by asking her how we might atone and put things right.”
Molly drew a smiling face on the pad and, under it, wrote: 'THANK YOU! But be careful. She’s dangerous.'
I nodded. “But your master seems very resourceful and … I feel strangely comforted by the idea of being accompanied by him.”
Molly drew another smiling face on the pad, this one considerably larger than the first.
The carriage that awaited outside was larger and grander than my previous conveyance, and being aware of at least some of the palace’s secrets now, I realised that the horses (there were four of them) were not blessed with a remarkable sense of direction at all. “There must be an invisible coachman,” I murmured.
As I was about to climb inside, I turned and looked up at the palace, half expecting to see the Beast watching me from some high up window. Seeing no one, I drew a deep breath, climbed aboard and, no sooner had I taken my seat, then the carriage moved away. The carriage’s opulent interior, with its gold fixtures and fittings, and seats upholstered in red velvet made me feel like a VIP. Across from me was a seat large enough for three adults. “Or one Beast,” I murmured, imagining him sitting there and gazing out of the window in that tortured yet knowing way of his. I felt a pang of something that I could not quite put my finger on. Then, as though my imagination had performed a conjuring trick, the Beast’s image was replaced by the Prince’s. He sat in the middle of the seat, smiling across at me in such a way as to give me goosebumps. These two brothers, so very different in appearance, and yet so similar in other ways, occupied my every thought on that journey home. So much so that when the carriage pulled up outside my family house, it felt as though no time had passed at all. The front door flew open, and Father came through it. He was all smiles and tears, and the moment I stepped down from the carriage, he practically hugged the air from my lungs. He held me at arm’s length, looked me over for signs of damage and, seeing none, smiled and hugged me again. “You have returned to us safe and sound! I knew you'd charm the Beast!”
“It's good to see you, Father,” I smiled, “but rest assured the Beast is not what you think. Not at all ferocious. Just sad and lonely.” I heard footsteps skirting across the pebbled drive and saw Betty rushing towards me. “Beauty!” she cried. Father took a step back so I might hug my best friend. “The Beast has not devoured you, then!” she cried into my shoulder.
“Of course, he hasn’t!” I said, hugging her.
“You’ve escaped?”
“I had no need of escape. And what is more, it’s my intention to return to his castle.”
“What? You’re going back?” said Father.
“Indeed, I am. Let’s go inside, and I'll tell you all about it.” I reached for Betty’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “We shall go for a walk later. How I’ve missed our walks.”
“And you’ll tell me all your news?”
“Of course!”
The first thing to strike me as I entered my grand family home was just how tiny it felt compared to the palace. In the parlour, my sisters jumped up from a couch where they’d been conversing in hushed tones and welcomed me with forced grins. “What a wonderful surprise!” enthused one.
“Yes, we imagined we might never see you again!” said the other.
“It’s so good to see you both,” I said with all sincerity. I kissed them on the cheek and looked at Father. “Where are my brothers?”
“Oh, you know your brothers; always away doing this and that,” said Father, sitting at the head of the parlour’s table. “Take a seat one and all …” he smiled, “Beauty is going to tell us about her time at the palace.”
“She looks very well considering …” said one of my sisters, taking her seat.
“Thank you,” I replied, taking my own. “The truth is that reports of the Beast’s monstrous nature have been much exaggerated.”
Father cleared his throat nervously. “He did threaten my life, Beauty.”
I reached across the table and placed my hand on his. “Having spent time with him, I am convinced that he did not mean it.”
“And were reports of its hideous appearance also exaggerated?” asked a sister.
“Indeed, they were not,” shuddered Father.
“Don’t refer to him in that way, sister,” I said.
“In what way?” replied my sister, sounding unjustly reprimanded.
“As an it,” I said.
“But I don’t understand,” huffed the other sister, “is it a beast, or isn’t it?”
I drew a deep breath. “His appearance can only have been an accident of birth. Underneath he is most certainly not an it. What’s more, he is possessed of a kind and noble heart.”
“She always has had a soft spot for freaks,” giggled one of my sisters to the other.
“That’s quite enough of that,” Father admonished her.
“Indeed,” I went on undeterred, “the Beast’s own brother is very handsome. And a prince.”
My sisters glanced irritably at one another. “And was this handsome prince at the palace?”
I looked down at my hands in my lap.
“Beauty? What's the matter?” asked Father.
“To answer your question, no, the Prince was not at the palace. You see, he was banished long ago by a witch’s curse.” I looked up. “And it’s my intention to …” I paused, as sitting there at that table with at least one sympathetic face, my resolve at the thought of what the Prince had endured through no fault of his own began to crumble.
“Beauty? What has upset you?” asked Father.
“She looks about ready to burst into tears,” observed one of my sisters with a roll of her eyes. “Oh, go on; tell us. What errand of mercy have you got in mind this time?” I have always tried to be as patient as possible with my sisters, and at times, they have tested this patience to its limits. This was one such time. “The Prince,” I said, glaring back and forth between them, was banished by a witch to endure a lifetime of solitude. He has not been seen since, and it will come as no surprise to either of you that I am intent on finding and rescuing him.”
“Rescuing him?” said Father, throwing up his hands.
“Yes, Father. I have spoken with him in my dreams and …”
“In your dreams?” scoffed one of my sisters.
“Yes, but it was more than that.”
“Our sister can’t find a real Prince, only a foul Beast, it seems, and so has invented a phantom one,” giggled a sister.
“He will no longer be a phantom once I, we, his brother and I have rescued him.”
“It sounds very dangerous,” cautioned Father, “won’t the witch have something to say on the matter? I presume t
he Prince gave her good reason for banishing him.”
“No, that’s just it. The witch punished the Prince for the deeds of his brother and his servants. You see, it was they who refused her sanctuary from a storm.”
“Well then, if that's the case, what punishment did the witch inflict upon the Beast?” asked Father.
I sighed mournfully. “It seems that his punishment was to live with the guilt of his actions. And what is more, the witch struck his servants invisible and dumb. So, he has been forced to endure a lifetime alone, surrounded by people he can neither see nor hear.”
“That explains why I saw no one during my visit,” mused Father.
We all sat in silence for a moment, a silence broken by a sudden knock at the door. The door opened, and two gentlemen were shown into the parlour by our footman. My sisters, fawning and preening with every step, hurried over and laid claim to each by seizing an arm. Father and I stood and greeted the young men with a bow. They were army officers with straight backs and long noses which they looked down imperiously. “Welcome back to my home, gentlemen,” said Father, “and may I introduce my other daughter, Beauty. Beauty, this is Captain Black and Captain Manners.” Their eyes opened wide as they beheld me, and having broken free of my sisters’ grasps, they presented themselves to me with a bow. A glance in the direction of my sisters told me it would be best to make myself scarce. Besides, I was positively chomping at the bit to tell Betty about my time at the palace.
Journal entry no. 13
Upstairs, I found Betty pacing back and forth on the landing outside my bedroom.
“I thought I would never see you again!” she cried as she threw her arms around me.
“If I'm honest, I feared the same …”
“I've kept your room exactly as it was when you left,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
“Thank you …” She opened the door, and we stepped inside.
“You must have missed your room so much, what with being locked in some horrible dungeon?”
I shook my head. “The Beast has been most hospitable.”
Betty shrugged in a bitter-sweet way. It suggested that while she would not wish me to suffer, she didn’t much like the idea of my preferring the Beast's lodgings. “This will always be home,” I smiled, and taking her hands in my own, we sat upon my bed.
“So,” asked Betty, “is the name of your story to be Beauty and the Beast as you feared?”
I considered her question for a moment. “Beauty and the Beast’s Brother, perhaps? Oh, Betty! It will sound so pathetic, but I was overwhelmed when I first saw his portrait!”
“His portrait? But you have met him?”
“… Yes,” I nodded, “in a dream, well, in two dreams, actually.”
“But never in person?”
“Not yet. But these were not your average dreams. And the Prince's brother, the Beast, thought them so important that he has agreed that we must act on them.”
“How?”
“We're to go on an expedition to find the witch who banished him.”
“You're intent on finding a witch?” Betty gasped.
“We are,” I replied with a conviction that surprised me.
“Please, think again! What if she banishes you? I might never see you again.”
“At times such as this, we must think of others before ourselves. This isn't about me. The witch cursed all the servants at the palace, and unless somebody does something, they will be forced to endure an eternity of being invisible and dumb. Molly, my maid and friend at the Palace, can only communicate with me by writing on a pad.”
“Cripes. You mean you've never seen her?”
I shook my head.
“That's too weird,” shuddered Betty, “like being haunted.”
“It's exactly like being haunted. A terrible fate for anyone to suffer.”
“Poor you,” nodded Betty.
“Not me. The servants.”
“Oh, I see. So how long are you staying here? Where you can at least see who you’re talking to.”
“I promised I'd return to the castle in six days.”
“Six days? Is that all?”
“Yes, but we shall make the most of them!”
And make the most of them, we did. At least for the first couple of days, during which time we strolled around town, gossiping and laughing and, once or twice, nimbly avoiding those who were gossiping about me. We stuffed our faces at Mince's Cake Shop, our favourite, and danced in the fountain in the main square. But on the third day, things took a turn for the worse when Father had an accident. It was early in the morning, and I'd been dozing, thinking about you know who, when I was returned from those woods by the sound of shattering glass. I leapt out of bed, rushed from my room, and bolted down the main staircase where Father lay sprawled on his back at the bottom. Several servants had converged on him, and as I reached the bottom of the stairs, they stepped back so I could crouch beside him. I took his limp hand in my own, “Father! Father? Can you hear me? Quickly!” I continued glancing up at the shocked faces of the servants. “Summon Dr Fine!”
An hour later, Father, still unconscious, had been carried to his bed where, having bandaged his head, Dr Fine was checking his pulse. “He will be okay, won't he, doctor?” I asked. Doctor Fine, a tall, portly man who likes to wear brightly coloured cravats and waistcoats, returned the watch he had used to check Father's pulse to his pocket. “Your papa has suffered a severe knock to his head …” he said gravely.
“But Father is strong … he is going to wake up, isn’t he?”
“Only time will tell …” sighed the doctor. It was then that my sisters, having recently arrived home from a shopping expedition, entered Father's bedroom. At the sight of him lying prone and with his head bandaged, one clasped her cheeks while the other exclaimed, “What has Beauty done to papa?”
I looked over at them. “No one has done anything to him. Father's had an accident …” I said, returning my tearful gaze to him.
Doctor fine closed his bag. “Ladies,” he began quietly, “your papa has suffered a calamitous blow to his head. I have done all I can to make him comfortable.” He picked up his medical bag and, addressing us all, said, “The next 48hrs will be crucial. If he doesn’t show some sign of waking, then …”
“So, what should we do?” I asked.
“Stay by his side and talk to him,” said doctor Fine.
“Talk to him,” scoffed one of my sisters, “can he hear us?”
“How could he?” said the other. “Just look at him. He’s dead to the world.”
I looked at the doctor imploringly.
“Your father’s in a coma. In similar cases, when the patient has woken, they have reported that not only were they able to hear the voices of their loved ones, but that they found them a great comfort.”
“Then I shall remain by his side and …” I said, swallowing the lump that had come to my throat.
“You do that,” said one of my sisters as though it was the least that I could do.
Through Father’s open window, we heard a carriage pull up outside. “Our beaus?” said one of my sisters, glancing at the other.
“They are taking us to lunch. It's all arranged. It would be rude to cancel.”
“And we will bring Father back a present, won't we, sister?”
“That’s a lovely idea!” said the other, interlinking her arm.
“You two go. I will stay by Father’s side …” I said.
My sisters nodded, turned, and then hurried from the room.
Journal entry no. 14
This is the first time that I've have had the presence of mind to write in my journal for five whole days. During that time, I have barely slept, eaten, or left Father’s room. On the first day, the day of his accident, I held his hand in my own and spoke fondly of the years gone by. Once or twice, I imagined I saw movement, some flicker of recognition behind his closed eyes.
On the third day, doctor Fine returned to check
on Father’s progress. He did not say so in as many words, but the graveness of his tone led me to fear that because Father had not woken, it was now doubtful that he ever would. After the doctor left, and finding my troubled mind unable to remember anything else, I decided to read to Father. I brought his favourite books from his study and read them aloud. It was on the fifth day, while midway through a scientific tone about the movement of the planets around the sun, that Father cleared his throat as though trying to speak. I dropped the book and cried, “Father! Dear Father! I am here! Your daughter, Beauty. Please wake, Father.” Father’s eyes opened and, after no little effort, focused on me. “Water …?” he croaked.
“Yes, of course!” I filled a glass from a jug on his bedside table and held it to his parched lips. Father grimaced as he drank, and once he’d had his fill, I put down the glass and ran to the door. “Fetch doctor Fine! Someone fetch the doctor! Father has come back to us!”
“How long have I been unconscious,” I heard him ask from behind me.
“Five days. But you are back with us now …”
“You look … so … pale Beauty …”
“Please, you mustn’t concern yourself with me,” I said, returning to my chair by his side.
“And your brothers and sisters?”
“My brothers are yet to return from their trip …”
Father closed his eyes. “And your sisters?”
“Have been very worried about you, Father.”
“I can remember only hearing your voice, Beauty,” he said, reaching for and finding my hand upon his bed.
“That is because I have made a point of making sure you heard it. Doctor Fine said that in cases such as yours, the voice of a loved one can help recovery. You must have grown so tired of hearing it.”
