My bones rattled like a physician’s skeleton and my limbs felt as if they had been bashed and tenderised for cooking, so exhausted was I from the journey in the stagecoach. Potholes were rife as we travelled up country towards a new land where no one would know us.
“Papa, we must stop and rest. I can bear it no longer,” I said and then for the umpteenth time, retched into the pewter bowl which our maid had had the foresight to give us. Dear Peggy, whom I would never see again, knew how badly motion sickness afflicted me.
Papa looked at me with pity and tapped his silver-topped cane against the carriage roof. The horses’ hooves went from a fast-paced trot to a sudden halt. Through an icy mist, an inn sign glimmered in gaslight. ‘The White Horse,’ was written in silver letters beneath the eponymous steed that galloped towards undulating hills. Tears formed as I thought of my beloved grey mare, Serena. Where would she be now? In the hands of a cruel master? I couldn’t bear the thought of any harm befalling her. But she was, just a chattel; a mere item on an inventory of Father’s belongings which, owing to bankruptcy, had all been sold.
I stepped out of the carriage and a youth took my hand and helped me down the steps. Even through my gloved hand his touch caused a frisson deep within me, but I kept my gaze straight ahead and tilted my chin heavenwards as Mama had taught me when dealing with those on the lower rungs of society. My fine clothes were out of keeping with the insalubrious inn. Here and there slats of wood dangled loose from its exterior and broken roof tiles littered the road before it. To dampen my spirits even further, the first snowfall of winter settled on my sealskin cloak. Papa paid the stagecoach driver and he sped away, urging on the horses as if he suspected the inn were cursed. The deepening snowfall disguised the worst ramshackle aspects of our abode for the night. Grateful for the obfuscation, I pulled my veil over my eyes, picked up my valise and followed Papa into the inn.
The hubbub of men in various stages of inebriation fell to an awkward silence as we crossed the threshold. The stench of alcohol, smoke and some animal odour which I did not care to dwell on, made my eyes water. The blue fug of the air obscured the path towards the bar so I placed my hand on Papa’s shoulder and he guided me through the throng. A hand with the strength of a vice gripped one of my buttocks and I yelped like a frightened puppy. Low, masculine laughter rumbled through the inn. I turned around and scowled at whoever it was dared lay a hand on me. Through the smoke, disembodied, depraved faces appeared to belong to one multi-headed monster.
A woman behind the bar wore a low cut dress. She smiled at Papa and revealed blackened and crooked teeth.
“We require rest and victuals for the night,” Papa said.
“Two sovereigns for the night, payment in advance.” She held out her reddened hand.
Papa sucked the air between his teeth and dipped his hand into his pocket.
The woman led us up creaking, ill-lit stairs. Cobwebs broke over my face and what I suspected were mice, scurried over my feet. The broken-toothed woman lit a few candles in our cold, bare room.
Every time an images of my old bedroom with its Fleur de Lys wallpaper and plum velvet curtains came into my head, I banished them. Any memory of my former life must not be allowed to remain if I were to survive this grim future.
The floorboards were unvarnished and holes gaped between them. Light, smoke and noise floated up from the tavern below. Despite the din, we were both exhausted after our frugal supper of stale bread and mouldy cheese, we lay down and succumbed quickly to sleep.
I awoke briefly as Papa mumbled something in his slumber. I looked at Papa; his grey beard had turned white in the last few days and his hitherto sanguine complexion had paled to ashen. I kissed his forehead and this quietened him.
A vixen’s scream pierced the night air and I awoke to a full moon shining in through the window. Where I expected to see Papa’s reassuring form was a vacant bed. From downstairs the low murmur of male voices floated up through the floorboards. I lay on my belly on the floor and peeped through the gaping floorboards to the drinking parlour below.
Four figures, including my papa, sat at a round table playing cards. What on earth did Papa have to gamble with now? His gambling debts had bankrupted us, taken away everything I loved the most, and as I looked at the scene below it was obvious he was not cured, and still loved Lady Luck more than me. The crestfallen expression on Papa’s face told me he was losing. A deep, devilish voice made the flimsy inn rattle.
“What will your stakes be, sir, now your pockets are emptied?”
Papa’s slurred reply cleft a chasm of betrayal through my soul. “I have only one possession left in the world. And that is my most precious, my beautiful daughter, Bella.”
Next to Papa, sat a peasant with a mahogany face and fingers like twigs. A third man, who reminded me of a weasel, sat opposite Papa, and the fourth man, who had just challenged my father, wore a black cape, a fur hat and fur gloves as if he had just blown in from an Arctic winter. He must have been unbearably hot so near to the fire that roared in the poky room. The barmaid walked over to the card table and sloshed down some tankards of beer. Everyone was drinking alcohol apart from the furred gentleman; he drank only water from a glass. My curiosity to fully see his features was contorting me into strange positions above the crack in the floor, but whatever I did, I could not get a full view of his countenance. His fur hat and gloves were a pale hue with here and there a line of black, not unlike a tiger’s fur.
I had seen drawings of tigers and other large felines in Papa’s scientific journals. Such powerful beasts, it had surprised me when I read that the female cat was largely responsible for providing food for her young and outwitted her prey using cunning as well as speed and strength. It had been an ambition of mine to one day travel to India or Africa and see such a beast in the wild but the way my future looked now, if I glimpsed an exotically-coloured rabbit I could count myself fortunate.
I had little knowledge of cards but I guessed they were playing Papa’s game of choice, poker. I dug my fingernails into my palms fiercely. Mama had taught me that ladies did not show anger but had to find myriad ways of suppressing it.
Weasel-faced man grimaced and shuffled the cards with eager fingers.
I pressed myself up onto all fours and opened my mouth in a silent roar of rage. I hung my head for a while in despair then realised, like my feline counterparts on the African plain, I would need all my cunning to outwit Papa and the beast. I pulled a cursory brush through my golden mane, got dressed and looked out of the bedroom window. A Clarence carriage with two iron-grey horses stood impassively, as if set in stone. No one in the card game, apart from the deep-voiced man who exuded an air of wealth could afford such a carriage, of that I was sure. The groom who had helped me from the stagecoach earlier was unfolding rugs to put on the horses. The letter B in gold letters was painted in a flamboyant typography on the carriage door. B for bold, brave, beastly?
Perhaps it would be worth gaining some information from the groom before the poker game ended. I pulled my sealskin cape around my shoulders and descended the stairs in pitch darkness. I felt for the edge of each tread with my feet and ran my fingers across the damp-ridden walls until I thought I had reached the bottom step. Instead of touching solid ground I pitched forward and stumbled forward into blackness. The inn fell suddenly silent.
The landlady opened the door to the stairs and shone her lamp up the stairwell. Her fetid feet were right against my face as I lay as still as a stone effigy on the floor. She cast a cursory glance towards the top of the stairs, muttered, “accursed rats” and went back into the tavern.
Only my pride was hurt so I dusted myself off and tiptoed outside. The two horses pricked their ears as they heard my footsteps approach. One of them even nickered a welcome. The groom looked up and his eyes were bright and mischievous.
“Mistress,” he said and nodded his head. I smiled at him, thinking that my white teeth probably looked dazzling in the moonlight. Mama had unwittingly taught me vanity when she dressed me up and paraded me in front of the ageing dowagers who came to tea. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Father always said, and whether he referred to our shared vanity or beauty, I never knew.
I was only used to speaking to servants in a rather imperious tone, especially those that worked outside the house. “What can you tell me of your master?” I asked in what I hoped was a friendly timbre.
“And whom may be inquiring?” He replied in a mocking tone.
“My name is Bella de Lampedusa. And yours?”
“Just plain old Thomas Carter, at your service.” He touched his cap, more in a gesture of irony rather than deference. “And what do I get in return for this information about the gentleman?” He winked at me.
Some feral instinct seems to inform the male race when one is down on one’s uppers.
“I’m afraid, as you may well have guessed, I have very little to offer in the way of remuneration.”
“A kiss, maybe?” And he turned his handsome cheek towards me.
“First the information, and then the kiss.”
He smiled and a moth’s wing beat inside my chest.
“Well, he is not my master. I earn my shilling by feeding and stabling travellers’ horses. But the fellow in question is a bit of a mystery. He is known as The Beast and lives in deepest Wroslovakia. I have heard talk that he has a great castle filled with all sorts of riches and corridors more than a hundred miles long.”
I widened my eyes in mock amazement. Riches no longer meant anything to me; I had learned how easily they could be lost.
“He generally avoids company and visitors to his castle don’t speak of it afterwards. He comes here regular, likes to gamble but usually he is gone by the small hours; I’d have stabled the horses if I’d known they’d be stood so long. Poor buggers.” Thomas turned away and threw the rug on the second horse and patted the fine animal’s neck. Some instinct I didn’t understand drew my gaze towards the curve of Thomas Carter’s firm buttocks. I pulled my gaze away.
“Lady Luck is my rival once more. And tell me, why does the mysterious man dress so warmly?”
“Warmly?” Thomas wrinkled his brow, and then laughed. “Oh, Mistress. Why don’t you go and look for yourself.” He nodded towards the inn’s mullioned window.
I rushed towards the window, my heart thundering a jungle rhythm. I cupped my hands around my eyes, to focus my vision. The thick glass distorted his features a little, as if I were dreaming him. His eyes were yellow with a slitted pupil in the centre; reptilian rather than feline. His face and ears were covered in fine golden fur, patterned with black stripes. He wasn’t wearing a winter garment of any kind; his whole body was furred. He had a human nose and mouth, and the tips of two sabre teeth dented his lower lips; feline and human characteristics at war. Long black whiskers stuck out from his cheeks. On the floor, from the hem of his black cape, a curling feline tail spiralled inwards to a black tip that rose up like a snake about to strike. A shiver went through me from top to toe. It was not surprising that one so grotesque usually avoided company.
I looked Thomas up and down, and decided that my plan might work. I whispered my plan in his ear and he smiled and then nodded.
“But that will cost you the kiss and more…”
We went into the Beast’s carriage. Thomas placed his lips over mine and pushed his tongue into my mouth. It was a repulsive sensation like eating blancmange. Then he moved to stand behind me, his fingers touched my neck as he pushed my hair aside and unbuttoned my dress. The heat of his body so close, I inhaled a musky scent which was not unpleasant. Something firm in his trousers pressed into my buttocks. I remembered when the stallion covered my mare, Serena and how I had to look away when his cock entered her. Surely Thomas was not intending to do that to me? But then his hand, with the deftness of a snake, found a way inside my voluminous drawers to the place between my legs. He massaged a tiny mound of flesh that made me kneel on the plush seats and open myself to him. I reached a pinnacle of pleasure which I had never tasted in this world before, and screamed out. When we finished I sat down on the carriage seat and smiled at Thomas. I twisted up my long hair, took his cap, and concealed my locks beneath it.
Thomas’ muscles gleamed in the moonlight and I placed the corset around his waist. He winced while I sculpted his waist to a waspish span. I helped him into my dress. My veil concealed his masculine jaw and stubble. As I put on his stable boy clothes, my demeanour changed. I adopted a cavalier stance with my feet wide and hands on my hips. I could easily take Thomas’ place before his disguise was discovered. Looking after horses came naturally to me; I had always insisted on grooming, feeding and saddling Serena, my grey mare, so I had no doubt I was capable and eventually I would grow fit and muscular, just like my beau.
We stepped out of the carriage and after giving him a brief lesson in how to take dainty steps, I sent Thomas indoors. From the window, I watched the scene unfold. My father was in tears as he hugged the figure he thought was me. Thankfully, fatigue or inebriation clouded everyone’s vision so that the Beast was convinced by Thomas’ disguise and taking his arm guided him out of the tavern and up the steps of the carriage. Weasel-faced man, with surprising agility, leapt up onto the coach-driver’s seat, gathered the reins and picked up his whip. Quickly, I de-rugged the horses and removed their nose-bags. The Beast nodded me a cursory thank you from the carriage and tossed some coins in my direction. For the first time in my life, I had earned money. The driver turned the horses eastwards, and Thomas waved ironically. The carriage wheels made deep tracks in the virgin snow. Thomas would jump out of the carriage before the Bridge of Angels which was further up country and backtrack to the inn using the woods as cover. By then Father and I would have gone.
I slept a little in one of the stables and awakened as the first glimmer of light heralded dawn. Father came out of the tavern, his shoulders slumped. He dragged his feet across the road, sat down on a tree trunk and held his head in despair.
“My darling, Bella, what have I done?”
I strode towards him and grabbed the peak of my cap, ready to reveal my locks of yellow hair and surprise him. But something made me stop. Hadn’t his gambling killed Mama? A more expensive and skilled physician might have saved her. And then, to top it all, he had gambled me away to some salivating beast. I could never put my fate in his hands again. I touched my cap at Papa, acknowledging our different stations in life. He rose and walked away. The rising sun threw his figure into silhouette against the road. Every few steps he swigged from a small bottle of stolen liquor. Exhaustion overtook me and I fell to my knees in the soft snow, allowing tears to run down my cheeks.
I don’t know how long I kneeled like that but from within the forest that flanked the road, a robin’s song filled the air and lifted my spirits. The remnants of the long night vanished like dew in the sunlight. Hope and excitement rekindled within me. I wiped tears away with the worn cuff of Thomas’ shirt and stood up. I was a woman now. From behind me a rustle of movement amongst the wood. Thomas emerged from the trees. He smiled and held out his arms.