Show Me the Beast

Liz the Factotum

Prologue

Posted on Sunday, 18 July 2004

Disclaimer: The song "Beauty and the Beast", whose lyrics you see below, belongs to Disney. All the characters you recognize belong to Jane Austen, and Eppie pretty much belongs to me, although she is based on Victor Hugo's Eponine Thenardier from Les Miserables.

Tale as old as time
True as it can be
Barely even friends
Then somebody bends
Unexpectedly
Just a little change
Small to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
Beauty and the Beast.
Ever just the same
Ever a surprise
Ever as before
Ever just as sure
As the sun will rise
Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Certain as the sun
Rising in the east
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast.
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast

The morning dawned cold and grey, exceedingly cold and grey, as Prince William Darcy returned from the hunt. Three sleepless nights, waiting for his prey, had taken their toll on his already irritated mind; and to add insult to injury, his good friend Prince Charles had managed to shoot a lovely five-point buck. It had not been a pleasant week.

William might have been content with the three sizeable does that lay slung across the back of his dog-cart, but the memory of that splendid buck tumbling to the ground with Charles' bullet in its chest was too much for his pride. That buck should have been his. It was his. Charles wasn't half so good a shot as he. It was pure luck. Pure luck, and William was fresh out.

It was not enough that everyone within thirty miles knew he was better at everything than anybody. His ego was bruised by this cruel twist of fate, and no amount of good humor could induce him into contentedness.

"Benedict!" he barked suddenly at his servant.

"Sir?"

He tugged on his horses' reins. "I am going to the shortcut. You'll have to take the cart by way of the main road and meet me at the Castle later."

"Very good, sir." Benedict led the draft horse to the side of the road to give the Prince passage, upon which William reared his mount and took off at a brisk pace towards the small path through the trees.

Ten minutes of solitude in the forest brought no peace to William's mind. He was nearly halfway home, but was not any happier than he was when he set out seven days ago. No matter where he sought rest and solace, it seemed he found only frustration and discontent.

A small voice startled him from his disagreeable train of thought.

"Your Highness?"

The Prince slowed his horse to a trot. "Who's there?"

A small figure stepped out into the path. "It's me. Eppie."

William frowned. Clear blue eyes, almost ethereal in quality, white skin, and a quantity of wispy golden hair framing her teenaged face. Ah, yes. Of course. Miss Eponine Tenard. At only nineteen, she was the town's most accomplished herbalist, and had once brought him a draught to cure a most wretched fever. He barely recalled her face.

"Good day, Miss Tenard," he said flatly, nudging his horse onward.

She took a step forward. "Your highness, I..."

"Yes?" he inquired sharply, suddenly impatient to return home.

"I was wondering if you...might join my family and I for supper tomorrow evening. We've killed our finest pig, and the best vegetables are ripe this week. It may not be such a meal as you are used to, but I am sure you shall not be disappointed...if you would so honor us, sir." She curtseyed.

William considered briefly. It was not uncommon for nobles and even royalty to accept invitations such as these, so as to curry the good favor of their subjects. But the favor of others was something that had never appealed to this Prince, and the idea of passing an evening with country folk was abhorrent to him. He had not spent his childhood learning the ways of the nobles in order to squander them on peasants.

"I thank you, but I am otherwise engaged," he stated, beginning to ride away.

Eppie ran after him. "The day after tomorrow, then? Or any day this week?"

He sighed inwardly. "My deepest apologies, Miss Tenard, but I am not accustomed to such society. I must decline your offer to spare my reputation. Send your regrets to my family." Spurring his horse to a gallop, he left her in the dust.

Biting her lip, Eppie cast her eyes to the ground. It was hopeless. It always had been.

She sank onto the ground with her back against a tree and waited for the darkness.

Nearly a fortnight later, as William was preparing for bed, a strange feeling of foreboding crept over him. Double-bolting his bedchamber door and all the windows did little to ease this fear, but he forced himself to put it aside and rest. He lay on his bed, closed his eyes, and forced himself to think of pleasant things.

Perhaps five minutes passed, perhaps it was an hour or two - afterwards, he could never recall. But he awoke to an unusually bright light issuing from the farthest corner of his room. After blinking away the initial pain in his eyes, he propped himself up in bed and made an effort to determine what it was.

Just as he was beginning to despair of distinguishing anything in the blinding light, it began to fade, and he could perceive in it the figure of a person. His heart clenched with fear and he found himself unable to speak.

"Prince William."

A woman's voice, but a little deeper than was quite ordinary.

As she spoke, she came into view.

She was clothed in a simple white gown that seemed to glow with a light that was all its own, as did her long golden tresses and pale, beautiful skin. She looked at him, her piercing blue-gray eyes filling him with another, deeper, nameless terror.

"Do you not know me?"

Still he could not speak.

"You knew my daughter well enough."

Daughter? Who...?

"She brought you the draught that saved your life."

Eppie. Dear God, this was her mother? "My life...?" was all he managed to strangle out.

"That fever would have claimed it, had she not brewed for you the draft that you hardly remember."

"How...?"

"I was given the gift of foresight, as are all my kin." He stared at him even more intensely. "Have you not guessed? I am an Elf, Prince William."

An Elf! One of those most magical, most powerful creatures. William had never thought to meet one face-to-face. And this Elf was exceedingly angry at him.

"My daughter was half-Elf, one of the dwindling line that will soon be gone from his earth forever. And you have killed her."

"But Elves ... Elves cannot die," he whispered, transfixed and deathly afraid.

"On that, Prince, you are wrong. Elves can die in battle. And they can die of a broken heart."

Sickened, William backed farther up against the headboard. He was beginning to understand.

"My daughter loved you, Prince, loved you above all men. She would hear nothing of your selfishness and pride. She believed there was a good man somewhere deep inside of you, and to that man, she pledged her heart. Nothing could dissuade her. And once she had fallen in love, there was no turning back."

William felt cold all over.

The Elf took a step closer to him. "When she heard you were sick with a fever, she would not rest until you were cured. And nigh on two weeks ago, when she invited you to our home, you refused her on the grounds of preserving your reputation. In that moment she knew that you considered her beneath you, and that any hope of you returning her love was in vain. This was enough to break her heart. She died almost as soon as you left her."

The Prince was paralyzed. Surely this vengeful mother planned to kill him by way of recompense for his sins. "I ... I..." he rasped, "I did not know..."

Her eyes blazed. "It is done. Even I cannot bring my daughter back. The reason it has taken me so long to come to you is that I could not decide on a proper punishment. Mere death is not enough."

Torture, then. Oh, God, deliver me, he silently prayed.

"I could take away your fortunes, but I know that you have at least one loyal friend in whose power it would be to rescue you from poverty. I could take away your possessions, but you would replace them. And so I will take away that which you treasure most ... and that which you never deserved to have."

What could she mean? Frantically his brain searched for an answer.

"From this day onward, you shall live, not as a man, but as a hideous beast. You are no longer human. You shall now be seen for who you really are in your soul."

No. This could not be happening. It was all a horrible nightmare.

Advancing to him, she pulled from her dress a single white rose and dropped it upon his bedside table.

"This rose shall bloom for nine years. On your twenty-seventh birthday it will begin to fade. The last petal will fall from it on the dawn of your twenty-eighth year, and you shall be doomed to live as a beast forever. Until that time, I have afforded you one hope of recovering your humanity."

Cold sweat dripped down his face as he listened intently to her words.

"If you fall in love with a maid, and she finds it in her heart to love you in return, though you are a horrifying creature, then you will be returned to your human form. But once the rose is dead, even this meager chance is dead as well."

She stared harder, and William felt a sudden sharp pain course through his body. It was followed by another, and another, and another, each one stronger than the last, until he cried out in unspeakable agony. The pain grew steadily worse until his vision blackened and he knew no more.

The next morning was a turmoil of misunderstandings, terror, and long explanations. William could never remember it properly afterwards. He only knew that he was trapped in a huge, misshapen body, covered with fur. His claws and fangs were nearly five inches long, and the former made visible scratches in the stone floor of Pemberley Castle, his beautiful home.

Perhaps the most painful occurrence that day was the conversation with his friend, Prince Charles.

"William," said he, studiously avoiding a glance at his friend's face, "if you just sit here for the rest of your life in seclusion, your fate will be your own fault."

"Charles," growled his companion, "there is no hope. It was a cruel joke ... look at me! Am I not the most fearsome ... thing you have ever laid eyes on?"

Charles did not look, but merely shook his head. "It was not an idle hope. Pursue it. Do you want to be like this forever?"

"I see no alternative," was the quiet reply. "Charles ... who could ever learn to love a beast?"

Chapter One: Beauty

Posted on Thursday, 22 July 2004

The years withered and passed away, as the years always do. Once, or twice, Prince William ventured into the village, only to find his worst fears confirmed. Those that were not outright terrified of him, were disgusted by the rumors they had heard of his being cursed by an Elf. They knew that he must have committed some heinous crime for her to condemn him so.

And so William despaired of his very life, and retreated into Pemberley Castle with no intentions of ever emerging again. He spoke but little to anyone, and became unbearable even to his closest friend - Charles' visits occurred less and less, and finally he stopped coming altogether. If he had known how to help his tormented companion, he would have done it in an instant, but as things were it was painful for both of them the longer he tarried.

William's twenty-seventh birthday came and went. The first petal on the rose fell. It was truly the beginning of the end.

Less than a year to break the curse, and less hope than ever before.

He had always been a beast. He would always be one. It was only a matter of time.

The sun was hot and painfully bright in the countryside where resided Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Rambling down a hillside, dragging her bonnet behind her, she gave the general appearance of a little girl who suddenly found herself in the guise of a young woman. She was going to get terribly sunburnt, she knew, but it was worth it to feel the warm rays on her face.

"Lizzy?" her mother called. "LIZZY!"

"Coming, mamma..." with a sigh, Elizabeth replaced her bonnet and ran to the house where her mother stood, frantically waving a handkerchief.

Mrs. Bennet was of the unhappy disposition that caused her to worry endlessly about frivolous things, and not at all about matters of any practical importance. As her daughter drew nearer, she continued to shriek. "Lizzy, whatever are you doing? You must go into town straightaway and return this letter to your Aunt Phillips. I would send Kitty, but she's ill again, and Mary won't leave the pianoforte, and Lydia is ever so busy trimming a new bonnet. You must go at once."

Taking the letter, "certainly, mamma." Elizabeth walked briskly off.

"WAIT! Just where do you think you're going?"

"Into town, mamma. Like you said."

"On foot?"

"I should much prefer it to any other method."

"You most certainly will not go on foot. You shall take Nelly."

Nelly, the Bennets' old mare, had long since grown too long in the tooth to be of any transportational use. Elizabeth had never really been fond of riding, and the prospect of going all the way to town on Nelly was quite unpleasant. "Thank you, Mamma, but I will be quite all right walking."

Mrs. Bennet scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, child. You will take Nelly, or you will not go at all!"

"Mamma, you wished for me to go. I have no reason to be in town. What is so urgent about the letter? Cannot Lydia take it when she is done with her bonnet?"

"Oh, LIZZY! HAVE YOU NO COMPASSION ON MY POOR NERVES?"

"All right, all right, mamma!" Elizabeth interrupted with a sigh, "I will ride into town for you."

But, at this point, Mrs. Bennet could not be appeased. She continued her embittered muttering about her poor nerves while her daughter made the preparations for the journey, and did not stop until she was long out of sight.

And so it was that Elizabeth found herself riding into town on a miserably hot day, with the trees that lined the road offering little shade to ease the discomfort. Nelly plodded along, uncomplaining, but Elizabeth had the feeling the mare would have protested if she only knew how to speak. Halfway to town, Lizzy could bear it no longer. Bringing Nelly to a stop, which was not much of a variation from her usual pace, the young woman dismounted and proceeded to walk, leading Nelly with the reins.

As they arrived at the edge of town, a cloudbank was moving in suddenly from the west. With an apprehensive glance at this, Elizabeth hurried her pace, urging Nelly along.

"Miss Bennet?" came a friendly voice from further down the street.

"Mr. Wickham!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "How do you do?"

An easy smile graced his handsome face, as he straightened his tall frame up from where he leaned against the doorjamb of an inn. "I am quite well Miss Bennet. Has your horse gone lame?" he inquired, suddenly concerned.

Puzzled for a moment, the lady finally understood, and laughed. "Oh, no, sir. I am merely leading her behind since she is so fatigued in the heat, and anyway I would much rather walk."

Chuckling, "I believe we are all a little fatigued in the heat. Would you like to step inside and rest a moment?"

"Thank you, sir, but I would rather finish my errand and return home before that rainstorm starts." She glanced heavenward. "Perhaps the next time I am in town?"

Wickham smiled hopefully. "I look forward to it, Miss Bennet!"

"Good day, Mr. Wickham."

As she walked on, the ominous clouds edged closer in from the horizon. Wickham's eyes followed Elizabeth until she was out of sight, then he retreated to the public room of the inn.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet sure is a fine-looking lass, eh Wickham?" shouted one of his comrades from a nearby table.

Wickham sighed, his expression dark. "Indeed."

"She likes you." It was impossible to ascertain if this was a statement, or a question, but evidently the other gentleman understood.

"Not enough."

Wickham's friend laughed. "Well ... you win some, you lose some, I suppose."

"Perhaps."

A long moment passed.

"But I intend to have her."

The comrade smiled. "'Course. Care for a game of Whist?"

"Certainly."

Few people noticed the dark glint in Wickham's eyes as he rose from his chair.

Miles away, in the forest, a very ordinary event was occurring. A young boy by the name of Peter was playing one of his adventurous games, as he did every day after his schooling was complete. But today was different. Today was his mother's birthday.

Peter, being an affectionate boy, wished to find the perfect gift for his beautiful mamma. But in the manner of children everywhere, he had been distracted by the delights around him, and now his appointed hour to return home was fast approaching. He knew he should go back to his own garden and pick some flowers from the beds there, but he wanted something different.

In the back of his mind he recalled tales that had been told to him by the neighborhood children ... tales of a castle in the forest, and a fearsome beast within. Each time he heard the story the details were different, but he particularly remembered being told that the garden of said castle contained the most beautiful flowers that had ever been seen. Being skeptical of the reports of a beast, but considering the flower-related rumors worthy of investigation, he ventured deeper into the woods in the general direction in which he understood the castle to be.

What with all the erroneous information that had been passed along to him, it is remarkable that he ever reached it. Or perhaps not so remarkable, considering the amount of the forest that was dominated by the massive estate. But after only a few minutes of aimless exploring, he found himself facing a massive wrought-iron fence, just on the other side of which was a bush full of the biggest, reddest roses he had ever seen. At first he was so mesmerized that he could not tear his eyes away; then, looking past them, he saw more and more beautiful roses, and flowers of all kind, all larger and more gorgeous than any he had ever seen. And past them...a massive, dark castle. Certainly an unpleasant-looking place. But Peter swallowed his fear and crept closer to the fence.

He reached out his hand through the bars and closed his fingers around the stem of a rose.

"No, thank you, Aunt, I think I shall just be able to make it home before this storm starts. Enjoy your dinner!"

Mrs. Phillips frowned. "We will, but ... take care, Lizzy!"

Laughing, Elizabeth tugged on Nelly's reins. "I will, don't worry."

Several minutes later, she was beginning to regret the haste of her decision. The cloudbank was traveling in earnest now, making remarkably good time. Elizabeth hoped very much that it would pass over just as quickly, but she somehow doubted it. Nelly, sensing a change in the atmosphere, skittered slightly to the side of the road.

"There, it's all right, it's just going to rain, that's all," Lizzy soothed her, patting her nose. "Here, let's walk under these trees so we don't get thoroughly soaked."

She led the mare closer to the forest as the first rumblings of thunder broke the idyllic silence. The sky darkened, as rapidly as if someone had turned over an inkwell on it, and a handful of raindrops splattered down. Within moments the splatter grew to a downpour, turning the dusty roads almost instantly to mud.

Sensible enough to see that she could no longer make her way on foot, Elizabeth mounted Nelly with the help of a nearby stump and urged the long-suffering mare onward. "Come on, we can make it," she said, more to comfort herself than the horse. The downpour only came harder.

Lizzy turned her eyes longingly to the forest that extended beyond the town. It was so much drier in there. Surely it couldn't hurt to follow one of the footpaths through the trees, to stay dry? After a moment of consideration, her mind was made up.

"Nelly, this way," she shouted over the sounds of the storm, tugging Nelly's reins towards the forest. At first, Elizabeth met with some resistance from the horse, but was eventually able to steer her under the shelter of the trees.

It was slightly more dry, and much more pleasant. With a smile of relief, Elizabeth settled herself in for a long ride.

She gently guided Nelly to walk parallel to the road, which, as they went farther, became less and less visible. Despite the close proximity of the town's edge, the thickness of the trees made it nearly impossible to be sure what direction they were going, and Elizabeth had to fight down her growing apprehension that they were well on their way to being lost.

Some time passed, and Nelly began pulling urgently to the right. Elizabeth, fully believing this to be incorrect, struggled to lead her to the left, meeting with no small amount of resistance. "Here, Nelly ... no ... this way, the road is this way...come on!"

Whinnying, the mare reluctantly veered left. Curious as to Nelly's aversion, Elizabeth peered into the mottled darkness ahead, able only to discern some kind of structure that was not of natural origin. As she drew closer she perceived it to be an iron fence, dominated by an ornately decorated gate. In the dim light of the clouded forest, it looked particularly ominous, but Lizzy forced herself to think sensibly. She truly had no idea where she was. Most likely whoever lived here would be able to inform her. And what were the chances that all the scattered children's tales of a fearsome beast somewhere in the forest were true? Chances were, the prince - if he was indeed one - simply preferred a secluded life, away from the trappings of society. There were times when Elizabeth felt inclined in such a way herself.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out and pushed the gate open. It yielded to the slightest touch, and she soon found herself on a cobblestone path that led directly to the castle door. Nelly seemed as reluctant as her mistress, the slow clip-clop of her passage testifying to her instinctive fear.

When they reached the doorway, Lizzy dismounted and slung the reins over a convenient stone column, crowned with a small gargoyle.

She stepped forward to the door and knocked.

Endnote: So ... there you have it. While we were discussing this tale, my friend and beta-reader, who is only mildly familiar with JA, made an observation: "Isn't Wickham a wuss?" He makes a valid point, and I should warn everyone that I will be taking liberties with the more minor characters. Clearly, this story needs a ruthless villain, and JA's Wickham is more sly than ruthless. Think of this fellow as a cross between Wickham and Gaston. Because, you know .... it just makes sense. *smiles* Also, astute readers will notice that the flower-picking theme is taken from the original fairy tale rather than the Disney version ... I simply found that it fit better into my story.

Chapter Two: The Beast

Posted on Monday, 26 July 2004

The heavy double doors swung open immediately. Fully expecting to encounter whoever had opened them, Elizabeth hesitated. No face, nor even a hand, appeared. Leaning forward ever so slightly to peer into the darkness, she heard the scraping of Nelly's hooves against the stones as the mare backed away in fear.

"Hello?" Elizabeth called out, in a voice that was not as steady as she would have liked. "Is anyone there?"

Only Nelly's snorts as she attempted to free herself from her reins answered the rhetorical question. The door hung open, suspended, waiting.

Now was the time to decide.

Resolutely, Elizabeth Bennet stepped into the castle entryway.

It was dark, quite dark, almost too dark to see. Forcing herself to remain calm, the young woman closed her eyes for a moment so that they would adjust more quickly. It was a trick she had discovered as a child whilst playing Hide and Seek, a game that often compelled her to search in very dark places.

When her eyes opened, the first thing they fixed upon was a gigantic staircase; like the rest of the castle, it was fashioned out of stone, and it seemed to lead to a balcony above her and to her right. Her gaze traveled along this path, taking note of the many grotesque gargoyles that festooned every banister, corner, and cove. Cobwebs were everywhere, and there was not a scrap of tapestry in sight. It was very cold.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Elizabeth took a few more steps forward. "Hello? Forgive me for intruding, but I seem to be lost..."

Strange that it should be so cold inside while it was still so warm outside.

A skittering noise broke the silence, almost like a clawed animal running across the floor. Elizabeth jumped.

"Hello?" she called again, louder this time. Absurd of her, really. Surely it was just a rat. A very big rat.

Silence reigned once more.

Unintentionally avoiding the staircase, Lizzy turned her course to the right and began walking into an even deeper darkness. Just when she began to think she could go no further, a candle suddenly lit.

She almost screamed, but managed instead a sort of gasp as she clutched her heart, which was beating like an executioner's drum. The candle, apparently completely inanimate, was sitting in a small cloister directly in front of her. She longed for the courage to take it up and keep it with her on her explorations, but found she could not manage such a feat. Not with a candle that had lighted itself.

Continuing down the hallway, she braced herself for further occurrences of this sort; and a lucky thing too, because as she walked near each successive candle, it spontaneously began to burn.

The further she went, the more she thought she heard a noise...high-pitched and very quiet, just barely loud enough to her to believe it might be anything but the fashion of her own frightened mind. Closer, closer, and the sound got louder, until the fact she had been avoiding finally imposed itself upon her brain: A child. Crying..

Meanwhile, in the West Wing of Pemberley Castle, a singular conference was taking place.

The Beast, formerly Prince William, hunched over a small table, staring with wide eyes at the snowy white rose. Beside him, on the ruins of an old dresser, a small gray cat, somewhat advanced in years, sat twitching her tail.

"What was I supposed to do, then?" William snarled after a long silence. "Just let him go?"

At that moment a most peculiar thing happened. The cat opened its mouth and began to speak in the voice of a kindly old woman.

"Master," she said, looking at him with her bright green eyes, "if I may be so bold, sir, you cannot do things like that. Do you want them to start noticing you? You know how they are. Some bold hunter will set out to claim your head as soon as they remember you're here."

He growled quietly. "Let them come."

The cat was silent now; she was thinking. She knew very well that her master the Prince was angry at all the townspeople for rejecting him, and that this boy whom he had taken captive was merely a scapegoat. But there was no way she could say as much without unduly angering the Master, which it was generally unwise to do.

"What about the boy's family, sir?" she ventured at last.

"He will not die, Mrs. Reynolds." William responded after a pause. "We will feed him."

"But they will search for him. They may even come here."

"I'd like to see them try to break down those gates."

William's feline companion sighed. It was true; the gates were completely impenetrable from the outside.

Softly: "They will mourn for him."

The Beast did not move.

After a few moments, there was a frantic scratching at the door. With few preliminaries, a large black lab came charging in and sat stiffly in front of the beast.

"Forgive the intrusion, sir," he said in a businesslike, though breathless, tone. "But I believe there is a human in the castle."

Unthinking, her mind paralyzed, Lizzy broke into a run towards the sound. She ignored the flickering candles that lit as she passed, mindful only of the increasingly mournful cries that inspired her sudden burst of speed. Before long she found herself standing at the doorway of a room.

It was full of machinery. For a moment she could not ascertain the purpose of such odd devices, some of which resembled tables with huge wheels and gears and ropes attached in odd places, or iron coffins, vaguely human-shaped, standing upright. Finally her eyes were drawn, past the chains hanging from the ceiling, to the walls. These were lined with cages. And suddenly Elizabeth understood.

It was the dungeon.

She felt the bile rise in the back of her throat as she saw the strange machines with knowing eyes, realizing, if only vaguely, what they were intended for. On the verge of turning and ridding herself of this place, she heard the cry again. It was enough to force her into the room.

Now, as she stood in the center of the chamber, she was able to find what she sought.

A small boy, huddled in the corner of one of the cages, his face turned away and buried in his arms. His sobs were heart-rending. And finally she could discern the words... "mamma mamma ... mamma...."

Lizzy almost choked. "Child..." she called out softly, drawing closer.

He let out a gasp, looking up, his face red and streaked with countless tears. Immediately he backed even further up against the wall.

"It's all right," Elizabeth encouraged him, kneeling down. "It's all right, I have just come here, from town, I was lost in the woods, because of the rain ... I heard you crying ... who put you here?" The torrent of information must have been confusing to the boy, but he understood the question.

"The beast," he whispered, his brown eyes full of terror. "The beast took me-" he hiccupped. "I was just picking flowers, just flowers, for mamma, and the beast..." The boy hiccupped again and stared at her.

Lightheaded with fear, Elizabeth could hardly think. The beast. The beast. It was impossible. Could the boy be mistaken? Was it an animal, a bear, a large dog?

Did bears know how to lock a cage?

This unhappy thought immediately turned her attention to the door, which she soon ascertained was only held closed by a latch, which was easy to open from outside, while at the same time impossible to reach from within. She had little time to reflect upon this oddity of design. Taking hold of the latch, she began to work it free, saying, "I'm going to let you out, and then we will escape together, all right? Do you understand?"

The boy hiccupped again and nodded.

"What is your name?"

"Peter," he managed to say.

"All right, Peter." The cage door opened. "Come with me now."

It was then that she felt something warm close around her arm. A soft growl in her ear.

Peter looked up and shrieked.

"RUN!" Lizzy cried out, twisted in the Beast's grasp. "RUN!"

The boy stumbled, and ran for the door. Elizabeth made one more desperate attempt to twist free, but soon her other arm was in the grasp of a huge clawed hand, or was it more like a paw? She could not tell. She could not think. She could only fear.

Chapter Three: No Greater Love

Posted on Friday, 30 July 2004

She heard screaming, but it did not occur to her that it was her own voice. The paw hands jerked her around to face their owner, pushing her against the cage door, nearly crushing her arms with the force of their grip.

A low growl issued continuously from the throat of her captor, his face and body half shrouded in shadows so that she could barely discern his form.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled abruptly, in a voice that was half humanoid and half animalistic.

"I-"

"You came to stare at the beast?" the creature demanded, grabbing the cage door and swinging it open. "YOU CAME TO STARE AT THE BEAST, DID YOU?"

Without waiting for her reply, he shoved her forcefully into the cage and slammed the door. Screaming, sobbing, Elizabeth fell forward on her knees, pushing fruitlessly against the cast iron with her arms that still throbbed with pain.

The beast turned towards the door, and in a split second his captive realized what he intended to do. "WAIT!" she cried out, and for some unknown reason he stopped, with his back still to her.

"Don't go after him," she pleaded softly.

Lifting his head, William just barely resisted the urge to turn and meet her eyes.

His reply came low and deep. "He is my prisoner."

Lizzy stared at the floor. "Why cannot I be your prisoner instead?"

Scoffing, he finally turned. "You?"

Her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her hair, frizzing and mussed from the rain, framed her face to perfection. Her lips were red and her skin was pale, and suddenly, William felt a strange twisting sensation deep in his chest. She was beautiful. The sort of girl he would have loved years ago, when he was still free to love.

"You?" he repeated, this time with a little more reverence. "You would ... take his place?"

Elizabeth did not answer.

William's heart, years embittered, swelled with some unknown emotion that some might call hope. He squelched it quickly.

"Does it follow that you would set me free if you recaptured him?" the prisoner inquired in a flat, sob-thickened tone.

The beast snorted. "Unlikely."

"Then I fail to see the purpose of your question."

"Who is that boy to you?"

The question was abrupt and, she thought, strangely unceremonious. It sounded as if he truly wanted to know.

"No one," Elizabeth replied.

"And you would sacrifice yourself for him?"

"I was not aware that was the issue at hand."

Growling, the prince turned and prowled close to her cage. She did not draw back.

"Answer my questions ... girl," was his menacing edict.

The despair in her countenance and demeanor had quickly turned to anger upon his speaking thus, and as she spoke her tone was laced with acid. "I will answer no question of yours that I do not wish to. You can do no worse than kill me, and I suppose you plan to do so already. Therefore I can see no harm in keeping to myself such facts as can be of no consequence to you."

She really believed he was going to kill her? For a split second William's eyes fell shut as what little humanity was left in him repulsed at the very thought. This was what she thought of him. This was what they all thought. Merely because he looked like an animal.

"If you are truly taking his place," he heard himself say, "I will promise not to kill you."

"But you will keep me prisoner here, and that is no great comfort," she retorted.

Here was a girl who valued her freedom. As do we all, William thought wryly. He had been a prisoner these ten years, and he had hardly any more choice in the matter than this woman did.

"What is your name?"

She finally looked up at him. "Elizabeth Bennet."

"Have you any family?"

"A mother, a father, and four sisters."

Why did it matter? The beast shook all softer thoughts from his mind and turned himself to the task at hand. "So, have we a bargain?"

"I will not strike a bargain with you."

"But you will stay here, and not make any attempt at escape, as long as I do not pursue that boy."

She hesitated a moment. "Yes."

She knows as well as I do that she has every intention of attempting escape. "That is commonly called a bargain, Miss Bennet."

"I beg you will not speak to me anymore. You can have nothing further to say that I want to hear."

"Not even, 'may I show you to your room?'"

Her expression showed momentary astonishment.

"My room?"

William's anger flared a bit. He was offering her a favor; couldn't she just accept instead of asking questions?

"Do you want to stay down here?" he snapped.

Her voice was deep with contempt. "You know the answer to that."

He reached out and unlatched the door.

"Then come."

Just outside the doorway, Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Bridges, the now-canine steward, watched the proceedings with interest and not a little humiliation.

"The master really must learn to control his temper," Mrs. Reynolds commented more than once. Bridges, ever noncommittal, merely nodded.

"How did she get in?" the feline housekeeper whispered as the prince brushed past them, his captive in tow. She did not notice the animals hovering in the shadows.

"I believe we have all been wondering that, Mrs. Reynolds," the steward replied flatly.

"Well I, for one, have never seen those gates yield to anyone but the master."

"Nor has anyone else."

"What can this mean?"

To this, there could be no reply.

Mrs. Reynolds continued. "There is something afoot here, mark my words, something that doesn't happen every day."

"Are men turned to beasts every day?" Bridges countered.

"If they were, and if there were any justice in the world, we'd have more beasts than men!" the cat retorted, walking away with a swish of her tail.

In another part of the castle, William and Elizabeth were experiencing the worst kind of awkward silence. The prince wracked his brain to think of a situation less likely to produce comfortable discourse than their current one, and failed.

"I, ehh...hope you like it here," he managed to cough out at length. Ah ... brilliant. Truly brilliant. She'll surely warm up to you now. It was a sad day, he realized, when he began to treat himself to his own sarcasm.

"I trust it shall not be the most pleasant stay of my life," was the appropriate bitter response.

He decided to ignore this and plough forward. "The castle is your home now. You may....you may visit anywhere you like. Except the west wing."

Elizabeth had not intended to speak without the purpose of causing offense, but her curiosity overcame her. "What's in the west-"

"IT IS FORBIDDEN!" he roared, his voice echoing throughout the corridors.

Neither spoke after that.

Finally they reached the bedroom that William had decided would be appropriate for her, mainly because the only exits she might reach from it would necessitate her passing by virtually every other room in the castle. After his outburst, which, upon consideration, he told himself was entirely appropriate (she was far too nosy for her own good), he felt he could not really engage her in conversation again, so he merely opened the door and indicated with his paw that she should enter.

She did, with a surprisingly docile demeanor, and William shut the door behind her whilst silently congratulating himself. Maybe he had a chance at winning this woman's heart after all.

If only she could see past his fearsome appearance!

Cursing his luck, Prince William Darcy made his way to his rooms. As he expected, Mrs. Reynolds and Bridges were waiting there.

"Master, how did she-" the housekeeper began, but Bridges cut in.

"Might I suggest that you invite her to dine with you this evening?"

William considered. It was actually a fair idea.

"Do you think it will be effective?"

"Effective in what, sir?" the steward inquired politely.

The beast growled impatiently. "Surely you know what I am thinking of ... did Fate not send her here to break the spell? It is too much of a coincidence. The gates even opened for her."

"I think she may be more disposed to ... approve of you, yes, if you render such an invitation to her," Bridges offered delicately.

"I shall go presently."

"No, master!" Mrs. Reynolds cut in at last. "No, give her a chance to settle in first!"

He scoffed. "Surely she's settled in long enough in the time it's taken me to return here. I shall go and inform her that we will be dining within the hour."

"Master, please..." the housekeeper said softly. "Be gentle with the poor girl. Try not to be angry with her if she refuses at first."

Shaking his head impatiently, he dropped down on all fours and began loping towards the other end of the massive corridor.

"Do you think he'll have much success?" inquired an unusually interested Bridges.

Mrs. Reynolds sighed. "I should imagine not."

William raised his fist and knocked gently on the door. Gentle, gentle, gentle. Right. Gentle. Must be gentle.

"Go away!" came the muffled reply.

He growled softly. Gentle. Gentle.

"I...it would...give me great pleasure if you would....join me for dinner," he forced out in a civil tone.

"I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request."

Gritting his fangs, William tried again. "Please join me for dinner. It will be..." he paused. "Better than any meal you have ever eaten."

This time she fairly shouted, "LEAVE ME NOW."

"Do you wish to starve?" he demanded.

"Any course of action would be better than spending the rest of my life in this castle with you," she cried in response.

Rage boiled up inside him until he could barely contain himself. "IF YOU DO NOT DINE WITH ME, THEN YOU DO NOT DINE AT ALL."

"I COULD WISH FOR NOTHING BETTER."

A cry of fury and frustration that seemed ripped from his very heart came bellowing from his throat, rattling all the windows in Pemberley Castle.

Things were not going well at all.

Several hours later Elizabeth was beginning to feel undeniably hungry. She wondered if it was truly his intention to let her starve. She wondered if she cared. She wondered if she would ever get out of this place.

All the wondering would have driven her to tears if she had not cried herself dry already. As it was she merely lay upon the sumptuous bed, all strength drained from her, feeling for the first time in her life that all hope had truly departed.

She had given up her freedom to save that boy. Or, perhaps not. Perhaps the beast would never have set her free in any case. It was pointless to wonder but she could fix her mind on nothing else.

Words came unbidden into her head, words in the voice of her sister Mary, the family philosopher. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." John 15 verse 3. And Peter was not even a friend. He was only a boy.

Until this day she had not known she possessed such love.

At about this time another knock came to her door, but before she had the time to respond, it swung open. Jumping to her feet, ready to defend herself against whatever the beast had planned, she was astonished to see, not a monster, but a pony.

A lovely little brown pony, just a little larger than a dog, bearing a tray upon his back laden with all sorts of foodstuffs. And in front of the pony, seemingly leading it, was a...

A rat?

Elizabeth had never been frightened of any animal, except possibly horses, but only when she was forced to ride them. She was not repulsed at the presence of the rat, merely astonished at the fact that it was walking upon its hind legs and wearing what appeared to be an apron.

It stopped, and bowed. As if on cue the pony extended one of its hind hooves and pushed the door shut behind it.

"Madam," the rat said with a trace of an accent, "welcome to the castle. I realize it is unusual to meet a speaking animal; let me assure you that there is no need to be afraid. I am quite human. Only ... under the effects of a rather unfortunate curse."

Elizabeth recovered her voice. "As is your master, I suppose?"

He nodded. "It is so. Unfortunately I am not at liberty to explain the circumstances in detail. Perhaps the master may enlighten you someday."

Smiling a little, "assuming I ever wish to speak with him again."

The rat frowned. "Surely you must. But...I am sorry, madam, I here to talk only of pleasant things. My name is Monsieur Froget, and I am Prince William's head cook."

It took her a few moments to work out that Prince William was the beast's proper name. "Ah! Well, I am very pleased to meet you, Monsieur."

He bowed again. "Please, madam. Call me Froget." Leading the pony a little closer, he cleared his throat.

"The master declared in a fit of temper that he would sooner let you starve than allow you to dine without him, but this is, we have all agreed, completely absurd. I have prepared a very paltry meal, I am afraid, to avoid arousing the master's suspicions...but hopefully it will sustain you until something more substantial can be brought."

Elizabeth surveyed the meal that had been laid out for her. A few small meat pies, some roast chicken, bread pudding, roasted vegetables, a pot of tea, and a bottle of wine looked terribly appealing and not paltry at all. Thanking Froget profusely, she partook of the meal, hesitantly at first, but then with more gusto as she realized the pony was quite content to stand perfectly still beside her bed as she ate. Froget left her with instructions to merely send the pony - whose name was Hannah - away when she was finished.

The food was good and very satisfying to her empty stomach. It was a wonderful feeling, realizing she was not alone in the castle with that horrible monster. This whole mess might not be so very dreadful, if only she could find a way to get out, and soon.

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