Cogsworth had called another meeting. An emergency meeting, naturally – two genuine emergencies in as many days! He would have been quite giddy with excitement if it hadn't been so imperative that he remain thoroughly alert. After all, he was head of the household. In times like this, it fell to him to keep things running smoothly. More or less. Within reason.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, asserting himself by standing on the tallest thing he could find, which happened to be a rather disgruntled chair. "We find ourselves on the brink of a crisis situation. As those of you currently, as one might say, 'in the loop' will be aware, there has been something of a breakdown in communications between our employer and his lovely, ah, guest."
A murmur went round the room. Appendages scraped the stone floor awkwardly. Then, as one body, the occupants of the kitchen turned to Lumière for clarification.
"The girl will not come out of her room and the Master will not go to speak to her," Lumière obliged.
A ripple of understanding swept through the room, punctuated with mutterings of "Oh, I see!" or similar.
Cogsworth coughed. "Thank you, Lumière," he said, grudgingly. "Now, as I am certain will be utterly and completely obvious to all and sundry, the essential thing here is to determine an immediate course of action in order that we might facilitate an imminent reconciliation."
"We need a plan," Lumière translated, casually.
"Precisely," said Cogsworth, eager to reclaim his audience. "Now, I propose that we divide our resources so that the various tasks involved in achieving our aim may be delegated to appropriate..."
He was cut off, unexpectedly, by Mrs Potts.
"Oh, tosh," she said, feelingly. "We don't need any such thing! What we need is to speak to them. Convince them that they want to see each other. You can force them into the same room if you like, but you know the Master's temper – and it has to be said that the girl may well be able to hold her own in an argument with him should the time come for that."
"It's true," mused Lumière, absently lighting his right hand. "A plan probably wouldn't work, all things considered."
"What... no plan?" Cogsworth's eyes were wide with temporary shock.
Mrs Potts smiled gently. "I'm afraid not. It seems to me that we'll need to be careful, now more than ever."
"You want to... talk to the Master about this?" Cogsworth stuttered.
Mrs Potts and Lumière nodded in unison.
Cogsworth hesitated, then coughed. "Ahem. Well, even so, I still feel that it would be appropriate to perhaps delegate, you know, a little..."
Glances were exchanged. Lumière hid a smirk.
"All right then," said Mrs Potts, instantly becoming as bustling as a teapot can. She was more or less resigned to the day ahead. "Lumière, you go and talk to Belle." She heaved a quiet sigh. "I'll do my best with the Master."
"Excellent," said Cogsworth. "I'll just... uh, there are some things I have to... I'll be in the parlour." And with that elegant riposte, he scurried from the room.
Lumière raised wax eyebrows. "Bonne chance," he said to Mrs Potts.
"You too," she said, adding under her breath: "We'll need it."
Belle sat on the edge of her bed, staring across the room at the fireplace. A little flame wavered in it, but the roaring fire she had woken up to had all but died. She longed for a book to pass the time, but she could not bring herself to ask any of the 'servants' for one. None of them would be able to lift a volume anyway. A book would have to bring itself.
Though it would not remotely surprise her if one did.
"Are you sure you're all right, dear?" asked the wardrobe, tentatively. She had introduced herself, actually. What was it? Mme. De La Grande Bouche. She must remember to call the servants by their names.
"Yes, thank you," she replied, automatically. There's nothing I like better than being held prisoner by a great monster who needs my love to free him from a curse.
She could feel the irony in this. It radiated from everything around her – the four-poster bed, the view over an endless garden... the magic furniture.
"Isn't this what you've always wanted?" whispered a little voice in her head. "All those dreams that made you so different, so special – isn't this it? It's all here; the romance, the magic. Isn't this what you've always dreamed of?"
But she hadn't imagined it would be like this. She wanted to be swept off her feet, not shouted at. He was cursed, but in a way that was somewhat by the by in the world of fantasy she had pretensions at inhabiting. She hardly had grounds for prejudice. But more than that – he was rude. He had nothing more to recommend him than his royalty.
And the fact that until someone sets him free his servants are prisoners too.
The injustice of it brought tears to Belle's eyes. There really was no easy way out of this. Her choices were limited. She could refuse point-blank – perhaps even try to run away. But where would that leave her? With the knowledge that she had torn away a lifeline from the seemingly innocent object-people who had been so kind to her? The cruelty of the idea was obvious. Yet what was the alternative? There were no magic words she could say to solve her problems. What they wanted from her was love. And she could not love the monster who would have kept her father in that tower.
There was a tapping noise at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Lumière, cherie. May I come in?"
"Yes."
There was an awkward pause.
"Uh... mademoiselle?"
"Yes?"
"Could you, perhaps, lend me a hand?"
Belle flushed. "Oh, I'm sorry!" She leapt to her feet and opened the door.
Lumière hopped in. Belle closed the door and returned to her place on the bed. Mme. De La Grande Bouche and Lumière exchanged significant looks which Belle pretended not to notice.
"Is everything all right, mademoiselle?"
Belle shrugged. "For a prisoner, I'm very comfortable."
Lumière sighed. "I'm sorry things are this way, cherie. We all are. If it helps you, the household staff will think of you only as our guest, never a prisoner."
Belle shifted, aware again of the unpleasant position the servants' 'Master' placed everyone in. "Thank you, Lumière," she said, awkwardly.
Lumière coughed. "I'm afraid I come here with a..." He hesitated. How best to put this? "A request."
Belle looked away. "From him?"
Lumière winced. She wasn't making this easy. "Not from the Master, no. From us."
"What is it?"
"Will you at least... speak to him?"
Belle bit her lip, thinking. Despite her best efforts, she wouldn't be able to stay in her room forever. Sooner or later she would have to speak to him again. It wasn't as though she had done anything wrong, she reasoned. She had felt quite brave the last time they met. It was just that with each day that passed, she felt less inclined to face him again. But it was inevitable, so she resigned herself to it.
"All right."
The Beast glowered at the rose, swishing his tail in agitation.
"No," he growled, hoping it sounded final and forceful.
Mrs Potts ignored the attempt. She knew better than anyone the workings of the Prince's temper tantrums and if anyone could convince him of anything, it was she. "Master, you can't stay in here and avoid her forever. She won't fall in love with you just because you want her to and you won't break the spell by avoiding her." She took a breath, then played her ace. "The petals are falling faster now."
If he had had any more force left in his facial muscles, the Beast's scowl would have deepened. As it was, he just grunted.
"Well?"
"I can't." His expression changed to one of desperation and Mrs Potts knew she was making headway. "I don't know what to say to her."
Mrs Potts cast a critical eye over him. For all his fearsome bulk, she could see a child in there, fighting with a sullen teenager – and, yes, a man – for control. "You could start," she said, "with small talk."
"Small... talk?" He was puzzled.
"Ask her how she is. Talk about the weather. Small talk is talk about small things. And then," she added, cautiously. "You might try apologising."
The Beast opened his mouth, a roar of "Apologise? For what? She should apologise to me for going against my orders!" poised and ready to go but, with a heroic effort on the part of his tongue, he reigned it in, settling for a strangled "Apologise?"
"Yes. And while you're at it, make sure it doesn't happen again. You'll frighten the poor girl to death, and then where will we be?"
He could tell she was exaggerating, but he didn't like the idea.
"All right," he muttered, reluctantly. "I guess I could give it a try."
