The Eye of the Beholder (6 page)

"Merciful heaven!" the man shrieked, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms over his head at the sight of me.

He was tall and thin with arms and legs that were ropy and well-muscled. His hair was a drab shade of brown, and what I could see of his face was very plain and trembling with terror.

"You dare to steal one of my roses?" I roared.

He cried out in terror. "For-forgive me. I d-did not mean any harm," he said, sinking closer to the ground, as if he sought to sink directly through it, the rose still clutched in his hand. I could see a bright spot of blood on his thumb from where he had pricked himself with one of the thorns. He had dropped his knife and it laid useless on the ground, far too small to be any threat to me and my rapier-sharp claws.

"You did not mean any harm?" I asked, my voice lowering into a deep and menacing growl. "I offer you my hospitality, feed you and shelter you for the night, and you repay me by taking what I hold most dear?"

"I did not think anyone lived here. I did not think the rose would be missed," he said, in a small and terrified voice.

"Then who fed you, built you a fire?" I asked, astounded by the stupidity of his statement.

"I am sorry. Please, I beg you, have mercy on me."

"Mercy? Why should I have mercy on a thief? I should strike you dead where you cower," I growled furiously.

He lowered his arms and looked up into my face. I could see an expression of abject terror in his eyes, and a shudder of revulsion passed over his features. I raised one of my arms, ready to strike him down, but he held the rose out and pleaded with me.

"I beg you, do not kill me. I have three daughters waiting for me at home. What will become of them if I do not return?" he asked, his voice pitiful.

"Your daughters are none of my concern!" I shouted unthinkingly. "Why did you take my rose?"

"I took it for my youngest daughter. Her sisters asked me for expensive gifts, but she asked only for my safe return. I wanted to bring her a book, but could find none," he babbled. "She is such a good child, such a kind and generous child, and I could not bear to return without a gift for her. When I saw this rose, I knew that she would love it. She has always loved flowers."

Slowly and in spite of my rage, my mind was beginning to work. This man had three daughters, one of whom he described as kind and generous and who loved roses. Surely it would be a waste to simply kill him. Perhaps there was another option. I was silent for so long that the man ceased to shake and sob and went into what appeared to be a state of shock. His eyes went dull, and I knew that he believed I was going to kill him.

"You have two choices," I growled, speaking slowly. "Your first choice is to go home and, in a fortnight, return to me. You will be placed in my dungeon as my prisoner, where you will die. Your second choice is to send your youngest daughter to me in your place. I will not confine her to the dungeon, nor will I mistreat her in any manner. She will be well cared for and protected in my castle, but she must remain with me forever."

The man began to shake and sob again. "Please, have mercy! I will not send my youngest to you! But if I die, how will my daughters survive?"

"Those are your choices," I replied coldly. "I care not what difficulty they cause you."

"Please, sir, I beg you…"

"Silence!" I roared. "Be gone before I change my mind and kill you after all!"

My words spurred the man to action. Without looking at me, he clambered up into his wagon, his hand clutched so tightly around the rose that it was white. The rose itself was a deep, deep crimson, the color of the blood that ran from the puncture wound in the man's thumb. The horse was nearly screaming in fear. His eyes rolled back in his head, showing me their whites, and he reared and nearly toppled both the wagon and himself. The man managed to hold on and, as he applied the whip, the horse shot forward and sped out of the gate at breakneck speed.

I stood watching the man as he disappeared in a cloud of dust down the road. Then I closed the gates and walked back into the castle, finding my servants assembled in the great hall.

"I expect you heard every word of that exchange," I growled. They stared at me with their blank eyes but did not move. "Then you know what needs to be done! Ready both the dungeon and one of the guest chambers! We shall be prepared to deal with whoever returns here in a fortnight's time."

Chapter 6: Papa Returns

The wrath of my sisters had not cooled with time, and they were determined to see me punished from the moment Papa left until the moment he returned. They helped me even less than usual, creating messes throughout the cottage and leaving me alone to clean them while they went to court their smitten swains. I preferred their absence, though, for when they were home they were careful to make as many hurtful comments to me as possible.

"Thomasina, I do believe I have had a change of heart," Rowena said. She rested indolently upon one of the exquisite chairs in our sitting room as I cleaned the chimney.

"About what, dearest?" Thomasina asked lazily. She had brought her jewel case down from the room she shared with Rowena and her necklaces, bracelets, and earrings were strewn over every surface. I knew she would leave them there when she left, and she would claim it was my fault if any went missing.

"I have decided that when Papa dies, I will allow Mirabelle to come live with me."

My back stiffened at the sound of my name coming from her lips. She spoke it with a mocking emphasis on the last syllable. Gritting my teeth, I attacked the chimney with vigor, and was rewarded with a spray of ash that blackened me from head to toe, spilling across the floor and making a mess of the room, in spite of the old sheet I had laid across the floor to protect it.

"You nearly spoiled my best dress, you clumsy idiot!" Thomasina cried in a hard voice.

"She did it purposely," Rowena told her.

They were doing their best to goad me into fighting with them, but no matter how much it pained me, I would not fight. I would not give them the satisfaction of knowing that they had once again angered and hurt me.

"Of course she did. Horrible, dark little beast. She cannot help but be jealous of us, you know," Thomasina said.

"As well she should be."

"And why ever would you wish her to come live with you when Papa is gone?"

"She is quite useful, you know, and I will be in want of good servants."

Thomasina burst into cruel laughter. "I am ashamed I did not think of it myself! Why, only look at her. She certainly looks like a servant."

"Come now, Thomasina, that is unkind. Most servants are better kept and not nearly as ugly as she is," Rowena replied. The two of them laughed, and I bent my head so that they could not see the tears that were gathering in my eyes.

"I grow tired of this," Rowena yawned. "Surely it cannot still be too early to visit the Ashworths."

"Surely not. Let us go now before another cloud of soot rains down upon us."

My sisters left, closing the door behind them with a resounding slam. I could hear them laughing as they walked toward the lane. As the sound of their voices faded, I allowed my sense of self-pity to overtake me and wept for a few moments, soot running down my face in sludgy black rivers.

Enough. This is precisely what they wanted
, I told myself, and the thought stopped the flow of my tears. As I wiped my face with my dirty apron, I could not ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. Surely, Papa would be home soon.

But that thought was of little comfort to me; for the last four days I had been expecting Papa to return at any moment, and still he was not home. I tried to tell myself that this was because he had enjoyed such success with the market that he had decided to stay at the inn in Swan Hollow for a few extra days, so that he could take more orders before returning. While this was possible, I could not convince myself to believe it. I continually fretted that something dreadful had happened, and I knew that I would not be easy until Papa had returned.

Cleaning the chimney and the damage that had been done to the sitting room occupied me for the rest of the day. When I was finished, I scrubbed the soot from my skin and changed my chemise and skirt before going outside to take a breath of the chill late autumn air. Night was falling and the forest was thick with nocturnal sounds as I stood in front of the cottage and looked out toward the village proper. My sisters most likely would not return until well into the night, which meant another lonely dinner for me.

I was too tired to go to much effort, so I contented myself with some bread and cheese and a mug of tea, dining while staring into the sitting room fire. When I was finished, I went up to my room and settled myself into the beautiful chair that Papa had carved for me. A small work table, also of Papa's making, sat at my right elbow; my inkpot and some sheets of parchment laid upon it. I was soon lost in a world of my own creation, the only sound the slight sputtering of my candle and the scratching of my quill across the parchment as I wrote. I was often happiest when occupied thus, and the worlds and characters I created called to me almost as if they were real. Rowena and Thomasina returned, but I did not heed their presence and they ignored me as well.

My eyes grew dry and gritty, and I reluctantly laid my parchment by, carefully closing the lid of my ink pot and placing my quill in its stand. I wanted to continue writing, but I was weary from the day's toils and decided that it was time for me to go to sleep. Just as I rose from my chair and moved toward my wardrobe for my night shift, I heard the door open again, and my sisters cried out. I ran to the trapdoor and poked my head through it, my heart rising into my mouth as I caught sight of my father.

"Papa!" I gasped, scrambling down the ladder. Rowena and Thomasina had risen from their chairs, but were frozen in place, stricken expressions on their faces.

"My little Mirabelle," Papa said, in a voice that belonged to a very old man.

Never before had he looked so haggard, not even after Mother's death. His face was pinched and colorless, his clothes caked with dust and mud, and he swayed slightly on his feet.

"Are you ill?" I asked, alarmed. I hurried over to him and wrapped my arm around his waist, allowing him to lean against me.

"It is not illness that troubles me," he said, cryptically. He rested his arm heavily on my shoulders and my knees buckled somewhat under the weight.

"Come, Papa, sit. You must rest."

"Yes, yes I shall." His voice was strangely detached.

"Where are the horse and wagon?"

"In the yard."

I was reluctant to leave him, but I knew that my sisters could not be trusted to take care of the horse. "Get Papa some ale and some bread and cheese," I ordered. "I shall take care of the horse."

As quickly as I was able, I hurried out of the cottage, releasing the horse from his tether and leading him into the stable. I groomed him hurriedly and saw to it that he had oats and water before returning to the wagon. It would simply have to be left in the yard for the time being, and I seized the two parcels that laid within, carrying them back to the cottage. I felt a brief bit of happiness when I saw that not a single piece of Papa's handiwork remained in the wagon, but it was immediately dispelled when I once more saw his face.

He would not speak for some time, though I tried to coax him as gently as I was able. At last, I pulled a stool over to his chair and sat at his knee, peering at his face and waiting anxiously for him to speak. My sisters had provided him with ale and food, but he touched nothing. Instead, he sat in his chair and stared vacantly into the fire.

When two hours had passed, a look of resignation crossed his features and he sighed so loudly that my sisters both started. Eagerly, I looked up into his face.

"My daughters, I have the unpleasant duty of telling you a tale I would sooner forget, were it possible," he said. He shuddered and passed a hand over his eyes. "And yet it must be told, for I cannot ignore what has come to pass, lest I place us all in grave danger."

"Grave danger?" I asked. A chill descend upon me and I shivered.

Papa looked at me with eyes that were filled with pain, and then he turned to look at each of my sisters. After a moment, he began to speak, telling us the tale of his encounter with the beast who lived in a castle in the middle of the forest. Had it not been my father seated before me telling me the tale, I would not have believed it. It was simply too fantastical. However, my father had never been given to flights of fancy, and I knew what he said was true, no matter how unlikely it seemed.