The first sensation the Beast felt on awakening was of cold. The right side of his torso felt cold. He was lying on his back, too. He didn't normally sleep on his back.
Realising that something had to be wrong, he cracked open an eyelid – just in time to see a cascade of water on its way to his face. He growled in surprise. The water was cold.
Belle turned at the sound. "Oh, no – I said to wake him gently!"
A bucket scurried past the Beast's left elbow looking suitably ashamed of itself. "Sorry, Belle," it said, adding once it was a little closer to her: "I couldn't resist."
Belle briefly raised her eyebrows but didn't look away from the length of fabric she was holding. "I understand, François, but perhaps you'd better make yourself scarce now."
The bucket gave the Master a wary glance, then, reaching Belle's conclusion, hurried away.
The Beast tried to work out what was going on. They had been in the ballroom. Belle had been dancing. The had been a fire – the fire! He bolted upright, meaning to spring into action. A bolt of pain ran from his shoulder to his wrist and his chest felt like it was on fire. "Argh!" he cried, without meaning to make a noise.
Belle glanced at him. "Don't move," she said, redundantly. "I haven't finished yet."
Speechless with the searing agony in his arm, the Beast looked down to see what the matter was. His arm had been tightly bandaged in strips of white fabric, but that wasn't what caught his attention. His shirt hung in ruins from his body and it was clear it had been burnt. This accounted for the loss of fur on the right side of his chest and also for the raw, red skin. No wonder it hurt. The Beast let out a snarl of horror.
Belle, having folded the material in her hands, walked towards him and knelt down at his side. "Hold still. I'm going to make a sling for your arm." She spoke with the tone used to calm anxious horses. The Beast might have found this offensive if he were in any condition to notice.
Without heeding her, he began to thrash around, looking for the fire, the damage – some explanation of what had happened. "What... but... how...?" he asked, incoherently.
Belle sighed. "This is why I bandaged you when you were unconscious," she said, seizing his arm and holding it still.
The Beast gave a roar that made her ears ache. "That hurts!"
She didn't bother to reply. In a moment, she had slipped the sling around his neck and arm and fastened it in place with a couple of knots. "Try not to move it," she said, standing up. In another moment she had crossed the room to what had formerly been the doorway and immersed herself in a conversation with a bucket and a broom.
Mrs Potts approached, clucking sympathetically. "Oh, my, you have been in the wars, haven't you sir? I could hardly believe it when Belle told me what had happened! Thank heaven you're safe – think how awful it could have been!"
The Beast rubbed his eyes with his good hand. "What did happen?" he asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know but feeling very left out.
"Well, it was the chandelier, sir! Lit by magic, I shouldn't wonder, since none of us could shift that chain to get it down even in the old days. Well, I don't know for sure what happened, sir, but when the fire reached the chain it let the chandelier go and down it came." She nodded at his shoulder. "Just caught you, sir, but think! One step to the right and there'd have been nothing Belle could do."
The Beast turned slowly to look at the twisted remains of the chandelier. Shards of crystal had spread out like spilt water across the ballroom. It was a lot to take in, but something Mrs Potts had said stood out to him. "Belle?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. She's saved the day, sir, and no mistake about that!"
As Belle watched a diligent team of spades, buckets, brooms and brushes clear away the ashes and debris at the doorway, the reality of what she had achieved today had begun to sink in. It had been – well, the stuff of adventures.
For the first time, she replayed the afternoon's events in her mind. The moment the chandelier had crashed to the ground was probably the most horrifying thing she had ever witnessed and she had let out a scream so loud that her throat still ached in protest.
The Beast had fallen to the floor. Not knowing what condition he was in, she had looked around desperately for something to use to extinguish the flames that had begun to creep across his chest from the lighted candles. This being a ballroom, nothing immediately came to hand.
So she ran. Across broken glass, though she hadn't realised that at the time. Though the fire was still burning strong around her, there was a patch on the floor in front of her where it had run out of fuel. This was part of Lumière's plan. He had, after all, wanted the two of them to escape. It was supposed to merely look dangerous. She barely slowed down, running straight across burning embers in the thin-soled slippers Madame had given her to go with the dress.
As she ran from the room out into the corridor, a bucket of water hurried past her legs in a panicked frenzy. She seized it by the handle and ran with it straight back into the ballroom and hurled its contents over the Beast. The flames disappeared.
The fire was all but extinguished in the doorway but had begun to spread above them. She looked at the bucket in her hands. "Go," she had said. "Fetch more water, as much as you can! Go!"
The bucket had hit the ground running.
The next minutes had been a constant barrage of activity. One by one, buckets, glasses, cups and even Mrs Potts all arrived, filled to the brim with water. She hurled the water as far as she could, soaking everything within range. Finally, the room filled with steam and everyone could breathe again. That was when she had asked for a sheet to be brought for use as bandages. Miraculously, the Beast seemed to be the only one injured, although Cogsworth was known to have passed out three times in quick succession.
And now, as the damage was cleared away, Belle was finally coming to realise how much her feet hurt. Her shoes were wrecked and her bare soles had endured heat and broken glass. The pain brought sudden tears to her eyes. She leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted.
"Ow," she whispered.
Burying your face in your hands is not really recommended when those hands are lighted candles, and Lumière got a nasty shock when he did it. He couldn't believe what he'd done. This had been to save the Master, and instead he had almost been killed. Lumière had nearly been responsible for the destruction of the castle. He'd never have forgiven himself – and probably no one else would have, either.
The presence of Babette and Cogsworth didn't help matters. They stood with him beside the damp, smoking wreckage of the double doors and looked at him accusingly, though neither of them had yet managed to phrase their thoughts. In actual fact, Babette could tell that there was little she could do to make him feel worse. Cogsworth, though, was just lost for words, and eventually he found some.
"Well, Lumière. I think we've now gained a fairly clear picture of what happens when matters are left in your 'capable' hands. I'm all for speeding things along between the girl and the Master, but perhaps not increasing the pace so as to bring them quite this close to their graves."
Lumière shook his head. "There is nothing I can say, Cogsworth."
"Well, that's certain. You really did it this time, Lumière."
Lumière had drooped worse than the rose upstairs. "I know, Cogsworth. I know, and I am sorry."
Babette moved towards him. "Lumière?"
He didn't reply. Instead he moved away, quickly disappearing through the door that led to the servants' wing. Babette looked after him sadly, but knew there was no point in following him.
Cogsworth muttered something under his breath and walked into the ballroom. It had needed saying.
The Beast had stared open-mouthed at Mrs Potts as she related the story of Belle's general heroism. He owed a lot to her – more than he would be able to pay back. "She... saved my life?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, dear." Mrs Potts turned to look over at Belle. "She's certainly useful to have around, isn't she?"
"Y-yes," he spluttered. "Useful." He noted her position with concern. "Is she all right?"
Mrs Potts looked at him curiously. "I don't know, sir. Shall I go and see to her?"
He thought about it. "No, no," he said. "I'll go."