Translator: Nox

Chapter 99

<99> Hunting Party (2)

Can Miss Pendleton even begin to imagine what happened in my heart at that moment? It was a joy that dwarfed even the surprise when Miss Pendleton first opened the door to my future as a typist, the delight when I left home and entered a boarding house for the first time, and the excitement of my first day at work, all rolled into one!

I headed to Bath with Miss Rotis the very next day. She has lectures and signing events scheduled there. As soon as we arrived, I followed her around all day, adjusting her event schedule, preparing her clothes and carriage, and taking care of her meals. I've become her personal secretary. My salary has tripled, and the publisher is paying for it all. The hours are longer, but to be paid so handsomely for work I would do for free is a windfall!

It's only been a little over a week since I started, but I'm already Miss Rotis's thorough right-hand woman. I'm happy just to be able to manage her documents, her clothes, and her notebook full of memos as messy as my own handwriting. And what makes me even happier than becoming her secretary is the fact that she seems to like me very much.

Oh, how I wish I could show Miss Pendleton my happy self! Couldn't you come to Bath sometime? I'd love to introduce Miss Pendleton to Miss Rotis and have tea together. I'm sure Miss Pendleton would like Miss Rotis too!

Well, I'll write again soon. Please pray that I won't be banished from this paradise, Miss Pendleton!

Your precious friend,

Jane Hyde

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It wasn't the promotion to editor she had been waiting for, but completely different news. Laura pondered and soon came to think that this would be of great help to Miss Hyde's growth.

Miss Hyde was not someone who would be trapped in an office forever. She was an active, free, and brave person. Surely, assisting Mary Rotis, Britain's best travel writer, would have a good influence on her and help her find her own path.

"That must be welcome letter, Miss Pendleton."

Laura put down the letter. Her cheeks were flushed.

Laura talked about the contents of the letter.

Mrs. Fairfax sent her due congratulations. Although she had no interest in books and didn't know who Mary Rotis was, Mrs. Fairfax had always had respect for independent women.

"Tell her to be sure to visit a restaurant called 'Beatrice' in the city. It has an Italian chef, and all the food is excellent."

"Come to think of it, you stayed in Bath for a long time, didn't you, Mrs. Fairfax?"

"Yes, my husband fell off his horse and injured his back, so we convalesced there together."

"It's hard to believe you were sick. You're so energetic now."

"The hot springs of Bath saved him. If we hadn't gone to Bath, we would only have Henry as our child."

Laura blushed. Mrs. Fairfax continued without concern.

"Not only my husband but I also benefited from Bath. I was on the verge of becoming a patient myself from nursing him, but I regained my energy by drinking the hot spring water and visiting good restaurants there. Balls, reading groups, shopping streets, Concerts. No woman can be depressed in Bath."

A little later, Laura returned to her room. She took out a piece of paper and began to write a reply to Miss Hyde. It was a warm and affectionate letter filled with congratulations and blessings.

After putting the letter in an envelope and sealing it, Laura took out the letter Ann had sent.

Ann had been sending letters regularly even after Laura left London. Ann always conveyed her regards and worried about Laura's life, but she also faithfully devoted much space to slandering Charles Pendleton, who was holding drinking and gambling parties day after day in the inherited Townhouse, and cursing Gerald Pendleton, who was just watching his son and wishing he would drop dead.

Through the letters, Laura learned about Charles's behavior of recklessly disposing of his grandmother's cherished works of art to raise gambling funds, and about her uncle's recent activities of visiting London's wealthy people to find investors for his eldest son's business, making promises that were close to fraud.

Laura was increasingly unsure what the family honor her uncle was trying to protect meant.

Wondering what kind of disturbing news would be written this time, Laura took out the letter Ann had sent and began to read it.

But the contents of the letter completely deviated from Laura's expectations.

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To my beloved mistress, Miss Pendleton.

I am picking up my pen again less than two days after writing my last letter. Forgive me, Miss Pendleton. It's not to chatter about trivial matters. After receiving your last reply, I realized that you were not pleased to hear news of the Pendleton Estate. I realized that I had been wasting paper on things that hurt your heart, and I deeply regretted it.

I decided to refrain from writing letters for the next month. Instead of praying that Pendleton would fall off his carriage or that Charles Pendleton would be kicked out by Miss Jenson, I should focus on sweeping and cleaning this Townhouse, I thought. That was definitely my resolution.

But this afternoon, a man visited this Townhouse, and I had no choice but to reopen the tightly closed ink bottle.

Miss Pendleton, do you happen to know a man named John Ashton?

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John Ashton.

Laura dropped the letter.

'John Ashton. John Ashton.'

The image of a man hidden in the deepest recesses of her memory. Red curly hair. Tan skin. Bold features. A tall height and dignified physique like a wall. A bright smile with deep dimples on both cheeks.

With trembling hands, Laura picked up the letter and began to read it again.

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He came in a large four-wheeled carriage. He was a tall man with dark red hair and tan skin. (Almost as tall as Dalton.) He had very dark purple eyes and dimples on his cheeks. He was also well-built. (Almost as much as Dalton.) He was wearing mourning clothes, and they were made of very luxurious material.

Do you have such a man in your memory, Miss Pendleton?

He was looking for Miss Pendleton. He wondered if she was still residing here. He also knew about the obituary of Abigail.

I told him that you had left. He wanted to know where you had gone. When I refused to tell him, he tried to give me money, and when I refused even that, he became very angry. But I didn't bat an eye.

He said he would visit again and left in his carriage.

Was it right for me to tell him your whereabouts?

I will urge you to reply in order to confirm your intentions. So that I can decide whether to keep my mouth shut like a clam when he comes again, or whether to bridge the gap between that charming gentleman and you.

With love,

Ann Steele.

ps.

The knitted gloves will be finished soon.

I'll send them with my next letter.

I miss you, my dear Miss Pendleton.

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Laura sat blankly for a while.

Her mind was going back 12 years. To the naive days of a 17-year-old girl who was deeply immersed in the illusion of love.

He was a twenty-two-year-old Oxford University student. He appeared in society, but although he was handsome, he was not popular. He had no wealth, and he had incompetent parents and young siblings trailing behind him.

He wouldn't have even been able to go to university if it hadn't been for his patron, Countess Granchard. He was openly called the countess's plaything. In fact, he was a distant relative of the countess, but London society was a place where the latter of simple truths and vulgar gossip became the truth.

So, it was perhaps natural that the young man, tormented by scandal, would take an interest in Laura. Laura was also a lady who was shunned because of her parents' disgrace.

She was the only lady who would not refuse his dance and would respond to his jokes with a smile.

It is impossible to know who fell in love with each other first. It was also unclear who first suggested running away together. Twelve years had crumpled and scribbled on her memories like a mischievous boy.

The only thing that was clear was that he had abandoned Laura. Knowing what fate would befall a woman who was already scorned in society if she was abandoned by him, he abandoned Laura. There was not a single letter, not a single excuse.

'Why did you come back?'

Laura read the letter again, and she could infer the reason from the expression that he was wearing mourning clothes.

His wife must have died.

He married not long after abandoning her. She heard that she was the daughter of a huge timber merchant. His father-in-law supported his legal studies and built a huge law firm, making him a famous lawyer in England.

'I guess he got curious about me after his wife died. Until then, he couldn't have dared to find out about his old girlfriend because of his loyalty to his wife and because he was aware of his father-in-law's feelings.'

Laura felt uncomfortable.

She thought she had forgiven him. Because he was young, because he was poor, because he couldn't turn his back on his family. So, he must have abandoned me. Let's forget it. Let's forgive him. It only hurts me to hate him.

But, hearing his news like this, the old memories that had been buried resurfaced, breaking through oblivion. How much she had been ridiculed and hurt by the scandal with him, how much she had cried and suffered when she heard about his marriage, and how skeptical she had become about loving someone ever since.

Her wounds were bigger than she thought. Laura didn't want to see him. She didn't want to tell him her news either.

Laura took out a piece of paper and began to write a letter to Ann.

'I'm not happy to see him. If he comes again, tell him that I ran away from home because of a family feud, and that my whereabouts are unknown now.'

* * *

And soon after, Whitefield faced a great upheaval.

It began with dozens of invitations being sent to London. Invitations were sent to everyone who had ever met Ian Dalton, the landowner of Whitefield.

Nine out of ten of those invited sent letters of acceptance. There were approximately 80 people. Based on this number, Laura began to prepare for a large-scale banquet at Whitefield.