“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.