Chapter Two: The Day of

As the sun just started to peek the tops of the evergreen trees surrounding the lands of the château, Cogsworth was straightening the lapels on his maroon tailcoat before striding out the door of his room, his mind already sharpened for the day.

In his study on the floor below, he would go over his daily paperwork first thing in the morning. As majordomo, he handled all of the papers that had accumulated over the day before, which were mostly trivial documents and letters that needed to be addressed and replied to. But they were "trivial" only because the Prince was not obligated to give them his attention. Cogsworth knew what he was doing, and Adam had learned that Cogsworth was probably more capable of speaking for the Crown than he ever could, at least in written correspondences.

Setting his quill in its well as he assessed his current handiwork, Cogsworth heard three knocks on the door. "Come in," he consented without averting his gaze from the letter on his desk.

There was a moment of hesitation, but the door opened, and as he had expected, Mrs. Potts came in with a cup of earl grey tea and a small plate of pastry. That day it smelled of cranberry scones, a preference of his.

"Cogsworth?" the housekeeper called.

"Yes, Mrs. Potts, thank you," he said sincerely though he was still distracted. "You may set it on my desk."

A moment went by and his tea and scones did not appear out of his peripherals. Cogsworth looked up to find Mrs. Potts looking about the room with a confused and pondering expression on her features.

"Mrs. Potts?" he tentatively asked.

"Hmm, very strange," she murmured.

"'Strange'? What's the trouble?" Cogsworth questioned, becoming as confused as she appeared, yet hoping it wasn't another impending disaster.

She stared at him, clearly in thought. A resolution seemed to come to her mind, and she shrugged off her confusion. She took a step towards the door, but then looked back at the desk.

"Are you…?" he began to ask, but he was all too fascinated as he watched her set the plate on his desk, and then place the cloth napkin that was on her arm delicately over the pastries so they could maintain their warmth. She walked out of the study without another word, taking the tea with her, and shut the door.

Staring at where she left, Cogsworth sat stiffly in his armchair for a minute with a look on his face that would undoubtedly have caused some teasing on Lumière's behalf.

Hm, he finally thought. Very odd. Very odd, indeed.

He took the napkin from the plate and found the smell of the scones enticing. As he reached for one though, he thought disappointedly, Scones never go down half as well without tea. Why would she keep my tea?

Cogsworth had a mind to follow Mrs. Potts and request his tea personally, but the fact of this tea-less circumstance left him incredibly puzzled. Thinking more on it, she had never looked him in the eye. Not once, at least from what he had seen. When he had assumed she was looking at him, she had been staring more at… his stomach.

Well, perhaps not his stomach, but his abdomen. And she had set the scones down with the napkin over them as though they were not going to be touched for a while, when he hardly ever waited a moment after her departure before he had taken a warm, flaky bite of one. He knew she knew that.

Oh, this is taking too much of my time! Cogsworth resolved with a shake of his head. He still had a few more letters to write for, and it was almost ten o'clock. There was so much to be checked and finished before the guests arrived, and time simply could not be wasted.

He put thoughts of Mrs. Potts' strange behavior aside with a bit of difficulty before focusing once again on the parchment in front of him.

I still wish I had my tea…

With the last document sealed with the Prince's crest, he set the stack of letters by the stablemaster's study to be delivered the next morning before making his way to the ballroom. If it was not done the moment he set foot in it…

Oh, let us hope to hope for all our sakes that it is nothing but—

One polished shoe on the glimmering marble floor, and Cogsworth was greeted by the shine and sparkle of the three-story Christmas tree at the back-center of the ballroom.

Sublime, Cogsworth finished his thought with relief.

No one else was present in the room, but upon further inspection of it at every angle, the wreaths and garlands draping every column and arm on the crystal chandelier were wrapped around them at even intervals, the color and shape proportions of the ornament placement on the tree was aesthetically pleasing, the tinsel did not outdo the candles when it caught the light, and the star on top was perfectly center, not leaning or turned any other way but up and forward.

On his way to check the gardens, he made a mental note to express his satisfaction to Angélique the next time he saw her.

Cogsworth passed through the dining room, which was also tastefully decorated for that night, but his calming solitude unfortunately came to an end.

A light giggle interrupted his thoughts. "Non, non, stop, Lumière! The last thing I want is to risk a repeat of last night."

"Oh, come now, you cannot still be worrying over it. It is not as if Cogsworth saw anything new."

"I know, it was just… the way it happened. He looked so furious. Oh, I can feel the embarrassment all over again."

"I can tell," the maître d' said with a sultry tone. "You are starting to blush."

As Cogsworth spotted them at the head of the table, Lumière began kissing Babette's neck, who was sitting on his lap. The mere sound of their interaction felt like nails on a blackboard to Cogsworth's ears.

Babette released another playful laugh when Cogsworth tried to get their attention with his signature "Ahem."

"Arrêtez, I am being serious!" Babette maintained, gently pushing Lumière away.

"And I am not?"

The majordomo frowned. He was standing right there. Babette was completely capable of noticing him, and yet neither of them had given even the smallest indication at his call or presence.

"A-HEM," he repeated.

"You are the one who is laughing, ma chère, not me," Lumière pointed out in a voice that even Cogsworth could tell was with a smirk. "So tell me, who of us is being the more serious?"

Babette scowled at him. "You are infuriating."

"You might as well have admitted defeat with those words!" he teased.

Quickly losing his patience, Cogsworth announced clearly, "Both of you, there is still work to be done, so I recommend you attend to it immediately."

"Interesting. I didn't know it was a contest!" Babette bantered, her eyes on Lumière alone. "Even if I did, have you not yet learned that when a woman loses, you never mention it to her?"

"Isn't honesty a virtue, especially between a man and a woman?" Lumière challenged.

"That is true." Her voice hushed to a purr. "But neither of us are very virtuous. Are we?"

Pleasantly surprised, Lumière chuckled. "Touché, chérie," he murmured before Babette leaned in for a long kiss, their grips tightening on each other.

With a vehement harrumph, Cogsworth stomped away and continued on to his original destination while shaking off the distasteful image.

The nerve! The plain, audacious nerve! Ignoring him while he stood there and spoke to them directly! Perhaps this kind of behavior he could expect from Lumière, but Babette? Cogsworth had quickly figured out that she was the more sensible of the pair, and she had completely disregarded him! Going so far as to escalate her banter to an embrace right in front of him!

It was even strange that Lumière had not even commented on his presence. When Cogsworth would make demands of him, on occasion, the maître d' would feign having felt an ice cold breeze, or having heard a meticulous ticking sound as another method of riling Cogsworth up. But this time, he didn't even go to the length of saying anything at all.

Despite his extreme dislike of being teased, he knew Lumière never did it out of malice. They had been through enough where Cogsworth would merely give an obvious eye-roll in reply to one of Lumière's jests. He also never went so far as to try and make Cogsworth feel inferior.

But this behavior! It was not only unlike him—both of them—but it was unprofessional to the most extreme and inexcusably rude.

Though Cogsworth was fuming, he felt like he had been knocked off kilter he was so flabbergasted. He couldn't recall when he had been so flawlessly ignored in all his life.

Walking out into the cold, clear afternoon, Cogsworth assessed the gardens from the perch of the stone staircase. The paths between the parterres had been shoveled and cleared of snow, and the gardeners were placing lanterns along the paths to be lit later on that evening.

Spotting Florent aligning lanterns on a nearby fountain, Cogsworth made his way through the snow-dusted parterres, glancing around more closely to make sure he didn't happen to miss any unsightly piles shoved into the flowerbeds. "Good afternoon, Florent. I see the gardens are coming along quite nicely. A job well done."

Expecting an immediate expression of gratitude, Cogsworth was peeved to not hear anything after a moment or two. He stared at the gardener, who was whistling a merry Christmas tune.

"Florent," he addressed as frigidly as the air. The majordomo could then recognize the tune as "March of the Kings."

Taking a step back, Florent paused his whistling as he looked over the fountain.

"Excuse me," Cogsworth called, his voice rising.

With a nod of satisfaction, Florent gathered the remaining lanterns by their rings onto his arms and went on his way to the next fountain, resuming where he left off in the carol.

Cogsworth watched him leave with jaw hanging, speechless and agog.

Is this… is this some kind of joke?

As the idea took seed, Cogsworth's teeth clenched. Is that what everyone here was doing? Carrying out an absurd prank?!

Intolerable! he cried in his mind. Absolutely intolerable, and in excruciatingly bad taste!

The Master and Mistress might not be aware of the staff's cruelty. Cogsworth had to inform them at once!

What a day of days! What timing! Cogsworth chastised as he strode to the private dining room. I will make sure the ones who thought to execute such a terrible prank be quickly put into place. This will not be tolerated!

He was red-faced by the time he approached Adam and Belle enjoying their lunch. Doing his best to regain his composure, Cogsworth took a deep breath before greeting them formally with a humble bow. "Master, Mistress, I am so sorry to disturb you during your meal, but this is a matter that unfortunately cannot wait to be brought to your attention."

His heart steadily dropped as he watched them continue sipping their soup, as if he hadn't even spoken.

"Master?" Cogsworth asked, panic causing a falsetto to creep into his voice. He dared to come closer. "Master Adam!"

The Prince looked up, but to across from him. "Belle?"

She met his eyes while Cogsworth observed them like a tennis match. "Yes?"

Adam hesitated, then returned to his soup with a wry smile. "Never mind."

Belle leaned forward, grinning knowingly. "What is it?"

Cogsworth spoke again, though he was starting to shake. "M—Mistress Belle?"

The Prince spooned at his soup, careful with his words. "I was just… going to ask if… you think about what everyone is getting you for Christmas."

Dimples appeared on Belle's cheeks. "I do sometimes. Why, do you?"

Cogsworth gripped his wig. What is this?! How can they not hear me?!

Adam shrugged, but his shoulders seemed to relax a bit. "I used to, more than I do now. But, I have to say I'm still a little curious."

Despite being rather fearful of the consequences, Cogsworth tried waving his hand between them as they chatted.

"I am too, since you mention it. I've always become excited about Christmas Day, even when it was just me and Papa," Belle replied. "I admit, I used to love opening presents, but now I look forward to seeing everyone else's reactions to the presents I give them."

"I can't wait to see you open what I got you," Adam said, like he was withholding a great secret.

After a near minute of frantically waving his hands in front of their faces, Cogsworth's arms felt like limp noodles. None of it is working!

Belle raised an eyebrow, acting as equally mysterious. "You're going to love my present for you, too."

Adam moved his hand to cover hers. "I know I will, even though you didn't have to get me anything."

Another idea crossed Cogsworth's mind, but it was against his own code. How could he possibly risk touching them? He thought it inappropriate and improper to dare touch his superiors without permission. But what other option did he have?

Belle blushed, taking Adam's hand. "Of course I had to get you something! I get everyone I'm grateful to have in my life a gift."

Cogsworth stared at the Prince's shoulder, his hand poised to tap it. Do not think twice, old man! he told himself. Just do it!

He shut his eyes and quickly gave Adam's shoulder two taps.

But, Cogsworth… didn't feel his hand hit anything. He opened his eyes to see if it made any difference.

"And…" Belle continued sincerely, "I am grateful to have you in my life the most."

Adam intertwined his fingers in hers, his voice soft. "I feel the same about you."

Cogsworth kept his eyes open this time and dared himself to try again. He watched his hand reach toward Adam's shoulder—

And go through it.

"AHHHH!" he screamed, unheard by the royal couple, before he ran out of the room.

He stopped in the corridor, panting, as he stared at his hands. They went through his shoulder! Like some sort of spirit!

Spirit?!

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I couldn't be, I just couldn't be! He could hardly bare to think the "d" word.

There was only one way to confirm it, and that was to see if he had ever truly awoken.

Fear kept a firm hold on him as he drifted down the hall towards his quarters. If it was all true, then what would happen to this household and its inhabitants?

Keep your wits about you, Cogsworth encouraged. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it… if it is true… Dear, dear me.