by Boyd Brent
“Tired? Not for a second,” said Father, opening his eyes. “I followed its sound, and it … it led me back to this room.” Father’s brows knitted, and he looked suddenly anxious. “What is it?” I asked him.
“… I have been unconscious for five days?”
I nodded. “But you are back now, and that is all that counts.”
Father shook his head, and tears filled his eyes. “I don’t deserve you …”
“Nonsense.”
“It’s true. It was because of me that you had to go away. Mercifully, the Beast allowed you to return. But only if you promised him you’d return by the sixth day. If I have been unconscious for five, then this must already be the seventh! Which means that you have broken your promise to him.”
I sat back in my chair. “I have shut all thoughts of other commitments from my mind. I would not have left you in your unconscious state for all the world. I’m sure the Beast will understand. I hope that he will.”
“You must go back to him today! Honour that commitment, my dear. Ever since you returned and told us your story, I have had a good feeling about what fate holds for you. I believe this to be your destiny, Beauty.”
“Please, Father, rest,” I sighed, feeling a dreadful pang of anxiety at having broken my promise to the Beast.
Journal entry no. 15
During the hours that followed, Father made a remarkable recovery. So much so that even gloomy doctor Fine was impressed with what he called his 'robust attitude.' It was certainly true that Father appeared remarkably full of beans for someone who had just emerged from a coma. Although I could tell that such was Father's desire for me to fulfil my destiny, that he was doing his best to appear as well as possible.
To be honest, now Father was on the mend, my worries for him were matched only by my growing anxiety over being a day late for my return to the palace. After all, the Beast was not the most confident of fellows, and although a single day is not so long in the grand scheme of things, to a troubled mind like the Beast’s, it may feel a good deal longer. Soon after, reports came from the stable that his horses, the ones that had brought me home, had grown agitated. I visited the stables to find them stomping back and forth in their stalls, desperate to be free. “Please, prepare the horses and carriage for my return to the palace,” I implored the stable boys, “I intend to leave within the hour!”
I returned to Father's bedroom and discovered him sitting up in bed and smiling as doctor Fine took his pulse. “I'm going to take your advice, Father, and return to the palace without delay.”
“Oh, what splendid news! Just the tonic,” replied Father.
Doctor Fine retrieved a stethoscope from his bag. “Are you really so tired of hearing her voice?” he murmured as he pressed the silver disk to Father's chest.
“Goodness me no,” said Father with a shake of his head.
“It's okay, Father …” I smiled.
“I shall miss her terribly, Doctor. But Beauty must follow her destiny, and it awaits her at the palace …”
“Oh, yes, and what palace might that be …” murmured doctor Fine, removing the stethoscope from his ears.
Father and I exchanged a glance.
“It's not in this district,” I said, “it's very doubtful you will have heard of it.”
“Obviously … there are no palaces in this district,” he said, closing his bag. “And now I shall be on my way.”
I jumped up. “But you will return soon to check on Father, won't you?”
“Have no fear of that. I shall be back the day after tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said extending my hand, which he shook.
After the doctor left, and I was saying goodbye to Father, my sisters came into his room. “We hear you’re to leave us. To return to your Beast?” said one.
“Yes,” I said, smoothing down my dress with the palms of my hands.
“Indeed, it is time,” said Father somewhat mysteriously.
“Time?” asked my sisters.
“For Beauty to seek her true destiny.”
“Well then, let's hope that her true destiny isn't to be devoured by a ferocious beast,” said one of my sisters.
The other nodded profusely. “How awful would that be.”
“I have no doubt that that is not your sister's destiny,” said Father, extending his arms so I might hug him one last time before my departure. “I know in my heart of hearts that you will find your happy ending, Beauty. No one deserves to more than you,” he whispered.
“Thank you, Father.”
Having said my goodbyes to my family, I searched the house and garden for Betty. My search was in vain. Indeed, no one had seen her all morning. And one of the stable boys reported that she had gone into town on some errand and that she would not return for several hours. So it was that, with a heavy heart, I climbed aboard the carriage, its horses no less agitated, and settled back into the seat. The horses flew away at such speed that I was sent sliding from one end of the bench to the other where, having reached for a leather strap, I clung on for the remainder of the journey.
The castle, when it finally hooved into view, appeared more gloomy and troubled than ever. I told myself that it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. But as I climbed out of the carriage, my trepidation had me flying up the steps towards the open door. Once inside, my gaze found the Prince's portrait, and despite my need to find the Beast and lay my fears to rest, I was frozen at the sight of it. “Move, Beauty, move! …” I told myself, and with that, I darted forwards towards the stairs. Ignoring the curious trail of red petals that lay upon them, I continued in the direction of my room where I hoped to find Molly.
Molly was obviously nowhere to be seen, but what could be seen were the words she'd written on my dressing table's mirror in red lipstick: Follow the trail of rose petals to the boathouse!
Diary entry no. 16
I followed the trail of petals back down the stairs as quickly as my legs would carry me. At the bottom, they snaked around to a door behind the staircase. The door opened onto a long gallery; its high walls hung with ornate mirrors. I followed the red trail down the gallery, my pale and quickly moving reflection on either side of me, and through a door at the end into a magnificent ballroom. A grand piano stood alone and adrift at its centre—so alone that it reminded me of the Beast. “I must find you,” I murmured as I followed the trail of petals across the ballroom and outside onto a veranda. The view took my breath away: glinting in the light of a full moon, a great lake was surrounded by mountains. I went to the edge of the veranda and, grasping the handrail, felt dizzy as I looked down upon a lagoon where a single ship sat against a dock. The red trail continued down a flight of steps to my right, which seemed to descend forever. At the bottom, I ran towards the dock where, for the first time, I could see that the ship had been badly damaged—its sails torn, its masts hacked down, and worst of all, smoke from an extinguished fire hovered above it like a vengeful wraith. I moved swiftly to the key side and saw the Beast slumped against some rocks.
“Whatever has happened here!” I cried, glancing towards the wrecked boat. The Beast’s eyes opened wide, and a bottle he was holding fell and smashed upon the ground. He clambered uneasily to his feet. “I …” he said, staggering a little.
“Are you hurt? Were you attacked?”
“You have returned?”
“Clearly. Are you drunk?”
“I was thirsty and …”
I looked towards the ruined ship. “Did you do this?”
The Beast shrugged his shoulders and slumped miserably against the wall for support.
“But why?” I asked. “You were supposed to fix it.”
“When you did not return, I … I thought that it was no longer needed.”
“I’m a day late. My father had an accident. I could not leave him until he’d recovered.”
“And he is well now?” asked the Beast with as much dignity as one so guilty could muster.
“Yes, he is quite well now. Which is more than can be said for the ship.”
“So, now you see …” slurred the Beast.
“See?”
“Who or, should I say, what you have returned to? I was not just made a hideous Beast on the outside, but given a beast’s rage within.”
“Made a beast?” I asked, for it seemed a curious choice of words.
Avoiding my gaze, the Beast replied, “It was … it was just a figure of speech. Born, made, what’s the difference?”
I approached him and said calmly, “You cannot help who you are. Just as I cannot help who I am.”
“You?” he said, looking down at me, “but you … you are …”
“I believe the words you’re looking for are: overly talkative, opinionated and rather annoying.”
The Beast shook his head.
“So, what’s to be done about a ship? Might you still be able to repair this one?”
The Beast surveyed his savage handiwork. “The damage is too great. Our only hope is to hire one.”
“From where?” I asked, looking at the lagoon and mountains that rose high above it.
The Beast took several steps towards the lagoon. “A fishing village lies a day’s ride down river …”
“But we have no ship to take us there.”
“A lifeboat will serve us well for such a journey,” said the Beast, pointing at the little craft suspended at the back of the smouldering ship. Hope had just begun to rise again in my chest when we heard a terrible scream. It was so unexpected, coming as it did from neither the Beast nor myself (the only people for miles around capable of making such a sound) that we both jumped. I spun about, and gazing at the walkway that overlooked us, I saw Betty! She was staring, wide-eyed at the Beast, her hands clasped to her cheeks. My heart sank as the Beast turned away from her as though in shame. “Who … who is that person?” he breathed.
I placed a comforting hand upon his back. “That is my good friend, Betty.”
“What's she doing here?”
“I had no idea she was here. She must have hidden in the carriage,” I said, glancing up to see her cowering in the shadows.
“Go to her,” said the Beast, “go to her and tell her that I mean her no harm, that …”
“That you’ve already had your supper?”
The Beast looked at me with fondness in his eyes. “That would be a good place to start.”
I reached Betty in the nick of time, for as she threw her arms around me, her quivering form collapsed and pulled us both to the ground. “Oh, dear Betty! What on earth are you doing here,” I said, rolling off her.
Journal entry no. 17
The Beast insisted on carrying Betty back to my room, something I thought very gracious, considering that it had been the sight of him that caused her to faint. Indeed, such was the Beast’s determination—to get her there and leave before she awoke—that it was all I could do to keep up with him.
Once back in my room, I could not help but feel touched by the gentleness with which he lay her upon my bed. After doing so, he moved to the door and, over his shoulder, said, “When she wakes, tell her that she is welcome here. That she may stay as long as she wishes.”
“Thank you,” I replied, sitting on the bed beside her.
“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I will make the lifeboat ready for our departure at dawn. That’s if you’re still intent on …”
“Of course I’m still intent on breaking the curse.”
“I will see you at dawn, then.”
The Beast left, and I turned my attention to Betty. She looked dreadfully pale. Particularly for one whose complexion is usually so ruddy. A jug of water floated into the room and settled on the bedside table. “Is that you, Molly?” The pen on my bureau rose into the air and began writing on the pad next to it. The pad floated over and hovered under my nose. It read, ‘Yes, it’s me. The master’s been in such a rage since last night. We feared that after he destroyed the ship, he might tear the palace down brick by brick.’
“The blame for this lies with me. My late return. But all is well again now. At least, I hope it is …” I said, taking Betty’s hand in my own.
‘Who is she?’ was scratched out on the pad.
“This is Betty. She’s been my closest friend for as long as I can remember and …” I was silenced mid-sentence by the sight of the freckles on Betty’s face or, should I say, the lack of freckles. “Betty, wake up …” I said, clutching her shoulder and shaking it gently. Betty opened her eyes, and she smiled at me. Then, remembering the Beast, she sat upright and gazed about the room.
“It’s okay. The Beast isn’t here,” I said with a reassuring smile.
“I … I knew he was a beast …” she said breathlessly, “but ...”
“It’s true that he can appear quite menacing when you first see him but …”
“Quite menacing?”
“Okay. Rather menacing. But you’ll quickly grow accustomed to him.”
“I’ll take your word for …” She gasped at something over my shoulder. “What's that!?”
I glanced behind me. “Oh, that’s just the pen and pad that Molly’s uses to communicate. Remember? The curse I told you about? All the servants are invisible and silent.”
Betty nodded and lay her head back on the pillow.
“What are you doing here, Betty?” I asked, sounding like a headmistress.
“I couldn’t let you return alone. I just couldn’t, so …”
“You stole away in the luggage compartment?”
“I thought it for the best,” said Betty defiantly. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Yes, of course. What’s more, the Beast said you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“It, I mean, he did? Even after I fainted at the sight of him?”
“He is nothing if not understanding, it seems.”
“I’m starting to feel more than a little guilty,” said Betty sheepishly.
“That doesn’t surprise me at all. You wouldn’t be you otherwise. Betty?”
“Yes?”
“Is a little guilty all you're feeling only …?”
“Only what? Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?” she said, rubbing at her cheek.
“No. Quite the opposite actually. It’s your freckles; they …”
“They what?” A mirror floated over from the dressing table and hovered before Betty’s inquisitive face. “… My freckles … where are they? And … why am I so pale?” We heard the pen scratching out words upon the pad and glanced anxiously at one another. The pad floated about to face us. It read: ‘Excuse the impertinence but isn’t Betty your servant?’
I nodded. “But first and foremost, she is my friend.”
‘It will not matter. If she’s a servant then, now she is here, the curse will make her like the rest of us.’
Betty held her hands before her face. “… It’s true, Beauty! I’m vanishing …” Indeed, her hands shimmered like a mirage in a desert, and her voice sounded smaller somehow, more distant. I grasped her vanishing shoulders. “In the morning, the Beast and I are departing to find the witch that placed this curse, and I will do whatever it takes to remove it. This my solemn promise to you, to all of you,” I said over my shoulder.
“I have faith in you …” said Betty, her voice so tiny, and then she vanished before my eyes.
Journal entry no. 18
Last night was the worst I can remember. When dawn arrived, I had not slept a wink. I rolled onto the spot where Betty had vanished the night before, shuddered and gazed at the phantoms that my imagination had projected into every corner of my room. I climbed out of bed and, stealing myself, dressed for the adventure that lay ahead.
The rose petals that had, on the previous day, led me to the dock were still scattered in abundance, and once or twice, I was grateful for the reminder of the route.
When I reached the dock, I came upon the Beast carrying a large cr
ate aboard the lifeboat. The boat, while capable of holding a couple of dozen people, was dwarfed by the ship that the Beast had made unseaworthy the day before. Seeing my approach, he placed the crate down at the boat’s stern and stepped back onto the dock. “Pray, did you sleep well?” he asked, extending a hand to help me climb aboard.
“Thank you. Not a wink,” I said, stepping down into the boat which rocked a little. When the Beast followed me on board, the boat rocked considerably more, and I was grateful for the few seconds he’d allowed me to seat myself. He sat down on the bench opposite my own (ours, the innermost benches of a dozen) and took up the oars. The Beast looked decidedly embarrassed at how awkward his bulk made him and, sensing my thoughts, said, “I don't suppose I shall ever get used to being so clumsy.”
“How perceptive you are,” I observed with a smile.
He pulled the oars through the water, and the boat glided from the dock. “Do you ever get used to it?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” I nodded, “I embraced my own clumsiness long ago.”
“That is not what I meant,” replied the Beast, looking out over the lagoon.
“Then what did you mean?”
“I was speaking of your … beauty.”
I felt myself blushing. “My name has not been an easy one to live up to.”
“Hardly surprising,” sighed the Beast, pulling on his oars.
I braced myself for some long overdue home truths. “Why hardly surprising?” I asked.
“Your beauty is far from skin deep, and has prevented you from being vain enough to recognise it.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, looking away from his gaze and reddening.
Sensing my embarrassment, the Beast once again proved his powers of perception by drawing the spotlight back upon himself. “I can see only too well how well my own name suits me,” he said.
I shook my head. “If only you could see yourself as I see you, you would know that your name was poorly chosen …” The gentle rocking and swaying of the boat caused me to yawn.
