“So what?” Aislinn said, throwing her dress to the floor.
“Aislinn,” Isolda shouted, “do not treat your gowns this way! My goodness, take heed at how much these ensembles cost.”
“So they are Aislinn’s gowns that she must share with me?” Bethany asked, though it was not really an inquiry.
Isolda shook her head and held her forehead in her palm. “Bethany, please,” she begged, “not right now. I simply am too tired for it. Yes, you may wear the yellow dress! Wear it to bed if it makes you happy. Just stop pestering me.”
Bethany hid the painful sting as best she could but she could not ignore the impulse to bite back. What did she have to lose? Her mother’s respect? You must actually have something before you can lose it.
“I imagine Ella will be at this impending gala,” Bethany said, sliding back on the bed until she sunk into the sea of pillows. “She is as exquisite as the day is long if I do say so myself. It seems foolish to think the prince won’t be interested in getting to know her.”
Aislinn stopped moving, the bodice of her last gown just barely over her slender shoulders. Isolda was stunned by Bethany’s tone, but was quick to buoy Aislinn’s confidence back to where it should be.
“Bethany,” Isolda said slowly, “it seems it has been too long since you have visited your cousin. If you saw her as of late, what with the audience she’s been keeping and the callousness she imparts on each person she meets, you would not be confident in the slightest that she will be welcome at any royal function. Furthermore, even if she were invited, her beauty is nothing like Aislinn’s. Ella is a cutout, a formulaic combination of desirable physical elements in a woman. But she is nothing more than that. She does not radiate light; she is not a wisp of fresh air against your skin. She is stale. We have nothing to fear in Ella.”
“We would be unwise to assume that she is not pining for the throne, Bethany,” Aislinn contended. “I’ve known since we were all children that she craves attention and believes herself above everyone.”
“I’ve known her as long as you have, Sister,” Bethany asserted, “and I’ve only ever seen her resist most attention from others.”
“She is a glutton for the approval of others. Especially men,” Aislinn countered.
“Don’t be foolish,” Bethany said frankly, “you know that can’t be true. Ella could not stray fast or far enough to avoid Father’s approval.”
It was if the room was suddenly being crushed from the inside out. Bethany’s heart began pounding. She shot up from the pillows and climbed off her mother’s bed as quickly as she could. How could she have said such a thing in her mother’s presence? How could she have even said it at all? Isolda’s face went white. Aislinn stood with her mouth gaping. Even Greta was motionless. Bethany prayed for the miracle of rewound time. She berated herself, figuring she had never really grown out of her old tantrums; they had just morphed into brutal sarcasm.
“Mother,” Bethany stuttered, “I—I don’t—“
Isolda didn’t wait to hear her daughter’s excruciating attempt at apology. She stood and hustled toward the door. Both Aislinn and Bethany called for her as she exited the room. There was no reply.
“How could you?” Aislinn chided.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Bethany replied, tears welling in her eyes.
“You want to know why Mother distrusts you? It is because you act as callous toward her feelings as she does.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think? Ella. Our ‘exquisite’ cousin!”
Chapter Seven
Ella did not typically run out of things to do on an average day. She enjoyed reading, drawing, sewing, and visiting with friends, few as they were. She woke up and went to bed early. She said her prayers and read her Bible faithfully. It was a structured existence; Ella didn’t mind it. Or at least she had thought as much until Gabriel came into her life. In two days, her routine changed from reading, walking, and sewing to educating Gabriel on every nuance of her Uncle Peter, her relationships with her family including her less-than-congenial Aunt Isolda, and reviewing the fellow members of her aristocratic community from whom she was estranged. Almost every item Gabriel had requested of Ella required, to that point, little sacrifice on her part. With one exception: instead of walking, Gabriel insisted Ella learn to ride a horse.
“No thank you,” Ella said as Gabriel trotted over to her on his own horse, whom he introduced as Seely. He towed with him one of the horses that Ella owned. Ella had named the stallion Fitzpatrick and she indeed fancied the horse. But she never rode him, only fed him and allowed others to ride him at their leisure. (Though it had been years since anyone had taken her up on the offer.)
“It is utterly insane that you have a splendid, albeit overweight, horse as this and yet you insist on walking everywhere you go, even if it is miles away,” Gabriel said, dismounting.
“Fitzpatrick is splendid, you are correct, but I prefer walking,” Ella replied, smoothing the horse’s mane. “I have not ridden since I was eight years old.”
“Oh? What happened when you were eight years old?”
“I had an accident is what happened, and broke my arm, my collarbone, and two fingers.”
Ella recalled the day vividly. Her father was riding closely behind her and, with his watchful gaze, she felt more than competent to jump over a fallen tree branch. When the horse bucked instead of leaping, Ella remembered only the sound of her father’s hollering and the inability to breathe as soon as she hit the ground.
“That certainly does sound traumatic for a small child,” Gabriel said, walking to Ella’s side and joining her as she continued petting Fitzpatrick. “Is that the most painful thing you’ve endured, physically?”
The question shocked Ella.
“Why do you want to know that?” she asked.
“Well I am just curious as to what a person in your social class endures in terms of physical pain.”
“About as much as any other person,” Ella responded, slightly perturbed by his innuendo that she knew little of what it meant to endure pain. “You would agree breaking a bone hurts no matter who your parents are or where you live.”
Gabriel laughed. “Quite so,” he said, “I am just trying to learn more about you and your kind of people.”
“My kind of people?” Ella said, taking Fitzpatrick by the bit and walking him toward the yard. “Isn’t it my kind of people that you are so keen to be become acquainted with, Uncle Peter?”
“You mustn’t be so sensitive, Ella,” he said, escorting Seely and himself behind her. “I am just making conversation. I imagine this contentiousness is one of the reasons you are not always invited to social functions.”
Ella huffed. “Well,” she said haughtily, “I suppose you are here to correct me of that habit. You best get started!”
“If such a thing were possible,” Gabriel replied, “then my tasks would be impossible as it was your complicated rapport with said societal conventions that made me choose you at all. How else would I have been able to convince you to help me? You think a debutante like your aunt would even consider hearing out a lunatic ex-soldier like me? No. Save some of your passion for the stage, Ella. All I want at this particular juncture is a small ride around the fields.”
“Why?”
“Because it is a good skill, I am dying for some exercise, and I think your being several feet away from me on a horse would keep me safe during the remainder of our conference this morning.”
Ella stopped and dropped her head. She laughed a little under her breath. “Very well,” she said, pulling Fitzpatrick to her side, “but only a stroll.” Ella pulled up the skirt of her dress and lifted her foot to the stirrup. It took her several tries to finally get her toe in and by the time she was able to lift herself into the saddle, Gabriel was mounted and revving to depart. Her skirt was bunched awkwardly between her body and the pommel. She tried to straighten it but the activity caused Fitzpatrick to lurch forward and
begin walking. She was stuck in her ineptness. Gabriel waited for her to catch up and could not help but smile when he noticed her clumsiness. Ella saw his sentiment and it was all she could do not to…to…
Damn it! I am stuck on this blasted horse, Ella thought, I can’t do a blasted thing!
“You’re not too bad,” Gabriel said, “just try to relax.” Ella didn’t feel like talking so she avoided it as long as she could. After a few minutes she was a less finicky. The movement had caused her skirt fabric to untangle and she was able to concentrate on the real reason she was supposed to be out there at all.
“So, do you or do you not want me to fit in with Gwent’s aristocracy?” she asked.
“Ella,” Gabriel said, glancing over at her, “I would never presume to change you. Though I do, personally, find your combative nature somewhat…trying, I am confident that you have legitimate reasons you are the way you are.”
“Thank you… I suppose,” Ella muttered, irritated that she was never quite sure his statements were sincere or sarcastic.
“I am only asking you to play a part. Everything I need from you is predicated upon your talents as an actress.”
“And yours, let’s not forget. Aren’t you supposed to be learning more about my Uncle Peter?”
Gabriel’s face lifted, almost startled. Had he been enjoying his ride with her so much he forgot about everything he was there to accomplish? Another error on his part.
“Yes, of course. Go ahead; tell me everything I need to know about him.”
“Well, what do you want to know, exactly?”
“Let’s start with his mannerisms. What does he look like? How old is he? What are his talents?”
“Well, let me stop you there and remind you that I have little to no memory of the man. These are questions that would best be answered by Marion. But I can tell you that he was many years younger than my mother, probably only a few years older than you are now. He had brown hair, and was on the short side.”
“Well, I can manage two of those things, I suppose.”
“It shouldn’t be too difficult, because very few people remember Peter at all.”
Gabriel looked over to Ella and his eyes became pensive.“I can’t take that risk, Ella,” he said. “This isn’t a game. I must know every detail. I will talk in depth with Marion. I am prepared to do whatever is necessary.”
Ella shuttered. Whatever is necessary? She already knew as much, but why did his reiteration of that fact right then and there tingle her spine as it did? Who was this man, Gabriel? He was once a soldier, then a fugitive. He lost his brother and was driven by intense rage to avenge the man that took his brother from him. That was all Ella knew for sure. Gabriel had dragged her out there and she was damned if he was the only one who was going to emerge from their sojourn the wiser.
“Tell me about your brother,” Ella said, breaking a minute-long silence.
“What?” Gabriel was surprised.
“Your brother,” she said. “What was his name?” Gabriel didn’t answer right away. Ella wondered if she had ventured down a path on which he was not ready to accompany her.
“Benjamin,” he said, his face forward, never looking from the road ahead.
“Benjamin Solange?”
“Yes.”
“Was he older than you?”
“Yes.”
Gabriel was so mechanical in his answers to her questions that Ella dared not go any further. But with each step Fitzpatrick took, she felt compelled to know more; to do, as Gabriel so eloquently described, whatever was necessary.
“Where did you two grow up? Here in Gwent?”
Gabriel sighed, like her questions were more agitating to him than burdensome. “Yes, we were both born and raised here. He was four years older than I.”
“Were you close to your parents?”
“Ella!” he shot at her.
“What? These are innocent questions. Why are you so angry?”
“Because it is not vital for you to know these things about me. I will be in and out of your life fairly quickly, if all goes well, and I just don’t see how it is necessary.”
“How about because I feel it is necessary,” Ella declared, pulling back on the reigns to stop Fitzpatrick. “You are right that if things go swimmingly we will not have to know each other much longer. But in the meantime, I believe your vulnerabilities should be as exposed as mine simply so we can…” She stopped.
“We can what?”
Ella looked at Gabriel. She had been beaten at her own game. There was no way Gabriel would ever be equal to her in his vulnerabilities. He had them, of that Ella was sure. But, unlike her, he knew how to keep them safe.
“We can what, Ella?” Gabriel requested again with more urgency.
“Nothing,” Ella replied, defeated. She kicked Fitzpatrick softly with her left heel and turned back toward home. For the first time, as she felt Gabriel’s eyes on her back, she wanted Fitzpatrick to run as fast as his chubby legs could take him. She kicked her heel again, a little harder. Fitzpatrick took the cue and began trotting gleefully up the hill. Ella’s heartbeat quickened and she imagined falling from Fitzpatrick like she’d done more than ten years earlier. She didn’t know what would have been worse, breaking her bones again with no one to help or doing it in front of Gabriel. Ella had only traveled twenty feet or so when she felt Seely along her right side. She heard Gabriel’s voice and she felt a wave of relief.
“Whoa!” he said loudly as he took Fitzpatrick’s reigns and slowed the horse down to a complete stop. Ella felt as relieved as if her life had been saved. When she thought back to it, however, she realized the horse had barely been trotting.
Well, this was a splendid morning! she thought.
She thanked Gabriel and dismounted quickly. She heard him call her name but she ignored it.
“Ella, stop,” he exclaimed, climbing off Seely and rushing toward her, pulling her back by her elbow. “You’re right. I am sorry. We need to trust each other. That is what you were trying to say, right?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to pull her arm free. “Just like you said: all we need to be is competent actors and soon this will be over.”
“I was wrong,” he said, tightening his grip, “it is more than that. I do trust you, Ella. I trust you enough to hold my brother’s and my own soul in your very hands. Don’t you see that it was hard enough just to ask you to do this? I struggle to tell you about my parents because I never knew them. They died when I was very young and my grandmother raised us until she died. After that, it was just Benjamin and I. My brother was all I had.”
He released her arm and stood up straight, his stature proud but his eyes almost frightened. He spoke again.
“And now you are all I have.”
Ella could never have anticipated that Gabriel would say those words to her. And she could never, even if she’d tried, have prepared for the reaction her heart and mind would make upon hearing them. She could scarcely draw breath.
As she watched him take the reins of both horses in his hands and trek back up to the house, she knew she had embarked on the most desperate kind of relationship to have with another human being. Ella’s bond with Gabriel could never cease to be the kind that, with every bit you learn, cloaks itself in even more secrecy.
Miles stretched his fingers outward and then bent them back into a fist, squeezing as tightly as he could to stretch the surface of his black leather glove. He felt the tension travel from his gut to his hand and back again. He could see the territory known as Kersley less than one hundred yards ahead. His troops, only a portion of his total number, were waiting for his order to deploy. Miles wondered how treasonous it would be to disregard his own orders and call his troops back. It might not have been enough to have him imprisoned, but it was certainly enough to lose him his post. His second in command, Oli Roget, rode up alongside Miles’ right side.
“What will it be, sir?” asked Oli, the most loyal and honorable of any s
oldiers Miles had ever known. He often wrestled with the near certainty that Oli was a much better man than he was and should quite possibly be the one to command the army.
“Oli,” Miles said, stretching out and fisting his gloved hand a second time, a nervous twitch, “no horses are to engage in full sprint. Slow speeds are needed to avoid a panic in Kersley. Eviction of the residents of Kersley is our order. It must be executed thoroughly. Make sure the men know that residents are not to be harmed but be treated with respect. If there are any mishaps, attention must be brought to me before any arrests are to be made. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Oli said, riding back to his station farther down the line.
Miles would often think of his wife, Julietta, when he was nervous or anxious. Her lovely face would quell his agitation when he was unsure the consequences of his actions and instill in him the impetus to follow through on each of his acts, even through their repercussions.
As Miles gave the order to engage and the horses moved into Kersley, toward a people that were strangely independent but completely unthreatening, Miles saw more than his own family. He saw a sea of children, soon to be homeless, and knew he could go not one more day without making his concerns known to King William himself. The king was certainly not God, but adherence to his wisdom and guidance was still, for Miles Gamely, tantamount to the holiest of contrition.
Chapter Eight
Leopold had grown quite accustomed during his life to the pomp and downright ridiculous whims of his doting mother. It did not mean he liked it. There were, of course, several justifications for fanfare when it came to the prince and only heir to a vast kingdom such as Gwent. William Leopold Hoffeline II, known to all as Leopold, understood the necessity of image as the son of a monarch. Decorum, nobility, even grandeur were part of the package. King William had thousands of subjects. For a reason still bewildering to Leopold, they all seemed content to be governed by one man and, furthermore, have that man represent the glamour of all they did not have. It was as if to the commoner, the royal family (what with their fine clothing, exquisite jewelry, and disposable necessities) represented the dream for which they dared hope for themselves.
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