Chapter Sixteen: Be Our Guest!

The kitchen staff was ready.
André had seen to it as soon as Madame Giry had left to speak with Christine.
He knew that it was only a matter of time before the motherly teapot convinced the stubborn girl to come down for a quick bite.

But André had no intention of this being any small, quick bite.
This meal was going to be one that Christine would remember forever!
It would involve the tastiest of hors d'oeuvres, the most delicious of entrees, the most delightful of drinks and, of course, the most decadent of desserts.
By the time the girl put down her fork, she would never wish to leave!
At least, that was what André hoped would happen.

Bursting into the kitchen, he clasped two of his candles together.
"They're coming!" he announced excitedly.
"Final checks, everyone, tout de suite!"
With pleasure, he watched as every member of the kitchen staff sprang into action.
They all knew just how important this dinner was.
All of them, that is, except apparently Firmin.

"No, you don't!" the clock said, shuffling into the middle of the fray.
He folded his two little arms across his gears stubbornly.
"If the master finds out you violated his orders and fed her, he will blame me."

André turned and stared incredulously at his friend.
How could Firmin be thinking of himself at a time like this?
Then he sighed.
Making his way over, he nodded.
"Yes," he said, his tone teasing but his intent deadly serious.
"I will make sure of it. But did you see her stand up to him?
I am telling you, this girl is the one!
They must fall in love if we are to be human again, and how can they fall in love if she stays in her room?"
"André, you old fool, get your head out of the clouds, that is never going to happen!" Firmin moaned tiredly.
"A broken clock is right two times a day, mon ami" André replied, refusing to let the stuffy majordomo get him down, "and this is not one of those times. We must try."

Turning away from Firmin, he moved over to Chef Potts.
Pots and pans bubbled and steamed on the stove, filling the air with a tantalizing smell.
Behind him, André could feel Firmin's eyes on him, and he knew that the majordomo was struggling.
André didn't blame him.
He was right.
The master would think this was all Firmin's doing if he found out.
But they had no other choice.
After all, it wasn't every day a girl stumbled upon the enchanted castle - and a girl with the strength to stand up to the master, at that.
No, André thought, shaking his head and straightening his candles with resolve.
This dinner was going to happen, with or without Firmin's blessing.

Finally, the clock sighed wearily.
"At least keep it down," Firmin requested, his voice soft.
A wide smile spread across André's face, but he wiped it away before turning to his friend and nodding.
"Of course, of course!" he said happily.
"But what is dinner, without a little...music?"
"Music?" Firmin cried, his voice no longer quiet as he began shaking his head frantically.

But it was too late.
André was already guiding a harpsichord into the dining room.
"Maestro Reyer," he said as he set him up in a corner of the room, "your wife is upstairs, sleeping more and more each day. She is counting on you to help the master and this girl fall in love."
With a flourish, the harpsichord played a scale, grimacing as one of the notes fell flat.
"Then I shall play through the pain!" he said bravely.

At that moment, Madame Giry led Christine into the dining room.
The girl looked around, awed by the elaborate spread set out on the table, but clearly still hesitant to be there.
André saw the uneasiness in her eyes, and his resolve to make her comfortable grew stronger.
He gave the staff one last knowing look, and then, with a flourish, he leapt onto the table.

"Ma chère mademoiselle," he began, bowing, as a beam of moonlight streamed through the window, making it appear as though the candelabra was in the spotlight.
"It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight!
We invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair" - he nodded and the chair behind Christine moved in so that she sat, with a little squeak of surprise, and was pushed in to the table - "as the dining room proudly presents...your dinner!"

At first, Christine sat with her hands tightly clenched underneath the table as André guided her, course by course, through her meal.
But as she listened to him describe the food and watched as the enchanted silverware and dishware made a show and dance, she began to relax.
Her hands unclenched the napkin she was holding and her foot tapped to the rhythm of the harpsichord.
By the time André referred to the "gray stuff" as delicious, Christine was smiling.
She looked around at the plates and plates of food that seemed to multiply before her very eyes, her stomach growling nearly as loudly as the harpsichord was playing.

While André and the other staff continued to entertain her, Christine proceeded to eat to her heart's content.
She tasted beef ragout and cheese soufflé.
She dipped a freshly baked baguette in foie gras and sighed with pleasure as the food melted on her tongue.
Each dish presented was better than the last, and every time Christine thought she couldn't possibly eat another bite, a new platter presented itself and she found room.

Throughout it all, the music played, as wonderful as the food itself.
By the time the meal was over, Christine was enchanted.
It was hard not to be when all the servants seemed so happy to have her there, so pleased to be working.
It occured to her that with a situation like theirs, they might have been lonely and perhaps even a little bored.
Judging from the amount of enthusiasm that they had shown at her arrival, she didn't think they received very many guests.

Pushing herself away from the table, Christine thanked everyone and said her goodnights.
Then she followed Madame Giry out of the room.
After the warmth and frivolity of the meal, the rest of the castle now seemed so much colder and darker."I don't understand why you're all being so kind to me," Christine said, giving voice to a thought that had been in the back of her mind since she had met André, Firmin and Madame Giry.
Riding atop her serving cart, the teapot smiled gently.
"You deserve nothing less, my dear," she said in a sweet, motherly tone.
"But you're just as trapped here as I am!" the redhead pointed out.
"Don't you ever want to escape?"
Madame Giry didn't respond right away.
"The master's not as terrible as he appears," she finally said.
"Somewhere deep in his soul, there's a prince just waiting to be set free..."
Christine cocked her head curiously.
The words "prince" and "free" sounded like pieces to the puzzle she was trying to put together.
"André mentioned something about the West Wing..." she went on, hoping to get a bit more information out of the kind teapot.

But Madame Giry wasn't falling for it.
"Oh, never you mind about that, lamb," she said as they reached the bottom of the stairs that led up to Christine's room.
"Now off to bed before the sun starts peeking through the trees! Can I get you anything else, dearie?"
"Oh no, you've already done so much," Christine said gratefully.
"Thank you, though. Goodnight!"
"Nighty-night, love!" Madame Giry replied as her serving cart turned and headed back toward the kitchen.

Christine watched, her hand on the railing, until both the trolley and Madame Giry had disappeared from view.
Then, the redhead glanced up the stairs in front of her.
She began to climb, her mind whirling.
Christine knew that this was her chance to get back to her room and make her escape, yet something was stopping her.
She paused on the stairs' landing.
If she went to the left, she would get back to her room and, perhaps, freedom.
But if she went right...
The redhead gazed up the set of stairs that surely led toward the West Wing.

Her mind made up, Christine took a deep breath.
Then she turned right.
She still had a little time before sunrise.
She would just take a little peek in the West Wing.
After all, what harm could come from a quick look?

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