Chapter 11.

Jacob doesn’t want to alert John to the possibility of Tim returning with a vengeance.

Yet, he's forced.

He had seen menace in Tim’s eyes when he vowed retribution.

“I wouldn’t want to alarm you that Tim could return and if he does, you would want to have a different name.” Jacob holds John’s gaze.

John panics. Joseph steps up beside Jacob. His demeanor vigilant.

“I…I be liked the name Bernard Henshaw.” John stutters.

Jacob looks at John, attentively.

“He be my hero from books I be reading on the farm…”

“The farm? Is that where you used to work for Tim?” Jacob asks.

John nods. Jacob equally nods understandably.

“Joseph, get new identity papers for Bernard Henshaw here.” Jacob’s eyes hold John’s surprised gaze.

The other man’s surprised.

“I would get to it posthaste, brother.” Joseph assures, a smirk crossing his face at his brother's decision.

“And while you are at it, would you kindly arrange for Bernard to get washed and clothed, so that he can begin working at Cavendish. What can you do, Bernard? What duties did you used to do on the farm?” Jacob enquires.

Bernard’s (John’s) eyes beam with excitement.

“I be cook on the farm, Sir Duke.” Bernard reveals, his eyes hopeful.

“Then cook you shall be. Perhaps you can bring in that touch of the Americas to Cavendish’s kitchen.” Jacob remarks, slyly.

After Jacob gives further instructions to Joseph, he allows his brother escort Bernard to where he could have a bath and change of clothing.

In the meantime, Jacob allows his gaze to fall on Therese as she stands with Mrs Fletcher, beside the carriage.

He can’t help but admire her. She isn’t just beautiful and enchanting. She is equally brave. A girl with such a rebellious spirit against social injustice.

She is a woman who any man would be pleased to have as his own.

Rubbing his tired eyes, he is startled to find her equally staring at him.

“She is extraordinary, isn’t she, brother?” Joseph’s voice suddenly interrupts the moment, causing Jacob to flush.

Irritated at his brother, Jacob curtly says.

“Stay within your limits, Joseph.” Jacob warns.

He has a sudden urge to protect her.

“Smitten, brother?” Joseph teases.

Jacob stiffens. Fear suddenly crosses his mind as he instantly realizes something: that for the first time in years, the fire he once quenched, has found him again.

15 years ago.

“Therese, Therese.” Therese hears her mother’s voice call, as she runs through the large corridors of her father’s home.

The gigantic stone house with gargoyles and Italian architectural designs. A spooky maze that she loves to explore.

She can hear her mother’s voice echoing in the distance as she ventures further down the corridors. Her tiny feet taking her further into a wing that if she's attentive, she would remember is forbidden to her and her mother.

Bursting through the doors of an unlocked room, Therese crouches in the corner of an armoire, giggling to her own mischief.

Then a familiar scent hits her nose, one which she has come to dread.

The smell of her grandmother's snuff. Before her eyes can adjust to the interior of the room, her heightened senses feel a presence.

Alarmed at a shadow that suddenly falls before her, cloaking the only stream of daylight that filters through the room, Therese lifts her head.

Gasping, she allows her eyes lock with her terrifying grandmother, her dark form, a likeness to the shadows that loom in her nightmares.

“Who permitted you to enter my chambers, girl?” The woman snarls, her eyes dark, spitting venom.

Therese gasps again and shakes her head in fright, shrinking back.

“Tell me, girl!” Her grandmother roars again in a voice that causes Therese to scream in fright.

In a few seconds, foot falls echo through the corridor and someone throws the large door open.

“Therese, Therese!” Therese hears the voice of her mother, but the fear within her causes her to shut her eyes and close her ears with her palms.

Shutting the world out.

“What happened to her?” Therese’s mother asks, as she catches sight of the scene before her.

“Haven’t I forbidden you and your bastard to stay away from me?” The old woman barks, ignoring the younger woman’s question.

Therese’s mother alarmed, kneels beside her daughter and mumbles soothing words to her.

“My darling, look at me. Look at me. It’s alright. See, I am here.” She urges as she pries Therese’s palms off her ears.

When Therese finally looks at her mother, she lurches into her arms and racks into sobs.

Turning to the older woman, Therese’s mother glares, her eyes pooled with tears.

“Haven’t I suffered enough from your scorn? Why bring Therese into this? She is only 6 years old, for God’s sake. You should at least have mercy.” Therese's mother accuses.

“Suffered is the least you deserve after you stole into my home, just like his mother had done, years ago.”

“You can’t carry this amount of hate against us. It is killing your son. It even shows in the letters he writes from the battlefield; it has been dividing your home. Our home.” A silence falls, briefly.

But it is enough to show that those words hit deep.

Sadly, disdain is an emotion that her grandmother can only reconcile with. Love was drained from her a long time ago.

“You would never be anything more than the harlot that stole into my son’s life. Stealing our good name and everything that concerns us.” The old woman’s words come out strong, causing Therese’s mother to stiffen beneath her small arms wound around her shoulders.

“You are her grandmother, the only one that she has…”

“I am not her grandmother and would never be!” The old woman thunders, causing Therese to whimper.

Her mother clutches her tight, in a vain attempt to shield her from the old woman’s disdain.

“To me, she would always be the bastard, fathered by a bastard, whom my son took into his life as charity.”

“I am my father’s daughter…I am my father’s daughter…”