CH. 2 Like Clay From Someone Else's Dream
There was just something about Gaston… when that man was happy, he lit up the whole town like a fire. Everyone wanted to see him happy — except apparently the girl who had the power to grant it. Well, that Belle was going to get it good! Once the plan was underway, she'd have no choice but to fulfill Gaston's wishes. Then everyone would have cause to celebrate!
Still, LeFou somewhat hoped that she wouldn't acquiesce. She just seemed like a terrible match for the great Gaston. She was going to lead that man to no good — he could sense it. Might even cause Gaston to start reading, Lord have mercy.
LeFou had been left to wait on Belle's front porch so that he could notify Gaston of her return.
It had been days, and he was close to freezing to death himself.
The only reason LeFou was still alive was he had eaten all the chickens that had also been left to freeze and starve to death when Maurice and Belle had abandoned the house in their hurry. His campfire was made out of the garbage left behind from the failed wedding of Gaston.
Suddenly LeFou spotted what he recognized as Belle's horse galloping towards the house. Quickly, he hid himself under a pile of slushy snow. Holding his breath so as not to drown in the posh, he listened as Belle and, apparently, her father meandered up the stairs into the house.
Finally LeFou emerged from the snow. "Phew! They're back!" he cried. He then rose to his soggy feet and was caught face to face with a muscular young man, almost as large as Gaston though somehow softer in his features. And his outfit — it was at least ten years out of date, but made from some of the finest fabric LeFou ever laid eyes on.
LeFou didn't know what was the man's association with Belle, but he figured he should give some innocent explanation for why he was hiding in her walkway. "Er… oops, this isn't… where I left the corpse of the man I murdered! Guess it must be the next house. Well, bye!"
LeFou hurried off, and the Prince looked after him, bewildered.
Coming into the house, the Prince called out: "Belle?"
"In here!" her voice cried from upstairs. The Prince followed.
From the doorway he could see her, changing a passed out Maurice from his damp shirt into a fresh nightgown. She looked to the Prince. "Get a fire started in the fireplace," she commanded.
The Prince was surprised by the order. He was going to do it, but hesitated. "Um. Belle, I don't know if this is important, but, there was a man hiding in the snow in front of the house…"
"Was it Gaston?" she asked, not looking up as she focused on rolling her father into the bed. "Enormous, handsome man with black hair styled in a ducktail in front and a rat-tail in back?"
"Uhh… no." said the Prince. "No, this was… uh… I'm actually afraid to describe him lest the Enchantress pops out with a new curse on me."
"Then it's not important," said Belle, her tone agitated. "Go — the fire! Hurry!"
The Prince hastened downstairs, tripping and falling when he automatically tried to switch to running on all fours for speed. He went down the steps arse-over-head. After splattering at the foot, he righted himself, checked to make sure no one else had seen that; and then shakily approached what looked to be a fireplace in a little dining area. Some chopped wood was arranged nearby, and he piled a bit of it up into the little brick chamber. Then… he had no idea what to do from there. His servants usually prepared fires when he was out of a room, warming the place in advance of his entry. He couldn't recall ever seeing the ignition procedure. They must light it with something. Lucifer matches? He looked around for some and found a little box of them on the mantle. He struck a match and held it to a piece of wood. To his dismay, it did no more than make a little black spot on the log before burning down and singeing his own fingers.
Finally Belle came down. "Is the fire going?"
"Uh… I'm… not too familiar with this style of fireplace," said the embarrassed Prince, trying to cover for his ignorance.
Belle hurried over and added the secret ingredient: a small handful of dried straw to get the fire going. She lit it, and as she did so, she instructed the Prince: "Get some water from outside."
The Prince immediately went outside, and saw the water-wheel before him. He then realized he had nothing to put water into. He called back to the house: "Belle? Is there a cistern or a decanter or a seau ovale à liqueur for holding the water?"
Belle came dashing out of the house a moment later with a wooden pail. She proceeded to gather the water herself, and hurried back inside.
The Prince followed her, feeling an increasing burn of humiliation at his uselessness in this situation.
Belle could plainly perceive the problem herself: this man was accustomed to having hundreds of servants doing his housework. He probably had never so much as dished his own food onto a plate. As she poured the water into a large kettle, intending to warm it on the fire, she said to the Prince: "Why don't you go upstairs and sit with papa? Make sure he's alright."
That sounded easy. The Prince went back up the stairs into the bedroom, where Maurice was settled unconscious in the bed. He pulled a chair as near to him he dared, and proceeded to sit there quietly.
It was dull work, but for ten years Prince Matthieu hadn't done much more than this, on most days. As a Beast he often just sat alone in the West Wing or in his den, nothing to do and nowhere to go, bored, disgusted by the trivial pleasures of the palace, finding the monotony was only broken up by mealtimes.
He sighed. He had expected to now be rejoicing in his new situation, not fretting over this old man whom he had hoped to be done with some days ago.
Eventually Belle came in, with hot water bottles in one arm and bearing a fresh pot of herbal tea in her hand. She managed a hint of a smile for her new lover, before darkening with fullest concern upon her father.
The young couple debated how long Maurice had been languishing in the woods. Belle dreaded the possibility that he could have been laying alone in such a condition for days already.
"If only I could have found him sooner…" she lamented, tucking the India-rubber bottles around her father's unconscious body. His hands were red with swollen chilblains, and she arranged his palms over a warm bottle to comfort them.
The Prince frowned. "But… if you had gone sooner, you couldn't have broken the curse in time," he said.
Belle sighed sadly, seating herself on the edge of her father's bed. "Well, whatever's done is done, I guess."
The Prince rose and seated himself at the foot of the bed, beside Belle. Luckily Maurice wasn't a big person, and there was ample room. Taking Belle's hand in his, the Prince began, "Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. Even if I hadn't transformed… you still loved me, as a Beast, didn't you?"
Before Belle could make a reply, Maurice began to squirm in the bed, muttering words as he awoke. Belle jumped, and immediately turned her attention to her father.
"Papa? It's alright, papa. We're home."
Maurice opened his eyes, vision blurry, but seeing the beautiful face of his daughter fade into view. "Belle…?" he murmured, waking.
Belle smiled and leaned in to embrace him. "Papa! I'm so glad you're alright!"
"Belle? I thought I'd never see you again," said Maurice, weakly but joyously.
"And we were so worried about you!" Belle replied.
"Eh?" said Maurice. "'We?'" Suddenly he noticed the fine young gentleman seated beside her. He puzzled for a moment over who it might be. "Well, hello there, young man. Did… did you help her escape from the horrible Beast?"
The Prince's eyes went wide, and he blushed. He debated for a moment about how to answer that and settled, at last, on the truth. "Well… in fact, the Beast is me."
"Eh? What do you mean?" Surely he'd heard wrong, thought Maurice… but then, with a shock of terror, he suddenly recognized those same deep blue eyes that had stared him down in the den, demanding to know what he was doing there. The same massive golden pin on the cape, almost as big as a dinner plate. Even the voice, though not so deep and gruff, there was still something the same in it. "Good Lord, what are you?" cried Maurice, leaping up in the bed with fright. "Some kind of werewolf that shifts back and forth?"
"Papa! Calm down!" Belle urged, alarmed.
"Are you still his captive? Are we in some room at the castle?" Maurice cried, looking around in a fright.
"I'm so sorry about the castle," said the Prince, earnestly but hastily. "I behaved quite badly with you, and with your daughter — but if it is any consolation, I never meant you any harm."
"Never meant us harm!" echoed Maurice. "Why, what do you think it is when you abduct a person and throw them in a freezing cell — "
Maurice's rant was interrupted by the sound of heavy pounding on the front door of the house. Belle gasped with exasperation. What a time for visitors!
"Matthieu," she called to the Prince, "go answer the door. I'll try to calm down papa."
Prince Matthieu rose uneasily, and went to do as instructed.
When he got to the door, he opened it to find an unfamiliar face. It was a lean old man, with a greenish complexion. Indeed, the man looked as if he had died and been buried for a few weeks before coming to pay this little visit.
The old timer stayed very calm as he spoke. "Good morning," he said in a voice that sounded like a creaking coffin. "Is Mlle. Belle at home?"
The Prince hesitated, taken aback by the gruesome appearance of the being before him. He was tempted to say something rather impolite about it, but controlling himself, he answered with all the dignity he could muster: "She's preoccupied. May I be of any assistance?"
"I've come to collect her father," said the old man. "I am M. d'Arque, the administrator of the Asylum de Loons."
It was not a familiar name to the Prince. "Asylum de Loons? Is that in Flanders?"
"Our founder, the late M. de Loons, was indeed a Fleming," said d'Arque. "But our institution is located just a small ways outside of this town."
The Prince shook his head. "Belle's father isn't well right now. You'll have to come back later." He was about to shut the door, but to his astonishment M. d'Arque reached out and withheld it.
"I'm afraid that's not an option," said d'Arque. He carelessly made a signal towards the front yard.
From where the Prince stood at the doorway, he had been unable to see the vast crowd gathered in the lawn before the home. Stepping forward, he presently viewed what looked like the whole population of the village — there were faces as far as the Prince could see, dirty, sunworn faces gleaming in the mid-day light.
At d'Arque's signal, several liveried strongmen ascended the front steps. They were big, but so too was the Prince. And only one of them had spent the last decade as a terrifying monster. Just because he was human now didn't mean he'd lost his personality altogether.
"Hold on here!" boomed the Prince, planting his boots on the ground and bracing himself for a fight. He snarled. "I demand an explanation. What precisely is your purpose here? What do you want with Belle, and her father?"
M. d'Arque remained cool and calm. He gestured for his strongmen to withhold. "There have been several complaints about the behavior of M. Maurice. It's been determined that he will have to spend some time at our institution."
"What kind of an institution?"
"I believe the popular term is 'a madhouse.'"
The Prince suddenly understood everything. He didn't know much about Maurice — indeed had only just learned that the man's name was Maurice — and he really had only ever spent a few minutes with him. Could the gentle old man truly be out of his mind? Belle had never alluded to anything of the sort.
"It is my understanding," said the Prince, "that madhouses are for those who are unable to be properly cared for elsewhere."
"Indeed," said M. d'Arque.
"Well, then you needn't fear," said the Prince. "Belle and I meant to take Maurice away already. He will be very safe, and he will be no more threat to you in the town."
All of a sudden, through the crowd came pushing an enormous, handsome man with black hair styled in a ducktail in front and a rat-tail in back. The Prince recognized the description at once.
"You're going to take Maurice away?" cried Gaston, aghast. This unforeseen turn of events threatened to upset his well-laid plan. "Where to?"
"To my castle," said the Prince.
The crowd, who had been listening to the unfolding drama, suddenly went silent as they processed the answer.
Then, Gaston began to laugh. "Oh, does Belle know how to pick 'em!"
Following his lead, others laughed in turn. Suddenly the whole town was laughing at the Prince.
The Prince was very confused.
Gaston stomped up to the first step of the porch. "And you say you are the owner of this castle? Just who are you, anyway?" asked Gaston, his tone mocking.
"I am Prince of France Matthieu-Amédée, Duke of Valois, of Asberge-Tousseaux-Hochentuer-Glib."
Gaston threw back his head in a haughty laugh. "Ha! Everyone knows the Duke of Valois of Asberge-Tousseaux-Hochentuer-Glib died ten years ago as a child!" he cried. He turned to the crowd. "And you know what that means — he'll be claiming he's Napoleon or Charlemagne next! He's crazy too!"
Suddenly the group of thuggish orderlies fell upon the Prince. Though he was a large fellow at well over six feet tall, he didn't fare well against five more guys nearly the same size.
The crowd hooted and jeered as the protesting Prince was lifted off his feet and hauled towards the wagon of the Asylum de Loons.
Meanwhile, Gaston made his way into the house. "Belle? Maurice?" he bellowed.
Belle's voice called innocently from upstairs: "Up here!"
Belle was still attending to her father. Though she could hear some kind of commotion below, she was much too distracted to imagine it was anything out of the ordinary. This was a quiet town where everything was just the same everyday, afterall.
When Gaston appeared in the bedroom's doorway a moment later, wearing a dark expression on his face, she gasped.
"Gaston," she said, rising to her feet. "What are you doing here?"
"Saving you from a bunch of lunatics," boomed Gaston. He tromped forward and without another word yanked Maurice out of his sickbed. Swiftly, he carried the old man from the room as Belle screamed protests.
"What are you doing? Let him go!" she cried, giving chase.
Gaston was on the front doorstep when he answered her. "Your father is a menace! A madman! Everyone here thinks so!"
There were cries of affirmation from the crowd.
"He has to be locked up," said Gaston, "for the safety of the town." At this, the hulking brute of a man passed Maurice over to one of the liveried orderlies to be dealt with.
"My father's not crazy!" cried Belle, raising her fists to pummel the orderlies but finding herself restrained by Gaston with a mere sweep of his arm.
Maurice, still very ill from his adventure during the night, was responding slowly to the events around him. But once he saw where he was being taken — and who was already waiting in the wagon — he began to holler aloud:
"No, stop!" Maurice cried. "I can't be in there with him! He's a Beast!A horrible, monstrous Beast! I can't let him get me, with his claws and fangs!"
Now Maurice really sounded crazy, since everyone could plainly see that the young man in the wagon was a perfectly normal human.
"You don't get much crazier than that!" cried LeFou from the crowd, laughing scornfully.
Maurice was tossed into the wagon with the Prince, and the piles of muscled orderlies took charge of him.
Belle watched it all in helpless horror. "Gaston! You know my father's not crazy! And — why Matthieu, too? He isn't crazy either!"
Gaston saw his chance. "Calm down, Belle. Now, let's say I believe you."
"If you believe me, why don't you stop them?"
"Well — what will you do for me if I try to stop them?" asked Gaston, imagining this was a more suave entry into his proposition than it really was.
"What do you want?" said Belle, exasperated but not at all surprised that Gaston wasn't going to help her from the goodness of his heart. "Money? My fiancé has money."
Gaston swelled with pride. "Well, I don't like to brag about my income when I have so much else — but, wait. Wait. You don't mean a different fiancé?" he asked, going pale at the realization.
"Yes," said Belle, very irritated. "Prince Matthieu, the only fiancé I have, who you just helped cart away! I was staying at his castle."
Gaston sputtered for a moment, unsure how to respond to this fresh revelation. "A prince…? A castle…?" His whole plan seemed to be going to pieces. "I don't want money," he spat at last. "I want you."
Belle took a step back. "What?" she gasped in disbelief.
"Say you'll marry me, and I'll fix it so the both of them get released. You have my word on that."
"Never!" she cried.
"Have it your way," said Gaston. "Leave them to rot in the asylum."
"No," said Belle. "No — I'll fix this myself. Do whatever you want, Gaston!" Belle spun on her heel and went into the house. She emerged a moment later wearing her cape.
"Where do you think you're going?" said Gaston, putting himself in her path.
"To the castle," said Belle, sidestepping him, not bothering to look him in the face as she spoke. "The servants will be able to confirm the Prince's identity, and his sanity. And he can get my father out just as easily as you can — without having to blackmail me for it."
She made her way through the rapidly thinning crowd, to the stable where her horse Philippe was attempting to recuperate from a hard morning journey. The horse was a bit exasperated to see that his mistress wanted him to ride again already — but, he was in every way a workhorse.
Gaston rubbed his chin in thought as he observed Belle saddle up and ride off into the afternoon sun. LeFou came to his side.
"Has she said yes?" asked an eager LeFou.
Gaston pounded him over the head, knocking him unconscious for asking such an annoying question.
"No," he said, eyes glued to Belle and unaware that LeFou was now passed out on the ground. "But I think I have another means to get her away from that… 'Beast in a castle.'"