“And after they’re cut, they live a month to the day, looking as if they had just been brought inside, and then they die in a night,” said Hope.
Ger smiled and shrugged. “It’s a good omen, don’t you think? The flowers so beautiful and all? I wonder if they’ll bloom all through the winter? That’ll make the townspeople talk.”
“I think they’ll always bloom,” said Father. “Summer or winter.”
Ger looked at him. “Did you dream about her last night?”
“Yes.” He paused. “She was riding Greatheart towards the castle. She was wearing a long blue habit, and a cloak that billowed out behind her. She waved at someone I couldn’t see. She looked happy.” He shook his head. “I dream about her—often, as you know. And I’ve noticed—oh, just recently it’s occurred to me—she’s changed. Changing. First I thought, I’m forgetting her, and it made me very unhappy. But it’s not that. She’s changing. My dreams are as vivid as ever, but the Beauty I see is different.”
“How?” asked Grace.
“I don’t know. I wish I did. I wish I knew where the dreams come from—whether I dream truly.”
“I think you do,” said Hope. “I believe you do. It’s like the roses; they comfort us.”
Father smiled. “I like to think that too.”
Then Mercy said in a clear thin treble: “When is Beauty coming home?”
Her words were like a rock in a quiet pool that I, the dreamer, was looking into: I saw only the beginnings of wonder, surprise, and a little fear in the faces of the rest of the family before the image was shattered, and my sleep with it. My first coherent thought, as I awoke, was: I was wearing the blue habit yesterday; I saw the Beast, and waved at him, as we cantered back towards the castle.
Dawn came clear and pale through my window. The storm was blown away and the sky was blue and cloud—
less. I was still tired; I nodded over my teacup, and walked slowly downstairs and out into the garden.
“Good morning, Beauty,” said the Beast.
“Good morning,” I returned, and yawned. “I’m sorry. The storm kept me awake most of the night.” I was tired, and didn’t mean to add: “And I had an upsetting dream just before I woke up,” and I yawned again, and then realized what I’d said.
“What was it?” he asked.
“It’s not important,” I mumbled. We had been walking towards the stable as we spoke, and I went inside to let Greatheart out. He ambled through the door, pricked his ears at the Beast, and wandered off in search of grass. The meadows were still wet from last night’s rain; I was wearing boots, but the hem of my dress was soon soaked through.
After several minutes’ silence, the Beast said: “Was it about your family?”
I opened my mouth to deny it, and changed my mind. I nodded, looking down and kicking at a daisy. It shook itself free of raindrops that the sunlight turned into a halo, “Must you read my mind?” I said.
“I can’t,” said die Beast. “But in this case your face is transparent enough.”
“I dream about them a lot,” I said, “but it was different this time. It was like watching them—it was as if I were really in the room, except they couldn’t see me. I could see the knots in the wood of the table—not because I remembered them, but because I saw them. Ger had a bandage wrapped around one thumb. I recognized the shirt Father was wearing, but it had a new patch on one shoulder. I saw them.”
The Beast nodded. “Did you hear them too?”
“Yes,” I said slowly. “They—they were talking about me. And the roses. My father said he had dreamed about me—I was riding towards the castle, I was wearing my blue habit, and I looked happy. He said he wished he knew if he dreamed truly; and Hope said she was sure he did, that the dreams and the roses were to comfort them.”
“She’s right,” said the Beast.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“The roses are mine,” said the Beast. “And I send the dreams.”
I stared at him.
“He dreams about you nearly every night, and tells die rest of your family about it the next day. It does comfort them, I think. I am careful not to let him see me.”
“How do you know? Can you see them?” I said, still staring.
He looked away. “Yes; I can see them.”
“May I?”
He looked at me, and his eyes were unhappy. “I will show you, if you wish it.”
“Please,” I said. “Oh, please show me.”
I put Greatheart away, and the Beast took me back inside the castle, up stairs and down hallways and up more stairs to the room I had found him in on the very first night. He closed the curtains and the door, and I noticed that the small table that stood behind the Beast’s armchair glittered strangely. He went over to it and peered at it; then he picked up a glass that stood on the mantelpiece, and said a few words as he poured a little of its contents onto the tabletop. He replaced the glass r and said to me, “Come here, stand by me.”
I could see that on the table a thick plate of what looked like pale nephrite lay. The glitter had died, and there was a cloudy grey swirling like harbour water just after the turn of the tide. It cleared slowly.
I saw my sisters in the parlour, Grace was sitting, head in hands, and Hope stood in front of her, hands on Grace’s shoulders. “What’s wrong, dearest?” she said. “What’s wrong?” Morning sunlight streamed in the window, and I heard Ger’s laugh, faintly, from the shop. “Is it something about Mr. Lawrey? I just saw him leaving.”
Grace nodded slowly, and spoke into her hands. “He wants to marry me.”
Hope knelt down and pulled Grace’s hands away from her face, and they looked at one another. “He has asked you?”
“Not quite. He’s much too proper—you know. But his hints—and he just told me that he wants to ‘speak’ to Father. What else could he mean?”
“Of course,” said Hope. “We’ve suspected all summer that this was coming. Father will be pleased—he thinks Mr. Lawrey is a very good sort of young man. It’ll be all right. You’ll make a lovely minister’s wife, you’re so good and patient.”
Grace’s eyes filled with tears. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.” The tears spilled over and ran down her pale face. Hope reached out and touched her sister’s wet cheek with her hand. Her voice was a whisper too. “You’re not still thinking of Robbie, are you?”
Grace nodded. “I can’t help it,” she said through her tears. “We never knew. And I don’t love Pat Lawrey—
I still love Robbie. I can’t seem to think of anyone else. I can’t even try to. Have I been terribly unfair to Mr. Lawrey?”
“No,” said Hope, as if she weren’t quite sure. “No, don’t worry about that. But Father will encourage him, you know, and he’ll start courting you in earnest. Oh, my dear, you must try to put Robbie out of your mind. You can’t waste your life like this. It’s been six years.”
“I know,” said Grace. “Do you think I’ve forgotten a day of it? But it’s no use.”
“Try,” said Hope. “Please. Mr. Lawrey loves you and would be good to you. You needn’t love him as you did Robbie.” Hope’s voice was unsteady and she had begun to weep also. “Just be good to him—time and his love for you will do the rest. I’m sure of it. Please, Grace.”
Grace looked at her like a lost child. “Must I? Is this the only way left to me?”
“Yes,” said Hope. “Trust me. It’s for your own good—I know it. And it would please Father so much. You know how he worries about you.”
“Yes.” Grace bowed her head. “Very well; I will do as you say,” she whispered.
The mist gathered around the picture again, and then across it, and my sisters disappeared. “Oh, poor Grace,” I said, “poor Grace. I wonder what did happen to Robbie?”
As I spoke, the mist disappeared like a fog before a high wind, and a man stepped down from a ship’s side to the dock. There was a brisk wind blowing across a harbour I knew welclass="underline" I had grown up on it and beside it, I could see one of the warehouses that used to belong to