Nine
Beau was awakened very late the next morning by a knock on his door. "Come in," he called, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Vaguely, he wondered if the princess had come to invite him to breakfast, but when the door opened, Mrs. Potts entered on a wheeled trolley.
"Have a good night's rest?" she asked cheerily, pouring hot water into one of the little teacup children; not Chip, this time, but a young girl, possibly a sister.
Beau sat up, staring in confusion. "What's all this?"
"Her Highness thought you might like breakfast in bed today," Mrs. Potts explained. "You must have quite an appetite after last night's adventure."
"Well, thank you very much," said Beau, pleasantly surprised. It was quite an excellent breakfast; eggs, bacon, toast with several kinds of jam, porridge, and all assortments of butter, sugar, and fruits. "You can tell her when she wakes up."
Mrs. Potts gave him a smile, nudging the girl teacup forward. "All right, Tilda, darling. Be careful, now, love."
The little cup edged shyly up, giving a small bob sort of like a curtsy, which nearly slopped the tea over the carpet. Beau nodded to her. "You have such well mannered children," he told Mrs. Potts.
"Oh, they're not my children," chuckled the teapot good-humoredly. "Goodness knows, I'm too old for that. But I do my best to have them brought up properly, so they're quite all right."
Beau hesitated, wondering if it was such a good idea to continue the conversation with one of the said little ones in earshot. "But, then, whose are they?"
It was Tilda who answered. "Some of us are the servants' children, but most of us are orphans, monsieur. We were taken in by Mrs. Potts after… when we first came here, monsieur."
Beau decided it was best to change the subject before anyone got uncomfortable. "Well, I thank you for the tea," he said to the cup.
Tilda blushed, then bobbed again. "Yes, monsieur."
"So, how's Lynn—I mean, her Highness feeling this morning?" he inquired, eager to hear.
"She's been doing well," replied Mrs. Potts. "She's asleep at the moment; we've been seeing to her injuries. She'll mend in proper time. You did a right good job, I must say."
"I'm glad to hear it," he sighed, unable to think why he felt so greatly relieved.
The next few days were cold and windy, but the skies were clear, so every morning Beau took Philippe for a walk around the castle grounds. These were not large, due to the fact that the castle itself was set practically on top of a small mountain, with a narrow, paved bridge leading to the road, on either side of which was a rather nasty drop over the precipice. Some time ago, the architect of the castle had wisely installed fences bordering the gorge, in the event of forestalling any untimely accidents, to which Beau was extremely grateful.
As he led the horse about, while Sultan, the little footstool-dog, romped happily through the snow, Princess Rosalynn stood at one of the balconies, watching them. Her arm, now healing well, was kept in a sling, tended every now and then by Mrs. Potts.
"I've never felt this way about anyone," the princess murmured one morning. Cogsworth and Lumière sat by, looking on with keen interest. "I want to do something for him," she said decidedly. "But what?"
Cogsworth tallied up a list. "Oh, there's the usual things; flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep; although, gift giving is usually from the gentleman to the lady…"
Lumière butted in. "Ah, no, no, it has to be something very special, something that sparks his interest." He thought for a moment; then, his wick flared. "Wait a minute; I've got an idea!"
Later that afternoon, Beau was greeted by a very eager Lynn, who had a very new sparkle twinkling in her eyes. "Beau, there's something I want to show you." With that, she hurried off, up the stairs and down a side passage, gamboling about like a kitten frisking after a string. Thoroughly confused, Beau followed, wondering what on earth this could possibly mean.
They went along a long corridor until they reached a large set of double doors. Here, the princess halted, positively bursting with excitement. When Beau caught up, she took him gently by the hands. "First, you have to shut your eyes," she told him. "It's a surprise."
Still confused, Beau did as she said. After checking to make certain he wasn't peeking, she led him through the doors into the middle of a dark room. "Wait here." Then, she bounded about, pulling open all the heavy drapes, letting the pale, watery sunlight flood the room.
Beau heard the sound and noticed the change. "May I open them?"
Lynn turned back to him. "Okay, now."
Beau opened his eyes. His jaw nearly hit the floor.
The room was enormous, nearly twenty feet high, perhaps forty from end to end. Every wall was covered with rows and rows of shelves, and every shelf was loaded with books of every size, colour, and category. Gold leaf, dusky leather, and creamy paper peered out from everywhere he looked. "I-I can't believe it!" he gasped. "I've never seen so many books in all my life!" There had to be at least a thousand or more, too many to read in a hundred years.
The princess grinned widely, eyes glowing. "You like it?"
"It's wonderful!" said Beau, still gazing all around with awestruck fascination.
"Then, it's yours," Lynn gushed.
Beau's heart nearly failed him. He turned, staring at her. "Are—are you serious?"
"Absolutely," she replied fervently.
Almost on the verge of tears of elation, Beau surprised her by throwing his arms around her. "Thank you so much!"
Half afraid, the princess returned the embrace as gently as possible. When they stepped apart, there was a new kind of light glowing in her eyes.
Unbeknownst to them, the servants were all standing outside the door, watching the transaction.
"Would you look at that!" sighed Mrs. Potts happily, noting the princess' new demeanor.
Lumière punched the air triumphantly. "I knew it would work!"
As the youngest member present, Chip was completely baffled. "What? What works?"
The others took no heed of him. "It's very encouraging," chuckled Cogsworth, rubbing his wooden hands together. "Quite an exciting affair."
"I didn't see anything," protested Chip.
Mrs. Potts nudged the teacup along. "Come along, Chip; there's chores to be done in the kitchen." Ignoring the lad's continued complaints, she ushered him off down the hall.
About a week after this significant event, Beau made a great decision. Until that point, he'd been having his meals either in the comfort of his room or in the kitchen. The princess had allowed for this, feeling it necessary to give him more time to adjust to his new environment. That having been done, Beau felt that it was time to brave the lion in its den; or, in this case, brave the beast in its den. That night, he informed Mrs. Potts, "If you please, could you tell her Highness that I will be joining her for breakfast tomorrow? I'd be really grateful."
"Oh? That's lovely," said Mrs. Potts, a little steam rising from her spout in her increased excitement. "I'd be happy to oblige. I look forward to seeing you."
"Thank you," said Beau courteously.
The next morning, Princess Rosalynn sat anxiously at one end of the long table, while Beau sat at the other. Breakfast looked positively scrumptious, with piping hot porridge, eggs, and toast, as well as a few cold dishes of fruit.
"This is fantastic!" Beau complimented Mrs. Potts, starting in right away. "You have my deepest thanks."
"Think nothing of it, young master," said Mrs. Potts modestly.
Beau raised his glass to Lynn, smiling. "Well, cheers."
Lynn returned the smile, then glanced apprehensively back at her plate. In all honesty, she had not eaten a meal with actual silverware for years, since her hands had long been too large to accommodate the tiny forks and spoons; and that was only when she'd ever eaten at an actual table, which was only when she'd felt inclined to eat at all. Most of the time, when she did eat, she'd resorted to eating with her face, which, most of the time, had never been disagreeable; it didn't help matters much that she always had her gigantic teeth to steer around. Yet now, something alerted her that it would not be considered the best of manners to eat with one's face in the presence of company.
Mrs. Potts was a noble soul; being aware of the present dilemma, she had taken the liberty of placing silverware at the princess' place. Noting the accommodation, Lynn carefully picked up the spoon with two massive fingers. It was, in fact, one of the largest soup spoons Mrs. Potts could find; in spite of that, it still seemed more like a toy, or a baby spoon.
Glancing up, Lynn saw that Beau did occasionally cast an eye in her direction. Flashing him another smile, she proceeded to dip the spoon into her porridge. Unfortunately, the vigor of her scoop against the bowl bent the spoon, which slopped its burning contents all over her hand. Dropping the spoon, the princess did her best to lick the porridge from her fingers without receiving further injury. After bending the spoon back, she tried again, this time much more cautiously. But she couldn't get the food off the spoon into her mouth without some difficulty; it was hard to see it, for one, and for another, once it was in her mouth, keeping it there and taking the spoon out again was a tricky business. Several loud slurps accompanied her efforts; and, even then, half of it dribbled down her chin. It was certainly a start, but it was hard. Perhaps a drink would be a better choice.
It was not. The fragile glass withstood the pressure from her grasp, but could not avoid getting stuck between her protruding, tusk-like teeth.
Trying not to scream, Lynn tugged at the glass as gently as possible, trying not to break it in getting it unstuck. Quite frankly, it was an unavoidable situation; halfway through, one side of the glass broke away, letting milk drip down onto the already sticky fingers.
Tears of frustration prickling in the corners of her eyes, Lynn unceremoniously dumped the rest of her milk into her porridge, thumping the glass back down to one side. At the other end of the table, Beau quietly observed her helpless situation, doing his best not to burst out laughing. What could he possibly do that would help?
He was suddenly struck with a whimsical idea. Taking his own glass, he poured his own milk into his porridge, creating a kind of soupy broth. Then, raising his bowl, he said, "Cheers" again and drank the concoction straight from the bowl. This was vastly encouraging, so Lynn proceeded to do the same. It succeeded wonderfully; for the porridge, at least. Breakfast that morning was not graceful at all, but it was a start.