Chapter Text
Philip visited Vallt Park again, during which Jyn finally confirmed that she would like to go with him to Bath. Her parents’ permission had no sooner been solicited, and to Jyn and Philip they were happily given—but only, they insisted, if Jyn would be staying under the care of one of her family’s friends who lived there, the Duchess Mon Mothma.
According to her more recent correspondences with Jyn’s mother, the Mothmas had a house in Bath, apart from their main residence in London. There the duchess had been staying for a few weeks now, momentarily away from her family, who, apart from the duke, consisted of their only daughter.
After the letter that proposed the Ersos’ arrangement had been sent to her, the one that soon came back to Vallt Park with her reply contained her deepest approbation of Jyn’s staying with her. This gave Jyn some delight—not only because she would be finally meeting the duchess again after a long time, but also because the trip that she very much needed to keep her mind off the Andors—especially the brother—was now set in stone.
The more Jyn thought about her quarrel with Cassian, the more confused she felt. It struck her in particular that he had so openly professed his disinclination for Philip, but not to the extent of providing a reason for it. It drove Jyn to a state of disarray, its effects particularly strong in her moments of idleness—which she had made sure were rare by, of course, devoting her attentions to her studies.
She had made a promise to herself to think no thoughts of the solicitor during the trip. Reminders of Cassian had done nothing but rile her up, and she had already had enough of the feeling to last her through to next year’s winter.
On the morrow Jyn and Philip finally left (with Jyn’s lady’s maid as their additional companion), and soon arrived at the premier town at dusk, after a day’s worth of traveling in one of the carriages owned by the Krennics.
Sir Krennic had insisted upon it: “Feel free to use it at your disposal while I am away,” he had told his son. “I shall be in the East Indies for some time. Meanwhile, you may step in to lead and manage my affairs for me here in Britain. I think you are ready, Philip.”
Philip would never forget the feeling of pride that coursed through him the moment he’d heard those words from his father, and he would go on feeling it even as they now rolled into the streets of Bath.
There, they first made the point to deliver Jyn to Lady Mothma’s house, where she was to reside for all four days of this trip, after which Philip would finally go and get settled at an inn he had arranged for himself just along Great Pulteney Street.
After weaving through the traffic of carriages and pedestrians, as well as finding some sense of cognizance amidst the noise and the general rush, their transport finally made it to a less busy street, lined with conjoined buildings—an area of Bath known for the residence of its more wealthy characters.
The Duchess’s house lay somewhere along the middle of the row, in front of which the carriage finally slowed to a stop.
Jyn stepped down first, and beheld the facade of the house with a concerted attempt not to let her jaw fall off her face entirely. It was a house as befit a duchess—its limestone brickwork gleaned so pristine it was almost white, held up by columns of intricate classic architecture, the front shrubberies trimmed to odd, but interesting hexagonal shapes.
They were welcomed and then led to the waiting room, where soon Lady Mothma finally entered, a smile on her face.
“Jyn!” she said, her arms open wide in a bid to give her an embrace.
Jyn happily took the gesture with equal eagerness. She wrapped her arms around the duchess and gave her a moderate squeeze.
“Your Grace,” she said after they broke away.
“Lady Mothma, good evening.” Philip, who stood beside Jyn, gave the duchess a bow.
Lady Mothma, upon beholding the gentleman, looked surprised, as though she had forgotten that he was also there.
“Mr. Krennic.” Her tone was lukewarm. “Good evening. I hear your father’s on a trip to the east. How long will he be away for?”
“I am not entirely sure, but it will be a few months it seems, Your Grace,” answered Philip. “It would be one of his longer absences, but I shall manage back here at home.”
With certain caution Lady Mothma then took a moment to observe Philip, her eyes brushing over his features. She ever so slightly frowned, her eyes widening.
“Upon my word, Mr. Krennic,” she said. “You look more and more like your father now. You sound just like him, too.”
Philip laughed politely. “I hear that often like you wouldn’t believe, Your Grace.”
“You must be tired of hearing it.”
Philip slightly shook his head and smiled. “On the contrary, I take any likeness to my father as a compliment. I hope to turn out to be even just a fraction of the man he has become. When I become baron one day soon, of course.”
A split-second moment of doubt showed in the duchess’s expression, before she finally smiled, albeit uncertainly, and said, “I see. Yes, of course.”
Jyn frowned, but tried not to think of it more when they all finally sat down.
Pleasantries were exchanged and questions were asked, both primarily on the point of Jyn and Philip’s travel from their county to Bath, as well as their plans during their stay in the town.
“How about the theater?” Lady Mothma suggested. “You could join me in my box—you would love the view from up there. Please do, it gets lonely being by myself there sometimes.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Jyn agreed, hardly even having to think about it twice.
Lady Mothma nodded her approval. “You may choose which show to go to, depending on your planned schedule.”
“Ah, a night at the theater!” Philip exclaimed. He addressed Jyn, with whom he sat beside. “Miss Erso, I'd be delighted to go to a gala showing—it is often where the best performers are, don’t you think?”
To this Jyn gave some considerable thought. She scrunched her face. “I don’t know, Mr. Krennic,” she said. “I myself am more partial to matinees—shows of the kind are severely underrated, and often overlooked. In my view they are just as good, if not at all better than evening shows.”
Just then, Philip was quick to abandon his previous opinion, just as instantly as he now put a premium on hers. He shook his head as if he realized he’d just made a mistake.
“Of course,” he said, smiling. “You are right as always, Miss Erso. A matinee it is.”
Jyn then looked over to the duchess, who, during her exchange with Philip had taken place, seemed to have been intently watching the both of them. From her countenance Jyn could glean, almost certainly, a slight furrow of her brows and a gaze of the most curious, yet wary air.
But upon meeting Jyn’s eyes, this look melted, a placid delight quickly supplanting it, most apparent in the way her lips thinned out to a smile. Immediately she averted her gaze from Jyn, redirecting its focus back to Philip.
A subtle grimace formed once more on Jyn’s face. Doubt began to cling to her mind like leaves on a wet bough.
“All right,” the duchess said, her tone cool, “it is settled. We are to go in the afternoon on Thursday.”
In no time one of the footmen came in to announce that all of Jyn’s things had finally been unloaded from the carriage and then delivered to her bedchamber. Philip then rose from the sofa and took leave of her and Lady Mothma. He wished the duchess well, and promised Jyn his return at the soonest possibility.
“I shall see you on the morrow, Miss Erso,” he said, smiling. “Have a lovely evening.”
With this parting, Philip now headed for the door. Jyn watched him, her gaze unmoving even when he had already disappeared from her sight.
The ladies that were now left in the room both did not speak for a while; Jyn, now feeling a bit strange, did not know what to say.
Lady Mothma was the first to break this silence. She cleared her throat. “So Jyn—” she gave her a small smile “—you and Mr. Krennic?”
Jyn swallowed. At this point, it should have already become much easier for her to openly talk about her intentions with Philip. But with the duchess’s strange behaviors towards him just moments ago, she slid back to her hesitations with the slickest of ease.
“Yes,” she replied. She bit her inner lip. “Why, Your Grace?”
Their eyes met for a moment before Lady Mothma answered, “Oh, nothing. I am merely curious, and was just seeing it for myself.” She gave Jyn a reassuring smile. “So I see you are finally open to marriage.”
“Yes—” Jyn cleared her throat “—yes, Your Grace.”
The duchess slowly nodded.
Despite the ease of her expression, something about her tone made it unclear to Jyn as to whether she viewed the match with approbation or doubt. The duchess then wistfully stared at the window, out into the inky, purple dusk of Bath. She sank into private reflection.
Jyn’s heart began to race, and her mind began to believe, as she witnessed the duchess now, that her strange behaviors towards Philip were not just merely a matter of her curiosity towards the match. Even more peculiar—though she presumed her behavior to be several worlds different from that which Cassian himself had demonstrated towards the same gentleman during his first meeting with him, it did, nonetheless, and for a reason Jyn could not think of, eerily remind her of it.
Suddenly the words that Cassian had told her during their argument, particularly on his strong aversions towards her match with Philip, surfaced to the shores of her thought. With growing suspicion she wondered: could Lady Mothma’s current dispositions possibly be of a related nature?
Was she going out of her mind, or was there actually something to it? Was there something about Philip Krennic after all, that motivated the sentiment?
Then Jyn caught herself; no—absolutely not.
As she sat there ruminating on the slim chances of the idea being true, she could not help but dispel a nervous laugh, in disbelief of what she was letting her mind slip into. It was ridiculous to the utmost—that she should even begin to entertain a reason for the behaviors of the man who had severely insulted her, and that she should allow her curiosities about the matter to influence the certainty which she had already harbored for Mr. Krennic.
Her mind flared to a state of iration towards Cassian once more, detesting him for the doubt he had planted into her mind about her prospect, and with which she now found herself misinterpreting the duchess’s actions.
Lady Mothma looked at Jyn, pensive and inquisitive. “Are you well, Jyn?”
Jyn blinked her thoughts away. She nodded and flashed the duchess a reassuring look. “Quite, Your Grace.”
The duchess didn’t look convinced. “Are you certain?” After a brief pause she added, “Why do I feel as though there is something you want to ask me?”
Jyn maintained her smile, despite the blood rushing in torrents against the walls inside her body. “I…I don’t have anything in mind at the moment.”
The duchess beheld her uncertainly, before slowly nodding. “All right, then.”
Moments later she finally rose from her seat, with Jyn immediately following suit.
“So, how does a soiree sound?” offered the duchess, a grin on her face. “I know you love to dance.”
Jyn’s face lit up. “It sounds splendid.”
Lady Mothma nodded, pleased.
She was already walking towards the door, when suddenly she said, “You ought to enjoy such pleasures while you can before being wed to Mr. Krennic, don’t you think, Jyn?”
She uttered the words with such casual innocence that it had produced the effect of striking Jyn with a certain gravity. Instantaneously the mirthful look on her face faded.
Jyn watched the duchess from behind as she proceeded to saunter out the waiting room. The confidence which she had just secured moments before all threatened to fall apart yet again.
Her mind raced to the speed of sound. What the duchess said couldn’t have meant anything, could it?
It couldn’t have.
The first two days of Jyn and Philip’s trip to Bath quickly sped by; Jyn had spent most of them going to the library, visiting press shops, and being excited particularly, about one of the purchases she had made. She discovered, when she bought Culture of the Apple and the Pear, that its author Thomas Andrew Knight had a daughter named Frances, who apparently also loved botany like her, and who, from what she’d heard, was currently studying the ecosystem of flora in her late husband’s estate.
This encouraged Jyn to continue her own pursuits, and feeling so compelled even, to stock up on stacks of papers and bundles of quills to bring back home with her to Vallt Park and use for her writings.
Apart from these personal endeavors, however, Jyn (Philip with her) had also spent much of the past couple days joining Lady Mothma on her nightly soirees and dinners with her other noble peers. And though Jyn loved dancing, even more socializing with great partners of conversation, these events all had too much of them than what she could normally withstand. She was already exhausted by the second night.
But little did she know that it proved to be a perk for her too, for the preoccupation with which these activities had gripped her had done quite well in taking her mind off the interaction she had had with Lady Mothma on her first night in Bath; she could now barely remember how much it had left her feeling bizarre, intrigued, but above all unnerved.
On the morning of her third day in town, she woke up much later than usual, on account of her weariness that had finally accumulated to fatigue.
She knew right away that the morning had already grown well into the middle of the day when the sun, already too white and too hot for an early morning rise, shone through her window and directly into her eyes. She groaned audibly and threw a pillow to her face.
Moments later, she finally sat up on her bed and slowly got ready, stumbling into various corners and edges within the chamber, before she headed down to the breakfast room—which, to no surprise of hers, had already been tidied away for the morning. What remained was a half-empty pot of tea on the table, beside an exposed bowl of biscuits.
Not one for being picky, Jyn settled in a chair and began filling her stomach with food. As she chewed and sipped halfway through her breakfast, she suddenly bit her inner lip as it occurred to her, with sudden recollection, that the letter she had been expecting from Vallt Park should have already arrived this morning.
It was correspondence which her mother had promised to send to her on her second day in Bath, and which Jyn was excited to read. So after downing her last bite, she hurried off and began to wander Lady Mothma’s house, looking for a footman or a maid whom she could ask about today’s letters.
She found herself emerging into the foyer.
There, she accidentally chanced upon the duchess herself, who stood by the door, saying goodbye to a middle-aged man with dark blonde hair and a stoic look on his face.
“Reach out soon,” said Lady Mothma.
The man nodded. And just before the door closed on him, he caught sight of Jyn through the small sliver of space that now thinned out as the door swung into the jambs. This made the duchess spin around and look behind her. When she saw Jyn, she smiled.
“Jyn,” she said. “I hope you had a restful sleep?”
Jyn smiled in return, her face hot from mild embarrassment. “I did, Your Grace. Please forgive me for rising so late and missing breakfast.”
“Oh please,” said Lady Mothma, smiling. “It is no problem.”
Jyn then stole a glance through the glass pane beside the door, watching the man walk away and into his carriage on the street.
Lady Mothma followed her gaze. “That was Mr. Draven, if you’re wondering.”
Jyn registered the name with curious intent, but the name hardly rang any bell. “Mr. Draven?” she asked.
“He’s a barrister I work closely with,” supplied the duchess. “He was just visiting to apprise me of some developments within the Court.”
A barrister. That was the second person Jyn had run into within the last month, who was involved in the law. The strange coincidence stoked her curiosity, though not enough, she realized, to stir her out of her current fixation on the letter from her mother, which she really had to read now. “I see. It is too bad I missed him.”
Lady Mothma seemed to sense her stirrings and asked, “Is there anything you need, Jyn?”
Jyn reddened out even more. “Yes actually, Your Grace. I would just like to inquire about today’s letters, and if they have already arrived this morning?”
“Ah yes, they have. I think I saw one addressed to you from Vallt Park. It’s been put away in my study. Feel free to go there and claim it.”
Jyn gave her a nod. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
So Jyn went off again through the house’s halls, until she reached the floor where the duchess’s study was. With some force, she pushed on its double doors and stepped inside.
In the middle of the room was a gilded mahogany desk, surrounded by three walls of shelves. On the table’s surface was a slightly thick stack of letters, which Jyn began to carefully rifle through.
When she finally found the one for her, its penmanship surely signifying it to be from her mother, another letter that sat in the middle of the desk, and which had already been opened and loosely folded closed, suddenly caught her eye.
Strange, she thought. The seal that poked through from beneath the paper oddly reminded her of the same kind of wax that came with the letter Kerri had sent her—so eerily similar down to its sheen, color, and marbling.
Upon leaning down and taking a closer look at the letter, she saw at its bottom edge, just jutting out from beneath the top fold, the bottom lines of ink that marked the writer’s signature.
Her curiosity totally piqued, and with no one to reprimand her out of what she was now tempted to do, Jyn found herself, discreetly, slipping a finger between the folds and ever so slightly raising it—just to see the name, she told herself.
When she did, her hand instantly recoiled from the letter as though her skin had just been scalded by hot oil. She backed away from the desk, her surprise causing her to bump her behind into a shelf, motioning a book to fall onto her head. She winced in silence.
Hardly finding the time to recover from the pain, she put the book back in place, quickly grabbed the letter from her mother, and scampered out of the duchess’s study and into her bedchamber.
From that moment she tried to ignore what she had seen and do her best to go about her day, especially since she had to prepare herself for an afternoon at the theater with Philip and the duchess. But she found that she could not; whatever she did, it was not enough to shake off the fact that still rang through her mind.
It was Cassian Andor. The signature spelled, undoubtedly, Cassian Andor’s name.
All the doubt that she managed to forget for the last two days—about Philip, about Lady Mothma’s and Cassian’s separate but similar reactions towards him—suddenly came flooding back to her.
Her previous suspicions, which she had since then thrown to the side, were starting to feel true once more.
Lady Mothma had not been wrong; her box did provide quite the perfect view of the stage below.
The show was set to begin in half an hour. People had begun to fill the theater, filing through the rows of seats below, as well as the other boxes around where Jyn and the duchess sat.
To pass the time spent waiting, Philip had excused himself to mingle with his Cambridge friends, who had scheduled to attend the same showing, somewhere on the ground floor. Jyn watched him from the height and the distance as he laughed and conversed with his peers on who knew what.
She wondered how a person of such easy manners could be the object of anybody’s disapprobation, not only on Cassian’s part now it would seem, but Lady Mothma’s as well.
She caught a side-eye glance at the duchess, who sat to her right. Jyn debated to herself whether or not she should ask about Cassian to her, who, apparently, was someone she not only knew, but also corresponded to.
She drummed her fingers against the ledge in front of her, her sandaled foot tapping rapidly against the carpet beneath.
Lady Mothma gently fanned herself while she perused a pamphlet about the afternoon’s show. “An opera in only two acts,” she said, addressing Jyn without looking up from the paper. “We should conclude and still have time for a quick visit at Sir Organa’s dinner party—that is, if you are still not tired. What do you think?”
When Jyn didn’t answer, she finally looked up. “Jyn?”
The nerves in her threatening to burst at the seams, Jyn finally found the strength to say, “Your Grace?”
Lady Mothma’s brows wrinkled together. “Yes?”
This time Jyn didn’t hold back. “This question might come out of nowhere,” she began, “but, er, do you know Mr. Andor—Cassian Andor?”
Lady Mothma blinked, though nothing in her expression indicated any kind of surprise.
“I do, yes,” she answered. “For a long time now, actually.”
Jyn’s heartbeat quickened. “I see. I assume—well, suppose —that you knew him because of some line of work he had done on your behalf?”
“I have worked with him before, yes.” Lady Mothma’s sight narrowed, carefully observing her. “Why do you ask this, Jyn?”
“Did you know that he had moved into our village? You must have heard, through some form or another?” (Here the image of the opened letter sped by her mind, but she dared not bring it up).
The duchess seemed to weigh how to respond to the question before she finally nodded.
“I did, yes," she said. "And it surprised me, to be honest.”
Jyn frowned. “It did? Why?”
The duchess paused to think. “Well, of all places, I didn’t think he would settle there in Endor Village. The most likely possibility is that he just did not know.”
“Did not know what?” asked Jyn.
Lady Mothma leaned closer towards Jyn. “Jyn, what do you know of Mr. Andor?”
Jyn gazed off to think. “I suppose nothing much—well, except what I need, perhaps.”
“What do you mean by that?” Lady Mothma tilted her head.
Jyn took a deep breath. She met the duchess’s eyes. “We don’t get along, Your Grace. He has made it a point to dislike me, and frankly I just don’t find him agreeable. I need not know more beyond his unwillingness to be civil with me.”
“What have you two argued about?”
Jyn stammered. “I…he has persuaded his sister Kerri to no longer be my friend, and I admonished him for it; for some reason, he thinks too little of my character and does not trust me with her.”
Here Jyn caught Lady Mothma stealing a glance in the general direction where Philip stood below. She then nodded as if she understood.
“I do not say that I condone particularly his judgment of your character,” she said, “but, if I may offer some clarity, Jyn, I think I know why he acted the way he did.”
Jyn’s heart sank. At that point she felt like she had no choice but to finally pose the question she had been dreading to ask and receive an answer to.
“Is it…because of Mr. Krennic, Your Grace?”
Lady Mothma met Jyn’s eyes, but did not speak. It was all the confirmation that Jyn needed. Her spirits spiralled.
“Has he done something to Mr. Andor?” she suddenly inquired. “Is this also why, with all due respect, Your Grace, you yourself seem to dislike him?”
The duchess’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean? I do?”
“I do not understand,” Jyn went on, averting her gaze away from the duchess and shaking her head. “Mr. Krennic cannot have done something to warrant all this, can he?”
Upon observing the turmoil that began to overtake Jyn, Lady Mothma’s expression softened. In a gentle voice she said, “Jyn. It seems to me that this is something that has weighed heavily upon you. And understandably so, for it involves a question around the person with whom you are to marry.”
Jyn did not respond.
“And it’s clear to me,” continued the duchess, “that your confusion is caused by an important fact, and one whose knowledge of you do not currently possess.”
Her breaths heavy, Jyn looked at the duchess with anticipation. “What knowledge, Your Grace? What is it that I should know?”
Lady Mothma took in a big breath of air.
“Let me tell you about Mr. Andor’s past.”
With all the questions that plagued her mind finally about to get their answers, Jyn now lent her all her attention to the duchess as she began to tell her the story of Cassian Andor’s life, which, for Jyn, had been nothing short of a mystery—and the object of her deepest curiosity.