Lady Trent

by GinaRJ

  “An…anomalous?”

  “Strange. Unusual. Now, although overwhelming it may be, no doubt you will adjust. You see how well you have adapted so far…and to the Great City…to your new position. That is no small feat, child. Although I do not think it has all completely sunk into that head of yours. But this shall be no different, only there are issues to be confronted. Seeing as to how the affairs of the manor have been placed into the hands of the council, there will likely be issues to remedy. I think you very capable of handling them.”

  “According to Jacob you have travelled there on occasion to tend to the religious affairs of the community.”

  “Ah, yes, yes. Indeed, I have…over the years on brief occasions. Not very often; my position in the Great City keeps me quite occupied.”

  “I perceive you have been there a long time…in the Great City.”

  “Thirty years have passed since I landed there. I was present during Jacob’s first and second marriages, and took very little time overseeing the religious matters of the manor, only in-between those wives.”

  “How did they handle it?”

  She hadn’t really thought much on Jacob’s former wives. Jacob hadn’t said anything about them, nor had anyone else. But now she found herself curious about them both and the way they had dealt with their leadership of the manor. Although having had several weeks to consider it, she still found herself terribly insecure about the whole thing. Her imagination could not even fathom what was to come or to be. She could not fathom the idea of being lady of this place, Orland Manor.

  Father Nelson inhaled and exhaled a deep breath as if dreading to go into it. “The first, Isabelle, was very, um, hasty to accept the position. After all, it does mean a great deal to both lord and emperor alike, an honor bestowed only upon the Higher Nobles. But she wasn’t so prepared as expected, even having been the daughter of a noble—a Higher Noble, mind you, raised up and trained for the position. You see, it was an arranged marriage between Jacob’s father and the former Duke of Arlington.”

  “Such arrangements are common, I’ve learned.”

  “Very common, indeed.”

  “Then she was earnest about the position,” she guessed.

  “No, no. Not exactly. In fact, I would say she took it lightly. The title, seriously, but she had very little relations with the people and their conditions. They suffered under her headship. As it is known, Jacob has no dealings with the manor. Such is placed into the hands of the council and advisors when necessary, as has been the case for some time now. You shall meet them. It was they who have kept the people at peace…as best as possible way back when, when Isabelle had the position. They avoided distribution of complaints to other nobles and utmost the emperor, and also thwarted any sort of uprising.”

  “Was she beautiful?” She found herself asking.

  “Ah, yes, yes. Indeed she was,” he agreed. “She grew into a fine young woman, but not near as beautiful as Lady Arlington, her mother. Now, she was very beautiful, turning heads as she walked about of both men and women, young and old alike. Isabelle was more beautiful when, um, when adorned with such ornaments as add to the beauty of a woman. As for her position…she was not so prepared for it as Jacob or anyone else had supposed. Truthfully, she wasn’t adequately prepared for the marriage at all. You see, she considered Jacob’s wealth her own, and became puffed-up and brazen. The people in Orland Manor despised her, even to this day.”

  “And the second?”

  “Ah, Matilda. She, on the other hand, was very meek, lowly-like. She had very little confidence in herself, which it was supposed would alter after she had been wed to Jacob. She, too, had been trained, but was simply not suitable for any position. Why, she could hardly look one in the eye let alone be guardian of a place. Now, when the child was born she changed. She became more confident and proud, even. Yes, proud to have born Jacob his first child. Very proud, as was he.”

  “It is a shame what became of them.”

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “How did they die? And the child?”

  “Isabelle was stricken with illness from the horrible plague. Matilda…well, hers was a mysterious death. Some claim she took her own life. The rumor died as quickly as it stirred. Yes, her death was difficult…but Jacob handled it. The death of his son…well, that is another story, very hard to describe; A horrific loss, but at the same time a blessing.”

  “I know it changed him.”

  “All for the better, mind you. You would not have recognized the sort of man he was. And now he is very content and happy. I cannot say I have ever seen him so happy, even with the birth of his son. I think he has come to complete acceptance with the fact he may die childless, and now at this age has focused upon simply living a peaceable life…the last days of his.”

  “Did he love them, Isabelle and Matilda? Either of them?”

  “Yes, I imagine so, not that one could tell specifically. But yes. The first not quite as the second, and the second certainly not quite as much as the third. The love he felt for them both combined could not match what he has for you, no, it could not even come close.”

  This brought a satisfied smile to her face. She turned her head and peered out the window. The land was open now with fields to the left and right, and mountains and trees beyond.

  But as she stared out the window she thought about the child he’d lost. Wouldn’t he want a chance at having another? Why would he marry a woman who could not at least give him a son, even if his time was expected to be short?

  “He loves you dearly,” she heard Father Nelson say. “And I see why. You, unlike the others, are sincere but strong. Meek, but confident. Your heart is what he fell in love with, child, by the simple words of a simple letter. That is quite remarkable to me. You should be proud. Not puffed-up as Isabella became, but content and secure and proud.”

  “Pride,” she commented and looked at him. “Surely you know, Father Nelson, the Sacred Oracles warn against it.”

  He inhaled a deep breath. “Well, now, child, here we have two kinds of people, the prideful and the proud. There is a difference. In the sense I have encouraged you to be, well, I don’t suppose it could cause much harm to be pleased with this new position. To be content. To be secure. You are Lady Trent now, and also Lady of the Great City which is Orland’s only ruler and has been for centuries. Your obligations are now not the same,” he said it as if dreading to. “You must not forget…the Sacred Oracles are meant for clerics and vestals. You, my child, are neither of those things. You are no longer a vestal, no longer Rachel the Elder of Westerly. You are Lady Trent, wife of Jacob Trent, Lady of the Great City and of Orland Manor.”

  The ride lasted about an hour longer. She was astounded after they’d crossed over the mountain overlooking Orland. The land stretched further than she’d anticipated, and was quite populous so far as she could see. There were so many buildings of various sorts, a large manor house where she herself would reside, and homes both small and large, farmlands and orchards. She saw the people, although mere specks in the distance. Many, many people.

  Yes, the residents were expecting her. In fact, a barrage of men in uniform came out to greet the guards before them, and to lead the way into the actual community where hundreds of people stood to the left and the right of the road to greet them. Surprisingly, there was absolutely no emotion. No action. No welcoming expressions. Although the crowd was large, there was little sound. She could only hear birds chirping, the occasional barking of a dog, a child chattering, a babe crying, and a gentle breeze wheezing in through a crack in the window.

  “The people are apprehensive,” said Father Nelson, “as they have a right to be. They wonder what sort of lady you are. But none to fear. You will do well.”

  The road led to the manor house. Once there she stepped out and into a throng of servants who’d also awaited her arrival. They were quick to bow, although with solemn expressions, to greet her as best they knew how—uncertain, but doing
their humble duty, which was to properly welcome her. While others proceeded to tend to the luggage and to Tilly and Zaria—escorting them to their quarters for the time being—she was greeted by the head of the council, Sir Troy. He bowed with a simple “milady” and then began escorting her to the proper quarters. Sir Edward, Nicholas, Caleb and Father Nelson thankfully stayed right with her—she preferred it this way.

  “I imagine you would firstly wish to rest a bit…that is, prior to greeting the council.”

  “Well,” she began, slowing her steps, “is the council present?”

  “They are,” he granted.

  She stopped in her tracks, causing the train they altogether made to come to a halt. “Then I shall speak with them now,” she told him.

  “Well, um, would you not prefer to put it off…that is, until you have had time to rest and to, um, collect yourself?”

  She raised audacious brows at him. “I assure you, sir, I am very much collected. No rest is needed beforehand.”

  After a brief stare, he bowed his head and agreed, “yes, Lady,” and thereafter led her onward and into a room meant for such meetings as was about to take place. She was introduced to the council members, all of whom acted as if they had never expected her at all. They, she decided, were the ones in need of ‘collecting’ themselves.

  She was seated at the head of the table while five of them sat down along the right side and five the left. Sir Troy, being the speaker for them, recited the overall conditions of the estate, the problems facing it and the people. In the beginning they all gaped uncertainly upon her, their faces drawn with what seemed a mixture of fascination and doubt. It didn’t appear they had any confidence in her at all, that they doubted she could take the problems seriously or even have any resolutions…perhaps even care to. But she remembered Father Nelson’s recollections of Jacob’s former wives. They had a right to be uncertain.

  After he’d finished speaking, she requested to review the documents from which he’d referred. Complete silence fell while she looked them over…a long stretch of silence. Every eye was on her, that of the council and their officers, also her own small clan—Caleb standing close behind, Nicholas at her left, Sir Edward her right…and Father Nelson, also standing at her right. She studied and examined and contemplated the details before her.

  Finally, she lifted her head, skipping her eyes over each and every watchful face. “The Great City is rumored to be the grandest in all New Ebony, yet the conditions of the estate linked to it are perhaps the least grand of any other of its kind. This will not do. It just simply will not do.”

  She paused a while in deep thought.

  “Tell the people to be at peace,” she eventually told them, her gaze coming to rest upon Sir Troy. “These matters are not so difficult as they seem. Merely overwhelming if not dealt with one by one, individually.”

  “Milady?” Troy frowned heavily upon her, his thick brows drawn together. “You are at ease? Well, I suppose that is well, as it was with those before you; one careless, and the other clueless. But these conditions cannot possibly become so promptly tolerable in the eyes of the people.”

  “These conditions are not tolerable at all,” she told him, stopping to think for a minute. She rapped the tips of her fingers against the table top, and spoke quietly as if to herself. “It seems the treasury has been mishandled, by whom time may tell. It may be inspected.” There was another space of silence, so quiet the sound of someone’s stomach growling was heard by them all. She focused upon Troy after having thought on the situation. “I will have a man skilled in such an area sent within the week. This information should not leave the room, but stay between us.” She raised a brow. “Are there any complaints amongst you…about a fellow councilman?”

  “Of course not,” a few of them said in unison. Others shook their head most avidly, and they began complaining one to another all at the same time.

  “Please, men, it is not as if I asked you if the sky is green. The question is completely reasonable…especially seeing as to how the treasury has been mishandled…whether intentionally or not it is impossible to say. But I will have a man sent to search the records.

  As for the prisoners. I will review their cases this evening and decide what should become of them. Death is not an option.”

  “Not an option, ma’am?”

  “You heard me correctly,” she told the strange little man at her right. “It would have to be a terrible crime for me to suggest and bother Lord Trent with it. Now, you claim a lack of service within the community, that the fields lay in ruin because of this sudden leave of so many people, and that the service buildings are in such poor condition they have become unusable. People living without a home, along the roads and outside the sanctuary…it’s ludicrous.”

  She paused a moment.

  “There are according to these documents a total of thirty-six prisoners, which I find a rather large number. I suggest those who remain prisoners be nourished for a time, their health restored, and that they labor so many hours in the day, restoring those things in need of restoration—beginning with the chapel. It will be repaired, and those who have come to nothing shall be housed for a time, given parcels of land that are desolate and in need of operation in order to add to the treasury so that these conditions may be properly handled. We’ll need wood-cutters and a bailiff and a clerk. Mister Troy, are you following me at all?”

  He stared at her in such a daze she felt the need to ask. “Yes,” he matter-of-factly replied.

  “And where is the priest?” She asked, looking to the left and to the right. “Surely he, too, has not run away.”

  “Unfortunately that is just the case,” answered one of the men, adding “but we were highly skeptical of him, anyway.” They all nodded and murmured in agreement.

  “Then he must be replaced…immediately,” she added.

  “Yes,” Troy agreed. “And then…well, from what you say, the prisoners would help restore order?”

  “To a degree,” she said. “Idle men are useless. If able, no matter the case, a man or woman should labor and a child should learn. The school will also be funded. Those funds will be brought here along with the man I send to oversee the treasury. We should also find both men and women skilled in reading and writing—these should become scribes so that everything can be documented accordingly. You see, Sir Troy, these issues are not hopeless.”

  There was a commotion from outside. A guard came in to announce, “The people are uneasy with waiting. They would like to meet…to meet you, Milady.”

  “Very well.” Rachel stood, stopping to tell the council. “We will go over these matters further in the morning.”

  They all agreed, also standing. Rachel followed the guard. A herald stood on the stoop, silencing the people. Sir Troy was the one to step up and make the announcement.

  “Men…women. Residents of Orland Manor, I give you Lady Trent of the Great City, Lady Trent of Orland, the Manor’s new and…” He paused, glancing over at her with a very pleased expression, “and very wise sovereign.”

  Happy with his conclusion, satisfied with it, trusting his opinion, they all cheered with delight, and she spent the remainder of her stay in a private chamber, judging each case, sleeping well through the night, meeting with the council that morning, and then going her way, leaving behind a very happy and hopeful people.

  ******

  It was late when she returned to the palace, and Jacob had yet to do so. Percival met her at the doors to welcome her back. He was a delight to have around, this man—showed an appreciation for her and even appeared to enjoy being of service. He was not enthusiastic, but handled himself quite well whenever he went to express any sort of gratitude. He bowed his head with a relaxed grin, his back straight as always. Quite reserved. One well-rounded servant.

  “Lord Trent is yet to return,” he announced. “He shall within the night.”

  “Thank you, Percival,” she offered with a pleased but tired smile. Even if
he was not present, she was very grateful to be back and could not wait to bathe and lie down in her own bed. She’d grown accustomed to it.

  “Milady,” he summoned as she would have went on. She stopped, nodding her head toward her guards and maidens: an order to go ahead and deliver her things to her private quarters. While they followed the order, Percival raised a hand that she had not before noticed. It was holding to a very generous stack of letters, almost too many to carry with one single hand.

  “Darius has placed these into my care,” he told her. “For you.”

  She eyed the letters and his face and the letters again. “My, Percival,” she commented. “There are so many of them. Whatever could they all be?”

  “I do not know for certain, only that many of them bare the seals of such noble ladies as Lady Arlington the elder, Lady Rutherford, the duchess of Tarot and of Lyndinburg.”

  She studied this a moment before taking the letters from his hand. It took both of hers to hold them. “Thank you, Percival,” she said with the bow of her head, and went off to her quarters. Tilly and Zaria had already begun preparing her bath. As they proceeded she sat at her desk, shifting through the letters, curious about them. She began opening and reading them. She was persuaded to smile, for these letters were none other than expressions of gratitude, respect and, as she’d been warned, praise. There were invitations and requests for visits: to speak with her outside of any specific occasion so as to have her direct attention, and to attend such events as socials amongst and with other ladies. These letters touched her heart and pleased her. They pleased her well.

  Although Tilly and Zaria would have remained to help with her bath, getting dressed and brushing her hair, she kindly asked them to leave.

  “You also need rest,” she told them, but they knew she simply wished to be alone.

  She afterward bathed, slipped into a gown and would have opened more of the messages, but she’d become so tired she could barely keep her eyes opened. She decided to return to them in the morning, after she’d gotten some sleep. She lied down, closed her eyes and dozed off, but instantly began dreaming…about everything from the summons to the proposal to the engagement, the marriage…Orland Manor, and even Marcus Wren. She awakened wondering just how far he’d gone, if he was safe, had he reached his destination, and had the people received their gift. She fell asleep again, but only to awaken a short time after. She could not rest. Her mind would not let her. Perhaps she was overwhelmed. The manor itself demanded a great deal of attention, and stirred up feelings in her she’d never experienced. How could she deny feeling pleased to be a part of restoring the conditions of the place? How could she deny feeling proud to do so?