Depravity: A Beauty and the Beast Novel (A Beastly Tale Book 1) (4 page)

Knowing I was dismissed, I stood and left his study to find a waiting Blye.  She didn’t look angry, so I didn’t think she’d heard the part about her hoarding her coin.

“Bryn’s heating water in the kitchen.  Could I have your shirt?  I’d like to wash it before working with it.”

I didn’t blame her for wanting it clean.  Tracked with dirt and beast spit, it didn’t look pleasant.  Since Father stayed in his study to assure privacy our small cottage lacked when any of us bathed, I quickly shrugged out of the shirt and torn bindings and handed everything over to her.  She walked through the kitchen and out the back door to the well.  Naked from the waist up, I covered myself with my arms and went to the kitchen.

The skin of my back felt tight, and my shoulder still ached a bit when I stretched it forward.  The beast had healed me but not completely.  As I sat on a chair and waited, I wondered again the reason behind his mercy.  Thinking of the puzzling beast was much more pleasant than the baker’s depravity or my sisters’ deceit.  Yet, my thoughts tended to wander in their direction.

Bryn had the fire stoked to heat the water, so I was comfortable while she sweated.  A while later, she pronounced the tub ready and moved the bathing screen in front of it before stepping outside to cool herself.

I stripped down and slid into the water with a contented sigh, putting thoughts of the baker, the beast, village boys, and family lies from my head.

In the morning, I was last from bed, not wanting my sisters around when I dressed.  Blye had thoughtfully hung my dress the night before so the wrinkles from storage would fall out on their own.

The dress was a gift from Blye and my father for my birthday more than six months ago.  Father had supplied the material, and Blye had worked on it for weeks, making me stand for several painfully boring fittings.  I typically only wore it on washdays and then hid in the cottage with it.  Blye usually laughed at me.

Light blue with a full skirt edged with a white ruffle, topped with a square-necked, long-sleeved bodice, it truly was a thing of beauty, but I looked so different in it.  I didn’t think it made me look awful, just overly feminine.  Secretly, I was concerned with the responsibilities wearing such a dress might bring.  With my britches, most people let me go my way.  Sighing, I stood and slipped the pretty dress over my head, not bothering with any bindings.

Medium height with my mother’s dark sable hair and hazel eyes and my father’s slim build, I looked a gangly youth in my britches and shirt.  Now, the dress removed the gangle and turned me into a slender young woman.  I knew that was what I was, but I didn’t like it.  The dress also shoved my small breasts high as if I wanted to put them on display, like produce at a market.  The errant thought of selling them led to thoughts of Sara and the baker, and I decided that hiding in my room all day really was the best option.

A knock sounded on my bedroom door as I nervously smoothed my hands over the skirt.  Only Father knocked, so I called for him to enter.

“You look lovely, Bini,” he said with a caring smile.  “I know you would prefer to stay inside, but would you walk with Bryn to the candle maker?  I need another candle.”

Father read by the light of the fire in his study most nights, but needed the candle for any writing he might do at his desk.

I nodded my assent and accepted the copper he handed me.

“Get the best you can with that.”  We both knew it wouldn’t be much, but neither of us spoke it, just as I didn’t question why Bryn couldn’t go alone.

The candle maker had taken a dislike to Bryn a few years before. She’d gone to purchase candles from him, and the encounter had gone badly.  He’d set his price and wouldn’t come down from it.  She’d called him a miserly old man, which he was, but he was also nice and didn’t like being called names.  Regardless, she’d only gotten angry because she was a miserly young woman trying to pinch a copper whenever she could for her own selfish purpose.  I didn’t see how she could fault the candle maker for doing the same.

At least, by having Bryn accompany me, Father had given me the safety I needed to go about in my confounded dress.  If I met up with Tennen and Splane alone while wearing it, I’d never stand a chance at outrunning them.

After lacing up my sturdy boots hidden beneath my skirts, I straightened my shoulders and headed to the kitchen.  Bryn waited by the door and wore her best dress.  She’d been blessed with Father’s fair hair and pale eyes and our mother’s curvy figure.  Seeing her, I shored my resolve to ignore the stares the pair of us would receive.  I knew everyone would compare us and didn’t want to contemplate who would come ahead in the comparison.

“I think you’ve grown, Benella,” Bryn commented, eyeing me dispassionately.

I quickly looked down at my skirts, which still hovered an inch above the floor.

“Not in height,” she laughed as she turned away to open the door.

Refusing to think on her comment, I followed her out into the sunlight, feeling awkward as the skirts brushed against my bare legs.  I didn’t own any stockings, just socks and boots fit for a young boy.

“I hope Father gave you coin.  I have none to spare for the candle maker,” she said as I closed the door and rushed to catch up with her.

“Not enough, but the candle maker is nice, so I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

Bryn had no reply.

We walked the rest of the way to town, each lost in our own thoughts, mine mostly fervent wishes not to run into Tennen with Bryn at my side.  My wishes didn’t go unheard.  The anvil laid quiet and the billows lax when we left the path for the main road.  Relieved, I crossed the street and entered the candle maker’s home.  The soft chime of the bell attached to the door greeted me.

“Benella!” the candle maker exclaimed, welcoming me with a smile.

Sitting at a table near his hearth, he removed a line of strings from a pot of melted wax and set it on the holder to the side.  He had once explained that his candles were the best around because he took care to ensure the candles stood straight the entire time, thus burned their wax evenly.

“What brings you in today?” he asked, standing.  His bones creaked and cracked with the effort, but I didn’t try to insist that he sit for our discussion.  He held a firm belief that he honored his customers by standing to wait on them.  His gnarled hand patted down his wispy white hair as he slowly straightened his frame.

I held out the copper.

“Father sent me for a candle.  I know you offer nothing but the finest, but he’d like something modest if possible.”

“Benella, your honeyed words are a trap for an unwary man, to be sure.”  He grinned at me, laughing and mumbling “nothing but the finest” under his breath.  He didn’t take the proffered coin, rather he walked to the shelves and rummaged through the pale candles for a moment before pulling out a thick one with a satisfied sigh.  A blackened wick poked from one melted end.

“This is one I made for myself,” he said, handing it to me.  “A gift for the flowers, until I can pay you properly.  Tell your father it will burn at least ten hours if he trims it.”

I nodded my thanks, accepted the candle, and curled my fingers around the copper.

As I left, I debated about the coin.  If I gave it to Father, he’d most likely give it to Bryn for supplies, which we wouldn’t see.  But, with Bryn at my side and a copper in hand, I could go to the bakery, avoid the baker, and buy some flour.  After all, a copper wasn’t enough to buy a loaf of bread these days.

Bryn waited for me outside.  I handed her the candle, and she placed it in her bag without comment.

“I’d like to go to the bakery and see how much flour I can purchase,” I said, stopping her when she would have turned home.  She raised her brows at me, no doubt surprised by my willingness to linger in town when wearing a dress, and followed me without comment.

The door to the bakery stood propped open and waves of heat rolled out.  No one lingered within to trade gossip today.  I stepped onto the porch and quickly ducked inside the store.  Miss Medunge sat on a stool behind a counter lined with a narrow variety of fresh bread.  She smiled at me and waved me in.

“The bread’s been picked over already.  This is what’s left until dinner,” she said, pointing to the loaves.

“I’m interested in purchasing flour, however much a copper will get me,” I said, setting the coin on the counter.  I could almost taste the biscuits I imagined Bryn would make.

She pursed her lips in thought.  “Just under two handfuls, I think.  Do you have a bit of cloth for it?”

I cringed.  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Don’t worry.  I can loan that if you promise to bring it back.”

Nodding my promise, I watched her go through the door to the bakery.  The aroma of fresh bread made my mouth water as I waited.  When the door swung open, I looked up expecting her smiling face but, instead, met the eyes of the baker.  In his hand, he held a small bundle of cloth tied with a bit of string.

“Benella, I couldn’t believe it when my sister told me you were here to buy flour,” he said while his eyes wandered over me, mostly lingering on the exposed skin of my neck and chest.  “And so prettily attired.  I didn’t know you owned a dress.”

I didn’t care for his tone.

“Here is the copper,” I said, scooting it across the counter with one finger.

He smirked at me and held out the flour, waiting until I reached for it to grab my fingers with his other hand.  He petted them with his own sweaty digits.

“Perhaps, I will see you later,” he whispered, setting the flour bag in my palm.

I said nothing, staring at him while maintaining a straight face.  Eventually, he released my hand, and I turned and slowly made my exit.  Sweat beaded on my upper lip when I stepped out into the cool air, but my fate didn’t turn any better.  Tennen stood near Bryn, and they spoke quietly.  When he heard me, he looked up with a gleam in his eyes.

“Needed to see the baker?” he asked with a laugh.

Bryn, not liking that I’d immediately stolen his attention, pouted prettily, but he ignored her.

“Yes.  We had a spare copper and needed flour.”

A blaze of anger lit in his eyes, and he took a step toward me.  Bryn stopped him with a simpering hand on his arm.

“Tennen, our walk?”

He looked down at her, and for a moment, I saw his disdain.  Then, his face cleared, and a smile curved his lips.

“Of course.”  He took her by the arm and led her up the road toward our house.  I followed with my flour protected in my hands.

When we reached the cottage, Tennen bowed his farewell and left without looking at me again.  Bryn walked inside as if nothing had happened.  I handed her the flour and fled to Father’s study, content to read until he returned home.

Hours melted away while I devoured the words on the pages.  I’d stopped attending school years ago when I’d quietly corrected Father after class, regarding one of the mathematical concepts he’d been teaching.  Since then, he let me use his study whenever he wasn’t home.  I remembered most everything I read that interested me, and many things did.  The botany book he’d used to identify the primrose captivated me until he strode through his study door.

“What a lovely sight.  A pretty girl reading a book,” he said.  Neither of my sisters showed much interest in books, but he didn’t fault them for it.

I placed a marker in the book and set it to the side.  “I’ve warmed your chair for you,” I said cheekily.

He laughed and shooed me from the room, settling comfortably into his chair.  I passed the room I shared with my sisters and saw Blye sitting on the bed, placing careful stitches into my shirt.  The back panel didn’t look new, just smaller.  I didn’t pause, not wanting to know what she had to do to fix it, and made my way to the kitchen.  Bryn had the biscuits in the oven with the door slightly ajar so she could watch them brown.  A knock sounded at the front door, and we stared at each other for a moment before she waved for me to answer it.  I wished for my trousers as I pulled open the door.

“Benella,” said the baker.  “Still lovely in your dress.  Is your father home?  I would like to speak with him.”

My legs shook.  I knew the topic of conversation he wanted to have with my father but assured myself that Father understood my distaste of the man.

“Come in,” I managed without a quaver.  I stepped aside and let him into the kitchen.

“Wait here, please.”

Leaving him to criticize Bryn’s biscuits, I tapped on Father’s door.  Without waiting for his call to enter, I stepped in, quickly closing the door behind me.

Father looked up from his book in surprise.  He still wore his jacket and simple neckcloth.  Papers from his few students lay spread out on his desk.

“What is the matter, dearest?”

“He’s here,” I whispered in a panic.  “The baker.  He saw me in this senseless dress today.”  I gave the skirt an agitated shake.  “Now, he wants to speak with you.”

“Ah,” Father murmured distractedly.  “Perhaps, once he’s in the study with me, you’d like to go for a long stroll and forego dinner?”  I nodded emphatically, liking the way Father thought.  The baker, now that he had come to state his intentions, would not leave easily.

I opened the door and called to the baker.  Given the size of our small cottage, he had no trouble finding me.  Despite stepping aside, he still brushed against me as he passed; and this time, I couldn’t suppress my shiver of revulsion.  His low throaty chuckle drifted to me as I closed the door.

With a quick step, I checked on Blye’s progress, hoping to change before I left, but she still sat in the room placing careful stitches.  In the kitchen, Bryn removed the biscuits from the oven.

“May I have one?” I asked, grabbing my bag from the hook.

She made no comment about my leaving, just wrapped a biscuit in a cloth and handed it over.  I fled the cottage quietly, hoping the baker wouldn’t hear my escape.

The woods didn’t feel the same as I wandered beneath their swaying limbs.  The skirts encircling my legs made passage difficult.  I had to avoid stretching bramble and muddied paths and made far too much noise as I moved.

When I finally reached the spot in the estate wall where the rocks had fallen, I saw nothing to harvest.  Though the walk had felt torturously long, I doubted enough time had passed to see the baker gone from the cottage.  Deciding a walk in the dark didn’t bother me, I turned east to make a full circuit around the wall, but a sound to the west stopped me.

A creak of wood and the crush of gravel under iron drew me toward the gate where a cart fixed with a long pole like a mast waited.  The gate stood open and the cart sat just outside of it.  Had someone from the estate pushed it out?  What a peculiar cart.  I caught sight of a tangle of freshly shorn vines laying loose at the base of the pole and felt my stomach twist.  The pole, the cart, the vines...I’d seen it all before when the men had attempted to sack the estate.  They’d meant to tie the beast to it and burn him.  Instead, they’d been run or thrown from the estate and had abandoned the wagon, which had been later retrieved by the smith.