Chapter 18

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Miss Hyde, the Little Chick (2)
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Miss Pendleton neither scolded her nor offered words of agreement. She simply took her hand and said.

“Miss Hyde, you probably won’t spend your life just typing.”

“Pardon?”

“Because being a typist would be too monotonous a job for you.”

“Miss Pendleton, I haven’t even found a job yet.”

“I know. I’m getting ahead of myself. But I want you to remember these words when our paths diverge and I’m no longer by your side. Miss Hyde, you are an intelligent and strong young woman, and more than that, you yearn for a new world. So, Miss Hyde, if another opportunity presents itself, don’t be afraid. Push forward. Otherwise, you’ll regret it.”

Miss Hyde quietly looked down at Miss Pendleton’s hand. A small, pale hand. A slender wrist and arm. Miss Hyde’s gaze traveled up the arm to the small, dress-clad shoulder, the delicate neckline, and finally, to the thoughtful and kind face.

Gazing at her face, Miss Hyde’s heart felt a little restless. She was genuinely curious.

Why had Miss Pendleton never found love? So beautiful and delicate, unlike herself. And she wasn’t a woman who shied away from the prospect of marriage to a man, as she herself did.

But Miss Hyde did not ask such a rude question of the woman who had unstintingly given her time, advice, and a typewriter. She merely squeezed her hand and promised to continue practicing.

While the two ladies, with resolute hearts, were diligently preparing for the future, the day of the spring picnic planned by Miss Lance swiftly approached.

***

Miss Lance was firmly determined to spend her twentieth summer in a grand fashion of entertainment and lavish parties. After all, it might very well be her last social season as an unmarried woman.

Miss Lance sent letters to every young lady and gentleman she knew, inviting them to a picnic. If everyone attended, there would be well over thirty people. Naturally, Mr. Dalton was the very first gentleman to whom she sent an invitation.

Upon receiving her letter, Miss Pendleton sent a reply gladly accepting. Miss Hyde, who was sitting at the next desk as Miss Pendleton wrote her response, shook her head with a perplexed look, wondering why on earth Miss Lance, whom she had only greeted a few times, would send her an invitation.

Miss Pendleton encouraged her to come to the picnic. Miss Hyde would likely find employment within the year, and once she did, this sort of amusement would be a distant affair for some time. But deep in Miss Pendleton’s heart, there was another motive.
To reconcile Mr. Fairfax and Miss Hyde.

For both Mr. Fairfax and Miss Hyde, the previous proposal was an embarrassing accident that could not be undone. But Mr. Fairfax held no grudges, and he had no romantic feelings for Miss Hyde, so there was no reason the two could not be friends again.

And in truth, as much as Miss Pendleton wished for their friendship to be restored, she desperately hoped that Miss Hyde might find employment through an introduction from Mr. Fairfax. For Miss Hyde, who was entering the workforce for the first time, starting her career at a reputable establishment was worth enduring the awkwardness of their past.

Due to Miss Pendleton’s subtle persuasion, Miss Hyde decided to attend the picnic hosted by Miss Lance with her.

The picnic was held on a sunny day in late June. The ladies and gentlemen participating gathered promptly at the Lance residence.

There were about twenty ladies and gentlemen in all, and as usual, women made up two-thirds of the party. With most men away overseas to make their fortunes, London’s social scene was always bustling with ladies.

Soon, four carriages were readied in front of the mansion. They were four-seater carriages with their roofs wide open. The few gentlemen present were ready to escort the ladies and act as their coachmen, for it was their duty in society to serve the ladies’ amusement.

They each took their seats at the front, while the young ladies, in groups of twos and threes with their closest friends, opened their vibrant parasols and settled into the carriages. Soon, the carriages set off for the London suburbs.

The scenery outside the carriages gradually changed from shops and squares to green mountains and fields. The ladies surrendered themselves to the swaying of the carriages, chattering away with cheerful laughter. Even when a wheel caught on a stone and the carriage jolted, the ladies would simply burst into peals of laughter.

The noisiest carriage was the one carrying Miss Lance and her friends. Miss Lance’s three friends—Miss Daisy Orson, Susan Donovan, and Miss Victoria Wilkes—had arrived in London the previous week from Bath, Yorkshire, and Yorkshire respectively.

They had met every day for the past week, sharing every trivial detail of the incidents they had experienced while apart. The main topic of conversation was, of course, the local social circles they had encountered and the men they had met there.

Each of them spoke in detail about the charms and fortunes of the men they had met, and they spent their time with their heads together discussing how far things had progressed and whether the men were worth seeing again.

But now, in the picnic carriage, such topics were inappropriate. The driver’s seat and the carriage seats were within arm’s reach. Moreover, the man sitting in their driver’s seat was none other than Ian Dalton.

They already knew a fair amount about Ian Dalton. His name was the one most frequently on the lips of the ladies when they had first arrived in London. His wealth and status were already common gossip among the young ladies and the matrons with daughters to marry off.

And the fact that the Lance residence was the first place he had been invited to for a formal dinner was a topic of conversation just as frequently discussed.

The three ladies were curious about what the rumored Ian Dalton was like in person, and they also wanted to know what kind of time Miss Lance, the object of their admiration, had spent with Mr. Dalton.

At the first tea party where the friends had all gathered this social season, Miss Lance had told them about the ball and the dinner with him.

Before the story was even finished, the three young ladies sensed that Mr. Dalton had fallen for Miss Lance. The gaze and tone she described were identical to those of Miss Lance’s other admirers.

When Miss Daisy Orson mentioned this speculation, Miss Lance, of course, vehemently denied it. But she didn’t stop the three young ladies from making Mr. Dalton the topic of their flattery for the rest of the tea party.

When Susan Donovan, who hailed from Yorkshire, recounted what her neighbors had told her of Ian Dalton’s net worth, their admiration for Miss Lance, who had captured Mr. Dalton’s heart, grew even greater than before.

The notion that a romance was blossoming between Mr. Dalton and Miss Lance was firmly fixed in the minds of the ladies in the carriage. They were constantly aware of the handsome coachman driving them, and while laughing and talking amongst themselves, they kept trying to draw Mr. Dalton into their conversation.

“Mr. Dalton, why don’t you dine at the Lance residence these days? Miss Lance says you always decline her invitations.”

Mr. Dalton replied without turning around.

“My apologies, but something urgent always seems to come up.”

“Oh, nonsense! What could possibly be so urgent that you would decline an invitation from the Lances? Being invited to the Lance residence is like receiving the title of the most respectable person in London, you know.”

“Had I known it held such meaning, I would have dropped everything to attend. A shame, indeed.”

His words held not an ounce of enthusiasm, but thanks to the rattling of the carriage, his tone did not fully carry.

“I hear you mainly appear at the Pendleton’s tea parties. Do you enjoy your time there?”

At Miss Daisy Orson’s words, Susan Donovan chimed in.

“My dear, how could that place possibly be fun? Do they host any decent concerts or balls? All they ever do is sit around and talk about books and music.”

“Still, Lady Pendleton is an amusing person. And Miss Pendleton’s piano skills are wonderful. People of taste are very fond of the Pendleton’s tea parties. Mr. Dalton must have a taste for such refined things. That’s why he visits the Pendletons so diligently. Isn’t that right, Mr. Dalton?”

Mr. Dalton gave a simple reply. His head was starting to ache from the incessant noise of the chattering ladies.

“The food there is truly delicious, too. I don’t know who the chef is, but I’d wager they’re French. At a dinner party the other day, they served a barbecue dish, and the skin was so crispy I was eating so frantically I nearly burst my corset!”

The young ladies let out a collective giggle.

“The wine, the desserts, everything. Mrs. Pendleton is quite the gourmand. She must have gone to great lengths to procure her chef. But I wonder why she spends so much on food but not on her own granddaughter. To let Miss Pendleton remain a spinster for so long, I mean.”

Miss Lance gently intervened.

“Susan, it’s not appropriate for us to comment on Miss Pendleton’s marital status. She would surely be offended if she heard.”

Susan Donovan glanced toward Mr. Dalton and fell silent. But Miss Victoria Wilkes, who was beside her, was less perceptive than Miss Donovan.

“But is there anyone in London who doesn’t know that Miss Pendleton doesn’t have a penny for a dowry? In her prime, she was a stunning beauty. Even now, well, she’s quite fine for a spinster, but anyway, with the Pendleton name and that beauty, she ought to be riding in a golden carriage, living the life of a noble lady by now. But the reason she’s never received a proper proposal from a decent man is because she has no money to bring to a marriage. I’m sure Miss Pendleton herself would readily admit it.”

Miss Orson, who had been listening, could not contain her curiosity.

“But why? Why won’t the Pendletons provide her with any money?”

Victoria Wilkes asked back, as if surprised.

“You still don’t know? Miss Pendleton’s mother…”

“Victoria!”