Beauty and Her Beast

‘How could things have gone so wrong?’ Albert Farnsworth asked himself as he rode through the driving snow. He’d taken every step to ensure that this latest venture would succeed in filling his pockets once more; not leaving him with less that he’d started with.

But here he was, riding a decrepit sorrel down a gloomy path in the middle of nowhere caught in the worst snowstorm he could ever remember. He’d been so desperate for money that he’d sold his own beautiful gelding, the last vestige of his former glory, along with his tack and spurs to pay off his creditors. He’d been a fool to think his luck had finally changed.

His first bout of bad luck occurred when his wife died leaving him with three useless daughters to care for, never the son she’d promised him. After that his luck had continued to fail; year after year of foul weather had sunk more ships than he could afford to replace, the tax collectors robbed him blind at every turn finding discrepancies in his cargo manifests, and his three worthless daughters thrived just to spite him.

He’d played the ‘good father’, paying for music teachers and art masters to train them, realizing the only way he could rid himself of their dependence was to marry them off. And if he was to receive any benefit from those unions the girls would have to be trained up right to find rich husbands, but by the time the elder two were of marriageable ages he’d lost everything. He was even unable to scrape together sufficient dowry for a fishmonger to take one of them, and now that the youngest was of marrying age he was even more desperate to be rid of at least one of them.

Everytime he thought of the monies he’d wasted on their education he became more and more angry with them. Their education made them fit for nothing, except perhaps as governesses, but they were known to all the principal families in the town as ‘proud’ and ‘haughty’ despite their new lower position in life, no one would even think of hiring them.

With everything gone, Albert had sought the help of former business associates, only to find that they relished his downfall as much as he hated it. More than once he thought he’d finally convinced one of them to assist him only to find out they’d changed the rules of the deal which required him to debase himself in some way in front of them.

Through scheming, the sale of almost everything he’d managed to save from the debt collectors and a little theft, Albert had managed to scrape together enough coin for one more sea venture, one more push for the riches and glory of the New World. Perhaps he should have used the money in other places, but he was so sure this time luck would be with him. Alas, the fates had spit in his face in the form of a ship full of pox marked corpses that had returned with an empty hold.

So lost in these thoughts of melancholy woe, Albert did not notice when his horse passed through vine encrusted gates flecked with gilt work beneath the rust that covered them. It wasn’t until she clopped into a dry, cobble paved courtyard of a stable that he noticed his surroundings.

The stable was clean and smelled of fresh hay, though every stall was empty. Not a trace of recent activity, animal or human could be seen on the threshes that covered the floor. Looking around, Albert could see this was the stable of a nobleman, a tarnished coat-of-arms hung above the lintel, the only piece of metal that did not gleam. Stepping out of his rough-made saddle, Albert winced at his sore back and legs. His old saddle had been padded so well he could have ridden for days and never felt a cramp, but this one was a thin layer of pig hide over cheap creaking wood. Thinking of it only made his mood darker.

‘Damn the horse,’ he thought as he left her, still saddled, to forage for herself. ‘I wonder who this nobleman is.’

Albert tried using his damp sleeve to wipe the coat-of-arms clear, but he couldn’t seem to get it any cleaner. Giving it up as another lost cause in his long line of lost causes, Albert looked out the stable door. Across the snow covered yard he spied a large manor house, its windows showing only a soft glow of candlelight. Holding his arms above his head to avoid more snow in his face, Albert dashed across the short distance.

Reaching the door, Albert smiled to himself, he had made the distance without slipping; perhaps his luck was changing. Raising his hand to knock, Albert was surprised when the door opened before his knuckles touched the wood.