Jessamy Beech Ch. 01: Tobermory

Jessamy didn't know what to say. The Preens had stopped their conversation and were watching openly with interest. Snook had warned her about avoiding the advances of people like Angus but had seemed embarrassed when she'd asked him why. She'd seen enough men go to the latrines to know there were obvious differences between men and women. She'd heard the strange grunts and cries coming from couples in the shadowed corners of the warehouse sometimes in the middle of the night and guessed it was probably something to do with the delicate parts between her thighs. The parts that gave her so much pleasure when she rubbed them in just the right way. Though she'd never told Snook that.

"No, I've never..."

Maria clapped her hands, "A virgin! Beaconsfield is going to love you!"

Was it Jessamy's imagination or did the older woman share a quick sideways glance with the two Preens?

...

South of Craignure, the transport sped around a wide, shallow bay, choked with rotting seaweed and big flat bottomed boats, each with a huge gate in its bow. One or two had vehicles on board, all painted the same drab green as the transport.

Fleeting memories of her parents and brother skittered through Jessamy's mind as she laid eyes on Torosay Castle in the distance. This wasn't the first time she'd been here after all. The thick stone walls, conical towers and crenellations were, as much as her memory could tell, unchanged. She had dim memories of traveling on a miniature steam railway through elaborately laid gardens filled with hundreds of life-sized statues, green lawns and flowers in every colour. But that had all been churned up and planted with crops. The necessities of day to day survival trumping aesthetics. It was hard enough growing anything in the island's sparse soil and harsh climate and every available scrap of land had to prove its worth.

Jessamy stole furtive glances at Maria and the two Preens, wondering why Beaconsfield was going to be so pleased to see her. She felt uneasy and almost wished she'd stayed in Tobermory and just gone to work with the others.

The castle stood on a promontory on the southern end of the horseshoe bay that led up to Craignure. It was fully daylight now as the transport squeaked to a halt outside the imposing grey stone building, alongside several other identical trucks. There were Preens and Fodder everywhere. Dozens of them. And twice that number of shabbily dressed workers heading into the castle's 'fields' for the day. Pens containing more animals than she'd ever seen together at one time had been built up against the castle's wall. Fat, healthy looking pigs that rooted around their stys grunting and squealing and goats being milked by the children too young for the brutal work outdoors.

Jessamy's stomach burbled. She'd never had the chance to grab a crust from the kitchens and was starving.

As she was clambering out of the truck, Jessamy was shoved roughly aside from behind. She fell, sprawling on the rough gravel, grazing her hands in the process as one of the prisoners launched himself out of the transport and started sprinting desperately across the ploughed up castle gardens.

"Fuck!" one of the Preen guards swore, "we've got a runner."

"Leave him to me," growled the other. He dropped to one knee and took aim. The prisoner had almost reached the cover of the few stunted trees and rhodedendrons around the field's edge, workers scattering and diving out of his way, when there was a sharp crack and his head exploded in a red mist.

The Preen casually drew a wicked looked knife and began scratching a tally mark on the stock of his rifle - one of many - and shouted at a couple of workers, "You two. Bring the body back. Tell the pig man."

Jessamy had seen death before. Almost daily throughout the long, cold winters, someone didn't make it through the night and a stiff blanket wrapped corpse was carried out of the distillery's warehouse in the cold light of morning. She had seen fellow workers, young and old, drop from exhaustion out in the fields. But she had never seen a violent death inflicted by another human being. She stared wide eyed at the crumpled heap in the mud, glad that she wasn't any closer to it.

"Upsy daisy," said a kind voice. It was Maria, hooking a hand under Jessamy's arm and helping her up, "Let's get you inside and cleaned up."

Leaving the Preens to deal with the other prisoner, Jessamy was led inside.

...

She had never felt so warm.

It was such a rare sensation for Jessamy that for a moment she just stood and revelled in the experience of sweat breaking out on her face and in the small of her back. The tiny chamber she'd been left in had its own fireplace and a tin bath filled almost to the brim with steaming water. As soon as they were inside, Maria had started ordering people around as if she owned the place. Telling them to build a fire and fill a bath. Jessamy wondered just how much authority the woman had here.

"Strip and wash yourself. Properly," had been the older woman's last curt instruction to Jessamy before closing the heavy wooden door behind her.

Jessamy looked around. The stone walls were painted a very pale green and hung with a few tiny portraits in oils of people she didn't recognise. An ornately framed full length mirror dominated the wall opposite the bath. There was soap, towels, a comb and a plastic bottle of something called 'Head & Shoulders' - though Jessamy hadn't had reason to read anything for some time and couldn't be certain that's what it actually said.

Jessamy knew what a bath was. She could vaguely remember hot showers and long, foam filled baths at home, before coming to the island. When her mother would wash her hair with shampoo that smelled of flowers and...

She blinked back stinging tears and shrugged off her greatcoat, letting it fall to the bare floorboards. Remembering anything about the time before was still painful.

Jessamy regarded herself in the huge mirror as she slowly, methodically undressed, conscious that if she took too long the bathwater would be cold. Her waist length blonde hair was dirty, greasy and full of tangles, her lips chapped from spending so much time outdoors in the biting wind. She unwound the thick woollen scarf from around her neck and dropped it on top the greatcoat. The zip on her outermost fleece jacket was stiff with disuse so took a bit of coaxing and forcing to get it to move. She peeled off both her fleeces, feeling at once strangely liberated, but at the same time exposed and vulnerable. Next she kicked off her boots. Scuffed leather military boots, caked in mud, that had always seemed two big for her. She caught a whiff of her three pairs of stinking socks and wrinkled her nose.

Jessamy couldn't actually remember the last time she'd seen her own bare feet and peeled the layers of grimy sock down with some trepidation. Her filthy toenails were long and had worn through the socks. She stared down at her wrinkled, white toes and blisters, fascinated by parts of her own body that she rarely ever saw.

Next off, the t-shirts. They'd been handed down time and time again over the years, so that Jessamy had no idea who the original owner had been. One a stained dark green like the transport trucks, the other a blotchy grey bearing the faded slogan 'MASS EFFECT: ANDROMEDA' - whatever that was. Or had been.

Jessamy studied her naked top half critically. Her skin was so pale under its layer of ingrained dirt as to look almost white. Her ribs were visible but not alarmingly so. She received the same rations as everyone else but as there was less of her to feed, the borderline malnutrition that all the croft workers suffered from was less evident. Despite the warm air, she shivered. Her little pink nipples were hard. Jessamy cupped her breasts, testing their weight and firmness. She had no idea why men like Angus would want to keep trying to grab them though. They were pretty enough, with their puffy aureolas, but not big and pendulous like some of the Tobermory women's.

Jessamy unbuckled the wide leather belt that kept her fleece lined trousers up. They were enormous, and the coarse material bunched up around her waist often chafed and left sore areas. The moment the buckle was unfastened the heavy trousers dropped and puddled around her ankles, leaving Jessamy wearing her one pair of threadbare panties that she washed twice a month whether they needed it or not. She pulled those down too and gazed at her reflection.

A grubby, slightly underweight, petite teenaged girl looked back at her. Her hip bones and ribs visible beneath layers of dirt and old bruises. Curves she hadn't noticed before were subtly changing her shape. With their work clothes on everyone she knew looked the same and now she wondered what other people looked like naked.

Jessamy tested the water with one grubby toe before easing herself slowly into the tin bath. Almost at once a thin film of brown scum spread out across the surface where her body entered the water. She lay back and closed her eyes, relishing the simple pleasure of being warm. She listened to the everyday sounds of the castle outside the door, shouts, talking, a blacksmith somewhere pounding away on an anvil, an engine being revved up. All this just for her so she could look her best when she met Colonel Beaconsfield.

Jessamy wondered which croft Snook and the others had been sent to and was glad she wasn't with them. Then immediately felt guilty for thinking such a thing. She hoped they'd give her chance to say goodbye...

KNOCK-KNOCK!

Jessamy spun around, slopping water over the side of the bath. There was someone outside! The sound came again a few seconds later...

KNOCK-KNOCK!

What should she do? What did they want?

"Wh- who's there?" she called.

"Fresh clothes ma-am," said a quiet, muffled voice.

Fresh clothes? She'd never had fresh clothes in her life, "C-come in?"

The heavy door creaked open and a plain looking girl about Jessamy's age walked in carrying a small pile of what was presumably clothing, though it didn't look like any clothing Jessamy had ever seen. The girl kept her eyes averted, staring at the floor as she set the clothes down in the corner of the room, and it wasn't until she turned to leave that Jessamy noticed her huge distended belly, "You're pregnant!"

The girl looked at her for the first time with dull, expressionless eyes.

Jessamy leaned out of the bath and seized the girl's hand, "W-well done. I know how important it is to try to re... repop..."

"Repopulate?"

"Yes. I bet your husband's pleased," smiled Jessamy.

"I don't have a husband," said the girl.

Jessamy frowned. She wasn't really sure of the mechanics of becoming pregnant but she was fairly certain a girl had to be married.

"Then who's going to be the baby's father?" Jessamy asked, puzzled.

The girl glared at her, the first spark of emotion she'd shown. She spread her arms in a sweeping gesture to indicate the entire castle, "There's a hundred soldiers in this bloody castle, how am I supposed to know which one it was? Take your fucking pick..."

Then she stormed out. She slammed the door behind her and Jessamy listened as her footsteps retreated back down the corridor. She had no idea what had just happened or what the girl had meant, so shrugged and continued with her bath.

Jessamy sniffed the stuff in the bottle. It smelt faintly of apples, though it had been such a long time since she'd last even seen an apple, let alone smelt one, that she couldn't be sure. She poured some into the palm of her hand and rubbed her fingers together, finding that the liquid produced a smooth, frothy lather. Pleased with her discovery, she proceeded to rub the stuff over her entire body, even in her hair.

The bathwater quickly changed from clear to dark, murky brown as Jessamy busily scrubbed away at herself, running the comb through her long tresses to pull out the tangles and digging dirt from under her fingernails with her teeth. Living in the distillery it had been impossible to stay clean. There was no running water so the only way to wash had been in the freezing water of Tobermory's harbour outside.

By now the water wasn't only filthy, it was cold. Jessamy climbed reluctantly out of the bath and towelled herself dry, leaving black streaks of dirt on the towels. Stepping out of the hot bath she had found herself shivering so decided to get dressed quickly. She approached the pile that the pregnant girl had left.

There was nothing she recognised. There were things that she assumed were some kind of sock, but much longer and almost transparent. There were what looked like flimsy impractical panties, but they were so narrow that Jessamy couldn't even make out which way around they went. The straps and tiny clasps of the rest were a complete mystery and what she assumed to be shoes had such ridiculous heels that she wondered how anyone would possibly be able to walk in them, let alone work in the fields. She pulled her tatty greatcoat around her shoulders instead and huddled closer to the fire, combing her hair as it dried.

...

Jessamy giggled as the Beech family's two springer spaniels tore off across the broad, sandy beach. She found it extraordinary how any creature could get so excited about the prospect of chasing a soggy tennis ball. The strengthening wind whipped spray from the white, foaming tops of the breakers and Jessamy tasted salt as she licked her lips. Cornwall in winter. Her idea of paradise.

"Jess! Don't go too far!" shouted a voice behind her, almost snatched away by the wind. Her mother.

Jessamy turned, to see how far back her parents and brother were...

"For fuck's sake girl! Aren't you even dressed yet?"

A different voice intruded on her consciousness. Jessamy cracked open an eyelid and peered around, trying to remember where she was. The fire had almost died. She had fallen asleep, cross legged in front of it, still wrapped in her filthy greatcoat. She was still in Torosay Castle.

It was Maria, the red haired woman from the transport, nudging Jessamy's discarded work clothing into a pile with the toe of her boot, with a look of disgust on her scarred face.

"S-sorry," said Jessamy, "the clothes. I don't know what they are."

Maria had changed, into immaculate blue jeans, polished brown knee-length leather boots and a thick green jumper that complimented the colour of her hair. Jessamy had never known anyone with two sets of clothes before.

"Get that filthy rag off," Maria poked the sleeve of Jessamy's coat.

As Jessamy stood up and self consciously tried to cover her nakedness as she dropped the coat on the floor, Maria held out the skimpy panties, "This is a thong. It goes THIS way around."

Jessamy drew the scrap of black material up her legs and up to her hips. The feel of the narrow strip of material nestling up between her buttocks was strange, but not altogether unpleasant. Realising just how naive Jessamy was about certain things, Maria had calmed down a little, "These are stockings. Holdups. You put them on like socks, but it's easier if you sort of... unroll them. Like this..."

Without waiting for Jessamy's consent, Maria rolled one of the black, lace-topped stockings up her leg. The skin of her inner thigh tingled where the older woman's fingernails brushed. Long, beautiful fingernails that looked as if they'd never seen a day's hard work.

"There," said Maria, sitting back, "what do you think?"

Jessamy looked down. She had to admit the stocking made her leg look smooth and shapely, but it was utterly impractical. It wasn't warm, would snag easily and left her thigh completely exposed. She shivered as a cool draught raised goose bumps on her breasts. She wanted to get covered up quickly, "Can I t-try the other one?"

Wordlessly, Maria handed over the other stocking. Jessamy pulled it on, being very careful not to snag the thin nylon with her rough nails. She watched herself in the mirror as she adjusted the tops so that they were level, "They're really pretty, but I don't see the..."

"The point?" asked Maria, "the point is that men like us to dress like this. It makes us... some of us, more... desirable. Some good quality lingerie can turn the plainest looking girl into a beauty. You have the advantage of being quite attractive already though."

Jessamy had never been called attractive before and certainly never by another woman, "What's l-long... long jerray?"

Maria rolled her eyes, "Something that's getting harder to come by nowadays... here, this is called a corset. I'll show you how to put it on...

...

Fifteen minutes later, Jessamy looked at her reflection and came to the conclusion that she looked utterly ridiculous. The black corset cinched in her waist making her hips look wider, and squeezed her breasts together making them look fuller than they actually were. It was so tight that she found it difficult to breathe and because it laced up at the back she'd need someone else to help her out of it. The thong, that she hadn't minded at first, chafed annoyingly against her delicate private parts both front and back making her want to tear the damn thing off.

And the shoes? The shoes were instruments of torture. Jessamy found that she could barely stand in them, let alone walk. The unnatural position her feet were forced into sent pain shooting up her ankles and into her calf muscles.

Maria nodded appraisingly, with her hands on her hips, "You'll do. How old did you say you are?"

"Eighteen," Jessamy answered, teetering awkwardly on the stilettos.

"If Colonel Beaconsfield asks you, tell him you're sixteen. You're small, so could pass for sixteen easily."

"Why?" Jessamy eyed her pile of old clothes wistfully and wished she could change back.

"He... never mind, lets just say it'll... put him in a better mood."

Jessamy shrugged, "I can't wear these shoes."

"Why on earth not?"

"They p-pinch my feet, they hurt my ankles and I can't w-walk in them. I really don't understand why I need to d-dress like this just to talk to Colonel Beaconsfield."

Jessamy didn't see the blow coming until the flat of Maria's hand stung her cheek with a hard slap that sent her tottering backwards into the mirror.

"Ungrateful little bitch," growled Maria, "I've rescued you from that fucking hovel Tobermory. Here you'll be fed and clothed and all you have to do in return is show Colonel Beaconsfield a little... affection, once in a while."

Once in a while? How long was a while? Jessamy had a suspicion that she wasn't going to be getting on the ferry to the mainland anytime soon. She rubbed her stinging cheek and with the other hand pulled off the shoes, all the time glaring at her attacker through her tears, "I can't... wear... them."

Maria advanced, raising her hand again.

"Hit me all you like. I can't wear the sh-shoes."

Maria lowered her hand and nodded, "Very well..."

...

Colonel Beaconsfield's office was larger than the distillery warehouse Jessamy had lived in for the last ten years. An enormous room for just one person. She padded along behind Maria in her stockinged feet, carrying a black stiletto heeled shoe in each hand. A threadbare carpet covered the floor, walnut panelling the walls. Discoloured squares marked where huge oil paintings or tapestries had been removed for safekeeping back when such things were still important. An enormous tartan sofa and armchairs faced an ornate stone fireplace, the fire within blazing merrily through half a dozen split logs. The left hand side of the room was dominated by an oak desk littered with maps and papers.

"Sir?" said Maria, "I've brought the girl from Tobermory sir."

A tall grey haired man in military uniform stood in front of the fireplace with his back to them, his hands clasped behind his back.