Translator: Nox

Chapter 124

#<Episode 124>

“I had my first love at boarding school. She was two grades ahead of me, with a year left until graduation. She graduated in the designated year, and the following year, she married her fiancé. It broke my heart. Losing her was nothing compared to losing the use of a leg. My next lover I met in Africa. She was from America and had been divorced for about five years. We lived together for several years. If the law had allowed it, I would have married her.”

She tapped the floor with the end of her cane throughout the story.

“That person jumped into the flames to put out the fire on my coffee farm and lost her life. It was more painful than bankruptcy, and I even attempted suicide several times, but failed each time. Eventually, I came to believe that continuing to live was what she wanted. And I decided to make a living with the writing skills she had always praised during her lifetime.”

“You have many scars.”

“I have no regrets. I was happy because I met those two people. But you see, Miss Pendleton, my relationship with Jane is different.”

Miss Rotis stopped tapping the ground with her cane.

“The people I loved had experience in such romantic relationships. They instinctively sensed what kind of person I was and approached me with confidence. But I have no idea. I don't know if Jane is the same kind of person as me.”

“You could just ask Miss Hyde directly.”

“Jane wouldn't know either. It's a matter of invisible emotions. Above all, Jane worships me. That's the biggest problem. Worship and love are different. But Jane likes me so much that she might confuse worship with love. Or she might feel obligated to accept my feelings. That's the worst, for both Jane and me.”

Miss Rotis shrugged.

“You know why I can't bring myself to be brave, right?”

Laura smiled bitterly.

“Yes. And why you gave me so much advice.”

Miss Rotis smiled and looked down the streets of Bath again, hoping to catch sight of the lovely woman holding a stack of books in her arms.

“If I could be sure that Jane felt the same way as me, like you and that man, I wouldn't hesitate for even a second. Humans are born to love. That's the most precious lesson the two people I loved taught me.”

Laura couldn't take her eyes off her back. Miss Rotis was small, so her back was also small. But in Laura's eyes, she was like a mountain.

To be so brave in love.

Miss Rotis was in an unfortunate love. But Miss Rotis herself was not an unfortunate person. She was a more wonderful and stronger person than anyone else.

Laura sighed softly. For some reason, she envied her. That courage not to fear passion, even when hurt and broken.

* * *

Two days ago.

It was an evening in Bath, with gas lamps lighting up the dark surroundings like daylight.

Thomas Willow, the owner of the 100-year-old hat shop ‘Isabella Willow,’ was alone, settling the day's sales. Inside the hat shop, where all the employees had left, only the sound of coins clinking, bills rustling against each other, and the scratching of a quill pen on a ledger echoed.

Then, with a tinkle, the door opened.

“I'm sorry, we're closed for the day… Good heavens!”

Mr. Willow almost dropped the bills he was holding.

A gentleman was standing in the doorway of the shop. He was covered in dust from head to toe, and half of his face was covered in blood, a truly wretched sight.

The owner looked at him carefully and then shouted.

“Sir, what's wrong?”

The gentleman, called ‘Sir,’ strode into the shop. His gait was the same as usual, but his expression was not good.

“Bring me a first-aid kit.”

He went up the stairs and disappeared.

Mr. Willow put the bills back in the safe and ran to the third floor. That was the workshop where the artisans made hats. He took the first-aid kit from one side of the drawer and went up to the fourth floor.

The fourth floor of Isabella Willow was the top floor of the building, a warehouse where outdated stock was piled up.

Mr. Willow frowned as he opened the door to the fourth floor. The view was completely blocked by the hat boxes piled up to the ceiling.

The air was as stuffy as the view. It was because of the dust. Since the stock had started to pile up to an unmanageable level, Mr. Willow had never properly cleaned or ventilated this place.

Over the past three years, Isabella Willow's inventory had increased to an unprecedented level since its founding. This was because customers had flocked to the newly opened department stores. Elderly aristocrats still frequented the place, but the number of young customers who enjoyed dressing up had plummeted, and the shop had been in the red for several years.

‘My grandmother, who passed the shop down to me, must be crying in heaven.’

With a gloomy face, Mr. Willow walked along the narrow passage between the boxes. As the passage began to narrow, Mr. Willow had to turn his body sideways and walk sideways.

Barely squeezing through the boxes, Mr. Willow approached the window. There was a small space of about five square meters there. A bed made by joining wooden boxes, a washbasin, a candlestick, and a hard trunk used as a table.

The gentleman who had asked for the first-aid kit was sitting there.

The gentleman was soaking a towel in the water in the basin and wiping the blood from his face. As he wiped away the bloodstains covering his face, his wretched appearance was revealed. A scabbed mouth, bruised cheekbones, and a long, torn forehead.

The gentleman gestured, asking for the first-aid kit quickly.

“Will this be enough? Should I call a doctor?”

“It's fine. It's just a small cut on my forehead.”

“If you've been robbed, you should go to the police.”

The gentleman said nothing. He just silently disinfected his forehead with alcohol and applied a bandage.

‘What on earth has this man been doing?’

Mr. Willow thought, looking down at the gentleman with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

This gentleman had come to the shop about a week ago. He was momentarily impressed by his elegant and handsome face, but then the gentleman suddenly asked to rent the window of this shop as accommodation.

Mr. Willow naturally refused. This was not a lodging establishment, but a sacred space where luxury hats were made and introduced to dignified customers.

But the gentleman suddenly took a wad of pounds from his coat and placed it on the counter.

“I'll pay 500 pounds a month for the room.”

Mr. Willow gathered up the pounds. It was an unavoidable choice to cover the deficit.

Of course, there was no space for anyone to stay in the shop. He handed over this warehouse, worried that he might be asked to return the five hundred pounds.

Unexpectedly, the gentleman did not express any dissatisfaction and settled in the warehouse.

He occasionally asked for laundry, meals, and mail. While running errands, the owner learned about his identity.

Ian Dalton from Yorkshire.

Because he worked with the wealthy, he vaguely remembered hearing this name. The Dalton family was a prestigious family that owned more than half of the land in Yorkshire.

Mr. Willow was very surprised by his identity, and his curiosity grew even more. What on earth was this enviable landowner doing in the warehouse of this failing hat shop?

Mr. Willow kept a close eye on the young landowner's movements.

He stood in front of the window all day, looking outside. Right across from the shop, the Lorellia Hotel.

If his identity were not accurate, Mr. Willow would have thought of him as a private detective. The way he kept his eyes on the hotel entrance even while eating and changing clothes was just like a private detective obsessively staking out to solve a case.

‘A man who can hire 100 detectives can't be doing that himself. Mystery, mystery.’

Looking down at the mysterious gentleman disinfecting the bloodstains on his face, Mr. Willow shook his head inwardly.

The gentleman, who had finished his treatment, handed the first-aid kit to Willow. Mr. Willow took the first-aid kit and walked sideways through the narrow passage again.

Soon, the gentleman was left alone in the warehouse.

Ian Dalton, the young gentleman who had confused Mr. Willow, got up from the trunk he was sitting on and opened the lid. Inside were various travel belongings delivered by his butler, Ramswick. He picked up a mirror he used for shaving and looked at his face.

A pathetic face covered in wounds.

“Damn it.”

Ian muttered a curse and put the mirror away. Then he began to change his dusty clothes. His bare body, hidden beneath his clothes, was covered in bruises.

He had arrived in Bath the day after meeting Ann Steele in London.

The first thing he did as soon as he set foot in Bath was to buy a tourist guidebook from a bookstore. He went to every hotel and luxury inn listed in the book, looking for Laura's name in the accommodation register. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find her name.

He wandered around the downtown area, hoping to find Laura by chance. Based on the fact that she liked books, he spent all day at the largest bookstore in Bath.

Afraid that he might find Laura walking arm in arm with her handsome old love.

Then one day, thinking that he might as well, he visited the Mineral Water Hall and found Laura as if by fate.

She was with unfamiliar women. He felt relieved when he confirmed that she was not with John Ashton. And soon, tears welled up in his eyes with joy.

Laura was smiling. In a way he had never seen before, sparkling. She was much more beautiful than he had imagined in his anxiety over the past few days.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at Laura's face. How much he had longed to capture that image in his eyes over the past week.

He realized anew. He couldn't live without Laura. If he couldn't see that face every day, living wouldn't be living.

As Laura's group left the Mineral Water Hall, Ian followed them and took a chartered carriage. The place they arrived at was the Lorellia Hotel. He immediately went into the hat shop across from the hotel and rented the warehouse, spending all the money he had on him.

He was usually teased by those around him for being so clean. He always carried a handkerchief to keep dust off his body, and when he came back from a dusty place, he would shower from head to toe.

For him to live in a warehouse where even mice would be carried out with lung disease was something he could not have imagined under normal circumstances. But he couldn't afford to be picky.

He desperately needed a place where he could see Laura and not be seen by her.

He must not let her know of his existence. It was clearly written in the letter that if he followed her, she would leave even further away.

He had been standing in front of the window for a week, waiting for Laura to appear. But she stubbornly did not come out of the hotel even a step.

The longing quickly turned into disappointment.

‘It's better this way. If she doesn't come out, she won't run into John Ashton.’

He comforted himself like this, but he couldn't take his eyes off the hotel entrance. He wanted to see her face. If not her face, then even a strand of her hair. Or even her shadow.

He was craving Laura as if he were addicted.