Lady Trent (20 page)

“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, when 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?”