Chapter 117

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: Working Women (3)
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She and Laura were similar. Neither was married, and both had received an education exceptionally high for a woman. But the lives they had led were completely different. Even if she had inherited two hundred thousand pounds at eighteen, Laura would never have thought of setting sail for Africa.

A voyage. An adventure. A challenge.

Her nature was far from such things. She had wanted freedom, but that was merely another way of expressing her desire to find an environment where she could live with respect.

Working as a governess had made Laura realize this for certain.

What she wanted was to do valuable work in a quiet place. To use her abilities for a proper cause and, in return, receive appropriate respect and affection.

Had she inherited two hundred thousand pounds, she probably would have established a school in a quiet country village. There, she would have spent her days playing sports, reading books, and singing with the children. And she would have had not the slightest complaint about that life.

If Miss Mary Rotis was fire, Laura was water—a gentle stream flowing through a quiet valley.

And Laura was not displeased with being who she was.

*Getting older is a good thing. It makes it easier to accept oneself, and that brings a sense of peace.*

Like a single stream, Laura flowed leisurely through the crowds of Bath. And soon, in this bustling city, she found a place that would bring peace and stability to her soul. A bookstore.

Laura went straight in. The moment she stepped inside, the scent of paper filled her nostrils.

She strolled slowly between the shelves. Her spirits quickly lifted with a pleasant excitement. At the same time, an academic passion, no less than that of Miss Rotis, surged within her.

She went to the section with original foreign texts and selected a volume of Plato's complete works in the original Greek. Then, from the German section, she picked up a book by the philosopher Nietzsche.

Laura’s heart pounded as she held the books to her chest. She yearned to return to her hotel room, sit at the handsome rosewood desk, and devour every single sentence.

Humming a low tune, she went to the counter. But the clerk, noticing the dust on the Plato volume, said he would exchange it for a clean one and disappeared into the stockroom. Laura waited, wondering if the owner of this bookstore was a reckless merchant who stocked original Greek editions of Plato in the pleasure city of Bath.

The clerk returned with a look of clear dismay. There were no more in stock. *Of course.* Who on earth would come to Bath to read Plato? Laura, thinking she was helping the store clear some of its troublesome inventory, made a request to the clerk.

“Please just wipe it down and wrap it for me.”

The clerk began to wipe the book with deft hands.

To pass the time, Laura walked over to the large plate-glass window facing the street. Piled there were newspapers, magazines, and guidebooks introducing the restaurants of Bath. She picked up a few magazines, flicked through them, then quickly lost interest and put them down.

She shifted her gaze to the scene on the street.

A noble lady in splendid attire pushing a pram. An old gentleman leaning on a cane, hobbling along with a young, extravagantly dressed woman who appeared to be his mistress. A gentleman with a stylish haircut that must have cost a pretty penny, strutting about. Young ladies from the newly risen gentry, laughing heartily in their clumsy imitations of aristocratic fashion.

Laura watched the dazzling parade of passersby with a bored expression.

But then, in an instant, her indifferent gaze changed.

A man was passing in front of the bookstore. His unhurried, leisurely pace made his profile clearly visible. The red, curly hair that fell below his gentleman's hat. The tanned skin and the tall, yet graceful, physique.

“Ah…!”

Laura spun around toward the counter, afraid that he might have spotted her too.

“Is something the matter, madam…?”

The clerk asked in a worried voice, looking at Laura. She shook her head.

She turned and slowly walked toward the entrance. The desire not to run into him suddenly transformed into a need to confirm his identity. Perhaps both feelings stemmed from fear.

She opened the shop door and looked in the direction the man had gone. But he had already vanished into the crowd.

Laura staggered, and then her knees buckled, causing her to collapse. The clerk rushed out of the shop and helped her up.

“Are you all right? Good heavens, you’ve gone as white as a sheet!”

But Laura heard nothing. She stared blankly in the direction the man had disappeared and asked herself inwardly.

*John, why are you here?*

* * *

Immediately after seeing John Ashton through the bookstore’s plate-glass window, Laura was thrown into utter chaos. It had been twelve years. The man she had once loved, pitied, and staked her future on. The man with whom she had spent hours caressing hands and sharing kisses on a secret, moonlit terrace.

That man was staying in the same city as her.

A shiver ran down Laura’s spine. Bath was not a large city. It was entirely possible she could run into him. If that happened…

*The mere thought is horrifying.*

That evening, Laura waited for the two ladies to return, having already packed her bags to leave the hotel. After all, she couldn't just leave without saying goodbye. But the ladies did not return by midnight, and Laura, dozing off on the sofa, ended up falling fast asleep.

When she opened her eyes, it was morning. A thick blanket had been draped over her.

A note lay on the table in front of the sofa. Judging by the handwriting, it was from Miss Hyde.

*Our night out went on longer than expected, and we didn't get back until dawn. Were you very worried about us? I’m sorry. From now on, we’ll let you know in advance if we’re going to be late. I’ve ordered room service for your breakfast, Miss Pendleton. I think we’ll be sleeping until noon. Enjoy your meal.*

Soon, room service arrived. Scrambled eggs, chicken with crispy skin, hot scones, tea, and a fruit salad.

Laura stared blankly at the food, then poured herself only the tea that came with it. As the warm liquid entered her body, she began to feel a little more clear-headed.

After a night had passed, and with the help of the tea clearing her mind, Laura regained her usual composure. A thought naturally occurred to her.

*Was that really John Ashton?*

She had no portrait of him, no photograph. Only a vague impression remained in her memory.

*If I had spent the last twelve years gazing at his portrait every day, longing for him, I would have recognized him in an instant. But I only thought of him very rarely. Occasionally wondering, occasionally resentful… How could I have recognized him at a single glance?*

Laura shook her head. It couldn't have been him. It was far more likely that she had mistaken a gentleman with a similar appearance for him.

Laura felt much better, and now the other food the servant had left caught her eye. She began to eat calmly.

The meal was finished. With a full stomach, her energy returned. Yesterday’s turmoil now felt foolish.

*Even if that was John Ashton, there’s no reason for me to leave Bath. He was the one who betrayed me. If I happen to run into him, it’s actually an opportunity. I can ask him why he betrayed me.*

Laura concluded that it would be foolish to give up the chance to stay in such fine accommodations with a dear friend she hadn't seen in ages and a school senior who was so kind to her, all because of a chance encounter with an old flame (whose identity wasn't even certain). She unpacked her bags again before the two ladies woke up.

Miss Rotis woke up around two in the afternoon.

Laura was in the living room, sitting on the sofa, drinking tea and reading the German edition of *Thus Spoke Zarathustra* that she had bought the day before. Miss Rotis gave Laura a brief nod and rang the bell. When a servant arrived, she ordered toast and coffee.

“You always have coffee for breakfast.”

Miss Rotis smiled lightly.

“I’m a former coffee farmer, after all.”

Room service arrived shortly. Miss Rotis read the newspaper while eating half a slice of plain toast and drinking her coffee. Then, asking for Laura’s permission, she began to smoke a cigarillo. Laura continued to read her book the entire time.

“Your German is quite good.”

Laura looked up. Miss Rotis, a cigarillo held between her fingers, was looking at the cover of the book Laura was reading. Her cat-like eyes held pupils as dark and shimmering as obsidian.

“I enjoy studying languages. And it seems a waste to forget what I worked so hard to learn at school.”

“I’ve forgotten almost everything. Not just German, but French, the piano, the steps to the waltz. A waste of Grant Girls’ School’s expensive tuition, I suppose.”

She took a drag from her cigarillo. Smoke drifted from between her lips. Laura watched her, mesmerized. With her black hair undone, Miss Rotis was captivating as she smoked.

“But I’m sure Headmistress Grant would be prouder of you than of me, Miss Rotis. You’ve become a bestselling author renowned throughout Britain.”

Miss Rotis’s lips curved into a slight smile.

“Yes. Headmistress Grant wanted her girls to go out into the world.”

“And she always encouraged us to have ambition and vision. She was an admirable woman.”

Miss Rotis brushed back a long strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder, changing the subject.

“Are you satisfied with your work as a governess?”

“Yes. I was lucky enough to find an excellent position.”

“‘An excellent position.’ Are you perhaps accustomed to being ignored and treated poorly?”

“No, it’s truly a good position. The salary and treatment are on par with that of a male tutor.”

For the first time, Miss Rotis seemed stirred.

“You truly were lucky. No family in Britain treats a female governess that way.”

Laura gave a vague smile. The "excellent position" she had obtained was an unrealistic set of conditions forcibly created by a man who admired her.

“That’s right. There’s likely no other position like it in the world. When the family I work for no longer needs me, I’ll have to indenture myself for fifty pounds a year, just like other governesses.”

“I’m glad you understand the reality of it. I was worried you might be naively optimistic about being a governess after landing such a fortunate first job.”

Miss Rotis tapped the ash from the end of her cigarillo into an ashtray.

“Women who enter the job market as governesses have to sell their education for a pittance. If it were me, I’d rather be a robber than a governess.”

Laura felt a bit awkward. Miss Rotis’s words, while realistic, were rude to say in front of someone who was a governess. Yet it didn't seem like Miss Rotis was intentionally trying to hurt her feelings. Laura was curious about her true intentions.

“Miss Pendleton, if you can no longer work in your current position, will you continue to be a governess?”

“Yes. My employer has promised to introduce me to a position with the same treatment I receive now.”

“Do you really trust that promise?”