I swear I can feel my heart pounding in my throat, blood thundering in my ears — savage, stubborn life such as I’ve not felt in months. I’m in darkness, and I feel myself falling. My eyes fly open — my eyes!— and I see the lower stairs racing up to meet me as I teeter on the railing. My hands — human hands — lunge for the railing, and I push myself back from the open stairwell and collapse on the carpeted floor behind the balustrades.
My legs are all askew beneath my plain grey frock. I try to pull them up under me, but they’re too awkward to manage after so long. Finally I grip the balustrades with both hands and haul myself up. I’m not yet standing; I’m leaning all my weight on the railing, but random points of feeling are beginning to return to my legs. Pain first, the ache of disuse, and then the sharp pinpricks of returning life.
Is it Beast’s death that’s released me as he hoped? No, it can’t be true, not yet! I never made such a bargain. There must be more time!
I creep unsteadily to the corner newel-post, struggle down the stairs to the first landing on jellylike legs, and half tumble down the rest, sprawling at last out into the entry hall. I crawl across the cold marble tiles to the glass panels overlooking the rose garden, but the rosebushes have grown so thickly together and are so dense with blooms, I can’t see anything beyond the first rows nearest the house. I pull myself up by the window frame, trying to rub more life back into my legs. Where can he be?
My legs bearing me up at last, I stagger out the grand double doors and out onto the colonnaded porch. I steady myself by one column, then let myself down by holding on to the ceremonial urns that decorate each step. I manage to cross the gravel courtyard at the foot of the steps under my own power, but still too slowly! I hobble to the end of the first row of bushes and crunch around to the open space between this row and the next. But there is no Beast. At the end of that row, I come around to the next, struggling to see or hear anything as I hurry from bush to bush.
When at last I spy a solid shape and a glimpse of burgundy two rows ahead, I rush to the end of the row and double back. And there he lies, on an expanse of mossy green halfway down the next row, near enough to the drive that the high central vault of roses bloom almost directly over his head. The sun sparkles turquoise on the water of the moat, out beyond the gilded gate, and the swans can be heard softly nattering in the distance. It’s a lovely spot, a tranquil, peaceful place to die.
“Beast!”
It is my voice, my own human voice. But even as I push myself forward, a shadow falls across Beast, a shadow thrown by nothing that I can see. Then Rose is suddenly standing at his side, blocking my path to the place where he lies. She’s dressed in one of the fine gowns he gave her; it dazzles in the sunlight. She wasn’t there a second before. She’s appeared out of the very air and rushes to Beast, flinging aside something that sparkles momentarily in the sunlight. I recognize the magic ring by the red ribbon trailing behind it as it disappears in the gravel.
But I am still several bushes away from them. Rose! Stop him! I plead with all my heart, my newly beating heart; it’s still more natural to call out to her this way than to trust my rusty voice. Throw that bottle away!
Rose falls to her knees beside Beast, snatches the bottle out of Beast’s paw, and hurls it away. From here, I can’t tell how much liquid flies out, if any does. “Sir Beast!” she cries, shaking him vigorously by the shoulder. “It’s me, Rose!”
Beast lets out a bark of surprise. “Rose?” He sounds confused.
“Sir Beast! I’ve come back to you!” She grasps his paw in both her hands. “I never thought you would truly die without me!”
“Rose . . . what?”
“Oh, Sir Beast, do not die! I’m sorry I was delayed, but I promise I will never leave you again!” Her voice is earnest, full of feeling. “I will do anything you wish, but you must get well! Oh, stay with me, Sir Beast, and I . . . I will be your wife!”
I’m so stunned, I trip over my feet at the nearest bush; Beast’s startled cry, “No!” fades to a groan as I half fall to my knees, staring out between the branches. Rose is so caught up in the moment, she’s begun to sob, bowing her head over Beast’s paw. So she doesn’t notice how Beast’s mane is shortening; his horns disappear, his muzzle flattens, and the whiskers and tawny fur vanish from his face.
Beast is gone. Jean-Loup reclines in his place!
No! I want to scream, but I’ve lost my voice as this nightmare vision unfolds before me. Not Jean-Loup! The chevalier, in all his cold glamour, peers intently up at the girl who is still bent over his hand, softly sobbing, “I’m Rose! I’m here!”
But only when she realizes the hairy paw she’s been clutching has become smooth human flesh between her hands does Rose open her own eyes and see the transformation.
“Oh!” Rose drops his hand and sits back on her knees, flustered.
Jean-Loup scrambles to sit up. “Please, please . . . do not fear me.”
“But . . . but . . .” She stares into his face. “But . . . where is Sir Beast?”
“Beast,” echoes Jean-Loup; he sounds puzzled but recovers himself swiftly.
“Beast is gone,” he says more decisively. “But I am here.” He rises to his knees before her.
Rose remains where she is, staring at his face, bewildered and awestruck, then dares to let her gaze slide over the rest of him. His shirt and his breeches have adjusted to his human body again and fit him beautifully; their dishevelment gives him the air of a rakish young knight at the end of a quest. “I know you,” she whispers at last. “You’re the man in the portrait. I dreamed of you,” she breathes, eyes wide with awe.
“Jean-Loup Christian Henri LeNoir, Chevalier de Beaumont.” He smiles at her again, pretending to doff a hat in the air. “At your service, mademoiselle. And . . . and you must have known me as Beast!”
He does not seem to remember the time when Beast was here, but he’s trying to piece it together.
Rose’s hands flutter in astonishment. “But . . . how is it possible?”
Jean-Loup shakes back his russet hair the way he used to do. “An evil witch cast a spell on me,” he tells her solemnly. He remembers that much, although I’m angered at his slander of Mère Sophie. “I was to pine away all the rest of my days as a hideous beast unless a virtuous maiden might consent to marry me.” He smiles at her, ardent, triumphant. “And you have — Rose.” He pronounces her name with some hesitation; he may have only just heard it on her lips, but he understands what has happened. “You have set me free!”
Now it is he who grasps one of her white hands in both of his. He lowers his lips to her delicate skin, then slowly lifts his handsome face to gaze at her again, still cradling her hand in both of his.
“Are you very disappointed, my dear?” he murmurs.
Yes! Rose, tell him, my thoughts erupt from where I stand; speech still feels strange to me. Send him away! He’s not half the man Beast was!
But Rose no longer responds to my thoughts, dazzled as she is by the chevalier’s handsome face and the touch of his perfect mouth. She stretches out her other hand to him and dares to caress a lock of his hair. Her trembling fingertips trail gently down his cheek. “I . . . shall bear it.” She smiles.
Jean-Loup bows his head again and presses her hand fiercely to his mouth. “Then everything in Chateau Beaumont, including myself, belongs to you,” he declares, his gaze rising to hers again. “If you still consent to be my wife.”
“Yes!” she cries as my heart sinks. “Oh, yes, Sir . . . Sir . . .”
“I am only a knight at court, my dear,” he tells her with a gentle smile. “In private life to my intimates, I am simply Jean-Loup.”
“Jean-Loup,” she murmurs, savoring the taste of it.
The chevalier gets to his feet with enough vigor that I realize Beast must not yet have drunk much from the bottle. Jean-Loup shakes the petals out of his cloak and throws it back over his shoulders. He stretches out both hands to Rose. She places hers eagerly in his, and he draws her to her feet. He kisses each of her hands in turn, pauses, then draws her one step closer. She does not protest. He leans forward, seeks her mouth with his, and kisses her slowly. He lets go of her hands, and his own hands reach for her waist.