Diamonds Fall

by Rebecca Gibson

  Suddenly the door banged open, shattering the peace.

  Annabel leapt up despite her wounds and nakedness, crawling to the farthest corner in the hope of disappearing in the shadows. Billy followed her, cowering at her side. Once more he stroked his hand along her hair, in a way of reassuring himself as much as Annabel.

  In the doorway stood two men. They were both exactly the same height and build, although one was clearly older than the other. The younger had coarse, chestnut hair, almost identical in shade to the horse Billy had identified as Troy. His teeth were chipped and blackened; his skin scabbed and rough looking. The older of the men had grey hair with only some remnants of his former chestnut shade. His eyes were so dark they were almost black. Their features were identical, meaning they could only be father and son.

  As the scent of liqueur washed over her face like a harsh wind Annabel began to shake in terror. For the last few hours, the dream like memory of those arms wrapped around her still fresh in her mind, she had believed herself something close to safe - believed that in here at least they wouldn't get her.

  Both of the men approached, smiling with pure triumph. They reached her at the exact same time. Annabel winced as the younger man knelt down and raised a hand. He pulled out the remaining diamond hair comb still loosely secured in her hair. Unencumbered, the strands fell freely over her face. Peeking out from beneath this messy curtain, she saw the elder man stood at her feet.

  Billy whimpered. Annabel had eaten so little over the last week, she prayed it meant she was close to death. Billy began to howl as the silence continued to grow.

  "Shut up idiot!" the younger man yelled, drawing back his fist and smashing it into Billy's face with such force he was thrown back. He stumbled up, sobbing pathetically, and crawled towards the horses, holding his bleeding face in his hands. Blood seeped out from between his chubby fingers.

  Annabel lay limp on the floor, trying to hold back her wails of disgust as the younger man ran a finger down her cheek.

  "Papa told me `bout you runnin'. You won't do tha' again, understand?"

  Annabel squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, hoping beyond anything they would leave. The fingers on her face tightened around her chin.

  "UNDERSTAND?!" he yelled.

  Annabel nodded. Her head bobbing up and down made her hair swing lifelessly from her scalp.

  "Right, now," he paused for dramatic effect. His tone suggested he was scolding an unruly child. "Where'd ya put your pretty jewels? Didn' think ya could stay `ere for nothin' did ya?"

  "I - I -" Annabel stuttered, confused why they were asking these questions. Wasn't he the one that took them?

  "WHERE DID YOU PUT `EM!" he screamed, spraying spit in her face.

  Annabel shook with terror. "They were - they were t-taken. You saw it - I don't know." She glanced at the man who glared at her, licking his lips slightly as if he were gazing upon a particularly juicy piece of meat. There was humour in his dark eyes. They knew exactly what had happened, he simply wanted to see her get hurt further. Annabel's stomach twisted with such violent disgust she was nearly sick.

  "Those greedy sons of -" the younger man began as he looked at his father, a glint in his eye too. This was, to them, just another game and she was their toy.

  Before Annabel could so much as blink the man's hand flew through the air and crashed into her face. She was thrown backwards just like Billy, her head smacking on the slimy stone wall. Both men laughed as she let out a pained cry. They left with only the echo of their laughter to haunt her dark thoughts.

  Annabel curled back into her ball, rocking herself slowly as a fresh round of sobs escaped her lips, ripping apart her already raw throat.

  More than once she noticed someone stood in the open doorway, come to stare at the sight of her so helplessly humiliated, but none of them came in to help. Every one of them had the same glint of terror in their eyes.

  Billy tried to approach on several occasions but he was scared as well. The noise escaping Annabel now was of the deepest pain and he had seen too much of that in his lifetime already.

  Huddled in the corner Annabel rocked herself into a blissfully numb state, where she couldn't feel the pain or humiliation as badly anymore. She shivered as the cool air brushed over her. Grouping around on the floor for something to cover herself, her fingers found the blanket which still held the soapy scent of safety.

  Annabel remained like this for hours, until the same young woman as the day before snuck into the gloomy enclosure. She dumped a bundle of cloth on the floor once she was just across the threshold and fled, as if scared by the very sight of the stable's prisoners.

  Sitting up slowly, gasping as the pain stabbed through her with renewed vigour, Annabel grabbed at the pile of rags eagerly. Uncaring and wanting only to be covered, she stepped into the rough, mud brown dress. It looked as if it had been badly homemade by the cheapest fabric to hand. Almost medieval in its simplicity, it hung off of her slim frame in a horrible manner Annabel was not used to. The coarse fabric scraped against her already tender skin, making it itch almost immediately. Nevertheless, the dress was warm and hung down to her bare feet, thus covering most of her shamed body. As she stood up, some pieces of stale bread rolled out of the folds of material.

  She noticed Billy had come back over to her from his position by the horses and started devouring one of the deformed pieces. Annabel did the same, neither tasting nor feeling the bread as she ate. After their humble meal, the two reluctant roommates crawled to their separate slimy corners, losing themselves again in their individual misery.

  The next two days continued in the same heavy silence, only to be broken by the scarce delivery of bread and water.

  During this time neither Annabel nor Billy saw the two brutal men again, although she had often heard their shouting voices from nearby, causing her to tremble in fright each time. One such argument involved a woman shouting about carelessness. She seemed to think Annabel would bring them misfortune, as surely people were already looking for her. This argument had ended with the heavy thwack of a fist hitting supple flesh and a whimper of pain from a woman clearly used to abuse. When the pregnant girl re-entered the stable that evening, half of her face was swollen up in a vivid bruise.

  For a few lonely hours every day Billy left the stable, going out to watch the horses when they were being used and doing, from what Annabel gathered from his broken speech, to be heavy lifting and chores no one else wanted to do. She felt a little queasy that just over a week ago she had been the one giving out the orders for people like him. He came back into the stable each night with barely enough energy to eat the little amount of food he was permitted, before crawling back to his corner and falling asleep. Annabel however, did not try to leave the stable again. Every time she so much as considered it her bones turned cold, her body shivering with the memory of her last, failed attempt. It seemed, from the overheard snippets of conversation, they were deciding what to do with her. The men wanted, as they had said in the forest, to keep her here until the manor asked for a high enough reward for her return. This idea gave Annabel a small amount of hope. Perhaps, if she sat tight, she would be able to go home after all.

  Chapter Five

  On the third day the monotonous routine was broken when a young girl with the now familiar chestnut hair - all be it a slightly more fiery shade and frizzy texture - came into the stable. She passed Annabel bread with a thin layer of dripping. This was a treat she had not sampled since her arrival and she devoured it greedily, before looking up at the girl still standing in front of her. She had a short, petite frame and round face. She appeared almost childlike although there was a haunted pain in her dark eyes. Her small hands were scarred and calloused.

  "Come wi' me," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder without so much as an introduction. "Quick."

  "They're watching me," Annabel whispered in a tiny voice. "I can't leave."

  "They won't tell on you if you're with me. Trust m
e."

  Annabel simply stayed put. She had seen too much in the past few days to begin trusting someone that easily. The young girl rolled her eyes, placing her hands on her hips in a gesture far too old for her meagre years.

  "I'm not trickin' you. Do I look like I'd do tha'? Come on." She sounded impatient, as if she had already seen far too much resistance in her short life. "I lived `ere me whole life. I know wha' I'm doing."

  The temptation to go outside, to shake free of the oppressive stable, of the constant stench of urine and animals, was too much to resist, no matter how frightened she was. Very slowly, like a horse at risk of bolting, Annabel rose to her feet.

  Her head spun as she staggered over the uneven floor. Pieces of straw stuck to the exposed soles of her feet, they crackled with every step she took. She felt weak and swollen, her limbs aching. Annabel hesitated for a long time in the open doorway. Her feet lingered on the threshold as her eyes ran the length of the gloomy ally. The young girl didn't even notice her absence until she was almost out in the open, at which point she spun sharply around.

  "Come on," the girl seemed to be finding Annabel's behaviour almost humorous.

  Tentatively Annabel placed one foot in front of the other, making her way as slowly as possible across the ground she had walked again and again in her nightmares. She glanced over her shoulder so often it appeared as if she had a twitch.

  Upon exiting the street Annabel raised her hands over her face, the bright sunlight sending a sudden shock through her as it hit her eyes. Her heart rate increased once again as she imagined hands on her. Feeling these ghostly touches she shivered, running her own fingers over herself in the attempt to shake them off. She stumbled in her panic and nearly screamed. The small, warm hand of the girl wrapped itself around Annabel's shoulders just before her lungs could let out the sound of her fear. There was a look of the deepest concern in her dark eyes as the girl steered her forward.

  Annabel could only assume it was this young girl's turn to watch her now.

  Despite this knowledge, despite the fact she was still just a prisoner and the girl her new guard, the pleasure of being outside was incredible. She sucked greedily at the fresh air, absorbing the different smells and sounds of the nearby forest as eagerly as she had devoured the bread but ten minutes earlier.

  After a few feet, her eyes became accustomed to the light. Glancing around her with higher awareness she saw that she was being led out of a small medieval looking village. There were about ten houses built in a large, dusty clearing made entirely from earth and wood, the centre piece of which was an unlit fire pit built in the middle.

  A flash of remembrance - herself lying exposed on that very ground - came into her head and she shut her eyes against the humiliation. The memory burnt even hotter behind her closed lids, forcing her to reopen them.

  There were cages dotted around the clearing, made in a similar manner to the stable ladder. They housed various small animals. The larger of the animals were tied to trees and posts. A few people were outside, mainly women on their daily chores, plucking chickens or sweeping dirt out of their rickety front doors. All of them wore clothes in shades of brown or grey, in the same coarse fabric as her own. Only some wore knitted shawls or coats of animal skin. It looked as if they used every part of the animals they killed, much unlike the manor where it was custom to leave much more than they ate.

  Many of the villagers glanced towards her but they all looked away again. Some of them Annabel now recognised as having walked past the stable to ogle at her shamed form. She made sure to linger on their faces a little longer, fixing them with a look of undiluted disgust - an expression she had perfected well in her upper class role.

  Once they passed through the village centre Annabel heard the slow trickle of running water. Her spirits soared and her throat clenched in thirst. It took everything she had not to sprint towards the sound.

  They walked a short distance inside the trees before Annabel saw a magnificent waterfall, trickling down into a clear blue stream, surrounded by the last bluebells of the spring. It was in-comprehensible that somewhere so stunning could be so close to such misery.

  Annabel clambered down the bank, scrapping her bare feet on the rocks and immediately plunged her face beneath the stream's glistening surface. She felt the cool water lap around her temples and saw her hair splay out around her, dancing in the slow current. She sucked the liquid into her body greedily, until she was forced to re-surface, gasping for breath. When Annabel looked back into the stream she saw a small cloud of dirt floating away from where her face had just been and realised how filthy she must be. She had not bathed since her last day at the manor. Dirt covered her body from head to toe and her skin was rubbed raw from her attempts at scrubbing away the blood, using only the coarse material of her dress. Shedding the filthy garment, she lowered herself into the stream, completely submerging her body. She gasped as the cool water soothed her frail frame. She was covered in bruises and had turned waxy and pale from the severe change in her diet. She saw blood that had been dry for over a week peel away from her skin, along with more dirt than she believed possible for one person to accumulate. She came up to the surface once more feeling a heavy sense of relief. Despite this new external sense of cleanliness she still felt dirty on the inside. No matter how clean her skin was, she knew she always would.

  The entire time the young girl was sat facing Annabel with humour evident on her youthful face.

  "'aving fun?" she asked. Annabel smiled back, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

  "Name's Patsy," the girl continued. "Trevor's girl, I think you met `im."

  She said the latter with a sneer of obvious hatred. A sliver of cold fear slid down Annabel's throat at finally having a name for her attacker.

  "Did you wanna use this?" Patsy reached into her apron, withdrawing a lumpy grey substance. "It's soap, tho' not like you know it I'm sure."

  She placed it on the side of the pool and Annabel snatched it up, lathering it over her entire body almost violently. It still smelled like the animal fat used to make it although Annabel didn't care. As she scrubbed she felt how her bones now stuck out a little further than usual. The soap stung her skin, turning it a vivid, patchy shade of red.

  Remembering her hair she lathered soap there as well, working her fingers through it over and over again in an attempt to detangle the once glorious strands. She felt the hair smoothen under the water and placed the significantly diminished soap back onto the bank. Patsy put it away again and motioned to a small pile of clothes Annabel hadn't realised she was carrying.

  "Put this on when you're done."

  Patsy gazed intently into Annabel's face, closely searching for any hint she would make a break for freedom. Even with the renewed energy the cool water had granted her, she still felt too weak to run. Besides, where would she go? It was at least a few days back to the park and she had no way of finding food. Her tutor hadn't deemed survival skills appropriate.

  After about twenty minutes she clambered out of the stream, covering her body with her hands. As quick as she could she crawled into her new clothes. They stuck to her still wet skin. She found herself wearing a grey dress of the same rough fabric as her old one. There was also an apron, similar to the one Patsy was wearing, that reached the hem of her dress, with two wonky pockets sewn onto the front.

  Although still of the same fabric, the clean dress felt luxuriously soft compared to her former one. She realised now she was clean how much she must have smelt. Unthinking she threw her old dress into the stream, watching as it floated away.

  "What'd ya do that for?" Patsy scorned, jumping to her feet and chasing after it. She fished it out of the stream when it got caught on a protruding rock a few feet from where Annabel sat.

  "It was filthy and disgusting, why keep it?"

  The look on Patsy's face was tinged with anger as she sat back down with the dripping garment.

  "I didn't `ave to bring you `ere. You cou
ld try an' make me life easier. If I got found out I'd be beaten to within an inch of me life. Think next time."

  Annabel narrowed her eyes, anger flaring up within her as she fixed her gaze on Patsy's face. Who was this girl to tell her off?

  Remembering where she was and with whom, her arrogance dissipated.

  "Sorry," Annabel croaked. The rarely used word sounded strange in her voice.

  "I am Miss - I mean, I am Annabel, Annabel Maria Hoddington."

  Patsy smiled. "Nice t' meet ya. It's okay `bout the dress I mean - jus' remember next time. Things don' just turn up `ere, someone has to make `em. It gets pretty rough in winter too, you'll wan' all the layers ya can get."

  Annabel's stomach sank with the thought of still being here in the winter. And yet, her imagination halted when she tried to picture herself in the drawing rooms of the manor. She almost felt like she no longer belonged with that society now.

  She was impure and tainted.

  The hope of salvation diminished every day she stayed unfound in the woods. Why weren't her parents looking for her? Had she just been given up for dead?

  "I was thinkin'," Patsy said after a while. "I know they keep ya pretty locked up but Mum can't sit in wait every day. We could do with some `elp. We can always find somethin' for you to do."

  "What, clean?" Annabel scoffed. "I've never cleaned anything in my life."

  "You'll `ave to learn. No-one likes that you're `ere but makin' yourself known might jus' make it better."

  Annabel had to admit, that stung. No-one liked her. But people always liked her. This time her hot temper boiled over.

  "You have no right talking to me like that!" she spat; with the same scornful tone she reserved for the maids back at the manor. "I am the daughter of Lord and Lady Hoddington, betrothed to the heir to the largest fortune in England, if you know what's good for you, you'll learn your place."

  Patsy folded her arms across her small chest in her own firm resistance.