Beauty and the Beast Novelization_Disney Page 5

  Belle’s chest heaved as she waited for the Beast to respond. For one long tense moment, he just stared at her with cold, cruel eyes and she wondered if she had gone too far. He took a step toward her, his massive paw reaching out. She closed her eyes and braced herself for his retaliation.

  She heard a clang. Opening her eyes, she saw that the Beast had opened the cell door. He gestured for her to enter. “When this door closes,” he warned as she passed, “it will not open again.”

  Belle didn’t hesitate. She rushed inside and embraced her father. “I’m so sorry, Papa,” she sobbed. “I should have gone with you!”

  Maurice put his hands on Belle’s shoulders and gently pushed her back until they were eye to eye. “No, this was my fault,” he said, shaking his head. He reached out and pinched her cheek the way he had done when she was a little girl. It had always reassured her then. Now it just made her sad. He went on, his voice choked with emotion. “Listen, Belle. Forget about me. I’ve had my life….”

  “Forget you?” Belle said in disbelief. “How could I ever? Everything I am is because of you.”

  Belle’s words seemed to hit Maurice like a punch to the stomach. He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time—not the smart, sweet little girl he had raised on his own, but the brave, strong woman she had become. It all seemed too much for the older man. Tears flooded his eyes.

  “Enough of this,” the Beast said, his harsh voice stabbing into both father and daughter. “She must go.”

  Belle and Maurice clung to each other.

  “Now!” The Beast’s voice tore them apart.

  “I love you, Belle,” Maurice said. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I love you, Papa. I’m not afraid,” Belle said, leaning forward and gently kissing him on the cheek. As she did so, she maneuvered her body so her back was to the cell door, her hands on her father’s shoulders. And then, in barely a whisper, she added, “And I will escape. I promise….”

  Before Maurice could stop her, Belle pivoted her body. The force swung her father through the door just as the Beast slammed it shut. Falling to the ground, Maurice cried out as the reality of what his daughter had just sacrificed became clear.

  It seemed to hit the Beast at the same moment. And while it obviously devastated Maurice, the Beast appeared confused. “You took his place?” he asked Belle. “Why?”

  “He is my father,” she answered without hesitation.

  “He’s a fool,” the Beast retorted. “And so are you.” Without another word, he grabbed Maurice by the shirt and began to drag him away.

  Belle stifled the sob that threatened to escape her throat. She watched silently through the gate as her father and the Beast disappeared down the stairs. She waited until she was sure she was alone, and only when silence had descended on the tower did she finally slump to the ground. As the tears fell, colder and harsher than the snow that had once again begun to fall outside, one thought echoed through her mind: what was to become of her?

  THE BEAST WAS TIRED—TIRED and perplexed. He was still not sure how it happened that he now held a beautiful young woman prisoner while her father, the real thief, was making his way back toward the comfort of his home. He shook his head. No, it did not make sense.

  But then again, he thought as he pushed open the castle’s front door, nothing had made sense in his life in a long, long time.

  Storming inside the foyer, the Beast nearly collided with Lumiere and Cogsworth. The candelabrum and clock had been waiting anxiously for him to return. “Master,” Lumiere began, “since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time—”

  “And I hope ‘forever’ was an exaggeration,” Cogsworth said, his tone every bit as flat and polished as expected of a majordomo. “We don’t have the staff for that kind of extended stay….” His voice trailed off as the Beast turned and glared at him.

  Not intimidated, Lumiere forged on. “Whether it’s for a day or a lifetime,” he said smoothly, “you might want to offer her a more comfortable room.”

  “This whole castle is a prison,” the Beast said harshly. As he spoke, Chapeau, the coatrack, tried to take the Beast’s cloak. The Beast brushed him off and continued walking toward the grand staircase. Over his shoulder, he added, “What difference does a bed make?” Not waiting for an answer, he disappeared into the shadows.

  Cogsworth waited to speak until he was sure his master couldn’t hear him, and even then, he did so under his breath. “Yes. It’s a prison thanks to you, Sire. I just love being a clock.” He sighed bitterly. As head of the Beast’s household, Cogsworth knew he was supposed to be the picture of respect at all times. But sometimes that was difficult. Sometimes it was hard to forget that he and every other member of the staff were in the state they were in because of the master they still had to serve. “I knew he wouldn’t say yes.”

  “But technically…he didn’t say no,” Lumiere pointed out. Flashing Cogsworth a sly smile, the candelabrum headed toward the stairs that led to the prison tower.

  Behind him, Cogsworth remained still. He knew what Lumiere had in mind. The romantic footman was as easy to read as a book. The candelabrum wanted to free the girl and put her somewhere more noticeable—in the hopes that she might be the one who could break the curse they were all under, the curse that had remained unbroken for those long years because of one obvious fact: the Beast was a beast, both literally and figuratively. And the curse the Enchantress had placed on them required someone to love him despite that.

  Cogsworth sighed. He knew his friend was well intentioned. But Cogsworth was a realist. No matter where the girl laid her head, she would not love the Beast. And if Lumiere got his way and brought her out of the prison, it would only make the master furious. Cogsworth began waddling toward the stairs. He was going to have to stop Lumiere before the candelabrum did something they would all regret.

  But Lumiere had already opened the cell door. “Forgive my intrusion, mademoiselle,” he said into the darkness, “but the master has sent me to escort you to your room.”

  Belle was sitting on the floor, her cheeks stained with tears. Hearing Lumiere’s voice, she stood. “My room?” she said, sounding confused. “But I thought—”

  “You thought wrong,” Lumiere replied. “He is a beast. Not a monster.”

  A moment later, Belle appeared in the cell doorway, brandishing a stool over her head. She looked around for the source of the voice she had heard.

  “Allô,” Lumiere said.

  Looking down, Belle saw Lumiere waving at her with one of his candlesticks. She screamed. Then, as if he were a mouse that had surprised her in the pantry, Belle swung the stool at Lumiere, knocking him to the ground. His candles went out, plunging the tower into darkness.

  One by one, the three candles that made up the candelabrum relit. As Belle watched, the flickers of light illuminated two eyes and a mouth in the elaborate design of the metal. “What are you?” she finally asked.

  “I am Lumiere,” the candelabrum replied, flashing Belle what could only be called a rakish smile.

  “And you can talk,” Belle observed.

  Suddenly, Cogsworth waddled into the tower. He was out of breath from the long climb, and for a moment he just stood there, his little clock chest heaving. “Of course he can talk,” he finally said. “How else is he supposed to communicate?” Turning, he put his hands on his hips and glared at Lumiere. “As head of the household, I demand to know what you are doing.”

  “It is better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Lumiere replied cryptically.

  As the duo bickered, Belle inched her way back into the cell. She reappeared a moment later with a pitcher of water in her hands. Seeing the potentially harmful weapon, Lumiere held up a golden arm. “Un moment, mademoiselle…” he said. Then he pulled Cogsworth aside. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “If we don’t break the curse before the last petal falls, we will never be human again. What do you want to be for the rest of your life, Cogsworth—a man or a
mantel clock?”

  Cogsworth frowned. Lumiere was right. Still…“If he catches us…”

  “We will be quiet,” Lumiere promised. He looked at Cogsworth with an expression bordering on desperate. Finally, the clock gave the slightest of nods. Lumiere didn’t wait. Turning, he looked back at Belle. “Ready, miss?” he asked, bowing and pointing one of his candles toward the tower’s exit.

  Belle looked back and forth between the candelabrum and the clock. Then she looked at the cell. While neither option was exactly comforting, following the talking household objects at least meant getting out of a cell. Taking a deep breath, she leaned down, picked up Lumiere, and followed Cogsworth out of the tower.

  As the trio made their way across a long stone walkway, Belle’s eyes darted back and forth. But no matter where she looked, she could not make out an escape route of any kind. The woods that stretched out behind the castle were vast—and a bit intimidating.

  Although, she thought as she looked down at her companions, the castle wasn’t exactly making her feel warm or fuzzy. She eyed Lumiere and Cogsworth and, for the umpteenth time, resisted the urge to turn Lumiere upside down and look for the strings that had to be making him move. And once again, she stopped herself from peering over her shoulder to try to spot the ventriloquist she knew must be lurking somewhere nearby, giving voice to two objects that, in her experience, were usually inanimate. Both times, she stopped herself because she knew it would do no good. Somehow, the candelabrum and clock were alive.

  “You must forgive first impressions,” Lumiere said, as if sensing her thoughts. “I hope you are not too startled.”

  “Startled?” Belle repeated with a sarcastic laugh. “Why would I be startled? I’m talking to a candle.”

  Lumiere looked aghast. “Candel-a-bra,” he corrected, enunciating each syllable. “Enormous difference. But we do hope you enjoy your stay here. The castle is your home now, so feel free to go anywhere you like—”

  “Except the West Wing.”

  In unison, Belle and Lumiere turned to look at the clock. But while Lumiere was shooting him a barely veiled “Would you please shut your mouth?” look, Belle stared at him with evident curiosity. She opened her mouth to ask where the forbidden West Wing might be but was stopped by Cogsworth trying to cover his tracks.

  “Which we do not have,” he added.

  It was too late. Belle wanted to know more. “Why?” she asked. “What’s in the West Wing?”

  “Uh…” Lumiere stammered, the flames on his candles flickering nervously. “Nothing. Storage space.”

  Belle raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the candelabrum’s explanation. She raised her arm so that Lumiere’s light illuminated a nearby curved stone window, displaying a tower that rose out of the western portion of the castle. As she did so, the moon appeared over the horizon, casting an eerie light on the tower. Belle could have sworn she saw the Beast’s shadow in the white light and heard an anguished cry. Shivering, she lowered Lumiere.

  “This way, please,” the candelabrum said, eager to move them along.

  With one last glance over her shoulder, Belle sighed and once again followed Cogsworth as he waddled down one hallway and along another. Finally, he came to a stop in front of a large door.

  “Welcome to your new home,” Lumiere said in a grandiose tone.

  Belle’s hand hovered over the doorknob. A part of her wanted to turn the knob. Another part of her was terrified to do so. She had no idea what to expect. If the room was anything like the rest of the castle, with its layers of dust and oppressive sad portraits and decaying furniture, she was going to have to insist they bring her back to the tower.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and pushed open the door. The light from Lumiere’s three candles filled the space. Belle gasped. She was looking into what appeared to be a gorgeous bedroom—far more elegant than any she had ever seen in real life or imagined in her stories.

  As if in a dream, she slowly walked inside, her eyes feasting on every perfect detail of the room. There was a large white-and-gold-painted armoire along one wall, and along another wall a beautiful writing desk had been placed. A chair, covered in rich velvet, was tucked underneath it, and a stack of crisp white paper was placed on one side. Opposite a set of huge picture windows covered by thick satin drapes was an enormous canopy bed that took up nearly a third of the room. And tucked in a corner, delicate and sweet, was a dressing table with a mirror framed in gold. Even the ceiling of the room was breathtaking. White clouds had been painted in a perfect blue sky, the detail so real Belle could have sworn she saw the clouds move.

  “It’s…beautiful,” she finally said when she realized Lumiere and Cogsworth were staring at her, waiting for a response.

  Lumiere smiled broadly while Cogsworth nodded, his pleasure more contained. “Of course. Master wanted you to have the finest room in the castle,” Lumiere said, making his way to the bed and leaping onto it. A cloud of dust rose into the air. “Oh, dear! We weren’t expecting guests.”

  As if on cue, a feather duster swooped into the room. Belle’s eyes widened as the feather duster quickly moved from surface to surface, sweeping until everything shined. Stopping, she bowed in Belle’s direction. “Enchanté, mademoiselle! Don’t worry, I’ll have this room spotless in no time,” she said before turning and jumping into the arms of Lumiere. “This plan of yours is…dangerous,” she said, giggling.

  Belle stifled her own giggle as Lumiere waggled his eyebrows and replied, “I would risk anything to kiss you again, Plumette….” He leaned closer and puckered his lips.

  Plumette stopped him. “No, my love,” she said, her voice serious. “I’ve been burned by you before. We must be strong.”

  “How can I be strong when you make me so weak?” Lumiere replied.

  Belle averted her eyes from the romantic pair and turned her attention toward other items in the room. “Is everything here alive?” she asked, picking up a brush. “Hello, what’s your name?”

  Cogsworth looked at Belle and shook his head. “Um…that’s a hairbrush,” he said as though pointing out the obvious.

  Belle opened her mouth to ask just what the rules were for enchanted objects when, suddenly, a loud snore sounded behind her. Turning, she yelped as the large armoire’s drawers opened and shut by themselves in time with the snoring.

  “Do not be alarmed, mademoiselle,” Lumiere said calmly. “This is just your wardrobe. Meet Madame de Garderobe, a great singer.”

  The armoire let out a long, loud yawn.

  “A better sleeper,” Cogsworth added as he walked over and nudged the wardrobe.

  With a grunt, Garderobe awoke. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she gave a surprised little shout when she noticed her audience. “Cogsworth!” she exclaimed in an overly dramatic manner. “You officious alarm clock. A diva needs her beauty rest!”

  Cogsworth’s springs tightened at the insult and his mouth opened, ready with a sharp rebuke. But Lumiere didn’t give him the chance. He jumped in before the clock could say a word. “Of course you do, madame,” he said in his most soothing voice. “Forgive us, but we have someone for you to dress.”

  Spotting Belle for the first time, Garderobe emitted a happy cry. “Finally!” she said. “A woman!” Then, as though she were doing inventory, Garderobe took stock of Belle. “Pretty eyes. Proud face. A perfect canvas. Yes! I will find you something worthy of a princess.” The wardrobe’s front drawers flapped open and closed in what Belle could only assume was the wardrobe’s version of a happy clap.

  “But I’m not a princess,” Belle said.

  “Nonsense!” Garderobe said, brushing off Belle’s protest. “Now, let’s see what I’ve got in my drawers.” Opening up the top one, she shouted as a few moths flew out. “How embarrassing!” she said.

  To Belle’s surprise, both sides of the armoire went from white to a soft shade of pink. The armoire was blushing!

  Before Belle could ask how such a thing was possible�
�how any of it was possible, for that matter—Garderobe began to pull things helter-skelter out of her drawers and off hangers. A large hoopskirt went over Belle’s head, followed by at least four different dresses cut right then and there by the wardrobe to be used as fabric. Belle was turned and twisted as Garderobe assembled an outfit.

  When the wardrobe paused to take a breath, Belle snuck a peek at her reflection in the mirror across the room. To her horror, she saw the wardrobe had indeed created something from what she had in her drawers. But the result was the most garish ensemble Belle had ever seen. It seemed to swallow her up in shades of blue, pink, and yellow. Catching Lumiere’s eye, Belle saw that the candelabrum was equally mortified. But both he and Cogsworth backed toward the door. They knew not to mess with Garderobe when she was in the middle of a creation.

  “Anyway,” Lumiere said, “if you have further needs, the staff will attend to them. We are at your service. Au revoir!” Then, with a deep bow, he grabbed Cogsworth and slipped out of the room. Plumette followed close behind. A moment later, the door closed, leaving Belle alone with Garderobe.

  Belle didn’t hesitate. She had a feeling that if she was ever going to get answers, the diva armoire was going to be the one to give them to her. Turning to Garderobe, she asked the question she had wanted to ask ever since Lumiere had revealed himself to her. “How did you get here?”

  As she suspected, Garderobe’s eyes lit up at the chance to gossip. Leaning her large frame over the bed, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “All it takes is a stormy night and one spoiled little prince…” But Garderobe’s voice faded into soft snores as sleep overcame her.

  Belle sighed. It looked like she wasn’t going to be getting answers after all. At least not anytime soon. Belle quickly slipped out of the disaster of a dress. Then she turned and looked around the room. She was alone, her only guardian fast asleep. Now was the time for her to try to make her escape. The only question was, how?