Beauty and Her Beast

“Hello,” he called into the dimly lit entry hall. When no reply came, Albert stepped in a little further.

“Hello,” he called a little louder.

From the darkness came bustling a plump old woman, garbed in a fine linen dress of simple cut, her grey streaked hair pulled back in a simply worked net.

“Sir, how may I help you?” she asked, sinking into a low curtsy.

“A cup of hot wine,” Albert said proudly. “And please inform the master of the house that Albert Farnsworth of Northfork wishes to inquire about a nights stay, perhaps two.”

With that Albert shrugged off his wet overcoat and handed it to the woman.

“My master is not in residence at the moment sir,” she replied. “But as he is a most generous man, I am sure he would not begrudge you a night or two of rest. If you will remain in the hall, I will return momentarily with your wine and then I shall show you to your rooms.”

With another courtesy she was gone, leaving Albert alone.

Spying an expensive mirror hanging over a nearby side table, he began to preen his bedraggled features. His hair, showing more silver than its original brown could do with a trim of the hair, his brown eyes were dull and lacked their usual sharpness, but he still thought he looked noble.

‘This is how I used to live,’ he thought looking around, his finger gently caressing the gilt edge of the frame. ‘This is how I should be living now if it weren’t for my useless daughters.’

He was still preening when the woman returned bearing a steaming goblet on a silver tray. Taking a sip, Albert noted how fine it was, smooth and sweet, and just the right temperature.

“If you will follow me sir,” the woman said gesturing to the stairway. “Your rooms are this way.”

Walking behind her, Albert gaped at the opulence around him as he was shown down one hall and then another.

“Where is your master?” he asked at length.

After a slight pause, the woman said, “My master is a great hunter. He may not be back for some time.”

“Hmmm,” Albert said. “I used to like a good hunt myself. By the by, what is your master’s name? I did not recognize his coat-of-arms.”

Instead of answering his question, the old woman led him into the most lavish anteroom Albert had ever seen. The walls were covered in exquisite hunting scenes, the furniture upholstered in rich crimson and green brocade, and the floors were covered in thick intricately woven rugs that he sank into as he walked.

“Here you are my lord,” the woman said as she opened a connecting door. “Your bedroom is through here, with a privy in between. If you require anything, sir, you need only pull the bell rope and I will come.”

Looking into an even grander bedroom Albert asked, “And what should I call you?”

“Oh,” the woman said embarrassed. “My name is Agnes, sir. Agnes Goodwife.”

“Well, Agnes Goodwife, you could start by bringing me a meal and find me a tub of hot water for a bath?”

After the woman curtseyed and left, Albert looked around himself once more.

‘Yes,’ he thought. ‘This is how a lord should live.’

With that he reclined on the nearest sofa, wet clothes and all, propping his muddy boots on the table in front of him.