Chapter 8

- Elly -

The cart rattled to a halt. Elly groaned. She had hoped for all the painful shaking to stop, but now that it came, it did not bring the relief she had craved. Her body hurt well without it. She had taken too many beatings, sat too long in this uncomfortable crouching position.

The curtain got lifted, an ugly face stole a peak at her through the iron bars of the cage she was trapped in like a filthy animal.

The face was covered in bloody bandages and unhealthy pale. It grimaced with satisfaction upon seeming her miserable.

Then the darkness returned.

Elly had come to wonder if that was her punishment for disobeying her father, for stealing her mother's savings or abducting the Goldsteins' horse. If she had done one thing less, committed one sin less, would it have made a difference?

Surely if those men hadn't spotted Mr. Stingley from afar, they would have never noticed her. If she hadn't had her mother's savings with her, they would maybe not have had that much interest in her. If she had obeyed her father, she would have never been on that road.

And if she hadn't met the Count, it would have never come so far in the first place.

No, irrational.

Absent-mindedly Elly scratched at an itch behind her ear. Frightened whispers caught her attention. She regarded the other girls for a long moment. Some crouched together, others tried to have a glimpse at the outside through the slits of the curtains. They had screamed hours away, just like her, but no one dared rise their voices anymore.

What had been all their sins then?

No, this wasn't punishment. This was all wrong. This feeling of hopelessness. Being at cruel men's mercy, this brutality the captors practiced, nothing of it was deserved.

Elly fought tears, wishing for her mother to brush them away for her. To hug her to sleep like she had done when Elly had still been little and afraid of the dark.

She wished for her brother to come and protect her, like he had done when she had picked fights with the boys in town she shouldn't have.

And she wished for her father's pat on her shoulder and his strong worlds of harsh, yet good meant, advice.

Elly had never known how much she had depended on all of that. How lost she was without any of it.

Well, too little, too late.

The curtain rose again, and the man Elly had injured fumbled at the lock to the cages. He held and arm to the badly bandaged gush at his chest while he opened the door and yelled at the girls to move.

Elly thought she heard the men speak something about an auction. An auction for what, though? People?

The first one to leave the little safety of the cage was a boy whose appearance was more feminine than some girl's Elly knew. As far as Elly had talked to her companions, he was the only one who was here willingly. Some other hadn't been able to pay debts with money and had to pay with their lives instead.

The boy held himself with pride and when it was finally Elly's turn, she tried to mirror his dignity in this horrible situation. Even if she felt broken, she would not give her capturers the satisfaction of knowing that.

***

- Jake -

The Earl let out a hearty laughter. The sound of it cut quite through the crowd for a moment but did not bother them in their doing otherwise.

"If I promise you a private word in my estate, will you let me enjoy the show now?" the bellied man finally said. His oddly straight nose was red with booze, his short golden curlsgreasy.

"I suppose so," Jake said. He had wasted enough time and effort already that night smooth talking the man and had about nothing to show for it. "But you better hold to your word, I don't take promises lightly."

Knowing his own promise would drag him to hell had given him a whole new understanding of honour and consequences.

"Very well," the Earl said and waved Jake to leave at it. Then he held up his cup and the servant lady poured in blood red wine until it nearly spilled over.

Jake leaned back in his chair and supressed a disgusted sigh. He had heard rumours about the Earl, of course he had, but he had not trusted them more than those about himself. What a mistake. Sometimes people did tell the truth.

Jake's eyes wandered over the crowd of men and women in sparkling garments, fitting for a ball and not this disgusting show. They sat together at tables with best food and wine. The hall was fancy too, thick purple curtains along the walls covered any windows that might or might not have been behind them.

Jake hardly dared, but eventually he looked up at the stage at the front of the hall.

The guards brought out a sturdy man, dragging his steps from a beating he must have received before. A fine man claimed possession and the man was shoved off stage again.

If only more nobles turned to properly employing servants like the Baron instead of going about it like this, a lot of things could be different. Those auctions would be one of the first things to go.

Next the guards brought in a woman with blond hair from the other side of the stage.

Jake's fingers dug into the armrest of his chair as his breath caught.

He knew that face. He knew that girl.

The auctioneer spoke the offer and lazy bets were raised.

Jake's eyes jumped from one bidder to the next, evaluating the chances they treated a slave bought with proper care, and back to the girl standing up on the stage. She was trembling all over, her gaze unfocused. Her chin was raised high in defiance and her lips pressed to a thin line, fighting to maintain a straight face.

"Going once, going twice ..." the auctioneer shouted.

Jake's heart beat heavy in his chest. Wasn't it suddenly uncomfortable hot in the hall?

"Two hundred," he spoke.

"Two hundred from the young man in the back. Do I hear more?" the auctioneer went on.

What the hell?

"I thought you disliked this kind of thing?" the Earl chuckled.

"Who told you that?" Jake faked a smile with a detached calm in his voice he didn't feel at all.

The Earl shook his head.

"Two hundred, going once, going twice ... sold for two hundred to the young man in the back," the auctioneer shouted over the crowd. They applauded like Jake had bought a fancy painting.

"If you excuse me now," Jake pressed out and stiffly rose from his chair. Guards led him out of the hall to claim his prize. Halfway along the corridor to the backroom Nathaniel melted out of the shadows. He gave Jake a meaningful look, but did not speak for once in his long life.

"Get your dirty hands off me!" Jake heard the girl scream from afar.

"You wench!" the guard yelled in return and struck her over the face. The girl spat blood on the floor but rose to claw at his face.

"Enough!" Jake shouted and both stilled to look at him.

"My apologies, my Lord, we will be done in a minute," the guard said, unaffected, as if it was about finishing chores instead of giving someone an undeserved beating.

The girl's eyes grew wider and wider in surprise the longer she stared. Her cracked lips opened, trembled, but remained silent. She was dressed in indecently short and dirty rags, her hair were a mess, her bare arms and feet bruised.

Jake turned away and gestured Nathaniel to deal with it as he suspected that fine Lords and Ladies usually did not go about such things themselves.

"I'll take it from here," Nathaniel said with one of his false smiles and peeled the woman's arm out of the guard's fingers. He took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders, then guided her after Jake down the too long, too narrow corridor, outside of the building.

When the three of them stood in silence outside in the cold night, waiting for the servants to bring the carriage along, the girl finally found her words again.

"M-My Lord, I – I don't know how to ever thank you," she breathed. Thick tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving dirty streaks. The expression she showed staring at Jake with those green eyes was too much for him to handle.

"Save it," he bristled with sudden anger. His fingers closed to fists with a dire need to sink them into someone's face. Probably into his own. What stupidity. He had his hands full enough already, he really didn't need to make that mess of a girl his problem. How in the world had she even gotten herself into such a situation?

The carriage arrived. Nathaniel opened the door and motioned the girl to crawl inside.

"Get her dressed and send her home first thing in the morning," Jake managed.

"What a waste," Nathaniel smirked.

Jake closed the door and signed the driver to leave without him. He walked. He needed to walk.

***

- Elly -

Three women came to bath Elly in the finest bowl she had ever seen. She would have been awed by the beautiful white stone with golden ornaments on better days.

Even though Elly insisted repeatedly she could wash up on her own, the women drew a hot bath for her and poured bottles of herbal oils into the water. Then they scrubbed her whole body ungently and scrabbed the dirt below her nails. One meant to comb Elly's hair, but cursed under her breath and put the brush away. Instead, she reached for a shaving knife.

And then they shaved her. All hair on her body, on all the odd places, and worst of all, also those on her head. No matter how much Elly cried and pleaded. They held her down, sat on her back and cut it all off. Neat and clean.

Men could be beasts, but women could be true monsters.

In the morning Elly sat dazed in the bed they had given her. The wool blanket was pulled over her head in shame, all the little cuts she had obtained from struggling too much stung her skin. The smell of the herb oils the women had rubbed on her afterwards clung to her like a coat and dared her to sneeze. Every now and then a tear rolled down her cheek.

A soft knock sounded from the door. In came that odd black-haired man. "Good morning," he said with his eery smile.

"Good morning," Elly mumbled.

"Oh my, haven't you been in better spirits last night?"

"They cut my hair," Elly spoke without thinking much about it. Another sob shook her right after.

Her beautiful golden hair.

The man laughed. "Yes, I heard the maids call you possessed by the devil," he said. "Don't catch yourself the fleas then, if you value your hair so much."

The man took himself a chair and sat down in front of Elly. She pulled the blanket closer around her body, as he intensely looked her up and down with his coffee eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul.

"We haven't been properly introduced yet. My name is Nathaniel O'Laughlin," he said and reached out for a handshake with a smile that looked nearly really comforting.

"Elizabeth Glassner, but people call me Elly," she answered but did not dare touch the odd man. Was it just her imagination or did his fingernails truly slightly look like claws?

"Very well," he said and pulled his arm back after a moment. "Care to explain how you ended up at a slave auction?"

Elly's finger dug into the blanket. She had to avert her eyes. Just remembering hurt, no way she could possibly speak the words out loud. The emotions that turmoiled inside her heart, she could not put them together to make sense either.

"Keep your secrets then, we all have them anyway," Nathaniel said.

Another sob threatened to break free, but this time it was not the loss of her hair that pained Elly. Relief and fear, anticipation and threat, it all knotted together to a lump in her throat.

Nathaniel leaned closer, as if pleased by her pain, his face rendered by a rather sinister touch. Elly was caught by his eyes. She couldn't help but stare. A dreadful sensation settled upon her heart. In response a shudder ran through her body.

Suddenly the door swung open.

The Count marched in, his face even angrier than it had been the night before.

He glimpsed at Elly for a moment, then focused on Nathaniel and for a split second it seemed the men talking to each other without saying a word. Nathaniel rose from the chair and stepped back to lean against the windowsill, a forced smile on his lips, as if defying an apology he was supposed to give.

"What is she still doing here?" the Count said.

"People saw you buy her last night. That alone unusual enough, they will talk if she disappears just as suddenly. You can't have that," Nathaniel said.

"I don't care. I want her gone."

"Truly? She would make a good enough – "

"I want her gone," the Count repeated with more power in his voice.

The harsh words stung Elly with something she could not quite name, disappointment maybe, or fear, or both.

"As you wish." Nathaniel shrugged nonchalant. "Then see to it yourself. I am not your caretaker," he added dangerously low. He brushed past the Count, but not without bumping his shoulder like a brawler in a bar looking for a fight.

The Count bristled with anger. He closed his hands to fists and needed a few deep breaths to calm himself again.

"Get up," he ordered then.

Elly stared at the door Nathaniel had left open behind him in confusion. Was he not the Count's personal servant? How inappropriate.

"Get up and get dressed."

"R-Right away." Elly startled and nearly jumped out of the bed, the blanket still over her head. She regretted it right after, painfully reminded of the damage her body had taken over the last few days.

Halfway across the room she stopped and turned around to the Count. "I don't think I have any proper clothes," she said. Even the rags she'd been wearing had been burnt by the maids.

The Count brushed a hand over his frowning face. Then he shook his head, cursed beneath his breath and left the room.

"I apologize?" Elly mumbled. Confused and uncertain she sat back down on the bed.

A woman came to bring clothing and help Elly dress. A simple blue gown, still fancier than anything Elly had ever owned herself. She welcomed the help, since certain movements of her body hurt awfully.

Then the Count came back, sat down on the chair Nathaniel had used before and crossed the arms over his chest, obviously struggling to remain calm. His jaw was too tensed.

"So?" he said.

"S-So what?" Elly asked carefully.

"Am I to waste more money to send you back to Burgate or did you actually have a purpose for coming to Castermere?"

Elly stared quite a while at the man before she managed to force the sentences out of her mouth. She hadn't expected much, with all his anger, but at least some kind words. "M-My aunt. She's the Clankwood lawyer's widow. I thought she might take me in," Elly said, and for the first time the words seemed to her not just a ridiculous daydream of hers. Despite her pains, she had actually made it to Castermere.

"I see," was the Count's dry answer. He rose from the chair to go about sending Elly away, she supposed, but then he stopped in the middle of the room to look at her. Something else seemed to mix into his expression of anger Elly thought might have been pity.

"I cannot ever thank you enough for saving me," she said when he said nothing. Her voice trembled. The gratitude for his unexpected help and the odd sense of security that had come with it was threatening to overwhelm her.

"Save it. You cost me more money than I had to spare."

And to the coin it came back again.

It seemed to be the same wherever Elly ended up. Anger tugged at her and froze everything else inside her heart instantly. "I can work to pay you back."

"Not even in a lifetime."

"I apologize," Elly said, but it was empty words. She didn't feel sorry, just sought to calm the Count's anger.

In uncomfortable silence the Count led Elly out of what might have been a guest house and to a carriage, they rode together through the city.

Looking out the window a little excitement eased Elly's mood. She welcomed the distractions, focused all her mind on it, not to think about anything else. Never before had she seen so many houses and people. Everything was so much bigger, and so much more. They had passed at least three clockmaker shops already, when back at Burgate it was only her father's. Her eyes snapped to every little passing curiosity.

"You've never been away from home before?" the Count remarked, also noticing Elly's lightened expression.

"No," Elly said, lacking words to explain herself. "I envy you. You must have seen all the world already," she added then, a little curious.

"Hardly."

"But you travel so much."

"Out of necessity."

The carriage stopped at a crossing to let another one pass. Elly spotted a child with its mother walking the streets, that waved at seeing her face in the window. Self-consciously Elly pulled the shawl, badly concealing her loss of hair, tighter over her head.

"How vain," the Count said. "You were about to be sold as a slave and yet your hair is your worst concern."

Abruptly Elly froze. Then she clenched her hands in her lap. "I have had about enough of your mood," she dared to say.

The Count snorted.

"I have been sold as slave," Elly said. "You bought me. And everything else I have known or had, I lost it all. So yes, my hair is my worst concern right now, because I thought at least that was something that couldn't be taken from me."

"You brought this all upon yourself."

Something sparked inside Elly. She had felt it before already, but had tucked it away. Dismissed it as irrational. But now it broke free.

"No, you did," Elly confessed her grim thoughts. "Maybe that's why it agitates you so much to look at me."

"Did I make you blow off your wedding? Or leave your home? Certainly not. I even told you not to involve yourself with me."

"No, you refused to help me when I needed it! I was naïve, but you should have known better!"

"I am not responsible for your poor choices!"

"Stop the carriage." Elly knocked to the driver. Suddenly she could not stand it anymore to look at the man sitting in front of her, no matter how enchanting his presence was. "Stop!"

The Count rolled his eyes. "Give it a rest. You made your point," he snarled.

"So did you," Elly snapped. And as soon as the carriage stopped, she hopped out and slammed the door shut into the Count's face. She brushed her dress straight, raised her head and marched off, not bothering that he didn't even try to stop her.

***