Previously
Killian surprises Eleanora by offering to buy a large quantity of her candied ginger, admitting its effectiveness for his stomach issues.
Eleanora asked warmly, unaware that Killian had been staring up toward her room.
Killian let out a small breath of relief, then furrowed his brow when he saw the glass jar in her hands.
It was barely larger than a teacup.
Eleanora turned and headed back inside the clinic.
If he asked for it, she should have just brought the whole lot from the start. Why did she keep dragging out the conversation? She was acting as if she were eager to speak with him.
They had exchanged words numerous times already, and yet she still didn't understand his temper? If that were the case, she was a fool.
No, a doctor could hardly be a fool.
In any case, how much should he pay?
Going by Highbury prices, a pound of good ginger ran for two shillings. Sugar was three shillings.
Factoring in the cost of the carriage she had used to buy the jar and ingredients, or the upkeep of the horse, call it about eight shillings.
Now all that remained was compensation for Eleanora’s labor, considering the time and effort she had spent making it.
Eleanora was a physician. A house call requiring an hour’s round trip by carriage from Berrington commanded sixty shillings.
Going off that, for a jar of candied ginger the size of a large preserve crock… two hundred shillings seemed a fair sum.
Just as Killian pulled out his purse, Eleanora emerged carrying an enormous earthenware crock that nearly obscured her torso.
Killian stared at the vessel in utter disbelief. Don't tell me that whole thing is full?
( ‘This is absurdly large…’ )
Killian despised going back on his word or contradicting himself, but this felt like an exception.
Just as he was about to take back what he had said…
Eleanora’s voice quavered under the weight of the crock, but a broad smile covered her face.
After a brief pause, Killian spoke.
The day was unusually quiet, with almost no visitors stopping by.
Even so, Eleanora spent her morning frantically busy with cleaning, taking inventory of medicine, and a mountain of other chores.
Even amid her chores, she kept letting out involuntary chuckles. The image of Killian hauling that massive crock away yesterday simply refused to leave her mind.
Bring everything you have, did you say? Well, I wanted to see what you would do, so I brought out every last bit.
Eleanora was strong for a woman, and even she found that crock heavy. Yet Killian had hoisted it as if he were carrying a featherlight doll.
His strength was truly astounding.
Now that she thought about it, she had heard his title of 'Little Baron, Lord Blackwell' was granted for his exploits in the war.
Though it had dominated the news back then, Eleanora had been drowning in grief over her father’s sudden passing when the title was conferred, so she had paid little attention to the details.
( ‘Where did he serve, I wonder? Surely not on the Belwa front.’ )
Belwa had been such a brutal battlefield that it was widely known as 'Hell's Mouth.'
It was unthinkable that a wealthy man like him would be sent to a place that meant near-certain death.
He must have served in the rear echelon.
True, earning a barony from service behind the front lines was rare, but for the aristocracy, merely taking part in the war was considered an accomplishment in its own right.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
Eleanora blinked and turned toward it. Normally, townspeople knocked and let themselves straight in.
It was a polite, unfamiliar male voice.
Growing more curious, Eleanora walked over and opened the door.
The man had been speaking with a smile, but the words died in his throat the moment his eyes met Eleanora's.
Eleanora was equally taken aback by his stunned reaction.
Who was this man? Why was he acting like this?
Did I get something on my face?
And yet… his face seemed vaguely familiar.
As she searched her memory, the man spoke in a trembling voice.
“…”
All the color drained from Eleanora’s face. She had never imagined she would hear that name again.
( ‘No… It couldn't be… could it?’ )
Belatedly trying to brush it off, she replied,
The man's smile broadened.
Eleanora’s eyes went wide, and her body froze.
At that moment, Owen spoke, his face brimming with emotion.
The Belwa front had been the fiercest theater of the war, garrisoned by four entire regiments.
The field hospital received wounded soldiers from multiple units, and Elliot—or rather, Eleanora—had been run off her feet without a moment's rest.
Eleanora murmured with a distant gaze. Owen broke into a bright grin.
The battlefield was overflowing with men so gravely injured that their odds of survival would have been paper-thin even under the best medical conditions.
And the field hospitals meant to save them were perpetually in the most atrocious state.
Yes, not everyone could be saved. Eleanora knew that better than anyone. Even so, she had gone there to save lives.
( ‘If another doctor had performed that surgery instead of me… would they have lived?’ )
It wasn't as though Eleanora had stolen the post from a more capable physician. Military doctors were laughably scarce.
Otherwise, they never would have drafted a medical student who had not even obtained her medical license.
Nor would they have recalled an aging, retired military doctor with a bad leg.
Even so, she sometimes harbored the terrible thought that people were dying simply because her greed had driven her to take that post.
Then came Owen’s case. When one of his comrades begged her to save him no matter what, she told him she would, simply to offer comfort.
In truth, she had had no confidence at all.
And yet… Owen had lived.
She had never been able to shed the guilt she carried for the ones she couldn't save. But regardless of that, he had given her the strength to carry on.
Eleanora’s voice choked up as her eyes rimmed with tears. Owen gave a slight shrug, a gentle smile settling on his lips.
Eleanora quickly shook her head and hurriedly dabbed at the reddened corners of her eyes.
Owen let out a hearty laugh.
During the final days of the war, when he had nothing to do but lie down or sit around, 'Elliot' became his greatest focus.
And who wouldn't pay attention to the person who saved their life?
Owen would chat with Eleanora from time to time out of gratitude, but she was an uncommonly quiet person.
She also kept her face hidden behind a mask at all times, which piqued his curiosity even further.
And as he watched her, a thought struck him one day.
That slender, delicate neck and the thin wrists visible beneath her loose clothes… were far too feminine.
Eleanora rubbed her face as heat flushed her cheeks.
She had thought she had concealed it flawlessly. But looking back now, she realized it was only because everyone was constantly frantic, with life hanging by a thread, that they had failed to notice such things.
Just then, Owen spoke up cautiously.
An ordinary person would have tried every possible means to avoid the war.
Yet this woman had not merely come; she had disguised herself as a man and stepped right into a place no different from hell itself.
“Because my father was conscripted.”
Eleanora answered quietly.