Beauty (47 page)

The solution to staying healthy and clean in Faery is to come out of it every now and then, into the mortal world, and eat, bathe, and reclothe myself. I have hired a woman from the nearby village to go each evening to the kitchen of the ruined manor of Wellingford, to set out food and drink, to build a fire, and to heat water over it. Though the rest of the manor is dilapidated, the kitchen is whole and the roof over it is in good repair. The woman's name is Odile Kent.

Of course, she wants to know why. I have told her it was a promise I had made my husband before he died. A kind of memorial. Service for a ghost. Though the explanation makes no sense, she accepts it. People in this age believe in ghosts, and people in all ages do odd things in memory of loved ones. I told her, also, that the matter was secret, not something to be rumored about the countryside to bring beggars to eat the food she puts out. I called God to witness our contract and bring down fire upon her if she fails me. She looked suitably impressed. My agent in East Sawley will pay her, year on year. My agent in London will check to be sure that he does. Ever since Chinanga, I have put watchers to watch the watchers.

I have also instructed Odile to put a mark on the chimney face at each full of the moon, thirteen marks in a row, starting the next row beneath. In that way I will know how much time has passed. She's a sensible woman, strong and stout and still quite young. She should last longer than I do. I have already carried a pile of clothing over to the kitchen and stored it in a locked chest together with Mama's box. Looking through the box, I came upon that last hank of thread. When I see Mama, I must ask her what it is for.

The key to the chest is around my neck on a ribbon. As soon as I have taken care of a few things here, I am ready to go. I have told Odile to stay in readiness, that I will let her know when she is to start.

LATE JUNE

Surprise! Just as I was about to leave for Faery this very morning, I received a messenger with a letter from King Zot. He says Snow is very pregnant. He says he's much afraid the father may not be the mad young prince, but he's making nothing of that, because it may be for the best. The messenger who brought the letter is the putative father of Snow's baby: that nice young courtier, Vincent, the one who tried so hard to keep his young master in check.

"Well, this is a fine thing," I said, waving the letter at him so the seals and ribbons flapped. "Why on earth?"

He shrugged, blushing. "I didn't mean to," he said weakly. "She's so lovely. And she has no sense of the fitness of things. And her husband was away, hunting, and I was rather drunk. And she gets prettier and prettier."

I should have brought her back and locked her up in a monastery. I know I should. "She's not intelligent, you know."

"Oh, I know." He sounded guilty about that, too, as he well might. "One is constantly aware of that. It is like making love to a beautiful talking doll. She keeps saying, 'Oooh, that's so nice.' "

"What's the King doing about her?"

"He's sent me away," he said, shamefaced. "And he's appointed all women to look after them from now on. Old women. You know. Past the age when ... "

"I know," I snarled at him. "What will the King do when the baby arrives?"

"The King plans to send it here to be fostered and educated. The King doesn't want the baby around the prince, just on the chance that ... I mean ... "

"I know what you mean," I said. "The child, if it's a boy, might by some chance get into the succession, and the King doesn't want him to be infected with madness. If madness is infectious." It was no time to give Vincent a lesson in genetics. "What are you going to do now?"

"The King heard that your friend died." (I had given it about that Giles had died.) "So I'm to stay here and look after you," he said. "For my sins."

Well! This postpones my return to Faery for a time. I can't wait to see the baby. Also, it will be nice to have a man around again.

FALL 1418

The baby arrived today. King Zot said I was to see to the naming of him and the rearing of him. The King is getting even with me for Snow, I'm sure of it. The baby's name will be Giles Edward Vincent Charming, honoring everyone who deserves to be honored and at least one who doesn't.

Since I knew the baby was coming, I've a wet nurse already hired. The one who came with him wants to go back to Nadenada. I also have a nursery maid and a pleasant young boy who will play with him when he gets a bit older. It isn't good for boys to have only women around them.

Since it is also not good for a young man to be alone, exposed to the temptations of the world, I have arranged a marriage for Vincent. She is the daughter of a local baron, fallen upon hard times, but of impeccable lineage. Her name is Elizabeth. She is quite pretty, extremely intelligent, and, thanks to her father, well-educated. We took her without a dowry, since the poor man had none to offer, and both she and Vincent feel grateful and relieved to be so well arranged for.

Since the Dower House is large enough for all of us, young Giles will grow up in a house with two parents and one old aunt!

CHRISTMASTIDE 1418

I am having such fun with the baby! Elizabeth is a treasure, such a sweet, helpful girl. I hope Vincent loves her as much as I already do. Both of them are quite sweet with baby Giles, almost as though he were their own. I feel fortunate that they are here.

WINTER 1419

Today, while I was telling cook at some length what I wanted prepared for dinner, I surprised upon Elizabeth's face an expression which was so familiar and yet so elusive that I spent a good part of the morning figuring it out. It came to me at last. With considerable shock I realized it is the same expression that I used to feel upon my own face when one of the aunts did something so outrageous that I could not believe it, yet had no recourse but to accept it. It is an expression of bemused fury.

Well, during my converse with the cook, I had changed my mind several times about the menu. I really had. There was a time when that would have annoyed me. The implication is inevitable. I am merely tolerated in my own house! The idea makes me waver between amusement and fury and grief. I have done everything for Elizabeth that a loving mother might have done. I thought she liked me. Well, she does. She simply wishes I were not so much about. If I were at a distance, she could probably like me quite well, or she could hate me without hindrance, whichever she was minded to do at the moment. When I realized this, I cried, then I thought vindictively of sending her and Vincent away-they are living here at my invitation, after all-then I cried again. Oh, I wish Giles had not died! It is only with our own loves that we are more than mere burdens. Neither of a mated pair should ever die first! Or even, as he has done, go to sleep!

Finally, after much weeping and self-examination, I decided that it is time for me to do what I had planned before Vincent arrived: return to Faery. The baby is not mine. He'll be happier if there is no dissention in his home. Tonight I will tell Vincent I am going on a journey. A pilgrimage. I will give him title to the Dower House and surrounding lands, which I purchased some time ago. I will advise him of the income he may expect to receive per annum. My investments, however, remain my own against my return. Unless I do not return.

LATER

"When will you be back?" Vincent asked. "Who are you going with?"

"A party of pilgrims," I told him. "At my age, I may not be back, my boy, but that is no concern of yours. If I do not return in-oh, thirty years, let us say-my great-grandson Giles Edward Vincent Charming will fall heir to what I have. Thirty is a good age to inherit property. One is still young enough to enjoy it, but old enough to have acquired elementary prudence."

"I don't want you to go," he said. "I don't want you to go." Vincent's face was troubled, part duty, part affection. The larger part affection, I think, though one is never sure, is one? Elizabeth had merely said farewell, without protestation.

"But I want to go," I told him with a smile.

I think I really do want to go. Before, when I was in Faery, I knew too little. Now, I may know too much, but I want to see it again. I keep worrying about what Carabosse may be doing. I keep thinking of Mama. "I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end." My favorite poet said that. He was right. Before my end, I need to make it right with her.

I will take my cloak, boots, and book with me. The only thing left to do is to send word to Odile Kent that she is to begin her daily journey to the Wellingford kitchen.

"When are you going?" Vincent asks. "Soon?"

I will be gone before he knows it. One need not pack for Faery.

FAERY, NO TIME, NO DATE

Most things done in Faery have no meaning in the world. However, as I know from when I was last here, words written here are really written. When I go out of this place, they will come with me into the other world. Promises made here are transferable. Songs sung here can be sung out there. Meaning is meaning, whether in the world or in Faery. Only our outward seeming does not go from one place to the other. Here I am young again, and very beautiful. Here I am Beauty once again.

It would be easy to forget to go back. Suppose my mortal half died here, in Faery. Wouldn't my fairy half go on? Perhaps I would be dwindled, as Puck says, but still immortal. Free to dance here, and dine here, and while the endless time away with hunts and feasts. Dwindle. Ride mice. Sleep in flowers. Become one with the origin of my creation.

It is tempting. Enticing. Seductive. I try to summon what Father Raymond would have called my conscience and determine that, whatever happens, I will go back, at intervals, to wash and eat and dress myself and see what time has passed. Perhaps I can remember to do it. Perhaps not.

As I was leaving, I stood by the ruined hulk of Wellingford and peered back through the trees to see the Dower House well-peopled behind me. Its windows were alight and its chimneys sent up fine coils of smoke toward heaven. Let the smoke carry my prayer: pray God that Vincent and Elizabeth stay well, and so baby Giles.

27

WELLINGFORD: ONE STROKE ON THE CHIMNEYPIBCE

A month already? I would have said a day or two. I am famished. I ate all the bread and cheese and drank most of the beer. After I have a bath, I will have the rest of the beer and the meat. My dress is a bit ragged, but it will do a while longer. I must have a clean underbodice. This one is covered with something dreadful along the sleeves.

Mama had returned to Faery, as Puck had told me. My boots took me to the flowery meadow at the center of that world. I put on my shoes and began walking toward the distant castles, and there she was, standing all alone. "Hello, daughter," she said, not at all surprised as she turned to walk beside me. "You've come back." She said not another word, nor did I, until we reached the castle. She kissed me on the cheek, an unmeaning kiss, like the kiss of an aunt, then pointed to a door and said, "Your room is there." How could one describe her manner? Neither warm nor chill. Neither welcoming nor forbidding. Merely neutral. As though it made no difference. As though I had been noticed, but only that. I did not know how to break through to her. All the words I had been saving were useless. I felt despair, but then something stubborn in me said to stay and keep trying. So.

Oberon noticed me, too-but only that. He bowed and swept his hat widely, almost a satire upon himself, but did not invite my company on his couch, nor did any of the others. Not that I'd have consented, but it would have been nice to be asked. After a few days of this treatment by all of them, I decided to find out why, not caring greatly except that I like to know what is going on. I thought Puck would tell me, so I wandered off into a copse of lacy trees and called him up. He did not want to tell me, but did, finally. He says I smell differently now. Mortality, he says. Before, I was in the juice and fat of life, but now I know what age is, I have a scent of sootiness, like a candle burned down to its end.

"They can't see it," he said, kissing me on the cheek to take the pain of his words away. "But they can sense it."

"I'm half mortal," I cried angrily. "I've wondered what that means, really. Can't the mortal half die and the other half remain?"

Puck shook his head. "I've known several begot by mortals, half fairy like yourself. If they were born here, or if they came here as wee children to stay, then they seem to partake fully of Faery. If they live in human lands, they seem to grow up mortal. It's as though the heritage is the smaller part, and the rearing is the most of it. You were reared to a good age in the real world, so your fairy half maybe didn't have a chance to develop. Don't ask me, Beauty. I grow less and less sure about things." He looked older to me than he had in the past, if those in Faery can be said to age. Perhaps Bogles do, if they choose.

"You don't blame me, do you?" I asked, needing him as a friend and not wanting him to disapprove of me. "You don't blame me for coming back?"

"Ach, no," he said. "I don't. The Fenoderee doesn't. None of us do. Carabosse wants to see you, when you've time."

"Everything looks much the same," I commented.

"Thus far," he agreed. "Though Oberon is coming close to changing his world. He's bored, I think."

The words set up a dreadful resonance in my mind. I had seen another ruler change his world out of boredom.

"He's gotten sneakier," said Puck, going on with his comments. "He's fallen into this pattern of evasion."

"Evasion?"

"Of the terms of the covenant. You remember his enchanting people into deer, and then killing them? Cleaving to the letter, but not to the spirit? He's doing more things of that kind. No matter what Oberon says, it's at least a small infraction of the covenant. It's like the agreement they made with the Dark Lord, a kind of slyness. It's unworthy of what he once was, is what it is, but you wouldn't dare say that to Oberon now."