Chapter 92

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: The Curtain Rises (2)
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Soon, Mr. Dalton entered the drawing room. He was impeccably dressed in a dark green frock coat suited for autumn, worn over a black suit. In his large, gloved hands—clad in chestnut leather—he held several simple bouquets of flowers.

He removed his hat and paid his respects to the lady of the house, Mrs. Starr. Having reverted from a retriever puppy to a dignified reverend's wife, Mrs. Starr welcomed him with a graceful smile. After inquiring about her well-being, he turned his gaze to Laura.

“Miss Pendleton, you’re here as well.”

Laura gave him her usual bright smile. The sight of his face dispelled her earlier sadness and lifted her spirits.

“I was invited by Mrs. Starr at the last dinner, you know. She promised to let me taste her apple pie, which is famous throughout Yorkshire. You were there as well, have you forgotten?”

“My apologies. I had forgotten.”

“As expected, you are quite indifferent to ladies.”

“Compared to other ladies, I am particularly attentive. Isn't that right, Mrs. Starr?”

Mrs. Starr nodded.

“To a surprising degree, yes.”

Laura’s gaze shifted to the bouquets.

“You look like a flower girl from Covent Garden. Are those from the Whitefield Hall greenhouse? Where are you taking so many bouquets?”

“I am going to visit my relatives.”

“Relatives?”

Mrs. Starr chimed in from the side.

“Those who have passed on. There is a cemetery behind the rectory, you know.”

“Ah.”

Laura nodded.

“I would like to offer you one, but it is an ill omen to present a living lady with flowers picked for the departed. The next time you visit Whitefield Hall, I shall make a bouquet for both Olivia and you, Miss Pendleton. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

He doffed his hat, gave a slight bow, and left the drawing room.

His footsteps faded away. Mrs. Starr tilted her head.

“How strange.”

“Why is that?”

“Mr. Dalton has a set day for visiting the cemetery with flowers. The last Sunday of every month. I wonder why he came on a weekday.”

Mrs. Starr slowly rose from the sofa and walked toward the window. She stood there, quietly gazing outside. Laura followed her to the window. Below, the rectory's modest back garden came into view. The garden faced the cemetery, separated by an iron fence.

In the wide cemetery of dry grass stood tombstones of various shapes. Crosses, rectangles, roof-capped squares, and arches.

Soon, Mr. Dalton appeared among the headstones. He stopped before two cross-shaped tombstones standing side by side. He placed one of his bouquets between them, removed his hat, and bowed his head. He was praying.

“Those are the tombstones of Mr. Dalton’s parents, the elder Mr. Eric Dalton and Mrs. Patricia Dalton.”

After a brief prayer of about two minutes, he placed another bouquet at a nearby tombstone and prayed again. Mrs. Starr identified the owner of each grave, one by one.

Mr. Dalton’s grandparents, Mr. Thomas Dalton and Mrs. Ilusha Dalton. Reverend Zenfield, who had long served the rectory. Mrs. Martha, the housekeeper who had looked after the household during his childhood. Mitchell Dunn, a farmer and friend who had died young.

At last, he walked to a rectangular marble tombstone. He placed a bouquet there.

“That one… hmm, I can’t recall the name, but it’s the grave of Mr. Dalton’s childhood art tutor. Oh, why can’t I remember? It was such a lovely name…”

His prayer there lasted a little longer than at the other graves.

“He must have been someone special.”

“They say their bond was more like family than that of a tutor and student. His sister married when he was eight, you know. After she left, Mr. Dalton was terribly lonely. He cried every day and couldn’t eat. His father, unable to bear seeing his son like that, hired a portrait artist who was visiting the house to be his art tutor.”

“Having such a tutor to rely on in his loneliness must have been a great comfort.”

“Yes. I hear he was as kind as an angel. Mr. Dalton sometimes says he was one of the few respectable people he has ever met. He says he learned not only how to paint from him, but also how to endure sorrow and become an adult.”

His prayer ended. He knelt before the tombstone and briefly pressed his lips to it. Laura watched his back, her gaze steady. She could not see his expression, but she could feel the love in his gesture.

“Mr. Dalton takes special care of that grave. He feels it’s a pity the man was buried in a foreign land, as his home was in America. I think he sees himself as a substitute for his family.”

Mr. Dalton slowly rose from before the tombstone and turned away. Where he had stood, a beautiful bouquet of red lilacs remained.

As he turned to leave, the two ladies also stepped back from the window.

Mrs. Starr linked her fingers with Laura’s.

“Miss Pendleton, please stay for dinner. I want to hear your stories about London’s high society.”

Her voice was a mix of charm and playful whining. Laura thought how fortunate Reverend Oliver Starr must be to hear that voice every day.

“I’m afraid I can’t today.”

“Oh, why not?”

“It’s Daniel’s birthday. We’re having a dinner party this evening.”

Mrs. Starr sighed. Both a retriever puppy and a self-aware twenty-eight-year-old wife, she nodded her head.

“Then it can’t be helped. I have plenty of apple pie baked in the oven. I’ll pack some in a basket for you to take to Dunville Park.”

“Thank you. That will be a wonderful gift for Daniel.”

The two linked arms and headed for the kitchen. However, just as they were leaving the drawing room, Mrs. Starr stopped in her tracks with a cry of “Ah!”

“I remember now! The art tutor’s name! Goodness, I can’t believe I couldn’t recall it. My memory has been half of what it used to be since having Harry.”

Laura smiled, watching Mrs. Starr lightly tap her own head.

“So, what was his name?”

Mrs. Starr beamed.

“Louis. Louis Sheldon.”

Louis. Sheldon.

In that instant, the smile vanished from Laura’s lips.

“Louis… Sheldon… you say?”

“Yes. It’s such an artistic name, isn’t it? Had he lived longer, he would have become a painter known throughout Europe. I heard his skill with a brush was that of a genius…”

Mrs. Starr continued to chatter on, but Laura heard none of it.

In Laura’s mind, the layered curtains of memory fluttered open. A figure, whose form could only be glimpsed by traveling back through long years, resurfaced in her thoughts.

The one who had placed the pendant around her neck, shedding tears; who had sworn he would come back for her; but who, in the end, had left forever.

Her young, handsome father.

Laura bolted from the rectory as if possessed. Behind her, Mrs. Starr’s calls echoed, but to Laura, they were nothing more than the meaningless sound of the wind.

She ran through the main gate and down the path. Dashing across the dry grass lined with tombstones, Laura soon came to a halt before the marble grave where the lilacs lay.

「Louis Sheldon.

1844. 8. 7 ~ 1876. 2. 1

A talent that could not fully bloom on Earth, shall be treasured in Heaven.」

Her eyes traced the spelling of the name and the dates of his birth and death. The name was spelled exactly as she knew it. The date of birth was the same one she remembered.

“Ah, ahh…”

Laura felt as if all the blood was draining from her body. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She staggered.

A hand gripped her shoulder firmly. A large hand, big enough to cover her entire shoulder.

“Miss Pendleton.”

She turned her head. Mr. Dalton was standing behind her.

“What is the matter?”

Laura turned around. She looked up at him with a dazed expression. Black eyes and hair. Snow-white skin. A stark contrast of black and white.

*Like a birch tree.*

The birch forest surrounding Whitefield Hall flashed before her eyes. As if under a dreamlike spell, her vision swam even more violently. And her heart began to pound uncontrollably.

“Mr. Dalton…”

She moved her bloodless lips. Her last ounce of judgment.

“…I know I’ll be heavy, but please, catch me.”

Laura’s body tilted backward. His arm wrapped around her back. He pulled her firmly into his embrace. Her cheek pressed against his stone-hard chest, and her body was enveloped in his large arms.

His large, gloved hand cupped her small head.

“Laura, Laura…!”

Even as her consciousness faded, Laura felt a sense of security in his arms. She fainted without a worry.

* * *

When Laura opened her eyes, she saw an unfamiliar white ceiling. She stared at it blankly. Her mind was hazy. It felt as if she could be pulled back into sleep the moment she closed her eyes. The prospect of sleeping again was quite tempting.

But something disturbed her. The sound of hushed whispers. A low sigh, tinged with worry.

In the end, Laura opened her eyes.

She was lying in the guest room of the rectory, the same one she and Olivia had stayed in before. The sources of the whispers and sighs stood in a corner of the room. It was Mrs. Starr and Mr. Dalton. They were facing each other; Mr. Dalton was the one sighing repeatedly, while Mrs. Starr was the one murmuring.

As Mrs. Starr was saying something to Mr. Dalton, her gaze shifted toward the bed, and her eyes met Laura’s.

“Oh my, you’re awake!”

Mr. Dalton rushed to the bedside. Seeing Laura’s open eyes, he let out a breath as if setting down a heavy burden. He then removed his leather gloves and stroked her forehead.

It was the first time their bare skin had touched.

His fingers, gliding across her skin, were warm and firm. The temptation to fall back asleep that had been budding within her vanished completely.

“Are you in any pain?”

“No.”

He spoke, his eyes fixed on Laura.

“Mrs. Starr, would you bring a glass of wine?”

The lady immediately went out and returned with a small glass, half-filled with wine.

Mr. Dalton supported the back of Laura’s head and brought the glass to her lips. Laura opened her mouth and obediently drank the wine. The bitter, fragrant fruit wine, with its metallic taste, flowed down her throat. Soon, her body grew warm, and strength returned to her limbs. The haze in her mind cleared as well.

After setting the glass aside, he gently helped her sit up. He then propped a pillow behind her back for support.

“The doctor will be here soon.”

Laura nodded.

“You said you were eating well at Dunville Park, didn't you? That you had gained so much weight you needed new clothes? Was that all a lie? Did my sister and brother-in-law give you trouble at the dining table?”

He was so serious that Laura couldn't help but smile.