Beauty and the Beast Read online

  Also, he makes me forget about my own appearance, and for that alone, I am grateful.

  “Are you all right, miss?” Godfrey asks.

  I nearly stumble again as I drag my thoughts back to the present staircase. “Yes, thank you, I am just tired.”

  “Did you not sleep well? I can get you a new mattress by tonight.”

  “No truly, ’tis fine. I was up late.” I feel my cheeks begin to heat as I add, “Talking with the beast, I mean.”

  “He is quite special,” Godfrey says, not looking directly at me. “Is he not?”

  I nod, although I know he cannot see me. Before the beast, the only male other than Papa who I had befriended was Handsome. And Handsome did not make me feel like this after less than a day. A pang of guilt strikes me as I realize I have not yet thought of Papa or Clarissa this morning.

  The beast awaits me in the dining room. He looks a little tired around the eyes, but otherwise he is quite well groomed. A green ribbon holds his hair back from his face. His cheeks are smooth, and while wide, they frame his face nicely. He catches me looking at him and smiles. I quickly focus on the gold plate before me.

  The food is so excellent and plentiful that I manage to eat enough food for three people before the beast offers to take me on a tour of the castle. The first stop is the library. I cannot help but stare. Although I have only the monastery library to compare it to, this is beyond anything I have imagined. Thick velvet rugs and oak-paneled walls, glorious oil paintings on the walls between shelves. And the books! Rows and rows of them. Plain and ornate, ancient and new. Every shelf has a few gaps where the books Papa now owns once rested. To my utter surprise, I find myself feeling guilty that he took them away from this place, which is so clearly their home. And then, of course, I feel guilty for feeling guilty!

  “What do you think?” he finally asks.

  “Your library is truly magnificent.” I squint at an object on the floor by his foot. “Is that a dead leech?”

  He quickly scoops up the bug, pushes open the window, and tosses it out. “What dead leech? Imagine, a beast like myself, the king of the castle, with a dead leech on the library floor.”

  I pretend to curtsy. “Again, my humblest apologies. It was so clearly a piece of dust.”

  “You are forgiven,” he says. “But I shall be keeping my eye on you.”

  I blush, and so does he. “Come,” he says, hurrying from the room and the awkward moment. “There is much more to see.”

  The next few hours pass quickly. Although the snowstorm has passed, the air outside is cold. Still, we walk through the castle gardens, where fresh vegetables, herbs, and fruits have managed to escape the frost. They surely should have been harvested by now, but with only a young boy, an old man, and a beast (whose age I cannot even guess) to tend them, I am not surprised that they remain in the ground. The flower garden, however, is in full bloom and well cared for.

  As we walk, I tell him of finding the map inside the book. I do not go into detail, for it is Veronica’s story, not mine.

  “We must return to the library!” he exclaims when I am done. “Maybe one of our books has a secret map hidden within!”

  I laugh. “Trust me. I have taken apart many a book, and no other ones will contain such a secret. Your books are far too precious to destroy.” I tell him how the book was not the only thing we “borrowed.” When I mention how Handsome and I took the two robes from the monks, he stiffens a bit, and I fear I have offended him. “Do not worry,” I say quickly. “Veronica returned them, only a little worse for wear.”

  He does not reply at first, then says, “Handsome must be very … handsome.”

  I turn to him in surprise. Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in his voice? I laugh. “He does not think so. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?” Then I feel my cheeks grow hot. “I mean, I know I am not beautiful, and my name … well, you are the first person not to laugh or cough or otherwise react negatively when you heard it.”

  He examines me so carefully I have to look away.

  “Have you seen me lately?” he asks. “Who am I to judge another’s appearance?” He looks down, then back up at me again. “I am sorry that you were treated that way in the past. But, Beauty, you must know. You are quite beautiful.” He looks down again and I am glad, for I do not think I could meet his eyes. No one has ever spoken to me like this. It feels … odd. And it makes me feel grown-up. And a little giggly, which is embarrassing.

  “And I do not mean beautiful only in comparison to me,” he adds. “Although it does help that you are not made out of various animal parts.”

  I laugh, grateful to have an excuse to do so. “Thank you, I think.”

  I swear I hear a woman sighing behind us, but, of course, no one is there. I follow him across the garden path toward the kitchen, looking back over my shoulder. As we step inside, I ask, “Do you ever get the feeling your house is haunted by invisible ghosts?”

  “All the time,” he says, quickly locking the door behind him and leaning against it. “All the time.”

  “You never brush your fur for us,” Alexander teases when I walk into the dining room for supper. “And you are wearing the new shoes Mother had made for you.”

  “Do not tease your brother,” Father says. “He looks very dapper.”

  “Any comments from you, Mother?” I ask, assuming I have the pleasure of her company, too.

  “We did not appreciate being locked outside this morning,” she says icily.

  “You should not have been following me. Or sighing loudly. Beauty can hear you.”

  “Perhaps we were overly bold. Well, you will be pleased to know, then, that you and Beauty shall be dining alone tonight, so you will not have to worry about us interfering.”

  “Alone? Without Godfrey or Freddy, either?”

  “That is correct. You should go on a proper date.”

  “But, Mother, what if I make a mess of it?”

  She pats me on the arm. “You will do fine. Just be yourself.”

  “Or someone else entirely!” Alexander says. “Did I not tell you to refrain from boring her with tales of alchemy? And a tour of the library? What could be more boring?”

  “She did not seem to find it so,” I argue.

  “She was probably just being polite.”

  I wave my arm toward the door. “If you are leaving, now would be a good time.” Silence. “Alexander, I can still smell you. You truly must bathe more.”

  Father chuckles.

  “I do not know what you find so funny, dear husband,” Mother says as she brushes past me. “You have not trimmed that beard in weeks! A small rodent may have taken up residence there and we would not even know it.”

  They continue to argue over the proper level of personal hygiene for invisible persons — a conversation they never seem to agree on — until their voices fade away. I take a few deep breaths, willing myself not to say anything dumb when Beauty arrives. We had spent the afternoon digging for worms so I could reenact some of my experiments for her. Maybe Alexander was right, and she had only been pretending to be interested in such things.

  The clock in the great hall chimes to mark the hour, and before it finishes the sixth chime, Beauty walks into the dining room. She is wearing a pink dress, white shoes, and the red rose I gave her tucked behind one ear. When she sees me, she stops and puts her hands on her hips. “All of my clothes have mysteriously disappeared. In their place hang ten dresses, all pinker than the next, all miraculously my size. Have you any explanation?”

  This has Mother’s handiwork written all over it. “Um, laundry day?”

  “I feel ridiculous,” she says.

  “You look … lovely.” I hurry to pull out her chair. She stumbles a bit getting into it.

  We both nibble our roast lamb and mutton, offering only harmless comments about how well prepared it is. Meat will soon be scarce as winter closes in. I hope Beauty is too distracted by the food to notice how messy an eater I am. Ind