Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty and the Beast Read online

  “I—Well, I couldn’t think of any other reason for your—er—inviting me here.”

  “Did I not tell your father that no harm should come to his daughter?” I opened my mouth, and then shut it again, and he continued sadly: “No, you need say nothing. I am a Beast, and a Beast has no honour. But you may trust my word: You are safe here, in my castle and anywhere on my lands.”

  My curiosity, at least for the moment, was stronger than fear or courtesy; his gentle mien encouraged me, and I need not look into his face; I would look no higher than his waistcoat buttons, which were about at my eye level anyway. “Then why?”

  “Well—I lack companionship. It is rather lonesome here sometimes, with no one to talk to,” he said simply.

  My sudden sympathy must have shown on my face, for he raised the light again, and as he came closer I looked up at him with very little fear, although I still leaned against the balustrade. But he looked at me so long that I became uneasy again. I couldn’t read his expression; the face was too unlike any I was accustomed to. “I—er—I hope you weren’t misled by my foolish nickname,” I said. What if he was angry at being cheated of Beauty, and killed me for tricking him?

  “Misled?” he said. “No. I think your name suits you very well.”

  “Oh no,” I said. It was my turn for the tone of convincing horror. “I assure you I am very plain.”

  “Are you?” he said, musingly. He turned away, and set the candelabrum in a conveniently unoccupied niche in me tapestry-hung wall. The hall was lit as brightly as a ballroom although the room we had just left was still dim and rosy with firelight. “I have been out of the world a long time, of course, but I do not believe I am so short-sighted as all that,”

  I was not used to being struck dumb more than once in a conversation. I must be more tired and overwrought than I thought.

  “You say that Beauty is your nickname?” he said after a moment. “What is your given name then?”

  “Honour,” I said.

  Something that might have been a smile exposed too many long white teeth. “I welcome Beauty and Honour both, then,” he said. “Indeed, I am very fortunate.”

  Oh dear, I thought. Then my mind went back to something he had said earlier: “If you wanted someone to talk to,” I said, “why didn’t you keep my father? He knows many more interesting things than I do.”

  “Mmm,” said the Beast. “I’m afraid I specifically wanted a girl.”

  “Oh?” I said nervously. “Why?”

  He turned away from me, walked back to the doorway, and stood, head bowed, hands clasped behind him. The silence squeezed at my heart. “I am looking for a wife,” he said, heavily. “Will you marry me, Beauty?”

  My fear, which I had had mostly under control, boiled up again and became panic. “Oh!” I said. “What shall I say?”

  “Answer yes or no without fear,” said the Beast without raising his head.

  “Oh no, Beast,” I cried. I wanted to run away, but I thought of him chasing after me, and I stayed where I was.

  There was a long stricken pause. “Very well,” he said at last. “I will bid you good night. Sleep easily, Beauty: Remember, you have nothing to fear.”

  I didn’t move. “Well, go on,” he said gruffly, with a wave of one arm. “I know you are longing to escape. I shan’t follow you.” He walked into his room, and the door began to close.

  “Good night,” I called. The door paused a moment, and then shut with a soft click. I turned and ran, back down the corridor the way I had come.

  The life I had lived over the last years enabled me to run a long time. I didn’t look where I was going, I simply ran in the direction that my fear told me was “away.” My soft shoes were as light as leaves and made almost no sound, but the long heavy skirt slowed me down. I stopped at last, gasping for breath; my rationality slowly reasserted itself, and I realized with dismay that, once again, I was lost. I took a few steps forwards and looked around a corner: And there was “Beauty’s Room.” The door opened at once and a faint smell of lavender curled around me. I was sure the room had been at the end of a long corridor before—of course, it was easy to mistake things by candlelight—but no matter.

  I went inside, exhausted and grateful, and collapsed on the bed. The smell of lavender came from the fresh white sheets; the bedclothes were folded back invitingly. The breeze, which seemed to have been toasting its toes by the fire and waiting up for me, whisked over to help me undress, tutting over my wind-blown hair and rumpled skirts. My hair was combed out and braided expertly, and I was swept into a long white nightgown of the softest silk with ivory-coloured roses embroidered on it, I climbed into the big bed and was tucked up; the candles blew out, with a most un-candle-like smell of cinnamon, and the fire burned low and banked itself.

  But I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned until I had pulled the sheets and blankets all awry, and lost one pillow on the floor; rather to my surprise, when I discovered its loss, it showed no sign of replacing itself, I lay still for a few minutes, staring at the canopy arched over me: From where I lay looking up, the picture was of a griffin, head thrown back, claws and wings extended, and spiked tail lashing around its hind feet. It reminded me of my ring; I had taken it off while I bathed, and hadn’t replaced it. This was as good an excuse as any. I slid out of the ravaged bed and down the three steps to floor level. The ring lay, glittering faintly, on a little table by the fire. I picked it up, looked at it for a minute, put it on.

  I wasn’t ready to go back to bed. I noticed, glancing in its direction, that it was busy setting itself to rights; it would be only polite to leave it atone for a little while. I wandered restlessly around the room and paused beside the bookshelves; but I didn’t feel like reading. I curled up finally on the window seat and looked out, leaning my forehead against the cool glass. The moon, now risen high above the horizon, was nearly full; it shed silver on the broad fields, and the black forest beyond, on the gardens and ornamental trees; even on the tall grim tower that reached out on my left towards the tall grim forest far across the meadows. The lanterns in the garden were dark. As I tried to look at the scene more closely there seemed to be a curious patchy darkness that skittered across the landscape. There were clouds in the sky to be sure, but they moved slowly, not with the restless elusive swiftness of this pattern of shadow; and the moon shone undisturbed. I blinked, rubbed my eyes; they must be playing tricks on me. And I thought: This whole castle is like one dreadful joke—in spite of the hospitable efforts of food that serves itself, hot water that pours itself, candles that blink themselves on and off. Even the friendly breeze had left me, the nearest thing to a living presence I had met—except the Beast. “Have no fear,” he had said.

  The silence was complete; even ashes from the fire fell without sound. I shivered, tapped a finger against the glass, just to make a noise. “This will never do,” I said aloud. Have no fear, have no fear, have no fear. You may trust my word: You are safe here, in my castle and anywhere on my lands hissed like winter wind in my mind.

  Greatheart, I thought. I will go visit him. That will calm me down, to stroke his warm cheek and have him rest his heavy head on my shoulder. I used to take naps in the stable with the carriage horses when I was a baby; I still found stables and their occupants very soothing in times of stress.

  I slid off the window seat and walked to the door; but it didn’t open. Surprised, I put my hand to it; there was no response. I seized the handle in both hands and pulled at it with all my strength; it was as though it were part of the wall. It didn’t even rattle on a lock or a hinge; in the rising tide of panic in my mind, thoughts floated: It was solid, this door had never opened, it would never open. I screamed, “No—let me out, please let me out!” and pounded the silent panels with my fists, till the skin broke and bled. I sank to my knees at last, weeping, and tucked my poor aching hands under my arms. I sobbed, my forehead pressed against the unyielding door, till the calm of utter exhaustion took me. I stumbled back to bed.


  At the edge of sleep it seemed that the breeze returned, and something cool was put on my hands so that the pain slipped away like a thief in shadow. The gentle whistling and sighing of the breeze resolved itself at last into words, but I was too near sleep to hear much of what was said, or to be certain that I was not listening to a dream. There were two voices. The first said: “Poor child, poor child. I feel for her sadly. If only there were some way we could help her.”

  The second voice said, “But there isn’t, dear. You know that. We do our best; but she must find her own way.”

  “I know. But it seems so hard.”

  “It does, and it is; but cheer up. She is a good girl, and he loves her already. It will be all right in time....”

  2

  When I woke up the sun was high in the I sky, staining the dark-red carpet with long I rectangles of light, turning the amber pat-| tern the colour of pate honey. In the first moment of consciousness, when I knew it was very late but before I opened my eyes, I thought, “How can I have slept so late? I’ll never get all my work done. Why didn’t they wake me?” And then I remembered, and I opened my eyes, and recognized the fee! of fine linen under my cheek and fingers; and as memory returned, I realized what it was that had awakened me: the delicious, insidious smells of hot chocolate and of buttered toast. I sat up. Breakfast was laid on the table by the fire, which was burning once again. I bounced joyfully out of bed. Every morning in the city my maid had brought me toast and chocolate: How did they know? As I swung my feet to the floor, I pressed the mattress firmly with my hands, and was rewarded with sharp twists of pain. I sobered, looking down at my hands, thinking of the night before. They had been wrapped in gauze while I slept; perhaps that had something to do with the odd conversation I thought I’d heard, just before sleep claimed me. I frowned, trying to remember precisely; but I soon gave it up, the hot chocolate being much more interesting. There were also oranges and apples in a golden bowl, and a little ebony-handled knife for peeling.

  The breeze arrived when I was finished, to whisk everything away by bundling it up in the linen tablecloth and making it vanish in midair; and after some grumbling on both sides it and I settled on a morning dress of grey, with silver buttons, and elegant black boots with braided laces. I had been avoiding looking at the door; but when at last I uneasily approached it, it swung open without hesitation. I ran out, as if it might change its mind; the breeze swirled once around me and left.

  The castle looked very different with bright sunshine flooding through the tall windows; the sombre magnificence I had seen last night by candle—and lamp-light was lit up to a rich but cheerful splendour—It was even hard to believe in the Beast; he seemed a creature from a bad dream, and no pan of this handsome palace. In this mood, I refused to consider why it was that I was here at all, and I set myself to admiring my surroundings without thinking about it. I found my way to some stairs to descend, and shortly to the great front hall with the dining room opening off it, and out through the huge front doors.

  Greatheart was glad to see me. He put his head over the stall door and neighed like thunder when he heard my step. “I don’t blame you—I’ve been lonesome too,” I said. “Let’s explore a bit together.” I snapped a lead rope, which I found by turning round and looking for it, onto his halter and fed him out into the sun. He shook his mane and stamped his feet and expressed general approval; and we wandered through the gorgeous gardens, looking at the flowers and the statuary. There were roses everywhere among hundreds of other kinds of flowers, but I did not see any rose arbour like the one Father had described. Greatheart blew at the flowers, but like a well-bred horse, he offered to eat nothing but the grass; this he tore up in mouthfuls. We found a patch of clover by and by, and paused there awhile for him to graze in earnest, “You will get as round as a broodmare, at this rate,” I told him. “I will take you for a good hard ride—after my lunch.” I took him back to his stable, and went inside the castle; but when the dining-hall door began to open, I called, “I’d really rather eat in my room, if you don’t mind,” it paused, and then closed again, reluctantly; and I found an excellent lunch laid on the little table in “Beauty’s Room.”

  “The only problem with this place is the silence,” I said conversationally to my teacup. “Even the fire burns quietly; and while I can’t fault the service”—and I wondered if there were anything to hear—“I could almost like a little more rattling of cutlery and so forth. It makes a house, or even a castle, seem lived-in.” I took my teacup over to the window. “I’ve never liked house pets much—monkeys are a nuisance, dogs shed and make me sneeze, and cats claw things—but birds, now. It would be very nice to have Orpheus here to sing to me.” I found a latch to the window, and a section of it swung out, noiselessly of course. “Not even any birds here,” I continued, leaning out. “I can see how anything that goes on feet would want to stay out of his way; but surely he doesn’t control the sky,” There was a broad window ledge with a shallow flat-bottomed trench cut into it. “Just the thing for birds,” I said, and found a tin at my elbow, with jeweled peacocks painted on it, full of mixed seeds such as a bird might like. I spread several generous handfuls of this along the ledge. “All I ask is a few sparrows,” I said. “The only peacocks I ever knew bit people.”

  I looked out across the gardens. It was odd that no birds had found those trees and flowers. “Perhaps they’re only waiting to be asked,” I said. “Well, consider yourself invited,” I said loudly. “On my behalf, anyway.” I closed the window again, changed into a divided skirt more or less suitable for riding—“Haven’t you ever heard of plain clothing?” I said in exasperation, searching through the wardrobes for a blouse without ribbons or jewels or lace, while the breeze plucked protestingly at my elbows—and went out again to take Greatheart for his ride.

  He was feeling lively, and once we were beyond the stately gardens with their trim paths it took very little urging to get him into his long-striding gallop. The air was cold, out beyond the gardens; I had brought a cloak, and after pulling Greatheart down to a jog, I wrapped it around me. I had expected to reach the tall holly hedge that bounded my prison fairly soon; it had not taken so very long to ride in the night before, and Father had seen the gates from the garden. But now we walked and trotted through fields, and stands of trees, and more fields, and more trees. It was wilder country here, with rocks and twisted scrub, and the ground underfoot was uneven. I wondered if perhaps the hedge did not extend all the way around the Beast’s lands, and perhaps we had re-entered the fringes of the enchanted forest. Not that that would be very useful, I thought; I’d probably just find that carriage-road again, and be led straight back. And I don’t fancy trying to find my way out till I starve to death.

  There were even patches of snow where we were walking. I turned to look over my shoulder. I could still see the castle towers dark and solemn against the clear blue sky, but they were getting far away. “Time we were heading back,” I said, reined him round, and kneed him into a ponderous canter. “Back home, I suppose,” I said thoughtfully. It wouldn’t do to try to escape on my very first day anyway, I thought. Particularly since it wouldn’t do any good.

  The sun was low in the sky by the time I had stabled Greatheart, groomed him, and again cleaned the tack by hand. “Yes, and I did notice that all the mended bits have been replaced, and I thank you,” I said aloud, polishing the bits. If I didn’t do it, the invisible hands would; I had also noticed that the bits and buckles had been shined to mirror hue after I’d left them a respectable glossy clean last night, and felt that I was being put on my mettle. My hands were still bandaged; they felt a little stiff, but they no longer troubled me—and the magic bandages didn’t get soiled, even after I’d soaped and oiled the leather.

  I went a little way into the garden after leaving the stable and sat on a marble bench, still warm from the sun, to watch the afternoon change to evening grey and flame. Or at any rate it could be the sun that warmed it, I thought; I
also took notice that the bench was just the right height for someone of my short length of leg. I turned my head to look over another sweep of the gardens, and saw the Beast coming towards me. He was already very near, and I bit back a cry; he walked as silently as the shadows crawling towards my feet, in spite of the heavy boots he wore. Today he was wearing brown velvet, the color of cloves, and there was ivory-coloured lace at his throat, and hanging low over the backs of his hands.

  “Good evening, Beauty,” he said.

  “Good evening, Beast,” I replied, and stood up.

  “Please don’t let me disturb you,” he said humbly. “I will go away again if you prefer.”

  “Oh no,” I said hastily, trying to be polite. “Will you walk a little? I love to see the sun set over a garden, and yours are so fine.” We walked in silence for a minute or two; I’ve had better ideas, I thought, taking three steps to his one, although I could see that he was adjusting his pace to mine as best he could. Presently I said, a little out of breath, but finding the silence uncomfortable: “Sunset was my favourite time of the day when we lived in the city; I used to walk in our garden there, but the walls were too .high. When the sky was most beautiful, our garden was already dark.”

  “Sunset no longer pleases you?” the Beast inquired, as one who will do his duty by the conversation.

  “I’d never seen a sunrise—I was always asleep,” I explained. “I used to stay up very late, reading. Then we moved to the country—I suppose I like sunrise best now; I’m too tired, usually, by sunset, to appreciate it, and I’m usually in a hurry to finish something and go in to supper—or I was,” I said sadly. Longing for home broke over me suddenly and awfully, and closed my throat.

  We came to a wall covered with climbing roses which I recognized at once: This must be where Father had met the Beast. We went through the break in the wall, and I looked around me at the glorious confusion; the Beast halted a few steps behind me. Then suddenly in a final fierce bloom of light before it disappeared, the sun filled the castle and its gardens with gold, like nectar in a crystal goblet; the roses gleamed like facets. We both turned towards the light, and I found myself gazing at the back of the Beast’s head. I saw that the heavy brown mane that fell to his shoulders was streaked with grey. The light went out like a snuffed candle, and we stood in soft grey twilight; the sky the sun had left behind was pink and lavender.