8. 8 – Stasi
T he fingers prodding at my shoulder shocks me into awareness. My hands jolt up instinctively, a shocked noise escaping my throat as I’m ripped from the deep sleep I was lost in.
It takes me a minute to adjust. The figure in front of me steps back, and I blink up at her in confusion until I remember.
That farce of a fucking trial.
Oakbourne Manor.
Them.
The woman that greeted us last night – Ellen - watches me closely, impeccably dressed in a tidy blue blouse and charcoal gray skirt. “Good morning, Anastasia.”
I push myself upright, glancing around. It can’t be long after dawn. The kitchen looks pink in the early morning light, long shadows slowly retreating around us to reveal the wooden units, the giant aga cooker against the far wall. “Morning.”
Ellen purses her lips. “You can use the washroom to… freshen up. You have a busy day ahead.”
Right. Day one of… around seven thousand. Give or take.
I nod woodenly. I’m still aching as I scramble to my feet and make my way to the bathroom, Ellen’s eyes on my back. I wash up as best I can, swilling my mouth with water several times over before I take a breath and make my way back.
Ellen is pulling ingredients from the large refrigerator, stacking them up on the wooden counter.
My stomach growls at all the food, and she glances at me.
“I’m Ellen, in case you missed it last night.
I’m the housekeeper. There’s also a maid, Clara, who you’ll meet tomorrow.
She travels in for a few days each week to help out. ”
I nod, standing awkwardly. “I’m Stasi.”
“I think the whole world knows who you are.” Ellen’s voice is a little shorter as she gestures me towards a tall stool. “Sit, and I’ll run through our routine.”
One whole hour later, I’m trying to wrap my head around the sheer list of tasks I’m apparently expected to do, courtesy of Silas. “And this is… every day?”
Ellen nods. “You get a slightly different schedule on a Sunday.”
I stare down at the list Ellen hands me. Up at dawn. Stoking the fire, helping with breakfast. Then to cleaning. Floors, windows, light fittings, even door hinges. Bathrooms. Bedding. Washing. Day after day, the same thing. Even things that don’t need to be done every day.
And that doesn’t include the chickens .
I feel a little light-headed as I blink up at Ellen. “Do I… get to eat?”
The edge of her lip curls up, just a little. “Meals will be provided to you.”
Well, that’s a significant improvement.
Carefully, I fold up the list. Ellen taps her fingers on the counter. “Any questions?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “It all seems pretty self-explanatory. Where do I find the equipment?”
“I’ll show you.” Ellen regards me for a moment longer. “No questions at all?”
“Uh…,” I glance down. “The chains?”
My hope fades away when Ellen shakes her head. “Maybe in a day or two. They were very clear.”
I swallow. I bet they were.
Blowing out a breath, I nod. “Alright. Um. Would it be possible to have a toothbrush?”
Ellen looks startled. “You don’t have one?”
I spread my hands out ruefully. “Do I look like I have a toothbrush? Or a change of clothes? Anything at all? I came straight from a cell.”
Ellen glances at the state of my clothes. She grimaces. “I’m sure we can arrange something. I’ll speak to them. A toothbrush at least should be fine.”
They can’t argue with that, right? It’s not like I wouldn’t get a toothbrush in prison.
And I’d get underwear.
I open my mouth to ask, but Ellen is already crossing to the steps. “Follow me, and we’ll get started.”
Sighing, I slide off the stool. I’ll ask later.
Ellen leads me through the house. The floors feel familiar beneath my feet, the same marks and scuffs embedded in the wood as there were ten years ago.
Memories. So many damn memories that my throat threatens to close up, and I have to push them away as Ellen pulls open a large cupboard.
“You’ll find most of what you need in here.
If there’s anything else, you can come and find me.
I’ll get you when it’s time for breakfast. Start down here, and then you can go upstairs once everyone is up. ”
Everyone, meaning them .
Ellen turns to me, and I nod firmly.
I have absolutely zero plans of venturing anywhere near the Tate brothers.
Maybe I can avoid them altogether. They can’t stay here all the time.
I glance over my shoulder, and Ellen stiffens. “The doors are locked.”
When my eyes flash to her, she tilts her head. “In case you were thinking of trying to leave.”
The chains shake when I lift up my hands. “Where would I even go?”
Where could I run, when the whole fucking world is my enemy? At least right now, with my story splashed across the headlines. The thoughts tumble around in my head as Ellen leaves me to it, and I pull out the sweeping brush and mop.
Maybe… I could run. Eventually. Once they’ve forgotten my face, once they’ve moved on to their next piece of entertainment.
But for now, I’m well and truly stuck.
I shuffle back down the large, airy hall. The windows on either side of me stretch almost to the ceiling, and I’m already dreading trying to clean them later.
I start in the entrance hall. Sweeping first, working out how to place my feet to avoid tripping over the damn chains. I use the pan to sweep up the pile of dirt, placing it down on the table in the middle of the room with an apologetic wince. It’s not like I won’t be cleaning that too.
I carry the bucket down into the kitchen, filling it with hot water from the sink. Ellen watches me from her station as she chops vegetables, but she doesn’t say anything as I slowly drag the heavy load back up the steps.
The work might be physically hard, but it’s nothing new. My head empties as I work, methodically working from one end of the hall to the other. It seems like it’s been a while since they were done at all, and I wonder absently what the other maid, Clara, actually does.
Not the floors, apparently.
It takes three buckets before just the one floor is done, and I glance up the small flight of stairs that leads to the longer hallway with a grimace. My stomach grumbles, and I take the bucket back to the kitchen, casting a hopeful glance in Ellen’s direction.
She sighs. “Sit.”
She’s stirring something in a pot on the cooker, and I watch as she ladles a large portion into a bowl. She slides it down in front of me, and I peer at the gray color. I can almost feel my appetite disappearing. “What… what is it?”
“Porridge,” she says briskly, covering the rest of the pot.
I take the spoon she hands me and poke at the surface. It doesn’t move. “Um. Does… does everyone have this?”
When Ellen shakes her head, my shoulders slump. Prison food.
Still, it’s better than what they gave me in my cell.
The porridge is surprisingly tasty, and I work my way through the entire bowl.
It’s an effort not to swipe my finger around the edges as I take it to the sink and wash it out.
I could easily have eaten another bowl at least. Ellen pours me a glass of water, and I gulp it down before rinsing that out too and heading back out to work before she can tell me.
It takes me the rest of the morning to scrub the other floor. The dirt caked into the wood makes me wonder if anyone has actually cleaned it since the last time I was here.
This house used to be spotless.
By the time I’m done, there’s a large pile of dirt heaped into a spare bucket on the table, and the floor is gleaming wetly. I rest the mop inside the bucket and take it in, basking in the satisfaction of a job well done.
Now on to one of the hundreds of other things I have to do today.
Sighing, I turn to take my dirty water back to the kitchen. Something sounds above my head, and I pause, glancing up at the cream ceiling.
Footsteps.
Swallowing, I move down a step, and then another, cursing the chains that stop me from racing back to the safety of the kitchen.
“Well. What do we have here?”
The deep, masculine purr makes my shoulders stiffen, even as I take another step closer to escape.
“ Anastasia . It’s polite to speak when you’re spoken to, you know.”
Gritting my teeth, I turn slowly. “Good morning. Or is it afternoon now?”
Rafe surveys me lazily. His blonde hair is damp, scraped back as he runs a hand over the golden stubble covering his jaw. “I have no idea. Not all of us are incarcerated here, after all.”
I rake my eyes over him. He’s changed so much.
The boy I knew so well, replaced by a man that I don’t know at all.
“Enjoying the view?” His voice is low. My eyes snap back up to his, the blush coloring my cheeks.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” My voice is haughty. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”
Rafe tsks, the sound pushing out between his teeth as he takes another step. He’s dressed smartly, a white shirt with the top two buttons undone tucked into black trousers, and I glance down at his leather shoes.
“Wait,” I blurt, throwing my hand up. Rafe actually stops, his brows raising.
“I’m sorry?” he asks slowly.
Swallowing, I gesture at the floor. “It’s just… it’s clean. And wet. If you step in it…”
My voice trails off at the incredulity in his face. Rafe glances at the floor, his eyes moving to the bucket of dirt on the table. To the other bucket at my side.
And he takes another, very deliberate step.
Damn it.
Of course he’s going to walk right through it. I have to roll my eyes as he takes several heavy steps, rubbing his shoes into the floor and leaving sticky footprints behind that I’m going to have to go back over.
Sighing, I lean against the wall. “Thanks for that.”
He stops halfway through the room, pausing next to the table in the center. “No need to thank me.”
I jolt upright as he peers into the bucket of dirt. “Rafe…”
He glances back at me, green eyes piercing. “There’s something you need to learn, Anastasia.”
“And that would be…?”
My eyes are glued to the bucket. At his fingers, gripping the edge.
“I’m not here to make your life easier.”