Chapter 13: Submerging Identity

July, 1988

My dreams stalked me that night. Dark figures pursuing me with packs of huge, vicious black dogs with fiery eyes that did not so much light the night as they merely warned me that no matter how fast I ran through the winter-naked forest, I would never escape their maws. Each time they would get close enough that I could smell the sulfur on their breaths, I would send the plea: “For God’s sake, someone help me!” and more vigor would flow into tired, trembling limbs and I would dart farther ahead of those chasing me.

When I woke, sweat-soaked and rubber-limbed, in the morning I could have swore I recalled the vague sound of wings on the air above me and a familiar voice with an archaic German accent begging me to let him into my dreams. But wake I did, in the luxury of a sinfully soft bed enfolded by purple velvet curtains and canopy, covered in a frilly maroon satin coverlet and lace-trimmed, white silk sheets. It felt like waking up in a very expensive hotel, not that I knew what that felt like for real. As I lay there recovering from my harrowing night, I listened to the birds sing and a dog somewhere barking a greeting to someone who responded with equally welcoming human greetings.

It wasn’t until I heard the approaching car that I jumped from bed in my t-shirt and panties from the day before and ran to the window to stealthily peer out into the front expanse of the house’s estate.

To the right of the long drive, in the shade of one of the many flowering trees, stood Eoin in conversation with an older man holding the leash of a happily tail-wagging collie. The older man looked straight out of central casting for a retired English squire, tweed jacket with elbow patches and snow white hair and mustache and all. He was smiling widely as he spoke to Eoin but broke off as he turned towards the white BMW rapidly approaching down the drive. Even as I watched it approach, William wandered out and over to his father, shaking the older man’s hand and petting the collie.

The BMW slowed and stopped near the men and William. A woman, about thirty-five years old with auburn hair and marble pale complexion, got out of the car with a pretty frown. She was dressed in a lavender pants suit and her hair was elaborately curled and braided. She went straight to William and cupped his face gently, saying something in a worried tone the words of which I could not make out. She was nearly William’s height, putting her on the tall side for a woman. I would have guessed William to be nearly six feet tall at the time, like his father. That put his mother, which is who I assumed this was, at about five feet-ten-ish. William said something that made her glare at him and then add Eoin to her angry gaze.

“Ah, I see you are awake,” Ambrose said from my doorway. He had apparently slept over or arrived very early, because I did not hear him drive up or come into the house. He blushed and kept his eyes about two inches over my head as he said, “You might want to dress and ready yourself for the day. I think it would be best to avoid the Dragon Lady for now, however. Lady Elizabeth may put on frivolous airs but very few members of either House Spencer or House Ancen are anything but intelligent and perceptive.” And with that less than informative warning wrapped up in vaguery, Ambrose closed the door as silently as he had opened it.

“I am going to have to get some dust or something to make that door a bit noisier,” I mutter to myself before stalking over to it and locking it. I took a deep, centering breath and exhaled slowly, feeling my body fall automatically into my fighting stance. I spent fifteen minutes moving quickly through some of the more difficult katas Master Yoshino taught me before taking two of my daggers out and running though some of the moves my father and Fernando taught me. After a half hour, I was even looser than my troubled sleep had left me, even more sweat-soaked, and more ravenous than a starving wolf.

Putting the daggers away, I took out my knife harness, the knives Eoin gave me, and some clothes for the day, and went in search of a shower.

My search for a shower came up empty. I wound up taking a bath in a tub big enough to hold Olympic swimming trials. It took nearly a half hour to fill the damned marble-and-gold monstrosity for a bath that lasted all of five or six minutes. After scrubbing my skin nearly raw and washing my hair twice, I was pretty sure I no longer had Irish thug lingering anywhere on my person.

Clothed and armed, I went in search of food. The white BMW was gone when I checked from my room’s window before beginning my search and, when I finally found the kitchen in that sprawling excuse for a house, I learned that William was gone as well. Eoin and Ambrose were seated on a couple of stools at a bar-like counter while three older women bustled about the stove and island counter in the middle of a kitchen big enough to prepare food for the entire British Army. Eoin’s face was glum and Ambrose was whispering consolingly as I entered.

Both men looked up at my entrance and Eoin pulled out another stool on his other side for me. The smell of oatmeal, bread, fruit, and sausage made my stomach audibly growl as I took the proffered seat with a smile of thanks.

“I noticed William is gone,” I whispered, darting a nervous glance at the cooks to make sure they couldn’t hear me.

Eoin smiled sadly and nodded. “His mother took him home before taking him to see a ‘real’ doctor. She was less than pleased to hear he had been mugged in Northern Ireland. She is not overfond of the Irish as it is,” he explained in a whisper back, his tone clearly saying that he was leaving a lot out of that explanation. Then his smile turned into a grin and he said in a more normal voice, “And you can speak around Miss Theresa, Miss Ekaterina, and Mistress MacGregor and the other two young ladies. Given how long it is likely to take to teach you what you need to know, the ladies and the two young lasses that help keep this place clean were told some of what is going on. You met Deirdre last night and you will probably see Oona around today.

“As for Elizabeth, William’s mother, I have told her you are still a little traumatized from your parents’ deaths and your own ordeal when she offered to take you shopping to replace what you lost in the floods. You will not be able to avoid that invitation forever and my mother will also want to take you around to the shops in London after she gets over the idea of a granddaughter she doesn’t know from a son who she thought she had cut from her heart,” he informed me with a mixture of amusement and misgivings, which was about how I felt hearing it. “Right now, she is trying to get over my brother’s rather unexpected death and she is feeling very guilty. That guilt will probably manifest itself in the form of trying to spoil you. Try not to take too much advantage of her when she eventually comes around.

“So between now and then, we need to teach you how to speak like an Australian of the upper-middle class from New South Wales, the region near Sydney, to be specific,” he told me even as the old ladies brought over bowls of oatmeal drizzled with fruit preserves, breakfast rolls, sliced melon and berries in cream, and several jars of jam, marmalade, and butter.

I began shoveling food into my mouth and buttering rolls and it was several minutes before I realized I was being stared at by everyone in the room with something close to pitying horror. “What?” I demanded after hastily gulping down a mouthful of oatmeal more delicious than any oatmeal I had ever eaten. I reached for the glass of fruit juice Miss Ekaterina had given me and downed half of the glass.

Eoin shuddered, hiding his eyes in his hands while Ambrose asked diffidently, “Uh, do you always gorge so enthusiastically?”

I shrugged. “I am a growing girl,” was my cheeky reply before I went back to eating.

“Not so you would notice, my dear,” Eoin retorted with a wan grin. “You are not that much taller than when we last met. I think it is more that your body burns through more energy using those muscles of yours, especially in a fight. Do you eat like this at every meal?”

Ambrose snorted. “You could always blame that on her being Australian. Most Brits think of us and Americans as being only a couple of steps removed from barbarism.”

“Now, now, that is really not fair,” Eoin scolded with feigned indignation. “You know it is only us upper crust, blue bloods that think that. And pretty much half the population of the Isles also fit into the barbarian category. But that is beside the point. She needs to learn proper etiquette so everyone else knows she is truly a Spencer.”

Something clicked in my mind and brought back a question I meant to ask yesterday. “I was wondering,” I began, trying to eat like my father had civilized me, “why is my last name Spencer-Killdare? Why not Killdare-Spencer, since my ‘father’ was your brother?”

Eoin smiled, again with a tinge of melancholy. “I was wondering if you caught that,” he replied, some fond pride in my quickness in his eyes. “Ella Spencer-Killdare was the last member of her line and from a somewhat important family. When she and Edwin married, it was agreed that any children produced would carry her name in prominence. Hence Spencer was placed in the matrilineal position to give the Killdares a surname heir. Ella’s parents both died months before she and her family did and so you are now the heir of a fair fortune held in trust by me until you reach thirty or produce offspring within the confines of marriage under the same condition as Ella and Edwin agreed for Alice. The Killdare name was meant to survive under the terms of the trust and perhaps you can one day repay Alice by honoring that small favor to her memory.”