Chapter Text
John Jacob MacAllister was not enjoying his life in London. A bio-chemistry degree from Oxford apparently “wasn’t good enough” to get him a stable job. So, the baker’s son from Fife had accepted a job as a manservant for Lord Roland. He was patronised daily, made to suck up posh quips at his expense, usually about his accent or his hometown, but he endured it. The rich Lords and Ladies he served daily only deepened his sense of bitterness towards the landed gentry, whose rules and laws he had to work under but was never allowed to advance up towards their station. No, he was working class, made to serve the powerful, and that is all he would ever be. Despite it all, he held out hope that the world was changing for the better; all he had to do was wait it out.
It was the beginning of pheasant season that his ideals were thrown into question. As he emerged from the bushes that Lord Roland and his friend Geoffrey had sent him into, he overheard their conversation. Geoffrey would turn Jacob into a member of the landed gentry and gain Essex if he succeeded by the pheasant off-season - if he failed, Roland would gain Suffolk. These games the two played, the way they bet people’s homes as a laugh made him sick to his stomach.
But then they proposed him a deal. If he took part in this bet, and he succeeded along with Geoffrey, he would gain a small plot of land in Essex, but if he failed and Roland won, he would instead gain land in Suffolk.
Here it was, the true final chance to escape his life. He would be set for life with land like that, and with a small farm too, he could actually put his biochemistry degree to work! The thought of freedom, true freedom from the sneering faces and uptight attitudes of his bosses made him crack. He was getting something good out of the deal either way. So, he subjected himself to the trials, the demeaning humiliation of getting turned into a proper English gentleman, and he counted down the days. Roland started planning events to show Jacob off in, the Scottish wildling turned ‘civilised’. Geoffrey began bringing Jacob to houses of other aristocrats, seeing if he would pass for one of them. The torture culminated when Roland announced he was going to introduce him to his daughter, Miss Angelina Roland.
The men sickened him- but was he really any better?
——————
Angelina Roland was not enjoying her life in London. Her very existence was scandalous: the illegitimate child of an American heiress and a British Lord, she’d grown up sheltered by her family. All she’d wanted was freedom, the freedom to do what she wanted in her life, out from under the thumb of her neglectful mother. Her only friend in the world was her old nursemaid Mrs Daltrey, a senile and eccentric woman whose speech was entirely incomprehensible to anyone but Angelina. So, on her 20th birthday, when she received a letter from her father to join him in London, she was ecstatic. Finally, she could get rid of her dreary life and become a free woman, a new woman, free from the shackles of her previous life and circumstances of birth.
England was disappointing. The whole country seemed… grey, grey and void of joy. Oh sure, she’d enjoyed it at first! Her father provided her with an apartment and an allowance, which when mixed with her meagre spending money she received from her grandfather’s will, she truly felt like an uncaged bird. But it went downhill quickly: her father, the man she had only met once or twice before her move was suffocating, insisting she follow his every instruction. Every few weeks he’d bring a boy to the apartment, showing him off like a prized pet, each one more stereotypically English than the last. She had made Mrs Daltrey change the locks two or three times, and yet, she never ending flood of picture-perfect young bachelors remained strong. Most disturbingly, on the few occasions she’d agreed to go on outings with these men merely to get her father off her back, they would prove themselves to be devoid of any free thought. Each one was the spitting image of her father in terms of temperament, personality and views. Not one of them supported her journalistic goals, and at least two had tried to hit her when she spoke of work.
So, she was truly fuming when she heard her father enter the building.
“Daughter, are you up there?” He called, the accent grating on her nerves.
“Yes, Father,” she drawled.
She heard the rush of footsteps, at least two people were on their way up. With a grimace she gestured to Mrs Daltrey to open her bedroom door.
He appeared on the top of the stairs, the man she assumed was with him was instead nowhere to be seen.
“Isn’t there someone with you?” She questioned.
“I… I think he got lost, daughter.” He responded briskly, adjusting his jacket. He stepped forward into the room.
“As you know, you have come of age..” he started. Angelina couldn’t help but scoff - not this spiel again, she thought bitterly, and took another drag from her cigarette.
“The time has come for you to find a suitable suitor!” He announced grandly, like she hadn’t heard him the first fifteen times before.
“Needless to say, I have found this suitor. He’s tall, strong, handsome, and I think he would be a perfect union into this family.”
——————
Jacob sprinted back up the spiral stairs, his head reeling with what he’d seen. Jesus, this family was more crazy than he ever could have imagined! The man chained up in the basement, the roaming dinosaurs wielding guns… he pinched himself, trying to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. As he made his way up, he heard the voice of Lord Roland.
“…erfect union into this family.” He was just on time.
He nearly tripped over the last step, but managed to slow down as Roland took a step to the side, presenting him.
“Here he is.”
In the corner of the room, lounging on a red leather armchair, sat an undeniably gorgeous woman. Her hair was deep brown and curly, strands of it falling into her eyes from the bun she had it pinned in behind her head. Her eyes were a deep green, the same colour as her dress, and the silver jewellery she was wearing sparkled in the light of the sun. She dragged her eyes over him, and he couldn’t help but stand up a little straighter, as she examined him from head to toe. She lazily looked back at her father and commented with an American drawl,
“Is he behind the short, weak and mildly repulsive man?”
She looked away back out of the window, and Jacob felt his heart drop.
“Boy!” Roland viciously whispered into his ear, making him jump. “She’s testing you. Fire back, quickly now, like we taught you. It’s the only way to win her over. Quick! And think of something good.”
He stepped further into the room, to see Angelina turn her head.
“Sorry, I was cruel before, I just cannot abide this kind of behaviour from my father. What year does he think this is?”
Jacob looked back hesitantly. He didn’t really want to insult the woman, even if she had just verbally destroyed him.
Roland had made his way over to her now, and she was looking at Jacob.
“I’ve got nothin’ against him,” she said simply, refusing to look in her father’s eyes, “apart from that he’s here in your company.”
With a rough voice he commanded her, “Stand.”
She was taken aback, finally looking directly at her father.
“Excuse me-“
“Stand.” Roland repeated in a booming voice. For a few tense moments they glared at each other, until Angelina ripped herself off the seat. She stood over her father, practically spitting on him. “Fine, but not because you told me to,” she took a few steps away from the Lord, while bringing the cigarette up to her mouth, “but because I don’t want to be near you, father. Mrs Daltrey, please show them out-“
Mrs Daltrey replied in a whining tone that Jacob could not understand, but he figured it was something to do with the freshly brewed tea she had just brought in on a tray. Angelina went over to comfort the doddery old woman, when Jacob caught Roland’s eye. He had a fire in his eyes, and Jacob knew he had no choice. He let himself feel the anger at the insult she had thrown at him, and finally spoke, “How’s the weather up there?”
Silence.
With a free hand he reached over and pulled a cup from off Mrs Daltrey’s tray, and began to drink.
Lord Roland suddenly erupted in laughter, and even Mrs Daltrey herself gave him a nod and a crooked smile (well, more of a well-intended grimace).
“You see that sharp wit?” Roland boomed, pulling a pipe from his pocket and snatching a match from Angelina’s frozen hands. “He came back with it like that!” He clicked his fingers for emphasis.
Angelina’s face, previously pale, had been tinged pink, and her eyes blazed with a similar fury to her father’s. Still, she retained her elegance as she turned her head to her father.
“Oh no, I’m tall, svelte and handsome, how terrible for me!”
She raised her hand to her forehead and cried out in a mockingly sad tone, “How can I live with myself?”
Jacob didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was the ego-boost from his retort, or Angelina’s clearly low opinion of him, but he felt all his sympathy for the woman melt away. Roland had told him that she was regularly presented with suitors, and still she had the gall to not treat any of them like a human. From the apartment, Jacob could tell she lived lavishly, with servants and even fucking dinosaurs, while he had to work from the ground up. She was just like her father, he concluded, she was using him to hurt Roland. Between her feelings and the possibility of riches and his dreams come true, Jacob steeled himself and picked Lord Roland.
“My wit is almost as sharp as that big schnoz on your face,” he said calmly, taking another sip of tea.
——————
Angelina whipped her head around to face the man. Pure rage infiltrated every corner of her body, sympathy for the boy now gone. He was just another plaything for her father, and for once she wanted to let the puppet break free, but clearly this suitor was just as bad as the rest. It sickened her, the way he kept looking to her father for approval, like he was a dog desperate for attention.
“Now you go, now you go!” Called Mrs Daltrey, eyes gleaming with the joy of chaos. Angelina took another deep puff from her cigarette, staring into the suitor’s eyes. They were dark brown, the colour of mud thought Angelina bitterly. There was no humanity there, she concluded, as she walked up the man, towering over him. Her father was once again whispering loudly into the man’s ear, but she didn’t care what he was saying. She leaned over him, watching as he turned to face her. To her dismay, he didn’t shrink away from her, he stood firm. Angelina tapped her cigarette, letting the ash fall on his shoulder, “I’m done with this conversation.”
“Oh, that was shit,” she heard Mrs Daltrey whine as she turned away from the men.
“Mrs Daltrey may have let you into my rooms-“
“You told me to!”
“-but I have no time for this. I do not want to see my father, I have forsook the family name! Forsook, forsaken and forsooked it!”
“What do you mean?” Asked her father.
“I mean I have forsaken, forsoothed and forsook it!” She spat.
“Listen,” growled her father, his voice low and deadly, but she continued.
“I have given up the family name-!”
“No you have not!” Roland hissed, marching towards her.
“Yes I have!” She replied, and turned to walk away until her father reached up and grabbed her by the collar.
“I told you, enough of this!! This talk that you’ve done, giving up the family name, YOU will be one with us!” He yelled into her face, making her flinch from the noise.
“YOU will be part of this gentry, and HE will be your husband. Do you understand me?”
She wriggled free from his grip and stepped back.
“I do not want any part of this. Do you know what our family has done? Do you know what you’ve done, father?” She gave a miserable laugh.
“We brought prosperity to Essex,” he replied, stepping towards her again, trying to intimidate her despite how she dwarfed even him.
“Essex was doin’ fine!” She countered, jabbing a finger into his chest, “Essex was doin’ fine before we got there!”
With one last deadly look and a silent promise, her father hissed, “You will submit. It is the way.” As he thundered away, Angelina looked up to see the suitor talking to Mrs Daltrey. So he can understand her, she noted. Still, her anger flared, and her emotions took over. Who does he think he is, she thought, taking even Mrs Daltrey from me?
“And how will you make me?” Angelina called back towards her father. He looked back at her, suspicious.
“I’m an independent woman now. I work for a livin’. I write for the paper!”
“Listen!!” Screeched Mrs Daltrey, her voice ear-piercing. “Listen…” she tottered over to Angelina, and pulled her over so she could hear her properly. “You told me that I’m the only person you’ve got in the world. And what you have here is an opportunity. Worst case scenario,” she wheezed, turning towards the men muttering hurriedly between themselves before turning back, “it’s a funny story for the paper. You could make millions! It’d be like Bridget George’s Diary!”
“The hot new book of 1895…” Angelina whispered to herself.
“Exactly!” Wheezed Mrs Daltrey. “Or, maybe he’s a nice guy, but otherwise, you’ll never know! Either it’s a funny story for the pub, or it’s the love of your life.”
“A nice guy?” Angelina shook her head. “But at the moment I hate him! Who’s ever heard of two enemies becomin’ lovers?”
——————
“This is your way, boy,” muttered Roland, “to join the elite, the gentry, you understand?”
Jacob glanced over at Mrs Daltrey and Angelina, both talking animatedly.
“I understand,” he replied, turning back towards Lord Roland.
“Good!” Roland smiled, but somehow, it didn’t seem genuine. “I’ll leave you to it. Mrs Daltrey!”
Mrs Daltrey whipped around and squeaked a reply.
“We must away!”
The woman shook her head violently and squealed again, “No.”
Lord Roland merely shook his head. “Jacob will be here to pick you up for an outing tomorrow at 10 o’clock sharp, Angelina, you understand?” Before she could reply, Jacob felt himself being pulled out of the room and down the stairs. As the two settled into the motorcar and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel eyes boring into the back of his head, but whenever he turned to look back at the window, there was no-one there.