"YOU ARE SILENT, MY DEAR," THE Lady Beresford, mother to Lord Jack Beresford and aunt to Lady Aramina Embry, spoke, her eyebrows pinched in silent observation as she looked at her supposed niece. 

Jessie had come to recognize these looks, and in the short span of last evening following into the morning of Christmas day, she had come to dread them just as much. 

The sky outside was bleary and heavy somehow. As though the cheer of the holiday hadn't quite made the expected impression on the clouds and the blue canvas high above. If it weren't for the faint carols beings hummed by the occasional passer-by excited to get home for a breakfast tinged with the taste of  the holiday, or the decorative wreaths and garlands wrapped chaotically around street lamps still burning from the previous night well into this dark morning, one could assume it was just another Southampton winters day. 

Jessie dropped her silver spoon by mistake as panic gripped her, her loss of composure much unorthodox than she had expected. The spoon clattered against her ceramic breakfast plate, and the Lady Beresford hissed under her breath, her eyes shutting tight for a second. 

"Oh, even the slightest of sounds hurt my head so," The lady mused in discomfort. 

Lady Acacia Beresford had somehow manged to get a footman to misplace her mother-in-law's lorgnette, and not having used its glass for the entirety of the evening last night well into this morning, the withdrawal had given the Lady Beresford a headache she missed no chance to complain about. 

"If it were not for this incompetence," The lady murmured under her breath and glanced at her daughter-in-law across at the head of the table with a look of clear disdain. Lady Acacia Beresford smiled her warmest smile in return, clearly aware of her mother-in-law's distaste. 

That was another thing Jessie had learned in the short span of time she had met and was spending with her aunt. The lady carried a clear dislike of the woman her son had married, and the woman in turn harvested the same dislike towards her husband's mother. A dislike that was exchanged between tight smiles and whispered harsh sentiment that never quite reached the other party's ears sometimes. The passive aggressiveness made Jessie uncomfortable, and she was glad she wasn't the real Lady Embry— for choosing a side wasn't something she had a right to do at present. 

Clearing her throat and catching a glance from Acacia Beresford, Jessie turned to her aunt. 
"I apologize, aunt," She began, thankful her voice was levelled, "I've just been thinking about your offer." 

It was the truth. She had been thinking about it. But the more she had thought, the more ridiculous she deemed herself. The offer was a dream. To cast aside her fears and regrets in Southampton and live somewhere with new possibilities and prospects at her disposal. It was the stuff dreams were made of. But that offer was for Lady Aramina Embry, not Jessie Churchill. She wondered what Lady Beresford's real niece would have done. Would Lady Embry have accepted the offer? But she would've had so many options to choose from, and Jessie had none. 

"What is there to think about child?" The lady waved a hand, as though Jessie had spoken out of turn. "This is not an offer. I insist you come with me. Jack has no business pretending he can care for a young woman, even if that young woman is his cousin. I haven't even seen him yet, who knows which part of England he's off galivanting to at Christmas! And I have been freshly reminded I cannot trust other persons in this household with my belongings— so what makes you believe I will trust them with my niece?" 

"Aunt," Jessie tried, eyes earnest, "It will be such a change. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it." She was ready for it. The Southampton parish rector's daughter, Jessie Churchill wanted this like she hadn't wanted anything else. 

"Nonsense," The Lady Beresford shunned, "Young women should be driven for change, dear. Only the lower and middle class women are afraid of it. Neither of which you belong to." 

Jessie nodded, not trusting herself to say anything else. She supposed she had time then. Perhaps something will come up and Lady Embry's aunt will decide she's better off staying at Wycombe. But Jessie had assumed too quickly, for she wasn't Lady Embry and did not in fact have the pleasure of knowing the woman fussing over her in as much depth as the missing heiress. 

"We leave immediately," The lady declared once breakfast was finished and the party had moved to the west drawing room of Wycombe. 

Before Jessie could speak, her aunt gave instant orders for the gather and package of all of Lady Embry's belongings, and the maids rushed up the staircase and burst into Lady Embry's room upstairs with the urgency that had been demanded of them. 

"But, dear mother," Lady Acacia Beresford hastened, perhaps she too had assumed too quickly, "Jack would be most surprised to find Aramina gone. He insists we keep her for a while. We should surely be devastated for loss of her company." 

The Lady Beresford hmphed as she tugged on a silk glove on her thick wrist. "Devastation might be good distraction for the lot of you then. Goodness knows Jack would do well with it after his traipse over England." 

Lady Acacia reddened slightly then, and Jessie swore she saw her hostess take count under her breath before speaking. "But its Christmas! Why would you want to travel today? Perhaps you can depart tomorrow with Aramina. At least spend the holiday with us." 

During which time, Jessie imagined, that her hostess might ink out a few desperate letters to her husband in want of advice. It was clear to Jessie that Lady Acacia did not deem her going away to Bakewell and taking Lady Embry's identity there a good idea. 

"I believe 'us' is an overstatement dear," The Lady Beresford pointed out, a sharp eye— though lorgnette less, inspecting her surroundings. "Unless you are counting the furniture as well." 

Lady Acacia's hopeful face twitched. Palms curling into thick fists at her side. Jessie's own fingers clasped eachother in her lap where she sat on the sofa. Anxiety prickled at her. 

"Either way," Her mother-in-law continued, "We have furniture at Rosenfield Abbey too, and I find myself missing it quite terribly." 

"Dear aunt," Jessie found herself obliged to speak for panic had infiltrated too far into her being.

Though Rosenfield Abbey and Bakewell sounded like a dream come true, Jessie would be stranded there. Because it wasn't Jessie Churchill she was going as. How would she be able to keep up the façade there all by herself? Here, she had had help. She needed help. What if someone asked something from here there that only Lady Aramina Embry knew? Then Jessie would have no one to cover for her. No Lady Acacia Beresford to trod in on the conversation unknowingly, no Lacey the maid to purposefully interrupt and remind Lady Embry of a certain task she'd meant to go through with that day. 

"If Acacia is much too saddened to part with you, then she must come to Rosenfield with us," Jessie continued, words coming out of her with all boldness she hadn't initially intended. "I believe it would do her good. For it would be such a pity to be alone at Christmas, considering cousin Jack's return intentions remain such a delicate mystery." 

The Lady Beresford looked at her niece. Her expression going from mild surprise to careful consideration of the words she had just heard. Jessie glanced at Lady Acacia, and was met with a wildly different expression. Her hostess' features were contorted into shock. Her eyes blinking in disbelief as it Jessie had uttered something atrocious. 

"Very well then," The Lady Beresford finalized, her tone that of agreement, "I suppose the extra company at Rosenfield would do me some good too. I had my garden renovated recently, the grounds are absolutely lavish. I suppose you might get some inspiration for Wycombe's grounds, as well as for.. other things." The lady cast another observant glance around the drawing room. 

"I— I," Lady Acacia started, and it was Jessie's turn to be surprised at her hostess' loss of composure. "I suppose." 

"It is settled," Her mother-in-law clapped her gloved hands together. "Now, get your belongings packed— and pray make them few. For I intend to have my niece over for as long as she wishes to stay, not you." 

As if in a daze, Acacia Beresford nodded. Then she turned to look at Jessie, and an unreadable expression flashed across her face. It disappeared as quickly as it had come. 

"Aramina, can I ask of your help?" She spoke, voice low. 

Jessie got up from the sofa. "Of course." 

Then she followed her— soon to be previous— hostess into her room. Once they were both inside, Lady Acacia turned and locked the door shut. Jessie looked at her in slight confusion. 

"What do you believe you are doing?" Acacia Beresford's voice was harsh, quiet. A scolding whisper. Her eyes blazed with frustration, irises pinning Jessie down. 

"What do you mean?" Jessie managed, much too surprised to think. "Did I make a mistake? I supposed the Lady Beresford might suspect were I to blatantly decline her offer. Wouldn't Lady Embry have accepted it?" 

"No," The lady of the house's voice had now gone coarse, her eyes had become accusatory. "That is not what you were doing. That, is merely what you want me to believe." 

"Lady Acacia, what are you saying?" Jessie rubbed her elbows, "There's nothing I want you to believe." This is all for The Lady Beresford to believe, isn't it? 

Lady Acacia sighed, her finger rubbing her temples slowly as she breathed to calm her self. "You cannot do this anymore. I will not watch you do this anymore." 

"I— I don't understand," Jessie felt her heart sink into her stomach. "What mistake have I made?" 

"This is a game to you isn't it?" Came the harsh observation where Jessie had sought only a response. "Everyday I am sick with worry about the whereabouts of Aramina. Questioning myself whether or not my husband will manage to locate her. Dreading the possibility if she's even there to be found. Watching you do this is so hard for me, Jessie Churchill. And just when I have come to make peace with it, must you steal more of Aramina's life than is needed? Must you jaunt about in Bakewell now at her aunt's estate while she rots away somewhere? Has Wycombe grown too suffocating for your ambitions?" 

An ache burst into Jessie's eyes, and she could sense the shameful tears welling inside. She clutched her elbows tightly and held her guard, fighting the tears like her life depended on it. 

"That is what you think, Lady Acacia," Jessie asserted in defiance. Her voice cracked a little despite her efforts, but it wouldn't stop her. That crack had no power to stop her. 
"Because you don't know me. You know the heiress I am pretending to be, but you do not know me. If you think I am not worried, or that I actually enjoy all this without a moment going by where I have not thought of Lady Embry, then you are horribly mistaken." 

Lady Acacia peered at her, her own eyes now glassy and shining with tears. 

"I am not stealing her life. I am trying to spare the ones she loves from the horror of uncertainty and fear. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for her, and someone who first asked me to. And when she comes back, because I believe she will, I will tell her what I did and both of us can then be witness to how she feels about it. I'm willing to accept every possibility."  

With that Jessie pushed past the lady of the house, for once in her life not feeling obligated to curtsy considering the inferiority of her circumstances. She exited her hostess' room and made her way to the snow covered gardens, not willing for Lady Embry's aunt to see her tears. Jessie wasn't sure if her lookalike even cried.

She's definitely stronger than me, wherever she is. 

Stepping into the blanket of snow outside, Jessie ran further, willing herself to hold in the tears until she was so far she couldn't be seen from a single window. Having managed to gather only a thick brown coat over her dress, the cold gripped mercilessly at her ankles, legs and face. She could feel the veins running under her facial skin tense. But she didn't care, for the pain overshadowed the one she felt inside. 

As she approached a giant tree, with its bare branches carrying piles of the heavy load of cream snow, Jessie leaned her back against it, hands touching the firmness of the rough bark. With a glance around the tree to make sure she couldn't be seen from the estate, she wept. Out here, it felt as though she was stranded in a forest. This part of the grounds had been left just as it was, renovations having restricted themselves to only the garden area. 

If Jessie didn't look at the looming estate now the size of her palm, she could pretend it didn't exist. 

It all came crashing down on her, the weight of things she had been carrying for so many days. The constant doubt of having stolen someone else's identity against their wishes. The ceaseless worry that there was a girl out there who looked just like her, someone who was going through things she couldn't even imagine, and Jessie could do nothing to help except impersonate her. The realization that Oscar Seymour had brought her into this and had left her alone to fend for herself, and even if she'd known he would do this, she knew she would've followed him anyways because that was just the kind of person she was. Unrelenting, determined, blind in her admiration for him. 

There was not a single familiar face at Wycombe to give her strength now that he was gone. Lady Acacia, the single person she thought she could rely on for her time here, had it made it abundantly clear what she felt about Jessie. 

Tears were useless. And as they rapidly fell past her face after briefly resting on her cheeks, Jessie wondered for the hundredth time in her life why they even existed. They were stupid, ridiculous, not worthy of all the emotions they brought and how miserable they made her feel. 

Jessie wiped furiously at her face. Just then, a twig snapped loudly in a distance, and she stilled. She peered up ahead, having marked the general area the sound had come from. But she could not spot anything out of ordinary. The trees were abundant, stacked against each other in the blanket of snow like cards, but the branches crisscrossed together made it so that she was rendered blind to look past them. 

Please be a raccoon, she thought earnestly. 

Her eyes frantically scanned the perimeter, and as though accepting that their presence had been identified, several more twigs snapped one after the other until a figure appeared from behind the group of clustered snow covered trees. 

Jessie gasped softly, her hands gripping the tree trunk behind her for support as she backed a step.  

The figure was dressed in a long brown coat, dark boots inches deep in the snow. A hat sat atop the person's head, a wide brim hunter's hat that hid the figure's eyes in shadow only leaving a chin sporting a scraggly short beard threaded with silver and black. 

"Who are you?" Jessie let out, her breath making a cloud of translucent mist that veiled her eyes momentarily. She shook her head slightly, being rendered blind even for a second right for was a prospect that drilled fear into her bones. 

The person— man, let out a small laugh, amused at the question. He took a few steps closer. 

"D-don't come any close," Jessie managed through her fear, voice loud in case anyone around could hear and decide to help. 

"I would rather not," The man mused, Jessie could see his teeth flash as he grinned, "I have men to do my dirty work for me." His voice was deep, and rough around the edges. As though he was used to yelling than speaking. 

"What dirty work?" Jessie let out, eyes anxiously darting around for ideas were she put in a tighter spot. 

"Speaking of which," The man continued, ignoring her question entirely, "One of them has proved himself inadequate to the task." 

Jessie didn't speak, looking at him as she absorbed his appearance into her mind. He might have something to do with the kidnapping. 

"I heard about your aunt's visit to Wycombe," He started, his eyes glancing at the estate far behind. "But when I heard who she was coming for, I had to come see for myself." 

"How did you escape?" He inquired simply, and Jessie felt as though the air was knocked out of her lungs. 

"Escape?" she murmured quietly, before clogs started turning in her minds. He thinks I'm Aramina Embry and I escaped. 

"It was Philip wasn't it?" The man continued, a sneer in his tone, "Should've known that bastard was as skittish as they came." 

Who is Philip? Jessie thought, but didn't interrupt. She couldn't trust herself to garner more information from this man. So she trusted herself to stay silent, hoping he would give what she needed on his own. 

"When I find him," He paused, eyes finally baring from under his hat induced shadow, "I will skin him alive. And then I will come for you again." 

Jessie's lip trembled, but she kept her eyes on him in as much indifference as she could muster. 

"I don't give up. I never give up," His bore his teeth, and for a moment Jessie thought he would snarl at her. He didn't. She could tell now that he seemed to be in his late thirties or perhaps early forties. She was glad for this observation. 

"I will strip you clean of all that you possess, you can be sure of that." 

He is Thomas Cranmer. The revelation hit her like lightening. Thomas Cranmer was here, in Southampton. While Oscar Seymour and Lord Jack Beresford searched in Portsmouth. Had he been here all this time? 
"I have men to do my dirty work for me."  That means he had employed someone else to kidnap Lady Embry. Maybe it was only her that he had hidden in Portsmouth, and he in turn had been here all this time. What has he been doing here? 

If he had been here, than he had not seen Lady Embry in captivity. He had ensured it, but he hadn't made himself seen by her. 

"I knew it was you," Jessie managed, glaring at him though her resolve wavered inside. 

Cranmer laughed that same small amused laugh. "So Philip didn't say? Guess a dog can be half loyal and still shit on your face." 

"So you were here all this time? While I was—" Jessie deliberately broke off, breaking eye contact and letting a whimper slip. 

"I had things to do. I'm going to make sure your possessions are legally mine," He spoke with ease. "Thought I could assign some things to one of my dogs, but I guess I have to do everything myself if I want things to be fully taken care of." 

Legally. He may have been forging paperwork. But why in Southampton? If Lady Embry was from London and her lands were there too? Jessie realized he hadn't spoken of where he had had her— the real Lady Embry kept, and she didn't have a clue on how to snatch it out from him. 

He thinks she escaped. Then she must've escaped. If she's not where he had had her kept, then Lady Embry must've escaped. But who is this Philip? Is he a friend of a foe? How can he be the former when he works for Cranmer? He must've only took her away from Cranmer to acquire her riches from himself. This Philip must be as much of a villain as Cranmer was, Jessie had no reason to believe otherwise. For if he wasn't, Lady Embry would've returned, there would've have been word. 

"So now what?" She found herself speaking with newfound courage lacing  her voice. "Are you going to take me right now? Same time same place as before? Seems oddly repetitive."  

Thomas Cranmer snarled then, the mockery in her vice infuriating him. "No," He let out, "I'll see you at Rosenfield, Bakewell." 

Jessie stilled. 

"That's where you are headed aren't you? And this time I intend to acquire advance payment as ransom for all my troubles from your dear aunt too. You wouldn't want to put her risk by changing your plans would you? So off to Bakewell you go. I'll be shortly behind. And don't even think about informing anyone else about this. Your cousin and his companion are, according to my reports, currently in Portsmouth searching for me. I'll just have to give word to my other dogs. You wouldn't want your cousin hurt, I hope." 

Then, with a grin, he spun on his feet and disappeared through the trees leaving Jessie gasping for breath.