Chapter 6

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Miss Laura Pendleton (5)
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A quarrel continued inside for some time. Miss Pendleton stood quietly before the door, listening. Soon, Mrs. Macklin emerged from the room, huffing. And seeing her friend standing at the door, she lowered her gaze, looking ashamed.

“Laura… I’m sorry, but I think it would be best if you didn’t see her today.”

Miss Pendleton smiled.

“It’s all right, Rosemary. Don’t trouble yourself.”

Seeing no particular sign of regret on Miss Pendleton's face, Mrs. Macklin felt even worse and lowered her head.

Of course, it would be a lie to say Miss Pendleton wasn't the least bit offended. But ever since turning twenty-five, Miss Pendleton had been well aware of how she appeared in the eyes of others.

An unsold spinster. The greatest fear of mothers with daughters.

Since giving up on marriage, she had come to accept this perception as an unavoidable part of her life.

She patted Mrs. Macklin's shoulder, a gesture meant to ease her friend's discomfort, and quickly ascended the stairs.

*Knock, knock—*

Miss Pendleton knocked on the door to Miss Hyde's room on the fifth floor. No sound came from within. Was she asleep, or was she holding her breath, hoping her family would think she wasn't there and leave? Miss Pendleton leaned close to the door and spoke softly.

“Miss Hyde, it’s me, Laura Pendleton. Are you perhaps asleep?”

Soon, a rustling sound was heard from inside the room. It was followed by the splashing of water and the swish of fabric. Before long, the sound of slippers approached the door, and with a click, it opened.

Miss Pendleton was at a loss for words. Miss Hyde, who was already on the slender side, looked indescribably haggard. It was said she had been sending back all her meals for the past few days, and it appeared she hadn't eaten a thing.

Miss Hyde led Miss Pendleton into her room. She offered her the rocking chair and sat on the bed herself.

As Miss Pendleton entered the room, she had to make a great effort to maintain her composure. It was difficult to hide her dismay.

London townhouses, being places where nobles from various estates stayed only during the social season, were typically much smaller and simpler. It was common for them to lack a library or a hall, and from the drawing room to the master bedroom, guest rooms, and nursery, none were even a quarter of the size of those in their country houses.

Therefore, in large families, unmarried ladies often shared a room, and if they had one to themselves, it was usually a relatively small and cramped space.

But Miss Jane Hyde's room was exceptionally so. Despite containing only a bed, a small wardrobe, and a single chair, the room felt completely full. Her books, unable to fit on a bookshelf, were all stacked in a corner.

And what was most heart-wrenching was the stack of papers and the inkwell placed on the windowsill. The windowsill, barely the height of a chair, served as her desk.

Miss Hyde, noticing Miss Pendleton's gaze fall upon the papers, went to the windowsill and knelt on a cushion placed beneath it. She then closed the inkwell and gathered the scattered papers, turning them face down.

“If I write in the drawing room, Mother always tries to read it.”

Watching Miss Hyde's kneeling form from behind, Miss Pendleton realized this was her usual writing posture. It was a heartbreaking sight.

“I came because I heard you weren't eating. Your sister is very worried.”

“Ah.”

“No matter how upset you are, you mustn't neglect your health. I brought some raspberry cookies. Please, at least have one.”

Miss Hyde said nothing. Miss Pendleton had a servant bring the cookies.

Sitting on the bed, Miss Hyde stared at the cookies on the plate for a moment before turning to look out the window without touching them.

“If you're feeling guilty about Mr. Fairfax, please don't worry. I visited Miss Janet Fairfax not long ago, and she said he's gone hunting on his brother's estate. At least he hasn't stopped eating and drinking.”

Miss Hyde avoided Miss Pendleton's gaze, continuing to stare out the window. Miss Hyde seemed lost in thought as she gazed at the London street below. A hint of melancholy emanated from her profile. But her face showed no emotional traces like tears or heartbreak.

What emotion lay in Miss Hyde's heart?

Miss Pendleton rose from her seat and sat next to Miss Hyde. She took Miss Hyde's firm, long-fingered hand—a hand accustomed to holding both reins and a pen.

Miss Hyde neither pulled her hand away nor confided her feelings, remaining perfectly still.

After a moment, Miss Pendleton spoke.

“Are you perhaps regretting it?”

Miss Hyde paused for a moment before shaking her head.

“It was for the best, for both Mr. Fairfax and myself.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

Miss Hyde looked at Miss Pendleton. And nodded.

“Yes.”

Miss Pendleton gave a faint smile.

“Then that's all that matters.”

Miss Hyde stared intently at Miss Pendleton's face, then opened her mouth as if to say something. But her lips trembled and then closed again. Instead, tears welled up in her eyes.

Miss Hyde lowered her head. The tears that streamed from her eyes dampened the back of Miss Pendleton's gloved hand. Miss Pendleton said nothing, simply holding Miss Hyde's hand tightly.

When Miss Pendleton's suede glove was thoroughly soaked, Miss Hyde lifted her head. Her face was a mess of tears. Miss Pendleton used her other hand to wipe Miss Hyde's face.

“Miss Pendleton.”

Miss Hyde called to her in a cracked voice.

“Miss Pendleton, do you have a future you can envision?”

Miss Pendleton pondered the meaning of her words for a moment before nodding.

“Are you inheriting a fortune?”

“There is no inheritance for me. That was the condition for being recognized as a Pendleton.”

“It's the same for me. There will be no inheritance for me either.”

As Miss Pendleton wiped Miss Hyde's face, she studied it carefully. Miss Hyde's face was a jumble of all sorts of emotions. Anxiety and self-blame. The kind of base emotions that make a person shrink into themselves.

“Are you starving yourself because you're afraid of the future?”

Miss Hyde was silent.

“A person can find a way to live, one way or another.”

“…I don't want to live 'one way or another'.”

Miss Hyde shook her head.

“Ever since Father passed away, our family has been sinking. No one in the family will admit it, but it's clear from the way my brother John carries on. If we lose this house, we'll have to move to the country, and I… since I'm not married, I'll have to live alone with Mother. Forever.”

Miss Hyde shuddered.

“I'd rather starve to death now.”

“There must be other paths, Miss Hyde.”

“What paths are there for someone like me, who missed her last chance at twenty-five? A governess? I, who attended school for less than a year and never properly learned French or art? Or a maid? I, who misplaces a hat left right beside me, would likely be dismissed in less than a week. I'll probably live with my mother and die of vexation, or run away and become a vagrant. It would be better to die safely at home, right now.”

Miss Pendleton watched Miss Hyde quietly.

She felt a sense of déjà vu. Ah, the age of twenty-five was astonishing for a woman. For she herself had wrestled with the very same worries at that age. As the last chance for marriage slipped away, as an unmarried woman with no prospect of an inheritance, she had felt threatened.

The prospect of living a lonely life was not the real issue. The most frightening thing was poverty. And the wretchedness that always accompanied it.

Every night, the fear that the circumstances protecting her would vanish by morning, leaving her to fall to a state incomparable to her present life. How that fear had tormented her.

It was quite some time before she could sleep soundly again.

Miss Pendleton smiled at the despondent Miss Hyde.

“You can be anything, Miss Hyde.”

“What could I possibly be?”

“Well, a gypsy, for instance. Or a fortune-teller. Or a witch.”

“What?”

“A medicine peddler, or a bullfighter, or a fairy.”

Miss Hyde looked at her, bewildered by Miss Pendleton's sudden whimsy.

“Miss Pendleton, are you teasing…”

“Or, a typist.”

Miss Hyde stopped short.

“I once bought a typewriter, thinking I might become a typist. That was before I realized being a governess was the better path. Typewriters are quite expensive, so I had to use some of my savings. It's still in the library, though I haven't used it in a long while. It's too valuable to just give away, so I'll lend it to you.”

Miss Hyde blinked.

“Come to my house to practice typing for two hours a day, from six to eight in the evening. In three months, you will be the finest typist in London. You'll be able to work in any office that needs paperwork done, and then you can live with young ladies your own age in a boarding house, instead of with your mother. All right?”

Miss Pendleton picked up a cookie from the tray and pressed it into Miss Hyde's hand.

Miss Hyde looked at the cookie for a moment, then began to eat it with a crunch. Then she started on the remaining cookies on the tray. Watching her, Miss Pendleton thought.

Twenty-five. A harsh age for an unmarried lady. But for a lady who had found a way to earn her living, it was an age when a new life could begin.

***

A month later, having overcome his heartbreak by shooting dozens of partridges on his brother's hunting grounds, Mr. Fairfax returned to London.

Along with Ian Dalton, a young man from his in-laws' family and his closest friend.