Chapter Nine
“Would you care for some tea my Lady?” The sound of a feminine voice crackled through the stagnant air. Annette looked up for a moment to see one of the maids standing anxiously in the doorway. In her hands she cradled a silver tray that had been arranged so that it might tempt to woman. Steam rose up from the spout of the floral teapot, filling the air with the sweet fragrant odour of imported tea. From India, Annette recalled as she saw that the girls expression was laced with a hint of fear. Weeks had passed since the incident but still Blackthorn was a unraveling household. Those who did not cower in the kitchens all day now walked around the vast estate on their tip toes. They did not speak of what had transpired but the looks on their faces was enough to let her know that the entire estate had been made aware of her predicament. Mandy used what little power she had to keep things under control. Occasionally members of the staff were summoned to check in on Annette, mostly under the guise of bringing her something, but she refused to humor them with conversation. Their pity felt hollow when they still worked under the Lord who had attacked her. As she turned her head the maid gave her a weak smile, pressing one toe against the threshold where the doorway stopped and the room began. “Surely you would not mind a cup ....”
“No. I do not want anything. ” With a twinge of annoyance she replied, returning her gaze to the book that had been resting across her lap the moment the words escaped her lips. Of course the maid made a stifled noise, no doubt suppressing a gasp as she turned and exited the room. Mandy would be disappointed for the rest of the afternoon. Annette was certain her impatience was beginning to grate on woman's last nerve but she simply did not care anymore. Whatever friendship she might have exchanged with Mandy was now tainted by the knowledge that she'd been partially responsible for Annette's attack. With the silence enveloping her once again she retreated to the pages of the book in her lap. For some time now she had been amusing herself by pouring over some fantastic tale about pirates and sun kissed islands. Every now and them an open window nearby would blow a pleasant breeze into the room. She ignored the mild aches throughout her body as her eyes darted across the creamy white pages. Every now and then she would loose track of her thoughts and glance around in momentary frustration. Earlier that more she had rummaged through her jewelry box to find that finely toothed comb that she had hidden there. It was part of the set that she had obtained years ago when she was still working as a maid. As she ran her thumb down the the pointed edge she recalled the fact that she had given the other one to her Aunt as a gift. At the time she was reliant on the older woman's letters to provide her comfort. She had believed that there was mutual love between them. Similar to the love that she had once shared with her mother. In an act of spite she had thrown it out her bedroom window. It landed in the thick mud beside some flower beds where she secretly hoped it would rot.
It was not enough for Annette to simply cry away this new problem. She could no longer vent her frustrations on Mandy or the other maids. In her darkest of thoughts she had concluded that they had made their true loyalty clear by avoiding any attempts to help her that night. With a sickening feeling washing over her she rose from her seat, pacing impatiently around the room as she recalled what had happened over and over again. The memory of his touch still made her skin crawl. But it wasn't from fear. It was anger. A deep, burning rage that had been growing inside of her since her last encounter with him. Though servants had rushed to clear the room of any evidence of the horrible act she believed she could still see leftover shards from the vase he had broken and she would humour herself with fantasy's of finding one large enough to slash that devils throat. It would have served him right if she killed him. Lord Derrick was a man that had permitted his lust to overpower his good sense. It poisoned him so deeply that no amount of reasoning could hope to vanquish it. It was only a momentary flicker of guilt that had rescued her this time, but she was certain it would not work again. As the nights ticked by with no contact between them she lay awake into the early hours of the morning, listening for sounds of heavy footsteps outside her door. But they never came.
That night she dined by herself with only the heavy patter of the rain outside to keep her company. It had been this way for a few weeks. All day she was left to her own devices now, free to roam about the estate and do whatever she pleased. Then at night she would find herself sealed away in an empty room to dine without interruption. He made no effort to contact. At least not yet. As if fearing the reality of his own behaviour, Lord Derrick had taken to avoiding the girl that he had placed under his care. All day and all night he avoided any contact with the girl. The quiet atmosphere was a peaceful change for Annette, who found that she preferred silence to awkward conversation anyhow.
It rained frequently enough that unexpected guests were no longer a concern. On one particular night a bad storm battered the area violently, keeping everyone in the household wide awake for hours into the evening. The following morning the sun revealed that the land surrounding Blackthorn became as thick and muddy as a swamp. Rosebuds, which hadn't even had a chance to properly bloom, were left battered beyond repair by the winds from the previous night and were now limply sinking into the grass beneath them. She observed the scene with an oddly callous indifference. From one of the numerous unused rooms of the manor she looked over the wreckage in silence, wondering if the destruction of Blackthorns most iconic feature was mere coincidence or an unworldly force that was attempting to punish the Lord who owned them. As she hovered next to the closed window, dreading the nasty cold outside, Annette studied the various types of birds the rain had attracted today and wondered if they would grow fat from the abundance of worms they were now feasting on. All around her the air was tainted by the chill leftover from the storm. Though the maids struggled to keep every fireplace in Blackthorn ablaze a bitter chill clung to the air, forcing everyone to drape themselves in stiff wool and other warm fabrics. Annette herself had dressed in a meticulous fashion today. She had layered herself so vigilantly that she felt as if she was carrying a lead vest around. With her skirts draping across the floor behind her she swept away from the window, intent on heading to the library to search for another book. As she weaved her way around a table that sported one of the last flower arrangements that would ever come out of Blackthorns gardens she heard the faint pattering of footsteps racing down the corridor.
“My Lady!” A small voice called out to her from the doorway and she looked to see a servant girl hovering near the door. The moment she saw Annette look up she scuttled forward like a mouse, lowering herself into a deep curtsy. Though instinct had taught her to be firm and cruel she decided to give the girl her undivided attention. God knows why. Perhaps because she pitied the poor creature, whose anxious expression reminded her so much of herself when she first set foot into this wretched state. Even so she kept her lips tightly pursed, reminding herself that regardless of how helpless this child seemed she was just as responsible for Annette's misery as the rest of the staff. It was easier that way, or at least she had told herself so during the long hours of her solitude. This way they might learn to resent her right back. Together they would live in mutual discomfort of each others existence and in some ways it lessoned the pain. The girl for her part was a pale little thing with little substance. She had a round face and knock-knees that she seemed to be desperately trying to contort into a straight posture. The blue of her uniform stood starkly in contrast against the warm amber light that streamed in from the hall behind her and she spoke in a high squeak as she announced; “His Lordship requests your presence in the dining hall. ”
It was the request that Annette had waited a long time to receive. In fact after the very first night, when she had finished crying, she'd chewed her nails to stubs and waited for news from the man who still kept her here. The shock had numbed away by now but she still found herself short of breath after hearing it. How cowardly of him, she thought, to send to most trustworthy looking servant to speak with her. “You may tell his Lordship that I have no desire to see him today. ” She snapped. “I would prefer to spend the afternoon in the company of a book instead. ” There was an awkward paused. The servant girl look completely stunned by her response. Her mouth hung open like a cod for a few moments as she watched Annette pluck carelessly at one of the lower hanging blossoms in the flower arrangement.
“But my Lord specifically ordered-”
“-And his Lordship has been denied. ” With her fingers wrapped around the head of a bruised rosebud Annette felt a cold indifference wash over her. She squeezed the fragile bud between her fingers, knowing that it had no means to fight back As the maid left, muttering under her breath, she beheaded the blossom and watched as it fell onto the wooden floor beneath her.
There were more requests after that. More demands. More orders from Lord Derrick. He sent the staff to harass her nearly every day. They hounded her persistently, seeking her out at all hours of the day and finding her even during the times when Annette was certain she had found a place to hide. All the while Annette stubborn refusal never wavered. She was not certain exactly what was fuelling her boldness. Though aware of the danger she provoked every time she turned down an order the thought of provoking that man gave her an odd sense of satisfaction. For nearly two weeks she denied all requests, building the tension within Blackthorn until it became thicker than fog. Mandy scolded her for it. “You are only provoking him.” She warned on many occasions, much to Annette dismay. While she had grown fond of the near-isolation since her attack, Mandy's warnings rang with a harsh truth. The solution she had chosen was a temporary one, and carried consequences that she was not willing to face. At the end of the second week she swallowed her pride and relented to Lord Derrick's request. It was on another windy day, and the hallways were twinged with a faint draft from the cold outside. She had Mandy wake her up several hours early so that she could be dressed and enjoy her breakfast in leisure. Every single bit weighed down on her tongue like glue. Though the sweet scent of cinnamon wafted from her toast and her eggs were poached just right she could not bring herself to take in anymore than a few bites. She read quietly in the library after that, pouring over another book to pass the time. When the request came a few hours before noon, she reluctantly dusted off her heavy skirts and went to seek him out.
The Lord who has once petrified her was waiting for on the second floor for Annette. She found him inside a small room that was tucked in a lonesome corner at the end of one of the many corridors in the manner. When she stepped inside the first thing she noticed the overwhelming scent of dust that clung to the air. There was something terribly stale about the whole place. White sheets covered every scrap of furniture in the room. To one side there was a crackling fireplace which served as the only source of light. From the corner of her eye she noted the outline of his finger on the right side of the room. “So you have finally decided to grace me with your presence. ” The rasp of his voice flooded the entire room, stirring up the cobwebs and many layers of dirt. He ran one pale hand across the thick drapes that were covering the window, seemingly studying them as the door closed behind her. “Is there a reason that you have finally decided to relent?”
“Avoiding you was just a temporary solution, my Lord.” She hissed with her hands clasped in front of her. “I knew that eventually I would have to face you.”
“So you admit that this was just an attempt to torment me then?” He questioned her, turning around so that they were facing each other. He had his arms crossed over his chest, perhaps in some attempt to appear menacing. In the soft amber light she could make out the heavy circles that collected under his eyes. There was some very off about the creature standing in front of her. He was not the intimating beast who had so openly attacked her weeks before. Right now he seemed worn. Perhaps even a little tired as he glanced towards her. “It was a childish little scheme. But I cannot say that I was shocked that you did it.” His eyes wandered about the room, studying the blanketed objects around them. “Are you feeling well today?”
“Is that how you are planning on starting off this confrontation my Lord?” She snickered, almost overwhelmed by disbelief. Loose strands of hair fell across her face as she observed him. Ensuring that Lord Derrick kept his distance had been a significant priority in Annette's mind. Just being in the same room as him was setting off her nerves. “You did not call me here just to ask me about my health. What do you want from me?”
“No I did not...” Surprisingly he nodded in agreement with her. She thought she could see faint traces of a smile on his lips but found herself unwilling to confront him. The memory of the violence he had used during their last encounter made her reluctant to provoke him. In the back of her mind the incident was always there, reminding her of the threat that this man posed to her. With her heart pounding silently in her chest she took a step back. He did not notice the gesture. Or if he did he did not express any complaint about it. “I wanted to discuss my behaviour the night after the party.” He stared down at what appeared to be a covered chair, running his fingers along the course white sheet that covered it. “I won't deny it. My actions that were completely unacceptable for a someone of my status. I was... a little less than a gentlemen that night.”
“Less than a gentleman?!” Annette instinctively snapped back at him. Frowning at the mere audacity of him. “Is that what you like to call your indiscretions my Lord?” For a moment she saw Lord Derrick look wide eyed as he continued to look over at her, visibly alarmed by her reaction. She denied him sympathy, shaking her head in disbelief of what he'd dared to tell her. “Nothing that transpired between us had to do with proper etiquette my Lord. It was a vile act; the sort that only crosses the mind of the most wicked souls. ” In her mind she was already screaming and had been from the moment she'd entered the room. In that moment all of the anger, all the terror and anguish of everything that had happened been building up for days inside of her was beginning to churn. The only thing keeping it at bay was her blunted teeth, which bit down on the side of her tongue to help her suppress her emotions. “I cannot say that I was too surprised by it. In the past you were always very successful at forcing me into degradation. Making me feel worthless and wretched at the drop of a hat. It's a remarkable still really. ”
He looked angry for just a moment and when he stepped forward she half expected him to strike her for being to insolent. But as quickly as the temper had flared up it extinguished itself and he paused to close his eyes. Taking in a deep breath, he lifted his hands in the air, revealing a fleeting glimpse of his pale hands. “You are not making this very easy for me Annette” He resumed after regaining composure. “I am trying to apologize to you...”
“And how do you suppose that would work? Do you think that simply say “I'm sorry” will just change everything that happened?” The words rolled off her tongue with a callous streak. To keep her hands from shaking she clasped them together behind her back. He did not defend himself against her. Those eyes, that had once glimmered with amusement, were cold and focused. “What you have done has damaged me. I do not think I will ever be the same again. I have changed. And it's all your fault!”
“That is not what I intended at all and you know it Annette.” In irritation Lord Derrick snapped at her, stirring the vacant members that she had of his rage during that night. She looked at him, wild eyed, with a hand clasped over her heart, feeling it pound loudly beneath her skin as he slowly recoiled into a more relaxed state once again. “You are simply playing games with me Annette. You're out of spite and anger. That kind of behavior is nothing short of childish. I feel guilty enough without your extra efforts. ”
“And you should feel that way!” She replied, feeling the words ring hollow through the air. “This was not just so minor misunderstanding or impolite gesture, it was an attack. How is it that you don't realize this? That night you were only moments away from inflicting the most despicable injury a man could give a woman!”
“You think I don't know that Annette?!” He was grabbing onto one of the covered chairs now. Even in the poor lighting she could see that his fingernails were digging into the protective sheet that covered it. “I know it better than anyone else ever could. You speak as if you are thoroughly convinced that I set out that evening fully intending on attacking you but I swear it was never the case. What I did to you was monstrous. You did nothing wrong and yet I dragged you through my home as if you were a common thief. The sounds of your screams!-” There was a loud crashing noise and with her heart pounding loudly in her chest Annette quickly stepped back. The chair had been thrust over, landing between them with an agonizing thud. A cloud of dust stirred up in the air, causing the nearby fireplace to sizzle and hiss. In a fit of frustration he had turned away from her and was beginning to pace irritably as he ranted and raved at her. “I cannot sleep anymore. Every night I wake up and I end up staring at the ceiling for hours. I cannot stop thinking about it. The sounds of your cries are haunting me. I have not been able to shake the feelings of terror that I heard in them. It is driving me mad!”
There was something truly pitiful about him at that moment. The strong composure that he carried around with him had slowly crumbled away. The Lord was gone. But the withered husk of a man still remained. Annette felt her hands shake as she pressed her back against the door. “Maybe I be excused?” She whispered, fumbling behind her in search of a doorknob.
“No.” He shook his head without looking at her. “Stay with me for a moment longer. I could use the company.” Though still quite alarmed she remained rooted in place. Through wide eyes she stared without making a sound as the man in front of her sighed deeply and gradually began to regain his composure. When he had resumed a state of normalcy he paced across the room, examining the objects around him for a moment. She was surprised by the rapid recovery. Though he seemed to keep some distance she always made sure one hand linger right next to the knob just incase. “I just remembered that failed to ask you this earlier,” he said finally, looking in her direction with a forced smile on his face. “Do you know what room this is Annette?” He asked the question as though it was clear that he expected no reply. His long fingers brushed across the edge of what might have once been a bedside table. “It's a little drab these days but in it's prime it served as my fathers favourite resting place. During the last few years of his life he was always dreadfully ill. The simple act of walking down the stairs was enough to throw him into a convulsing fit. So my mother, being the stubborn creature that she was, insisted he move from the master bedroom into here. It was the only room in Blackthorn where you would never find a cold draft and the window was positioned in just the right way that one could see the city whenever they looked outside.” As he spun his tale Lord Derrick picked at loose threads hanging from the draped sheets, pulling and unravelling parts of yellowed cloth between his fingers. “During the last year of his life I don't think my father ever left this place. He remained walled up in here in this dusty old room. Day after day he sat in here with my mother pouring over old books books and wasting away to a shrivelled husk of his former self.”
Annette listened without making a sound. It had been years since Lord Derrick's father had passed. Although he was long dead and buried when she came to work in Blackthorn the stories about the man were still lingering. Anyone who had met the man claimed he had always been a rather kind person. A tad reclusive but still enjoyable. Paintings that adorned the manner of him depicted a figure that was virtually unrecognizable as Lord Derrick's father. He had a merry look to him. The way that his lips curled in every painted image always made her wonder if he had been struggling to mask a grin. “Was it a sickness that took your father?” She whispered as she sharply inhaled some of the stale air.
He shrugged his shoulders, seemingly indifferent. “My father was much older in years when he started to make crucial choices. He married my mother later in life after years of delay and by that time she was well beyond the glow of youth. Other's warned them that it would have been unwise to take on parenthood so late but the fools didn't listen. I cannot recall a time that my father was not suffering from some sort of cough or sneeze. I cannot say that I ever truly missed him after he passed. We were never very close. He had no spine and I had no patience. It was a dangerous mix....” Lord Derrick paused, frowning a little as he turned towards her. “I cannot seem to recall you ever mentioning your own father. What became of the man who helped make you?”
Annette felt a lump in the back of her throat and she slowly lifted her chin. “My father?” She whispered, the phase feeling alien on her tongue. Her mother had told her the story only once during her lifetime. It had provoked such sorrow in the other woman that Annette could not bring herself to ask to hear it again. “There's not much to say about him. The man was baker my mother once told me.” She exclaimed with a roll of her eyes. “One of those slack jawed fools with a charming smile and a honeyed tongue. He fancied my mother for many years and eventually convinced her to marry him. Two years into the marriage he went wandering off with a little hussy from another city and left my mother broken and penniless. She discovered she was pregnant two months after he had left but could not bring herself to tell him. She thought it was for the best if he never knew me.”
“Ahh.” He nodded his head, visibly intrigued by the story. Annette could feel a sour taste growing in her mouth. “So you are not a bastard then?”
“Did you not hear me the first time my Lord? I said that he had married my mother. She walked down the aisle a blushing, hopeful bride.” She shook her head. This was not the first time someone had question her legitimacy. Even those who had known her mother for years used to doubt the truth in her mothers claims. “She never broke her vows to that man. Though he deserved it for all he did to her. Even long after he had disappeared she refused to remarry. They way she saw it, they were still husband and wife in the eyes of God. Trying to replace him would have been a terrible sin.”
“And I suppose you were perfectly content with supporting her decisions even if they meant a life of poverty?”
“I was a child.” She hissed. “Too young and naive to comprehend the world and it's cruelties. As far as I knew my father could have returned someday. It made me feel hopeful at times. It was not until she had passed that I truly realized the extent of her situation. That man was ever coming back for her.” She balled one hand into a tight fist, drawing it slowly up to her chest as she spoke to him. “I cannot bring myself to hate my mother for the decisions that she made. She believed that she was doing what was right. Even if it we struggled from time to time I have no complaints about her.”
“So she was a God fearing woman was she?” Annette winced, hating the slightly mocking tone that he used at that moment. While the fire continued to roar undisrupted Lord Derrick calmly stepped over the fallen chair and reached into his coat pocket. After a brief moment of searching he withdrew a small red painted box with a willow tree carved across the lid. “I have something for you.” He explained while rolling the small object between his long fingers. “I wanted to give it to you earlier, but ...other events transpired between us that prevented me from doing so.” She heard the creak of the box as he carefully guided the lid off. With a faint smile he extended his hand and offered it to her. Nestled inside was a ring of brightly polished gold. As she turned her head to look she saw the diamond nestled in the very centre of the band, surrounded by tiny little pearls. It was an older style of course, and looked as if it had seen several other owners.
“That is the same ring that your mother is wearing in every one of her old portraits. ” She whispered as she chewed at a piece of loose skin on her lip. “Why are you trying to give it to me? Doesn't it belong to her.”
Lord Derrick merely shrugged at her question. “It originally belonged to her. But she passed it on to me many years ago and has not worn it since.” He explained. “She's a strange woman that way. The moment that something in her jewelry box stops making her happy she refuses to leave it laying around. I've lost count of the amount of pieces that she's given away to distant relations.” He fiddled with the lid of the box as he spoke, running his fingers across the engraving across the top. “It is my fault that you haven't seen it until now. My behaviour has made it rather difficult to find an opportunity to ask you...”
She eyed the tiny object, studying it's intricate details curiously. A part of her wondered if there was any interesting stories behind how his mother had obtained such a lovely piece but she could not bring herself to speak at that moment. Surely if it belonged to a woman of the elite it was worth something. As a young girl she could recall some fleeting moments where she had passed by the shops that sold rings like that. They were always located in busy districts, surrounded by sweet shops, banks, and seamstresses who only used imported silk in their wares. The owners never allowed grubby children like Annette to peek inside for long. After a few minutes someone always came out and shooed her away. But every so often she caught a glimpse of something that truly caught her eyes; a pretty pendant or a pair of pearl earrings. And she would remember it for weeks afterwards. That ring, sitting there gleaming in spite of the poor light in the room, reminded her of those times. Without even realizing it she reached forward, running her fingertips along the edge of the box. The wood grain was smooth beneath her skin. It had been sanded down to vigorously that it feel as slick and smooth as marble. The ring itself was cool in contrast, and light in her hand when she lifted it up and grasped it into her palm.
“Are you trying to bribe me?” She said. Unable to speak any louder than a whisper. Somewhere behind her the sounds of a maid's footsteps clattered loudly down the hallways.
“No.” He replied, though the wavering in his answer was undeniable. Annette closed the hand that held the ring, balling it into such a tight clench that she could felt the diamond cutting into her fleshy palm. There was plenty of things that she could have said at that moment. That it wasn't going to work. That the mere thought that he might have considered it repulsed her. Yet as her hand encased tightly around the ring and she felt it sting against her skin she found herself unable to simply throw it back at him. She could feel his gaze on her. Watching her. Critiquing and making notes of every single thing that she did. And when their eyes finally met and he faced the harsh blare of her rage, he had his answer. There was nothing left to say about the matter. She tucked the ring onto one finger for safe keeping, and crossed her fingers in hopes that it wouldn't become stuck. He tucked the box into the pocket of his waist coat, forcing a complacent smile after he had dusted himself off. “Can I ask you something else Annette?” He said while pulling at a loose string that was hanging from his sleeve. “Why did you become a dancer?”
“When I was a child I only ever learned two skills my Lord.” Her throat felt as if two hands were wrapped around it. Though she sucked in the deepest breath that she could muster her voice only came out as a gentle rasp of a sound. “I learned how to wash clothes and I learned how to dance. My mother worked herself into exhaustion to put me through lessons as a small girl. I felt that settling for the work of a laundress for the rest of my life would have only insulted her memory.” As she spoke Annette felt her nose beginning to tingle. Before she had time to stop it she let out a great sneeze. One that was loud, obnoxious, but somehow satisfying. When she looked up again her eyes were watering. No doubt the cursed dust everywhere was beginning to take it's toll on her. “May I be excused now?” She asked him as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
His sleeve had a hole in it now. The unraveled result of being picked at too vigorously. With a look of displeasure he lowered his arms, clasping the cuff of the sleeve he had just destroyed while asking her; “What were you doing before you came here?”
Annette rolled her eyes. “I was enjoying a book in the library if you simply must know.”
“Ahh that's rather surprising.” He said as he brushed past her suddenly. “I did not think your reading skills were advanced enough for leisure reading.”
For some reason Annette fumed at his comment. She was not sure exactly why it bothered her so much. Perhaps because a small part of her knew that beneath the compliment there was a layer of condescending pity. “And what is that supposed to mean? Surprised that a peasant learned to read so quickly?”
Lord Derrick placed his hand on the door, pushing it open so that the light from the hallway filled the room. “You are not a peasant Annette, regardless of whether you wish to accept it or not. And I was not making a commentary on your class. I was merely interested to know that you have already advanced far enough to be enjoying books on your own time.” He made a gesture, offering to let her exit the room first. As she slipped past she could feel his gaze following her. “Shall I join you then?”
“I do not see how that would be of any pleasure to you my Lord.” She huffed, already heading down the hallway. “But if you wish to sit there and bore yourself by watching my leaf through a book that is your own decision.”
She could hear him following her. Even though a large space divided them the entire time somehow Annette always knew he was there. He lingered behind her like a shadow, making the most minimal sound as they journeyed. Every time she rounded a sharp corner she secretly hoped that he would become discouraged and leave her to her matters. The truth of the matter was that Annette had virtually no interest in spending anymore time with the man. There was something too casual about that way that he trailed her, glancing out the occasional window and appearing to be enjoying the stroll. If a stranger had encountered the two of them at that moment they might have never guessed that there was a unsettling history between them. That alone made Annette upset. It made her angry really. The way he manipulated the world around him was insufferable. Anyone who had ever been a child learned very quickly that it was not the truth that got others onto your side. It was how convincingly you spoke. With her hands beginning to sweat with anger she reached the library door and immediately thrust it open.
Inside the faint smell of paper wafted through the air. Some time between her leaving to speak with Lord Derrick and now a servant had gone in and opened the curtains. Now daylight covered every square inch of the room. Flooding it with a pale illuminate aura that was both dreary and blinding. Without uttering a single word Annette stepped forward and retrieved the book that she had been reading before. It was still laying on the lounge seat she had left it on although she noted that someone had inserted a pale blue scrap of ribbon between the pages to mark her spot. She sighed heavily as she flopped herself down. She would never understand the way that the servants obsessed over 'correcting' her behaviour. Frankly, she thought as she turned to the page she had last left off at, it was rather passive aggressive.
By the time Lord Derrick entered the room she was already beginning to submerge herself into the story again. Though she felt his eyes on her for the first few moments he did not say anything to her. From the corner of her eye she could see him browsing through the bookshelves and would become nervous when he moved out of view. Then he would reappear again, seemingly unable to settle on something to read. “Do you come here very often?” She heard him ask. Looking up from her book she searched around the room and found him trying to reach for a particularly thick novel that was on one of the higher shelves.
“Yes.” She rasped as she turned the page of her book. “The weather has been miserable these past few days and I have no desire to waste my time practicing playing the piano or sewing.” Her gaze fell on the nearby window. Though the sun had finally come out there was still evidence of the horrible rain they had suffered through recently. Every so often she could see a drop of water trickle down the glass pane. All that water must have made the earth as damp and soft as a sponge. Earlier she had seen some of the servants children playing out on the grounds. They'd flung mud at each other until Mandy came out with a broom in her hand and shooed them indoors to wash up. She found herself trying to fight back a smile as she recalled the incident. The seat shifted at that moment, snapping her rather abruptly out of her daydream as the lounge that she perched upon protested the weight of a second occupant. Somewhere in between responding to his question and loosing herself in her own thoughts Lord Derrick had made his way over to her. With neither permission nor consideration he had plunked himself down right beside her and opened the book that he was carrying. Annette was automatically horrified. The nerve of him, she thought with a tightened scowl. It wasn't enough that he had followed her here and spoiled the rest of her afternoon. Now he seemed to expect to share in her personal boundaries too.
Flustered, and visibly annoyed Annette fumbled with her book. Though she tried several times to dive back into the story she found herself storming through the words. Fitfully she flipped each page, narrowly shredding several of them in the act. All the while she found herself very much aware of the man beside her. Even though her head never turned she listened with a dreadful attentiveness, struggling not to flinch every time he shifted or turned over to the next page. If he had any recollection of the horrors that crossed her mind at that moment he certainly did not mind them. He paid the girl next to him absolutely no attention. It was a strange and surreal moment for Annette Though she had spent plenty of time around him before she could never recall a moment where he was not intrinsically glued to her. What a shame, she thought in a flittering moment of remorse, for at that moment he might have seemed rather thoughtful. At least, if he hadn't already inflicted so many scars already...
“Enjoying yourself are you my Lordship?” She muttered out of the corner of her mouth when the silence become too much.
“Hmm?” He paused, making a sound that was vaguely reminiscent of a murmur. When he looked up she could see his thumb was resting between two pages of the book, safe guarding his spot for the time being. “Yes. I was just pouring over an old Latin text just now. It has been quite some time since I have read anything other than letters. When I was a small boy my parents encouraged me to come here. They considered knowledge of the written word a virtue. Most of these books exist here today because of them.” He paused, glancing up at the intricately painted ceiling. Tiny winged cherubs and and angelic figures shone down of them, demanding a certain level of admiration that only a moment of honorary silence could provide. “Would you believe me if I told you that I once had an ambition to read every book in this room before I turned 20?” He asked her suddenly.
Annette briefly looked at her surroundings as he spoke. There were books absolutely everywhere. Cluttering shelves attached to the walls. Stacked in piles on tables and vacant chairs. Over flooding the endless cases that cluttered the room like varnished trees. “Were you successful in your goal?” She asked him when she had completed her inspection.
Lord Derrick shrugged. “It was an overly ambitious goal. Impossible to say the least. By the time that I turned eighteen I had not gleamed through even a quarter of them. It was a discouraging blow needless to say. I was not quite as passionate about books after that.” It was at that moment that he turned his attention to the book that lay forgotten in her lap. “What was it that you were reading just now?”
“Oh this?” She felt her hand press against the hard cover. “It's a story.”
“Yes I can see that. But what kind?”
She lowered her gaze to her lap once more. The title on the front of the book was starting peeling off. Age had not been kind to it. And neither had this stuffy old library. “It's an adventure.” She whispered without looking up. “I've read three of them so far. One about a shipwreck. Another about mountain. This one is about an island and a young boy who becomes trapped on it.” He arched one eyebrow as he listened to her speak. There was no denying that her answered had surprised in some way. “And is that all you have read?”
“Well...” She frowned, trying to recall everything else that she had attempted to read through these past few days. “I did attempt to pour myself into a rather volume on herbology my Lord, but I simply could not understand it.” Her eyes twitched with a vague memory of the incident. She had pulled it from it's shelf one night it a fit of madness when sleep had betrayed her. Having assumed that rest would not come that night she had vowed to improve her mind a little and regretted it the moment she flipped to the first page. It was as if she had been mentally chewing paper. Though she was certain there was substance somewhere in those jumbled and confusing words it did nothing but give her a headache.
“Hmmm, an interesting choice for a woman of your demure.” With all the deposition of a small child in a dry Church ceremony Lord Derrick leaned back in his seat. The book he had been reading lay forgotten on his lap while the hand that had attempted to hold a place in it now dangled loosely over the edge of the sofa. “Surely you would prefer a story that is less violent and more whimsical. I can recall a time in my youth that the plays of that old Elizabethan poet were quite the rave.”
Annette felt a lump gather in the back of her throat. He'd never directly stated it but she knew what kind of stories he was referring to. Regardless of their social standing it was a popular belief that all women her age fancied a romance. Even in this library she had already gleamed over countless titles that promised tales of whimsy and desire. Though far too proud to have ever admitted it she had poured into a few of them to satisfy her curiosity. However after the cover had closed and the curtains on the tale had drawn shut she had found herself feeling bitter and disappointed. Where those really based on truth, she wondered. Closing her eyes she gave a huge sigh, forcing the feelings of tension back down into her gut. “I do not care for those kind's of book my Lord.” She whispered softly. “I find them rather... disappointing.”
“Oh?” That got his attention. Suddenly he had bolted upright, alerted by the prospect of interesting conversation. Annette felt her palms itch, regretting having said anything at all when she realized that jackal grin was starting to form in the corners of his mouth again. “Very interesting. I do not think I've ever encountered a girl who wasn't in love with at least one of those stories. Even my mother has her favourites. Even if she'll never openly say it.” Lord Derrick smiled gradually, tilting his head to one side as he contemplated this new information. “Would you care to explain yourself then?”
“I would but I am not sure if I would ever make sense.” Annette squirmed a little in her seat. A part of her was tempted to pick at the fraying edges of the book cover but she pitied the poor thing too much to add to it's destruction. “I just have difficultly submerging myself into a book that has nothing but idle fantasies between its pages. The love between the main characters in those stories is seldom realistic.”
“Perhaps you are making a rash judgment then.” He chuckled, offending her with his blatant amusement. “I am not fond of those pretty women's stories but I have never encountered one that was so puffed up and absurd that I could not believe it.” Her cheeks were beginning to burn but before she had time to look away he spotted her, smiling coyly as if somehow able to read her mind at that moment. “Tell me Annette What is it about those stories that you find so unrealistic?”
“The scenes...when the couples are alone together.” With shaking hands she opened her book. The devil, he was upsetting her on purpose and he knew it. Annette felt her stomach quiver with a strange sort of anxiety. This was not the typical fear that she experienced around Lord Derrick. It was not that sinking dread that had haunted her from the day they first met. This was something else entirely. Something that was unnerving and uncomfortable. Like a pit of snakes squirming deep inside her belly. “The...kissing scenes.” She hissed. “They bother me.”
“The kissing?” He quirked a brow, sounding as if it were the most astonishing answer.
“Couples don't kiss that way.” Impatiently Annette closed her book and found herself tossing it lazily onto the floor beside her. There was no sense in holding onto it now. He had soured her mood with his insufferable questions. “Kisses are not velvety soft and chaste in real life. They're wet, foul, and painful.” She found herself flinching as she recalled all the times that she had across some heated embrace in the theatre. The other dancers had not shared her disdain for the men who courted them. They liked the sweat and heat of a man be it pressing up against them or grunting beneath them. They came beckoning from all walks of life; Lords, stagehands, even street urchins. When the show was over and the instructors had gone home it was their turn to play. She could not remember all the intimate details but she knew their kisses were the ferocious sort. They pressed together liked they wanted to gnaw each others lips off, moaning and groaning all the while. The mere thought of it made her toes curl with disgust.
“I think I understand now.” Lord Derrick made a snickering sound but it was not quite as mischievous as it normally would have been. The fox-like humour had vanished for the moment and a dry remorse had replaced it. “It has nothing to do with how realistic those stories are. You simply don't like them because they are beyond your comprehension.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?!” She impatiently snapped.
He shrugged. Calm and somehow reserved in spite of everything. “You have never observed two people that are in love. Your father left you before you were old enough to retain any memory of him. Your mother raised you by herself instead of finding a new husband. You Aunt never married and had stopped accepting lovers by the time you began living with her. There was never a time in your life when you were growing up when you could have witnessed affection between two people. All you ever saw was what the other girls in your dance troupe did and that shaped your perceptions of what love is. That is the reason you don't think those stories are real.
She wanted to say something. Preferably a witty comeback that would put that devil back in his place. But no matter how much Annette tried to find the nerve her jaw simply wouldn't moved. It had become locked somewhere in the midst of his conclusion and a mixture of anger and shame had prevented it from budging. Like a mute she sat there without making a sound, glaring straight ahead as his words continued to echo throughout her head. To her surprise he wasn't laughing at her this time. “Did you know that there are three ways a person can kiss you?” He spoke with a hesitation, shifting his body so that he was no longer lounging across the seat. The soles of his boots clicked with odd familiarity against the floor and she studied them curiously, admiring the way that the polished leather gleamed in the sunlight. “The first one is lustful. It's exactly what you described just now; a heated and passionate act that hurts and excites at the same time.” His hand crept towards her. Like a small pale reptile it searched for a source of warmth and eventually found one on the top of her knee. Though alarmingly aware of it's presence Annette did not swat it away at first. Distracted for the moment, her thoughts turned to what was being said to her. “Then,” he murmured. “There is the chaste kiss. It's the one you reserve for family. It is that flighty little peck that you place on the cheek or the forehead of those you hold dearest to your heart. It comforts and eases pain but it's never obscene. It's the warming touch that raises the spirits of children everywhere.”
Annette inwardly smiled. She knew that sort of kiss. Though it had been years since her death she still held memories of her mother pressing her lips to her cheek to comfort her. It was nothing more than a simple peck, but just as he suggested it somehow cured everything that it touched. He had shifted himself again, this time so that his entire body was facing her. “Do you want to know what the last one is?” He asked and suddenly the hand on her knee had moved again. Her stomach felt as if it had scrunched into a tight little ball but Annette said absolutely nothing as his cool fingertips lightly brushed the side of her cheek. “It's a perfect mixture of the previous two. Soft and warm, but still full desire.” Her hands felt like two cold lumps of clay. No matter how hard she tried she could not lift them. Annette quivered, unsure of whether it was fear or intrigue that had petrified her in that moment. He was close enough for her to see every detail of his face. She saw the small mole on the side of his temple and the reddish tint in the corners of his eyes; proof of his fatigue. Her breathing slowed as their lips touched. It was not her first kiss of course. Lord Derrick had forced her to do many things in the past. While the obscene acts horrified her the most she took some deeper offence to the times when he'd kissed her. There was never any pleasure from them. Only a struggled panic as she fought to escape and the afterglow of pain that consisted of bruising and red marks. It asserted a strange expectation of violence into her life that she deeply resented.
The contrast of the gentleness of this moment came as both a shock and a pleasant surprise to her. His lips were soft against her. A warmth stirred deep within her belly, delighting and startling her at the same time. He did not grind against her the way he had done so in the past. Instead he lingered in that place where his lips were pressed just enough for her to feel them but never enough to inflict pain. It was intentionally brief however and it ended far too quickly. When he pulled away she was left with an unusual sense of longing. Her cheeks were tingling with a new sensation although Annette wasn't quite sure what to name it just yet. She knew she ought to have hated it. Logic would have dictated that she scream and a complete fit at that moment for he dared to touch her while knowing the memory of his violent actions were still fresh in her mind. Instead however Annette was quiet, rasping out a low sigh as she felt the weight of his hand entwined within her hair. “Do you see?” She heard him whisper although her senses had begun to dull. When he kissed her again the feeling in her stomach returned. The longer she sat there the more it intensified. She felt it creep up her ribcage as her breath began to quicken. Somewhere in the back of her mind a tiny voice was screaming for her to stop but she had become deaf to everything at that moment. Everything except him.
Lord Derrick groaned as she pressed the palms of her hands against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his pulse in spite of the thick fabric that covered it. His arms were encased around her now. One pressed firmly against the small of her back, resting there as the other one found a place between her shoulders. She felt him coax her backwards, lowering her down onto the sofa. Her fingers grasped at the front of his jacket, holding on as if her life depended on keeping him close. She could feel the weight of his body on top of her. The heat had spread throughout her body now. She feeling it tingle across her chest and course through her arms and fingers. His lips never ventured away from hers, except to pause to allow them both to catch their breath. In that moment it was if they were frozen in time, destined to perpetually caress each others lips until the universe itself ceased to be.
His hands were the only thing capable of moving now. They traveled innocently along the outline of her figure, coaxing along the intricate fabric folds of her gown as if curious to see what might be hiding in them. Annette paid them little attention. She was lost in her own impulsive state of delight that nothing else around her could have mattered. It was not until a fleeting moment when his hands had wrapped around hers that a cold chill suddenly yanked the fantasy away. All of a sudden Her mind was paralysed with the memory of everything that had happened two weeks before. “No.” She whispered, feeling her resolve quiver.
“Noooo!” As if it had just occurred only seconds ago her eyes prickled with tears and she cried out in terror. She remembered those hands pinning her down while she pleaded and begged, could hear the sound of them ripping through layers of fabric, and feel the rough texture of sharp fingernails scratching against her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She shrieked with a feverish passion, unable to think of anything but those horrible thoughts. Her screams were loud. They shattered all the remnants of any joy she had found in what they were doing. Suddenly the man on top of her had become a monster and whatever pleasure she might have derived from him quickly morphed it's shape. A nightmare reared it's ugly head. Reminding her of what this man was capable of and what he had tried to do to her. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes.
“Annette, it's alright. Calm down!” She could hear him of course. Speaking to her. Trying to reason with her as the madness took over. The moment her shrieks began his voice was present, asking her what was wrong, begging her to stop. It was all white noise now. She thought of nothing aside from the growing fear inside of her and the weight of the man on top of her. It was happening again, she thought in midst of her weeping, it was happening all over again. Those hands were touching her again.
Blindly Annette flailed her arms in front of her, scratching and clawing at anything that she touched. There was a distinctive popping noise at one point and a clatter of buttons falling to the floor. The moment she sensed the opportunity she crawled out from under him, tumbling onto the hard floor. Over her should she heard the click of his boots hitting the floor. Panic rose to her chest. The burning had gone now and was replaced with an odd tightening sensation that made her feel like someone was suffocating her from the inside. Suddenly, she felt the weight of a hand behind her, pressing against her shoulder and a voice that asked her “What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong.”
Annette could not muster the will to speak.The only sounds that emitted from her were loud sobs. With shaking hands she propped herself up, scared and frightened on the figure that loomed over her. She heard him step forward. She bolted like a startled mouse, attempting to crawl away from her perceived attacker. He grasped the hem of her skirt in a careless effort to keep her from getting away but it only provoked more of the sickening memories that were plaguing her mind. “Let me go!” She pleaded, desperately trying to wriggle free. His grip was firm. It held like cement, denying her any hope of an escape.
“I am not going to hurt you.” He knelt down, strengthening his hold on her by seizing one of her ankles. Though Annette did her best at that moment to kick him away it seemed like there was nothing that would deter him. Her hands stretched out in front of her, knocking over a nearby stand and extinguishing the brass candle holder that had been resting on it. Hot wax spilled onto the floor. The polished object rolled lazily towards her. Lord Derrick had not noticed. He was attempting to to crawl on top of her. Perhaps to pin her down while he pulled her skirts up. She felt sick the moment the thought crossed her mind. Her fingers wrapped around the candle holder, gripping it as if it were a sword. With one fluid motion she turned around, striking him viciously. There was a painful groaning noise that emitted from him and then a deafening silence as pain distorted his features. Still blinded by everything but her own delusion, she struck him a second time for added measure. Like the shattering of glass it broke whatever spell had fallen on her. She realized too late of course, that there was no attacker, and her sickly mind had simply be playing tricks on her again. Yes, it was much too late now.
Lord Derrick made no sound, except a low grunt when he was struck. Something warm and wet trickled on her knee. Annette felt her eyes widen with horror as she looked up and saw the long red gash that now decorated his cheek. His fingers trembled with an unfathomable shock as he traced the outline of his lips, staring at her for a moment in complete silence. They parted, and a trail of sticky blood oozed down his chin. The candle holder clanged loudly as it hit the floor again, stained with a tiny streak of red from where she'd struck him. Sniffling, she clamoured onto her feet and stepped away as he slowly collapsed onto his knees, clamping one hand across his mouth as if to suppress some of the blood that leaked from him now. Though the only thing she truly wanted at that moment was to be sick Annette knew it would have been foolish to linger. There was nothing to be said. No words could have explained this. Her nightmare was gone. But in her madness she had inevitably triggered another one. She had gone and made a terrible mistake. An awful one really. With her cheeks stained with tears and her hands still shaking she turned and fled from the room, never looking back.
