Lady Trent Read online

  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

  ؃

  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?”

  She briefly examined the question. “Maybe after I have had my bath,” she politely replied, directly adding, “And you needn’t refer to me by such a title.”

  “May I bring you some water or tea?”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Anything at all, milady?”

  She inhaled a deep breath, exhaling with an answer. “I cannot think of anything. I do have but one question. I wonder if all servants in this place must keep their gaze to the floor.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “Please call me Rachel. I am just a woman like you, and a servant as well…to many. I am permitted to look all people in the eye, both men and women alike.”

  “It is our custom, milady.”

  “I see,” she accepted, her smile fading as she felt pity for the girl and saw it useless to persuade her. Who was she to audibly denote the rules of another place? “Well, then, I don’t suppose I need anything at all as of now.”

  “Shall we prepare your bath?”

  She’d noticed the tub at the far side of the room. At home she would draw and heat her own water, would never expect anyone to do it for her. But she could see there was no fighting against a custom that was different than those from where she’d come. “Yes,” she found herself accepting, for evening was close to setting in and she wanted to be well rested for the next day.

  It was not long. The two humbled maidens together filled the tub with steamy, hot water and left her alone to bathe. She eased carefully into the water, sinking in and relaxing. Her body adapted to the temperature although beads of perspiration did pop up on her forehead from the billows of steam that rolled up and around her. She leaned back, basking while the water went from hot to warm and then cooler. Night had fallen. She’d nearly drifted to sleep, possibly had dozed off a moment or so. Seeing as to how the water was turning cold she quickly finished washing, afterward stepping out and wrapping a towel about herself. Doing so, she observed a gown that’d been brought up to her for the following day. One of the maidens had simply laid it out on the bed as if to request she try it on for size prior the occasion.

  She touched the beautiful dress, silky in some places, lacy in others. Surely something less extravagant could have been chosen. She could not so much as imagine herself donning such an outfit as this. A skirt and blouse would have appealed to her more, even in this fashion.

  She wondered if the gown would be a proper fit, decided possibly so. Adjustments could be made if perchance needed. She imagined there was space to work with.

  She continued to study the garment, wondering for possibly the hundredth time what this summons was all about and what the next day had in store for her.

  She took care hanging the gown in the wardrobe and then brushing her hair, thinking of her friends back home. She considered their activities at that particular time. It wasn’t a difficult thing to decide. The residents of Westerly operated in an orderly-like fashion. At this hour they were in their homes with family members or those they considered family: friends and acquaintances that could be considered family just the same. Had it been a night of the sixth day of the week every able-bodied man and woman would’ve by now gathered in the chapel for prayers…except, of course, in the event a child was born, which was not too common an event in Westerly. But no matter the day or circumstance the citizens kept occupied, doing whatever physically able be it working in the fields, the markets, the chapel and orphanage, the home for the widows and the sick. There were also times to rest, to eat with family and friends, to play music…to celebrate events whenever one occurred. The people of Westerly did know how to celebrate an occasion.

  Smiling at the thought of home she slipped into her flannel gown and lied down. She had denied dinner already, accepting only a cup of tea and one solitaire slice of toasted bread. Sleep would not come easily. Not while she was so consumed with questions about tomorrow.

  She stared through the window from her bed, up at the moon for a while, and then closed her eyes hoping to sleep. But she found herself denied the slumber she so deeply desired.

  After an extended period of time had lapsed she arose from the bed, slid her feet into a pair of slippers, her arms into the sleeves of a robe and tied a scarf over her head. She afterward slipped from the room and travelled down to the inner gardens which she’d observed and admired earlier from above.

  The wind was blowing. Although without a chill she clutched her arms to herself wondering for the hundredth time what this petition was all about. Two years had passed since she’d sent a message to the lord of the Great City requesting monetary support for the poor in Westerly. I
ts population consisted mostly of outcasts, young and old alike, many of them sick whether in body, mind or soul, and all of them poor. They did as best they could no matter how hurt or even just simply uneducated. A wanderer would occasionally find his way into the town, and some suitable way decided upon to graft him in with the rest. Nobody was ever denied what she considered a privilege—to become resident of a town where everyone accepted everyone and pitched in according to their own ability to see to it they were all properly accommodated.

  The mayor, she sadly recalled, was an eighty-year-old man who had little logic these days. He did his best to govern despite poor vision, hearing, and illnesses that kept him bedridden most of the time. He was so old and frail and helpless, even. Who would take his place when the time came? Hopefully someone better equipped to help tend to the overall well-being of the community. It seemed every black sheep in all New Ebony had landed there.

  To tell the truth, at times she felt utterly drained by the responsibilities placed upon her, for she consistently found herself in some decision-making position whether for the people individually or as a whole; not just called upon for spiritual guidance, which was her ultimate duty to give, but guidance in general pertaining to every condition imaginable.

  A strong gust of wind blew. Her scarf unraveled and began blowing away. She tried to catch it but failed. Another gust of wind. She closed her eyes against it, turning toward the opposite direction to protect her face and eyes from potential debris. After the air had settled again she glanced around for the lost accessory. The moon was now hidden behind the clouds so that she couldn’t see anything at all.