The morning had been such an unpleasant mix of nasty surprises and guilt-lined pampering that by the afternoon, I was desperate to have time to myself, just to think and sort out my complicated emotions. Taking Darla’s advice, I asked Hugh if I could go for a run around the grounds. Alone in my room, I slipped on the expensive workout outfit he’d taken great delight in gifting me. The pink lycra catsuit, covered with strategically-placed mesh patches, left little to the imagination. Tying my hair into a high pony, the memory of him clapping his hands together as he blew out the hot air of his inflated opinions made me seethe with anger.
An excellent idea! You should explore the grounds of your new home. After all, we wouldn’t want that lovely figure getting flabby.
I squirmed as he almost licked his lips, his gaze crawling over my body, like a poisonous spider. The fact that I had to ask for his permission lit my belly with fury. He thought he was getting to me, that the run was a sign I was starting to adapt to life here. But he was wrong. He was my jailer, nothing more. The day when I’d watch him turn to dust as I stuck a silver knife into his decrepit heart couldn’t come soon enough.
Outside my room, Mitchell and Peterson were dressed in matching black running shorts and a white top. “Ready?” Mitchell asked, his gaze casually checking out my physique, as normal.
I avoided his hungry eyes. “Yes, let’s go.”
We took off at a rapid pace down the pebbled driveway. The weather was cold enough that I would’ve had to run fast just to keep warm. But that wasn’t the only reason for my quick pace. My emotions twisted inside my belly like curdled milk. As my feet pounded the pebbles, I thought of Darla. She didn’t look much older than me and yet she’d spent five years of her life here as a prisoner - no a slave. She wasn’t paid and who knows how badly she was treated. The look of fear in her eyes had told me enough. It was the same look I’d seen in Sandra’s eyes. Eyes that spoke of horrors witnessed and bodies that trembled with memories of trauma.
The driveway extended for longer than I’d expected. This place was huge, but now, as we neared the gate, Mitchell said, “this way.” A wild instinct to sprint towards the gate took hold of me. But it was a ridiculous idea. It looked to be around eight feet high and the top was covered by spikes. Even if I could climb it, Mitchell and Peterson would easily overpower me before I got close. I’d be no match for either their speed or their strength.
Flanked by the huge vampires, I begrudgingly accepted that this run wouldn’t offer anything more than information. We turned onto the grassy hills of the estate grounds, pebbles giving way to spongy, well-cut grass, beneath my feet. In the distance I spied a thicket of trees and felt a rush of excitement. There could be fallen logs or pieces of branches that I could use as a stake. The obsidian collar suppressed my powers but I wasn’t about to let that stop me. I could take out at least one of these guys, if not both. Then it was just a matter of scaling the gates or finding a weak point in the perimeter walls. Fuelled by the excitement of possible escape, I quickened my pace and made for the thicket.
Mitchell and Peterson looked no more fatigued than they would if they’d been going for a light stroll, but I was panting loudly. As we reached the thicket, my eyes scanned the ground, looking for anything I could use. But there were no fallen pieces larger than useless, flimsy twigs anywhere. Now, Mitchell turned to me, his eyes twinkling with patronising amusement. “If you’re planning to find a chunk of wood to stake us with, you’ll be disappointed. Mr Beaufort sends vampire staff members to scour the estate, every day, and collect any pieces of wood they find.”
I scowled at him, annoyed that he’d read my transparent thoughts. We carried on running, uphill. I had to admit, the estate was breathtaking. Rolling green hills with the odd cluster of trees. In the distance, a small herd of deer grazed on a hillside. Overhead a large bird of prey circled, its golden brown feathers shining in the bright, early winter sunlight. At the top of the hill, I stopped, resting my hands on my knees as I bent over to get my breath back. As I straightened up again, still panting, I noticed a series of simple, small, brick cottages, in the valley. They must’ve been the original grounds keeper’s quarters for this manor house. But it looked like older cottages had been added to, over the years, with newer brick evident on the more recently built dwellings.
“What are those?” I pointed to the houses, looking at Peterson.
“That’s where the blood sla… “ he corrected himself “… servants live.”
My heart seemed to thump in my chest a little quicker. “Can I go and visit them?”
He shook his head. “Mr Beaufort strictly forbids fraternisation between the house humans and the blood servants.”
Yeah, I bet. He didn’t want to risk an uprising. The hierarchy of the house was partially maintained by Beaufort’s pets wilfully ignoring the plight of the blood slaves. If they were allowed to come and see how the other half lived, it might sow seeds of guilt that would turn into dissent.
“Can you tell me anything about them? How do they live? Are they well fed?”
Peterson cleared his throat. “You must ask these questions of Mr Beaufort, we are merely here to accompany you.” What a cop out. Beaufort probably had the blood slaves sleeping on filth and eating gruel. He didn’t want to damage the image that he was so carefully constructing for me, a fantasy that I’d never believe. If they weren’t allowed to take me there, it was because I’d be appalled by what I saw.
I challenged his non-response directly. Looking him squarely in the eyes as I put my hands on my hips. “You’re not allowed to talk to me?”
Ignoring my question, Peterson looked towards the lengthening shadows of the setting sun. “It’ll be dark soon. We better start heading back.” He and Mitchell turned and started a slow jog, back in the direction we’d come, and I reluctantly followed. But as we ran, I took one more look at the row of small brick houses. It was then that a figure came out of one of the cottages. He was tall, with a good posture and very dark skin. From this distance, I couldn’t make out his face but I could tell he was staring at us. I sensed his dark eyes contained a mixture of hatred and pain. What would he and others in those houses think of me? Beaufort Heights was full of young, white women who filled their cups with luxury, tainted with the blood of the black humans living down the hill. The man who watched me likely thought I was no different. But he was wrong. I was different. I wasn’t going to stand by and enjoy an idle pampered life here while other humans suffered. The more I learned of Hugh Beaufort and his house of horrors, the more determined I became to take him down, by any means necessary.