Lady Trent

Gina R. Jones

Lady Trent

Copyright © 2015 by Sparrow Publishing

All rights reserved.

Original Cover design by Photostock

No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information
storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from
the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote
short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

Also available in print

See ISBN-13: 978-1480182165

Book One

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CHAPTER ONE

Dearest Agatha

Seven days have passed. I am midway my
journey. I cannot say I have beheld such lovely scenery as these
places have to offer. The mountains are so tall they appear to be
touching the sky off in the distance. The grass is the greenest and
the land rich in flowers of all kinds and colors, the prettiest and
brightest I have ever seen. The trees are so full and green and
those meant to bear fruit have done so sooner than those in
Westerly. I am convinced that every eye should be granted the
privilege of beholding such beauty as I have witnessed along this
way. I was kindly welcomed by the residents of Gnovis and of Iris
where I found rest amongst people of my own heart. In another week
I will have entered the Great City. I will write again at the start
of my journey home so that you will know when to expect me. How
good it will be to see you all again! Tell my dear friends and my
sisters how I miss them and that I am well and that I love them
dearly always as myself.

Truly, Rachel.

By the time Agatha received the
letter—reciting it to practically every soul in the small town of
Westerly—Rachel had arrived at a charming little village east of
the Great City. It was here she’d been instructed to stop. Here she
expected to receive direction on what to do next. Here she was
greeted by the lady mentioned in her summons who’d anticipated her
all along and around this time.

It was a pretty, clear afternoon baring all
the promise of an equally pleasant evening. The sky was mostly
clear with few patches of clouds here and there. The air was warm
but not humid. The street they’d travelled, finally coming to a
stop near the end, was beautifully aligned with trees and flowers
and shrubs—all neatly arranged before structures of various sorts:
shops, homes, communal buildings. It was a rich scene, but homey
and welcoming just the same.

Stepping down from her hired carriage, Rachel
had only a minute to study the tranquil surroundings. A tall and
slender lady caught her eye, making a graceful exit from a
residential structure adjacent to the chapel—a chapel unlike any
she’d ever seen. It was more sophisticated than those back home
with large pictorial windows, balconies overlooking the community,
and a veranda with tall, round pillars and massive concrete steps
leading from ground to entranceway. Just the same, this woman was
not dressed as she or any woman she’d left behind who lived by the
Sacred Oracles—members of the Sacred Sisterhood which this woman,
according to the summons, was. She wore a sleek, bluish gown over a
tall, slender frame, jewelry that sparkled as she walked, and rouge
on an elder but pretty, oval face. The soft glow in her bright
green eyes was very comforting. Rachel felt content all over
again.

“You must be Rachel the Elder,” came the
pleasant greeting. She clasped delicate hands together, the tender
smile never leaving her lips. “And just as I have heard you are
hardly an elder at all…quite the contrary.”

“Twenty-six,” she replied, at ease with the
peaceful nature of this woman. “The title was placed upon me many
years ago by the citizens of Westerly. It stems from my siblings. I
am the oldest of the seven and thus came to be called Rachel the
Elder.”

Her shoulders were gently taken and a light
kiss planted on her left and then right cheek. “I am Sister
Camille. I was informed of your pending travels to the Great City
several weeks ago and instructed to greet you here as you probably
now suppose.”

“It was described in my summons. I was told
you would await me.” She peered past her, examining the brilliant
structure beyond. “Such a beautiful place.”

Camille stepped up beside her, and with a
reassuring hand to her middle back began guiding her toward the
building she’d come from. “It is my understanding you travelled all
this way although with an unclear understanding as to why you were
called upon to begin with.”

“Although perplexed by the summons I felt
assured it would be well to honor it.”

“And how was your journey?” She politely
inquired. “It
is
quite a generous distance between Westerly
and the Great City.”

“Quite tiring but equally as pleasant.”

“The scenery does change drastically from
place to place, beautifully so.”

“It is amazing, even the weather how it
shifts from mile to mile in many cases. I have travelled very
little, and never so great a distance as this.”

“It is certainly a delight to have you here.
I have heard such good things about you and your work, how
dedicated you are to caring for the people—especially the less
fortunate who, from my understanding, are quite common in your
community.”

Indeed, the citizens of Westerly were very
underprivileged compared to those of other towns and cities. Most
of them were outcasts, people who’d found no rest or peace in any
other place for various causes: physical abnormalities, ailments,
and general poverty being chief of them.

“Tell me,” Camille curiously began, “were you
at all hesitant about coming?”

“In the beginning,” she admitted, “seeing as
to how I hadn’t a clue the cause of Lord Trent’s request. But I
could not resist honoring it. The closer I came to arriving the
more assured I became. Something good must be set before me
although I haven’t a clue as to what it could be.”

“Your faith is admirable, my dear.”

They entered the building—an enormous
circular room with a tall arched ceiling. The walls were clothed
with paintings, and the ceiling with sparkly ornaments such as
she’d never thought of. The furnishings were few but elaborate, and
the spotless polished floor partially decorated with a very
attractive rug placed evenly in its center. It was all so very
extravagant.

Camille’s gaze followed the direction of
hers. “Our structures differ from those in Westerly,” she softly
commented, “but I assure you, our hearts are the same.”

“Of course,” Rachel agreed. “I only wish
those back home could witness this for themselves. They would be
amazed, even as I am.”

“Then you shall tell them about it when you
return.”

“Certainly,” she decided.

“Now,” Camille began, folding small hands
together, “a room is prepared for you. You will be served dinner at
your own request and the servants will assist with your bath—also
apparel for your visit with Lord Trent tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, but I have brought apparel for the
occasion.”

“You may set those there,” Camille ordered
the driver who’d followed them in with Rachel’s two suitcases. She
smiled kindly yet pitifully upon Rachel’s attire: a simple beige
skirt and blouse, a shawl of equal color draped about her
shoulders, a scarf securely draped over dark black hair which she’d
pulled back in a tight chignon. “Yes,” she came to say, “I am sure
you have. But you must understand the significance of having, um,
shall I say something more appropriate for the occasion…and for a
very appropriate man. Lord Trent accepts few and makes even fewer
requests for an audience. It isn’t to be taken lightly. Nor should
it be handled the same as any ordinary visitation. You
understand.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I know it is customary in Westerly for those
of your status to dress simple and modest. In this instance I am
afraid you must do away with such simplicity, although modest you
may remain.” She diverted her attention and raised her arms to give
the fingertips of one hand two claps against the palm of the other.
Instantly, two young maidens appeared from the left. They watched
the ground as they moved closer and didn’t look up even after
they’d come to stand across from them.

Camille extended an elegant hand toward their
direction. “These will assist during your stay. Tomorrow at the
tenth hour I will accompany you to the palace where you will be
introduced to Lord Trent.”

“Ma’am,” Rachel began, “If I may—“

“I have no answers, my dear…none pertaining
to your meeting with Lord Trent. Only tomorrow will tell. As for
these,” she peacefully observed the maidens, “they will accompany
you to your quarters. I will meet you here in this same spot at the
tenth hour of morning. Please be prompt. It is one thing to be
called upon for such a conference. But to be late…I imagine he
would be terribly disappointed.”

******

So she was taken to a room on the second
floor from where a remarkable view of the outer surroundings was
given. In the far distance mountains rolled in consecutive order,
the sun positioned directly beyond as it prepared to seclude itself
for the night. Perfect plots of land went on for miles and miles,
orchards of various sorts obviously well kept. There was little
activity directly below, just a man here and there tending to
random chores. Such a peaceful place, she observed. Not much unlike
Westerly with its visible message of serenity. She noticed several
youngsters playing off in the distance in the yard of what appeared
to be an orphanage. She pulled opened the windows to allow a fresh
breeze inside and the pleasant sound of the children’s laughter.
They tossed a ball back and forth between themselves and chased one
another about. Both sight and sound put a smile upon her lips and
brought back memories from her own childhood—short but sweet and
cherished.

There was a placid sadness inside as she
relived a portion of her youth beginning with the death of her
parents: deaths brought on by a plague that had stricken all of New
Ebony. They’d passed away when she was but the age of ten…first her
mother, shortly after her father. Thousands of citizens had lost
their lives before a cure was discovered and the horrible disease
put to rest.

She’d been left to care for her brothers and
sisters…and at such a young age. But she had so much to be grateful
for, and
was
grateful, especially with such memories as the
sight in the distance provoked. She had certainly been a child if
even as a guardian for a time.

Dear old Sister Agatha had proven a great
help after the death of her parents. Rachel and her siblings had
overcome the odds, keeping peace and cheerfulness amongst
themselves despite the horrible loss. Two of her sisters yet
remained in Westerly while her three brothers and one other sister
had ventured off to pursue lives in other cities. From time to time
they wrote…usually with glad tidings, news of such events as
marriage, the birth of children or newfound fortune. She hadn’t
seen any of the four in several years as they’d overlooked visiting
and she, herself, rarely travelled at all. There was little chance
and actually no desire.

A quiet knock sounded at the door. She turned
to discover one of the two maidens whose gaze yet remained fixed to
the floor. “Will you eat now, milady?”