[PRP]Searching for Herself

Jennet bent low over the neck of her snow white horse, hooves pounding in rhythm, hair loose and streaming behind as she galloped down the road towards her parents’ home. The scenery barely registered in her mind when the ocean air of Fowey gave way to the thick green forests that presaged Launceston. The chill of autumn closed in and Jennet tugged at her woolen cloak struggling to keep it closed as the wind rushed by. The mare snorted and puffed running at speed, and Jennet was grateful for the apparent lack of evening travelers. If there were bandits waiting in the trees, they would have to be quick ones.

Darkness was drawing closer when she pulled up the reins and slowed the mare to a trot, entering the gates of a sprawling grey stone estate capped with multi-hued slate from the sea coast. The clip-clop of hooves on the cobblestone path brought a familiar pang in her chest and she winced, thinking of her imminent departure from Fowey. I should have visited more, she thought, should have tried harder. With her parents, things had always been difficult at the best of times, but now she wondered if the break would be irreconcilable. She had chosen a man over her family, his destiny over theirs, and her parents saw it as the ultimate betrayal. Still, she thought, I should have tried harder.

Tossing the reins casually to the waiting boy, she ignored the hand he offered and jumped down to land lightly on the hard stones, her soft shoes providing little cushion, heavy skirts swirling around her ankles as she swept past the doorman who hurriedly opened the ornate carved door, sputtering something about announcing her. She padded into the main hall, looking about, her eyes resting finally on an aging man dressed from head to toe in burgundy wool and walking with a cane of artfully carved hawthorn wood.

“Charles, “ Jennet pronounced with a smile holding both hands out to the elderly man who took them both and kissed them each in turn, bowing deeply as he did so.

“Lady Jennet, “ he smiled broadly as he spoke, “to what do we owe this very great pleasure?”

Visibly stiffening she said, “A family affair, I’m afraid, and a very grave one. Tell me, where is father?”

“Lord Richard is in the library, my lady, with your lady mother, “ he gestured to a silent serving woman standing near the door, “Let me have you announced, my child. “

A restraining hand raised caused both servants to cease moving immediately, “Not necessary, Charles, thank you. My arrival will announce itself.”

Charles inclined his head and stepped back, resignation creeping into his voice, “As you wish, my lady.” From days past, he knew better than to argue with Jennet when it came to her father.

A rustle of skirts and the soft scuff of shoes reverberated down the cavernous halls of the estate towards the library. Entering the room, Jennet stopped momentarily and marveled. If the library of Hawthorne Manor was large, this one was monstrous. Volumes of every type, every style, collected from every city that her father and mother had visited lined the walls. Shelves and shelves of priceless treasures like glittering jewels in their leather bindings and cases called to the studious to spend their lives in quiet contemplation of the knowledge held in their pages. Jennet had forgotten just how many works her parents had collected over the years, but the place was not austere by any stretch of the imagination. At the end of the rows, two large stained glass windows lit the hall with the dying light of day, one depicting the Tower of Babel in all its glory with the phrase “Let us build a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven” and the other depicting Jacob’s ladder with glittering angels ascending and descending, Jacob sleeping with his head on a rock underneath and the phrase “The land on which you lie I will give to you and to your descendants.” Jennet had seen those windows many times, their mottoes the watchwords of the de Holland family and heirs, but the rich colors mingling with the light and shadows as day eased into night caused her to gaze in wonder.

Remembering her purpose here, she shook her head, a fog of questions filling her mind, making her unsure where to start. She walked haltingly past row after row of books, looking for her father, but she knew without a doubt exactly where he would be. Reaching the end of the hall and turning towards the small nook, she saw him sitting at his great oak desk, peering down at a ledger, following the lines with his fingers, deep in thought. He did not stir as she rounded the corner.

Light footsteps behind caused Jennet to turn quickly, too many days spent on the back of a horse, fresh threats echoing in her ears, spurred her hand to move instinctively to the hilt of her sword before she spun to find herself nearly bowled over by a woman carrying an armload of books that towered over her head. She was an inch or two shorter than Jennet herself, but in every imaginable way an almost exact copy, from the lengthy chestnut curls to the skin of alabaster and the eyes of green sprinkled with gold. It was only around those magnificent eyes that age had drawn its tiny lines and told the tale of a life spent squinting at books.

“Hello, mother, “Jennet smiled, stepping aside nimbly for her mother to pass, her hand releasing its grip on her sword.

“Good heavens, child!” her mother exclaimed, nearly tossing the books in her fright, “You startled me!” She set the books on the edge of the desk in a neat pile, which finally brought her father from his business dealings.

“Jennet, “ Lord Richard said in measured tones, “when did you arrive?”

“Only now, father. I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you and I regret that it could not wait until morning.”

Her mother smiled and started towards her, arms open, “Is it so important that you can’t spare a moment to hug your mother?” Just then her mother stopped short and stepped back cautiously, glaring at the sword on her daughter’s hip. “Jennet, by all that’s good and holy, why do you persist in wearing that thing in the house?”

“A lady can’t be too careful these days, mother, “ Jennet grinned mischievously, and stepped forward to close the distance, hugging her mother affectionately, “Seems I made a few, um, enemies in my travels. But it’s good to see you.”

Her mother’s embrace was warm, “And you my daughter. “ In contrast, the look on her father’s face was cold and distant.

“Tell me, “ he started before the embrace had ended, “what is this matter that was so important you rode here in the middle of the evening?”

Jennet pulled away from her mother and walked the few paces to her father’s desk, her tone and demeanor matching his for resolve. “There is a young woman at my house this very minute by the name of Elizabeth Lianna…”

A sharp intake of breath from behind caused Jennet to turn and see her mother gasp, a look of shock on her face.

“Ah, “ Jennet continued, her eyebrow raised, looking from her mother’s face to her father’s, “I see that the name was not as unknown to you as it was to me. Then perhaps one of you would tell me why I had never heard of her before she showed up on my doorstep this afternoon.“

“Jennet, it’s…” her mother began by way of explanation, but was cut short by Lord Richard’s sonorous voice.

“What exactly did this girl tell you?” he steepled his fingers and leaned back, a harsh look of suspicion mixed with resignation displayed on his proud features.

Shoulders sagging just a bit from the tension, Jennet pulled aside a leather-covered chair before her father’s desk and settled into it unceremoniously. She also leaned back, hands resting in her lap, and spoke more easily, “Lia told me that she believes she is Aunt Elizabeth’s daughter. That she was raised by her father who is now also dead. She brought letters, father, bearing Elizabeth’s seal, some written in her own hand, others in the hand of the man she married. I examined them each carefully. If they’re forgeries, then she’s a mistress of the art. I’d wager our fortune she’s Elizabeth and Charles’ daughter, father, but she’s been living for years with a family friend, taken in by complete strangers. Why? Why wasn’t she here with us? And, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t I even know she existed?!”

“Now see here young lady!” Lord Richard’s tone was brusque and he reached for the edge of the desk with both hands, gripping it hard with knuckles gone white as if to pull himself up to his full height and make one of his famous points about how young women should never raise their voices to their fathers, but, looking down at his hands ruefully, he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he reached for a small chest on his desk and unlocked it with a key he kept on a silver chain around his neck. How many times in her youth had Jennet tried unsuccessfully to gain access to that tiny chest with visions of miniature treasures contained within, and how many times had she cursed the blacksmith’s art for keeping her from her prize? Now, at long last she saw what was contained within as her father peeled back the gilded lid and reached inside to reveal a letter, brittle with age. Lord Richard looked at it with a faint flicker of remorse on the otherwise hard line of his face, his thumb brushing across the crimson wax seal on the front before handing it wordlessly to his daughter.

Jennet reached across and took the letter in her hands, a puzzled expression on her face which only grew more puzzled when she opened the letter, the seal having already been broken ages ago, an oily stain betraying where it had once held the parchment closed, creases deep and pronounced from having been opened and read and re-folded carefully time and time again. The date caught Jennet’s eye and she started to read, that looping unmistakably feminine script so familiar. One of Elizabeth’s letters, it seemed, had not been returned. In the days before her death, she had sent a letter detailing her illness and informing Lord Richard and the rest of the family of Lia’s existence, begging them to make sure she was cared for, pleading for them to look kindly on her husband Charles, who had always been a good and caring man, and to say a prayer for her immortal soul since it was likely she would never see any of them again this side of heaven. There was no rebuke in the letter, no harsh feelings, only the simple acceptance by a sweet soul of her fate and a plea for her helpless child when she was gone.

Pain like a fountain bubbled up inside Jennet’s breast as the words sunk deep. All the while he had known and he had left a child to suffer. It was more than she could bear. With a hand on the arm of the chair and the letter clutched in the other, she stood, a little shakily at first, and Lord Richard looked up, his eyes locked with hers.

“All this time, “ she started in a voice so full of anger it was almost a hoarse whisper, “all this time, you knew. You knew and yet you did nothing..”

Lord Richard did not stand but kept his eyes on his daughter’s face, the even-toned business man creeping back into his voice, “Jennet… when you have an entire family under your care, sometimes you have to make choices…terrible choices…for the good of the whole. Elizabeth was a kind soul, too kind. She could not see the shame she brought on this family with such a disgraceful marriage. She could have married anyone, had a title and a claim for her children, but she chose to marry a man of no land and no great name. She knew the choice she made when she made it. Your uncle and I thought it best…”

“Thought it best?!” Jennet interrupted, “thought what best, father? That Elizabeth die cold and alone? Or was it best that a child be left orphaned and in poverty? Which was it that you thought beneficial to the great de Holland name?” She tossed the letter down hard on her father’s desk in disgust and wheeled to walk away, the tears pressing behind her eyelids.

“Jennet! You will not turn your back on me! I am your father!”

“Oh, yes, you are my father, “ she spat and turned back to face him, her tone escalating to match his, “as much as I might wish it otherwise. You are my father, but no longer am I your ward. What were your words, father? Oh, yes, I remember. You said that you were done with me, that you washed your hands of me and my wardship, that you gave it all into my hands-the title, the land, my own future, even the keeping of our family name and honor-if I thought I could do any better. Well, I accepted your offer, and I happen to think I am managing quite well. I am leaving Fowey in a few days’ time. Hereafter you will find me in Holywell with my fiancé.”

“I forbid you to marry that man! Why he’s not even worth one quarter of your dowry. What are his relations, what will become of your children? You’re a lovesick little fool just like Elizabeth. The man can’t even afford a decent bride price!”

“Money again, is it, father?“ Jennet said, her hands trembling as she suddenly remembered the pouch of coins at her waist. She pulled her dagger deftly from its sheath, causing her mother to jump back in fright clutching her chest, but Jennet simply bent and cut the woven cord that held the jingling pouch to her belt. She slid the dagger back into its place with a satisfying sound of metal and leather and tossed the small bag onto her father’s desk, spilling silver and gold across.

“There! Is that coin enough to purchase my freedom, father, or should I send over a wagon of valuables tomorrow? How much is it exactly for a daughter these days?”

Finally steady on her feet, the anger giving her respite from her grief, Jennet whirled and marched out of the library, her mother’s protestations echoing dimly down the halls. She did not wait for the servant to open the door, but flung it open herself and stepped outside as the tears began to pour hot and hard down her face. Her horse was exactly where she had left her. She gathered the reins in hand from the stammering boy, swung up and into the saddle and trotted out of the gate, not bothering to tuck her billowing skirts beneath her legs. Gratefully clear of the stifling air around the estate, she kicked hard with her heels and pointed her horse back towards Fowey.