Chapter 94
Laura visited Whitefield Hall alone the next day. It was the first time she had gone to Whitefield Hall by herself.
Laura slowly walked into the mansion. Ramswick, the butler who had been waiting for her visit, guided her.
They passed through the dazzling hall and stairs, arriving in front of his study. Ramswick opened the door for her, and Laura entered.
He was standing by the window, neatly dressed in a gray suit and navy tie.
"Welcome."
He greeted her with an awkward voice that didn't suit them. Laura gave him a slight curtsy.
"Did you feel dizzy or anything after returning home?"
"Not at all."
"You look like you haven't slept."
Laura smiled faintly.
"I couldn't sleep."
He nodded as if he understood.
"Shall we sit down?"
They sat on the buffalo leather sofa in one corner of the study. Soon, a servant came in with a tray of tea, cake, and cookies. After setting it down and leaving, he naturally picked up the teapot and poured tea into Laura's cup, adding milk, two spoons of sugar, and stirring it with a teaspoon.
While Laura slowly drank her tea, he placed slices of cake and cookies on her plate. Laura, who had barely eaten breakfast, enjoyed it. While she ate, he just watched her without saying a word.
She finished a piece of cake and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
"Was it good?"
Laura nodded. A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Miss Pendleton, ah... would you prefer to be called Miss Sheldon?"
"Whatever Mr. Dalton is comfortable with."
"For me to be comfortable, Miss Pendleton must be comfortable."
"Then, I prefer Miss Pendleton. That's what Mr. Dalton has always called me."
"Very well, Miss Pendleton."
He stood up and strode to his desk. There was a large paper box on his desk. He picked it up, returned, and placed it on one side of the table.
Laura looked at the box. The name Louis Sheldon was clearly written on the box, and a small paper bag was placed on top.
He picked up the paper bag and handed it to Laura.
"First, I would like you to check this."
Laura accepted the paper bag.
"It's all of Louis Sheldon's assets."
Laura slowly opened the bag and took out the contents. She didn't have high expectations. Her father, who had lived his whole life as a poor painter, couldn't have left a great fortune. It would just be a few dozen pounds in a bank account and a few banknotes he had on hand.
A bank receipt came out of the bag. Laura counted the numbers written on the receipt.
"Two thousand... pounds...?"
Laura looked across at Mr. Dalton. He was stirring his tea with lemon with a teaspoon.
"Is this my father's money?"
"Yes. It's your money now."
"That's impossible. My father was poor. He didn't have a job that could earn this much..."
"When your father first came to Whitefield, he was a portrait painter who was starting to gain recognition among the nobles. Also, it was around that time that the landscapes he painted during his travels began to catch the eye of discerning art dealers."
"But every time I met art dealers, I asked about my father's name. They all said they didn't know him..."
"He passed away just before he gained recognition. There are thousands of painters active in England, and painters who die before becoming famous are quickly forgotten. But I am sure that if he had lived, he would have become a painter known to everyone in England within a year or two. His paintings were beautiful. Like his soul."
His voice was full of conviction, but Laura decided to believe only half of it. Objective criticism becomes difficult when strong affection is involved.
As if reading Laura's mind, he opened the box of belongings and handed her one of the sketchbooks.
Laura opened the sketchbook. It was filled with her father Louis Sheldon's unfinished watercolors.
They were all landscapes of Whitefield. A lakeside at sunset. A beautiful forest on a starry night. A desolate wheat field before harvest.
The colors were bright and transparent. It was as if he had captured real light and darkness in the paintings, not just paint. The technique was perfect, and the individuality was unique.
Laura, who had a good eye for art, could agree with Mr. Dalton's conviction. Her father was a great artist. If he hadn't passed away so early, he would have surely become a representative painter of England.
For the first time in her life, Laura felt proud of her father's existence.
She turned her gaze to the box of belongings. A frayed handkerchief. An old shirt. A stained palette and paint tubes. A Bible. A well-worn leather bag. The things her father wore, carried, and used in her memories.
As befitting the possessions of an unknown painter who had never been wealthy in his life, they were shabby, but there was not a speck of mold or dust.
"It's like he was using them until yesterday."
"My father took great care in managing Mr. Sheldon's belongings. My father was always grateful to him. Because he saved me from sorrow."
Laura smiled gently.
"Mrs. Star told me. That my father was a good teacher to Mr. Dalton."
"More than that."
He smiled. It was a smile tinged with sadness.
"I was always a sensitive and easily depressed child. After my sister left for marriage, I became even more depressed and lonely. Mr. Sheldon taught me how to accept myself as I was. 'Emotions are not bad. If you're lonely, draw your loneliness. If you miss someone, draw the person you miss. If you shine your heart outward, the pain will disappear, and only the richness that emotions give will remain. Even sadness is beautiful in that richness.'"
Laura thought of the Whitefield watercolor that Mr. Dalton had given her. Such a beautiful painting had started from her father's teachings.
"After he passed away, I fell into despair for a while. But, Mr. Sheldon taught me how to overcome sorrow before he left. I did as I was taught. Drawing pictures for him and praying for him in heaven. Writing letters to him when I had something to say. When I was able to mourn him without tears, I knew that I had grown."
His voice was choked. He was still missing his teacher, who had left over twenty years ago.
Laura wanted to hug him tightly. She wanted to comfort him and tell him thank you for not forgetting her father.
An impulse she couldn't dare to act on. Laura thought of another way to comfort Mr. Dalton.
"Mr. Dalton. Shall we take a walk for a while?"
The two went outside.
The early autumn air had a refreshing coolness as deep as the chill held by the deepest valleys. The two walked through the garden and along a quiet dirt path lined with white birch trees on both sides. The sound of crickets chirping and mountain birds singing mixed with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.
"I once said that I wanted to take a walk in Whitefield someday. That wish has come true."
Laura, who had been walking in silence for a while, opened her mouth.
"In London, Mr. Dalton always praised Whitefield. I thought that if someone like Mr. Dalton praised it so much, it must be a really great place. Seeing it in person, it's no exaggeration at all. It's a really beautiful place."
"Thank you for saying so, Miss Pendleton."
"My father must have felt the same way. My father's paintings were all landscapes of Whitefield."
"Mr. Sheldon only painted here after coming to Whitefield."
"I think I know how he felt. I can't draw, but if I could, I would have spent all day wandering around Whitefield with a brush, palette, and sketchbook."
Mr. Dalton didn't say anything. Laura glanced at him sideways. The corners of his lips were slightly raised.
Happiness bloomed in Laura's heart.
"Mr. Dalton, would it be okay if I came here occasionally to take a walk?"
He turned his head. The two's eyes met.
"Would you welcome me even if Olivia isn't with me?"
"Of course."
Laura expressed her gratitude and looked forward again.
"I was thinking about my father all night last night. That my father didn't abandon me. That he worked hard to come back for me and died because of it. I was confused. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it either. The current me was made with the belief that my father abandoned me."
She thought he would ask what that meant, but he didn't say anything. When she turned her head, he was staring ahead and quietly listening to her words. His unhurried attitude encouraged her.
"I remember something from when I was 15. It was my birthday. The dormitory threw me a birthday party. The headmistress ordered a big cake, and all the students and teachers gathered. I attended the party wearing a lilac silk dress. It was a gift from my grandmother. It was a wonderful party. I blew out the candles on the cake, received kisses from my friends, and hugged the teachers I respected. We made a lot of noise until late at night. Late at night, I went into my room and crawled straight into bed. And I burst into tears that I had been holding back all day."
"......"
"The cake, the dress, and the congratulations from the people around me didn't fill my heart. Because my father didn't send me even a postcard. I was disappointed every birthday, but it seemed especially bad that year. I cried, cried, and cried all night like that. I think that was the day. The day I decided to no longer live swayed by emotions."
After speaking, Laura wondered why she was confessing such a damp past. Knowing that it would burden his heart, why.
She was afraid of being misunderstood by him. How would she look to someone as loving as him, knowing about her father's death and not shedding a single tear? She would surely look like a cold-blooded person.
She wanted to make excuses. That she was so calm not because she didn't love her father. That there was a reason why she couldn't easily shed tears.
He was probably struggling to find words of comfort. She had to ease his burden. Laura smiled brightly and turned to him. With the intention of saying, 'It's all okay now.'
However, the smile was erased from Laura's face when she turned to his side.
Mr. Dalton's face was completely wet with tears.
She stopped in her tracks and grabbed his arm.
"Mr. Dalton......"
He hurriedly turned his head to the other side. His broad, firm shoulders were trembling slightly. She hadn't seen it wrong.
Laura froze. She didn't know what to do. It was the first time she had seen a grown man like Mr. Dalton cry.
He took out a clean gray handkerchief with a plaid pattern from his inside jacket pocket and quickly wiped his face.
Laura grabbed his arm tightly.
"It's all okay now. It's all in the past, and I'm happy now."
But her words backfired. He buried his face in the handkerchief and began to sob.
Listening to his sobs, Laura realized. He was grieving for her, Laura Pendleton's, past. The misfortune she had experienced. He was crying and hurting for those days that only a few people knew about, and only a handful of them felt sorry for.
At that moment, a cracking sound echoed in her heart.
It was the sound of the lid covering her heart cracking.
