CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Gaston Harcourt snapped his telescope closed and cursed aloud, his panting breath forming into white curls on the frosty air. In a distance Belle and the Beast was strolling arm in arm together, exchanging adoring looks. Whatever animosity that had existed between the two before had long since vanished. One would speak and then the other would laugh. She would kiss his cheek and in return he would plant a kiss in her palm.

Their little amore was revolting.

A few weeks ago, Maurice had confided to him that he thought the Beast was in love with Belle…Upon hearing that, Gaston belted out a hearty laugh. He figured Maurice's imagination had gotten carried away. Oh, he wouldn't be surprised to hear that Mr. Gold used his high station to have his way with the girl. What man in his position wouldn't if he had the opportunity? What master didn't sleep with a maid now and then? But the Beast was too harsh and too old for falling in love.

However this… this sickening display of affection confirmed Maurice's fears. Unfortunately now it seemed that she returned his affections.

Despite all of Gaston's past efforts, from involving her father to spreading rumors about them in town, they were bound to each other. None of it made sense. How could someone as lovely as Belle fall for a man like Gold? The Beast was twice her age, ugly as sin and dull as powder. What did she see in him that no one else could?

He released a string of oaths, shuffling his newest boots in the pebbles of the road. A creamy smear stained the bottoms, though he didn't care. His servants would tend to them; after all that is what they were for.

A tall man in plain clothes trekked from the slanted field, passed a ditch and into the road. "Gaston?" Keith Nottingham addressed him. "Are you all right?"

Gaston slid the collapsed telescope into his coat pocket and nodded. "Of course. Did you get it?"

"Aye. Do you have the money?" The man lifted his chin.

"Of course." He probed around in his pocket until he found the roll of pounds. He slapped the sweaty papers into the man's hand. "Should this suffice?"

Keith's mouth hung open as he counted the bills. His stagnant breath could curl someone's eyebrows back. The man could not keep away from the bottle. But he was a friend and conveniently the sheriff in these parts, and if the price was right, he would do Gaston's dirty work.

Keith poked the money into the sleeve of his boot. From his side, he drew out a horse pistol and flung it to Gaston. He rattled off a slew of information regarding the weapon.

Gaston was too engrossed in his own thoughts to pay attention. He wasn't sure when he made the leap from wanting to imprison the Beast to killing him. Perhaps it was when Belle proclaimed to him and her father that she was staying with Mr. Gold as his companion because she wanted to be with him. Only then could Gaston admit that he could never win Belle's hand and her heart would not be easily affected. Not with that wicked being in her life. Still, taking a man's life was a big stretch, even for him. But considering all the evil and pain Mr. Gold had caused, in the end he would be doing the whole of Ashby a favor. In the end, the world would thank him for vanquishing evil from this world.

A cough seized Keith. He spat out a string of phlegm. The man had no couth. "This model can be ordered through the catalog." He put his large hands on his large hips. "Even that gent Nolan sells it. Cheaper too."

"I prefer that this transaction stay between you and me." Gaston said. "This will be perfect. Thank you." He tipped his hat, hinting to the man that his presence was no longer required.

Keith had begun to ramble off when he turned back and sniggered, "You aren't planning on killing anyone, are you?"

"Just a beast." Gaston said, marveling at the weapon.

Back home he had plenty of rifles that he could use, however he didn't wish for it to implicate him. Which was precisely why he used Nottingham to purchase the horse pistol. If Nottingham did speak up, who would believe him? He was a drunken lawman who was easily bribed. Everyone was aware of this. If his original plan failed, at the very least this weapon would lead back to Nottingham.

I will get off scot-free. Gaston thought. And we shall be free of that beastly Scot.

He waited until the man was no more than a blurry blot down on the road when he took the gun out and extended his arm. The barrel was pointed directly at Mr. Gold. If he wished, he could kill him now and escape without anyone being the wiser. Belle would be too hysterical to figure out the truth. With as many enemies as the Beast had, no one would be able to pinpoint the murderer.

One shot to that Scotsman's head and it would all be over.

He lowered his arm and tucked the gun into a sack. From years of lessons and practice, his aim was truer than anyone else's in Hampshire. However, the slightest change in a breeze or a sudden movement of the target, and it could throw everything off. He couldn't risk shooting Belle. If that happened, Mr. Gold would may him pay for sure.

"Soon Beast, you will be no more." Gaston growled and headed for home.

The opportune moment would present itself, God willing. Then everything would be as it should be. Perhaps once he sold off the French farm, he could purchase the Beast's home outright and make it his own.

#

Maurice waddled through the Main Street of Ashby, squeezing past a wagon full of newly harvested squash. Lord in heaven, why are you not answering my prayers? He ought to be used to it by now. The Almighty had not responded to any of his petitions for the last few years. Still, he must keep the faith no matter what, as his darling wife Mrs. French often reminded him when she was living. During her final moments, she had encouraged him to trust in the Lord.

The latest meeting with the constable proved fruitless. The lawman repeated what he had said before. Though Mr. Gold attempted to force his daughter into servitude, no charges could be brought against him because Belle claimed that she was his companion and was now there on her own volition. The idea of his youngest girl sullying herself with that Beast made him physically ill. His nerves had led to a dull ache in his neck and shoulders, one that would not desist.

He slowed his pace to catch his breath. He was beginning to show his age, but no matter the state of his health, he couldn't let that hinder him now. His daughters needed him. What would become of the poor wretches when he was gone? There was no extended family who could take them on. When Gold was through meddling with Belle, she would need a place to come back to. Though he had told her that he could never see her again, he only said that to frighten her home. It never occurred to him that she would chose that Beast over her own family.

"Mr. French!"

Maurice surveyed the area until he spotted a woman near his age, or a little older, rushing towards him. He had seen her before, but couldn't place her.

She fanned her handkerchief close to herself. "Do you remember me?" she asked.

Her round face, though wrinkled by age and a few wrinkles, was sweet and open. In her youth, she must have been a prettyish sort of creature. The woman's tiny hands clasped together as though folded for a prayer.

The last time he had seen this kind lady was when he last called on Mr. Gold. She was one of the servants. The housekeeper, he believed.

Maurice touched the brim of his hat. "Of course, Mrs. Potts. How are you? How is Belle?"

"I am fine and she is doing well too." She tipped her head. "You must miss her greatly."

"It tears me up inside that she is suffering." He almost brought his fist to his mouth, but stopped, remembering his manners. The last thing he wanted was to appear uncouth before this woman.

"She isn't suffering, Mr. French." As if encouraged by his candor, Mrs. Potts took his arm and began to lead him off. The warmth of her surged through him. It had been more than a year since he felt a feminine touch. "She is being cared for. In fact, I think Belle is happy."

"How can you say such a thing, after what Mr. Gold has done to her?" Marce felt his heart palpitate wildly at the thought of his daughter alone and ruined. That was not the path her beloved mother had chosen for her. "Certainly a woman as godly as you can detect his wickedness."

"I do confess, sir, that I originally thought Mr. Gold was wicked. However, Belle has brought out the good in him. She humanizes him."

"Nothing can humanize that Beast. Not even the Lord Himself. Some souls are destined for hell with no chance of redemption. Please, Mrs. Potts, do send Belle my love." He grasped her hand and hung onto it for dear life. He had to make her understand that this was a desperate situation, that lives were at stake. "Assure her that we have not forgotten her and we will rescue her. Please encourage her to leave her life of sin and return to us."

Mrs. Potts blinked and sighed. "What a good father you are, Mr. French. I wish my dearly departed children could have had such a good man in their life." She added. "What love you have for your daughters."

The longer he looked at Mrs. Potts, he found it difficult to believe that she was older. Her hair was white and she had plenty of lines, but there was a youthful exuberance about her. He wished that he knew her better. She could be a great friend. But, alas, she was sequestered at that odious man's home. Only her age protected her from the same scandal that Belle had fallen prey to.

"What happened to Mr. Potts? How did you end up working for the likes of Mr. Gold?" He asked. "I would think him that last person you would want to serve."

"Mr. Potts left me after our three children died. He died not long ago, though for years we were estranged. Since he ran off, I needed to find a way to make an honest living. I worked in various homes as a housekeeper. When Mr. Gold and his wife married, they hired me and I have been there ever since." There was no malice in her words. Any other woman, including the godliest of ladies, would have been eaten up with bitterness, but she seemed optimistic despite the tragedies that she had faced. "The truth is, Mr. Gold wasn't what he is now. Oh, he wasn't affable the way most people are, but it is only the last three years that he has…well, if you knew him, you would understand."

"How remarkable that you did not wed again." Maurice said off-handedly.

The apples of her cheeks grew rosy, making her look years younger. "I never encountered a man that I could marry." She shrugged and then asked, "And you? Will you remain single?"

"I hadn't thought about it. Until now." He nodded to her. "Good day, Mrs. Potts."

"Good day, Mr. French." She continued on to the north end of the town.

Maurice felt another flurry of palpitations. This time, however, he knew it was not related to his nerves. He remembered that peculiar sensation; he had it when he had first met his wife. No one measured up to his dear Mrs. French and no one ever would. However, he had to wonder if he was meant to be alone for the rest of his years. Perhaps he was meant to marry again.

After all, what did the Good Book say? "…let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn."

#

Following their afternoon excursion outdoors, Adam and Belle agreed that they weren't in the mood for a large meal. The only thing they required was to sit on the rug before a roaring fire and watch the flames dance.

As soon as the parlor door closed and their privacy was ensured, Belle removed the pins from her hair and allowed her tresses to lie on her shoulders. Ladies did not let their hair fall freely, not even in the isolation of their own homes. Adam longed to run his fingers through her curls, but curbed his desires. The last time he had felt her locks was the day at Ashby pond, when Gaston assaulted her.

While her back was to him and she was stirring the embers, he massaged his lame limb in the area it had been broken decades before. Since his knee cap had not properly mended, it was prone to aches, especially his joint, in the colder weather. He hated to admit it, but arthritis was beginning to take effect. The last thing he wanted was for her to know. She might remember that he was a good twenty years her senior and come to her senses.

Belle whirled around. "I have an idea." She gushed, dropping down beside him. "We could order bread and cheese as a meal. You sandwich the cheese between two slices of bread and stick it on a poker and melt it together over the fire. It sounds plain, but it's quite good."

"I am willing to try anything once." Adam said, reaching for the bell and rang it. After he gave the instructions to the butler, the man gave them a perplexed look, but rushed off to fetch it. "Is this bread and cheese meal something you have a lot with your family?"

"Not anymore." A wave of melancholy chased away her giddiness. She toyed with the fringe on her skirt.

Before he could ask her what troubled her, the butler returned with a plate piled high of bread and cheese.

Adam fashioned the bread and cheese on the end of the poker as she had described and let it toast over the blaze. "All right, why not anymore?"

Belle took a deep breath and sighed. "It was something my Mother did. Whenever Father was working late in the fields or he was on business in Ashby, Mother would have us sit by the fire and make this meal. She would read to us from the novels of Madame d'Arblay and Maria Edgeworth as we partook." Her lips trembled. "We haven't had this meal since before she died. I didn't have the heart to fix it myself and I don't think my sisters enjoyed it half as much as I did."

The first sandwich was ready and he removed it from the prongs, disregarding the heat that penetrated from it. He blew on it and gave it to her. She thanked him and nibbled the crust of it.

He was cooking the second, debating on whether or not to broach the subject of her mother. Before Belle had confessed her struggles with melancholy after her mother's death, he had assumed that she had not been close to her mother. He was relieved that they had a good relationship, and it had not been like the one he had with his father. Still, it did not explain as to why she was unusually quiet on the subject.

Adam removed his portion from the poker and waited for it to cool. He didn't wish to cause her pain, but he figured it would be better for her to talk about it. He had begun to heal when she encouraged him to reminisce about Bae.

"Belle, why do you never speak of your mother?" He noticed her outward cringe and claimed one of her hands, rubbing the top of it with his thumb. "You talk of your father and sisters, but never Mrs. French. I have never heard any harm of her."

"Her death still affects me." Belle sniffed. She laid her sandwich back on the plate and inched closer to him. "A year has passed but it might as well have been yesterday. We were close; she called me her right hand. I think she sensed that I was prone to melancholy. My full name is Isabelle, but she was the one to give me the pet name of Belle. Then it caught on."

Isabelle. He never would have guessed. As lovely as the name was, he too preferred to use her pet name. Belle meant beauty and she was a beautiful person, inside and out.

"That suites you. Belle of the Ball. Tell me more." Adam saw she was beginning to falter and guided her chin upwards. "You can do it, I know you can. Think of your favorite memory of her. One that warms your heart and makes you smile."

"Every morning she would rise early and pray for the three of us girls and before we began our studies, she would read to us from the Scriptures." She glanced over to the chaise lounge, where her Bible was and gestured to it. To Belle books were priceless treasures and that one was the greatest of all. He had known many a clergymen who did not revere the Good Book so highly. "Mother cherished her Bible. It is the only thing I have of her. Eloise and Patricia divided all of her other belongings between them, but I grabbed on to that. As long as I have it in my possession, nothing else matters. That Bible has her thoughts penciled in the margins and on blank sheets of paper, she wrote letters to us not long before she died. It was only after her death did I discover the one she had written for me."

The more he heard of her, Adam found himself wishing that he had been introduced to the late Mrs. French. She sounded like a fine lady, if there ever was one. She had to be to have raised such a lovely daughter. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how a man as ridiculous as Maurice won his wife's heart. Love must be blind. He concluded. After all, there is no accounting for Belle to love me. Perhaps the late Mrs. French was able to wisely influence her husband. With her absence, the man fell prey to his inborn ignorance.

"How did she die?" Adam whispered, thinking if he kept his voice low it would cause her less heartache.

Belle rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel her tears seeping through his cotton shirt and into his skin. Warm as heated bath water. "Scarlet fever. At least that is how it began, three years ago." Her words were garbled by emotion. "She had heard of a family struck down with it. Believing it her duty, she went to nurse them. It wasn't long before she was ill."

Adam had been unconsciously stroking her hair, and relishing in the intimacy of the moment. He let his hand go slack. A breath was lodged in his throat. No, it couldn't be… Three years ago it was his family who had contracted scarlet fever and were struck down. His wife and boy lay dying and the doctor was in the next town. He had a faint memory of a woman nursing them, some farmer's wife, but after Milah and Bae passed, the woman left. It never occurred to him to find out who she was; it had never been important.

Please no! Anything but this! Adam pleaded within himself.

"Mother almost died then but she survived the fever. The sickness weakened her and her heart gave out last winter." Belle leaned back and said, "When I lost her, I felt like I lost the only person who was on my side. She was the only one who ever fought for me. Except for you." She kissed him and laid her head on his chest.

He brushed his lips on the top of her head and encircled his arms around her waist. A heavy weight pressed into him and he knew it was not because of her. It was guilt. At long last something finally weighed heavy on his conscience.

Adam swallowed. "The sick family, did you meet them?"

"No. They never thanked her or paid their respects after she died. I was furious about that; I blamed them for her death." Belle said. There was a hard edge to her words, one that slice through his heart.

"What- what would you do if met that family?" He had to ask. He couldn't stop himself, he had to know. "Do you think you could forgive them?"

"I really don't know, Adam. Does it matter?" Belle shrugged. "Do you mind if we change the subject? I don't want to think about them right now. They're not worth it."

Minutes passed.

When he looked down again, Belle's eyes were closed and she was dozing against him. Droplets had dried on her cheeks. She looked angelic and fit perfectly in his arms. If only he could bask in this moment. Unfortunately, happiness was not for him. Just when he thought it might be attainable, it slipped through his fingers.

Adam looked over at the Bible. Its presence in the room was unnerving. If there was a God, He was glaring down on him, passing judgment on his despicable soul.