Beastly Beauty

Eighty-Seven

Beau saw that the child was carrying a basket. When she reached Arabella, she put it down, then started to take things out of it and set them around her. A stack of books, a compass and T square, quills and inks. Lastly, she pulled out a voluminous bundle of midnight silk. Beau recognized that, too. The child spread it over Arabella, and the silver city she’d stitched across it, so long ago, sparkled like stars in the night sky.

“You were here all along,” Beau said, his voice hushed with wonder.

The little girl nodded.

“I hid her in plain sight,” Camille explained. “I grabbed her right after Espidra cursed Arabella, dressed her in boy’s clothing and said she was my nephew, visiting from the town and caught by the curse, just like the rest of us. I rubbed butter on her every day. Bacon fat. Cinnamon and nutmeg. All the things the court ladies hate.” Camille smiled. “It worked beautifully, like garlic on a pack of vampires. They barely noticed her, and when they did, it was only to shout at her to go away. I only wish I’d been able to hide Hope and Faith, too, but Espidra got to them before I could.”

“I can’t believe it,” Faith said. “You even fooled us. We never looked twice at the kitchen boy.” She reached for Hope’s hand. The light inside them strengthened.

“Help her. Please,” Beau said to the child. “Why isn’t the curse broken? Why?”

Love didn’t answer him; instead, she walked over to one of the room’s soaring windows, grabbed hold of the silk draperies, and ripped them down. Hushed gasps rose from everyone in the room as the silver thread caught the moon’s rays, and the city of dreams that Arabella had stitched so long ago exploded into bright, brilliant life.

“Now do you understand?” Love asked him.

Beau nodded. He did. At long last, he did. He grabbed Valmont’s lapels. “It’s not about me, Valmont. Or any of Arabella’s suitors. It never was,” he said in a rush. “The clockmaker’s spell … how does it go? Despair’s foul curse can’t be unspoken, but there is one way it can be broken …”

“Mend what you have torn apart. Pick up the pieces of your heart,”Valmont continued. “Seek kindness, trust, a hand extended, till one you shunned is now befriended … That’s how you will escape this curse, and undo this infernal verse …”

“And when to love you finally learn,” Beau cut in. “You will be loved in return. That’s what he said, right? The clockmaker? Those were his exact words?”

“Yes, yes,” Valmont hastily replied. “But I don’t see—”

Beau released him. His gaze was inward now. “Till one you shunned is now befriended,” he repeated. His eyes found Valmont’s again. “He didn’t mean for her to love a prince or duke or an earl or a blacksmith or a captain or a thief.”

“Slow down, Beau,” Valmont urged him. “You’re not making sense.”

“I can’t. There’s no time.” Still on his knees, Beau grabbed Arabella’s wrists and pulled her up off the floor. Her head lolled like a broken doll’s. “Arabella!” he barked. “Open your eyes. Damn it, girl, wake up!”

Arabella groaned. Her head lifted a little. Her eyelids fluttered open, but her eyes were unseeing. The silver light inside them had dulled to a leaden gray.

Percival buried his face in his hands. Gustave and Lucile held each other. Other servants whispered prayers or wept. Beau didn’t hear them. He didn’t see them. He was looking at Arabella, deep into her sightless eyes, willing her to stay.

The tick-tick-tick of the golden clock was losing its rhythm. The long, sweeping arc of its gold pendulum was growing shorter.

It’s too late, said a voice inside him.

And then he heard the steps—slow, measured, inexorable. Cradling Arabella in the crook of one arm, he lifted his head and faced the clockmaker. With a shaking hand, he drew his dagger from the sheath at his hip and pointed it at him.

“Stay back … I’m warning you,” he said.

“Seriously, Beau?” Faith hissed. “You’re threatening Death with death? Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Don’t give up,” Hope urged, her eyes on the clockmaker. “Find a way, Beau.”

Love, at Beau’s side now, took the knife from him and set it down. Beau turned his gaze from the clockmaker to her, to this beautiful shining child whom he had known once, long ago. She frightened him. Even more than the clockmaker did.

“You can do this,” she said.

“Do something, Beau,” Valmont begged. “Anything. Tell her you love her again.”

“No, Valmont. It’s no use. I’m not the one. There’s someone else she needs to love.”

Valmont got to his feet and looked around the room wildly, ready to grab the person. “Who is it? Where is he?”

“She,” said Beau. “She.”

The clockmaker drew closer; his footsteps grew louder. He was only a few yards away now. Beau’s eyes were on him, but his arms were around Arabella. He took a deep breath and started to talk. The words spilled out of him in a frantic tumble.

“Listen to me, Arabella, listen,” he said fiercely. “Valmont loves you. So does Percival. And Phillipe and Gustave and Lucile and Josephine and Camille … and me. Ilove you. Because you’re strong and bold and fierce and a total pain in the ass and you’re smart. So damn smart. I love the furrow in your brow when you’re drawing. I love the fire in your eyes when you’re building. I love that you swear like a sailor when you think no one’s listening. I love how you fumble the steps when you dance. I even love the way you bite off a chipmunk’s head. I loveyou, Arabella, flaws and quirks and faults and all. So please, please, please … can’t you love you, too?”

The footsteps stopped. The clockmaker was only inches away. Beau felt his cold breath on his neck.

Beau squeezed his eyes shut. “No. No,” he said, his arms tightening around Arabella. “Don’t go. Stay here. We were wrong, all of us. All this time. It’s you. It’s been you all along. Oh, Bells, can’t you see? You are the one you’ve been waiting for.”