Beauty and the Beast(40)

Belle felt the air around her get warm, no… hot, burning hot, and suddenly, the Beast was gone, the castle gone. The air around her shimmered brightly, and then any hint of magic disappeared around her. All was normal.

She stood now in her Papa’s little cottage, standing in the middle of the cozy kitchen.

“Oh, my word,” she gasped. How quickly the magic had worked! To be transported through space like that, how strange, how wonderful. She was home.

Belle ran into her father’s bedroom, hoping upon hope that he was already safe and free. But the room was empty, the fire out, the ashes unswept.

She took off the golden ruby ring and set it on the center of her father’s dresser top. God forbid if she wore it outside and a thief stole it from her, she might have a hard time getting back through the long, winding way in the dark forest to the castle. Would she even know the way? And if she did, would wolves tear her to shreds before she could make it back to her beloved Beast?

In her bedroom, she set the looking glass down on her bed. Belle dressed quickly in one of her old, worn dresses, and put on sturdy shoes. She had missed the smell of the house, the smell of old wood and burnt embers and Papa and home. But there was no time to reminisce. Her father was in danger, and she was his only hope.

With no time to spare, she left the cottage, running to the Constable as fast as she could.

When she finally reached the Constable’s office, she burst through the door. The man was sitting at his desk, going through paperwork. Both of the tiny holding cells were empty. Where was her father?

“Constable,” she nearly shouted. “It has come to my attention that you have charged my father with my murder. As you can see, I am alive and well. My father is innocent and I demand he be set free at once.”

The Constable stood so quickly that his chair fell over, the noise clattering through the room like a shot.

“Good God, girl!” he exclaimed. “We all thought you dead! Where have you been?”

“I’ve been staying with a dear friend, a friend with…” she paused, unsure how to continue. “He has a deformity, and my father, with his weak eyesight, mistook him for a beast in his, um, fur coat. As you can see, I am unharmed.”

“I can’t believe this,” he said, coming over to her. He touched her arm, as if to ascertain that she was, indeed, alive and real.

It reminded Belle of how she felt when she first saw Frederick. The uncertainty of it all, the confusion.

“Take me to my Papa,” she said. “Please, Constable. I need to see him.”

“Very well.” He looked at her again, shaking his head in amazement. “My goodness, of course. Right away.”

The Constable led her to his carriage, and they sat together, side by side, as the horse clopped along the hard-packed dirt road to the Institution for Lunatics.

“Mrs. Sharone is the one who needs to decide whether or not he is well enough to go home,” he warned. “I can drop the criminal charges, naturally—I must, it seems. Of course, I must. Can’t charge a man for murder when his victim is not dead.”

“No, you cannot,” Belle said, unable to hide her anger.

“But, well, Mr. Castelle is still being treated for his hallucinations and delusions.”

“There are no hallucinations or delusions,” Belle said firmly. “Only a misunderstanding. I will bring my Papa home with me, and I can guarantee he won’t be a nuisance to anyone at all.”

The Constable nodded, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

At the Institution, Mrs. Sharone greeted her husband at the door, but gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, when she saw Belle step out from his carriage.

“Good Heavens!” she cried. “Belle Castelle! We all feared the worst, my poor dear, are you all right?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Belle said calmly, though inside she raged, and was quite desperate to see her Papa. “Where is he? Take me to him at once, I beg you!”

“Certainly, my dear, come with me.”

As they navigated the maze of corridors and sterile white walls, the locked doors with tiny barred viewing windows in each, Mrs. Sharone finally stopped in front of one.

“Oh dear,” she muttered under her breath.

“What is it?” Belle asked. What have they done with my Papa?

“Mr. Ashley already took him to prepare for the courthouse. I forgot the time, I’ve been so busy…” Mrs. Sharone’s voice trailed off.

“How could you not know your own patient’s whereabouts?” Belle fumed. “And you, Constable, how could you not know he was going to court today?”

“Now, now, Belle,” he said, as if to calm her (which only infuriated her more). “My job is to protect our village. It is up to the lawyers and the judge to see to the other side of things.”