Beauty and the Beast (18 page)

To keep myself occupied, I set up my laboratory with Freddy as my able assistant. It is now as good as new. Better, even, since Alexander picked up some items that I had not even thought to request. When I asked about them, he said the girl Clarissa gave them to Godfrey as a gift. “She said he reminded her of the grandfather she always wished she knew.”

Godfrey does tend to bring that out in people.

So besides my usual stock of roots like sassafras and comfrey, arrowroot, motherwort, rose hips, oils of cinnamon and pine, holly, yellow ember flower, iron dust, ambrosia flowers, sulfur, carbon, and various other minerals, I now possess burdock leaves, wormgrass, a jar of horsehair, and three spider fangs. Oh, and a book about witches that I am tempted to use as kindling on the next cold night.

The castle is even more quiet than usual now as the days tick by into weeks. We are all wrapped up in our own thoughts. I am surprised when Alexander bursts into the lab late one afternoon, just as Freddy and I have figured out that mixing carbonate of copper with nettle oil will turn the fur on my arms a lovely shade of green.

“Riley! Stop what you are doing, you must heed my words. Do not come downstairs until tomorrow morning. I shall bring your meal up to you.”

“Why?” I pick up a rag dipped in water and attempt to scrub the color off my fur.

“Because we have a very important guest and he must not see you. Not yet.”

I stop scrubbing. Mother would never have a guest in the castle. Without our usual squad of servants, the place is quite messy. “A guest? Is Godfrey entertaining him?”

“No.
We
are. Mother, Father, and I.”

“Excuse me?”

“It is complicated,” he says. “You must trust us. If our plan works, Beauty will be arriving at our front door in little over a week!”

“Beauty! But I thought there was no way she would leave her family?”

“The less you know right now, the better. That way you will not slip up and say something you should not. But you must understand, this is our final chance. On my trip with Godfrey, a hundred girls must have turned down his invitation to meet the beast. He did not tell Beauty's sister about you. The element of surprise is still on our side.”

“But I do not understand. The witch said the girl had to come willingly.”

“I am betting that she will.”

“But why would she do that?”

“Just put on your finest clothes tomorrow and be prepared to be a bit ruthless if it comes to that.”

“Ruthless?”

“Mother will explain everything in the morning. When you return to your chambers you will have to tiptoe. None of your usual pounding on the floors. Our guest must think he is alone in the castle. I have already instructed Godfrey to keep out of sight.”

“But I still —”

“And cover up that green fur.”

“But —”

The door of the laboratory swings shut. He is gone.

“Interesting,” Freddy says, nodding thoughtfully. “Very interesting.”

 

By morning, I have to fight the urge to pace the floor of my chambers while I wait for Mother to fetch me. It has been hard to stay quiet, especially now that the time for my appearance draws near. Mother slid a list of instructions under my door last night. I have grave doubts that I will be able to do what they ask of me, but I cannot let them down.

A moment later, the door opens a crack. “It is time,” she whispers. “Stand up tall. You tend to slouch.”

I straighten my back, feeling the fabric on my waistcoat straining. Luckily, it does not tear. I glance one last time at the parchment, which I have already committed to memory. With a deep breath, I head downstairs. Sitting on the couch, twisting his hat back and forth in his hands, is a man around Father's age, although the deep lines on his face make him look much older. His overly large traveling cloak does little to hide his thin frame. A small brown pack sits on the floor beside him, with a single red rose draped across the top.

He jumps up when he sees me. His eyes widen in fear, but he sticks out his hand and attempts to keep it from trembling. My instinct is to shake it, but Mother warned me not to do anything to put him at ease. He eventually pulls his hand back.

“Sir,” the man begins with a shaky voice. “I am truly sorry for intruding upon your castle. I had been given this address clearly by mistake, and after your guard alerted me to my error, I intended to return to my home, a long way from here. I picked a single rose from your beautiful garden for my daughter who asks for so little, and was about to climb back upon my horse when your guard invited me to rest by the fire.”

I know Godfrey had instructed Parker to do all this when Beauty's father arrived, although our loyal guard must have hated leaving a stranger unattended in the castle. He will deserve a big raise when — or if — this ever ends.

The old man continues. “When I awoke from my nap, I did not see the guard — or anyone — until you came down just now. But a lavish feast had been laid out, so I partook of the meal and then slept once again. When I awoke this morning, the table had been cleared. I called out to my host to thank him or her, but no one appeared. When I tried the front door, it would not budge.”

He looks so confused and scared that I am finding it hard to begin my speech. A quick pinch on my backside from Alexander, and I am ready. I clear my throat and try to sound as imposing as possible, like Father when he has to give an unpleasant order. “Sir, you have come into my home, rested at my hearth, eaten of my food, and stolen from my garden. I cannot simply let you leave. I am a beast, you see. A price must be paid.”

His eyes widen. “But … but I have nothing to give. My luck as of late has been all bad.”

“Then you must live here and maintain my castle for me. You look like a strong worker.” That last part is clearly a fib, for he seems on his very last legs. “If you cannot do the labor, then it is off to the dungeons for you.” Another fib, of course, but he does not know that.

His eyes grow huge. “For … for how long would I need to be here?”

Foolishly, I had not anticipated that question. “Until I decide otherwise,” I reply.

He clutches his hat harder. “But I cannot. I have two daughters at home.”

I pause before my next line until I sense another pinch coming. “Then you shall send your hardiest daughter in your place.” I try not to cringe as I say this. Who would send his daughter to live with a scary beast?

“I could do no such thing!”

Mother figured he would say this, so I am prepared with my response. “Then my carriage shall return for you the next morn, after you have said your final farewells to your daughters. I will not send you home empty-handed, though. You may fill my carriage with as many fine jewels and objects as you like. We even have a large collection of rare books. Your daughters will be well taken care of for the rest of their lives. If I find you have fled, I shall take it all away and it shall be the dungeons for you.”

His eyes open wide again. He begins to speak, falters, and then nods. He must know he will not get a better offer. He is gone by midday, along with two trunks filled with gold, jewels, and rare books. Mother had wept quietly as her jewelry was dropped into the first chest. Father remained silent as Beauty's father pulled book after book from the library shelves. The man must know his business well, for he chose the most valuable ones. I suppose it is only fair, since if the plan works, he will be surrendering what he holds most dear.

The whole experience has left me feeling beastly. I must go lie down.

A week has come and gone, and Papa has not yet returned. I can tell by the way Clarissa has cleaned every inch of the house that she, too, is worried. At night, to make the time go faster we play cards and Clarissa tells stories of how grand life will be when we are wealthy again.

On the eighth day of his absence, Veronica comes to the shop. She had dropped off a pouch of coins for me earlier in the week, but I had been on an errand. “It is good to see you,” I say, meeting her halfway across the floor.

“And you,” she says. Her hair is back to its regular color again, and I am struck at how different she looks. I quickly realize it is not only her hair that makes it so, it is her bearing in general. The crystal hangs from its string on her neck. She could have replaced the leather with something a lot nicer, but she did not.

“Is that what you sought on your quest?” the apothecary asks, coming to peer closer at the necklace.

She nods and holds it out to him. “It is rose quartz.”

He shakes his head. “No, it is something much rarer than that. I have never seen so brilliant a stone. It is very special.”

She lets it fall back. “I know.”

The front door of the shop flies open and Clarissa runs in.

“Could not stay away, eh?” the apothecary asks.

But Clarissa ignores him, which is not like her. She is never rude. My heart picks up its beats and I grab hold of the counter.

“Beauty!” Clarissa says, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the door. “You must come home. 'Tis Papa!”

I feel my hands grow icy, although the cauldron heats the shop quite well. “Is he all right? Has there been an accident?”

“He is home,” Clarissa says. “But I have never seen him like this. You must come quickly.”

“Is there anything I can do?” asks Veronica.

“Is he ill?” asks the apothecary.

Clarissa shakes her head. “'Tis a family matter only, I think.” She pushes me ahead of her out the door before I have a chance to say anything to appease their worried faces.

My sister is pinching the cramp in her side by the time we reach the house. I would have run even faster, but did not want to leave her behind. In the old days, Clarissa never would have been able to run all the way to town and back as she did today. She is getting stronger.

Papa jumps up from the front step when he sees us. His face is completely devoid of color, his eyes wild with fear or pain, I cannot tell. He has twisted his hat so many times that it hangs in shreds in his hands. Yet still he twists it.

“Papa!” I run to him. “What is it? What happened?”

He stumbles over to the chair and nearly falls into it. “The beast! I took a mere flower from his garden and now I must return to his castle forever.” He buries his head in his hands and begins to sob. Clarissa and I look at each other, stricken. Has Papa eaten some bad berries? Has he gone mad?

“What are you talking of, Papa?” I ask, kneeling beside him. “How can an animal have a castle?”

He shakes his head. “This was no animal. He was huge, taller than the tallest man! And wide as
two
men!”

“Not every large man is a beast,” I tell him, thinking of Flavian. “He might appear a bear on the outside but be a kitten within.”

“He was no kitten, nor a bear, either. 'Twas a talking beast, I tell you. With long hair and fur and nails as sharp as knives!” It takes him a while — with many interruptions for clarity by me and Clarissa — but he finally gets through the entire story. After a moment of stunned silence, we follow him to his bedroom behind the kitchen.

He takes a deep breath and pushes open the door. Our mouths drop in unison. Treasure — for that is what it must be called — covers the room nearly from floor to ceiling. Jewel-covered books and bracelets and rings and gold figurines. Fine robes and shoes and headpieces. And on top of it all, a crumpled red rose.

For the next few days, we polish the silver and gold tea sets, scrape food and grime from in between stones, sweep the rushes under the tables and the cobwebs from the corners. I can easily reach the ones on the ceiling, so that becomes my main job. It is also my job to throw away all the objects I have either smashed or slashed by mistake. If it is the girl who chooses to come, I do not want to frighten her even more with the evidence of my strength.

Mother happily clips flowers from the gardens and places them in bowls around the castle. I have asked many times what we will do if Beauty's father returns instead of Beauty herself, but Mother says we will cross that bridge when we come to it. This does not make sense to me. If one does not know how one will cross a bridge, one best figure that out before one reaches it. Otherwise, it is just poor planning. But no one listens to me.

Mother spends most of her time turning the largest guest room into an explosion of pink. I think she always wanted a girl. She hangs large, ornate mirrors and colorful artwork on the walls, and drapes a silk canopy above the bed. Freddy proves to have an excellent eye for detail, and she has taken to asking him for advice on exactly where to place a decorative pillow or a washing basin.

When not busy running into town on an errand for Mother, Freddy has dedicated himself to figuring out how to rid my fur of its greenness, which has, if anything, gotten brighter. So far he has had no luck.

Alexander keeps me busy by coaching me on the right and wrong things to say to a girl. Asking her if she likes spiders and then tossing one on her is wrong. Asking if she likes flowers, and then pinning one behind her ear is right. Talking about myself is wrong. Asking about
her
is right. I am not to talk about the stars, unless it is to point out a pretty one and compare her to it. I am not to bore her with any scientific talk of alchemy, my experiments, or anything to do with the witch and the spell.

I am to chew on cinnamon sticks as often as possible to keep my breath smelling sweet. Apparently, as the beast, my larger mouth is more likely to collect morsels of food.

I am also not allowed to play the bagpipes due to them sounding “like a whole herd of buffalo groaning at once.” I highly doubt Alexander has ever heard a buffalo groan in his whole life, let alone a herd of them.

Basically, I am supposed to keep my mouth shut most of the time. I do not know how doing, or
not
doing, these things is supposed to make her fall in love with me. But Alexander must know what he is talking about. He always has plenty of dates. Well, he used to before the witch brought a swift halt to his busy social life.

I have taken to hiding in any place large enough to conceal me.