Chapter 34
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The big day had arrived.
Under a sky low in clouds, the tea table was set, courtesy of Belvida.
Polished silverware and gilded blue teacups glittered beautifully on the pristine white table. Vases all around were filled with freshly picked lisianthus and blue gentians from the garden, still damp and fragrant.
Just as dark clouds began to gather in the blue-gray sky, the Macmilan carriage arrived.
The gardener mowing the lawn and the maids washing the windows stopped what they were doing and strained their eyes and ears toward the carriage.
So did the footman waiting at the entrance.
His role today was minimal. He was to open the door for the approaching carriage and greet it according to protocol.
But as with any ritual, the level of difficulty varies greatly depending on who he was dealing with, and the guest inside was enough to keep the footman on his toes.
The carriage, which had been traveling at a brisk pace, slowed sharply as it rounded the roundabout. The footman cleared his throat and shook his arms and legs.
With a clunk, the wheels stopped.
He walked up to the carriage and knocked lightly on the door. He gripped the handle, counted to three in his mind, and slowly pushed it open.
"Welcome, sir. You've traveled a long way. Welcome to Belvida."
There were two people in the carriage. One of them, Theodore Macmilan, was the first to step off the ground.
"Good evening, Master."
The footman bowed politely. A pair of shiny dress shoes stepped into the footman's shadow. It was a fine pair of shoes, the kind that only an heir to House Macmilan would wear.
"This way."
The footman politely extended his arm and pointed to the driveway. That was all he had to do. From then on, it was up to the butler, who was now walking out of the entrance.
Strangely, the tip of the shoe pointed at the footman showed no sign of moving.
"....?"
The footman's head lifted slightly. The blurry walls clashed with the cool green of his eyes.
Surprised by the man's sharp features, the footman sucked in a breath. The master was staring at him too intently.
There was a certain hierarchy to a gaze. There was nothing wrong with Master Macmilan looking straight at the footman.
The problem was that the other man's gaze wasn't just looking down, it was too harsh, too insistent. Under the flesh-cutting, penetrating stare, the footman could only cower.
An unexpected question fell upon his head.
"...What's your name?"
"Yes?"
"Name."
"Uh...."
His mouth dropped open, dumbfounded, and he quickly answered.
"Jacob...it's Jacob. Jacob Archman."
"Archman."
The voice repeated, low and deep.
"Are you Inuk?"
"...Uh, yes, yes."
Theodore said nothing more. His eyes remained firmly nailed to his exotic face.
Saving Jacob from his growing bewilderment was Stan, the butler of Belvida, who had just arrived before them.
"Welcome, Master."
His deep, gravelly voice echoed softly. Searching gazes slowly shifted to him.
"How have you been?"
Stan greeted with his trademark gentle smile.
He was a capable butler who had served Belvida for two generations.
He had a gentle voice and a dignified demeanor that had earned him a reputation even on the Shore.
"You look dashing again today. I want you to know that it makes this old man's heart flutter every time he sees you."
He was the only servant in the place who could be so friendly to Theodore Macmilan, since he entertained so many of his master's friends.
So what was the problem?
Theodore looked down at the butler with a strange gaze, as if he were a stranger. Stan couldn't help but notice a sharp edge to his otherwise expressionless face.
"..."
He blinked, shaking it off like a good butler should, and drew a soft line with his lips.
"I'm sure you've heard the notice... Master Edwin will be running a little late. On his behalf, I offer my deepest apologies."
Stan bowed respectfully.
"While you wait, perhaps you would like to meet Nicaea first; Lady Liana has expressed her impatience to show it to the Master."
Theodore jerked his head.
"This way."
Stan turned away from the chill of the green eye.
He tried to keep his voice normal, though the different, strange look in his eyes made him feel very strange.
"As you may have heard, Master Edwin has been troubled lately about Pemburg."
Pemburg was a salt field not far from here, owned by the Hastings family. As with any business owned by the nobility, it had been run by a professional manager.
But as the Duke of Hastings became increasingly ill, his successor, Edwin, began to take charge of the businesses, including Pemburg, himself. He believed it was the family tradition of downplaying management that had caused the family to spiral out of control.
"As always, it's the workers. They refuse to open the door without the owner, so the master had to leave in a hurry this morning."
Stan's voice took on a wistful tone.
"We're all sorry that it had to happen on a day like today. As you know, this was supposed to be a celebration of your friendship and the friendship of the families. It was supposed to be a joyous event that would have given servants like us a small amount of pleasure...."
His busy tongue paused. He realized that the other man wasn't listening to him at all.
When he turned his head, Master Theodore was looking away. Stan's bewildered gaze naturally followed his.
Nothing special.
All Theodore Macmilan was staring at was a boxwood hedge, well-manicured landscaping, and workers bustling about in between.
"...Master?"
Theodore's head whipped around suddenly.
"What's his name?"
Stan quickly curled the corners of his mouth, hiding his bewilderment once more.
"...You mean the gardener?"
"No, the one behind him."
Theodore pointed not to the fat gardener with half his face covered in beard, but to the young assistant behind him.
"Maybe... Jose... Favre, but he's only been here a short time, so I can't be sure."
Theodore stared at them for a long moment. His calm, unemotional pupils held an unidentifiable hint of foreboding.
"...Why...is that?"
Theodore looked away without answering. It was hard to read any emotion in his tightly closed mouth and slightly lowered eyes, but one thing was certain.
Something was boiling inside him.
Theodore resumed walking, his face hardening. The air currents around him had settled heavily, pressing in on him from all sides. Tilly, following behind, sensed it, too, and gradually became suffocated.
Mr. Wimfred said the master was in a bad mood all day yesterday... What the hell was wrong with him?
If nothing else, on such a nice day, when his fiancée was getting him his favorite horse...
Was it because he thought he was going to lose the shooting match later?
He had heard that he had taken a turn for the worse. No way...
Theodore, who had been walking straight ahead, stopped abruptly again. This time, he was looking down at the butler. Stan's shoulders jerked in surprise.
"Do you…. have something to say to?"
The cold eyes began to search the face of a middle-aged man who looked much younger than his actual age.
"Are you married?"
Stan had to swallow hard.
"You mean me?"
Theodore nodded.
"...I was married once, but not now."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm widowed."
Theodore was silent, which was supposed to be a sad, regrettable, ceremonial response.
Tilly began to feel uneasy at the strangeness of it all, and then remembered that he had just bet a week's wages on this bet.
"It's okay."
Stan said to himself, feeling unnecessarily awkward.
"It's been more than a decade, so it's long since faded."
"And the remarriage?"
The question leapt from the Master's mouth in a way that made Tilly's ears perk up.
A figure walked out from the doorway of the patronage.
"Good morning, Master."
It was another footman.
Kenneth Teren.
Tilly knew his name from the few times he'd come to the Shore on errands.
Kenneth was a typical handsome man, blond and blue-eyed. He resembled the owner, Edwin Hastings, and had once been very popular among the Shore's maids.
"Welcome, sir. I've been expecting you."
Tilly realized the master was staring at Kenneth again. His cold pupils felt even more dense and tight than they had earlier.
"Come this way."
Theodore followed him, walking languidly, and the next moment, he came to a screeching halt.
Tilly nearly buried his nose in his back.
A red carpet had been laid out in the courtyard of the patron's house, flanked by two rows of young men in uniform.
As soon as Theodore appeared, they stood up straight, each taking an angle, and then bowed in unison.
Tilly stood dumbfounded for a moment at the pomp and circumstance of the formal ceremony. Then he chuckled to himself.
Lady Liana must have made special arrangements. She always liked these kinds of bents.
Theodore made his way slowly through the crowd of well-dressed young men.
A ceremonial smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but every time his head turned in their direction, Tilly felt a growing sense of strangeness.
His face darkened, and he seemed to be barely suppressing something.
"There's Nicaea."
Stan stopped walking and pointed in the opposite direction.
There, in front of an ornately set tea table, was a horse, black from head to toe.
Dressed in the finest leather saddle and formal harness, Nicaea was beautiful enough to steal Tilly's breath away.
"Bring it in."
Stan gestured, and the dark-haired young man holding the reins led the horse over.
"Would you like to ride it?"
Tilly knew he would say yes, of course. Theodore Macmilan was a rumored horse lover.
It took seven horses to play a game of polo, so he had a natural affinity for horses, but he also loved the beasts themselves, even if it wasn't necessarily for the game.
Strangely, however, his tightly closed mouth showed no sign of opening. The way he hadn't even looked at Nicaea earlier was strange.
It was impossible, but he seemed to have no interest in the beautiful creature.
Theodore's eyes were glued to another human, just as they had been the entire time. To no one else, but to the young man who was patting the nape of Nicaea's neck as if to calm it...
Tilly realized then.
He was not mistaken.
The master had no interest in shooting. Nor did he care about the beautiful mare, Nicaea.
It was those servants that were getting on his nerves.
All men.
Theodore Macmilan could hardly bear to be bothered by them right now.
While Tilly was still reeling from the shocking realization, Theodore stood before the man.
"Are you the trainer?"
The young man holding the reins turned to face him with a questioning look.
"....yes."
He answered, dropped the reins he was holding for a moment, and bowed respectfully to Theodore. He seemed to realize in hindsight that he hadn't greeted him properly.
"I'm Noah Miller."
Theodore stared at the man for a moment too long.
The slightest hint of nervousness began to show in the young man's features, as it had in all the men before him.
"Where are you from?"
Theodore asked, taking a step closer. To Tilly's eyes, it looked like a threatening push.
Strangely, the trainer didn't answer right away. He hesitated, as if considering something, and then slowly opened his mouth.
"...The Bronx..."
Noah just lied. He felt no remorse.
In his experience, people who asked where he was from were usually mean and full of prejudice. The fact that he was from a poor area of Dorset, which was a crucial reason why he was bullied, gave him no reason to be honest.
Noah wanted to protect himself by telling small lies, and he didn't want to offend the demanding man.
As expected, Theodore stepped back without a word.
"Master."
A voice called from the entrance to the manor.
Maid Rosi came running up breathlessly, her skirts fluttering. She stopped in front of Theodore.
"I have just received word from Master Edwin. He says the situation in Pemburg is going to take longer than he thought."
Theodore said nothing. Unable to respond to the cold stare, Rosi forced herself to speak.
"So... Today... I guess... I don't think you'll be able to enjoy the game...."
It was like being splashed with cold water.
The supporters fell silent, and a disappointed look or two began to appear on their faces.
Belvida and the Shore were in the middle of nowhere.
As Stan had said, the match scheduled for today was an event more eagerly anticipated by the servants than by the parties themselves.
"The Master has expressed his deepest regrets and asks that you enjoy the meal and the rest of the day as much as possible."
"...."
Theodore looked down at the maid, his face devoid of disappointment, annoyance, or any other emotion.
"And... if it would not be rude, I would suggest you go inside."
Rosi’s head turned to the sky for a moment. It had begun to overcast earlier in the day, and now it was full of dark clouds that threatened to scatter rain at any moment.
"Refreshments will be set out again in the parlor."
Her gaze drifted to the tea table, where a dull gloom had settled over the once sparkling surface.
"As the maid said, why don't you go inside first, I'm afraid you'll get caught in the rain."
Stan stepped forward.
"As for Nicaea, we'll take it to the Shore ourselves tomorrow."
Theodore nodded, and Stan turned to Noah.
"Since you've been taking care of Nicaea, I want you to follow the Master and get it settled in."
Noah looked a little dazed, but then he snapped out of it,
"Yes, sir."
He replied.
"Come on, let's go."
Stan turned toward the driveway. Theodore followed.
As soon as they were out of sight, Rosi ordered the servants to clean up. Raindrops dripped down the bridge of her nose as she barked instructions.
"I don't know what's with the weather lately...."
Rosi grumbled and walked over to Tilly, her eyes darting around him as if searching for something.
"It can't be... Is it just you and the Master?"
"What?"
"And Celeste?"
Tilly turned to face Rosi with a look that said why are you asking me that?
"She... She promised to bring along the child she's training to be a handmaiden, and she's not here...."
Tilly's mind flashed back to the pale face that had stood pensive before the Master.
"The child is... I don't know, I didn't hear about that…”
A sigh escaped Rosi’s lips. Tilly could only stare dumbfoundedly.
Meanwhile, the food and table under the awning had been cleared away. Tilly glanced back and forth then said "Goodbye," and left.
"...What are we going to do?"
Rosi muttered to herself and turned to the maid standing behind her. The maid had been carrying Willow and the gift box from earlier.
"I was going to give it to Dana."
The wistful sigh reached Noah's ears as he was about to leave the ceremony with Nicaea.
He was momentarily torn between pretending to acknowledge it or not. The sadness from the troubled-looking maid gave him the answer.
"Do you need me to bring it to her?"
"...Huh?"
The maid raised her eyes.
"For Dana Bordon."
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