Lady Trent

by GinaRJ

  Her brows came together as she sought for the perfect words to say. “If you are tempted,” she managed, “and find solace,” she reasoned, and no longer avoided his eyes as she finished, “in the arms of another woman…I will not hold it against you. I only ask that we be honest with one another. That is all.”

  He studied her a very long time, very seriously, until one of the guards off in the distance called out, motioning to him with the wave of an arm. It was time for him to go.

  Saying goodbye was not as settling as in times past. It seemed her words had put even more distance between them. In silence they strolled back toward the guards, and she walked in quietness while he spoke with them. Not long after she watched him depart for his journey to Arlington, and then loathed her way to her chamber where she, for the first time in her life, got purposely intoxicated.

  ******

  The next morning, she awakened with a terrible headache. Tilly tried to feed her. She refused. Roselyn did nothing but ogle her from across the room, and Zaria….well, hers was a different story. She merely sensed that Rachel missed her husband and feared that the night away from home had drawn him into the arms of another woman.

  “You needn’t worry,” she soothed, sitting beside her on the bed. She toyed with a lock of mangled hair, afterward insisting upon helping her dress for the day.

  “I don’t feel much like getting out of this bed,” Rachel told her.

  “That isn’t much like you.”

  “No,” she agreed.

  Zaria put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, sympathizing with her although having not a clue what was wrong with her. So far as she or anyone else knew, she and Jacob had consummated their vows. Rachel felt an urge to confide in her, but bit her tongue from doing so.

  “You have made him very happy,” she told her. “Happier than ever. He even whistles along the way, and pays no mind to the maidens in the palace. And some of them do desire his attention. You, milady, are the apple of his eye. He shall not stray, especially if you please him and you do it well.” She smiled slyly. Rachel inhaled a deep disturbed breath. “Oh, the things you say, Zaria.”

  “Tis the truth I speak, milady. Please him well, and when he is away from you, you shall know that he is recalling nothing as he lies in some strange bed besides your lovemaking.”

  She considered the probable truth behind Zaria’s words. Little did anyone know she had not pleased her husband at all. At times she desperately longed to.

  “I suppose I should rise from this bed.”

  “You must,” Zaria told her. “You have a guest.”

  She sat upright and alert. “Who?”

  “Sir Troy of Orland Manor.”

  “Sir Troy,” she repeated, and then again, “Sir Troy,” this time more keenly than the first. After this she was quick to ready herself, thinking of Orland and a reason for Sir Troy’s visit. Within an hour she was dressed to meet him. Her guards followed along with her as she made her way from one corridor to another until coming upon the summit room where she’d instructed Percival to have him await her.

  He was sitting at the table when she entered, and stood quickly to his feet, bowing his head so slightly at the sight of her. Back straight, she strolled toward him.

  “Sir Troy,” she greeted.

  “Lady,” he returned, appearing to be a bit nervous, not at all as at the summit room in the manor house, not at all like himself. Perhaps being here in the Great City made him uneasy, or being there in the palace.

  Percival popped out as if from nowhere and walked with her toward the table, pulling out the chair at the head of it. “You may sit,” she told Sir Troy, thinking he would very well stand forever if she did not command otherwise.

  “May I get you anything, milady?” Percival asked after they were both seated.

  “Yes,” she asserted. “Have the servants bring us wine.” Her eyes skipped about the table. “Holly…where is Holly?”

  “Well, I…I do not know, milady, not for sure could I say.”

  “Find her. She will serve us.”

  He was obviously very confused. This was not Holly’s usual service in the palace…and Rachel was well aware of that. However, she was not entirely sure as to if Holly was present in the palace or not. Had she gone with Jacob after all as in times past, along with the physician?

  “Percival,” She bade with the raising of a serious brow after he’d lingered an unnecessary amount of time.

  “Yes, milady,” he agreed with a bow. “I…I shall summon her immediately.”

  “Very well,” she returned, satisfied with his compliance. He scurried off to do as requested of him. She turned her complete attention to her visitor. “What brings you here?”

  As if having forgotten and suddenly remembered he took note of a square satchel which he suddenly produced, holding it up for her to see.

  “I have these letters,” he told her, “messages from the residents of Orland.”

  She eyed the object, the word “letters” settling in her head like the weight of a brick. How she dreaded hearing it! “Why were they not offered to Darius beforehand?”

  “As is customary, I am delivering them directly to you.”

  “Oh, I see, and I do apologize. I am not yet familiar with all the customs—not of this position or of that one—and they do seem to keep mounting up as the weeks go by.”

  “I understand.”

  “And how was your journey?”

  He smiled big. “Oh, it was well, milady. Such a beautiful day we are having. And I was in good company. My…my wife joined me, you see, and…and we were only recently wed.”

  “Oh?” She glanced about as if in search of her. “And where is she? Why has she not joined you?” It suddenly dawned on her, and she relaxed all over again. “Let me guess, it is not the proper custom.”

  He agreed with silence.

  She inhaled a deep breath and exhaled with, “I do believe some of these customs are in need of a renovation.”

  “Oh, and, milady, she also has family here that she wished to visit. We will not be very long in the Great City, and she did wish to spend some time with them.”

  “I see.”

  As soon as the words had left her mouth, Holly entered to serve the wine she’d ordered. Rachel was relieved to see her, although she at the same time had a terrible intolerance for the sight of her—just as Holly had seemed to have for her since day one. But she was very pleased to be the one in the situation with the upper hand all around.

  Holly set a chalice out before each of them, and proceeded to fill each one. When she was finished she stood upright, very stiffly, and asked if there was anything else she could get for them.

  Rachel paused moments, appearing to be in deep thought, purposely making her stand a while before saying, “No, you may go…but do straighten your posture. You look very flaccid.”

  Holly’s eyes narrowed and hers did the same. The maiden did as requested, squaring her shoulders before leaving the room and Rachel alone with Sir Troy. Of course, Nicholas and Caleb were at the door in the case she needed them.

  She inhaled deeply and exhaled. “So, then, you’ve brought me these letters.”

  “Yes, milady.” He lowered the satchel onto the table, nudging it a few times…until it was close enough for her to reach.

  “Well,” she began, straightening her back. She noticed him do the same. She reached for her chalice. “This comes as a surprise to me.”

  “I do apologize for not giving notice.”

  “How are the conditions of the estate so far?”

  “They are well,” he assured. “These letters have been written between the time you departed till now. It is only customary that I deliver them myself, or some other member of the council.”

  “What do you suppose they consist of? Complaints?” She dreaded to hear it.

  “Oh, no, I would not imagine so. As I said, the conditions are well…fast improving. There is but one issue I wish to discuss that
may be of importance. Well, it is somewhat a problem that I feel must be addressed and by you alone.”

  “What sort of problem?”

  “I, along with the council, wish to have one particular man dismissed from the manor…perhaps sent to the Isles.”

  “He is a prisoner?”

  “A disturbing one at that. It seems he has…well, how does one put it? Gone a bit insane.” He leaned inward to say, “he obsesses himself with the palace of Emwark, claiming himself to be not only a relative of the lord of Emwark, but of the emperor as well as your priest, Father Nelson.”

  She raised a brow at this. “Oh?”

  He glanced toward the door and then at her again, keeping his voice low so as to keep anyone from hearing. “He more-or-less claims to be royalty, which is far from the truth. But we fear he may rile the people into believing the sorts of things he says; which are very disturbing. He rambles on about underground tunnels, and even calls the lord of Emwark malevolent and corrupt. Aside from Lord Trent, the lord of Emwark is one of the emperor’s favored nobles.”

  She sat staring at him, taking in the information, drinking her wine, eyeing the satchel of messages on the table. “Is that all?” She eventually asked.

  He did not respond quickly, and then only with the nod of his head.

  She rapped her fingertips against the table-top, thinking this over. “So this man has gone insane.”

  “It appears so, yes.”

  “Well, then, he should certainly remain a prisoner plain and simple, but sending him to the Isles would mean involving my husband and also royal officials. I do not think it is serious enough to do so. He should be kept from the people so as to not cause any sort of commotion. His sayings could certainly plant unreasonable prospects into the minds of the people.” She thought for a moment, repeating what she’d been told, “underground tunnels.”

  “All throughout New Ebony, according to him.” His eyes were round, never leaving her face.

  “Your wine,” she reminded, noticing he had not yet touched it. This for some reason bothered her. “What is this man’s name?” She asked while he took a drink.

  “Ingrid,” he told her. “You recall examining the cases of the prisoners.”

  “Yes, and I recall that name very well. He was imprisoned in the first place for stirring up riots amongst the people.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, pleased by her good memory.

  “Is he tolerable? That is, is he difficult to control?”

  He thought a moment before shaking his head and saying, “no, milady, not at all.”

  “Then he should be tolerated and not sent away. Simply keep him to himself. He should become a scribe. Put him in a cell that is less vile than the others. Be sure he has light and the proper tools to write, and provisions…food, water, clothing…wine, if he wishes. Keep him stable and satisfied. The Sacred Oracles would be a reasonable place to start. But do not make it look as if he is imprisoned. Still he should be guarded, but served three meals a day and tended to as any ordinary scribe.”

  He thought on this long and hard. His lips formed a grin and his eyes twinkled with approval. “That should be a solution, indeed.”

  She exhaled a deep breath, reaching for the satchel of letters. “Is there anything else?”

  “Well, there is one—“

  “I propose we dine together this afternoon…before you venture back to the manor. We’ll talk more then. And please, bring your wife. I should like to meet her.”

  This seemed to suit him. They did dine together, discussing the conditions of the manor which had since her involvement improved at so many aspects. The prisoners under strict supervision were repairing the chapel, homes and streets that were in need of it. They had restored the fields and those places that were abandoned were now overseen by tenants whom, according to him, kept up quite well with their rents. The treasury was also building itself, and he, himself, had been left to oversee it by Winston who had returned with him to the Great City and to the palace. Pearce had also returned. She imagined Jacob would be pleased to hear it. He bore a liking for the man although she hadn’t a clue why. His duties were not apparent, nor where he even kept himself.

  After he had left she began examining the letters. While doing this she came upon one that made no sense. The words were not words at all, just letters and peculiar symbols that seemed to have been randomly placed by the author. She tucked the message away in a private drawer thinking she would come back to it later.

  She drank wine again that day, and the next while wondering when Jacob would return. She kept remembering Sister Camille, and decided she needed to speak with her. So she washed her face, straightened herself up, and made the trip into Harp.

  ******

  “My, how lovely,” she was commended when she came out to greet the elder. Rachel twirled around as Camille obviously appreciated the overall sight of her. She came to her, taking her upper shoulders and planting a kiss on her left and right cheek. “How lovely you are.” She clasped her hands together. “And to what do I owe this honor?”

  “I was mindful of you, Sister Camille. I could not resist a visit.”

  “I am pleased you did not.” She took her arm and guided her forward. I do regret I wasn’t able to attend the wedding. You see, my eldest sister passed away. I had travelled to Port Quill for the burial. I do hope you understand.”

  “Of course.”

  “And that you received my gift.”

  “I did…we were both grateful for it.” A rare collection of poetry by random authors, all of them dead and gone.

  “I hope you are happy, as well,” Sister Camille commented.

  “I am,” she assured. “Except there are times I think of what I abandoned. I have felt guilty for it. Fear follows not far behind.”

  “What could you possibly fear?”

  “Perhaps the deterioration of my guilt.” She shrugged. “I am becoming accustomed to this lifestyle much quicker, and easier, than I could have ever imagined.” She could truly see where guilt could become a thing of the past.

  “You needn’t feel guilty, my dear, or afraid. I am sure the residents of Westerly understand. They must be happy for you!”

  She didn’t say anything and was no longer able to look her in the eye. “I see,” she understood, and continued to smile thoughtfully. “It is likely they have heard by now.”

  “It is possible. I do not know. But whenever I sit down to write the letter, well, I find I cannot do it.”

  “In time I am sure you will, whether they have heard it or not. But I imagine they would much rather hear from you than a stranger.” She stared upon her profile. “Something is troubling you, my dear. What is it?”

  “I cannot bring myself to say it.”

  She put an arm around her and walked with her. “You need not suppress your thoughts. Not to me. I am an excellent listener, and even better at giving sound advice.”

  “I am sure of it. But you would not understand, Sister Camille. I cannot think of anyone who would.”

  “I may understand better than you know.”

  She glanced over at her saying, “you were once in love,” and Camille’s smile faded. It dawned on Rachel that she’d never seen her frown before.

  “Forgive me,” she apologized. “I should not have mentioned it. Jacob and I were talking and…well, one comment led to another. He told me.”

  “I see.” Her eyes became glossy. “It is quite alright. Even without this mention of it…the memories are always with me. The pain of losing him never quite fades. But God assists me thru it. You understand.”

  She ushered her into a study: Camille’s, she guessed, seeing as to how she was in charge of the priory.

  “I always felt called to take the Sacred Oath and to live a life of chastity,” she began easing down to sit. Rachel took the seat opposite her, and accepted a glass of water that was suddenly handed to her by one of the maidens she recalled from her short stay. “I felt guilty, in a sense, whe
n he passed away…as if he was taken away so that I would not forsake what I was called to do. Of course it isn’t so, but things do cross one’s mind. But surely you did not come here to hear my tales of woe.” She placed folded hands atop the desk. “What is troubling you, my dear, and caused you to drink in excess?” She softly laughed. “Yes, I can see that you are a bit, um, tipsy. And I do have an excellent sense of smell.”

  “Do you think less of me?”

  “Who am I to judge? I only wonder what ails you. You are the mistress of this magnificent city, and also guardian of Orland. Is it your calling? Do you feel as if you have betrayed something or someone?”

  “At times, I do.”

  “All is well, dear, I assure you.”

  “Things seem so very complicated now. Nothing is the same. I…I am not the same, at least not my heart. It is changing. My feelings have shifted. Feelings I had only heard about from residents and helped them with…now I find myself in need of help. I am confused,” she admitted.

  “What confuses you?”

  “A number of things.” She hesitated before forcing the words from her mouth. “Natural things. Affection.”

  Camille studied her closer now, seeing now what she meant. She leaned back, a peaceful glow in her eyes.

  “I see,” she came to say. “I see.”

  “You could not possibly understand this, Sister Camille.”

  “I think perhaps I do,” she otherwise insisted. And for a time fell silent. “Yes, indeed, I was in love for a time. Madly so. His name was Franklyn Ulysses. He was the son of a noble man, not a Higher Noble, mind you. But quite prominent nonetheless. He was determined to become a man of war.”

  “Is that how he died? During a war?”

  “So I was told. I never knew for certain, only that he did not return. But his family was told he was dead and mourned for him, as did I. Only I could not mourn as they did, openly. Few know of this. Jacob Trent, to this day. Of course Lady Trent, Jacob’s mother, knew of it and was dear enough after so many years had passed, when they decided to hold a memorial for him, to insist upon paying her respects, and to take me along so as to take part.”