A flock of ravens circle ominously as the old Bailiff stoops to enter the low entrance to the public house.

As his eyes adapt to thick pipe smoke, he walks to the Landlord. "Any chance of a warm meal and stiff drink?"

"Grab a chair monsieur. We're out of your usual route, aren't we?"

"Not today, I'm going to see Antoine the widower."

"Join us," Jacques who is deep in his cups invites the old man. "I'm Jacques and this is Tomas, we know the family well."

"Small world," he nods wearily setting down his walking cane, removing his gloves and wide brimmed hat.

"It is," laughed Jacques. "I proposed to Antoine's oldest daughter Marthe and Tomas is engaged to Marie. If you're collecting a debt from our future father-in-law, we can settle it."

"I have the title deeds of Antoine's Parisian house from the auction."

"Things must be dire if Antoine is trying to sell his main home. It was just a few months ago when the generous gift he gave me through Marie let me refurbish and reopen the theatre with the best talent money can buy."

"You're asking a poor old man why rich people sell the things they do," the old Bailiff answers cynically.

"I can't help feeling sorry for Marie. She has the pride of a woman with independent means but her father's circumstances have changed," Tomas says taking a sip of wine.

"Marthe did the same for me."

"They don't deserve to be pitied, I for one am glad to see them eat humble pie. I'd like to see Marthe and Marie pull a plough, harvest crops, milk cows and make cheese like I do when they snickered at me from their smart carriage accompanied by liveried servants." The Landlord wipes and sets down a tumbler of his finest ale oblivious to his customers surprise at his emotive intervention. "But, I lose sleep over Beauty. She's a good girl who nursed my wife and two daughters before they died when their chests filled with cotton from Lefevre's workshop over there. Marthe and Marie say this here place is a hovel but Beauty comes here out of compassion. She might be too knowledgeable about herbal medicines for my liking but her heart is in the right place and that's no mistake. Isn't she staying at the palace now?"

"She was there a few weeks but is back home now," Tomas replies.

"Why was she at the palace," asks the old Bailiff.

"The Count of Nevers, is her godfather. He has some connection to the royal family from Provence. He invited her to meet them. Did the house fetch a good enough price for Antoine to settle all his debts?"

"Antoine's debts were settled anonymously. I was instructed to withdraw his house from the auction, to deliver these papers that include the land title back to him and say it was done by a friend of Beauty."

"That young woman has helped enough of us to deserve a good turn," cheers the Landlord.

"I guess that means the family will stay in Paris after all," Jacques.

"Without a regular income, the expense of a big house and servants could prove too much for Antoine," Tomas sighs.

"We'll soon know if they decide to stay in Paris or move to the countryside," the old man clinks his tumbler of warm ale with his companions before quenching his thirst.

***

Antoine is seated at the end of the table his sleeves rolled up when he gingerly reaches for the knife. His hands shake a little as he carves a thick leg of mutton for his daughters.

"Do you need me to dress the blisters on your hands again Papa?"

"I'm fine Beauty, pulling a plough isn't as easy as it looks."

"You should use money from renting our house in Paris to hire labourers for the hardest work," Marthe observes.

"I haven't finished paying contractors for repairing the roof leaks, mould and making this cottage habitable. We should avoid spending money unless we absolutely have to otherwise we could end up in debt again."

"But things are so much cheaper here in Avon compared to Paris."

"That's true, but we've had large upfront expenses to repair the cottage, buying farm animals, equipment, a cart for transporting milk and cheese to market daily."

"I wish we didn't leave home. I miss the theatre, the balls, the fashion but most of all I miss Paris," cries Marie dramatically.

Beauty stifles a yawn.

"Are we keeping you up," Marie asked cynically.

"I'm sorry even with Camille helping, it's taking longer than I thought getting used to being up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows, feed the chickens, get the eggs ready for market, package the butter and cheese then make breakfast."

"Why don't you make breakfast after ten thirty in the morning when we are up in the morning?"

"After returning with Philippe from the market, I take him straight to Papa who straps the plough onto him and works the fields," she replies getting up to take a plate to Camille, the ladies maid who had taken up cooking and cleaning duties in addition to helping them dress.

"You should help Beauty, look at her, she's exhausted. Her skin has browned from working in the sun and her physique is toughening in a way that doesn't suit a young woman from a genteel family," Antoine pleads with his daughters.

"She runs about this cottage, sends parcels to the front, plays the harpsichord after dinner or weaves cloth on the spinning wheel. She's full of energy. Hear her laugh with Camille she's happier here than in Paris," Marthe dismisses his concerns.

"She does look happier," Antoine concedes, "Apart from looking tired tonight, she's made friends in the village."

"What a simple minded person she is, to be content with a peasant life of hard work and poverty."

Beauty returns from the kitchen and opens the curtain so her father can see outside where a lantern burns on the perimeter for security. "Oh Papa, you'll have to repair the chicken coop again in the morning. The pack of wolves snuck in again."

Peering into the darkness and wild golden eyes, he takes a gulp of ale, "I'll put up a stronger fence. Light up an oil lamp, put gun powder in my short gun. I'll scare them off then assess the damage."

Antoine slips into his overcoat before stepping out of the cottage accompanied by Beauty.

Marie breaks the silence, "Have you noticed how much closer Papa is with Beauty these days? I heard him ask the estate lawyer if a woman can manage the estate if anything ever happened to him or our brothers died at the front like many of our former neighbours."

"What did the lawyer say," Marthe enquires.

"A daughter can inherit and manage the estate if Papa has no male heirs."

"Papa cares about Beauty more than us yet she's no blood relative. She's a cuckoo."

"What do you mean Marie?"

"Cuckoos are brood parasites. Instead of laying eggs in their own nests, they lay larger eggs into the nests of unsuspecting birds. The poor host bird has to look after the larger chick that hatches sooner than the others and demands more attention than the hosts' own natural chicks."

"That's awful."

"That's the theatre of nature Marthe. When resources are scarce, cuckoo chicks are genetically predisposed to throw eggs of the host out of the nest before they hatch. Since Beauty supposedly escaped the clutches of death, she's stolen the lion share of affection from our parents. First with her rosy cheeks and lips that stand out against dark continental looks. Her natural athleticism has her out performing so called good works that has people in her debt. She's manipulated Papa into rejecting us his rightful daughters by disinheriting us."

"Papa is blind when it comes to Beauty. He doesn't see how every child he had with Mama is blonde with deep blue eyes except for that dark haired, brown eyed hussy."

"Her talons are clawing into our inheritance. This means war."

"Remember what Éloïse said about the Alpha all those years ago," asks Marthe.

Marie nods, "No one that comes face to face with him survives."

"The chaos of decamping to Avon, Papa's financial problems, the wolves from the forest present the perfect opportunity to preserve our interests. We can get Death to darken Beauty's doorstep...," plots Marthe pointing at the enchanted forest and the chicken coop that Antoine is busy fixing by lamp light.

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May, 16, 2015