Chapter 32
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BANG!
A gunshot rang out in the distance. It was followed by a popping sound.
Dana's pulse quickened and her steps grew heavier. The freckled maid giving directions smirked and stared in the direction of the sound.
"Another hit."
She muttered to herself, but there was a hint of spite in her voice.
The freckled maid led Dana toward a small glass greenhouse. As they walked in silence, she spoke up again.
"They say Master Edwin is a rival of ours, but I don't know...."
The maid trailed off and spun around the glass greenhouse.
"Well, don't take offense. I'm just rooting for Macmilan, just like you're rooting for Hastings."
Not knowing what else to say, Dana could only reply, "Yeah, I get it."
Was it because the realization that she had to leave Belvida was slowly sinking in?
Since yesterday, Dana had been feeling a little numb to everything.
"Over here."
There was a small iron gate at the far end of the clearing. The freckled maid turned the latch and unlocked it,
BANG!
There was another series of gunshots and explosions. The freckled maid turned to Dana and grinned again, as if in a good mood.
"Just walk straight this way and you'll find them."
"...Thank you."
Dana stared after the maid's retreating form, then walked back inside the gate.
The small pathway went on for quite a while.
After a few more minutes of walking, the dense wooden walls ended on either side, opening up into a wide expanse of lawn.
Theodore stood in the middle of it, shotgun in hand. Dana quickly ducked her head before the man overwhelmingly could get a clear shot in the eye.
Wimfred, who was standing next to him, looked up.
"Hello, Mr. Wimfred... and... Master..."
Dana bent to her knees in greeting. Unlike Wimfred, Theodore didn't give her the time of day.
A large tent and table were set up a good distance from the firing line.
Dana turned toward it.
There was another clang, the sound of loading. A white clay pigeon shot into the air with the sound of a trap going off.
Before she could take another step,
BANG!
A gunshot rang out.
Dana tensed and waited for the pow, pow, pow to follow. As the maid had said, Theodore had been at it all the way here.
For some reason, she didn't hear the clay model shatter.
All she could feel behind her was the sound of falling shells and the acrid smell of gunpowder.
....Did he hit it?
Dana thought to herself and started walking again.
When she reached the table, her mouth dropped open.
Noblemen's breakfasts were usually light.
Toast and fruit jam, eggs and ham, coffee?
A maid could barely lift the tray by herself.
But the food set out now looked like a dinner table.
There were fish and meat dishes, foie gras, freshly baked bread and cheese, scrambled eggs, boiled beans, and a variety of vegetables.
What kind of man eats this much? For breakfast?
Dana frowned.
Then, bang!
Another shot rang out, this time with no sound of a miss or a crack.
She could hear Wimfred saying something to him.
She couldn't make it out, but she realized he was saying something about taking a break.
As expected, she could feel him approaching.
Dana's body turned to stone. Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped in fear.
The smell of gunpowder, with a hint of citrus, grew closer.
She could feel him on her back.
Her body began to shake until she felt nauseous.
Theodore rounded the table and sat down across from Dana.
She tried not to look, but it was no use. Her head couldn't help but turn toward him.
He was dressed in a hunting Norfolk jacket. The pale light blue shirt and herringbone checks looked great against his dark brown hair.
Seeing him so perfectly dressed, as if nothing had happened, made yesterday seem like a dream.
As he removed his gloves, Theodore locked eyes with Dana.
His vivid turquoise eyes peeked out from beneath his hunting cap, and Dana felt a rush of heat rise from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head.
Her panicked hand dropped the salad tongs.
"I'm sorry..."
Dana apologized quickly, then looked frantically in Wimfred's direction.
...Why wasn’t he here?
He was off in the distance, busily organizing shell casings and guns.
Dana took a deep breath, then picked up the tongs again, mindlessly gathering up the green and red vegetables.
Her head hung lower than ever.
In the past, she would have rolled her eyes at him, but now she couldn't even bring herself to do that.
The problem was Theodore.
He tossed off his gloves and leaned back in his seat, never taking his eyes off Dana.
Dana felt her hands break out in sweat as he stared at her so intently, as if nothing else mattered.
Thump, thump, thump, she wished her heart would stop pounding.
A strange feeling of defiance rose in her throat.
Dana set her plate down and lifted her head. She opened her mouth coldly, her gaze fixed on the gloves he'd removed.
"What... Do you have something to say?"
Dana steeled herself, braced herself, confident that whatever he said would not surprise or frighten her.
But he didn't say anything, just wiped his hands on a towel and watched her calmly.
"...."
Embarrassed, Dana turned her attention back to her plate.
She was supposed to be serving the meal, so that was all she had to do.
Dana put down her tongs and looked at the bowl of sauces.
"Which one would you like?" she asked, but her mouth didn't quite form the words.
"You."
The hand that went for the sauce ladle flinched.
"How long have you been working at Belvida?"
A question should have a question mark. But his tone was more like an interrogation than a question.
"...Six years ago."
"Six years."
He repeated, crossing his arms, as if he didn't like that fact very much.
"Where were you living before then?"
What the hell was wrong with him?
Decided not to answer, Dana clamped her mouth shut and stared at the bowl of sauce again. She picked up a random one and scooped it roughly halfway up, but he scolded her.
"I asked you where you lived."
"...Dorset..."
She expected him to be sarcastic about where the hell that was, but strangely enough, Theodore didn't probe further.
The unidentifiable anger emanating from the man was slowly choking her.
"Do you have a family?"
The ladle of sauce clattered and flipped over. She could almost believe it was a stew instead of a salad.
Should she make it again? Despite her nervousness, Dana answered obediently.
"No... My parents died when I was young, and my grandfather died six years ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Theodore said in a tone that didn't sound sorry at all.
"It's okay."
Dana replied ceremoniously. She set the mangled salad plate down quietly and reached for a new one.
Theodore tapped his fingers on the table and looked at Dana again.
"When was the last time you were in your hometown?"
It was no use trying so hard not to be intimidated.
Dana felt her heart begin to beat a little faster.
What else was he going to try to get her to do? Did he realize she was about to quit?
He was acting like the boss of an employment agency, and he was getting on her nerves in a different way.
"Last year... No, the year before...."
As soon as she finished, she regretted it. Maybe it was better to lie.
"Your parents aren’t here, and you haven't been back to your hometown in over a year."
Muttering to himself, Theodore suddenly stood up and began to put his shooting gloves back on.
Dana could only stare at him blankly.
Just then, the servant who was pulling the cart with the food looked surprised.
"Uh... Master... What about the meal...?"
"Enough."
"What?"
Theodore glanced around at the pile of food.
"...Share."
He pushed past the servant and walked back toward the firing line.
Dana and the servant could only stare at each other, dumbfounded.
Wimfred was equally puzzled.
He had just finished cleaning up the firing line and blinked at the sudden return of the master.
"Master, how come...."
He couldn't get another word out. Theodore reached out his arm and picked up the gun.
"How many servants of Belvida are there in total?"
Wimfred repeated the word 'Belvida' dumbfoundedly.
Surely the master had said Belvida. Not Shore...
He searched his memory diligently, trying to recall.
"Well... I heard it was about three times the size of Shore, so... Maybe a hundred people tops?"
Theodore snapped the barrel of his gun instead of answering. Checking the empty chamber, he chambered a round by hand. His touch was calm and precise, but Wimfred had the odd uneasy feeling that his master was about to pull the trigger.
"Bring me the list."
Snap, the open barrel of the gun snapped back into place.
"All of Belvida's permanent employees, even the temporary ones like the chimney sweeps."
"...."
"By gender."
As soon as he'd finished speaking, Theodore cocked the gun. He stretched his legs out straight, and in perfect form, pointed the muzzle.
Another clay pigeon flew out.
Bang!
This time, he hit the target.
With a popping sound, the clay model shattered in midair.
Watching from afar, Dana couldn't help but feel a strange sensation.
****
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