Chapter 28

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Dunville Park (1)
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Sensing something amiss, he quickly spurred his horse toward the sound.

Ian passed silently between the oak trees and entered the dense woods. Soon, by a secluded pond, he discovered two well-grown boys.

They were unmistakably his nephews, Daniel and George Fairfax. Ten-year-old Daniel was holding something, aiming it at a tree, while eight-year-old George stood beside him, anxiously tugging at his brother’s coattails and muttering something unintelligible.

He slowly rode toward them.

“Uncle Ian!”

George spotted him first and cried out. At that, Daniel quickly hid what he was holding behind his back. Without a word, Ian swung himself off his horse and approached them.

“Good day, sir.”

Ian said nothing, simply extending his palm to Daniel. Daniel, knowing full well what it meant, made a desperate excuse to protect what he had hidden behind his back.

“U-U-Uncle. It’s just a wooden gun. We were just practicing our shooting.”

“A wooden gun that sounds just like a real rifle?”

“I know… we thought it was strange, too… hehe…”

Daniel laughed awkwardly, but his smile vanished when he saw Ian’s face. His uncle was looking at him with the cold, expressionless face he wore only when his anger had reached its limit.

“Hand it over, Daniel Fairfax.”

Ian commanded sharply. Daniel hesitated, glancing at Ian’s face to see if he could hold out a little longer, but soon his face crumpled as he placed the hidden object onto his uncle’s hand.

A thin vein pulsed on Ian’s forehead. It was a hunting pistol. Not a toy, but a real pistol. He immediately unloaded all the bullets from the gun and put them in his pocket.

“Where did you get this?”

“D-Dad said I could play with it now that I’m ten, so he gave it to… Oww!”

Daniel cried out. Before he could finish his sentence, Ian had seized his left ear.

“I’ll give you one more chance. Where did you get this?”

“B-But Dad really did give it to me!”

“No, he didn’t, Uncle. He’s lying. He stole it from Dad’s pistol case!”

At George’s shout from the side, Daniel shot his brother a terrifying glare.

“You little snitch! You said you’d lick my boots if I let you shoot it just once!”

George stuck his tongue out.

“It’s your punishment for keeping it all to yourself!”

“You…!”

“Quiet, Daniel. This is entirely your fault. Not only did you disobey the adults who told you not to touch firearms until you were fifteen, but you also stole and then lied about it? It seems you’ve grown rather lax while I’ve been away, haven’t you?”

Ian twisted the ear he held.

“Ah, Uncle! Uncle! I’m sorry! Please, let go!”

He then began to drag Daniel around the pond. Daniel pleaded, sobbing, but Ian continued to pull him along with a blank expression. By the time they had completed a full circle, Daniel’s face was beet red and streaked with tears. Ian returned to their original spot and released his ear.

Daniel sniffled, cautiously watching his uncle. The uncle he knew was, for the most part, a strict and resolute man. He was completely different from his soft and easygoing parents, and when he was angry, he was as terrifying as a demon.

“I told you clearly. I said I would teach you to shoot when you turn exactly fifteen, and I would persuade your mother to let you join the navy instead of attending university when you turn eighteen. All of it would have come to pass in due time, yet you couldn’t wait and resorted to this.”

Daniel hung his head low.

“I’m beginning to think that putting you in the navy would only weaken Britain’s forces. Perhaps I should find a way to get you into university and make you a clergyman instead?”

At the mention of the threat Ian often used when disciplining his misbehaving nephew, Daniel jumped.

“No, Uncle! I’d rather die than be cooped up in a rectory memorizing the Bible! I’m going to be a soldier!”

“If you want to be a soldier, first cultivate self-control. For a soldier, knowing when *not* to shoot is more important than being a good shot. If this happens again, I’ll have you moved to my estate and beat some sense into that head of yours.”

Daniel, thoroughly disciplined, nodded his head. Ian then mounted the horse he had tied up. He turned to his nephew and said.

“Your punishment for today is a week of cleaning the stables.”

“Uncle!”

Ian merely stared at Daniel, who quickly hung his head again. George, who had been watching his older brother get scolded, snickered. Ian turned to him and commanded sternly.

“George, you will help your brother for a week.”

George leaped in protest.

“Uncle, I didn’t steal it! I didn’t even get to touch the gun!”

“Shoveling horse manure together might teach you not to pester your brother to join in his mischief next time.”

With that, Ian pulled on the reins. The wails of the two boys followed him, but he paid them no mind.

His heart, which had grown cold the moment he’d spotted Daniel with the gun, remained chilled even after confiscating it. What if they had been wrestling with it and one of them had been shot?

He imagined his troublemaking nephew lying on the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound. It was a dizzying thought.

As his horse emerged from the woods, a neatly manicured park unfolded before him, a stark contrast to the dense hunting grounds. It was Dunville Park, famous for its pristine bridle paths and walking trails that wound through beautiful gardens.

He galloped across the lawn toward the grand mansion in the distance. Upon reaching the front of the house, he pulled the reins to halt his horse and dismounted lightly. He handed the horse to a servant who had quickly approached and then headed for the entrance.

He entered the mansion, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and knocked on the door of the room at the very end of the hall. A woman’s voice from within bid him enter.

As soon as he stepped inside, his eyes fell upon his sister, Mrs. Fairfax, who was sitting by the fireplace. A petite, middle-aged woman with graying hair and the complexion of an invalid. She was seated at a small table, and her face lit up as she saw her younger brother.

“Oh, Ian! Welcome!”

But Ian’s expression did not brighten. He walked steadily toward his sister and stopped before the table. Then he took the pistol Daniel had been playing with from his pocket and placed it on the table.

“What’s this?”

“Your two sons were playing with it.”

“And did you sentence them to stable cleaning again?”

“I did.”

“They’ll be reeking of horse manure for a while, then. Anyway, Ian, look at this card reading.”

Ian glanced at the table. Colorful cards were scattered across the velvet-covered surface.

“Your sons were playing with live ammunition, and you want me to look at cards?”

“It’s not as if they shot each other dead, is it?”

She looked at her brother with an expression that said, *why are you making such a fuss over nothing?*, then turned her eyes back to the cards. Just the reaction he had expected.

He decided it would be better to have a proper talk with his brother-in-law later. He would surely laugh it off, saying boys will be boys, but at least he would be alarmed that someone had stolen one of his precious guns.

“Dear, I said look at this.”

His sister urged him again. With a weary curiosity about what secrets of heaven her beloved card readings had revealed this time, Ian scanned the cards.

One depicted a naked woman drawing water from a lake, another showed a man lying down, hacked to pieces by swords, and a third portrayed Adam and Eve holding hands before God.

“Ian, you’ve met someone in London, haven’t you? The cards say you’ll be married within the year. Oh, heavens, Ian. Tell me at once. Who is she, hm?”

“There’s no one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure women were swarming you like bees, refusing to let you go. Are you telling me you still haven’t chosen one of them?”

“I’m not popular among the ladies.”

Mrs. Fairfax, of course, didn’t believe him.

“Then William must have been lying to me. He told me all about how popular you were in London. He filled his letters to the very last page.”

*That useless fellow.*

Mr. Dalton sighed.

“And he said you were quite responsive, too. You accepted a lady’s invitation to a formal dinner, frequented tea parties, and even went on a picnic?”

“I only went because I was invited.”

“But accepting invitations isn’t exactly in your vocabulary, is it?”

“You must see me as a complete, ill-mannered ruffian, sister.”

Mrs. Fairfax scoffed.

“Of course. You, polite? The horse you rode in on would laugh. You? The man who told the Sheffield magistrate—a man old enough to be your father—to his face that if he was drunk, he should just go home?”

Mr. Dalton scowled at the memory of that magistrate.

“Was it wrong to point out that a man who is unaware of his own vulgarity was inviting his own disgrace?”

“Yes, I suppose you had a point, since he was drunkenly comparing parts of his wife’s body to certain parts of an animal. But thanks to you, he refuses to dine not only with you but with anyone friendly with you. I haven’t seen his face in five years because of you.”

Mrs. Fairfax waved her hand dismissively.

“Well, that’s not important, anyway. It’s not as if you could have suddenly developed social graces in London. Hm? Be honest. There was a lady you fancied at those gatherings you attended, wasn’t there? Wasn’t there?”

Mr. Dalton was silent.

“Could it be… that Miss Pendleton who appeared so often in William’s letters? The one you danced with and who hosted the tea parties you frequented?”