a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic
by
C. "Sparky" Read
Part IV:
"Let's Get This Ball Rolling"
Belle was furious. "How could you be so petty?" she demanded, hands on hips, stomping a foot ever so slightly. "You have no right to do this! It isn't your concern!"
"Belle, you will be my wife," Christophe argued, pacing the drawing room like a caged lion. "It is the concern of the Prince when somebody assaults she who will be Princess! I still insist that you should have informed me of this incident the moment it occurred! I had to hear it from a stableboy!" He threw his arms wide. "A stableboy, Belle!"
Belle stalked over to the window, arms crossed. "He did not assault me, Christophe," she parried. "There was no incident. Now, please, let it be."
"I won't. Cogsworth! Where is that man..! Cogs - "
"I'm here, Sire," wheezed the portly Head of the Household, appearing suddenly in the doorway. "What is your wish?"
"Christophe, don't."
The Prince ignored Belle's warning. "Cogsworth," he began firmly, "send a party of guards down to Molyneaux. There's a man there I want arrested at once."
"Ar...rested? Oh, yes Sire, as you command. What is his name?"
"LeFou," answered Christophe as Belle turned away regretfully. "Ignatius LeFou, I believe it is. For…for crimes against the Crown. Do it!" he ordered when Cogsworth hesitated. The Head of the Household scurried away obediently.
"I hope you're happy," murmured Belle, gazing out the window at the East Courtyard. "Arresting a man on the day of our Goodwill Ball."
Christophe took a breath. "Belle," he said gently, stepping up behind her. "I had to do that. You must believe me."
"Why?" Belle still didn't turn around. "Why must you throw a man in gaol just for speaking his mind?"
"Belle, you were so upset that day! At last I know the person responsible. How would it be if a Prince did not discipline his people for subordination?"
"You could show a little mercy."
Christophe put a hand on Belle's shoulder and squeezed slightly. "Mercy has its place but it can be…overindulged in," he replied, thinking of the last time he had shown mercy, to someone who then tried to murder him in cold blood. "Let me make an example of this man."
Belle exhaled. "That man just lost his best friend," she informed the Prince. "He was angry." She turned around at last. "Please pardon him, Christophe. This is foolishness."
Christophe's face had begun to soften at Belle's first words, but it hardened at her last. "Perhaps you are right," he said coldly, removing his hand. "After all, from what I've heard, it sounds like this LeFou character can't do anything unless his master gives him a command, and there's no possibility of that now, is there? Unless perhaps he thrusts his head into the river."
There was a blur; and suddenly Christophe was left standing there in surprise, a red mark on one cheek and Belle storming out of the drawing room in a passion.
"This is not good. This is not good at all. This is dreadful. No, it's worse than dreadful! It - how can you stand there so calmly?" Cogsworth barked at his companion, who was humming a cheerful tune as he smoothed his cravat. "This Ball is going up in flames!"
Lumiere, at last satisfied that his appearance was no less than pristine, glanced casually over at the harried man beside him. "Do not worry, my old friend," he smiled. "Everyone is having a splendid time. It is a lovely turnout, and a very fine Ball."
"Oh, certainly, the guests suspect nothing. Yet." Cogsworth pouted in aggravation. "But what happens when they realise that the hosts are not speaking with one another?" He made a sweeping motion with his arm, indicating first Prince Christophe, who was stiffly greeting guests at one end of the ballroom; and then Belle, who was standing, a bit petulantly, near the far wall.
"I tell you again, do not worry," repeated Lumiere, rocking on his heels. "Everything will work out. They are in love." And, as if that was the answer to the Great Cosmic Question itself, Lumiere flitted off to mingle with the crowd, leaving Cogsworth behind to wring his hands and seethe.
It was, as Lumiere had said, a lovely turnout. Belle certainly had not expected so many people to attend. She did not know if word would travel to the far reaches of the Principality in time for people to make the journey, but apparently it had. There were people there from small villages, like Molyneaux, as well as from cities - such as Aglionby, and even far-off Chaffee, where Belle had been born and raised until she and her father had moved to the country to escape city life.
Belle searched the room. Yes, there were many people from her own little village there; she recognised them at once. She was glad they had come, she would have hated to think that an entire town would ostracise itself from her out of stubbornness, or worse, shame.
"Be - Misstr - M'la - Er...Belle," stammered Cogsworth, appearing at her elbow. She knew he didn't like calling her merely Belle now that she was engaged to be Princess; but mere engagement did not grant her a title, and so she insisted on being called, simply, Belle at least for the time being. After all, Royal Engagement could last as long as a year, and that was a long time to spend not knowing what to call a person. She smiled at him. "Yes, Cogsworth," she replied gently. He seemed worked up over something.
Cogsworth leaned in closer. "Belle," he hissed conspiratorially. "Can you not at least pretend to be friendly with the Master? We wouldn't want the guests to become...er, concerned, now would we?"
Belle frowned. "I'm not sure that - "
"Excellent, excellent," urged Cogsworth, pretending not to hear her protest as he nudged her firmly in the direction of the Prince.
As Belle resignedly made her way across the Ballroom, courteously welcoming the guests and graciously accepting their congratulations, she spotted Christophe on his way towards her, doing the same. Squaring their shoulders, they met in the center of the room, not meeting each other's eyes.
"Cogsworth, um…sent me over," mumbled Christophe.
That made Belle smile. "Me too," she admitted. "Christophe, I'm sorry I was angry with you earlier," she said simply. "But I felt you were being unjust, and I had to say something."
"I am sorry too," replied the Prince, and their eyes met as he took her hands. "I…guess I'm just not used to being disagreed with. I was being childish. I think you're going to have your hands full with me." He grinned impishly at her, and she had to grin back.
"Well, no harm was done, right?" said Belle. "You did cancel the arrest."
Christophe was silent, and Belle jerked her hands away, hurt. "Christophe!" she gasped. "You mean you still had him arrested? How could you?" Deeply disappointed, she turned and wove her way through the crowd.
Like magic, Cogsworth was at Christophe's side. "Sire?" he prompted, trying not to sound panicked. "She's walking away again."
Christophe rubbed his forehead. "I think I did something stupid, Cogsworth," he muttered. "I don't get it! I was only trying to rule with a firm but gentle hand - like Mrs. Potts said." He sighed. "I guess I'm just still new to this love thing."
Cogsworth patted the Prince's arm reassuringly. "There, now," he said soothingly. "Do you need another 'talk'? Shall I get Lumiere for you?"
"No." Christophe tugged at the hem of his coat. "I am going to the gaol to fix this."
Cogsworth blanched. "But Sire!" he gasped, horrorstruck. "You cannot leave the Ball now! You are the ho - My word, did you say you were going to the gaol? Er - Sire? Sire!" But Christophe had already stridden off, making a beeline for the exit.
Mrs. Potts happened by. "Isn't this a marvelous Ball?" she commented cheerfully to the Head of the Household, who was standing there ashen.
"It's like a Pit of Neverending Torture," he croaked, wandering away.
Mrs. Potts shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, to each his own."
"...And you're so lovely, dear," concluded the elderly fisherman, patting Belle's hand.
Belle smiled demurely, flattered by the kindly old gentleman's praise. "Merci, Monsieur," she curtseyed. "I am honored you came all the way from Danvers to attend the Ball. That's a very long way."
Danvers was a tiny fishing village located downstream at a distance of at least a four or five days' journey.
"It was well worth it, cherie. The best of luck to you," added the fisherman, before melting into the crowd.
"Well, there you are."
Belle turned at her father's voice. "Hello, Papa. Having a nice time?"
"Splendid, Belle. And how are things with you and your handsome Prince?"
A sigh and a noncommittal mutter.
"Ah," nodded Maurice in understanding. "That well."
"Oh Papa," Belle sighed again. "I'm in love with Christophe. I really am. But sometimes he can be so stubborn…I just don't know what to do with him."
Maurice's eyes twinkled. "I'm sure if anyone can handle young Christophe, it's you," he assured his daughter.
Belle shrugged. "Well, we all have adjustments to make," she had to admit. "I'm far from perfect myself, after all."
"You remembered our little lesson, I see." It was Monsieur Ockley. He strode up to the pair, smiling. "Bonsoir, Maurice. Enchante, Belle."
"Bonsoir Monsieur." Belle returned the smile. "I am very glad you came."
"Did you think I would miss all this?" chuckled the bookseller, nodding over his shoulder at the assemblage. "So," he said to Belle, "have you met the local nobles yet?"
"Not yet," Belle replied. "They've been a little…occupied." She motioned over to the far end of the Ballroom, where a large number of richly dressed ladies and gentlemen were congregated. The Fourreur triplets, dressed to the nines, were keeping themselves busy herding the nobles about the room like three border collies protecting a flock of sheep. "Chloe, Pamela, and Monette have monopolised them for the evening."
"So," said Maurice, changing the subject, "how are things down in the village?"
"Oh, fine," replied Monsieur Ockley. "I found new farms for all your livestock, like you asked me to."
"Very good."
"And," continued the shopkeeper after a pause, "there was quite a commotion in the town square this morning."
Belle groaned inwardly.
"Seems young Ignatius has gone and gotten himself arrested."
Maurice was stunned. "Arrested? My goodness. For wha - " He stopped short and both men looked at Belle.
"I didn't do it!" she insisted.
"Of course you didn't," said Maurice quickly. Then he nodded slowly. "Is this what's gotten you so upset tonight?"
"Yes, Papa," said Belle again, shrugging. Then she straightened up. "Well if Christophe won't do something about this, I'll have to do it myself. I guess I can consider it an exercise in diplomacy. Excuse me, please." She started for the main door.
She was neatly intercepted by Cogsworth, who seemed to have gone a funny color. "Belle," he greeted her with his teeth clenched. "What are you doing? Why are you walking towards the door? Where are you headed?"
Belle was tempted to tell the stout man that she was going to go powder her nose but decided now was not the time to start lying to people. "I'm going to gaol," she said, brushing past.
If this had not already happened once in the past half-hour, Cogsworth might have been rooted to the spot like a petrified tree. Instead, he fell into step behind Belle as she walked out of the room. "You see, Belle," he said with a forced chuckle, "it is not customary for the hosts of a Grand Ball to abandon said Ball in favor of...gaol," he strangled on the word.
Belle swept down the stairs. "I have to do what's right, Cogsworth."
"It happens to be my job," replied Cogsworth, hustling to keep up with her, "to tell certain people what is right and as you are preparing to become the Princess of this land, might I point out that you are one of those people. Belle! Belle, your shoes!"
By now Belle was hurrying across the wet lawn of the North Courtyard. "Cogsworth," she said.
"Er…yes Belle?"
She gave him a stern look. He took the hint and fell silent, but did not stop following her.
The two guards outside the gaol gave each other an "Uh-oh" look as their future Princess bustled past them without a word or glance dressed in Ballroom finery. Cogsworth paused in the entryway long enough to hiss, "Not a word about this!" before following her inside. He almost ran into her a few yards in, where she had paused.
"What is that?" Belle wondered aloud.
Cogsworth listened. "Why, it sounds like a...a...public house! Outrageous! What sort of gaol is this?" They both moved forward cautiously.
The unmistakable sounds of men shouting and laughing echoed through the entry hall of the gaol as the pair ventured farther inside. Cogsworth clucked. "The Prince will be furious when he hears about - "
"Sh!" hissed Belle, stopping outside an oaken door.
"Chug! Chug! Chug!" chanted a crowd of male voices. Belle pushed the door open in time to see Christophe drain the dregs of a huge mug, foam dripping all over his blue velvet coat. The whole room cheered.
"Sire!" Cogsworth was livid. "What is the meaning of this?"
Christophe, who was sitting on a bench surrounded by Palace Guards, froze with the mug still at his lips, looking tremendously guilty. Beside him sat LeFou, who sported a similar expression. Several small kegs littered the room and everything smelled of strong beer.
Belle took a tentative step into the chamber. "...Christophe?" she prompted, her voice a mixture of wonder and amusement.
The Prince lowered the mug as everyone else who was sitting scrambled to their feet. "Um," he said intelligently. "I." With that lengthy monologue off his chest he handed the mug to LeFou and stood up. "Don't be angry, Belle," he pleaded.
Belle shook her head, putting one hand on her hip and using the other to cover her growing smile. "I'm not the one you should say that to," she responded, nodding at Cogsworth.
"Has everyone gone mad?" howled the Head of the Household, who was actually visually trembling with fury. "You," he pointed at Christophe, "and you," he pointed at Belle, " - back to the Ballroom! And the rest of you: you should all be ashamed of yourselves! Turning a Royal Gaol into a common hostelry! And - who is that?" he demanded, gesturing at LeFou, who hastily hid the mug he was still holding behind himself as if it were incriminating evidence against him.
"Um," said a guard hesitantly. "Our...prisoner?"
Cogsworth's jaw dropped. "Really, I - " Suddenly he frowned at LeFou. "I remember you," he resumed, eyes widening. "You were the one who tried to melt Lumiere!"
LeFou blinked in confusion at Cogsworth for a moment, then his own eyes went wide. "Hey!" he exclaimed, unconsciously covering his posterior with both hands. "Are you the one who - "
"Cogsworth," said Christophe quickly, "perhaps you should get back to the Ballroom."
"Yes Cogsworth," chimed in Belle. "They might be running low on canapes."
Too horrified to even respond verbally, Cogsworth was off like a shot.
Belle stepped forward then. "LeFou," she began, trying to catch the short man's eye, for he wouldn't look at her, "I am so sorry about this. I didn't mean for you to be arrested."
Christophe coughed. "If but all stays in gaol were such," he murmured. Belle shot him a look, and he threw his arms wide. "I apologised, Belle," he said. "It's why I came down here."
"He did apologise," LeFou spoke at last. "But he shouldn't have."
"Yes he should," replied Belle. "You did nothing wrong."
"Neither did you," LeFou answered, trying to be polite. Belle wasn't fooled.
"But you were right," she said. "None of it would have happened if it weren't for me. Gaston would still be alive."
LeFou shrugged. "That's true," he said. "But we wouldn't have a Prince, either - and as it turns out, he's a pretty swell guy." All the guards in the room grinned and raised their mugs in a salute to Christophe, who ducked his head, smiling self-consciously. "Besides," LeFou went on, "I never would have been able to lug all those kegs way up here all by myself. The men had invited me up here tonight, and I needed to get rid of the last of the beer deliveries anyways. I suppose you could say it was thoughtful of the Prince to send me an escort." Another salute from the guards, accompanied by a few suppressed cheers.
Belle stepped up beside Christophe, and he shyly took her hand. "Christophe and I need to get back to the Ball," she said. "LeFou, please come with us."
Amid shouts of encouraging "Go on!"s from the guards, LeFou hesitated. "Please," smiled Belle. "There's something I would like to do."
"And so we raise our glasses," intoned LeFou respectfully, holding up his goblet of wine, "to the late Gaston. He may have succumbed to folly, but let him remain forever in our hearts, and our minds, a legend in his own time. A greater hunter, tracker, and showman there never was."
The entire Ballroom had joined in the toast, even those very few present that had never known Gaston - he had been very well travelled. Belle and Christophe stood in the back, holding hands, their goblets lifted high.
"Here, here," called a male voice.
"...He may have been about as thick as a brick wall," LeFou added, to some laughter, "...but he was our brick wall."
"Three cheers for Gaston!" hollered a woman.
"Hip hip!" Denis shouted.
"Huzzah!" replied the crowd.
"Hip hip!"
"Huzzah!"
"Hip hip!"
"Huzzah!"