Ugly: A Faerie Tale Retold

Chapter Two: Monsieur

There was a wealthy widower named Monsieur Beauchȇne who lived several miles away. Within weeks of Father's death, Mother announced that M. Beauchȇne was coming to call at our house.

Perhaps it should've bothered me, but it didn't. Mother always seemed to hate Father so much that in my mind, I didn't associate them as husband and wife. Now Father was dead, I didn't see how it would make a difference whether or not a new man moved into the house.

Claudette and I stood at the window, waiting for his arrival.

"I wonder how much money he has?" Claudette pinched her cheeks to make them rosy. She was fifteen, and beautiful as always. "Perhaps he'll bring me a gift!"

I leaned against the wall, watching the porte-cochère.

At last, a black carriage rolled up. Mother pushed me aside as she came to the door, her skirts fluttering. "Heavens, Thisbe, we don't want your face to be the first thing he sees! Get behind Claudette and don't say a word to him." She patted Claudette's flushed cheek. "My little beauty! You and I shall win his heart, and his estate. Where is Emile to open the door?"

"You let her go, Mother. Remember?" Claudette smoothed her curls. In the absence of Father's income, we'd been required to make a few changes.

"Ah!" Mother fanned herself with her hand. "I must marry M. Beauchȇne. I cannot maintain this life of poverty! Thisbe, you're plainer than any maid. You open the door. But keep your face down."

"Yes, Mother."

The carriage door opened, and a tall, spindly man stepped out. He wore a fine black suit, starched and new, with a tall black hat that cast a shadow over much of his face. I opened the door and stayed behind it.

"Ah! Monsieur! How good of you to call!" All smiles, Mother offered her hand to him.

With long, thin fingers, he touched her hand, then stooped to kiss it. "Madame." He nodded to Claudette. "Mademoiselle."

Mother tittered. "Such a gentleman!"

I tried to get a look at his face, but he kept it downturned. He seemed extremely pale, and his shoulders drooped like a man who has walked a long way.

"Our maid will take your hat and coat." Mother cleared her throat and looked at me with her eyebrows raised. It took a moment before I understood her meaning. Feeling like a bird out of its natural habitat, I stepped forward and extended my hand for M. Beauchȇne's hat and coat.

M. Beauchȇne stepped toward me, removing his hat. I found myself looking into the deepest blue eyes I'd ever seen, framed by crow's feet. His pale, thin lips didn't smile, but when our eyes met he nodded, as though he recognized me. "You are the maid?"

I licked my lips and glanced toward Mother, who nodded firmly.

"Yes, sir."

His eyes flickered toward Mother, and instead of giving me his hat, he gave me his hand. In a low voice that was almost a whisper, he asked, "You are the late Monsieur Charpentier's other daughter?"

I didn't reply, but stared at our clasped hands. His fingers were long and white like a skeleton's, and so cold my skin tingled, but his touch was gentle. I looked up at his face. His forehead creased like it had been badly ironed, and his eyes looked so sad and empty I couldn't help liking him a little.

"Monsieur!" Claudette, her long-lashed eyes sparkling, grabbed his arm. "You mustn't pay any mind to Thisbe. She doesn't mean to be foolish and ugly, I'm sure. You must forgive her intrusion. Come into our parlor, and I shall play the clavier for you while Thisbe prepares our supper."