Chapter 91

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 91
Chapter Title: The Curtain Rises (1)
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It wasn't long before Mr. Dalton learned that Laura had grown close to the Starrs. He was immensely pleased. So much so, in fact, that it seemed a bit excessive. Whenever he met Laura, he would pepper her with questions about how close she had become with them and how much she had come to like them.

One day during tea, Laura could no longer contain her curiosity and spoke up, asking if her becoming friends with the Starrs was truly such an important matter to him.

He rubbed his flushed cheek with the back of his hand, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Forgive me. I was simply pleased to have the opportunity to show you that I, too, have good friends… Just as they are for you, Miss Pendleton, good friends are a source of pride for me.”

Laura, who cherished her friends, understood his sentiment at once.

“In that case, your reaction is quite natural, Mr. Dalton. The Starrs are certainly friends worth boasting about.”

A smile deepened on Mr. Dalton’s lips. Laura found his smile pleasant. And the fact that she had made him smile pleased her even more.

“I do hope you will continue your friendship with the Starrs, Miss Pendleton. They are wonderful, respectable people. A model of a married couple, as well.”

“You are fortunate to live so close to such people, Mr. Dalton.”

He gazed at Laura quietly.

“…Proximity is certainly an advantage in friendship. Whitefield and the parsonage are less than a thirty-minute walk apart.”

“You certainly have an advantage over me. My journey takes over two hours, round trip. I always feel apologetic whenever I must use the carriage.”

“If Whitefield Hall were your home, Miss Pendleton, you could nurture your friendships much more conveniently. It is a shame for you.”

“Indeed, Mr. Dalton.”

After that, Mr. Dalton often attended dinner parties at the parsonage. Whenever he met Laura at these dinners, he would express his concern, asking how difficult her long and arduous journey must have been, remarking how much easier it would be for her to come if she lived closer.

Laura was grateful for his concern and always replied that the road was not so arduous. But he would always add:

“Friends are best kept close. To have a friend within walking distance is one of life’s great happinesses. If you lived at Whitefield Hall, Miss Pendleton, you could even walk this distance.”

Hearing this every time she met him, Laura felt as though she were being brainwashed, and indeed, the effects of this brainwashing began to take hold. At some point, she began to feel that Dunville Park was too far to nurture her friendships. Too far from the Starrs’ parsonage. And too far from Mr. Dalton’s Whitefield Hall.

Whenever such thoughts crossed her mind, Laura felt a touch of melancholy. This was especially true when she was reminded of the distance to Whitefield Hall.

When she returned home after seeing him, a feeling like a chilly autumn wind lingered in her heart. The emotion stayed in the center of her chest until she reached Dunville Park and went to bed.

It hadn't been like this when she was in London. During the hiatus in their friendship, she had missed him, but it was only a fleeting feeling. But since coming to Yorkshire, the feeling no longer flitted by; it lingered. His presence in her heart had grown into something she could no longer ignore.

‘Could the birch trees surrounding Whitefield Hall have cast a spell on me? I certainly felt as though I were hypnotized while passing through them.’

Laura laughed at her own absurdity for entertaining such a ridiculous thought. Magic, of all things. She had outgrown such sentimental fantasies in her girlhood. She resolutely shut the lid on her emotions. For now, the lid remained tightly closed.

Laura’s reason had always triumphed over her emotions. Hers was a life lived in the midst of a harsh fate, where she had taken only reason as her ally. To avoid following her parents’ destiny, she had shed tears of blood for over a decade, forging her heart into an impenetrable fortress.

In this matter, she trusted herself. She would never let anyone know her feelings. She would carry it as her secret alone until the day she went to her grave. She was confident.

But she did not know. Life is a battlefield where a cruel attack can fly from anywhere at any time. An arrow shot by a god, flying far across that battlefield, can bring down a fortress built by a human over decades with a single strike. Such collapses often happen in life. Laura would soon experience her reason being devoured by emotion because of that fate, and she would come to realize that nothing in life can be taken for certain.

It all began with a single, small tombstone.

***

“Miss Pendleton, please be honest with me.”

On a warm Wednesday afternoon, in the cozy drawing room of the parsonage, Laura, who had been savoring an apple pie rich with apples, paused her fork and looked across the table. Mrs. Starr was looking at Laura, her round, dark, squirrel-like eyes shining, as she poked her lower lip with the tip of her fork.

“About what…?”

“Mr. Dalton has a lady he admires, doesn’t he? He fell in love in London, didn’t he?”

Startled, Laura swallowed a half-chewed bite of apple pie.

“My husband often takes walks with Mr. Dalton by the river, discussing books or theology. But he said that after Mr. Dalton returned from London last summer, he began talking a great deal more about marriage. What it’s like to have a wife at home, what it feels like to be a father, how one can become a good husband like my own. And not long after, he returned to London again.”

‘That’s right. In London, Mr. Dalton did say he was seriously considering marriage.’

Laura set down her fork and dessert plate. Her spirits sank to a degree that was hard to believe right after eating something so sweet.

Traveling to and from Whitefield, Laura’s heart had inclined toward him more than ever before. But she must not forget. No matter how close she became to him, the place by his side belonged to another woman. Even if he was kind to her, it was merely the goodwill born of friendship, offered to a friend.

It had to be so, and it must be so.

Even if he sometimes blushed at her words, even if he remembered her trivial habits and preferences with unusual care, and even if she, in turn, secretly questioned his feelings, at times allowing a presumptuous hope to sprout within her.

‘Still, his heart must surely belong to another woman.’

To suppress her sorrow, Laura quickly began to speculate on who his future wife might be.

Soon, one young lady came to mind. A lovely young lady from a good family. Miss Dora Lance.

He had never directly said that he loved Miss Lance. But during his second visit to London, he had followed Miss Lance around devotedly, instilling in her friends the conviction that she would soon become Mrs. Dalton.

A gentleman like Mr. Dalton would not have done such a thing without clear intentions. His heart must belong to Miss Lance.

‘He even asked a friend how to be a good husband. He must truly be fond of Miss Lance.’

She thought it was for the best. With her head, that was possible. But in her heart, sorrow stirred.

Laura poured the milk from her small, personal creamer into her cup of tea. Then she stirred it gently with a teaspoon. The movement was flawlessly elegant.

As she gazed down at the cloudy liquid in her teacup, her eyes were devoid of emotion. The acting skills she had honed in high society still served as her shield, even in her changed circumstances.

“I also believe Mr. Dalton will not remain a bachelor forever.”

“You know something, don’t you?”

“Forgive me for not giving you a definite answer. As a third party, I must be cautious. However, I can say one thing: when everything is settled, Mr. Dalton will surely confide in the Starrs right after his own family at Dunville Park.”

It was an answer that was as good as a confirmation. Mrs. Starr set down her fork and clapped her hands. She was like a twelve-year-old girl who had just been paired with her favorite friend.

“Goodness, to think that Mr. Dalton has fallen in love!”

Laura grew anxious as she watched the giddy Mrs. Starr. She was a lovely woman, but far from discreet. And she was exceedingly sociable. The perfect person to become the fuse for a rumor.

“Mrs. Starr, even if he has truly found a match, there is no guarantee it will come to fruition. Love is like a fragile old boat, apt to run aground before reaching its destination.”

Mrs. Starr waved her hand dismissively.

“Don’t you worry, Miss Pendleton! I won’t go about town gossiping about another’s courtship and ruin a perfectly good thing. But I am so, so happy. Our happiness is all thanks to Mr. Dalton, and now he will get to enjoy this same happiness!”

Laura understood her feelings. Mr. Starr, a seminary student with no connections, had been able to obtain a living in a suitable parish at a young age because Mr. Dalton had recommended him. Without Mr. Dalton, the day the two of them became husband and wife would have been postponed much further.

Her face blushing like a peach, Mrs. Starr clasped her hands together.

“Oh, it makes me so happy to think of the Dalton family pew at church being filled with his new family! And how wonderful the wedding will be! Miss Pendleton, what sort of lady has captured the heart of such a fastidious gentleman as Mr. Dalton? Couldn’t you give me just a tiny, tiny little hint? Please? Please?”

Laura, the very picture of discretion, simply gave a gentle smile and sipped her tea. She had no intention of saying another word. The more she spoke, the more her own heart would ache, and above all, she worried that his reputation would be tarnished if the match were to fall through.

Mrs. Starr, oblivious to Laura’s feelings, began to wheedle and cajole, trying to get the information she wanted. She had the disposition of a playful retriever puppy, and she would unleash her natural charm without reservation before anyone she thought might indulge her.

Laura found Mrs. Starr so endearing that she couldn’t help but laugh. Mrs. Starr was an incarnation of charm, capable of disarming even members of her own sex.

Just as Mrs. Starr’s charming performance was in full swing, there was a knock on the drawing room door. Mrs. Starr answered, and the door opened to admit a plump maid, who waddled into the room.

“Mr. Dalton of Whitefield is here to call.”

A tremor ran through Laura. She smoothed her clothes and hair, which she felt were no longer presentable.