This story is written strictly for the free enjoyment of fans of the "Beauty and the Beast" television series. No copyright infringement is intended.)

The Emerald Cape

Angie

The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel; not what we ought to say

- William Shakespeare

Vincent had finally given Catherine the emerald velvet cape, the day of the Yule celebration. He watched as she swung it around her. It was capacious enough to hide her pregnancy, for which she was grateful. She had been curious about it, of course, but he had said nothing then – just that it was a long story, and more than a little painful.

…

After Catherine had rescued him as he wrestled in the throes of Paracelsus’ drug, Vincent had decided that he wanted to give her a special gift. He had wracked his brain for something suitable.

Jewelry seemed to have been more than satisfied with the crystal necklace and he loved to see it on her – or know that she was wearing it under her clothes, next to her heart. He kept her gift to him, the rose in its leather bag, always outside his clothes, unless he was worried that it might get caught or lost when he was doing hard labour in the tunnels.

While still trying to think of a gift, he had become ill again and Catherine had rescued him a second time from his madness. The need for a gift had become imperative. She deserved something very special. But what? He couldn’t give her anything she needed, could he? She had money enough to buy anything she wanted. Ergo, it had to be something she needed, but wouldn’t think of. And it had to be something she could wear in his presence.

He thought back over her visits to him and the ones they enjoyed most. The concerts, of course, rated very high indeed. Was there something he could give her for those? She always wore evening clothes, whilst he still insisted on wearing his all-enveloping cape. It was a part of him. He usually slid it off and sat on it during the concerts.

A cape! Of course! Catherine didn’t have a cape! That would be ideal. Perhaps something long and elegant.

Having got that far, Vincent sought out the community’s quartermaster and mistress of their sewing room. Annabelle, as usual, was almost hidden behind a table of clothing, fabric and oddments she was sorting. Vincent could see the dwarf’s rich auburn hair in its enthusiastic beehive bobbing just above it. He approached her and stood watching her slide along the ramp that Cullen had made for her, so that she could reach the table more easily. Since she had regular sewing and sorting sessions every Wednesday, tables could not be reduced to her size or they would inconvenience her helpers.

Annabelle looked up finally and smiled at Vincent.

"I knew you were there, you know Vincent. My ears are almost as sharp as yours – but in my case, literally." She put a hand behind an ear, which was indeed slightly pointed.

"What can I do for you, you lovely man?"

Vincent was always taken aback by her obvious compliments. Catherine was the only other woman who had ever given him any. He did not fool himself. His looks were not the stuff of female dreams. Yet, Catherine found him attractive, and so did Annabelle – and neither hesitated to tell him so. It was a mystery he chose not to pursue.

Vincent cleared his throat and began to explain that he wanted to present Catherine with a cape.

"Ah, your Catherine. A fine lady, by all that I hear – and one who loves you as you deserve, Vincent.

"Well, let’s see. I hear she has green eyes, so a cape in emerald green would be appropriate, yes? Full-length of course, and made of a heavy velvet, if possible. With maybe two modest inside pockets – you know, for a handkerchief, or book.

"Now, I’ve never met Catherine, so you’ll have to give me her measurements."

Vincent quailed. How was he to get those? He would be too embarrassed to ask, and that would expose his plan.

"Don’t look like that, Vincent. You’ve held her, just show me with your hands where her shoulders come on you, their width, and that should be it. I know how very observant you are. She’ll probably be wearing high heels, so I’ll take that into account."

Vincent did as Annabelle asked and she got out a tape measure. She made some notes on a pad she kept nearby.

"Well, there we are, Vincent. Now I just have to find the fabric. Hmmmm. That might be a challenge, but there are ways. How soon do you want this cape?"

"Whenever you can manage it, Annabelle. I don’t want you distracted from your other work for this community. There is no hurry."

"Very well, Vincent, leave it with me. I’ll let you know when its ready," she smiled up at him. Even on her ramp, he towered above her. He really was most extraordinary. A beautiful soul – and a magnificent man.

Vincent saw the look in Annabelle’s eyes and felt himself blush. He decided to retreat.

"Annabelle, thank you. I hope I haven’t asked for something impossible."

"Vincent, nothing is impossible. You, of all people, should know that."

"Um, yes. Well, goodbye Annabelle." Vincent left as quickly as he could. He heard Annabelle’s good-hearted chuckle behind him and flushed again.

Over the next weeks, Annabelle rooted in all the boxes she had been given by helpers from Above, without finding anything. She quietly put the word out to them that she needed some yards of emerald velvet. She suggested they keep their eyes open for old curtains, upholstery fabric, old theatre costumes perhaps – and waited.

Then one day, a helper named Barry told her of a theatre being demolished, one that had been derelict for some time – and a very old one. It had drapes for the taking, he said. Annabelle asked to be shown to the theatre and Barry, who was a security guard for the developer, drove her there one afternoon.

Along the way, Barry told her about the old theatre. He was old enough to have seen it in its prime and was obviously sad that it would soon be no more. He also mentioned that the area was a prostitute stroll and the old theatre had been the scene of a rather nasty fight resulting in the deaths of two men of good family, a few months previously. The authorities assumed the men were the victims of a turf war.

Annabelle walked gingerly through the broken glass from the popcorn machines and showcases in the foyer. Barry turned on the main lights and she walked into the theatre proper. She stood aghast as she looked around at its now faded opulence – the gilded, ornately-carved ceiling, the finely-carved "gods" where the wealthy had their private boxes. It was cathedral-like in its magnificence. A bygone time indeed, she thought, as she started down the aisle between the rows of old leather seats towards the stage, where the velvet curtains awaited.

She got about half-way down the aisle and saw what were obviously blood stains on the floor. She stopped and had to sit down on the nearest seat, suddenly uncertain of her purpose.

This was THAT theatre! This was where Vincent had dropped through the ceiling and rescued Catherine from the two young madmen who had been killing prostitutes. He had been shot in the process. She had heard all about it from Rebecca, who had helped Father patch up Vincent and calm Catherine when they returned later. The bodies of the young men had been found by this very helper. He had told her so, with some pride. He didn’t know the story behind his gruesome discovery, though. The bodies, he said, looked as if they had been slashed with broken glass. Barry had not connected Catherine with the slayings – or Vincent either, thank goodness.

Annabelle got herself together and, carefully skirting the bloodstains, approached the stage. She found the stairs and clumped up to the curtains, one of which had finally given up its hold on the rods far above and dropped onto the floor, forming a substantial mound of dusty velvet. It was certainly the right colour and there were such acres of it, Annabelle was sure there was something salvageable. She put her arms under it and tried to heft it. It was very heavy – more than she and Barry could manage. How to get it out?

Annabelle quailed a little at the obvious solution, but finally decided that Vincent had to be asked to help. No one else could do it. She hoped he would not hate her afterwards for reminding him of that horrible night.

Annabelle trotted back to Barry, where he was guarding the entrance, and told him of her plan. He nodded his agreement, so she went out the back door of the theatre, propped it open with a nearby brick, and found a pipe where she could tap out a message. Then she waited. There was a manhole to the Tunnels nearby and she watched it. In due course, it shifted to one side and Vincent emerged. He signaled when he saw Annabelle and quietly followed her inside. They did not want to attract attention. Annabelle spoke quietly over her shoulder as she led Vincent to the stage.

"Vincent, there is a huge old velvet curtain here I need your help to move Below. It would be perfect for that cape you want for Catherine."

Vincent had been following Annabelle to the stage and stopped dead. He looked around, up at the ceiling and then down the aisle. He did not miss the bloodstains. He leaned against the stage wall and closed his eyes. He clearly remembered how he’d felt after rescuing Catherine that night. He had felt like the beast he was, not much better than the two young men he had killed. Blood and death. The place still reeked of it.

He felt a hand grasp his and opened his eyes to look down at Annabelle.

"Vincent," she whispered. "Our helper doesn’t know the story of this place. He’s guarding the front entrance. Come, some good will come of this place after all. Help me get this velvet below. The theatre is being demolished soon, so all traces of that horrible night will be gone and Catherine will have her cloak. Please."

Vincent got a grip on himself. He squeezed Annabelle’s hand and gave her a look of gratitude.

"Thank you, Annabelle. You’re right. It’s over. Let me see this curtain."

As it happened, even Vincent was challenged by the weight, but he managed to heave it off the stage and out the door to the manhole. He poured it down fold by fold, then clambered down after it. He waited while Annabelle gave her thanks to Barry and followed him. She helped him fold it into a long, neater bundle, then carried the trailing edge over her shoulder as he humped the unwieldy mass down the tunnels to the Hub, and then into her sewing chamber. Vincent gratefully dropped it at last, trying not to raise any more dust than necessary. Even so, they both coughed.

Seen on the floor, even in this large chamber, the mass of velvet was almost overwhelming. Vincent regarded it with amazement.

"How on earth are you going to turn that into anything?" he asked.

"Well, it’ll be a challenge, I grant you," Annabelle agreed. "But look at it Vincent. It’s such a lovely colour, and very thick. Very old, good quality stuff. I’ll just cut out enough for the job. There is still some good fabric there under the dust, but it’ll need to be cleaned. Don’t worry, I can handle it."

"You’re a treasure, Annabelle. If you need my help with this, just let me know." Vincent left her with something akin to relief, after thanking her for her diligence on his behalf. He was covered in old dust himself and the memories of that night were haunting him. He needed a long bath. And he wanted to get his mind around the origins of what would become Catherine’s cape. He decided that he would say nothing unless she asked.

Over the next weeks, Annabelle went to work on the cape. She cut generous portions of velvet from the curtain and beat out the dust. Then she brushed and cleaned it gently. It looked wonderful, almost gleaming in her workroom, which had real daylight coming through a shaft. There was indeed enough for a cape – several capes. She cut off the remainder of the salvageable portions of the curtain and hung it in her drying room for beating later. The less dubious portions she cut into yard squares and piled in one corner of her work chamber. The tattered remainder, she quietly hauled away piece by piece to the community’s dump, a chamber deep in the bowels of the tunnels. It would bio-degrade eventually.

She found a length of smoky, black satin. It had obviously been in a fire. She aired it and used it to line the cape. Mouse, who was always finding her buttons and things, gave her a box of oddments one day which included a big glass ball button, in a matching shade. Perfect.

The cape was ready by the time she heard that Vincent and Catherine had at last consummated their love in her apartment. Annabelle also heard that Catherine was moving below and put the finishing touch on the cape, a woven loop for the glass button. Now it was ready.

She wrapped the cape in brown paper and sought out Vincent. She found him shuffling furniture around in his chamber, making a great racket.

"Vincent," she shouted over the noise as she entered.

He turned to look at her and quickly approached her to relieve her of the package. His grace and speed as he moved took her breath away. She sighed and craned her neck to look up at him.

"This is the cape for Catherine, Vincent. I think you’ll both like it." She regarded him with interest. He did look a lot more relaxed, more at peace with himself. Well, she could guess the reason for that. She gave him a wicked smile.

"And congratulations, Vincent."

Vincent flushed. He didn’t have to ask what she meant. Plenty of others in the community had made similar remarks to him lately. He didn’t mind. The comments meant that Catherine had been accepted, and that was worth a little embarrassment on his part.

"Thank you Annabelle. This means a great deal to me. How can I ever thank you?"

Annabelle looked up at him, grinning mischievously. "Well, if you can lift me onto that chair of yours, you can give me a kiss."

She had not really expected him to comply and whooped in surprise as he picked her up, placed her on his big chair and gave her a soft kiss on the lips, holding it for a moment longer than was absolutely necessary.

"Was that adequate?" he asked, as he moved away, a glint of humour in his eyes.

Annabelle was rendered speechless for a moment. She smiled at Vincent and found her voice.

"Very much so, Vincent. Catherine is a lucky woman. Now if you’ll return me to the floor, I’ll be on my way."

He did so, and she tramped back to her chamber, almost on air. She decided that she would have to try and earn another of those kisses. She sighed.

Vincent opened the package and shook out the cape. It was truly beautiful and definitely worth more than a kiss. He would have to think of a suitable way to thank Annabelle.

He was a little surprised to find that the cape did not engender any adverse reaction. After all, he rationalized, it bore no resemblance to the theatre curtains, other than its colour. And it had been made with love. Annabelle had done a wonderful job. He would always be aware of its origin, but that was as it should be. He did not want to forget that night. It was part of who he was.

But, Catherine must not have her pleasure in this gift spoiled. She need not know. He hung the cape in his wardrobe and covered it with a dressing gown he seldom wore. Now all he needed was the right time to bestow it on Catherine. That happened to be at Yuletide.

Vincent told the story much sooner than he expected after bestowing his gift. He could never refuse Catherine anything. She listened as he spoke of his pain, his sorrow, his love and desire. Her memories were as sharp as his, but something beautiful had resulted and their love had survived all hardships. How could this cape and its story be other than a blessing? It was a testament to all that they were. Their kiss confirmed it.

END