Chapter 33

"Good Morning Maurice!"

"Good Morning pastor," said the old man in response, forcing a smile as he closed the rigid door behind him and entered the small chapel. It really was quite pathetic in size, hardly room enough for ten people, but it suited their small village. People rarely came to the chaplain, they preferred gossip, but Maurice could always be relied upon to come for decent conversation. Except today, thought the pastor, as he eyed Maurice walking gingerly towards him. Something was different. Today he knew Belle's father came for a different reason altogether.

"Are you well, Maurice?"

"Oh yes, I am perfectly well," replied the old man, but the pastor heard the weariness in his voice. The sentence was also only half a statement.

"And how is Belle?"

The pastor gripped his hands together tightly behind his back as he spoke the words, knowing it was pushing a little to ask. No one had seen the young lady since her return to the village, although gossip was rampant. Though Maurice continued to be a regular presence, the villagers finally adjusting to seeing him daily in the market, the whispers about his daughter followed him everywhere.

"Belle is-" Maurice had started to say with false-optimism before seeing the concern on the pastor's face. "She is… She has not been herself."

The pastor nodded his head as he saw the fatigue within Maurice finally catch up with him. He watched sadly as the poor man sat down on one of his wooden benches, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

"I don't know what to do," whispered Maurice as the morning sunshine streamed through a narrow window and cast its light on his back. "She won't tell me anything, at least nothing which I really wish to know about what happened while she was living in that castle. The only thing she has said, about two weeks after her return, was that I needn't worry about the debts anymore. The most I get out of her is that she was treated well but that since the debts were all paid back, she wanted to return to me as soon as possible."

A lesser person would have dismissed the old man perhaps here, merely suggesting there was nothing to worry about, now that his financial situation was once more stable. The pastor however knew there was more that troubled Maurice.

"But?" he said, his voice echoing against the walls. Belle's father looked up at the pastor in surprise.

"Whenever I bring about what her experience was like with her employer, that terrible man who serves as Duke of our land, all I get is silence," replied Maurice, his voice tense. "But I know my daughter, I know something is not right! What if something happened to her while she was there? Something terrible? Unspeakable?"

"You are suggesting the Duke harmed your daughter?" said the pastor, but he remained strangely calm. "Is your daughter one to not speak honestly with you?"

Maurice shook his head, looking towards the floor in embarrassment as his emotions began to get the better of him.

"Belle has had a hard life. She has had to put up with a great many things. But if something happened to her, I wish she would tell me honestly. As much as I am relieved she is safe with me again, I cannot help but notice this change in her. She is not happy anymore, always going up to the hills and staring off into the distance and I do not know what to do about it. And then there is the endless post in the morning!"

Maurice's final words came out in exclamation, this time truly alarming the pastor.

"What about the post?" he asked after a pause.

"Whenever we hear the postman coming in the morning, she will rush out before I have a chance to speak with him. Sometimes she merely takes what has been sent to us, but on occasion I can hear her exchange sharp words with him. One day, I approached the door and opened it, only to see her react with alarm and force me back inside, insisting that nothing was wrong. I have never seen my daughter react this way before, it is not in her character to shut me out!"

The pastor, who had been listening carefully, nodded his head before turning to sit on the bench in front of Maurice and turn around to speak to him.

"Maurice, I consider you a friend, so please do not take this the wrong way. Is it at all possible she learned and experienced a great deal while living in the castle, and it changed her perspective? Belle is still young, and intelligent as she is, has not yet seen anything beyond our immediate horizon. Rumours are all that there is to entertain a village, but please do not get swept up in it. Change is inevitable, but if you truly wish to reconnect with your daughter, you have no choice but to step into her space and reach out to her yourself. You are right to be suspicious however, no debt as large as yours, which you have told me privately, could be paid back so easily, given the rumours about paid work within the castle. Regardless, all this speculation and worry will not help resolve anything my dear friend."

"Wise words, as always," said Maurice sadly as he looked up at the pastor. "I cannot help but still feel worried about her. The villagers have been saying awful things, but you are right. The only way is to get the truth directly from her lips, even if she does not wish to speak of it."

The pastor gave a gentle smile before responding.

"Belle knows she can trust you Maurice, and if I know her well enough, I believe she simply does not wish to worry you and is trying to put things back the way they were before. The only thing I would say is that you have changed too Maurice. You are far more a part of this community than you were before, though you may not yet have noticed it. For the most part, the villagers have accepted you more, and you have even sold some of your own work in our little market. Perhaps Belle too will see soon enough that she has changed and things cannot go back to exactly the way they were before."

"I know you are right," replied Maurice, but there was still doubt in his eyes. "It is not Belle or her changes that I fear. What I fear is that that- that terrible man has somehow got a hold of her! I am not blind, I know Belle is beautiful, more beautiful I dare say than even half the debutantes in Paris! I just hope she did not have to sacrifice anything so she could return to me."

The pastor's gaze turned grim as he shifted on his bench.

"Maurice, I cannot tell you that your fears are unwarranted, however based on the changes that have happened recently, here and also in the other villages.. Positive changes, not seen in decades-"

"That does not make that man less a threat to my daughter! The villagers suggest she was much more than a scullery maid, a librarian, that she was using herself to- oh god, I don't even wish to speak it! My daughter has never acted in such a way, even in desperate times, and we have always been close to destitution. She never compromised and I hoped I could support her enough so she would not have to, hold on just a little longer so she would be able to find happiness and stability in her own time, with the right person. If anything did happen, I am sure it had to have happened because he crushed her spirit. I see now her spirit weakened, her usual brightness gone! I'm sorry, I know I should heed your words, but I worry so much!"

The chaplain took a pause, waiting for Maurice to compose himself a little before he continued. He had seen fear get the better of many a person before, but he too had worried after Belle while she had been away. He understood the old man's pain, but he knew as well that sometimes fear could cloud one's judgement. A few months ago, he might have agreed with Maurice, even believed it, but….

As much as he didn't want to cause conflict with Maurice, there had been other changes since Belle had went away, changes he was sure she was connected with. The men in the village no longer were as wary of the woods, after new barriers had been made around the outskirts to ward off the wolves by order of the Duke, expenses covered by the crown. Nor were they forced to take part in midnight patrols anymore. Moreover, since Belle had returned, more servants from the Duke's castle had appeared to be making family trips home, visiting relatives for weeks at a time, often with a fairly large week's wages. Despite others not connecting the dots, the pastor wondered if Belle had somehow had an impact.

When he had spoken to returning villagers, they had said that despite the horrors of the fire that had swept the castle and the subsequent redundancy of many of the staff afterwards, their own experience there had greatly improved, especially in the last few weeks. The daily loads had lessened, the wages had increased but they had been given no reason for it, and they were given proper daily breaks. The castle they said still remained, in part, in ruins, with no plan it seemed to repair anything, and the Duke remained a recluse. Despite the improvements, some even questioned how the Prince could afford to give them such money, despite not having the means to repair his own estate. Most however, sharply felt it was damn well time for the Duke to have finally treated his subjects better, and that despite his unpopularity, at least with the neighbouring villages his relationship with them would surely improve. At any rate, the more senior felt he would make for a better Duke than his father, despite his odd ways.

"Go home Maurice," said the chaplain, choosing his words carefully as he looked outside and saw a few villagers peering through the window in the door. "Talk to your daughter. It may take a little while, but I am confident she will open up to you. Do not let fear get the better of you. Whatever lies ahead, I know you and Belle will be able to overcome anything. You are both stronger than you think."

…..

The letters came every few days now. She was sure he was writing to her daily but only sent half, the ones he thought were better put. She knew because he had said as much in one of his letters he sent a couple weeks before. First a letter from the crown, stating debts owed had all been repaid. He had done it anyway, despite her parting words. Yet again, sign of his not at all endearing sense of arrogance.

Belle stared at the windowpane as she sat by her writing table, looking at the water droplets beginning to form like spots of glass against stale water. Nearly two months had passed since she had left, trying to hide her tears as she turned to look at the decrepit castle, the sign of so many things to her but no longer that of a future.

She had naively believed she could cut away, that he would hide back up in his tower, never to bother her again. Of course, she should have known better. Despite the pain she felt whenever she thought of their last conversation, she could not deny the raw determination and clarity she had witnessed in his eyes. He was different, surer of himself, with an inner calm which she usually possessed but seemed to find slip away whenever she was in his presence.

He had spoken of torment. Well, now he was hers.

Opening the bottom drawer of the shelf by the corner wall, Belle pulled out the first letters he had sent. They had been composed, his letters so clean and precise it could have been print. She couldn't help but smile as she traced the ink lightly. Of course, she couldn't stare too long for fear her tears would ruin the fine parchment.

Belle, how can I make you understand…. You must forget me… Let me help you… I will help you if you wish to go to Paris… I will not force you to do anything but you do not belong anymore in Villeneuve… Please say something, anything…

All politeness, trying to make her understand what he had been persuasively telling her the week before, that it was for the best, that he wanted to help her.

All this time, she had unwittingly reawakened something, and now he wanted to be the hero. Belle stared at the words blankly before folding the letters and shoving them back into the bottom draw.

He wasn't a hero.

Peering outside, Rey saw a blur of red pass by the wooden fence that outlined their home.

Her father's home…

Now it no longer felt like her own home. Strange… She had always longed to come home, to have her father finally relax in peace, with herself by his side. Yet she couldn't confide in her father as she used to, even when she had tried to speak to him about…

About him. She always found her face begin to redden, in fear her father would turn and stare at her like she were a stranger, repulsed by her words, her deepest feelings.

What would Belle had thought? The one who was content to read her books, dreaming of far off places, not knowing how complex things could be, not beyond the horizon but just behind her, in her village, in the strange castle beyond the woods, in that tower where a strange lonely creature dwelled? Would she understand or sympathize with her now?

When he had stopped with simple letters and began to send her money, money he explained which was to help her with education in Paris, well, that was when Belle finally felt her sadness turn into anger. It felt like he would not leave her in peace, like he was pestering her on purpose, a sign he still remains utterly ignorant or deaf to what she'd expressed as she had bared her soul to him, gone against everything she once thought true. His letters were relentless, and despite Belle constantly sending the letters and the money back, he kept sending that poor post boy back to her with new letters, letters she began to send back unopened. Every time she came to the porch, telling her father to get back inside, sending back the endless parchment, it felt like a thorn being twisted into her heart.

In that moment, when she'd seen through his eyes that he felt just as she did, when he had looked at her like nothing else existed… She knew in that moment it was foolish to resent or ignore it any longer, as she had done, as he had done, for many months. Why did he have to choose then, of all times, to choose propriety, to choose reason?

"You did not care for me the way I had secretly always hoped you would."

Belle had not noticed she had whispered the words, just as a knock came on the door.

At first, she ignored it, knowing it was most likely a prank. Despite avoiding the village square, she was well aware of the rumours that had begun to spread, shortly after her return. Whispers of lewd affairs, throwing herself at the Duke to gain freedom, or worse in exchange for money, finally being thrown out the castle after the Prince had grown tired of her. It was easy to dismiss at first, given the ridiculousness of it, but after a time, Belle began to wonder despite her better judgement, whether something rang true about their dismissive remarks. Looking back now, had it all been as it had appeared? Or had her own imagination gotten the better of her? Wasn't she just like everyone else, wanting to be desired, wanting to be treasured, just as she imagined a knight in shining armour would in all those countless books she had read till the pages had curled?

And what was wrong with that? What was wrong with wanting to be loved?

That monster… Who could ever love a man like that?

Her father's words pierced through her yearning thoughts, like a cold bucket of water being thrown on top of her head.

Indeed, he had spoken the words shortly after telling her all about the Prince's exploits, about a year after his return. She had been no more than seventeen at the time, curious but then ultimately dismissive of said Duke, whom the girls in the village had mentioned was said to be unbearable handsome. Only handsome no doubt because of his income and title, Belle had thought blandly at the time. Who knew he agreed with her, that he would also say those exacts words directly to her only a few years later…

The doorbell rang again, this time sounding a little longer, much to Belle's annoyance.

"For goodness sake!" she said hoarsely as she rose from her seat and walking lamely towards the entrance. It wasn't post day and her father had warned her not to open the door otherwise because… Well, because of the current climate within the village.

"Who is it?" she asked, her voice flat, only serving the person standing behind the door thinly veiled courtesy.

"It is I, Gaston," came a deep, thick voice.

Belle's eyes widened. She had hardly spoken to him since returning and she had expected to hear him hammering on her door every couple days, begging for her hand in marriage, just he had been doing before she had left. Before she had left… That felt so very long ago.

So very long ago that she forgot that he had becoming more than a mere annoyance and her father had seriously considered moving town because he would not leave them alone. In her melancholy, she had quite forgotten his lack of presence but had since come to the assumption he had found more attractive prey to gaze upon.

Clearly, he was not yet done with her.

"What exactly have you come for?" she asked, trying to sound nonplussed but ultimately sounding apprehensive.

"I was just passing," he began to say, a little awkwardly for someone like him, "and I er- well, I was passing by your lovely vegetable patch when I saw you through the window, I wasn't spying, I just happened to look and it appeared like you were crying and seemed utterly miserable, so, I er, I just came to see if you were okay."

Belle lifted her eyebrows, for a moment a little stumped as to how she ought to react. First, this sounded far too thoughtful in character for Gaston, second, he did not sound like his usual boisterous self. Third… Well, she knew he did not have a high regard for vegetables.

"That is very… kind of you to say," uttered Belle as she lifted her father's door telescope, peering through it to see Gaston indeed standing before her in his usual red military attire and looking exceptionally nervous.

"But er," continued Belle as she grimaced, "I am well and perfectly fine, in fact, I am quite busy so I must bid you good day. Thank you for your concern Gaston."

She had been about to turn away and planned to ignore him here on out, but then he exclaimed for her to wait.

"I know you have not been yourself," he continued, lowering his voice. "Please know I don't believe the rumours being thrown around the square. I know you are not that type of woman."

Belle couldn't help but scuff sarcastically at that.

"I know you don't wish to speak to me of what troubles you, but please just know that I know what he can be like."

Belle had been turning yet again to walk away but at the word 'he' her feet stopped at their own accord.

Gaston must have somehow sensed he had her attention.

"Adam has always been selfish. He threw me away just like he no doubt threw you away. Get too close, create too strong a bond, and he will sever it. He's not like us mortals, he thinks he is better and must keep his distance. It's in their blood, it's just what they are, cold-blooded creatures… Belle, you may not wish to speak now, but if you ever feel like it, just know you can be honest with me. I know what he is, just as you do. Do not feel ashamed to have been tricked by him. He is, after all, a beast."

With that, Belle heard Gaston's heavy footsteps step down from the porch and sound the gate to the vegetable patch, and the cottage once again feel into silence.