JMJ
ELEVEN
Weeks passed uneventfully. The Master remained in his room and did not come out, but meals were brought to him and he ate them. Luster in chores seemed to lack the same dedication that the servants had once given to them. More and more, it could not be helped; there seemed no reason to keep the castle clean and respectable. The Master himself did not come down much save to the dining room on rare occasions and his sitting room rarer still. Cogsworth became more incessant about the chores himself contrary to everyone else, but the others began to pay him less and less mind as those weeks turned again to months. Though Cogsworth's enthusiasm had not diminished, however, his sense of balance as far as his duties were concerned seemed a bit off. Already he began showing signs of more eccentricity than usual because of his lack of purpose save to order everyone around.
When Christmas drew near, work ceased altogether for nearly the whole castle. The Master wanted nothing but a normal meal for Christmas day, and though no one had mentioned her, he proclaimed the name "Monique" forbidden to be spoken even in private ever again. The anniversary of the curse began the second year of the enchantment a couple days later, and though some, such as Lumiere tried to encourage the rest, the majority would remain quite glum until at least a week or so after that anniversary.
The Master himself after making his command on Christmas day, reverting back a few days earlier again, prowled up to his chambers into the West Wing and picked up the mirror. He hesitated a moment as he glared into the reflection of his eyes, the only part of him that still resembled his former self. He closed his eyes for a moment and then asked see for himself what had become of Monique St. Gervais.
The mirror produced a flash of light as the Master opened his eyes again, and the room of a most shabby little house appeared with nothing but meager furnishing and the wind of winter bashing against the walls as though to tear the house right over. He wrinkled his nose with distaste at such pathetic surroundings. He could not see the warmth and love at the hearth, nor the beauty of how the little objects had been placed with care upon the mantelpiece and brought fullness to the room.
At first the Master thought that somehow the mirror had made a mistake, but no.
After a moment he then saw Monique, and his eyes widened with surprise. Beside her mother sitting in a chair knelt the once fair and proud Monique St. Gervais. The women were together singing Christmas songs and making the most of what they had, even if a sadness could be seen behind their smiles, but what had happened to them? Why was the wife and daughter of the noble Comte St. Gervais reduced to these shambles? The Beast demanded these questions of the mirror, and the mirror flashed again the sight of grey towers of stone against thick but silent falling snow. These stood, he knew seconds later, as markers for the dead of the upper class of society as the mirror gave him full view.
Her father?
The count had on occasion been in poor health, but even if he died why should his family live in such a little house? He demanded this of the mirror also but then changed his mind. He had a guess of his own, and he did not care to see anything more anyway. It all made his aura of gloom all the gloomier. Some relative had some stronger claim over Count St. Gervais' estate, and was too cold to take pity on the poor widow and her daughter, or at least tricked his way into having it. Some greedy leech.
"Why didn't he turn into a monster?" the Beast growled at the mirror, but the mirror could not answer such a question as that. It could only answer how events were now, not anything that could have happened or theories lost to the mind. Besides, the answer was plain enough, because the vile enchantress came to his castle not whoever decided to be cruel to Adele and Monique.
Lifting up the mirror he made to throw it into the floor, but just before he released full fury, he stopped himself. After a grim pause, he set the mirror upon the table face-down and stared miserably out his balcony windows below which spring still blossomed, an eternal late spring so that the roses in the back gardens always bloomed. Only the front walk ever showed signs of the seasons, and there too it had remained a muted effect and never gathered as much snow or storm as outside the castle. The roses had to bloom in the gardens to be a constant reminder of the rose beneath the glass case and the time slipping past hour after hour, petal after petal …
Maybe he should not have been so hard on Monique … but it was too late for such thoughts now, the Master sulked in pit of self-pity. He had little pity for what had happened to Monique only further selfish misery about the curse of the castle and nothing more, and thus the curse remained.
#
Ever since Monique had come to the castle even if now she had dismissed her experiences as a nightmare herself and moved far away with her mother, the rumor of the abandoned castle of Prince Adam being now ruled over by some monster blossomed at certain inns across the provincial countryside. Perhaps, some said, that was even why the prince had fled so suddenly. Perhaps, the beast had eaten the prince. It was never suggested, for Monique had never given such an idea even on her first account of the experience, that the beast was in fact Prince Adam himself.
These inns spoke in hushed whispers of how the beast devoured stray travelers that wandered through the woods like some forgotten phantom. Some tales became relatively creative though adding to the testimony that there was a vast fortune still hidden somewhere upon the estate left behind by Prince Adam. This part was the part that grew rather wild after a year or two. Thus it was that on occasion, some daring, scrappy youths took it upon themselves to investigate the matter as well as some notorious thieves who believed more in the treasure than some beast. And although there were few deaths that were actually recorded associated with these investigations few who came back ever related what happened at the castle except to say that whether a beast lived there or not, the place was surely haunted for the objects of the house played tricks, and voices echoed eerily through the creaking and groaning of the castle for those one or two that actually made it inside the castle.
There was one man however that after having set out to see the castle to gain a fortune and some fun at the inns did not return at all, and he was a well known individual. This caused a stir in the Village just on the other side of the wood from whence the seeker had come, and no one afterwards went out to the castle. The talk of haunting grew stronger at the inns instead and of evil lurking even along the road to the castle. People began more and more to use the longer road to the other side and even then they traveled quickly, for no one wished to have to travel through the wood after dusk normally, now with a haunted castle looming over the wood most shivered all the way through. At least for a few years. This settled down somewhat after the bishop banished all evil spirits from the wood, but the old road never was used again. The wilder stories were forgotten by most, though the Village just at the edge of the wood continued on occasion to serve the residents of the inn fresh stories, steamy and succulent to hear of the beast and his ghostly castle.
The castle itself looked more and more neglected though no one, not even the servants saw it often from the outside. The inside was enough to think about, and few cared enough about that. Until, that is, a certain villager, new to the area about two or three years, decided to take the shorter road along the way to the castle; though he did not know it. He had heard of the castle, of course, but he knew nothing of its location. He was too much in a hurry to care anything about spooks or monsters when he made his decision that crisp and colorful autumn day, though it turned soon enough into a storm and the wolves were hungry …
#
"Oh …" moaned Cogsworth as he made his rounds, "what is the matter with those wolves? Can't they just leave the castle alone? There's nothing to eat here."
He had not been asking anyone in particular. He would have moved on without an answer at all, but Lumiere who stood in the window looked down at Cogsworth then and said in great astonishment, "I think someone is outside!"
"Don't be ridiculous," said Cogsworth.
"It's true. Look for yourself," said Lumiere.
"Who would come here?" demanded Cogsworth. "There hasn't been anyone to the castle now in years. And good thing after what happened the last time."
Nevertheless he scrambled into the windowsill himself, but just as he straightened himself into an upright position, Cogsworth turned with annoyance to see that Lumiere decided now to hop out of the windowsill.
"What? Where are you going?" Cogsworth demanded, but before following him, something caught out of the corner of his eye. In alarm he saw that that someone Lumiere had spoken of had taken a dive right through the gate.
"No!" he gasped.
It's unlocked?!
Even if it was to shut out the wolves, the person, for indeed the figure could be nothing else, could not come here! No! Not after the Master locked up that one young man in the tower for months before his assisted escape from the household, and oh! he was not certain they could get away with another fiasco of that sort!
"Lumiere! No!" he growled, as he turned back to where Lumiere headed for the door.
But too late. Lumiere had already unlocked it.
"No! No! No! NO!" Cogsworth cried, falling out of the windowsill at his last animated exclamation.
But he was up in a flash, darting to the door just as Lumiere undid the lock.
"What do you think you're—have you forgotten the dungeon tower—you—you—if you don't relock that I'll—"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Oh, no," moaned Cogsworth, but Lumiere pulled him away quick as a flash, and both were soon upon a nearby table.
Stillness ensued. After years of experience most servants had acquired the ability to solidify themselves into their physical forms at will; though just as the poor man opened the door, Cogsworth made a quick leer at Lumiere who had forgotten to turn out his light.
Oh, fine! Cogsworth thought, before slipping his face out of sight as the man took in his surroundings, and these were quite vast and impressive to behold and held much more attention that two simple, little objects upon a table.
"Hello?" asked the man timidly.
This can't be happening … not again, thought Cogsworth. He would have growled through his teeth had he not been trying to keep incognito.
"Hel-lo-o-o?" the man tried again gaining just a little courage as he stepped inside. After all, the door had been unlocked and practically unhinged for it had opened just while the man banged upon it.
Lumiere … he did it on purpose, thought Cogsworth. He should have been a floor polisher or a ceiling waxer rather than a porter. Whose idea was it for him to be a porter?
"The poor fellow must have lost his way in the woods," Lumiere then whispered as though in explanation for his actions.
Part of Cogsworth wanted to explode, but maintaining he whispered as quietly as he could given the circumstance and the way the castle made everything echo so, " … keep quiet … maybe he'll go away."
But of course, the villager did not go away. He heard both of them whispering, in soft tones or not, and Cogsworth much as he hated to admit it, had been the louder of the two.
"Not a word …" Cogsworth whispered softer than before, for he could see the light of an idea swirling above that flaming head of his companion. "Lumiere, not one word."
Lumiere just glared in return through half visible eyes.
"I don't mean to intrude, but I've lost my horse, and I need a place to stay for the night," the man called still politely and timidly, but to be polite and timid and a little bumbling, Oh! that was all the invitation Lumiere needed! This was no mere burglar or thrill seeker that they could agree on scaring away with voices and weird occurrences. This was an honest traveler, the likes of which would stir about the sympathies of the whole household, and would anyone other than Cogsworth see the consequences of receiving this traveler with open arms?
Of course not!
And what was all Lumiere could say when he should be saying nothing at all, as far as Cogsworth felt concerned: "Oh, Cogsworth, have a heart."
"Sh-sh-sh-shush!" hissed Cogsworth in return, covering Lumiere's mouth and hoping the man would not notice.
It was far too late to stop Lumiere now, however, and he would have none of stiff, old Cogsworth shushing him if he could help it. Thus holding a candle under Cogsworth's hand the heat swept through the brass arm of the clock fast enough. He released his hold fast enough with a cry.
"Of course, Monsieur!" exclaimed Lumiere with arms thrown wide. "You're welcome here!"
And while Cogsworth attempted to cool his heated hand by blowing on it, the man snatched up the candelabra to better see from whom the greetings had come.
"Who said that?"
"Over here!"
"Where?"
Lumiere knocked on his head. The traveler looked at the candelabra.
"Hello."
GASP!
Drop.
The light went out but only temporarily.
Cogsworth slapped his forehead, teeth grinding together in exasperation before leaping off the table in a fit of passion to tell Lumiere he told him so.
But did he know better? Of course, neither knew what would become of this visit in the long run for the benefit of them all.
NOTE: There's one more after this.
