Five

The day of the ball proved to be the best day of the winter they had had so far. Belle woke to cool air that nipped at her nose and received a surprise when she hurried into the kitchen. Instead of being greeted by Mrs. Potts alone, she found Mr. Prince at the table where three bowls of porridge had been laid out instead of the usual two. Mr. Prince cast her a smile she had never seen before, one which looked nearly like the mischievous one Chip so commonly wore.

“I’m trying something new,” Mr. Prince told her as he pointed his spoon at her usual seat which he now sat beside. “I must say, I think I could get used to porridge in the kitchen.”

Sliding next to him, Belle plucked up her own spoon and asked, “Does this have anything to do with us reading Kidnapped? Are you wanting to try out kitchens and porridge because of David Balfour?”

Belle didn’t realize until moments like this how comfortable she had become around Mr. Prince. She never would have thought, when she first met him, that she would ask him silly questions about books she never would have read if left on her own. In some ways, she had come to love Mr. Prince’s book suggestions more than her own.

“Why else? Though I must say, your company is far more pleasant than David’s uncle.”

Mrs. Potts clicked her tongue. “Look at the pair of you, like a couple of children. No wonder my Chip refuses to grow up with you two as examples,” she said fondly.

“How can we think of growing up with the fun we have planned for tonight?” Mr. Prince asked. “Now, Mrs. Potts, don’t you have something you wished to show Belle?”

Mrs. Potts’ suddenly looked like a little girl, her face alight with a fun secret. She held her hand out to Belle and, when Belle took it, pulled her from the room and up many stairs and down many halls. They stopped when they reached the back part of the mansion Chip had yet to explore with Belle. Opening one of the bedroom doors, Mrs. Potts led Belle into a brightly colored room overlaid with a layer of dust.

The room was one of the brightest Belle had yet seen in the mansion. The walls were a soft off-white color and what had once been matching curtains hung over the windows. The bed frame was also white, with pink flowers and green leaves painted on it. Pictures of landscapes and black and white photos of France hung in frames on the walls. The floor was hard, polished wood. A small table stood by the bed, a large desk under the window, a bookcase beside it, and on the opposite wall a wardrobe.

“This room is so pretty!” Belle whispered.

“It is.” Mrs. Potts dabbed at her eyes with the end of her apron. Belle wanted to ask what was wrong, but something in the older woman’s eyes stopped her. Instead, she watched as Mrs. Potts went over to the wardrobe and opened it, revealing rows of dresses.

Smiling mysteriously, Mrs. Potts reached back into the dresses, then grabbed one and pulled it out. Belle stared in awe at the garment she held. It was a long, old-fashioned dress with a full skirt. The main part of the dress was a light rose color with a gold lining which ran down the front and lace on the sleeves and neckline.

“It’s so pretty!” Belle said.

“It was the height of fashion in France in the 1740s,” Mrs. Potts said with a glint of patriotic pride in her eyes. “And it is yours to wear tonight.”

Belle couldn’t believe it as Mrs. Potts pressed the rustling folds into her arms.

“Really?” she asked.

“Really.” Mrs. Potts said. “If the men didn’t want to dance with you before, they certainly will now!”

The day passed in a blissful blur. Everyone helped Mrs. Potts in the kitchen, making all sorts of treats for the evening. Afterward, they set the long table in the ballroom before they went to change into their party clothes. Mrs. Potts helped Belle into her dress and even did her hair for her before she went away to dress.

Sooner than she thought possible, Belle stood outside the ballroom door and listened to the record play a classical waltz. Belle laid her hand on the door to enter when Chip appeared. He wore short pants, long white socks, and a long, flaring coat. Her hand over her mouth, Belle giggled, and Chip wrinkled his nose at her.

“I’m not giggling at you,” he said, though then he winked. “Not that I could. You look rather nice in French clothes. You should consider moving to France.”

Belle opened her mouth to say something about being a hundred percent British but closed it when Chip held his arm out to her.

“Shall we?”

She accepted the gesture and followed him into the ballroom. Candles flickered and cast an enchanting glow over the room. Belle smiled when she spotted Mr. Prince, who wore the same fashion as Chip.

“My dear,” Mr. Prince said. He walked over and bowed. “You look beautiful. May I have this dance?”

Belle accepted his outstretched hand, and together they spun around the room just as Mrs. Potts entered. She wore a dress which matched Belle’s in style. Somehow Chip managed to talk his mother into a dance, and they joined Mr. Prince and Belle while Cogsworth and Lumiere stood by and watched. It was one of the happiest moments in Belle’s life, but at the same time, it was the shortest lived.

Belle didn’t hear the doorbell ring which called Lumiere away. She barely noticed him leave or return and only realized he’d been gone at all when the song stopped and he walked over to her. She thought he intended to ask for his dance until she saw the telegram in his hand.

Lumiere didn’t smile as he turned the paper over in his hand. Belle couldn’t take her eyes from it.

“He said he tried to come earlier, but he had trouble finding the house,” Lumiere said quietly before he held the paper out to Belle. “It’s for you.”

Her hands shaking, Belle accepted it and opened it. Her eyes blurred with tears as she read and re-read the black words printed on the paper. Unable to speak or answer her friends’ questioning looks, Belle handed the telegram to Mr. Prince, who read it and then folded her into his arms. She buried her head in his chest as he explained to everyone else.

“It’s from her mother. Her father was wounded in battle and might be dying. Mrs. Maurice wants Belle to join them back in London.”

Mr. Prince’s words sounded distant, but they slowly sank into Belle’s head when he said them. Hearing them spoken made them real.

Her dad might be dying.

Mr. Prince helped Belle pack. They said little to each other, and much of the time Mr. Prince would catch Belle as she stared wistfully and sadly out the window. When they were finished, Mr. Prince helped her carry her things downstairs and to his car. He had decided he would drive her to the train station himself.

Everyone hugged Belle goodbye before she left; Mrs. Potts even cried, though Belle showed little emotion. She returned their hugs, then got into the car but said nothing for much of the journey. It was only as they neared the station Mr. Prince remembered the surprise he had planned to give her the night of the ball but had forgotten about when the telegram arrived.

Unloading her baggage, Mr. Prince bought her ticket, then met her on the platform. He had much he wanted to say to her, but the ache in his own heart made words impossible. He felt old wounds open, ones which he had suffered the day he’d lost his wife and daughter. Every part of him wanted to stop Belle from boarding the train. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to love her until that moment, though he didn’t think she returned his love. How could she love a grumpy old man?

“The war is like a beast,” Belle whispered. “It’s destroying everything it touches, and nothing can stop it.”

Her forlorn expression and the tears in her eyes snapped Mr. Prince out of his own grief. He could hear the train’s whistle which announced its approach and realized he didn’t have much time.

Kneeling in front of Belle, Mr. Prince took both of her hands in his. He smiled even though he had to force it.

“I was wrong, Mr. Prince,” Belle told him. Tears fell from her eyes. “There’s no magic in the world.”

Reaching up, Mr. Prince brushed her tears away. “Don’t ever say that, Belle,” he said. “There is magic because God still cares about us. You showed me that, and you have to believe it too. I know you’re scared, but God still loves you and is going to take care of you. I think He might have sent you to me so I could help with that. Belle, Christmas is in three weeks. Your father should be able to travel by then. I want you and your mother and father to come back; to come here, in three weeks. Alright? Come and stay with me, forever if all of you like.”

Belle dragged her sleeve across her eyes and nodded, but a little later as she climbed on board the train and didn’t look back to wave, Mr. Prince felt hope sink to his shoes. She wouldn’t come back. All the fatherly love he had tried to show her had been for nothing. She had a father, and there wasn’t enough room in her heart for two.

Mr. Prince turned his back and pulled his hat down low over his eyes. He returned to his car while he felt part of his heart pull away on the train.