by Hilly Mason
“Human wonders, like me fighting?”
“Yes. You will be known as the strongest woman in the world.”
Isla snorted. “I doubt I’m the strongest woman. I can just throw a good punch.”
“Yes, but people don’t need to know that,” Mrs. Murray said quickly. “We also have someone who can swallow knives, and another man who can juggle with fire. It will be entertaining for not just adults, but children as well. And it will bring in more money than just a menagerie.”
Is that why I am here? Isla thought distractedly. To make these people money? An uncomfortable feeling stirred in her heart, and increased as they walked over to the set of small homes by the river.
She met the other performers, all of them men, save for one person. Isla recognized her as the woman at the bakery. She immediately ran over to her. “How can you be at two places at once?” Isla asked her breathlessly.
“Excuse me?” the woman asked her, eyeing her warily.
“You were in the bakery in Philadelphia earlier today. You gave me a loaf of bread.”
“Oh, you must be talking about my twin sister,” the woman said, her features softening just a little. I’m Meredith.”
“Och, all right, then. Do you help with your sister’s animal rescue?”
“Keep it down, will you?” The woman hissed, glancing at Mrs. Murray, who was talking to one of the performers. “You’re her daughter, aren’t you?”
“Ah… yes, I am.” Saying that out loud still seemed very strange.
A shadow fell across Meredith’s yes. “I gotta go,” she told Isla and abruptly left her.
“Well, that was rude,” Isla said to herself. Why did she seem so wary of Mrs. Murray overhearing them?
Later that day, Isla was shown to her new bedroom. She stared at the room appreciatively. She had a room to herself in Ramsbury House whenever she visited, as well as a room at Alban Castle in Scotland, so she was used to fancy furnishings.
It wasn’t the expensive furniture and decorations that caught her eye, however. On her four-poster bed an old baby quilt was folded up neatly, with a stuffed bear placed on top. Isla walked over to the bear and picked it up. She brought it to her nose to smell it—to trigger any sort of memory she had with it—but she came up with nothing.
She felt like an imposter, that she had intruded on another young woman’s life. But the Murrays were still convinced that she was her daughter, and they hadn’t given her a large enough reason for her to doubt them.
Her eyes filled with tears as she walked with the bear over to the window and looked outside. The sun was setting to the west, marking the end of her first day in Pennsylvania. Was this how she expected to feel, incredibly lonely and confused? She sank to her knees and clutched the bear close to her chest.
“Isla, are you all right?”
She turned to the sound of her mother’s voice. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long trip over here,” she told her truthfully.
“Will you be joining us for dinner, then?”
“Of course.” She looked down at toy in her arms. “Did I play with this bear often?” she asked, somewhat wistfully.
Her mother paled, and Isla thought she could see tears forming in her eyes, although it could have been a trick of the light. “It used to be mine, when I was a child,” she remarked. “And yes, you played with it a bit before you… disappeared.”
It seemed that her mother didn’t want to talk further about it. Isla nodded and sat the bear back down on the bed, then followed Mrs. Murray downstairs to the dining room.
Chapter Twelve
Isla woke up to the sound of a rooster’s call. For a moment she thought she was back in Ciarach, of all places, being woken up by Lisabeth’s annoying rooster, Charlie. She halfway expected to begin smelling the housemaid’s scones baking in the oven and hearing a very pregnant Diana MacNevin snoring softly in the adjacent room.
The piercing child-like sound of a peacock’s cry jolted Isla from her half-sleep. She blinked her eyes wearily and leaned up in bed.
A dress had already been laid out for her at the foot of the bed. Isla looked around for a servant lurking in the corner as they often did, but she was alone in the room. She pushed her hair away from her face and then reached out and picked at the fabric with her fingers. The dress as yellow, with frilly lacing at the sleeves and the hem.
“I hate yellow,” she muttered. Yet everyone thought it matched perfectly with her red hair. She sighed as she stood up and walked over to a pitcher of water, splashing her face with the cool liquid. Grabbing a towel, she dried her face and looked at the mirror hanging on the wall in front of her. It had been a while since she had stared at her reflection—as there was no mirror on the ship—and she certainly looked older. There were dark circles under her large, blue eyes, and her wild hair was in desperate need for a trim. She lost a bit of weight on the ship, as well as some muscle, but she knew that a few weeks on the Murray’s heavy diet would soon bring her strength back.
After getting dressed, she ate breakfast with Mrs. Murray in the dining room, as Mr. Murray was out on a business outing in Philadelphia.
“I would like to take Golden out of her cage today,” she said to her mother.
Mrs. Murray had on a pair of reading glances and glanced up from the papers spread across the table. She looked at Isla like she had said something absurd. “Whatever for?”
“Well, she bonded with me on the way over to America. She’ll be upset if she is left alone for too long.”
Mrs. Murray sighed and shrugged, obviously not wanting to be disturbed from her paperwork. “Oh, very well. But make sure the other animals are safely out the lion’s way before you do so. Mara!” The young servant who was in her room that morning appeared from nowhere, as quiet as a mouse. “Please get the key to the lion from Gregory, will you? He should be in his office.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl curtsied and left.
Who is Gregory? Isla wondered. And why does he have the keys to the animals? Perhaps he is a groundkeeper of some kind?
After breakfast, with a brass key in her hand, Isla quickly walked across the field to Golden’s cage. Golden spotted her immediately and became restless, pressing her large body against the bars in an attempt to get closer to her.
“It’s all right, Golden, I’m here now,” Isla coaxed. She fitted the key into the lock and turned it. The door burst open and before Isla could react Golden’s massive paws were on her shoulders, knocking her down onto the ground.
For a brief moment all the breath left Isla’s lungs, and she began to panic. Although not fully grown, the lion’s body was heavy on top of her. Was she going to bite her neck and kill her like she had almost done to Mark?
A wet, pink tongue slid across her cheek instead, and Isla opened her eyes. Golden jumped off of her and rolled onto her back, playfully exposing her belly.
“Please don’t frighten me like that again,” Isla muttered, pushing herself back up onto her feet. She brushed the mud and grass off her dress and grimaced at the large grass stain on her rump. “It’s going to be verra hard getting that stain out.”
Golden gave her another friendly lick that she assumed was an apology. Isla rolled her eyes. “All right, I forgive ye.”
“Impressive.”
Isla jumped and turned around. Standing behind her was a man no older than thirty with dark blond hair and a thin mustache under his deep, penetrating blue eyes. He was an attractive man of about her height, with a slender build under his businesslike attire—the kind of man Isla would see wrapped arm-in-arm with a London socialite, not in the Pennsylvania countryside.
“Who taught you to be so comfortable around such beasts?” he asked.
Isla turned around a put a hand on Golden’s snout. For some reason, his gaze was making her very uncomfortable. “I wasna taught. It just comes naturally, I suppose.”
Isla was surprised by how close the man was coming towards the lion. The only other man Golden was co
mfortable around was Jack, and Isla braced herself for the lion’s reaction. However, Golden did not even growl as the man walked over to inspect her before turning to Isla to give her a smile.
“Your accent… Are you Isla St. George? Or should I say, Isla Murray?”
“Aye,” Isla said. “Ye mean the hair didn’t make ye guess first?” She gestured to the messy mop of a bun on her head. “St. George is fine. I’ve grown used to it and don’t think I’ll be changing it any time soon.”
“You have no intentions to marry then?”
Isla raised an eyebrow. Why did this man care if she were to get married? “If I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business,” Isla retorted before she thought better of it.
The man did not seem ruffled by her quip. Instead, he chuckled softly. “My name is Gregory Townshend, but you can just call me Gregory. I work for your mother and father.”
With the way he was dressed, there was no way he was a servant. “What do ye do for them?”
“I’m their accountant foremost, but I also manage their business, making sure everything runs smoothly.” He folded his arms across his chest. Despite his thin build, Isla could detect the muscles hidden underneath his linen shirt. Well, not that she meant to notice.
“Tell me, Miss St. George,” Gregory continued. “What else can you do with this lion?”
Isla glanced at Golden. She had practiced tricks with the lion, but never in front of an audience. Still, Golden didn’t seem to mind having this man around.
“All right,” Isla finally said. She walked a few yards away from Gregory and the cat. “Come, Golden,” she called out, and the cat stalked over to her immediately. As Isla lifted her arms Golden stood on her hind legs. Isla then made a circular motion with her arm and the cat twirled in a circle with as much grace as a quadruped could manage.
“Very impressive,” Gregory remarked, clapping his hands softly. His smile revealed a nice set of white teeth. “She’s like a trained dog. I’ve never seen such a thing.”
Golden nuzzled Isla’s shoulder and she patted the cat on her head. “We’re friends,” she told the man. “I ken most people wouldn’t understand the friendship between a man and an animal, but that is the only way I can explain the connection between the two of us.”
“Remarkable. I’ve seen that kind of companionship before with dogs, but never with an exotic cat.”
“Ye have a way with animals too, it seems,” Isla remarked. “Golden seems comfortable with ye.”
“I have worked with a few exotic creatures in the past,” Gregory revealed. “I lived for a time in India, where I worked with someone who owned an impressive menagerie. I sometimes find that I am more comfortable around animals than I am with people.”
“Aye, me too,” Isla told him. Golden nuzzled the man’s hand, and he ran his fingers over her smooth fur.
“Why are you here, Gregory?”
He turned to face her, the smile not leaving his face. “To retrieve my key of course.”
“Oh, right.” Isla fished the brass key out of her dress pocket and handed it to him.
“I was hired to manage your parents’ menagerie and talent show. I take it your mother has talked about your part in it?”
“Yes, she has,” Isla said demurely. She wasn’t quite thrilled about fighting again, truth be told.
“I have heard much about your victories around London,” Gregory looked at the cat thoughtfully. “But I might have something else in mind.” He then turned to her and nodded. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss St. George.”
Isla’s eyebrows rose high on her head as Gregory took her hand and kissed it while bowing to her like she was Lady Sophia herself.
“Likewise, Gregory,” she said and watched mutely as the man turned on his heel and walked towards the manor. What did he mean, he had something else in mind for her? And since when did other people decide what she was going to do?
“A lion tamer?” Isla repeated incredulously later that evening when she was having dinner with her parents.
Her mother nodded. “Gregory told me all about the tricks you performed with that lion and tells me you are quite skilled at it. Fighting is such a violent, brutal sport, and not something a child should watch. But an animal performance can be a family affair.”
“You think I’ll be good at it because some man I barely ken told ye so?”
“Gregory has been managing our businesses for a number of years now, and I trust his judgment,” Mrs. Murray said with finality. “Don’t you, dear?”
Mr. Murray glanced up from the bread roll he had been buttering. “Oh, yes, whatever you say, dear.” Obviously, her father was not the decision maker of the two. Despite her mother’s faults, it made Isla pleased to see a woman in charge of a business and not a man.
Isla picked up her own bread roll. “And there will be traveling?” she asked hopefully. She would love to see more of the vast country if given the opportunity.
“Well, the first show will be here in Philadelphia, but we already have a show scheduled in New York in a little over a month. Who knows, if this gets bigger, you might travel all across the country. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”
Isla nodded. “It certainly does,” she told them, and then took a bite of her food. Is this what she wanted to do? Did she want to continue to be a performer? But what else could she do, if not that? She was good at it, as Gregory insisted…
A sudden movement out the window caused her to turn her head. Jack was walking quickly across the lawn, his leather rucksack in his hand. With the way he was walking and the scowl on his face, she knew he was upset.
“Where is Lord Craig going?” Isla asked.
“Oh,” her father gave a cursory glance out of the window. “His work here is done.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s leaving to England, I believe,” Mrs. Murray explained.
Already? Quickly, Isla scooted her chair away from the table. The servants made to help her, but she waved them away. “Excuse me,” she told her bewildered parents, and then promptly fled the house.
The sun was setting in the distance, casting long shadows across the field from the large poplar trees lining the pathway. Jack was already well on his way down the path towards the estate gate where a city carriage was waiting for him.
“Jack!”
He turned around and seemed surprised to see her chasing after him. He waited for her to catch her breath.
“You’re leaving?” she panted.
He shifted his rucksack higher onto his shoulder. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I had a death in the family.”
Her heart twisted painfully at the despair in his eyes. “Is it Milton?” she asked softly. Of course, who else could it be?
His face tightened and he averted his gaze away from her. His sullen expression answered her question.
“Oh, Jack. I’m so sorry to hear that.” How, Why? she wanted to ask, but he was already walking away from her.
“Wait!” she cried, running after him. “You’re leaving for England?” she could not mask the desperation in her voice.
She was supposed to be angry with him. But she didn’t want him to leave. Who cared what happened in their childhood! Instead, Isla wanted to pull him back and wrap her arms around his body, like she did on the ship. She was confused about her new life here in America, as well as extremely homesick, and she felt like he was the only one who would understand.
But he had no obligation to stay with her. This is just a one-time thing. She had used that excuse too quickly and now there was no turning back.
Still, at the very least, she could let him know how she felt about him.
“I’ll miss ye, Jack,” she said. “Despite all that’s happen between us, I forgive ye. S-suppose we’ll ever see each other again?”
“Perhaps,” he said. His hands were shaking.
“Are ye all right?”
His hands clenched into fists. He glanc
ed back to the manor. “It’s nothing.”
“Jack, tell me. Please.”
He glanced again at the manor, where Isla’s parents still dined. The windows in the dining room were facing the other direction, so they couldn’t see the two conversing under the trees.
“My brother is dead, but they didn’t let me know.”
“Who? My parents?”
He swallowed forcibly. “Yes.”
“What do they have to do with your brother’s death?” Isla asked, the mere thought of it chilling her heart.
“It’s nothin’,” Jack said abruptly. He then reached out to cup Isla’s chin. She thought he was going to lower his head to kiss her so she lifted her chin up in anticipation, but his hand dropped, and he turned around instead.
“Oh, no,” she called after him as he walked away, tears burning in her eyes. “You’re not leaving just like that!” But the carriage was already moving once he got in. She ran alongside the vehicle for a few yards, yet Jack’s head was turned away, ignoring her. Out of breath, she finally stopped, letting the carriage disappeared past the poplar trees.
Isla sank down onto her knees and glanced up through her hair to see some of the servants in the distance standing next to each other, staring at her and whispering amongst themselves. Isla forced herself up from the ground and then stalked back into the manor to confront her parents.
She burst into the dining room, making the couple jump in their seat.
“Isla, what on earth—” Mrs. Murray began in a huff, dabbing the spilled coffee on her chest with a napkin.
“What happened between you and Jackson Craig?” Isla demanded.
“Sit down, will you,” Mr. Murray barked, and she did. She plopped down in her chair and scowled at them, her chest heaving from exertion from her run back up the hill.
“Why did you not tell Jack that his brother was dead?”
