Chapter 99

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 99
Chapter Title: The Hunting Party (2)
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>
> I wonder if you can even guess what I felt at that moment, Miss Pendleton? It was a joy that surpassed the surprise when you first opened the door to my future as a typist, the delight of moving into a boarding house for the first time after leaving home, and the excitement of my first day at work, all rolled into one!
>
> I left for Bath the very next day with Miss Rotis. She has a lecture and a book signing scheduled there. From the moment I arrived, I spent the entire day following her, adjusting her event schedule, preparing her clothes and carriage, and seeing to her meals. I’ve become her personal secretary. My salary has tripled, and the publishing house has agreed to pay it in full. The hours are longer, but to be paid so handsomely for work I would gladly do for free—it’s a windfall!
>
> It has barely been a week since I started, but I am already Miss Rotis’s devoted right hand. I am happy just to be able to manage her papers, her clothes, and her notebook, which is filled with memos as messy as my own handwriting. And what makes me even happier than being her secretary is the fact that she seems to be quite fond of me as well.
>
> Oh, how I wish I could show you how happy I am, Miss Pendleton! Might you be able to visit Bath sometime? I would love to introduce you to Miss Rotis, and the three of us could have tea together. I am certain you would like Miss Rotis, too!
>
> Well, I shall write again soon. Please pray that I am not cast out of this paradise, Miss Pendleton!
>
> Your dear friend,
>
> Jane Hyde.
>

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It was not the promotion to editor she had been waiting for, but completely different news. Laura thought it over and soon concluded that this would be a great help to Miss Hyde’s growth.

Miss Hyde was not someone to be confined to an office forever. She was an active, free, and brave person. Assisting Mary Rotis, Britain’s foremost travel writer, would surely be a positive influence and help her find her own path.

“That seems to be welcome news, ma’am.”

Laura set the letter down. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink.

Laura spoke about the contents of the letter.

Mrs. Fairfax offered her due congratulations. Though she had little interest in books and did not know who Mary Rotis was, Mrs. Fairfax always held a deep respect for independent women.

“Do tell her she must visit a restaurant in town called ‘Beatrice.’ It has an Italian chef, and all the food is superb.”

“Come to think of it, you stayed in Bath for quite some time, didn’t you, madam?”

“Yes. My husband fell from a horse and injured his back, so we recuperated there together.”

“It’s hard to believe he was ever ill. He is so full of vigor now.”

“The hot springs of Bath saved him, in a manner of speaking. If we hadn’t gone to Bath, we would have had no other children besides Henry.”

Laura blushed. Mrs. Fairfax continued, unconcerned.

“It wasn't just my husband; Bath did me a world of good, too. Tending to him nearly made me a patient myself, but going there, drinking the spring water, and seeking out fine restaurants restored my vitality. Balls, reading societies, shopping, concerts. No woman can remain melancholic in Bath.”

A short while later, Laura returned to her room. She took out a sheet of paper and began to write a reply to Miss Hyde. It was a warm and affectionate letter, filled with congratulations and blessings.

After sealing the letter in an envelope, Laura took out the one from Anne.

Anne had been writing to her periodically since Laura had left London. While always inquiring after her well-being and worrying about her life, Anne faithfully dedicated much of her letters to denouncing Charles Pendleton for holding constant drinking and gambling parties in the townhouse he inherited, and cursing Gerald Pendleton to trip and die for standing by and watching his son’s antics.

Through these letters, Laura learned of Charles’s behavior—carelessly selling off the art pieces their grandmother had cherished to fund his gambling—and her uncle’s current activities, which involved visiting London’s wealthy elite to secure investors for his eldest son’s business, making promises that bordered on fraud.

Laura found herself increasingly unable to understand what the ‘family honor’ her uncle sought to protect even meant anymore.

Wondering what distressing news would be written this time, Laura took out Anne's letter and began to read.

But the contents of the letter completely defied her expectations.

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> To my beloved mistress, Miss Pendleton.
>
> I take up my pen again not two days after my last letter. Forgive me, miss. It is not for the sake of idle chatter. After receiving your last reply, I realized that you do not take pleasure in hearing news of the Pendleton family. I saw that I have been wasting paper to wound your heart, and I have reflected on it deeply.
>
> I had resolved to refrain from writing for the next month. Instead of praying for Mr. Pendleton to fall from his carriage or for Charles Pendleton to be kicked by Miss Jensen, I decided I must focus on sweeping and scrubbing this townhouse clean. That was my firm resolution.
>
> But this afternoon, a man visited the townhouse, and I had no choice but to unseal the inkwell I had firmly closed.
>
> Miss, do you happen to know a man by the name of John Ashton?
>

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John Ashton.

Laura dropped the letter.

*John Ashton. John Ashton.*

The image of a man, hidden in the deepest recesses of her memory. Auburn curls. Tanned skin. Strong features. A tall, imposing frame like a wall. A bright smile that created deep dimples in both cheeks.

With trembling hands, Laura picked up the letter and began to read again.

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> He arrived in a large four-wheeled carriage. He was a tall man with dark red hair and tanned skin. (He was nearly as tall as Mr. Dalton.) He had very deep violet eyes and dimples on his cheeks. He had a solid build, too. (Almost as much as Mr. Dalton.) He was dressed in mourning clothes, made of a very fine material.
>
> Is there such a man in your memory, miss?
>
> He was looking for Miss Pendleton. He wondered if you still resided here. He was also aware of the news of Lady Abigail’s passing.
>
> I told him that you had left. He wanted to know where you had gone. When I refused to tell him, he tried to press money into my hand, and when I refused even that, he became quite angry. Not that I batted an eye.
>
> He said he would visit once more and then left in his carriage.
>
> Was I right not to reveal your whereabouts, miss?
>
> I must insist on a reply, if only to confirm your wishes. Please send a letter at once, so that I may know whether to remain silent as a clam when he returns, or to build a bridge between that charming gentleman and you, my lady.
>
> With love,
>
> Anne Steele.
>
> P.S.
>
> The knitted gloves are almost finished.
>
> I will send them with my next letter.
>
> My dear miss, I miss you.
>

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Laura sat in a daze for a long while.

Her mind was traveling back twelve years, to her days as a foolish seventeen-year-old, utterly lost in the fantasy of love.

He had been a twenty-two-year-old Oxford student. When he appeared in society, he was handsome but unpopular. He had no fortune to speak of and was burdened with incompetent parents and a string of younger siblings.

He was a man who couldn't have even attended university without his patroness, Countess Granchard. He was openly called the Countess’s plaything. In truth, he was a distant nephew of the Countess, but London society was a place where vulgar gossip was more readily accepted as fact than simple truth.

So it was perhaps natural that the young man, tormented by scandal, would take an interest in Laura. She, too, was a lady shunned due to her parents’ disgrace.

She was the only young lady who would not refuse his dance, who would respond to his jokes with a smile.

It was unclear who had fallen in love first. Nor was it clear who had first suggested they run away together. The twelve years had crumpled and scribbled over her memories like a mischievous boy.

The one thing that was certain was that he had abandoned her. Knowing full well what fate awaited a woman already scorned by society upon being deserted by him, he still left her. There was not a single letter, not a word of excuse.

*Why has he come back?*

Laura read the letter again, and the mention of him wearing mourning clothes offered a clue.

His wife must have died.

He had married not long after abandoning her. To the daughter of a wealthy timber merchant, she had heard. His father-in-law had supported his law studies and built him a grand law firm, making him a renowned lawyer in England.

*It seems he’s grown curious about me now that his wife is dead. Before, out of loyalty to his wife and fear of his father-in-law's disapproval, he wouldn't have dared to inquire after an old flame.*

Laura’s mood soured.

She had thought she had forgiven him. He was young, he was poor, he couldn’t turn his back on his family. That must be why he left me. Let’s forget it. Let’s forgive him. Hating him only hurts me.

But now, hearing news of him, the old, buried memories pushed through the fog of forgetting. How she had become a laughingstock because of the scandal with him, how hurt she had been, how much she had cried and suffered upon hearing of his marriage, and how skeptical she had become of loving anyone since.

Her wound was deeper than she had thought. Laura did not want to see him. Nor did she want him to know where she was.

Laura took out a sheet of paper and began to write a letter to Anne.

*I do not wish to see him. If he comes again, tell him I ran away from home due to a family dispute and that my whereabouts, and even whether I am alive or dead, are unknown.*

***

And sometime later, Whitefield was thrown into a great commotion.

It began with dozens of invitations being sent to London. An invitation was dispatched without fail to anyone who had ever so much as exchanged greetings with Ian Dalton, the great landowner of Whitefield.

Nine out of ten of those invited sent letters of acceptance. The number was roughly around eighty people. Based on this figure, Laura began to prepare for a large-scale banquet at Whitefield.