Beauty of the Beast

I woke up that next day without opening up my eyes. I couldn’t. They were sealed shut by dry tears and sticky mascara.

Truthfully, I didn’t mind. I just wanted to stay there. Asleep. Maybe then everyone would think I was dead and leave me alone.

“Are you awake yut, Miz Adelle?”

I pried open one eye, to glance at Madam Garnet in her yellowing apron.

“You gave uz quite uh scare lust night, you did.” She announced too loudly. “We z’all ‘ought you were lozing your marbles.”

I didn’t say anything; simply watch the rain smash into the pane of the window.

“But ol’ Garnet knowz how et goes,” She continued in her heavy French accent, “and methinks that ‘ere iz much more thut you haven’t tol’ Mad’m Garnet.”

She paused for me to react, but I didn’t feel like talking. Not at all.

She stroked my hair with a fat palm. “M’be latuh then.” She purred. “I’ll write uh note tu th’ doctuh. You still luk az pal az uh dove!”

I nearly groaned. The doctor.

Slumped over the edge of a chair in the corner was my torn maroon dress, with the shredded remains of my corset beside it.

George’s favorite dress.

Just looking at it brought memories to the surface. No tears came this time though. I was simply too shocked and too tired to care.

“Auntie! Auntie look!”

Phoebe tumbled into the room, clutching a single piece of paper in her six-year-old fingers. She jumped up onto the bed, with her gray eyes and blonde hair bouncing.

“What is it Phoeb?”

She said nothing, but shoved the crumpling paper to me. I took it out of her hand.

“Dad’s best stationary, I see.”

“He said I could draw a picture on it for you. So you can get better faster, Auntie.”

“She’s your sistuh. Not your aunt, Phoebe.” Madame Garnet reminded her.

“Well, where is the drawing?” I asked.

“Oh. I didn’t draw one.”

“Really. And why not?

“Because you’re all better now, right? You don’t even need one!” She made it sound like a fact.

“Well, I guess you are right!” I tried to laugh with her.

I wish she was right. I really do.

The image of Chandra’s beautiful diamond came back and I stopped laughing.

Madame Garnet concluded the note she was writing with a dramatic signature. No doubt it was in French. I don’t think she even knows how to write in English. Maybe the doctor won’t even be able to read it.

“ ’ere now. I’ll send dis tu de doctuh ‘nd he wull fix you right up fo’ tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? Why tomorrow?

“The doctor?” Phoebe squeaked.

“Yus. Th’ doctuh. But not fo’ you. Dis time iz Miz Adelle –“

“Auntie doesn’t need the doctor!”

“Yus. She iz vury zick!”

“But –“

“No ‘but’s.”

Phoebe’s heart-shaped face crumpled and she came up by me to hug my arm.

“But I don’t want the doctor to hurt Auntie. He’s so mean. I cry and cry and he just keeps hurting and hurting…”

My mood, already crippled by memories, plummeted even more. Phoebe’s frail body was always sick. Madam Garnet claimed it was her skin. Any evil spirit could climb right into her with it as thin and wispy as hers.

And maybe she was right. After all, the doctors had no clue.

Madam Garnet’s resolve seemed to dissolve too just listening to her. But in any case, she had to prove her point.

“Th’ doctuh iz a very nice ‘nd repectable man.” She said half-heartedly. “But whut iz uh Governess fo’ but keepin’ him – ‘n’ th’ sickness— away, yes?”

Phoebe instantly recognized her surrender, and threw two porcelain arms around Madam Garnet’s waist the best she could.

“Thank you! Thank you!” She trilled. “Auntie will be better if I draw a picture, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay then! I’ll go draw one right now.”

And with that, Phoebe hurled her tiny body down the hallway to her room. You could hear her tiny steps all the way down the hall to her door.

With Phoebe gone, the room fell very silent. Madam Garnet started to hum.

I stared at the ripped dress. The shredded corset.

The monster. Was it real?

“Can you… Can you tell me what actually happened? Last night.” I asked.

“Why, you fainted.”

Reasonable enough. But it answers none of my questions.

“Well, I know that.”

“You fainted a’ th’ party. Aftuh Miz Chandra tol’ you dat she and dat George wure engaged.” She purred. “Such uh nice couple. Dey will live happy lives toge’er. We need tu find you uh husb’nd lak dat tu, you know.”

“Yes. I know.” My heart failed at the reminder.

“An’ways. You ripped your fav’rite dress on th’ way down. Chandra had tu rip th’t corset off zo you could breath!”

“In public?” I scoffed.

“No, no. She tuk you els’where. She blames hurself fo’ th’ whole thing. She even wrote you uh lettuh.”

“She did?”

“Yes. Right there on th’ nightst’nd.” She pointed.

And sure enough, on the nightstand stood a propped up letter. It was opened. Apparently
Madam Garnet had already read it. I prayed it didn’t hold any information that she didn’t already know.

“Who told you the story?” I asked.

“Et wuz Miz Chandruh, uf course. She came awll th’ way out ‘ere tu explain tu me whut happ’ned. She felt aw’ful.”

So Chandra had told Madame Garnet I fainted at the party. It seemed more logical, I wanted to believe it, but something in me told me that that wasn’t just a delusion. And if I was right, why was Chandra hiding it? Why hadn’t she blown her mouth off to everyone?

I looked at the corset.

After all. There is no way that Chandra could rip something like that.

My head swirled with questions. Was she hiding something? Could she even keep a secret?

I reached over to the nightstand, and grabbed Chandra’s letter. She had drawn a big heart on the back. As if that would help to cheer me up. Surely she knew it would be just another reminder.

Dear Adelle,

I am so, so, so, so, so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am right now. Please forgive me? I will never forgive myself if you don’t! I had no idea. I swear!

Adelle. Here. Let me make it up to you. Let’s go downtown tomorrow. We used to do that all the time. We can look at all the windows, and maybe do some shopping? I’ll even go to that bookstore you love. I really will. I won’t even complain!

Your horrible friend,
Chandra Bennet

“Et iz a vury nice letter. Short, ‘nd tu th’ point.”

“It is a very nice letter, but I’m not going to take her up on her invitation.” I said sternly, sensing where this was going.

“Uf! ‘nd why not?”

“I am sick, and need to recover.”

“You are not dat zick! A lady woul’ go, just tu make sure her friend iz forgiv’n.”

“She didn’t even do anything wrong. Like you said; she blames herself.”

It was a lie. Such a horrible lie. But I had to make Madam Garnet think that this was a frivolous idea.

“But you are still go’ng. A lady always takes un invitation frum friends!”

Excuses. I had a sneaky suspicion that this had more to do with the shopping than being a ‘lady’.

“In any case. I still cannot – and will not – go.”