ACT FOUR
To Joy's surprise, Ève begs out of exploring the city in the few hours they have left to kill. Instead, she heads back to their hotel room alone, after downright insisting that Joy and Lizzie go and leave her for at least half the afternoon. So as soon as they're alone again, Lizzie starts hounding Joy about her responses in Lumière's hallway.
"So you do like her," Lizzie says.
"Yes – did I not make that clear already?" Joy replies. "I bought her a bloody dress, Liz. I'm completely, pathetically infatuated with yet another woman who'll never love me back. satisfied?"
"I might be, but you're certainly not," Lizzie says. "And I wouldn't be so sure about it being unrequited."
Joy opens her mouth to retort, but remembers the waltz. Remembers Ève's little nervous gulp, and her smile – remembers all her smiles, which were coming from something Joy did more and more frequently. Remembers that moment before the storm, when for half a dizzying second Joy thought that Ève was going to kiss her.
"It doesn't matter if it's requited or not," Joy sighs. "At the end of the day, Ève's about to start a new life – one that doesn't have a place for me. It would be reprehensible to try and insert myself in where I don't belong." Lizzie frowns, but Joy keeps talking before she can interrupt. "What about you? What are you and Lumière going to do after this? And Cogsworth?"
Lizzie shrugs. "I don't know. But for once, that's not a bad thing. They've been posing as cousins for so long, I don't think anybody would be startled if one of them got married."
Joy nods sympathetically. She understands the basics of their relationship – that Lizzie and Lumière are together, and so are Lumière and Cogsworth. How it started, or how they perpetuate it she doesn't understand – but at the same time, it's not her business, either. "Will that not be … difficult?" she asks carefully. "To live a lie like that?"
"Only half a lie," Lizzie says with practised ease. "I am like a wife to Lumière. Cogsworth is like a brother-in-law to me. The only false aspect is Lumière and Cogsworth's relationship – and it isn't exactly unusual for a man to reside with his family if he has no other claims on his heart – or his purse." She clasps Joy's shoulder. "I know you're worried about me hurting. But believe me, Joy – my hurt is finally over now that the three of us can live together in happiness."
"I'm glad," Joy says, and she means it. "Now, come on – you said you were going to give me a proper tour of Paris."
As promised, they return to the hotel after a few hours, having spent time browsing book shops and the odd cafe. Ève pops her head out the door, her smile as bright as ever. "Did you have a good time in town?" she asks.
"I got a new book," Joy says.
"Oh, that sounds lovely!" Ève says. "I'll leave you to it in a moment, but could you pop in here for a second, please?"
Joy exchanges a look with Lizzie, but she looks just as bewildered. "Of course," she says. The door clicks shut behind her, and Joy notices that the room is artificially dark – the curtains have been drawn, and candles recently extinguished, judging by the smell. "Ève, are you alright?"
"Of course," she says. "I just – well, I have a surprise." There is a warm hands in hers, suddenly, and Joy lets herself be guided towards the centre of the room. "I was thinking about that beautiful dress you bought for me, and – well, I wanted to do something for you in return."
"Oh, Ève, you don't have to –"
"I know I don't; I want to. Now hush." Her hands move to Joy's shoulders, and Joy is acutely aware of Ève's warm breath stirring the hairs on the back of her neck. "I found a dress for next to nothing in a shop next door, and I've been altering it slightly all afternoon. It's a few years out of fashion, but the colour is beautiful and I think it'll fit you perfectly. I just need to make some final adjustments – but for that I need, well, you. and I was wondering – I'd really like it to be a surprise, so if I cover your eyes would that be alright?"
"Of course," Joy manages to choke out. "I trust you."
Sure enough, Ève slides a ribbon over Joy's eyes. She ties it carefully and then moves away – Joy can just tell from the light peeking underneath that she's opening the curtains and lighting the candles. She unlaces Joy's skirt and bodice, leaving her in her underthings, and Joy feels suddenly electric – as if she could burst into a million pieces, if she was touched in the right way. Ève messes around with her stays, pulling them a little tighter, and then another skirt and bodice are sliding onto Joy. She does her best to hold still as Ève keeps working, but she can't stop herself from feeling what she can – a layered skirt, a ruched bodice, and no sleeves. Eventually, Ève unties the blindfold. The first thing Joy sees is her face, a smile of satisfaction wide across. The next thing she sees is her own reflection, enveloped in a sunshine-yellow dress.
Joy gasps. "Ève, this is … it's beautiful. Thank you." She meets Ève's gaze – and there it is again, the dizzying possibility of a kiss between them. Ève's eyes dart from her lips to Joy's face. She brushes her fingers against Joy's hand, but otherwise doesn't move. All Joy would have to do is lean forwards.
She takes a step back, running her hands over the dress lightly. "Well, Princess – are you ready for tonight?"
Ève's hand recoils away, although her face is inexpressive. "As ready as I'll ever be," she says. "I'll get dressed, and then –" She cuts herself off. Looks at her hands.
"And then," Joy finishes quietly, "you meet your family."
The ballet is a blur.
Ève knows the story, which helps a little. It's difficult to parse exactly what the dancers are trying to say to each other, hidden as the words are in a musical score and pure body language, but the gist of the story is evident. The curtain falls for the interval after the Beast's solo lament (according to the programme, he is wondering what might happen if he can't love her), ending with him running into the woods to follow the fleeing beauty, and Joy taps Ève's shoulder.
"Lumière says it's time," she whispers.
Ève's stomach lurches unpleasantly, but it's too late now. She follows Joy out of their seats (Lumière had snagged them and Lizzie a box), and towards the box where the Queen Mother is. Where … where her grandmother is.
"Wait here," Joy says. "I'll go in first, prepare the way."
So Ève waits. But the door doesn't quite shut all the way, so she keeps an ear out for how the conversation goes. And she hears everything. Just as suddenly as she felt sick, her insides turn to lead. And following on from that, a ball of anger begins to form in her heart.
The guards push Joy out the door, firmly but without violence. She trips on the hem of her dress, and ends up on her hands and knees in front of the hemline of a familiar royal-blue skirt. She meets Ève's gaze, and she looks completely apologetic, and completely ashamed. It just adds fuel to Ève's fire.
"Ève …" Joy says as she stands.
"You lied to me," she says flatly. "This whole time, you were lying to me."
"No!" Joy says. "At – at the beginning, yes I – I lied, but then –"
"So you did lie," Ève spits. "You knew this whole time that there was a reward! You knew that others had posed as the princess! You – you used me!" She walks to the stairs, but Joy reaches out and grabs her arm.
"Ève – Ève wait, it's not like that – Ève you are the princess, I can prove it –" she says as she rummages around in her pocket.
"Get away from me!" Ève shouts. She tugs her arm out of Joy's grasp, but Joy seizes her hand instead.
"Ève, wait –"
She slaps Joy in the face, the noise ringing in the halls. Joy brings her hand to her cheek slowly, abandoning her search for whatever was in her pockets. But Ève doesn't stay to look at Joy longer. She picks up her skirts and runs back to the waiting coach as fast as she can, willing herself not to cry until she's safely in her hotel room.
Joy is waiting outside the opera house, a borrowed cloak from Lizzie hiding the bright colour of her gown. She feels worse than dead. Ève's chance at finding her family has been ruined. Because of her.
Well, she's going to fix that.
She waits for the Queen Mother to leave the opera house. She waits while the driver settles on his post. She waits while he gets the horses moving to a trot, as they leave the other coaches.
And then, she strikes. She runs full tilt towards the horses, frightening them. She kicks the driver's knee and uses his momentum to push him out the seat. And then she whips the horses until they gallop, and she sets course for the hotel where Ève is.
"Pierre? Pierre, slow down!"
Joy pulls down the divider, and sees a flash of Ève's blue eyes in an old, wrinkled face. "I'm not Pierre. And I will not slow down."
The Queen Mother shouts, and rams her cane against the inside of the carriage, but she's effectively trapped, so Joy ignores her. Once they reach the hotel, she hops down from the driver's perch and opens the door, blocking the Queen Mother's way.
"Young woman, I made it perfectly clear what I thought of your actions back at the ballet. I will not see some actress you have hired to dupe an old woman!"
"I'm not asking you to," Joy says. "Ève honestly believes she's the princess. I do too. And I can prove it."
"Show me these proofs, then," she laughs bitterly. "Her father's hair? Or her mother's chin? Or – let me guess – my eyes?"
"No. Just this." Joy sets her jaw, and takes the music box out of her pocket.
Instantly, the old woman's demeanour changes. She stretches out her fingers, and Joy folds them around the box. They're warm, like Ève's are. "Where did you get this?" she asks.
"It doesn't matter," Joy says. "What does matter, is that there is a girl upstairs who I honestly believe, with all my heart, to be your granddaughter. I know you've been hurt. All I ask is for you to take one more chance, and see Ève."
Ève is half-undressed, her bodice tossed to the floor and her hair spiralling out of its pins, when she hears a knock at the door. "Piss off, Joy," she shouts. "I told you, I don't want to see you!"
"I'm not Joy," an older woman says. Ève turns around with a start. "And I will not 'piss off'."
"Milady," Ève gasps, automatically curtseying. "I thought you were … someone else."
The Queen Mother sniffs, and walks towards Ève. She tucks a stray curl behind her ear, but otherwise doesn't move while the woman walks around her. "Remarkable hair," she murmurs. "And – well, that is an unusual chin."
Ève touches it reflexively. Her head aches, and the woman's peppermint scent isn't helping. Her fingers sink down to her necklace, and she fiddles with the pendant. "Peppermint," she mutters.
"Child, where did you get that necklace?" the woman asks. "It looks very –"
"There was … a bottle of peppermint scent. I was – Adam and Vincent and I were playing with swords … dragons and princesses and knights. I knocked the bottle off the dresser and – and it smashed." She sways a little.
The Queen Mother takes half a step backwards.
"The scent stained the carpet, and Maman sent me to bed without supper for a week, because … it was expensive. Not easily replaced."
The woman's face turns white, and she reaches abortively for Ève's hand.
Ève frowns, trying to remember the connection. It's so close, so close she can almost feel it. "Mémé had to go away to Spain for a visit, but I would – go to that room, and just smell the carpet. It smelled like – like you."
Hot tears fall down Ève's face. She looks at the Queen Mother. "Oh," the woman says, and she's also crying. "Oh, Ève. Little wren, have you come back to me after all these years?"
"Mémé – I – I remember!" Ève cries, and the two crash into an embrace.