Adelade

I spent the first night in the corner of my new room, shaking with fear. My hands clasped onto the stake that my father had given me. I gripped it so tight that my hand was beginning to cramp. There was laughter coming from the floor below me and it frightened me to the core. Were they all strigoi? Was this house so filled with the undead that I wouldn’t be able to escape them?

Was the man from the alley Detrand?

If so, I would know despair like no other. My lust for him was so overpowering that I meant to flee from him the moment I saw him again. If he even turned his lips in a smile towards me, I would fall under his spell so hard that it would be the death of me. My body warmed with even the thought of him.

The door to my room opened and I gripped the stake harder.

It was the strigoi from before, the one who showed me to my room. His eyes traveled to the stake in my hands and he grinned.

“Have you been in the corner all night?”

I nodded, unable to speak. I imagined as he took in my shaking and ruffled state, that he saw my frame as weak and my mind frightened. I tried to straighten my back but only managed to poke myself in the stomach with my stake.

He finally spoke. “You have no need to worry. The master has commanded that you’re not to be touched.”

My hold on the stake loosened until I realized that he was probably just saying that to make me relax so that he could take me more easily. So I gripped it tighter and pulled my legs under me so that I could easily spring forward if necessary. Then another shadow joined him in the door and my breath caught. It was a human, and I knew her; it was the mayor’s daughter.

She leaned against the strigoi and he put his arm around her. She whispered in his ear and he nodded and left.

She entered the room and closed the door behind her.

I relaxed in that instant; my legs felt like jelly and I was desperate to stretch them. She held her hand to me. “Rise, I will help you up.”

I grasped her hand and she pulled me up. I almost fell over, my legs were so stiff but she led me to the bed and I collapsed onto it. While she rubbed my legs, I noticed that her dress was new, and the dip in the front so low, that I could see the swell of her cleavage and the ripples of her stomach. She was beautiful, much more beautiful than me. Her face was elegant and her body alluring, and I felt like a broom next to her.

“Why are you here?”

She looked into my face. “My father owed Detrand, the man who answered your knock earlier tonight, and he couldn’t pay.”

So Detrand was the man from the alley. “And do you attend to him personally?” The question slipped from my mouth even though I shouldn’t want to know exactly whose blood Detrand drank.

“I serve at his command.” A flash of jealousy rose in my throat, threatening to choke off my breath. She stood up, pulling me up with her, and she went to the closet and opened the door.

“You can use any clothes in here, until your’s have been brought.”

She smiled sweetly at me, and I wanted to like her so badly. If she lived here, she could help me. But she fed Detrand, and I frowned. I was only a lowly servant, not the daughter of the mayor, and I wouldn’t be allowed near him. The moonlight spilled on her, exposing her neck which had been pierced as evidenced by the dried blood. I imagined his hands roaming her body as he drunk from her, ashamed at such thoughts.

“I brought my own clothes.” I gestured towards my mother’s chest. She opened it and pulled out my clothes. I rushed to help her and we put my things away. “Is this all you brought?”

I shrugged. “I don’t have much.”

She looked at me forlornly. “I didn’t bring anything at all.”

The sadness in her face made me so ashamed that I’d had any ill thoughts towards her, this was obviously not her choice as it had been mine.

“I’m sorry.”

“I cannot return home, and my mother has not visited.”

My hand went to hers and I squeezed it gently. “How long have you been here?”

“Only two nights, but I am to stay for two years.”

My hand flew to my mouth even as words rushed out of it. “I have no notion that I will ever leave.”

She looked towards the door and her hand went to her neck. “Nor do I.”

My hand gripped hers more tightly. “Then we shall help each other.”

She stared into my eyes, and I saw the tears that glistened there but did not fall. “Detrand has commanded that I’m not be killed.”

My eyebrows flew up. “And do you believe that they will follow his command?”

She nodded. “They must.” She turned away.

My arm went around her to hold her and she leaned into me. “Are you afraid of him?”

“I…” Her shoulders shook, but I could tell that she was gaining comfort from me. “I don’t think that he would hurt me. But I can’t be sure.”

“And what about when he drinks from you? Are you afraid that he will lose control?” My heart pounded in my ears, I wanted to plead that she tell me how it felt to be drank from by Detrand.

She pulled back. “Detrand hasn’t drunk from me.”

“I thought you said you served him.”

She nodded, “I am his to command, but he has given me to Rowan, the one who brought you in.”

I felt an immediate sense of relief that flooded through my body. “And is Rowan controlled?”

“Yes, he takes great care to stay in control.” Her cheeks tinged pink, and they glowed softly in the moonlight. “And he likes to make sure that I am taken care of also.”

I was quiet, I think I knew what she meant. “So you like it?”

She nodded, although I think she was ashamed to admit it.

“Has he taken you?”

She looked away, embarrassed. “Not yet, but I think he means to.”

“And do you want him to?”

One of her shoulders rose. “Does it matter?”

“It should.”

Her eyes grew dark. “It doesn’t. I am not clean. My father took me long ago.”

I was quiet and the air grew heavy. Finally I spoke. “If Rowan has not taken you, then you are blessed. Let us pray that if he does, you will want it, too.”

Her eyes rose to mine. “He has been gentle.”

I smiled at her. “That’s good.” I went to my clothes and pulled out my nightgown. “Will you sleep with me tonight?” I glanced towards the door, and my stomach clenched. “I am afraid.”

“I cannot. I’m expected downstairs.” She smiled, but it seemed sad. She walked towards my bed and pulled down the blankets. “I’ll check on you when I can.”

I climbed in, grateful for her kindness and I started to feel sleepy. She began to slip out the door, but I called to her. “Lula?”

“Yes?”

I swallowed, I didn’t want her to see my face as I asked this, so I turned away from her. “Does Detrand partake of any of the other humans here?”

“He stays away from the others.”

My shoulders relaxed but she continued, “but they say that he partakes of many, and they are afraid of him, so any and all will give to him if he requests it.”

Fear took hold of my heart again, and I wanted to scream out of the injustice of my life. To desire the man who could have any, or all, of the women he desired. The one that they were all afraid of. The strigoi who would as soon as rip my throat out as look at me. I nodded my head so that she would not know of my devastation. “Thank you.” My voice shook, but she didn’t answer, and the candlelight from the hallway disappeared as she closed the door behind her. I gave into my despair as I wept in the bed.

* * *

The next morning, a pounding on my door woke me. I arose and dressed quickly. My night was dreamless and, since the sun was up, my fears were abated, for now. I left the room and bumped right into the chambermaid who had bloody rags in her hands. “Excuse me!” I tried not to stare at the rags as I made my apology.

She curtsied at me and I bowed in response. Why was she curtsying me?

“Er.” I didn’t know what to say, when I noticed what looked like a Page came standing next to her. “Are you the Misses Stainton?”

“I am Adelade, yes.”

He tugged on my hand. “You must come to the door. Someone is asking for you.”

“Someone is asking for me?”

Thoroughly confused, I followed him towards the door. There were several maids cleaning the house and I had to zigzag through them to get to the door. I noticed Lula asleep on the couch, her skirts pulled high and her bosom falling out of her dress. I stopped abruptly to cover her, and then scuttled towards the door.

As soon as I saw the boy in the door wringing his hat in his hands, my blood drained to my feet. I gripped the door. “What is it?”

He shifted his feet, his shoes much too large, and with a large hole in the toe of one. His hair was a bright pale blond and it contrasted with his face, which was beet red. “I’m sorry to tell you Misses. But your Father passed away in the night.”

Only my hold on the door was keeping me up and I clung to it. “I’m sorry?”

“Your Father. He’s gone down the river.”

I nodded, not knowing what to say, or how to react. Last night I sat in misery and fear in the corner of my small silly room while my Father died. Did he call for me, or wished that he’d allowed me to stay one more night? I grabbed the boy’s arm. “Take me to him.”

The morning air was brisk and I followed behind the boy. “Was he home?”

The boy nodded and I ran ahead of him. As soon as I arrived at the house, I stopped short, my mouth agape. “What are all these people doing here?” I could hear my own voice raise a level or two higher than usual and it sounded unnatural even to my own ears. When the boy didn’t answer me, I rushed inside and stared in amazement.

“What happened here?” Most of the rooms had completely been destroyed, save my own, but the men worked diligently to repair or replace everything. The boy, who had followed behind me as I ran from room to room, shrugged.

“Dunno. Only that we’re to fix everything.” He hooked his thumbs in his pants. “And I was sent to bring you word.”

With that, I rushed back up the stairs to my father’s room. His bed was untouched and he lay in it, a sheet pulled over his head. My hand shaking, I reached for the sheet. Fearful of what I would see, I lay my hand on it but didn’t pull it down. The memory of his laughter echoed through the room and I closed my eyes, remembering. It was right. Ever since my mother died, I… Well, things were different, and my father suffered. It was right for him to pass on. He was happy now, although my grief threatened to overcome me.

“He left this for you, Miss.”

I swirled, frightened by the sudden noise. It was the boy, and he held an envelope to me. Taking it, I looked down to see my name scrawled in my Father’s loopy handwriting. A tear threatened to spill from my eyes but I wiped at it quickly.

“It was in his hands.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

He bowed and suddenly remembering my mother’s vanity, I ran from the room. When I arrived at her room, I found it empty. An unnatural sound escaped my mouth as a stabbing feeling shot through my chest. Her vanity, the one and only thing I wanted from her things. She used to sit at it while I brushed her hair as she weaved adventurous stories before she and my Father left for the evening. I’d wished I could be as beautiful as she as I watched her apply her makeup, and she would always hold me in her lap, hugging me tight before she left.

“It’s okay, Miss.”

I turned and found the boy’s hand on my arm. “He told us to take it to your room.”

“What?” I was thoroughly confused.

“The vanity, and the bed. He told us to take it to your room at the mansion so you could have it.”

Relief poured through my body and I gripped the front of his shirt. “Who? Who told you to do all these things?”

“Mr. Trevisan.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know who that is.”

“His given name is Detrand.”

I took a step back. “Detrand? That’s impossible.”

He shrugged. “I only know what I’m told.”

I gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him to me. He wiggled under my serious stare. “What has Detrand to do with me? With my Father’s house?”

“I don’t know, Miss.” His face flushed and he struggled to pull his shirt out of my grip. “How long have these men been here, what happened to my house? I was only gone for one night!”

“I don’t know, Miss, I told you. We’ve been here all through the night.”

“All night?” I let him go, considering his words, and he scuttled away. All night, meaning, since Detrand left me sobbing on his doorstep. Everything new in the house was beautiful, but it wasn’t mine. Everything my father ever owned was gone, and I had nothing left that was his. And the workers had been in my home through the night, while my father lay dead in his bed. How could Detrand do this to me? Was it his intention to destroy everything that my father ever touched as soon as he was dead? Did he consider my feelings as much as the earth that he walked upon: a means to an end as he trampled over everything I ever cherished?

* * *

I walked through the city in a daze, unsure what to do next. My father was dead.

Dead.

I would never see his smile, or hear his laugh, ever again.

I wandered the streets, wondering how I would pay to bury his body. Maybe I could sell the house. This thought threw me into a spiral of gloominess. Would I ever leave Detrand’s service? How long would it take for me to pay off my Father’s debt to him? If I sold my house, I’d lose any hope of gaining my independence.

My mood darkened, as did the sky.

When I reached the river, I realized that I’d wandered the streets the whole day. The sun had already set, and the moon was full on the horizon. I heard a whistle from down the street and as I looked towards the noise, three boys advanced towards me. The tallest of the three had bright copper-colored hair, and his face held a menacing scowl.

“Oy there,” they called to me. I clinched my hands to my chest, realizing that I still held my father’s letter clutched in my hand. My only remembrance of him.

I turned to run, and their raucous footsteps sounded behind me until they were beside me, surrounding me.

“What’s that you got in your hands?”

“Is it a gift from your dear old Pa?”

“Did he lend you some money?”

They grappled with my hands, but I desperately held them off by kicking and screaming at them. They wouldn’t take my only remembrance from me. “Please.” I cried out, trying to tear myself away from them, but it only drew their laughter. They ripped the top of my dress, and I clamped my hands down over my exposed breasts. One of them grabbed at my letter and it tore from my hands. The others shoved me, tripping me, and I fell into the mud.

Uncaring now about my torn dress, I tried to chase after them, but they were too fast and they slipped away from me. I tripped again, and I drug myself through the silt on my knees, calling after them.

Realizing that they were gone, I kneeled down, putting my forehead to the ground. I was no more than the mire I lay in. I had nothing, and no one.

I looked at the homes that lined the street, many with a soft glow emanating from their windows and I realized that anyone could be watching me. Including Detrand. Surely there were some who’d heard the tussle, tucked away and uncaring, who could have stepped in to help.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, cinched the front of my dress closed with my hand, and walked towards my new home, the beige-bricked mansion on the hill. My body shook but my mind churned. I was tired of living like this, as a fly feasting off the excrement that was dumped in the street. It was time for me to change my circumstances.

* * *

As soon as the early sun touched the horizon, I dressed and went to the kitchen. My mind was filled with the question on how to bury my father. His body would begin to smell soon, and my only thought was to go to the priest to beg him for assistance.

As soon as I finished eating, I began to help clean the kitchen, but Phyllis, the main cook for the whole house, began to berate me so thoroughly to get out of her kitchen that I fled from her. I was unsure if she was genuine that she would cut off my hand if I ever touched a bucket or a dish rag in her kitchen again.

The maids avoided my look and, since I knew not where to begin to help, I determined that I would press them for information as soon as I buried my father.

Leaving the house, and unable to find a horse to take me to the church, I began the walk towards it. My thoughts tumbled around me, uncertain of my future, but I took my steps deliberately and with measure to feel some semblance of control. As soon as he was buried, I would return to the house and demand that they instruct me on how to help with the chores in the house. I wouldn’t sit idly when there was work to be done, and I would pay my father’s debt.

In the meantime, I would discover a way to leave the home and find me a husband, or even better, some sort of occupation in order that I could live in my father’s home and provide a living for myself. The house was mine and I had no need of much to live on. When I saw the church on the horizon, I was out of breath, not from the brisk walk up the hill but from the dreams that danced through my head.

I drew closer to the church and the realization dawned upon me that it was not safe for a woman, especially as young as I was, to live alone in this city. Unless I marked my face and body as to be so ugly that no man would ever want me, I would be a target for the culprits of the town. The thought was tempting.

Despair threatened to overwhelm me, but I pushed it down. My grief for my father was enough for today and I wouldn’t allow myself to see myself as a victim of circumstance. I was done with that. Determination set in my brow as I considered how I could change my lot in life. If I could learn to protect myself, then I may have a fighting chance.

Having reached the church doors, I skipped ahead, hopeful with the thought that if I could learn to fight, maybe I could live alone after all.

* * *

As soon as I entered the church, the priest rushed towards me. “Adelade, I was just about to call on you. We’ve been waiting.”

“I’m sorry. Waiting for me?”

“Yes.” He put his hand on my back, and gently led me towards the back room. “Didn’t you receive my message this morning?”

I shook my head as we entered the room and the priest frowned. “I sent a messenger by the house to call you here.” He led me to a beautiful dark oak, wood coffin. It was simple in nature but beautiful.

“Whose is this?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why your father’s, of course.”

“How did this happen?” I stuttered, unable to understand what was staring at me in the face.

“He never told you?”

I shook my head. “No, I came here to beg for your help to bury him.”

“Oh dear.” He put his hand on my shoulder and tried to comfort me. “After your mother passed, he paid for his own in advance.”

I looked into the priest’s face with shock and amazement. “And the gravediggers? The men to bring his body here?”

“All paid for.”

“By my father?”

He frowned. “Unfortunately no, but Detrand has arranged everything. Everything is ready except for your presence.”

“Detrand?” My voice came out a squeak, and I cleared it. “How is this possible? He and I never spoke of such things.” My feelings were a conflicted jumble of anger and relief. First my home and now this? Was I never to control my own destiny, but be ruled by the man that made me flush with lust and anger at the same time? And yet, he had taken an incredible burden off my shoulders.

The priest took a step back, feeling uncomfortable.

“Why did he arrange for all this?”

He shrugged. “No one can admit to understanding the ways of that man.”

“Why did he not tell me?” I had eaten my breakfast and attempted to clean his home, all the while they’d prepared my father’s body for his burial. “I should’ve been here.” Tears threatened to spring from my eyes.

“I apologize profusely. I will most certainly berate my foolish messenger, who perhaps found throwing rocks off the bay more entertaining than collecting you.” Suddenly his arms were around me, holding me, and he pat my back soothingly. “Dear child, I will miss your father also.”

I sniffled and looked up at him with tearstained eyes. “You will?”

“Of course. Your father and mother both were loved by many.”

“They were?” A group of young men entered the room and, after receiving my permission, they lifted the casket to take to the grave. I touched the top of it as it passed by, wishing I could speak to my father once more.

I followed the men outside and in astonishment, there was quite a crowd waiting. I recognized some of the men who worked with my father, but there were also women from the church, some of the widows from the streets, and even some of the high society families. I searched their faces, attempting to determine the true intent of their presence, but all held genuine looks, and even many of them shed tears of sadness at his passing.

I was so confused. I’d always felt like a pariah in the community, but there were certainly kind looks towards me as I moved in front of the crowd to watch the men lower him into the ground. As I watched the last remnants of my father disappear before me, everything I was worried about disappeared with him and the only thing left behind were my sadness and loneliness.

I would never see him again, the one person who told me stories as I fell to sleep or keep the candles lit when I was afraid of the dark. I loved him dearly, and I allowed my sadness to wash over me. I opened my mouth to speak as the crowd drew forth and I whispered my final words to him. “Goodbye Father. You loved me well, and I shall live my life to honor your name.”

The mourners passed me by, their well wishes on their mouths, and some even held me in an embrace. I thanked them all and, once they had all gone, I bade my Father one last tearful farewell.