Page 39 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
“You know little of manners,” she snapped and turning, led the way into her sitting room.
Jacob seethed inwardly. He had been dreading this encounter all day. After the altercation in the courtyard, he had fully expected she would summon him to her, to give him a dressing down for brawling. It was a speech he could predict near word for word at this point; he had heard it often enough as a boy. What his mother failed to realize was that he was a man grown now.
I may as well get it over with. The sooner she speaks her piece, the sooner I might leave.
If only the sun would stay aloft a little longer…
His mother was seated upon the settee as he came into the room, her fan fluttering in her hand as she waited. For years, she had used her fan to inform the wary of her emotions. It fluttered rapidly when flustered or angry. It might well have beat in time with a hummingbird this evening.
“I may as well save you the trouble. Yes, I agree I was completely out of line this afternoon, and that I owe Owen an apology. I will endeavor to do so the moment he turns up.”
Maybe his tone was less than a son should have for his mother. It lacked filial devotion, perhaps. He sighed and added, “I shall also apologize to both you and our guests tonight at dinner if that should please you. I would have done so sooner, but I have been preoccupied with…certain matters.”
Those matters had included the removal of the body of one stable hand. Elias Moore would never give him the answers he sought. The poor lad might have been in the conspiracy up to his neck, but no one could have reckoned on him being killed for it, taking a bullet for his own Duke.
Jacob’s mother never so much as twitched an eyelash at this speech. She was waiting for him to be seated, he realized. With another wary glance toward the window, Jacob sank into the nearest chair. “I apologize, Mother. I am afraid my manners are somewhat missing tonight.”
“Humph. It is a poor excuse of an apology, but then I have never expected much from you. How could I when you have absented yourself from this family for so long? You know nothing of life here at Ravencliff. You could not possibly understand the constant trials I have undergone in your absence. Or what I have had to do in order to make things tolerable.” Her fan continued to flutter, even as she sighed again, her expression morose.
Jacob flinched. “I wrote you many times regarding my decision. And you will note that I am, in fact, here now. Whatever trials you have faced, I will see to. We can talk perhaps at length about these things tomorrow morning, before the added guests arrive.”
The fan snapped shut and dropped onto the table next to her with a clatter. “You would put me off, when the threat to our family is obvious? You might have been killed today. It is by sheer luck that another fell in your place—”
“I doubt he would see himself so lucky,” Jacob muttered, wiping his hands on his pants as he rose. “There is no threat to our family, Mother, only to me. In case you have not noticed, there is not a soul here who has suffered so much as an inconvenience, save myself. I think the locals have made themselves very clear.”
“Hardly. They are only biding their time. Mark my words, Jacob, they will strike at all of us, and when they do it will be a wonder if we are not murdered in our beds. These Irish—”
“Are British citizens, same as us, and they are deserving of the rights of those same citizens. That some are unhappy is clear, though as I have said before, it is a matter of my own making. I made an enemy in the village on my first day here, and have been suffering for it since. I assure you, you are in no danger!” He said, and headed for the door. “We will discuss things further if you wish to do so, but I have an appointment I must keep…” Already the twilight lay deeply over the lawn.
She shot to her feet, still remarkably agile for her age. “You are no better than your father! A loving son would take his mother to London, away from this wretched place. Your love for the Irish is misguided. Ask your brother where it has gotten him. It was the Irish that arranged for him to take the blame for that poor man’s death today!”
She spoke this last in triumph. Jacob stared. He answered cautiously. “I beg your pardon. I fail to see what the Irish could have to do with the matter.”
He winced as he said these words, but her prejudice against the Irish was so clear that the last thing she needed was to hear what he had found of conspiracies and secrets within the walls of the estate. He still felt the animosity toward him was created by one man, Alicia’s own father, in response to their altercation in the street. He might well have stepped out of some medieval romance, the downtrodden lout at war with the Lord.
He likely sees himself as some heroic bandit straight out of a ballad.
“The Irish are behind it all. Everything!” she spoke in a near whisper, her hands outstretched, dramatically encompassing the whole of the room, of the estate.
Jacob blinked. The poor woman was obviously delusional. From all accounts, Owen had not had trouble with the locals at all, except in the usual manner, that handful who wished to not pay their taxes, or the usual discontent about boundaries and usage of land.
Still, what if she were right? Alicia had decidedly come into the house to spy on him. Jacob was starting to suspect the stable hand had played some part in this, as well. There were too many questions that as yet were needing answers, and the very person who could give him those was standing in a copse of trees a half mile distant. If she had not already taken her leave.
“We will talk later,” he said soothingly and turned to go, only to be brought up short by her hand on his sleeve. Her grip was exceedingly strong, her fingers twining about the material in such a way that the fabric would easily rend were he to try and pull away.
“You will promise me,” she hissed, looking uneasily around as though expecting Irish spies to be hiding behind the drapes. “You must promise me that when the last guest leaves for London, that we will go as well. Leave the estate to Owen who has betrayed us for these creatures. Let him wallow in the mud with the Irish pigs. Only take me from this place.”
Jacob pried at her fingers, bending low to look in her eyes. “We will discuss it, Mother, as I said we would,” he said as he freed himself. “But truly I must take my leave.”
“Tell Owen, when you find him,” she advised, her eyes narrowed on him.
“Find him?” Jacob paused in the doorway uneasily. “What do you mean by that?”
“Do you not know? He has gone. Left us for the Irish. You will not find him here at Ravencliff, or anywhere else. He is one of them now.” Eleanor turned from him, with a wave in his direction dismissing him. “As you said, we will talk later.” She picked up the silver bell next to her fan and rang it once, sharply, clearly dismissing him, even as she called for her servant.
“Wait…”
But she refused to look at him. In her mind their conversation was over.
