THE PLAY
There was something wrong and Enola knew it. She did not mind rising to the applause of the audience, she thought it was rather nice. However, the looks exchanged between the pirate captain and Lord Bamber were too obvious to miss. It was mournful, regret, obvious pain. Enola knew there was a history, of course. She knew that Wesley, half drunk with his eyes closed in the back, knew this girl. What exactly did a pirate lord have to do with British nobility and a stage actress? What had their lives been before the war, and why were they avoiding each other’s eyes like it was the hardest thing in the world?
In addition, it felt terribly wrong to sit here, relaxing, watching entertainment, when there was a huge issue in front of them, and people were dying at every turn. This was war; and yet they laughed as the players came on stage.
If they were going to ask her to risk the lives of her people; to go to them and ask for trust, she needed the truth. Moreover, she was determined to get it before they marched on.
The play itself was alright, but she felt oddly disturbed by it. There was so much betrayal, so much pain. She gasped as Hamlet stabbed behind the curtain, the player simulating death as he fell to the ground, a red cloth flying from his hands.
Her hand involuntarily jerked to the right, and it brushed against Major Holde's. She did not know whether her subconscious intended it, but he took her hand, squeezing tight. She turned her head slightly toward him, and found, to her surprise, his eyes full of tears as Ophelia went through her paces, begging Hamlet for his love.
“Had they known real pain, they would not simulate such a story,” he murmured to her, and she squeezed his hand in return. That was true; but the British did things so differently, and she had long learned not to comment on it. His jaw was tense in the light, the candles flickering off his red blond stubble, and his eyes alight as he tried to maintain his composure.
Her heart went out to him; so strong and yet so damaged. She wanted to whisk him away, from this play; from this war. They should not make men who had suffered so much continue to fight. They had done their duty; paid their price. How could they be asked to continue?
She realized she was picturing something entirely improper as she thought about what they would do once she whisked him away. In the low light, it was easy to imagine sitting around the campfire, holding hands like they were. It was easy to think of making him healing tea, of a sweat lodge to cleanse his soul, about standing tall at his shoulder and providing him with the strength and comfort he needed.
She barely knew him. Why were these thoughts invading her mind?
He was a warrior, though, a strong one of high ranking. Although her tribe would not entirely approve, they would respect it; they had to. They would accept him as part of the family, because she was with him.
The thought shook her to the core. She realized at once what the solution to the problem was that they had been pondering for a few days.
If she wanted her tribe to align with the British, she would need a reason they could not deny. A reason stronger than Jacob's friendship; a reason stronger than her heart wanting peace. They would have no choice but to accept that it was their fight too if she was married to a British officer.
She sank back in her chair, pale at the very thought.
She could not do that. Could she?
The end of the play came sharply, and she rose without applauding, stepping over Holde and into the aisle. Jacob, who was sitting behind her, gave her a quizzical look.
“Enola?” he asked, and she yanked on his shoulder.
“Come.”
“Enola!” He was confused, worried and almost afraid as he followed her out of the box. “What is going on?”
“Oh, Creator,” she put her hands to her face, trying not to let her feelings take over. “I know what we have to do.”
“You know what we have to do about what?” he asked, clearly confused.
“But I am not doing it until I know their full story.”
“Enola, you are not making any sense,” he said, concerned. “What are you going on about?”
Usually, Jacob could read her mind, so the fact that he was confused annoyed her. Half sentences wouldn't do for this instance. She would have to explain what was weighing on her heart and causing a terrible feeling in her stomach.
She took a deep breath as through the glass doors, she saw the others rise from the box.
“Those ones,” she pointed inside. “Are not as they seem. Why does a pirate lord know a stage actress, and look upset every time British nobility plays his rank? Why does he look exactly like the Lady Annabelle? Why is the first mate drunk as a new sailor because we're going to see an actress? They are not telling the truth, and if I am taking them to my people, I need to know the full story.”
Jacob remained silent a moment. “They are lending us their assistance, Enola.”
“And what if they are not?” she asked. “What if this is a plot they are all in on? You are putting the lives of my people at risk, Jacob, and I know they will align if I....”
“If you what?” he asked.
She could not speak, could not make the words. Major Holde was approaching, the others on his tail. She had only a few seconds to let Jacob know what she was thinking. “If one of you becomes my family,” she said at last, and Jacob's mouth fell open. He knew exactly what that meant. He could not believe she was suggesting it, given her stance on marriage.
He also could not believe that he had not thought of it. He knew how Enola's culture worked and a marriage would seal any trust issues. They would have to fight with the British, with two cultures intertwined as one.
“Is something the matter?” Halloway asked, confused as he saw the look on their faces. “Do not worry about Lola, She is just acting.”
“Aye,” Jacob glanced at Enola one last time before speaking. “How exactly do you know her?”
“I told you, we were childhood friends,” Halloway said as Lord Bamber approached.
“Of course,” Jacob said. “And you two?”
A glance went between the two men. “We...”
“Never mind the fact that your eyes, madam,” Jacob's voice quivered at what he was suggesting. “Are exactly like Captain Halloway’s.”
Lady Bamber turned pale, casting her gaze downwards. “A mere coincidence, sir.”
“No,” Jacob stepped in front of Enola. Holde came to her side, saying nothing, but it was clear he had his own suspicions about everything. “With all due respect...I need to know the truth. The whole truth.”
“We cannot tell you the truth,” Lord Bamber spoke up. “All you can know is that we are all loyal to your cause, your war, and there will be no issue.”
“I cannot go to my people without the truth,” Enola said. “And I know at last a way they cannot refuse. But I will not do it until your full story is revealed.”
A stage hand interrupted the group, clearing his throat. “Lord Bamber,” he said, and both Halloway and Harper turned. “Miss Lola wishes the company of your group backstage, if you please.”
It was subtle, but Enola did not miss it. She knew that Jacob might scold her for having a loose tongue, but she did not care. She had as much right to protect her people and find out the truth as Jacob did. “Which of you is Lord Bamber?” she asked, holding her ground.
Everyone froze. They knew they were caught; and the truth had to come out.
Enola had all sorts of ideas as to what they were going to say. She knew that men decided to steal others’ identities for many reasons, and not all of them were sinister. She hoped that their reason was out of the goodness of their heart, but she had a feeling it might not be.
“Not now,” Harold said at last. “Backstage, with Lola.”
“She is aware of whatever situation you have concocted?” Jacob asked, anger in his voice.
Halloway snorted. “Aware? She is the reason it is at all. Shall we?”
Enola, Jacob and Holde hung back, stunned as they walked. Jacob leaned down to Enola, speaking quietly. “Niikaan li sinii daanzhi, kiiya pimichiwun.”
She raised an eyebrow at his terrible translation. “No,” she said. “Danger or not, these are my people. I will not run.”
Jacob had always been good at treating her like she was his equal, but there were occasional times when he slipped. This was clearly one of them.
He looked like he wanted to leave her there, but he knew he had no choice. She wouldn't have let him if he tried. Starting a fight now, however, did not seem like the best time. They followed the stage hand through a door, and into a series of tunnels that comprised the backstage area. He knocked on a grand door with Miss Lola's name on it, and then pushed it open.
“Come in!” Lola's voice, like bells, called. “Did you like it?”
It only took a moment to see their faces before hers changed. “What is going on?” she asked, confused.
“We'll be alright from here, thank you,” Halloway said to the stage hand, who took the hint and shut the door. Only then, once he was sure they were secure, did he speak. “Lola, you are a story teller. Would you like to tell those new to our group who exactly I am?”
“What?” Lola sank back into her chair, her eyes flickering between everyone. Enola watched again as she avoided Wesley's eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“It is okay, Lola,” Halloway said calmly. “It was going to come out sooner or later.”
“The whole truth?” Lola asked, and Enola stood up straight.
“The whole truth.”
The actress took a deep breath, and her shoulders sank as she considered how to start.
Lola had known that one day it was very likely she'd have to tell this story. She had worked hard for years to keep Aaron safe, but it wasn't fair to hide such a secret from people whose lives were at risk. She knew the high stakes of the war. If they didn't trust each other entirely, especially when such different factions were expected to work together, lives would be lost.
“Captain Halloway, Pirate Lord,” she said at last. “Known in his previous life as Lord Aaron Bamber, dead to the British public after he admitted to pushing his captain down the hold for the safety of the ship. He went to the noose for his crime, a solo confession. His shipmates, Harold Harper...and Wesley, Earl of Rippon, walked free because of it.”
Enola had not been expecting that. Her head spun around to look at the others in a whole new light. “You are impersonating him?” she asked the current Lord Bamber, confused.
“No,” Harold said. “My title would be the same, regardless. Annabelle, as you may have guessed, is his sister, his twin, and we are married.”
“We have been courting since we were little more than children,” Annabelle tried to offer a kind smile. “Our marriage was planned and planned again. It finally happened after the noose.”
“Why did you fake your death?” Enola turned back to Halloway.
“Because he did not do it,” Lola said, her chin high. “He did not do it and I did not believe an innocent man should die. He was quite ill at the time; it was believable that he died from it. It does not matter who did it. What matters is that the captain of the ship had lost his mind and they were stuck, tortured, beaten and left to die under his orders. There was no way to regain control unless the captain was dead. The crime was not intended to kill him, it was intended to keep the ship safe, and you can look that up in the British court system. I was available, I had actors play the parts that we needed, and every single person, including those in this room, believed that he had keeled over dead. There was no doubt. No one else knows the secret. He succumbed to his injuries, but he just as easily could have been dishonorably discharged if the full truth had come out. It was a favor to his memory, really.”
“I was aboard,” Annabelle said, raising her chin. “It was supposed to be a celebratory cruise of the flagship; there were so many nobles. He whipped officers, put them on continuous watch, disrespected the women and tried to force himself upon them. Half the time, he did not know what day, what year it was. He barely knew his own name.”
She was sincere, her large blue eyes pleading with them to believe her. Annabelle told no one, but she still had nightmares about the incident on the Stallion. She remembered what it felt like to almost lose Harold, and she didn't want to waste another moment of their seemingly short lives.
Harold bristled, looking at his feet. This was the second time, then, that Annabelle had been in such danger. All he wanted was her safety.
“This was the Stallion?” Jacob asked. “I did hear about this.”
“Aye,” Halloway said. “So now you know the truth.”
“Not quite,” Enola said. “You two. Earl Rippon?”
Wesley said nothing, but Lola knew she could not avoid it any longer. “You are a princess?” she asked Enola, and stood up to give a little curtsey. “Then I shall dip in your presence, for I am only a countess. Countess Rippon. Although I am not sure for how much longer.”
“The most sensible thing you have said all day,” Wesley said, and Enola glanced toward Jacob.
What a mess this was.