Chapter Twenty-Five
November 2nd, 1757
Belle lay on a makeshift bed as an older, taller boy pressed a pillow to her face. A boy her age, dressed in a long, brown robe, rushed into the room and spoke to her for a few moments before she took her final breath. The taller boy fell over Belle's body and began to weep. Another boy stabbed the boy in the dress in the back with a long stick, before the taller boy stabbed himself in the heart. Belle sprang back to life, along with the boys, and they each took a bow. Maurice leapt out of his seat and applauded wildly.
Belle had become acquainted with a small group of people around her age who were regulars at the library near their house. They often got together to discuss the books they had read. Occasionally, they would put on plays and perform them to a small crowd that mostly consisted of their parents and a few other family members. Belle was the only girl of the group so she was always given the large female roles, while the other women's roles were played by some the scrawnier boys in dresses and shawls.
"What did you think, Papa?" Belle asked, rushing forward to embrace her father.
"I didn't understand a single word, but you were wonderful," Maurice told her, beaming with pride.
"Shakespeare's plays should always be performed in English," said Belle. "Translating them ruins the beauty of his prose. I'm sorry, Papa. I hope you still understood it."
"I managed to get the gist of it," said Maurice, smiling. "I remember your mother and I went to see a Shakespeare play together before you were born. What's the one with the two kids who think they're in love with each other, but their families hate each other?"
"You mean Romeo and Juliet? You don't think they really loved each other?" asked Belle, frowning.
"Of course not. They were just children. And they knew each other for about two days before they got married."
"But it was love at first sight, Papa! You said that loved Mama from the moment you saw her!"
"It was more of an infatuation than love, really," said Maurice. "I was attracted to her beauty and grace at first, but I don't think I began to truly fall in love with her until I realised how intelligent and kind she was. You'll understand when you fall in love."
A pained look came over Belle's face. She touched her stomach gently.
"Something wrong, Belle?" asked Maurice, concerned.
"My tummy hurts a bit," Belle replied softly, pressing on her lower abdomen with one of dainty, slender hands.
"We should get going then," said Maurice. "It's getting late anyway."
Belle quickly said good bye to her friends and started to lead her father towards the exit.
"Au revoir, Monsieur Lafont," she called to the librarian.
"Good bye, Belle," the librarian, an old, wizened little man with a long, white beard that reached the floor, called back to her. "Remember, you've got twelve books due back next week."
As they left the library and started walking down the darkened street, Maurice noticed a group of men who couldn't be any younger than twenty-five, staring at his daughter, their eyes gleaming lustfully. He frowned. Maurice knew that look too well. He shot them a glare. He'd always told himself that he would never be one of those overprotective fathers who disapproved of any boy who even looked at their daughters, but he couldn't help it. Perhaps it was just because the idea of anyone having inappropriate thoughts about his little baby girl disgusted him, but he honestly wouldn't have minded so much if it was just young boys looking at his daughter. That was not the case, however. Some of the men he had caught staring at Belle had to be even older than him!
He'd always known that Belle would have an abundance of admirers when she matured. She was her mother's daughter, after all. He just hadn't expected it to happen so suddenly. About a year ago, just a few months her fourteenth birthday, Belle had gone through a massive growth spurt. Her figure began to fill out and and she grew a good five inches seemingly overnight. The men who barely even noticed her before now couldn't take their eyes off her. The women who used to coo over her and tell him what a cute daughter he had now eyed her enviously. Thankfully, despite having just celebrated her fifteenth birthday, Belle had not yet developed an interest in the opposite sex, aside from a few brief infatuations she'd had with the heroes of her storybooks, and barely even noticed the way people now looked at her. She still spent most of her time reading, though she would often saddle up Philippe and ride him out to explore the fields and streams just outside of the city.
Belle and Maurice went to bed as soon as they got home. The next morning, Maurice woke up just after the sun rose and went downstairs to start making breakfast for Belle and himself. He had just started filling up two bowls with warm porridge when Belle came running in. Her face was red and her eyes were full of tears.
"Papa!" she screamed, leaning down to bury her face into his chest.
"Belle, calm down! What's wrong?"
"I'm dying, Papa," she sobbed.
"Dying?" repeated Maurice, raising an eyebrow. "What happened? Are you sick?"
"I woke up and there was blood all over my sheets," Belle wailed. "And it feels like a thousand knives are stabbing me in the tummy. What's wrong with me, Papa? "
"Oh." Maurice felt all the blood rush out of his face. "Don't worry, Belle. There is nothing wrong with you. That's normal."
"Normal?" Belle repeated, blinking. "Does it happen to everyone?"
Maurice bit his lip. If only there was an older woman around he trusted enough to sit down and talk to her. Celine and Walter were visiting his family in England, and he couldn't imagine dear old Madame Bisette next door talking the most private aspects of a woman's life. Suddenly, an idea struck him!
"I will be back in a minute," Maurice told her, setting one of the bowls down on the kitchen table. "Just sit there and eat your breakfast."
Maurice quickly rushed through the streets and towards the library. Belle would probably feel a lot more comfortable learning this stuff from a book than from a woman she barely knew.
"Ah, Monsieur Desrosiers," exclaimed Monsieur Lafont, greeting him with a kind smile. "Belle's not here, if you're looking for her."
"She's at home," said Maurice. "I was just wondering if, uh, well..."
"Yes?"
"Do you have any books on female anatomy?" Maurice blurted out.
Monsieur Lafont raised an eyebrow.
"For my daughter, not me," Maurice said quickly. "She's, uh, becoming a young woman."
"Oh, little Belle is growing up, huh?" said Monsieur Lafont, grinning.
"Don't tell her I told you that,"said Maurice, his face turning pink. "I embarrass her enough already. So do you have any?"
"I don't think we do," said the librarian. "The bookseller down the street might have something, though."
"Oh," said Maurice, frowning. "Well, thank you anyway."
Maurice turned and sidled towards the door.
"Oh, Monsieur Desrosiers, wait!" called Monsieur Lafont just before Maurice stepped out the door. Maurice turned around to face the librarian. "Belle is fifteen now, right?"
"Yes, her birthday was just a few days ago, actually," answered Maurice.
"She's turning into a lovely young woman. The image of her mother."
"She is a beautiful girl, isn't she?" Maurice agreed proudly.
"My assistant quit recently, and I've been having a bit of trouble keeping up with all the work I have to do," said Monsieur Lafont. "Perhaps Belle would like to come and work here for a few days a week? I cannot afford to pay her much, of course."
"That does sound like something Belle would enjoy. I will ask her," Maurice promised him.
He raced down the street to the bookseller where he found the book he needed almost immediately. He snatched it up quickly and approached the counter victoriously.
"That will be five livres," the bookseller told him.
Maurice dug a hand into his pocket, pulled out a handful of coins, and frowned. He had been saving up to buy a new set of tools. The ones he had now were rusty and ancient. But that could wait. Belle was more important. Maurice quickly rushed home and pushed the book into Belle's hands.
"Read this," he instructed.
Maurice washed Belle's nightgown and sheets and hung them out the window to dry. He retrieved a box of cloths and sponges that Sofia had used during her monthly bleedings from the bottom of her old wardrobe, placed it on Belle's bed, and rejoined his daughter in the living room.
"Do you understand everything now, Belle?" he asked.
"I think so," said Belle, closing the book. "So, to have a baby, a man and a woman have to-"
"Yes, Belle," Maurice said, quickly interrupting her. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with his daughter. "Whatever you read in that book is true. I'm sorry, little doe. I'm just not good with these things."
"I wish Mama was here to talk about this stuff with me," Belle murmured sadly.
"So do I, Belle," Maurice sighed, embracing his daughter into a warm, comforting hug. "So do I."
Acantha tossed one last pinch of nightshade into the pot, and the bubbling liquid concoction inside turned a magnificent shade of blue.
"Are you coming, Acantha?" asked Xanthia.
"You two go ahead," Acantha told her sister. "I'll be there in a minute."
"What are you making?" Xanthia asked.
"Nothing," Acantha said shortly. "Go away."
Acantha turned back to the stove top and poured the blue liquid into a small vial. She hid it in her cleavage, said good bye to her parents, and took off down the street towards the tavern.
She had come to realise that her parents were not quite human quite a while ago, but had kept the knowledge to herself. The three sisters had slowly drifted away from each other over the years as they developed their own interests and identities. Xanthia had discovered a talent for dressmaking. In addition to making all of her own clothing, the women of the village paid her a lot of money to make and design dresses for them. Phaedra had an adventurous streak and spent her time exploring the forests and hills around their village, and would often drag Xanthia along with her. Instead of accompanying them, Acantha would stay home and read the magic books that she managed to sneak out of the back room of her father's shop.
They did still have one common interest, however: Gaston. The three girls would spend hours following the hunter around and swooning over him. He was all they talked about when they were together. Their parents had reluctantly allowed them to start working as barmaids at the tavern when they turned seventeen. Last week, she had discovered the recipe for a love potion in one of the books she read and had decided to use it on Gaston. She had found the ingredients she needed in her mother's garden and had started making it that morning.
Acantha waited for her chance to slip the potion into Gaston's drink all night. It finally came when Gaston pointed to Xanthia and yelled, "Phaedra!"
"Xanthia," she corrected him.
"Right," muttered Gaston. "Bring me another stein of beer," he ordered.
Xanthia picked up Gaston's empty stein and started walking towards the counter.
"Don't worry, Xanthia. I'll do it!" said Acantha, snatching the stein out of Xanthia's hands.
"But-"
"I said I'll do it, Xanthia!" Acantha growled forcefully.
Acantha filled up the stein, quickly slipped the potion into it, and brought to Gaston. He drank the whole thing in less than ten seconds. Acantha grinned. The enchantment would take effect at midnight. Then Gaston would be hers for three whole hours.
"Come on, Acantha, we're going home," said Phaedra as the clock struck eleven.
"I'm going to help clean up," said Acantha.
"Mother won't like that," said Xanthia. "She said we have to be home by twelve or she's not going to let us work here anymore."
"I'm going to risk it," Acantha told them.
Xanthia and Phaedra left the building and the rest of the tavern-goers soon followed. Only Acantha, Michel, and Gaston were left.
"Can you two lock up?" asked Michel.
"Of course!" chirped Acantha happily. Good, she and Gaston were going to be alone together. Everything was going according to plan.
She gathered up all the empty beer steins and brought them over to a big tub full of hot, soapy wash. She grabbed a wash cloth and carefully washed each one, keeping one eye on the clock at all times. When the clock finally struck twelve, she put the cloth down and went looking for Gaston.
"Oh, Gaston," she called seductively, as she walked upstairs. "Where are y- Ahh!"
Acantha's jaw dropped. Gaston's skin had turned bright blue. She must have put too much nightshade into the potion.
"What's wrong?" he asked
"Nothing"
"Oh." Gaston pushed past her and started walking down the hallway towards his room.
"Where are you going?" asked Acantha
"I'm going to bed."
"Wait, Gaston!" Acantha shrieked. If he went into his bedroom he would undoubtedly see his reflection in the mirror. She grabbed his hand and pulled him downstairs into the tavern. She looked desperately around the room for a way to distract him. She spotted the stack of beer barrels in the corner of the room. "I bet you couldn't drink that entire barrel of beer over there on your own."
Gaston grinned at her.
"Just watch," he boomed, sneering at her.
Acantha smiled, sat back, and poured some beer into a stein for herself.
The next morning, Gaston awoke to find himself lying naked in his bed, with Acantha, also naked, lying next to him.
"Last night was amazing," she told him, sighing happily.
Gaston merely grunted and lifted his enormous, muscular body out of the bed. He strode over to one of the many mirrors in the room and began to admire his own reflection. Acantha relaxed and snuggled against the sheets, a content smile spreading across her face. Her sisters were going to be so jealous.
The incessant pounding on his bedroom door woke Dimitri from his deep slumber. He forced himself out of bed and tore open the door to find two tall, intimidating guards on the other side.
"What?" he demanded.
"Monsieur D'Arque, the new girl is making trouble," one of the guards told him.
Dimitri grinned and grabbed one of the whips that were hanging on his bedroom wall. He pulled on a coat and started to make his way down the long corridor of cells. The withered, old faces of his prisoners stared pleadingly at him from behind the bars. He forced open the door of the last cell, and stepped inside. Its occupant, a pale, thin girl who was dressed in rags and couldn't be over the age of twenty, shrunk back, a look of terror on her face.
"I hear you've been causing problems," Dimitri said, sneering down at her.
"I-I'm just hungry," she stammered.
"You've already eaten dinner. Do you want more, you greedy little girl?"
"I'm sorry," she sobbed.
Dimitri raised his whip and prepared to strike her. The girl looked up at him, her face stricken with fear, and, for the first time, he noticed her big chocolate brown eyes, which were just like those of his beloved Bernadette. He lowered his hand and regarded her with pity. Without saying another word, he left the cell and made his way back to his room.
It had been almost ten years since he had left the castle. He had spent three weeks looking for Josette, but, due to a lack of funds, had been forced to take the only job he could find: a guard in a mental asylum. The head of the asylum had died a few months after he arrived and, as he had been the only employee at the time, Dimitri had been put in charge. Slowly, he learned to enjoy locking up and torturing people, even if he did not necessarily believe that they were truly mentally unstable. It was the only way he could cope with working in such a dreary, depressing place. Torture was the only thing that kept him from thinking about the fact that he would likely never see his daughters again.
I'm sorry if it takes me a little bit longer to update these days. I'm very busy right now.
I wanted to update my Gaston story this weekend, but I'm flat out busy at the moment, so those of you who are following it will have to wait a few days.