Retelling of Beauty and the Beast from the POV of the two older sisters.

Beauty's Sisters

                Well, I'm pleased to hear that the Beast wasn't such a monster after all.  But what I'm really pleased about is that you're back, safe and sound.  If you got my message, you know that Father is sick and anxious to see you.

You've been gone about a year and a half.  You're almost sixteen.

                How's Lavinia?  I don't know.  She left.  She's not here anymore.

                Don't you dare criticize Lavinia for that!  You never did understand Lavinia, or me.  I know you always thought we were ungrateful and conniving...  Deny it all you want, but I at least saw how you looked at us.  Don't get me wrong: I know you tried to like us anyway and just couldn't manage to do it.  But enough of that.  You've had an older look in your eyes ever since you returned, and I think your time away from us has given you at least the start of wisdom, so I'm going to give you some facts you might not have understood before.  Listen carefully.

                I'm going to start by giving you some background information.  I realize you probably think you know it all already, but your love for Father made you blind to some things.  I saw more than you did, if only by virtue of being older, and still some of this information was new to me.  Lavinia told me some of it, and I got some of the stories about Mother from our old servants.

Father adored Mother with all his heart.  Romantic, poetic phrases like "with the passion and fire of a thousand suns" spring to mind.  She loved him back just as fiercely, and Mother was such a tiny woman you'd think she wasn't big enough to contain emotions that strong.  You get that beautiful black hair and those blue eyes from her.  I don't know if you remember her at all, but she was extraordinary.  It was her idea to name you Lark.  She claimed it was a joyous name, and I suppose it is.

                But like I said, Mother was a tiny person, so bearing children was not good for her.  Three was certainly too many.  She never really recovered from giving birth to you.  She lived the last few years of her life practically as an invalid.  Even the smallest exertion exhausted her.  In spite of all that, Mother always had time for a kind word for us children, and she never lost her temper even after those nights when you kept her up until the early hours of the morning with your crying.

                Of course you cried all the time.  Babies cry.  That's what they do.  But that's not the point I'm trying to make.  I'm talking about Mother.  And Father, too, of course.

                While Mother was alive, Father loved us all.  He was generous with his time and his money.  He often brought home some new toy or candy or ribbon for us to play with.  He loved to make our mother laugh, and he called us, his daughters, his prized jewels.

                When Mother died, all that changed.  You were only four, so you may not remember this very well.  I was seven, and Lavinia was eight.  Father raged around the house for days, throwing priceless vases and refusing to look at any of us.  He screamed and cried.  The servants cowered in the back halls, and the three of us hid in our nursery together.  Father was a merchant-prince, used to getting his way.  It was difficult for him to accept that there were some things he couldn't fix.  I think now that he was probably looking for someone to blame for his loss.  It didn't seem to occur to him that we were grieving, too.

                On the fifth day, Father came into the nursery.  I wasn't there; I had escaped to the garden to hide among the flowers.  Lavinia told me what happened next.  Father was still crying, but he wasn't screaming anymore.  He was staring at the two of you, and somehow that frightened Lavinia even more than his shouting had.  Lavinia said he stalked in from the doorway over to the bed where you two were sitting.  She put her arm around your shoulder and the pair of you stared up at him like frightened rabbits.  Father barely glanced at Lavinia.  Instead, he was looking at you, with your big, blue eyes and chubby baby cheeks.  It could have gone either way, and somehow that almost makes what happened later worse.  He could just as easily have blamed you for his wife's death.  He could have hated you.  Instead, his face gradually softened and the crazed look left his eyes.

                "You're all I have left of her," he said.  He wasn't talking to Lavinia.  He was speaking only to you.  "You're so beautiful.  Just like your mother.  Such a little Beauty."  That was when he started calling you Beauty.  Eventually most people forgot that your name is really Lark.

                Ever since then, you could do no wrong in Father's eyes.  He only had to see you and that big smile would engulf his face.  I'm sure you know the smile I'm talking about.  The unguarded, boyish one that even now makes women want to kiss him and men want to be his friend.  He delighted in your singing, calling your amateur efforts "angelic" and "awe-inspiring".  He introduced you to all his friends as his precious Beauty, and told them all he didn't know what he'd do without you.  He hired expensive tutors for you when you were a little older, perhaps five or six, because nothing, but nothing, was too good for his little girl, his little Beauty.  He always had time for you.

                Things were different for Lavinia and I.  After Mother's death, Father just sort of shut the world out, except for you.  He buried himself in his work, surfacing only to eat and sleep or when you were around him.  He took greater and riskier investments, and let the house slide into disrepair.  Not your quarters, of course.  Yours were always furnished in the most luxurious, exotic silks and pillows that could be had at any price.

                Lavinia and I could see that he didn't want to spend time with us anymore, and we could also see that he enjoyed your company, so we watched you and tried to imitate you.  We sang stupid, childish songs to him and brought him flowers from the garden, like you used to do.  He ignored us, or yelled at us for making noise while he was working, or for denuding the gardens.  We struggled determinedly with our lessons in an attempt to make him proud of our learning the way he was proud of yours.  That didn't work either.  If our rooms were messy, he scolded us harshly.  If yours was, he'd laugh and say something like "Girls will be girls."  So we went further.  We pretended to trip and hurt ourselves if he was nearby, and then we'd go crying to him for comfort.  Father brushed us off.  Next, Lavinia and I tried putting the house back in order to impress him.  I think I mentioned he was neglecting these tasks a little.  We thought maybe he would notice when the house was straightened up, and that it would please him.  That's when Lavinia started working with housekeeping and I began work in the garden.  We weren't much help at first, but it gave us the base for the skills we needed later.  That plan didn't work out the way we hoped, either.  It simply gave us new duties, and he still didn't notice.  I think I was around ten, and that would make Lavinia eleven or so. 

                I think the worst memory of that part of my life is from just before we lost all our money.  Father bumped into me in the hall, and I, glad for any opportunity for conversation, said something like, "Hello, Father.  You should see the new herb garden!" 

                "That's nice," he said, politely and absently.  I would have continued talking, but the look on Father's face stopped me.  Watching his eyes, I could see that for just a minute he didn't recognize me.  I could have been anyone, a perfect stranger, and he would have said the exact same thing.  He wandered off to his study, and I fled to my room where I cried for days.  Looking back on it, I realize that he was probably concerned about his risky investment, but at the time I was devastated.

                About a month later, Father called the whole household into a meeting.  He announced that he was bankrupt, and barely had enough money to cover the servants' back wages.  The house would be sold to cover his debts, and he and his family were moving to a small, secluded house in the country where he would attempt to live by farming.  You didn't understand what was happening, but Lavinia and I did.  At first the two of us were upset about leaving home, but then I realized that with only four people in the cottage he was bound to have to pay more attention to us, and he would surely see that we were good daughters, too.

                I was wrong about that.  Father did pay more attention to Lavinia and me, but it was all negative.  You, of course, took his side.  I remember a conversation where you entreated me sweetly not to provoke Father like that when all I had been doing was humming.  You loved him so much that you couldn't see how hard Lavinia and I were trying because it would have meant that your perfect image of Father would have broken.  You were probably too young to understand, anyway.

                Lavinia and I took over the management of the house because Father just wasn't interested.  You pitched in with a will, but it was really the first time you had ever tried to work so you weren't as helpful as you might have been.  You were seven years old, my age when Mother died, and just a little younger than Lavinia had been.

                All along, Lavinia and I continued to try and figure out what it was that made Father love you and dislike us.  We had been in exile for over two years when Lavinia finally realized the answer.  She was thirteen, I was twelve and you were nine.

                "It's not that she has something that we don't, Lilac," Lavinia told me.  "We've been such idiots!  There is no reason!  She isn't smarter or kinder or sweeter or anything!  He just arbitrarily loves her more!  And no matter how hard we try, we will never be good enough."

                I think I had known this for a couple of years but refused to believe it.  I couldn't.  Of the three of us, Lavinia has always been the strongest.  She's a fighter.  As soon as she figured it out, she accepted it.  She didn't try and hide the truth from herself or, for that matter, me.  She didn't waste any time wringing her hands, she went straight into battle mode.

                "Beauty is prettier than either of us," I replied, but it was a weak effort.  I knew as soon as she said it that Lavinia was right, and besides, we'd debated the appearance idea to death.

                "I know that, Lilac," Lavinia replied, wearily.  "But I'm not exactly hideous, and you only a little less attractive than she is.  The question is, what do we do now?"  I dithered and didn't come up with anything.  Lavinia became impatient with me and left me.

                I'm guessing about what happened next.  Lavinia never told me in so many words, but I think it went something like this:

                Lavinia saw Father, possibly by himself or perhaps spoiling you.  All the frustrated attempts to gain his attention and affection that had made her sad and insecure before changed into rage.  If Father wouldn't notice what a good child she was, then he would regret what a bad one she could become. 

                However, none of the three of us are stupid.  Lavinia knew that if she plotted and waited before she released her fury, she could do a lot more damage.  Father was furious about what she did to his clothes, but reacted as if he should have expected no better from such a stupid person.  That only egged Lavinia on.  Eventually, Lavinia did so many terrible things that Father had to acknowledge that she was doing them from malice and not from stupidity.  Again, Father acted as if he should have known better than to expect anything from her, and again this only made Lavinia behave worse. 

                Me?  I hadn't decided what I was going to do.  I still loved Father, but I hated him, too.  I wasn't trying to curry favor with Father, but I didn't help Lavinia, either.  It was a lonely time for me.  Father didn't even notice that I wasn't going out of my way to show him how much I loved him anymore.  Lavinia wasn't speaking to me because I wasn't supporting her.  You, of course, neither wanted nor needed affection from anyone except Father.

                You know what I eventually decided.  Perhaps you even remember the argument.  It was about two months after Father realized Lavinia was intentionally harming him.  Lavinia had gone out at night, which if you recall Father told us expressly not to do, and more than that, she had stolen his pocket watch and, I learned later, sold it.  That watch was one of the few things he had kept from the debtors.  Lavinia walked back into the cottage the next morning when we were eating breakfast.  She was caught red-handed.  Father was furious.  He shouted and screamed.  You looked a little scared, but you were angry on Father's behalf.  Lavinia gazed off into the distance all during his rant.  She even yawned.  I still might not have acted, except she met my eyes for just a few seconds and all I could see in her was contempt.  She no longer loved me.  Lavinia, my sister, thought I was weak, stupid, not worth knowing.

                What am I doing?  I thought.  It was suddenly all very clear to me.  I could keep trying to win back the love of a man who had loved me once.  Who knows?  Maybe one day I would even succeed in gaining it.  But there was no guarantee that he wouldn't just stop caring about me again, as he had once before.  On the other hand, I could help my sister, who was really the only person whose opinion I valued and whose love I depended on.  Lavinia had never lied to me, or forgotten to care that I existed.

                "I don't know what you're talking about, Father," I said.  "Lavinia spent the whole night with me.  She just crept out early to check on the livestock.  And as for your watch, you probably lost it.  I saw you take it out of your pocket in the field yesterday.  I bet it's outside somewhere."  Lavinia met my eyes with surprise and gratitude.  I realized then that I was wrong.  Lavinia hadn't ever hated me.  She was just angry with me for not helping her.  Lavinia is not fickle like Father.  She doesn't just stop caring about someone.  Not without a very good reason, anyway. 

Regardless of all that, I wasn't sorry for speaking up.  That brief shock I had when I thought she didn't love me forced me to see things in perspective.  I had chosen my side, and I was not changing it.  I still don't regret it.

                Oh, yes.  I did forget to finish that.  Father took my word for Lavinia's whereabouts and went out to look for the watch.  He had no reason to doubt me.  That came later.

                So after that, Lavinia and I worked together to bedevil Father.  We got very good at it.  I'm sure you remember.   I know you thought we were doing it because we were greedy, lazy, wild, bad to the core, maybe even evil.  We were only that way towards Father, and to you, sometimes.  Anything he said we were, we became just to punish him.  It was, I think, still not too late for Father to have had our good sides back.  As I said, we became whatever he called us, and so if he had only called us something good, he might have gotten that.  I don't know how long matters continued like that.  I think around five years or so.

                That was when Father received word that one of his ships had made a miraculous return home, loaded with spices and expensive silks.  It was enough to set us up as gentry again.  Father said he was going back to the city to fetch it, and we would all be rich again.  He smiled that smile he usually saved for you, smiled it at us, and I felt my heart ache.  I know Lavinia felt the same, because she grabbed my hand without even looking.  In case you don't remember, we were eighteen and seventeen.  You were fourteen.

                "So what do you want me to bring you, my daughters?" he asked, jovially.

                However, years of pain and rage aren't usually wiped away with a single smile.  "I want diamonds," Lavinia said.  "Lots and lots of diamonds." 

Father winced.  "What about you, Lilac?"

                "Fancy perfumes.  I want rose perfumes, violet ones, a strawberry perfume and at least three lilac smelling salts."

                Father winced again.  We had both deliberately picked luxury items that are outrageously expensive and useless on a farm.  But not even Lavinia and I could bring Father down that day.  "And what about you, Beauty?"
                You said, "Come home safely.  All I need is you."  Lavinia and I hated that answer.  You had Father, and we didn't.  Father laughed and insisted that he could bring you something, and eventually you conceded he could bring you a rose.  When he left, the cottage seemed to get much friendlier.  Even you remarked on it.  I assume you thought it was because Lavinia and I were gloating over the thought of being rich again, but really it was that Lavinia and I were hope that things were going to change.  Perhaps with the return of the money, Father would again have love to spare.  But you already know how that all went wrong.

                Yes, that's right, Father came back about three months later with the rose, and without the frivolities.  He told that story about the Beast who had taken him in when he was wandering, hungry and cold, and the terrible price the Beast demanded Father pay for his hospitality and the rose.

                Yes, I guess you would know a whole lot more about all that than I do.  I suppose you also realized how much Father wanted to send either Lavinia or myself instead of you.  I imagine you didn't realize that it mattered to Lavinia or me what Father thought.  Lavinia almost volunteered to go, I think.  That girl has no fear, and it would have made Father appreciate her a little, if only because she saved his favorite.  We both knew you would agree to go; you would do almost anything to save Father.  Inside Lavinia, I could see the desire to be loved and the desire to protect you warring with the wish to hurt Father, as well as the strength of habit.  She hesitated too long.  I don't know what she would have decided, but it didn't matter because you said you would do it and that was that.

                No, I don't think I could have done it.  I'm not strong like Lavinia, and Father doesn't have my undivided, undiluted love like he has yours.

                I know this will surprise you, but Lavinia and I were very kind to Father after you left.  We didn't maim and destroy property or make cutting remarks.  He was hurting terribly, and we could see it.  And although we didn't always like you when you were here, we missed you too.  We all worried about you.

                So like I said, we were nice to Father.  We didn't complain about anything, didn't shirk our chores, steal things, lie or needle him.  Lavinia and I didn't even rise to the bait when he called us names.  We treated him like he was made of spun glass.  In spite of our restraint, Father began to get sick.  We tried everything we knew and nothing worked.  He refused to drink the medicine we made him; said it was poison.  Father had become a querulous old man almost overnight.

                We were both there in his room when Lavinia got the last straw.  Father threw his candlestick at her head.  Lavinia's strong suit has never been patience, and she had more than used up her quota by then.  Perhaps she still would have remained calm; she'd already been patient for longer than I'd ever thought she could.  More probably she would have said something horrible, but Father beat her to it.

                "I'm cursed!" he hissed.  You know how usually Father shouts when he's angry?  This was different.  "I have three daughters, two of whom are venomous snakes, and one of whom is the best daughter a man could ever hope for!  When one of them had to go, of course it would be the good one!  You and your sister are worthless, and I hate you both for not going in Beauty's place!  I would rather have a thousand harpies for children than you!"

                Lavinia did something Father never expected, and I thought was possible only in my worst dreams.  She smiled, almost serenely, and said, "Well, old man, at least you have a family.  You have a daughter who loves you enough to sacrifice her life for you.  Perhaps you should think on that.  Other people, like me, have no family at all."  And she turned around and picked up some warm clothes (it was winter by then) and took some bread and cheese from the larder.  Then she walked outside into the snow.

                "What's going on?" Father asked me, confused and surprised.  "She's never called me 'old man' before.  Lavinia's lied, stolen and bamboozled me, but she always called me 'Father' before."

                "She disowned you," I said, my voice shaky.  "She's disowned us."  Lavinia had said she had no family... and that meant she didn't count me (or you) as her sister.  I was, as you can imagine, devastated.  Lavinia had abandoned me after all, just like Father.

                For a second, Father didn't quite know what to say or do.  For a second, I thought he looked puzzled, almost sorry, and for one second I believed that he was going to ask for a longer explanation.  Then he said, "Hmmph.  Well, she's no loss.  Good riddance to bad rubbish."  I think I stared at him, and I think he pretended not to notice.  I still manage the house and bring him his medicine, but I haven't spoken to him since.

                That was about six months ago.  I sent a message for you saying Father was ill and you should come home if you were able.  Like I said, I'm glad you could make it.

                I have heard from Lavinia.  How did you know?

                You're right, I wouldn't be able to talk about all this if I hadn't heard from her.  Actually, when she walked out of the cottage, she waited outside for me.  When I came out later I was crying.  I found her by the woodpile.  She said, "Lilac, as soon as I saw your face I realized what I'd said and I'm sorry, would you please, please, please forgive me?  I didn't mean it that way."  Of course she had.  She saw I wasn't buying her story.  "Lilac, we're almost closer than sisters, you're like my right hand, I need you.  I love you, Lilac."  She started crying too, and then we were hugging and it was all right, we were sisters again.  She told me she was heading east to the big city to look for a job, and I told her that I wasn't going to leave the old man alone to die, but that I'd follow as soon as I could.

                Whose fault is it?  I don't think it was anyone's fault.  Or maybe it was everyone's fault.  Mother's for dying, Father's for denying Lavinia and I the love that he poured on you, Lavinia's for deciding to get even with her father by any means possible, and mine for following Lavinia's lead.  The only relatively blameless one in this is you.  Somehow or other, Father stopped seeing us as his while he still saw you as a wonderful child.  Lavinia and I misbehaved until he couldn't see us any way other than bad; we followed his lowest expectations until that became what we expected of ourselves.  Now it's too late to start over.

                No, I don't hate you.  I was extremely jealous, but I'm sure you've figured that out by now.  Lavinia was wrong about one thing, at least.  You remember I said earlier that she said you are no kinder than either of us?  I don't think she's right.  You are much better at giving and receiving love and affection than we are.  You are a much nicer person than Lavinia or me.  That's part of what we were jealous of.  Perhaps if you were me or Lavinia, you could forgive Father.  I can't.

                Tell the old man whatever you like.  I don't care.  Tell him I drowned or joined a convent or was arrested.  He's no kin of mine after what he said.

                Do whatever you like.  Stay or go.  You're his favored, and now only, daughter, and you can do no wrong.  Me, I'm leaving.  I plan to follow Lavinia east to the big city.  She's had six months head start, and I need to get moving if I want to catch up.  I do love you and you are my sister, so best wishes and farewell.  Good luck with your father and with your Beast.