Lady Trent (16 page)

“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.”