Chapter Four: Christmas Eve
Right before the clock hit six, Cogsworth came down to the foyer and went to the window to see the turnout. Carriages lined the drive, and it seemed their occupants were waiting for the enormous double doors to open before they braved the short trip up the stairs in the cold.
The majordomo looked back at the foyer, and frowned. Valets should be at attendance by now, and yet the foyer was empty. He glanced at his pocket watch: six o' clock.
His heart clenched. Oh, no no no, where are they?!
In Cogsworth's eyes, punctuality was a virtue that could never be compromised, especially in such a prestigious setting as a provincial prince's château. It exemplified courtesy, professionalism, and reciprocal respect, all of which are vital in a host-guest relationship among nobility. If too early or too late, the balance between Prince Adam and his subjects and contemporaries could be threatened.
Why was Cogsworth the only one to grasp this line of common sense?
He ran as fast as he could to the ballroom to search for the cause, but he soon stumbled on Mrs. Potts entering the foyer.
"Oh thank heavens!" Cogsworth cried with relief. Though he knew he couldn't be heard, he said to her, "Do you see here? No valets! Were they not assigned?"
"Where are the…?" Mrs. Potts began, but the look of horror confirmed Cogsworth's fears.
"Oh I knew this was all too good to be true!" he mourned. "To actually have imagined it going off without a single hitch; what on earth was I thinking?"
As she picked up her skirt to hurry back, Cogsworth followed. "I hope you're going to the kitchens. We can sacrifice a few servers for now until all of the guests are safely inside."
Indeed, Mrs. Potts was taking the way to the kitchens. When they reached the doors in the dining room, Cogsworth praised, "I shouldn't have doubted you for a second, Margaret! Marvelous decision!"
He was on her tail as she pushed through the kitchen doors, mostly so as not to experience his current ghostly talents. But at one glance, Cogsworth gasped. "Where are the servers?!"
The majority of the maids doubled as servers during meals and galas, and none were present. Granted, they were not required to be there for another half-hour, but Cogsworth had always reminded them to be at hand when the guests started arriving, just in case.
"That is just like them not to take my recommendations seriously!" Cogsworth fumed as Mrs. Potts wove through the chefs to the island where Lumière stood.
"Lumière, we need valets in the foyer, immediately!" she reported, cutting straight to the point. "We can't leave our guests out in the cold for long."
Lumière looked as shocked as Mrs. Potts had. "We did not assign the valets?" Thinking quickly, his brow creased before he said, "I will help you bring the guests in."
"But what about the maids?" Mrs. Potts asked as Babette came over to investigate.
"The maids are still upstairs," she replied automatically.
"We don't have the time to chase after them either," Lumière added.
"Do we need them? I can fetch them myself," Babette offered with slight uncertainty, clearly unaware of the context.
"We need you more as a valet," he gently corrected.
Babette became bewildered. "Valet? Oh, mon Dieu, do not tell me…" she groaned knowingly.
"I will round up a few of the chefs and meet you both out front," Lumière announced before the women rushed back outside.
"The chefs?" Cogsworth repeated uncertainly as he watched the maître d' call upon half of them before they began taking off their aprons. "But what about the food?"
Cogsworth appreciated Lumière taking the initiative in leadership in such a dire situation, but he could not see how five chefs could continue to maintain dozens of pots of cooking food all on their own. His faith better be placed in the right people.
The majordomo followed the girls back to the foyer as he pulled out his pocket watch. As Babette and Mrs. Potts opened the doors, the clock read six-fourteen.
He felt faint at the sight, and such a wave of shame came over him that in that moment he was actually glad no one could witness his failing.
Feeling his legs growing weak, Cogsworth gripped the railing of the grand staircase and lowered himself to the bottom stair. If only I wasn't in this ridiculous state… He rubbed his temples as he tried to soothe himself. I am getting much too old for this.
But he was never one to give up, even when he became particularly overwhelmed. In this case, the ball would go on without him either way, and though it would most likely be painful to be stuck observing, he cared too much about the outcome of this event to simply hide himself away.
After he took a few moments to mourn morosely over his circumstance, he was able to regain his focus. He followed the various counts, marquises, dukes, and their wives to the ballroom to make sure the Prince and Belle were doing well at the entrance playing the host and hostess. Most of the guests present had attended their wedding reception, which had been the first time Belle had been introduced to them. Adam had supposedly met them before, but only when he was very young, which some always loved reminding him about. Belle was better at remembering names than him, but her memory wasn't perfect. Cogsworth would have normally reminded him to go over the guest list beforehand, and the majordomo would have hoped Adam had taken the liberty of reinforcing his memory on his own.
However, this was not to have been; Cogsworth watched Adam embarrassingly call the Count of Marsan the Count of Maurepas instead.
"'Maurepas'?" the Count of Marsan sneered with ill-concealed offense. "I am of House Lorraine, son of the Prince of Pons. I am not to be confused with that washed-up exile, if you do not mind… Your Highness."
Adam cleared his throat, hoping his annoyance wasn't as obvious. "Of course, monsieur, my mistake."
"Merry Christmas," Belle imparted pleasantly.
The count inclined his head while his wife curtsied respectfully, but his peeved expression still lingered as they joined the gaggles of chatting nobility.
Turning his head so only Belle could hear, the Prince mumbled through his teeth. "If I get corrected by another snobby what's-his-name…"
Belle smiled empathetically, rubbing his back. "You're doing fine," she murmured back. "We can get through a few more."
Adam sighed through his nose, the soothing motion of her hand on his back easing the tension in his body. Letting her words reassure him, he managed a smile for the next couple to approach them.
Well… it could be worse, Cogsworth reasoned, thinking of the Master's infamous temper. But he was doing extraordinarily well in hiding his frustration, and the majordomo would wager to guess that Belle was the main reason he was keeping himself so calm and collected. What a blessing, that girl.
His appreciation was short-lived as he suddenly detected a faint scent of… something. Something off.
"Is that…" he wondered aloud, sniffing again. "Is that burning?"
The kitchens.
"Oh dear, oh dear. Lumière?" Cogsworth called fearfully. He stumbled through the crowd as he tried to hurry back to the foyer, incidentally passing through a few of the guests like an apparition. Even this could hardly phase him as he sprinted to Lumière, who was following the guests into the ballroom at a most leisurely pace with Babette on his arm, Mrs. Potts, and the remainder of the cooks.
Cogsworth screeched to a halt and walked astride them, glaring at the maître d' and his staff as they chatted in good spirits. "Why are none of you hurrying back to the kitchens? You can all carouse later, when the food is being served, and preferably not burnt!"
But that was the problem: they hadn't detected the smell yet. Cogsworth had a thought to run there himself, but just as quickly turned the suggestion away. His nerves couldn't handle the mere smell of it, much less the sight of frantic cooks trying to salvage dinner.
Finally, as the group came to the ballroom's entrance, the majordomo saw Lumière stop dead, his face blanching to the color of wax.
"Babette," he addressed though he stared in the direction of the kitchen. "Mon amour adorée, please tell me I am hallucinating."
Babette's expression matched Lumière's as she replied with empathy, "I wish I could."
"Oh Dieu," he murmured, gently releasing Babette's hand before sprinting down the hall, his cooks also in pursuit with Mrs. Potts trailing behind.
"Dear Lord above," Cogsworth quietly pleaded to, his face in his hands. "The ball has hardly begun and everything is going wrong! What could be worse?" He managed to stop himself. "All right, all right, think calm—deep breaths—think positive. Positive, positive, positive, positively, positively... the positively worst day… of my pitiable existence…"
Oddly enough, instead of despair, he felt defiance; if he was going to endure the worst day he had ever encountered, he was going to come out of it with some of his sanity still intact.
Hm! he had to admire. Perhaps that sort of meditation was of some use after all.
Cogsworth followed Babette back into the ballroom, who discreetly went behind the royal couple to whisper in Belle's ear. The princess looked to the maid with alarm, though she fought to restrain it from the guests' eyes. He heard her quietly reply, "Is everyone all right?"
Babette smiled at her obvious concern and promised, "I am sure only the food was scathed, madame. Lumière and the rest are taking care of it as we speak."
"Thank you for letting me know," Belle expressed, and Babette gave a reverent nod before heading to the kitchens as well.
The scent of burnt food didn't dissipate quickly, but it didn't get any stronger. The problem must be in the process of getting solved. At least this was one the majordomo could avoid dealing with firsthand.
As the remaining nobles were greeting Adam and Belle, Cogsworth assessed the time on his pocket watch: six-forty-eight.
They were far off-schedule at this point. Ideally, between six-thirty and six-forty-five, all of the guests would be in the ballroom and the ruling monarch—in this case, Prince Adam—would be announcing the start of the ceremony and cue the maestro to—
"Maestro," Cogsworth remembered, scanning the bright and colorful crowd for a face he hadn't come across yet. "Where is Fife?"
He made his way around the clusters of their finely-dressed guests to get a proper glimpse of the orchestra. In their usual corner, a group of strings and woodwinds musicians were getting themselves organized, arranging their music on stands and tuning their respective instruments.
But there was no conductor.
"Oh, just perfect," Cogsworth spat with extreme chagrin. It was not as if he could simply ask about Fife's whereabouts and send a servant to fetch him. He must wait for someone else to discover Fife's absence, something he not only didn't have the time for, but he no longer had the patience.
"This is poppycock," Cogsworth muttered, thinking of that blasted enchantress' fiendish exploits. "Do you hear me?" he cried at the ceiling. "Poppycock! I demand to be made visible and audible at once, you… you brazen, nefarious… witch!"
As he ranted and raved to an invisible and most likely absent enchantress, Adam and Belle had made their way to the gargantuan Christmas tree where their thrones were set up on a carpeted platform two steps high. The Prince kept his back to the crowd, whispering to Belle and appearing hesitant.
Cogsworth recognized this once he had quieted his outbursts, and wasn't surprised. Public speaking was not the young Master's strong suit, but unless he was endowed with a natural-born talent to charm an audience, how could it? Save for his wedding, this was the largest congregation he had spoken in front of in his life. Without consistent practice, it was only logical that Adam would be afraid to speak to all of his higher class subjects at once.
Belle smiled and murmured some words of encouragement, rubbing his fingers with hers.
Adam mirrored her smile sincerely and squeezed her hands lovingly before facing the gathering. He stood straight and tall, with arms at his sides, and an expression of confident benevolence, just as he had been taught.
"Mesdames et messieurs, bonsoir, and Merry Christmas. Welcome to our home. I thank you all for joining our festivities this evening, festivities that are long since overdue. The tradition of the Christmas Eve ball began long before I was born, and I was only too eager to carry on that tradition when I came of age."
The majordomo had been beaming at the Prince's growth and maturity as he began his wonderful introductions before he suddenly felt a tingling sensation race through his whole body for a split second. Based on how it looked like Lumière had hurried from him, the maître d' must have walked right through Cogsworth. And that meant that cursed enchantress had ignored him. Again.
Cogsworth glared daggers at the ceiling.
"I hope," the Prince continued, "that this Christmas and those to come will be as fondly remembered as those from the past. So please, enjoy what we have to offer—"
"Master," Lumière hissed. To Cogsworth's despair, he had the apologetic look of someone with the misfortune of having to disclose bad news.
Wonderful, the majordomo thought with bitter sarcasm. A rather superlative cherry to top such a beautiful disaster of an evening.
"—and let the ball begin," Adam concluded with a noble smile. He referred an arm to cue the orchestra, but as he watched them, the musicians began shaking their heads. Pointing to the spot before them, they shrugged at him.
The Prince faltered, sweeping his gaze back at his constituents as his uncertainty started to show. He looked to Belle.
"Master," Lumière called again, waving Adam over.
Adam glanced between him and his guests, awkwardly clearing his throat in the attentive silence, before stepping down the platform to become level with Lumière, bending his ear for him to whisper into it.
Though he wasn't able to be as discreet as Belle, Adam only showed a brief glimpse of horror at Lumière's words before resetting his expression to something more stoic, save for his widened blue eyes.
"I don't… What do I do until you find him?" the Prince whispered in earnest.
Lumière was trying not to appear as much at a loss, but answered as though it were obvious. "You must stall them."
"Stall them how?" Adam questioned pleadingly.
"I am confident you can think of something." Lumière mustered an assuring smile before his eyes flickered to Belle. "You are not alone." And with a pat behind the Prince's shoulder, Lumière strode around the edge of the ballroom to continue the search.
Looking abandoned, Adam seemed to purposely avoid making eye contact with any of the aristocrats, who were now shifting uncomfortably, and focused on Belle as he returned to her side on the platform.
Cogsworth watched the proceedings in nervous anticipation. Even if he had not been cursed with ghostly abilities that day, he wasn't sure how he would address the steadily fussing crowd. How did one excuse such lack of preparation and impropriety coming from his own staff, people that reflect his success or failure as a leader?
Then again, none of this would have happened if he hadn't been turned into the ghost of Christmas Eve.
"Excuse me… everyone," Adam shyly commanded, raising his hand for attention.
The nobility lowered their voices by a notch as he barreled on, "I apologize for the wait. It seems that our…" He cleared his throat again, beads of sweat blooming on his brow. "Well, what is a ball without music, and… what is an orchestra without a conductor. I am sure he will be here… very shortly. Until then, um…" He glanced at Belle to confirm, and she nodded. "My lovely wife, Princess Belle, has something she would like to share."
He stepped back to give her the floor as she took his place. Though she was only a country bumpkin in the critical eyes of some nobility, she had a natural, commanding presence that wasn't so easily ignored. And no one could deny she looked like royalty in her golden ball gown.
She fearlessly yet kindly met the eyes of many members of the audience.
"Good evening," Belle greeted with a polite incline of her head, "and what a pleasure it is to see so many familiar faces here tonight."
She gazed around the ballroom's splendor, from the tinsel-wrapped columns, to the wreath-covered crystal chandelier. "Many of you were probably able to witness the Christmas balls here some time ago, even if you were very young. For me, this is the very first time I am seeing the castle in the holiday spirit, and… I am in awe." She grinned, placing a hand at her heart. "Isn't it wonderful? And I know none of this would be possible without the staff of Château du Lac, who even now are very hard at work trying to make sure this night runs smoothly."
The princess pensively folded her hands at her waist, her smile becoming more obligatory. "There is one of our staff members, our majordomo, who we all know puts an extraordinary amount of effort and time into not only preparations for any events we host, but who, without him… this household would fall apart. Unfortunately, he couldn't be here this evening to celebrate his and his staff's accomplishments, but I wanted to make sure he and everyone who helped was recognized for such beautiful work."
Cogsworth found himself being brought to tears. The dear, sweet girl, who they all owed their very lives, chose to speak highly of him directly to a congregation of some of the most important people in France. As he looked around, the aristocrats were appearing rather touched, and he couldn't keep himself from beaming.
After a deep breath, Belle spoke more directly to the nobility, who were completely fixed on her words, and she gestured to the decorations. "For the end of another successful year, this is our gift from us to all of you. On the behalf of myself and Prince Adam, we cannot express enough our gratitude for all of your generosity in keeping this province safe and prospering. Thank you all so very much."
She began to applaud them, becoming a picture of pure sincerity. Adam felt compelled to follow her lead willingly, realizing it was only right though he might disagree with a few of those gathered there that night.
To the Prince's obvious surprise, the nobles steadily grew to a nice applause, definitely seeming to appreciate being congratulated for all that they did to make sure their portion of France didn't fall into ruin.
Cogsworth joined in, feeling that his mood had experienced a complete turn-around, his fear of insignificance evaporating into the merry, spirited air.
Scuffling was heard from behind, and upon a turn of the head, Cogsworth saw Fife struggling with the inside of his sleeve before he whipped his baton from his cuff. Jumping right in, the band flowed into the graceful opening of the minuet. Fife's conducting instantly lost all of his previous panic, gently waving his hands to the dance's rhythm.
Excitement spiked the audience as the music started. They parted as Belle took Adam's hand, descended the platform, and performed the opening waltz.
Cogsworth couldn't be more relieved. There was music, there was dancing, there was food, and all of the guests were happy. That was all he really asked for from a ball. Why was that so hard to accomplish in the first place?
Ah well, the majordomo decided to shrug. C'est la vie… I suppose the French may have something right after all.
He glanced over to see Babette talking with a very flustered Angélique. Babette was smiling empathetically and trying to be reassuring while the decorator looked adamant about chastising herself.
Cogsworth sighed. So romance has struck again. Through a small parting in the crowd, from where he stood, he could see the royal couple dancing as if they were on a cloud. Both had a look in their eyes that made it seem like they were the only two in the entire world.
But if it hadn't struck at all…
That was it then. He owed his life to love. Why on earth was he complaining about it?
The higher ranking nobles had joined the minuet, and a merry-go-round of couples was now spinning along the floor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lumière approach the maid and decorator.
The maître d's gaze had been full of intention for Babette, but he then seemed to realize Angélique's distress. "Oh ma chère, you are not still agonizing over this little incident, are you?" he asked the decorator.
Babette eyed him reproachfully. "We discussed this earlier, chéri…" she mildly chastised in a melodious tone.
Lumière offered his hands in surrender, pursing his lips in compliance while Babette gave Angélique a well-deserved hug. "This is your night more than anyone else's, mon amie," the maid assured, pulling away to meet her eye. "You do not need permission to revel in it."
Angélique took a calming breath and smiled as she nodded. "You are more than right, as usual."
"At least you are not the first to commit a small lapse like this," Lumière added with a suggestive smirk.
Though she rolled her eyes, Angélique's smile stayed. "I know the true reason you came over here, and it was definitely not for my benefit." She waved them onward. "Go on; dance under the glow of my handiwork."
"We will," Lumière replied as if he were accepting an easy challenge. He intertwined his fingers with Babette's, looking adoringly at her as he continued, "With the utmost pleasure."
Babette glowed under his gaze, thoroughly caught in his stare as she followed him onto the floor.
The gears in Cogsworth's mind began to crank. He watched over the waltzing couples, spotting among them Mrs. Potts and Maurice, his wayward white hair combed and styled for the event.
All of the coupling that had occurred amongst the castle's inhabitants… They were not creating merely their own separate entities. They had formed an extended family that went deeper than blood relations, congealed into this tapestry of love and friendship.
And perhaps he wasn't this outlier that was disregarded and refused to be included. If anything, his exclusion was by his own hand.
Despite what he had always believed, his life here was much, much more than just a job. He had been through hell and back with everyone in this castle, literally, and he alone had maintained a sense of normalcy when their lives were anything but. If that didn't solidify his importance here, what could?
He wasn't going anywhere. Where could he go? This shack by the sea he had envisioned, secluded and alone, with only the ocean's waves to incite conversation… As much as he had fancied the idea when stress and irritation at his staff had overwhelmed him, that wasn't going to make him happy.
This was his home. For good, and for the better.
Well, it seems I will be working until my dying day.
A smile came to his lips, feeling content and at ease for the first time in a long while.