Ugly: A Faerie Tale Retold

Chapter Three: Ella

M. Beauchȇne's next three visits went very much the same way. They began and ended with one fleeting moment of sacred peace, and were always followed by a beating.

On the fifth visit, he came to the door with a girl.

"Good evening, Thisbe." M. Beauchȇne took off his hat and bowed to me. He still never smiled, but his gentle gaze was enough. By the way he looked at me, you would've thought Mother and Claudette weren't even in the room.

"Good evening, Monsieur." I looked beyond him to the girl. 

"Thisbe, this is my daughter, Ella."

The girl took my hand. "It's good to meet you, Thisbe."

My mind spun. Daughter? The girl beside him was stunning, probably thirteen or fourteen years old, with long gold hair and unblemished, fair skin. Her clear eyes drifted over my face, probably studying the pimples and scars and birthmarks and asymmetry. Probably comparing her perfect self to me. She could probably play clavier, too. And sing. She was even more beautiful than Claudette.

"Monsieur! How lovely to finally meet your daughter!" Mother clasped Ella's hands.

Ella stiffened, but smiled. "It's good to meet you, too, Madame. And you must be Claudette."

Claudette's eyes narrowed. "Yes." Her gaze swept Ella's graceful figure.

The two observed each other for a moment, saying nothing. Claudette's face reddened, and her jaw clenched. I bit my lip to keep back a smirk. She'd probably never seen anyone more beautiful than her before. No wonder M. Beauchȇne hadn't seemed impressed by Claudette's beauty.

"Claudette, why don't you take Mademoiselle to the parlor and entertain her? Monsieur and I shall go to the sitting room."

"Will Mademoiselle Thisbe come with us?" Ella asked.

I felt my face grow hot. No one had called me Mademoiselle for a long time.

"No, no, no." Mother squeezed Ella's shoulder, her face stretching into a smile. "Thisbe prefers cooking. She will prepare supper."

Ella glanced at her father, her forehead wrinkled. He stood with his head bent far forward, his hands clasped behind his back.

Ella nodded to Mother. "In fact, Madame, I prefer cooking, too. With your leave, I will go with Thisbe and help her in the kitchen."

The smile disappeared from Mother's face. "Oh, no, my dear! I won't hear of it! You are a guest." She forced the smile back to her lips. "You will most certainly not do work in my house!"

"But, Madame, I want to."

"No, Ella. I'm sorry. I won't allow it." Mother patted Ella's shoulder.

Ella pressed her lips together, her gloved hands tightening into fists.

"Madame." M. Beauchȇne shifted his weight. "I have but one request. With your leave, may Thisbe join us for supper? I have a very important question to ask you, Madame, and I think Thisbe should be present to hear it."

Mother put her hand to her throat, a glow spreading up her cheeks until she looked almost kind. "Oh! Well, yes, Monsieur, I suppose she may, if it is your will, I suppose..." She laughed, fanning herself with her hand. "Shall we go into the parlor?"

Was this to be a marriage proposal? Mother certainly seemed to believe it. I remembered Monsieur Beauchȇne's promise from the first day he visited. I am going to marry your mother. And when I do, I am going to see to it that she never lays a hand on you again. I rubbed my bruised arms and winced. I couldn't help hoping he would deliver me from this life. But I couldn't stop thinking of how she would treat him.