[fic] Beast and Beastliness: Interlude
Sorry for the long delay...between the storm, my birthday, and major writer's block at a phenomenally stupid place in the story (basically, how much of an infodump do I want to commit, and which characters get to perpetrate it) I haven't been able to do much work on this. Here, as an apology, is a little taste of what's coming up, between what I like to think of as the first book (Isabelle's Season) and the second (what happens at Maitland Manor).
Fandom: Disney's Beauty and the Beast
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance (in every sense of the word!)
Disclaimer: Disney owns the characters and storyline for their version of Beauty and the Beast. I am making no money off of this; it is an affectionate homage to one of my favorite films of all time.
"Please, Mademoiselle. We must go," said Lumiere.
Isabelle tore her gaze from the frowning walls of Marshalsea. "Yes, of course. How much time do I have to put my affairs in order?"
"Ah, Mademoiselle...the master has directed me to have you taken directly to the manor."
"What fresh villainy is this?" Isabelle said indignantly. "Am I not permitted to gather my books, or my wardrobe? May I not at least divest myself of this wretched dancing dress, which I shall immediately thereafter throw into the fire?"
"Your needs will all be attended to once we arrive; so I have been directed."
Isabelle laughed. "You will forgive me, Monsieur Candlestick, if I am a bit dubious of your master's grasp of a woman's needs." The financier, shorter and stouter than the French manservant, with a small, neat mustache, had the misfortune of emerging from Marshalsea right at that moment, and his round face turned a most intriguing shade of aubergine. Lumiere gave a dry, Gallic chuckle, and gestured Isabelle into the carriage.
She remained stubbornly still. "At least let me say good-bye to my father."
"Mr. Morris has already departed; the master has sent him home. Shall we be on our way as well?
Isabelle sighed. "Not even a good-bye. My father, my freedom, my books - gone, all gone. Very well, let us depart."
She stepped up into the carriage. The doors swung shut and darkness swallowed her. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Isabelle realized that she was quite alone. She considered calling out to the driver to inquire as to the whereabouts of Lord Maitland and his servants, then thought better of it and determined that, quite simply, she did not care.
The horses began to run, and Isabelle drew shut the curtains to blot out the sight of London being carried away from her. But alas, she could not blot out the memory of what had just transpired. The fire of her indignation gradually sank low as Isabelle sat alone in the dark stillness, replaying the evening over and over in her mind's eye, like an unfortunate playgoer who had stumbled into a rehearsal. Where had everything gone so magnificently awry? Had there been any time in the evening - indeed, in the entire Season! - where she might have forestalled this disaster? Rage fought with bitter grief, and after a long, silent struggle, grief carried the day. There in the dark carriage, as the muffled sounds of London gave way to country roads and peculiar forest noises, Isabelle wept until she had no tears left, at which point she drew a small, battered volume from her reticule. There was no light to read by, but she stroked its cover again and again with her gloved fingertips, taking what comfort she could from its presence.
And then...buried down deep in Isabelle's heart, far below the anguish and rage, the tiny, faint spark of a brighter sentiment flickered into being. Desperate as her situation might be - and desperate it was, without doubt - Isabelle could not escape the knowledge that every turn of the carriage wheels was bearing her away from both her old, humdrum, provincial life and the gilded trap that was London. The two roads she had seen for so long lying inevitably before her had suddenly turned into three, and she had chosen the third road. Whatever might lie ahead along this road, it was entirely new and unexpected; and Isabelle, who had devoured storybooks, romances, and poetry since her earliest girlhood, was finally riding straight into the heart of an adventure of her very own.
Links to previous chapters:
Chapter 1: The Bluestocking
Chapter 2: The Beast
Chapter 3: London
Chapter 4: The Ball
Chapter 5: The Fateful Decision
Fandom: Disney's Beauty and the Beast
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance (in every sense of the word!)
Disclaimer: Disney owns the characters and storyline for their version of Beauty and the Beast. I am making no money off of this; it is an affectionate homage to one of my favorite films of all time.
"Please, Mademoiselle. We must go," said Lumiere.
Isabelle tore her gaze from the frowning walls of Marshalsea. "Yes, of course. How much time do I have to put my affairs in order?"
"Ah, Mademoiselle...the master has directed me to have you taken directly to the manor."
"What fresh villainy is this?" Isabelle said indignantly. "Am I not permitted to gather my books, or my wardrobe? May I not at least divest myself of this wretched dancing dress, which I shall immediately thereafter throw into the fire?"
"Your needs will all be attended to once we arrive; so I have been directed."
Isabelle laughed. "You will forgive me, Monsieur Candlestick, if I am a bit dubious of your master's grasp of a woman's needs." The financier, shorter and stouter than the French manservant, with a small, neat mustache, had the misfortune of emerging from Marshalsea right at that moment, and his round face turned a most intriguing shade of aubergine. Lumiere gave a dry, Gallic chuckle, and gestured Isabelle into the carriage.
She remained stubbornly still. "At least let me say good-bye to my father."
"Mr. Morris has already departed; the master has sent him home. Shall we be on our way as well?
Isabelle sighed. "Not even a good-bye. My father, my freedom, my books - gone, all gone. Very well, let us depart."
She stepped up into the carriage. The doors swung shut and darkness swallowed her. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Isabelle realized that she was quite alone. She considered calling out to the driver to inquire as to the whereabouts of Lord Maitland and his servants, then thought better of it and determined that, quite simply, she did not care.
The horses began to run, and Isabelle drew shut the curtains to blot out the sight of London being carried away from her. But alas, she could not blot out the memory of what had just transpired. The fire of her indignation gradually sank low as Isabelle sat alone in the dark stillness, replaying the evening over and over in her mind's eye, like an unfortunate playgoer who had stumbled into a rehearsal. Where had everything gone so magnificently awry? Had there been any time in the evening - indeed, in the entire Season! - where she might have forestalled this disaster? Rage fought with bitter grief, and after a long, silent struggle, grief carried the day. There in the dark carriage, as the muffled sounds of London gave way to country roads and peculiar forest noises, Isabelle wept until she had no tears left, at which point she drew a small, battered volume from her reticule. There was no light to read by, but she stroked its cover again and again with her gloved fingertips, taking what comfort she could from its presence.
And then...buried down deep in Isabelle's heart, far below the anguish and rage, the tiny, faint spark of a brighter sentiment flickered into being. Desperate as her situation might be - and desperate it was, without doubt - Isabelle could not escape the knowledge that every turn of the carriage wheels was bearing her away from both her old, humdrum, provincial life and the gilded trap that was London. The two roads she had seen for so long lying inevitably before her had suddenly turned into three, and she had chosen the third road. Whatever might lie ahead along this road, it was entirely new and unexpected; and Isabelle, who had devoured storybooks, romances, and poetry since her earliest girlhood, was finally riding straight into the heart of an adventure of her very own.
Links to previous chapters:
Chapter 1: The Bluestocking
Chapter 2: The Beast
Chapter 3: London
Chapter 4: The Ball
Chapter 5: The Fateful Decision