CHAPTER 11

"A Fiendish Plot or Two"

Having always been an anxious horse, Philippe the Clydesdale awoke filled with terror at the slightest of sounds heard during the blackness of night.

In the bleak early hours of this particular morning, he panicked as he heard rushed footsteps accompanied by exhausted gasping breaths close in.

"Papa!" A voice called out, cracked and hoarse. Still, the voice was familiar, instantly recognised by Philippe's equine ears. His worry became joyful excitement as he trotted to greet Belle, whom he had not seen for several weeks.

Apparently, this excitement at their reunion was not returned by Belle, who was already throwing open the basement doors external to the cottage, as Philippe rounded the corner from his sleeping den to witness.

"Papa!" Belle called out again, her voice full of concern, as she lunged down concrete steps.

She halted dead in her tracks, however, once she caught glimpse of her father's limp form. He was lying face down on the chilled concrete floor, his skin tinged blue.

"Papa…?" Belle's voice was much softer now. She felt her chest tighten as panic surged through her, causing her body to tremble.

At the sound of his daughter's voice, Maurice stirred, ever so slightly.

Relief flooded through Belle instantaneously. Thank goodness he's still alive!

She raced over, kneeling beside her beloved father. "Papa… can you hear me? Are you alright? What… what happened?"

Maurice tried to lift his head, but was far too weak. He also failed to give an answer that was even remotely coherent, managing a mumble and a groan only.

"It's OK, Papa," Belle soothed as she placed an arm underneath his torso in order to help him to his feet. "It's OK… I'm… I'm back."

It was hours before Maurice regained complete consciousness, his wits finally returned to him. Belle had spent those hours mopping his feverish brow, cautiously dribbling water into his mouth, adjusting his pillows and blankets.

Now, as Maurice opened his heavy eyelids, he noticed his daughter sitting cross-legged on the floor, resting against his bed, her gaze intensely focused on the flickering flames of the fire ablaze within the humble fireplace that adorned the master bedroom.

Despite the joy of Belle having returned, and wondering about his own ordeal, amongst pondering about many other things, Maurice could not help but heed the first thought that entered his head. She only stares at the fireplace like that when she is distressed.

Although exhausted, and relieved knowing her father was likely to fully recover, Belle could not sleep. She was haunted, haunted by her own feelings, and by her bittersweet memories.

She felt guilty for leaving her father alone for much longer than intended, but also angry at him for not taking care of himself properly… and she then experienced more guilt for being angry at him in the first place.

Moreover, she was heartbroken, unable to stop replaying in her head, over and over again, the last moments she had shared with Ariel. The sadness in Ariel's eyes, the choked-back tears in her voice… She had been shattered by the revelation that Belle had to leave, and although Belle knew not the full extent as to why, she too shared that misery as if it were her own. She longed to return to the castle, to Ariel, desperately wanting to tell Ariel that everything was going to be alright… to ease her pain… to dry her tears… There has to be something more... something she's not telling me...

"Belle?"

Maurice's groggy voice instantly drew Belle's gaze from the crackling fireplace.

"Papa!" A relieved, encouraged smile grew across Belle's face. "You're awake!"

"And you're home!" Maurice croaked, also overjoyed. He half sat up, the colour almost completely back in his cheeks, his eyes now focused. "I was starting to worry."

Belle couldn't help but laugh gently as she rolled her eyes. "You were starting to worry, huh?" She sprang up to seat herself on the bed, leaned forward, and planted a kiss on her father's forehead. "I mean, what happened? I told you to be careful, to look after yourself properly, and…"

"Yes, mother," Maurice chuckled. "So, maybe I missed a meal or two. Or three… or four. But this new invention is coming along really well, and I wanted to finish it before…"

"Geez, Papa," Belle sighed, although she was still smiling widely. "I think someone needs reminding about who is the child and who is the parent here."

Maurice chuckled again, before pulling Belle toward him for a tight embrace. "I've missed you so much, my beautiful girl."

"I've missed you too, Papa," Belle whispered. Her guilt was rising, now becoming the dominant emotion in her tumultuous mixture of feelings. She broke the embrace and averted her gaze. "I… I haven't been gone that long."

"A lot longer than I thought you would be!"

Still unable to return her gaze to her father's, Belle quietly apologised: "I'm… I'm sorry, Papa."

"Hey, it's alright," Maurice dismissed with cheer in his voice. "I'm the one who's an old fool… not looking after myself… especially in this cold weather…"

This comment managed to bring a smile back to Belle's face. "Ah, so you admit it."

"Well, I never denied it!" Maurice laughed. "OK, OK. I get the point. I'm the parent, you're the child. You shouldn't have to look after me."

"It's OK," Belle murmured as she glanced downward. "I do it because I love you… and because I know you're trying to make life better for the both of us by working on your inventions all the time."

"Ah, but without you, my workshop assistant, I am nothing!" Maurice playfully teased.

Belle giggled and sighed "Whatever," in response.

For the first time, Maurice noticed a heavy mass near his feet, helping to warm them. Curled up upon the bed was Cheeky, half asleep, but keeping an eye on proceedings.

"Why, hello there Cheeky boy!" Maurice greeted. "I've missed you too, fluffy one."

Cheeky's growing purr made it obvious that he was pleased to see Maurice also.

Belle had turned towards Cheeky upon Maurice's mention of him, and she now gazed vacantly into the distance, her eyes forlorn, her expression troubled. Maurice noticed this, and thought back to when he had first awoke, remembering Belle by the fireplace.

"What is it?" He asked gently.

"Hmmm?" Belle turned back to face her father. "What is what?"

"What is wrong?" Maurice tried again. "Did something… happen at the castle? Did you ever meet that girl… uh, what was her name…"

"Ariel."

"Yeah… that's it. She… she wasn't mean to you was she?"

"What?" Belle almost laughed, before remembering that in the beginning, Ariel had not liked her very much at all. "Well… when I first met her… she wasn't… too happy for me to be there…" Belle's voice was very quiet, her posture slightly slumped.

"Yes, that's right… I remember the crab wasn't very fond of humans." Maurice chuckled to himself once he recalled his first meeting with the uptight Sebastian.

"Yeah," Belle agreed, almost in a whisper. "They were fine, though… once they knew I wasn't going to eat them."

"Hmmm… what about… Ariel?"

"What about her?"

Maurice wondered if Belle realised how vague she sounded. The girl they were referring to was supposedly a mermaid, how could he not be curious?

"Well… for one thing… did she… did she have a tail?"

"What?" Belle raised her voice a little, her brow creased slightly. Until, a very short moment later, she realised what her father had meant. "Oh, no. She doesn't have a tail. She's human… She's human, just like you and me…"

"Oh… OK." Maurice frowned, puzzled by his daughter's mood and reluctance to give details regarding her stay at the castle. He thought for a moment before gently adding, "Well, I guess she mustn't have been mean to you, otherwise you wouldn't have stayed there so long…"

"I told you, I wasn't gone that long!" Belle suddenly snapped, startling her father. Instantly, she regretted it, becoming wracked with guilt once more. "Oh Papa… I'm… I'm so sorry…" She placed her head in her hands. "I guess I'm just… really tired…"

"It's… it's OK." Maurice was not so much upset by Belle's outburst, but rather, concerned for her well being. "Hey, I'll be alright if you want to go and get some rest for a while."

"Actually," Belle sighed as she lifted her head to gaze out of a nearby window, "I think I'll go for a walk. Get some fresh air…"

It was nearly noon, not an overly bright winter's day but pleasant enough. There were some menacing clouds poised on the distant horizon, but it would be several days before they became a threat, or so Belle estimated as she noticed them.

"Well… if you feel up to it… there are some errands you can run in town."

Town. Belle disliked venturing there on a normal day, let alone being burdened with the mood she was currently in. Being surrounded by the everyday 'normal' folk only accentuated how different she was, and made her feel all the more isolated. And it would only be worse now… after all that had happened…

"Sure," Belle tried her best to smile. Going to town was, after all, a necessity. "I'll go and get whatever you need, Papa."


Belle couldn't believe her own naivety at the thought that a stroll through town might have possibly made her feel better. Sure, the crisp, fresh winter air that she deeply inhaled aided a little in clearing the sleep-deprived fog that clouded her mind… but being pelted with questions from every second villager regarding her recent whereabouts only roused her anger and impatience. And this was noticed, too; that Belle's temperament was not at its usual cheerful but eccentrically aloof state.

"Belle!" The baker had exclaimed as she had strode past. "Where have you been? Your father has been coming to town in your stead… is everything OK?"

"I'm fine," was all she had answered, barely lifting her gaze. "I've just been… away."

"She really doesn't seem like herself," one of the town gossips had noted. "Perhaps she has been sick?"

Now, in the midst of her errands, Belle stood at the entrance of the town bookstore. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had last visited her favourite place in town; and now, it no longer held the same esteem it once had. Not so much due to being spoilt for choice by the castle library that Ariel had given her, but rather because of the company she had shared whilst spending countless hours perusing the plentiful books there. Anywhere without Ariel now… just seemed so… empty.

Belle couldn't help but grow a wistful smile as she reminisced about one such time in that magnificent library.

Ariel had found a copy of Shakespeare's Hamlet, and for some reason, it had sparked her interest. She went on to flick through several pages, before shutting the book tightly and looking up at Belle with confused eyes.

"Ummm… did people actually talk like that once?" Ariel had asked.

"Why, yes."

Ariel hadn't seemed able to believe it. "Wow… really?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yea, verily."

"Oh, shut up," Ariel had then giggled before returning Hamlet to the shelf.

Belle let out a heavy sigh, dropping her head. It had not yet been a single day since they parted, but somehow, it felt much, much longer. An increasingly heavy burden of worry rested within Belle's chest. Sure, she had no more wanted to leave than Ariel had wanted her to go, but she had promised… she did promise to return. Why had Ariel not found any comfort in those words? Surely she would know, beyond any doubt, that Belle had every intention of keeping true that promise. Something… something just isn't right. There's something she's not telling meI just know it.

Unknown by Belle, who was too lost in her own troubled thoughts regardless, a startled villager had caught sight of her from behind, stopping dead in his tracks. He immediately began to stomp toward her, his fists becoming clenched.

"Belle! Where the hell have you been?"

That voice. That rich, booming voice. It shattered her thoughts like a hammer would glass. Slowly, dreading the upcoming conversation, Belle turned around to face he who had questioned her.

"Gaston."

"I was starting to think you were dead or something!"

"Well… I'm not," Belle shrugged as she stated the obvious.

"And that's good!" Gaston managed to flash his pearly whites at last. He was more annoyed with Belle for disappearing suddenly, especially when he had a plan he was desperately eager to put into motion, rather than concerned for her safety. "I've… missed you."

Judging by the tone of his voice as he had said the word 'missed', Belle guessed that there were two words edited from that sentence. Namely, 'leering at'.

Brazen as always, Gaston took a generous step forward and placed a hand on Belle's shoulder. "You know… you don't look so great. Which… is not a good look on you. Go home and get some rest… and I'll stop by later tonight to see how you're doing."

Before Belle had the chance to retort 'Not on your life', Gaston had promptly turned around and strutted off. There was no way for Belle to see the cocksure smirk grow across his face, or to know that his next intended destination was the Maison de Lunes to inform his cohort, D'Arque, of Belle's return.


"Is your tea alright, Papa?"

Maurice sighed. That must have been the third time Belle had asked that particular question. "Yes, my dear. Just strong enough, just sweet enough," he answered with a smile.

He was seated in the main living area, upon his favourite chair, a blanket draped over him for extra warmth. It was now evening, and the air was bitterly cold outside, warning perhaps that another snowfall was imminent.

Belle sat on the floor, adjacent to the room's roaring fireplace, and directly facing her father. Her knees were raised and she was leaning back a fraction, her weight supported by her outstretched arms behind her. Her sad eyes were, for the most part, transfixed on the lively, hissing fire.

Maurice was concerned for Belle's sombre mood, and very curious as to just what had transpired at that mysterious castle, but he did not want to push his daughter into speaking before she was ready. Largely, they sat in silence, Maurice trying to think of comforting but neutral phrases to say, Belle unable to think much of anything other than Ariel.

She had managed to nap for a few brief hours that afternoon, but Belle still felt listless and drained. Maurice had dozed most of the day away himself, still suffering from chesty coughing fits from time to time, but most certainly on the road to recovery.

Clearing his throat, Maurice glanced down into his hot, half-full mug of tea. "Belle, I… You know it concerns me when you stare at the fireplace like that."

Belle's eyes moved from said fireplace to her father. "Sorry." Then she gazed at the floor, her eyes starting to sting from the heat and the beginnings of tears. "I'm sorry."

"Please, stop apologising," Maurice gently insisted. "I just know that it means you're troubled, that's all. That something is bothering you…"

"Hmmm…"

"You haven't been yourself since you came home."

Home. Strangely, that description did not seem to quite fit. I'm… I'm not home. This doesn't feel like home… not anymore.

"Papa…?" Belle finally began in a whisper, her eyes cast downward. "I… I need to tell you something."

Maurice straightened in his chair, wanting Belle to know she had his full attention.

"I… I need you to know that… when you're better… and I mean completely absolutely better… I'm planning to return to the castle."

Maurice could not help but chuckle. "That's all? Why were you so worried about telling me that? It's OK, I understand."

"Actually…" Belle grimaced, and she felt her shoulders tighten. "I don't think you understand… completely. I mean… I'm planning to go back and stay there. Live there… permanently."

Maurice's eyes grew wide. "Oh…?"

"But I'll visit all the time," Belle's words became rushed now, as she looked up at her father with eyes full of guilt and anxiety. "It's not that far… really… And you absolutely POSITIVELY have to promise me you'll look after yourself…"

"Belle," Maurice finally cut in, "first I want you to tell me what happened."

"What… happened?"

"At the castle, silly!"

"Oh…"

Maurice laughed gently. "You seem so depressed… and I'm guessing now it's because you're eager to return there."

"No… it's not just that…" Belle's voice trailed off as she averted her eyes once more.

"Well, tell me, anyway… an ex-mermaid and talking sea creatures… how could I not want to hear about your time with them?" He smiled warmly at this daughter. "Come on, humour your old man."

Belle opened her mouth to speak, but only managed to say the word "I…" before falling silent again.

Maurice implored her with curious eyes. "Yes?"

The words were on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to say them… desperately wanted her father to know… and wanted to hear herself say them aloud. But somehow… she could not. She just could not bring herself to say those four words. She sighed, shutting her eyes tightly. I… I fell in love.

A short, sharp rap on their cottages' front door startled both father and daughter.

Relieved for the distraction, Belle exhaled audibly, before promptly standing up and moving toward the door to answer it.

Maurice eyed the front door of their cottage with confusion, wondering who could possibly be visiting at the current hour.

As her hand grasped the doorknob, Belle suddenly remembered Gaston's intention to visit, and groaned inwardly. It was not Gaston directly behind that door, however. Belle was surprised to see another figure there, a shadowy, sneering older man.

Belle's surprise soon gave way to the dislike she felt, almost passionately, for this man, an individual she was all too familiar with.

Crossing her arms defensively, Belle muttered the greeting: "Monsieur D'Arque. I trust this isn't a social call?"

"Ah, Mademoiselle Cartier," D'Arque spoke in his usual smooth, deep and chillingly calm voice, "it's been a while, hasn't it? But… come to think of it, I don't think I've ever been invited here for social reasons." He raised his eyebrows, casting a greasy smile that unnerved Belle a little.

Outwardly, her resolve was still cool and collected, however. "Well, when one attempts to incarcerate a nine-year-old child, one should not expect a welcome mat."

D'Arque shook his head slightly. "Ten years on, and you still haven't forgiven me. It's time to move on, my dear."

Feeling anger rise, Belle scoffed, glancing away. It was then that she noticed hordes of villagers sauntering toward her cottage. What? Why are they all here? She wondered, before her eyes found what the most likely reason was: the Maison de Lunes wagon. Most probably, townsfolk had seen the wagon venture by from their homes, and decided to follow, in the hope of witnessing a spectacle.

"What do you want?" Belle asked D'Arque abruptly, her tone harsh.

"Actually…" D'Arque drew the sentence out, enjoying the prolonged exchange with his one-time patient, "I've come to collect… your father."

"My father?" Belle raised her voice, as she threw her hands up. "What? Why?"

Maurice could hear all that was said, and slowly rose off his chair, before shuffling toward the door, panic rising in his chest.

"Apparently he's been making up stories about mermaids and talking sea creatures," D'Arque smoothly answered, keeping a straight face. "Why, he even said that you had gone to stay with these fantasy creatures in a castle on the other side of the woods."

The gathering crowd had caught D'Arque's words, and they began to snicker and titter, just as Maurice appeared beside Belle.

"Ah, here's the man himself," D'Arque teased. "Tell us all again, in your own words, what these sea creatures said to you?"

Silent, in the shadows nearby, Gaston watched his plan unfold with a smug grin.

Maurice looked up at Belle, who was herself staring out into the crowd, her mind obviously ticking over as she tried to conjure the possibilities of how to rescue her father from this unfortunate mess.

Stepping forward, Maurice began, in all seriousness: "The seagull spoke first. He was friendly and welcoming. But the crab didn't want me there, anywhere near his mermaid princess, and he ordered me to leave…"

The crowd burst into frenzied laughter. Maurice was only trying to explain himself, confident now that Belle was by his side. But still, no one would believe him.

"I'm not inventing this story. It's completely true!" He insisted, throwing his hands up. The cruel townspeople only guffawed harder. "Belle will tell you!"

Barely listening to her father or the crowd as her mind raced, Belle's eyes, at last, fixed on Gaston. He was lingering back from the crowd, semi-hidden in the shadows cast by other people's torches and by moonlight.

Furious, Belle raced down her porch steps, shoving D'Arque aside, and over to the grinning Gaston.

"Poor, misunderstood Belle. It's a shame for such a horrid thing to happen to you," he greeted in false concern.

"Don't offer me your pity," she snapped back, glaring at him. "Why do I get the feeling your presence here tonight is not mere coincidence? You're behind this, aren't you? What have you done?"

"Tsk, tsk. Accusations, accusations…" Gaston slowly ambled forward, stroking his great, chiselled chin. "Hmmm. But D'Arque and I are close fellows. Maybe, if I ask him nice enough, he'll let Maurice go. On one condition…" His voice trailed off and he narrowed his pale blue eyes.

With one hand placed on Maurice's shoulder in an authoritarian manner, D'Arque watched the nearby exchange between Belle and Gaston with a fierce gaze.

"And that is?" Belle asked impatiently, her anger rising.

"Marry me. Tomorrow, at noon. Everything is already taken care of—all you have to do is show up and say two little words: 'I do'." Gaston slid his arm around Belle's shoulders, certain she would agree.

"What?" Belle could not believe the arrogant insolence of this man. Almost violently, she pushed him away, shouting: "Not if you were the last being on earth!"

A little taken aback, Gaston stared at her for a moment. Then he shrugged, feigning nonchalance, before saying to her in a cruel voice: "Obviously you don't care very much about your father, then. But I'm sure the rats in the asylum will be happy to keep Maurice company! Unless of course, you would like to keep him company."

Before Belle had a chance to retaliate, she heard her father's voice call out: "Let go of me! Belle, help!"

At D'Arque's orders, several of Gaston's cronies had stepped forward to seize Maurice, and now, they had both of his arms gripped tightly, and were hauling him toward the asylum's wagon.

Thinking quickly, Belle pushed through the taunting and jeering crowd to momentarily retreat back inside her cottage. Within seconds she emerged again, grasping the sea-shell encrusted hand mirror that Ariel had entrusted to her. She had been reluctant to even look upon the mirror, let alone use it. Reminding her of Ariel, it only compounded Belle's misery. But now, its magical powers were needed…

"My father is telling the truth, and I can prove it!" She shouted so all could hear, the crowd falling silent upon hearing her words. Gaston snapped to attention, turning to face her with an intrigued but slightly worried look upon his face.

Knowing she now had the crowd's full attention, Belle demanded of the mirror: "Show me the mermaid who lives in the castle!" Then, she held the elegant hand-held mirror aloft for all to see.

As the mirror became enshrouded with a mystical glow, Gaston forced his way to the front of the hushed crowd. Standing just at the base of Belle's porch steps, he studied the image that appeared in the glass of the enchanted mirror, his eyes narrowed to a squint.

He, D'Arque, and the other townsfolk close enough could all see a pretty young woman with her head resting upon her folded arms, crying. They could only see Ariel from the torso up—they did not see that she had not a mermaid's tail, but human legs, and broke out into excited whispers.

"She's real?" D'Arque asked Gaston, who simply stared in disbelief.

"And what of the talking sea creatures?" A woman from the crowd asked Belle, who was now gazing sadly at Ariel's image.

Composing herself, Belle glanced back up at the crowd, and answered in a stern voice: "They're as real as she is."

The crowd gasped in reply, Gaston's men even releasing Maurice from their rough grip.

"Do you believe my father now? Now will you leave us alone?" Belle pleaded to the crowd, her voice now shaking slightly from emotion. She had become upset from witnessing Ariel in such a miserable state, and she was also very stressed by the current situation revolving around Gaston and her father.

Gaston was too self-assured to even feel humiliated that the plan had failed. Instead, he had already concocted a new plan, one that could make him a very rich man, if executed correctly… and one that could also aid in forcing Belle to become his wife.

"Sure, Belle. Your father is pardoned from institution," Gaston smugly began. "Right now, there's something far more interesting for me to turn my attention to." He stalked toward her, and Belle glared at him once more, not backing an inch.

Meeting her face to face at the top of the porch steps, Gaston's voice grew quiet, so only he and Belle could hear.

"I saw the look on your face a moment ago… You care about this mermaid, don't you? She's… your friend?"

"Yes," Belle answered, softening her glare none.

"Just as I thought," Gaston said, and in a lightening fast motion that Belle was unprepared for, he snatched the glowing hand-held mirror from her grasp and whirled to face the crowd.

"A mermaid!" He began to crowd, the townspeople now all listening to their local hero intently: "A real, actual mermaid! For years, we've been told these creatures don't exist!"

"What are you doing?" Belle asked in an alarmed tone, before demanding: "Give me the mirror back!"

In another unexpected motion, Gaston roughly grabbed Belle's arm with his free hand and threw her forward, so she tumbled down the porch steps. She rose to her feet quickly and prepared to lunge back toward the brutish man, but was quickly apprehended by two of Gaston's cronies.

"Get your hands off me!" She screamed at them—one a burly, bearded man, the other a tall, balding man with few teeth left—but they simply grinned at her with contempt. In her adrenaline enhanced state, Belle would have been almost capable of breaking free from the pair, and she struggled fiercely, the cronies battling to keep their grip of her arms. D'Arque sauntered over, wanting to keep a close eye on Belle.

Belle stopped struggling abruptly when she noticed Gaston slowly walking down the porch steps and toward her. He stared at her for a moment, before re-addressing the awaiting crowd.

"Our humble village has stumbled upon the opportunity of a lifetime! Think about it: if we capture this mermaid and her talking sea creature friends, we'll be an even more popular tourist destination than Paris!"

The crowd cheered in jubilant agreement, Gaston waving to them in a victorious manner. "I will gather a small group of men, and in no time, we will bring you these wondrous creatures!"

The crowd cheered again, louder than before, with many people whispering excitedly to each other.

"We'll all be rich!"

"Everyone in Europe will want to visit here!"

"I can't wait to meet this mermaid!"

These were just a few of the phrases that Belle could hear as she stared at Gaston with livid eyes. She was again simply astonished by Gaston's audacity, and what he was proposing: to capture and enslave Ariel as some sort of tourist attraction, largely to feed his selfish, money-hungry desires.

"You can't be serious!" She scowled at him, becoming unable to find the appropriate words to express her disgusted fury, stammering: "You… you…"

"Now, Belle," Gaston began quietly as he moved closer to her, "surely you must know that you have a special role to play in all this. Capturing this mermaid will make me her owner… and you're her friend, aren't you?"

Belle averted her scathing gaze as Gaston continued: "Certainly you'll want to make sure that she's properly looked after? That she isn't… treated badly? Well, unless you're always there in some sort of caretaker role—as my wife, for example—I can't guarantee that I'll treat your mermaid friend very well."

Gaston flashed his pearly whites in a chillingly sinister manner. He was certain from Belle's continued silence and averted gaze that he was triumphant this time—Belle would have to accept his conditions.

She struggled again in a sudden burst of energy, trying to shake the cronies free. But Gaston distracted her once more by snatching a torch from a nearby villager and passing it to D'Arque.

"Of course, until we have the mermaid and her friends securely captured, we can't have you causing a scene…"

With those words, Gaston winked at D'Arque, who seemed to understand immediately. He grew a wicked smile, his eyes sparkling as they fixed on Belle.

"Sweet dreams, Belle."

"Why, you…"

Before Belle could finish her enraged sentence, D'Arque walloped her across the back of the head with the thick unlit end of the torch, and immediately for Belle, everything faded into black.