The Clockmaker's Daughter

Chapter 4

Belle wiped the sweat off her brow as she scrubbed the last of the mud at the edge of the front door that her father left behind. Standing back she observed her progress, pleased to see the nice clean steps. They certainly shone against the rest of the room, greyed with dust. It was a good, heartening way to begin the seemingly endless task before her. She looked around the foyer and the staircase, still so much work left to do. Belle sighed. No matter how optimistically she tried to view her situation, every day the dull dust ate away at her fortitude. This terrible place that swallowed up all time, all joy, imprisoning all of its inhabitants to an eternity of despair. 

Despite her unfortunate circumstances, Belle did take some pride and satisfaction in seeing what was once neglected and dirtied restored to its former beauty. It also helped that the Prince seemed to keep to himself who-knows-where in the palace, having not appeared all day. During breakfast, Emilie informed her that the prince normally avoided them, not disturbing anyone and not to be disturbed. 

For now, all Belle could do was fill her time with work, distracting herself from the awful reality that she was now the captive servant to a monster of a prince. Belle found that the harder she worked, the more exhausted she was when she went to bed and thus the sooner she was able to fall asleep, able to escape her reality rather than cry to herself in the darkness of the late hours of the night.

Even her letters which she thought to be her one respite, to pour out her heart, revealed how hopeless her situation was. Belle was careful what she wrote in her first letter, her suspicions confirmed when Jacques brought her father’s response. Although the wax seal had been remelted as if freshly sealed, Belle’s careful eye caught the stray, damaged fibres of the parchment in her father’s letter, where someone had opened it before. She truly was trapped here, fully at the mercy of her new master.

It took several days for Belle to clean her room, dusting the surfaces, sweeping the floors, and washing all the linens. She was happy to see the grand suite restored to its former glory; far too grand and wasted upon her. There was a large mirror in her room with a beautiful, ornate, gold plated frame that she would stand in front of, imagining all the fine ladies who used to stay in the room wearing their elegant ball gowns. Belle had no gowns or fine dresses. Just her usual country work clothes that stood out so jarringly in the fine room. How strange that the Prince just let them stay there in these guest rooms.

Belle wanted to move on to the next rooms on the landing when she was overwhelmed by the sheer number of them! She abandoned counting once she lost track of how many wings there were exactly. Perhaps two guest rooms for the servants truly were no matter to the Prince at all.

Instead, Belle decided to begin simply: return to the foyer, and then slowly work her way methodically through the rest of the palace. The stairs were already done, so that was a start. Belle examined the room, deciding what to tackle next. Her eyes fell upon the portrait paintings hanging upon the wall. She had wondered whose they were when she worked upon the steps. She resolved that the fine ladies and noblemen in the portraits deserved their honour restored, collecting a rag and the stepping ladder from the supply closet. After setting up the ladder, Belle dampened a rag and began to delicately wipe away the dust on the portraits. One by one, the lords and ladies emerged, refreshed, young and alive. Belle stared at them, some of them she recognised. The late and current king. The late queen. The princess. Belle paused upon the next portrait.

The prince looked to be around her age. His face was full, handsome, smiling jovially with sweet, kind blue eyes. How different he seemed in the portrait. Was it merely the artist’s brush or was he truly such a person before? She glanced back to the portrait of the Princess. Such a beautiful, pale, plump face with golden hair and porcelain skin. Belle looked down at her own darkened arms and dark hair. Well, what good was beauty to do for her now? She was in the service of a dead man. She as well was now dead to the rest of the world. But what of the Princess? Was she truly dead?