CHAPTER ELEVEN

Gaston Harcourt strutted into the French house, ignoring the shocked expression of the maid he passed. It had been more than a week since his violent encounter with the Beast in the woods; however the cane's marks on his flesh were still visible. The purple on his neck, back and upper arms had faded to a navy blue and every inch of his swollen flesh throbbed as his skin stretched across his muscles. His eye sockets were discolored as well, from when he collapsed to the ground. A solid rock had broken his fall.

He let most of Ashby society believe that he was indisposed and he threatened his own servants into secrecy. But he could no longer hide away at home, not now that Mr. Gold was officially his sworn enemy. Vengeance was on his mind; not only for the Beast but for Belle as well. His hatred for the lady almost outweighed what attraction he originally had for her, and nearly surpassed his hatred for the man.

The maid announced him to Maurice.

The older man clamored to his feet, his newspaper tumbling to the floor. His jaw dropped. "Gaston, what happened? Did an accident befall you?" He clutched his thick chest. "Were you able to rescue my dear girl? Where is Belle? Is she resting at your home?"

The blood rushed to his face, causing him to wince. The pressure felt hot as an iron. "I tried, sir. That Beast got to her first and ravished her." He raked his fingers through his hair and he cringed. His scalp and the roots of his locks was tender too. "I battled him the best I could, but as you can see, he fought dirty and used his cane on me."

Maurice moaned, casting his eyes heavenwards for assistance. "Lord have mercy on us! There is no other alternative; we will have to take her back by force." He lifted and dropped his shoulders, as though the fight was being wrung out of him. "Alert Sheriff Nottingham."

Gaston reluctantly listened while Maurice boorishly bemoaned the loss of his precious daughter. He fought the urge to roll his eyes and curse that girl's very existence. After Belle haughtily rejected him in favor of that crippled Beast, he could wait until the sheriff collected her and brought her back to the French farm. They would be engaged and married, of course, but the moment he got her alone in his chambers then he would claim what was his by right. She would pay dearly for all the trouble she had caused. Then she would know better than to cross him again. As for the Beast, he would make certain that foul fiend would be shipped off to Australia and never heard of again. Ashby would be free of his control and he would be no more than a black blot on their memories.

When the older man's simpering subsided and he had offered him the enough comfort, Gaston made his way down the hall, with the intention of going straight to Nottingham in Upper Ashby.

The silhouette of a woman flittered into the parlor, catching his eager, hungry eye. He stopped in place, his blood heating up at the sight of a skirt. It was the blondish middle sister, Patricia. She possessed a child-like cuteness, but in his opinion was not pretty per se. Were Patricia or the other one their father's special pet, he would have singled either of them out instead. At least Belle was beautiful; she had that in her favor. He would not be repulsed when he took her to his bed. Her beauty would be a small compensation for all of his trouble.

However, were his plans to go awry and somehow Belle managed to avoid marrying him, Marce could possibly settle everything on one of the other daughters. I must play my cards right.

Gaston pushed out his chest and marched into the room.

To his delight, Patricia was alone, giving him an opportunity to woo her. It would not take him too long. The girl was simple enough to be swayed by a few handsome smiles and ardent words. And maybe a little something more.

"Oh, Mr. Harcourt!" She exclaimed as soon as she laid eyes on him. The girl tossed her sewing down and bobbed over to him. "Thank the Lord you are here! I know you will right everything."

"I shall certainly do my best." His eyes roved over her sumptuous figure and reminded himself to behave. Or at least take his time. He dared to claim one of her hands and press it to his cheek. "Patricia, pardon me for saying this, but you look quite fetching in yellow. Lovely as gold." He fingered the delicate lace on her sleeve.

Unlike her priggish younger sister, the middle one seemed to relish in his touch. This was almost too easy. Much like a cat snaring a foolish little canary.

"If I didn't know better, I would say that you are flirting with me." Patricia batted her lashes at him and giggled.

"What if I am?" Gaston allowed his hand to travel down the length of her arm.

"What about Belle? Don't you love her anymore?"

"I have tried, the good Lord knows I have. Belle isn't like you, so sweet and angelic. Sometimes I think..." He released a heavy sigh.

"What?" The featherheaded little creature asked.

"Sometimes I think I chose the wrong sister." He stroked the side of her face and wound one of her curls around his index finger. "Good bye, dearest Patricia." He backed off.

Patricia fell for his ruse. "Wait..." She stuck her head out in the hall, ducked back inside and closed the door. She said, "I know I am not Belle, but please, consider me. I may not be as pretty, but I would make you a good wife."

Huzzah! Gaston cheered inwardly. It had been weeks since he had his carnal desires met. He hadn't called on Zelena in ages. When Mr. Gold confronted him about his connection to the harlot, he had to cut off ties until things were settled. And though this girl was a little blunt piece of nothing, he had to take what he could get. When he had the chance, he would make love to the older sister as well, to ensure her favor. That way, no matter what happened, he would win out in the end. The French land would be his.

He drew her into his embrace and quickly kissed her. Her lips were flimsy and wet. She was in need of much training. "There is no doubt in my mind that you would. If I had my way...Nay." He intentionally parted from her to increase her desire. "Let us not fall into temptation. But believe me, dear girl, if there is a way, I will find it."

Patricia jerked him back. "I believe in you." She smothered his face with kisses.

Gaston closed his eyes, to avoid seeing her frantic attacks. This has to be the easiest conquest I have ever made. He allowed his hands to explore her.

Soon enough, the deed was done.

Minutes later, he quitted the room whistling, satisfied that he had led her to believe that they had entered into a secret engagement.

#

Belle ordered herself to maintain her composure and walk poised like a lady, when she preferred to run. At least that is how her heart felt. It had skipped a few beats as of late. She couldn't explain her mood, but was she eager to see Mr. Gold. The more time she spent in his presence, the more she desired his company.

Her shoulders drooped when she did not find him sitting at the head of the table. While she was considered a servant, she and Mrs. Potts had begun to take their meals with him. In between chores, which were becoming fewer and easier, she toured his library and chatted with him. Not only did they exchange ideas on books, they discussed religion, politics and current events. Unlike her Father or Gaston, he actually listened to what she said and valued her opinions. Underneath that mask he continually wore, Mr. Gold was an intelligent, witty, charming and handsome man.

Weeks ago she never would have thought it possible, but somewhere along the way, Mr. Gold had become her friend. The other servants continued to give him a wide berth, trembling in his presence when they did encounter him, and he never treated them with the special consideration that he treated her.

She hastened to the kitchen in search for Mrs. Potts and unable to find her, she spoke to the cook. "Is Mr. Gold unwell? He is not in the dining room."

The Cook grunted, her gravelly voice full of venom. "The master said he wasn't hungry. Not surprising though." Her lips curled into a disgusted sneer. "It is difficult to keep food down after a night of drinking."

"Mr. Gold drinking? That does not seem right." She said.

Oh, he had his share of wine when he ate and a glass of Scotch in the evening, but no more than any other gentleman. In fact, her own Father consumed more libations than her employer. No, it could not be drink. He must be ill or in low spirits.

"Should we look in on him?" Belle asked.

"When he gets in one of these states, tis best to leave him be." The Cook was unconcerned and waddled back to the counter to knead her bread.

Belle surveyed the room and the other servants avoided her gaze. Something was not right and they seemed to unanimously decide not to inform her. Unlike the rest of them, she could not shrug off her concerns.

Her eyes fell on a bar of chocolate on the counter and she remembered how he had brought her a drink when she was upset. After the compassion he had extended to her, she had to return the favor. Perhaps she would unearth the mystery of what was going on. At the very least, he would know that he was not alone in this world and that he had a friend.

Belle waited a full minute outside the library, mustering her courage before knocking and entering without being welcomed. The curtains were drawn, the candles unlit and the room swathed in darkness. The fire had not been tended to and long died out. Nothing more than a wisp of smoke seeped out of the embers.

Mr. Gold was in his chair, dark shadows encircled his eyes, giving him a gaunt appearance. His lack of sleep and mussed up hair gave him the appearance of intoxication, but she knew him too well now to be fooled.

He slammed his fist on the desk and cursed. "Didn't Mrs. Potts tell you that I was not to be disturbed?" He pointed to the door. "Get out!"

He sounded as harsh as when she first met him. However, she did not find this daunting. Knowing that their relationship had changed, their new closeness unnerved him. He was only trying to scare her off because she had seen the real man behind the mask.

She placed the warm cup of chocolate in front of him. "I thought this might be helpful. Things never seem quite as bleak after a cup of chocolate." She added, "It cheered me up considerably the other day when you brought it to me."

"Belle, please." He softened a degree, his tone weak. "I am in no mood today to be around people and that includes you." He laced his fingers together. "Believe me, sweetheart, you don't want to be with me."

Belle studied him. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Is it Bae's birthday or the anniversary of his death?"

His head lowered and though she could barely discern the outline of his face, she knew he was crying. "Birthday. He would be nine." He said between choking gasps. "I can't face it, I can't function, I can't breathe."

Belle drug the candelabra close and lit it. The light it put off cast a halo on his moist face. He had rescued her and consoled her in her darkest moment, therefore she could not abandon him now.

"Mr. Gold, you are going through what is called the dark night of the soul. We all go through it. Believe me, hiding away won't make it easier. I have done that and it only made it worse." She reached across and grasped one of his trembling hands. It felt cold and clammy in hers, wetted by sweat and tears. "Why not visit that special place again? On today, of all days, it will be difficult, but it is a step in the right direction."

Her suggestion was met with silence. She began to fear that she had overstepped her bounds, as she did when she entered Bae's room.

"Would- would you accompany me?" His squeezed her hand affectionately. "Will you help me, Belle?"

"Of course." Belle nodded.

She was happy to do what she could. There was no easing the pain of losing a child, that was beyond her. She could only offer him assurance that he didn't have to endure this agony on his own.

#

The moment she saw the two white crosses, one big and one small, overlooking that small cliff, Belle gasped. She laid her hand over her heart. "Oh, my. I didn't know that Bae was buried here."

She had naturally assumed that Mrs. Gold and young Bae were buried in the church graveyard. Nearly everyone, rich and poor alike, who died in and around Ashby was interned there. At least those who were in favor with the church were welcomed to reside there for all eternity. However, Mr. Gold antagonized many of the townsfolk and local clergymen that it wouldn't have been a surprise to her if they had been refused a plot.

She quickly changed her mind though, recalling the beauty of the area. This was the Gold family's special place. The simple crosses suited his little family far more than extravagant monuments. He wouldn't have been able to freely mourn in the church graveyard. The locals would watch and make light of his suffering. Yes, this was far better.

Mr. Gold knelt down before the graves and brushed a few stray twigs aside. He kissed his palm and pressed into the moistened soil. "The last time I was here, the time before I brought you, I took up the old crosses. They were all rotted. I put these new ones out a few days ago." He placed the bouquet of red roses from the hothouse at the foot of the crosses.

"Tell me about your son." In her way of thinking, it was better that he talk about his memories than for him to pitifully wallow in them. It would be the beginning of his healing, the beginning of him to free himself.

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"Tell me what he looked like. Start there."

"Bae was four years old, with a messy crop of brown hair and eyes so light that they were golden. He was a wee, sickly thing. When he was born, he was small and frail, we didn't know if he would survive or not. Milah and I had to be watchful that he didn't catch colds. Though he was young, he was learning to read. He loved his fairy tales. He made me tell him the story of Rumpelstiltskin every night, though for the life of me, I don't know why."

Belle looked to the larger cross, the one that represented Mrs. Gold and felt a wave of pity. What kind of woman was she? Her employer rarely mentioned her. No one in the household spoke of her. She was as shadowy as her son. Almost like a spirit; one that was ever present yet could never be seen.

Belle could laugh at herself now for believing that Mrs. Gold had been murdered or locked away in an attic. Or had run out on her husband and lived in anonymity. Even so, from the few comments he had made, Mr. Gold implied that his wife did not hold to their vows and had many lovers, but the woman had been a good mother.

"What about Mrs. Gold?" She asked. "What is the story there? Did you love her?"

Mr. Gold exhaled. A flushed crept up his neck. "I cared about my wife... I loved her in my own way. Milah was better than I deserved. Um…we had known each other for years. Unlike most ladies, she didn't marry young. She was a confirmed spinster as I was a confirmed bachelor. Yet she wanted to have a home of her own and we both wanted to have children. Since we were old family friends, it seemed only natural for us to wed." He shrugged. "Early on, it was a good marriage; but after Bae was born she…she had lovers."

"I see." Belle said. "And since then, you have loved no one and no one has loved you?"

Mr. Gold shrugged, looking a little peeved due to the fact that she accurately guessed the root of his problems. He had been without love for too long. "Whatever was lacking between Milah and I, it was worth it, knowing the miracle we had created. That's the thing about children. Before you know it, you lose them." He smoothed out the soil, as though he were stoking his son's head. "My boy. One winter night, when he was small, there was a snow storm and the wind howled. Being in a dark castle, he thought it was a ghost. He crawled into my bed, and I can still hear his little voice: 'Papa. I'm afraid.' And I guess by instinct, I just said, 'Don't you worry, son. Everything's gonna be fine.' And he smiled at me and went right back to sleep lying on my chest. You know, that was the happiest moment of my life because for the first time ever, I felt like a man, that I could truly look after him, alone.' He was my happy ending."

Belle wasn't sure how to respond to that. She had no answers or real comfort to give. Perhaps all he really needed was a listening ear and to know that someone really did care about him.

He plucked one of the roses from the collection and using his walking stick he propelled himself up. "And you, Belle? Were you ever in love?"

"No. It never happened for me." Belle shook her head and hoped her disappointment wasn't too evident. It wasn't her nature to pine over silly things, however, she did want to love and be loved. "I have waited and waited, but he isn't coming."

She had begun to believe that the good man that her Mother had promised would come for her didn't exist. For a short period, in her youthful naïveté, she daydreamed of Gaston Harcourt as possible suitor. Well, not the real Gaston, but a storybook hero that resembled him. It didn't take long for that fantasy to die. As she watched her Mother suffer, she gained enough wisdom to know that Gaston was not the one for her. Of course at that time she had not yet realized the depth of his depravity. However, when her Mother died and she sank into her melancholy, she knew he would not have been able to cope with it. The man she married would have to help her face her sadness head on, without flinching.

Mr. Gold first smiled and that soon led to a small snort.

"What?" Belle demanded. "What did I say that you find so amusing?"

He waved her off. "Nothing. It's just, you have plenty of time. There is no rush, no need to settle. Better to wait."

She sensed that he knew something that she did not. Before she could ask what was making him chuckle, he walked towards her, holding out the rose. "Here, if you will have it." His brow was raised in uncertainty. "Thank you for being here for me."

Mr. Gold offering her a rose reminded her of the poem, "Roman de la Rose" where the knight declared his love to his lady by offering her a rose. Whether he realized the significance of it or not, didn't matter. It was a sweet gesture nonetheless.

She accepted it and breathed in the scent off its crimson petals. "What are friends for?"

"Ah, so we're friends now?" Mr. Gold cocked his head. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that in his own bashful way, he was flirting with her. "Good, I'm glad."

"I'm sorry for what I said." Belle looked at the rose and sighed. The simplicity of his gift made her feel guilty. He wasn't always pleasant, but he had always been honest. It had been wrong of her to resort to mean spirited tricks and destruction. Now was her moment of truth. "Mr. Gold, I have been misleading you. The bad meals, the broken trinkets, the spoilt laundry...that was all intentional." She held up her finger. "Except for the chipped cup and horse figurine in your son's room. That figurine truly was an accident, for which I deeply regret." She inhaled a deep breath. "I thought that you would have enough of me and send me home, that way you would be the one canceling our deal."

She counted the seconds until he lost his temper. To her astonishment, he didn't.

He merely nodded. "I know. Clever, though."

"Still, I'm sorry for all the trouble, Mr. Gold. I know it adds more to my family's debt-"

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure I deserved most of it. I tend to have that effect on women." Mr. Gold's soft eyes were fixated on her, particularly the lower half of her face. His lips pressed together.

Is there a fleck of dirt on me? Belle swiped her hand across her mouth and chin and her fingers came clean. "Is there something wrong?"

Her employer shook his head. "No, I was just thinking…wondering…" He offered a shy smile. A shadow of scruff followed the length of his jaw. "Would you consider- could you consider calling me by my given name, Adam?"

Her eyes widened. The use of Christian names in public was highly improper. In her opinion, using names in private was too intimate. No matter how many years they had been married, her parents never called each other by name; it was always Mr. French and Mrs. French! Only lately had it become the fashion amongst younger engaged and married couples to exchange such intimacies.

There was earnestness in his expression. He meant no harm by it. Besides, he had long since used her given name and it had never offended her. Au contraire, the way he said her name, it was like his burr was verbally caressing each syllable.

Belle said, "Of course…Adam."

The change would take some getting used to. However, his Christian name fit him better than his surname. It softened his sharp edges.

Adam held his arm out to her and escorted her back to the carriage.