Chapter 19: “Don’t Make a Mistake”:
The place where Liri had returned now felt emptier than before. Mr. Budino’s spot was now filled by a foreign chef with a slightly awkward accent, directing the kitchen in his stead.
The manager, using the excuse that “guests would notice,” assigned Liri to clean and manage the banquet hall instead of the guest rooms. From now on, she had to live at the hotel, cleaning in the hours when no one could see her and sleeping in solitude.
Working alone in the vast, empty hall in the dead of night, she would sometimes notice the sun rising before she realized it.
Green, pink, pale cream…
The smoothly arranged marble floors produced a crisp, rhythmic sound under her shoes as she walked.
“Elizabeth, right? This is for you.”
A maid Liri didn’t recognize, carrying cleaning tools from the banquet hall, offered her a piece of paper. It was a hotel memo. Faint writing was visible inside the note, folded twice.
“Thank you.”
Liri smiled politely. The maid seemed slightly conflicted, slipping her hand awkwardly into her apron pocket.
“Is there more?”
The maid, glancing around, handed her another roughly torn piece of paper.
“It’s actually a little old.”
It was a telegram from East Longfell.
“They told me to destroy it… but I have family in the countryside too.”
The moment Liri saw the name ‘Volina,’ her heart thudded.
Sister Volina preferred letters filled with love and affection over telegrams, which cost money per word. That a telegram had arrived was not a good sign.
[Volina condition worsening]
It was a short, poorly spaced telegram. The word “condition” felt ominous. The fact that it had been sent some time ago weighed heavily on her heart.
“Um… are you okay? You look pale.”
“Can I ask who told you to hide this?”
Another note the maid handed over left Liri so shocked that she couldn’t even think about opening it.
“I can’t say. Absolutely not!”
The maid finally seemed to understand the situation and zipped her lips, swiftly disappearing down the banquet hall corridor. Liri’s heart pounded violently.
Who could have tried to hide such critical news? Why?
There were certainly a few jealous maids resentful of Liri’s promotion from laundry maid to house maid, but this was far worse.
Liri grabbed a stiff brush and walked out. Luckily, it was the weekend.
If she could endure this afternoon, she wouldn’t have to work the night during the noisy party and banquet. She might even make it to East Longfell.
Finding the person who stole the telegram was secondary; her first priority was Sister Volina’s health.
But the nun hadn’t arrived.
Christopher checked the time on his pocket watch from his vest. It was already nearing two o’clock, long after the maids had finished lunch.
The ice cream before him had melted into nothing.
“After all the trouble I went through…”
“Please, don’t make a mistake.”
The script book she had handed him with a smile lay on the sofa.
He flipped through it carelessly, seeing the neat handwriting. Despite being a maid, her handwriting was elegant and quick.
The voice reading the lines aloud was pleasant. No matter how many times he read it, the sad scenes made his nose redden and tears well up.
Christopher rose from his seat without lingering. He tossed the script into a small silver trash bin.
He had memorized it long ago. There was no need to look at it anymore.
He enjoyed when she came to the room. It was a strange feeling for him.
The “pleasures with women” his friends talked about were probably not like this.
‘Lowborn women are safe. If you fool around with a highborn lady with pride, you’ll get reported.’
Some of his friends did indulge in women, bragging about it openly.
‘Belmore, you have a strange obsession with purity. Money is enough. Money and Julie Mitchell would skip a performance and lie in your bed with her legs open.’
Did he really have to buy a woman with money? Even without money, plenty would eagerly lift their skirts for him. Temptations existed, but women trying to win a man’s heart bored him.
He had known since the days of the so-called Princess Gilbert, from watching his mother die alone.
‘Lurri, please come back.’
Beautiful duchesses died the same way. Those women would eventually say the same words as their mothers.
‘Belmore, I will forever hate you for ignoring my heart.’
Except for that woman, Elizabeth Gardner.
‘I really hate you all.’
Christopher slowly placed a cigar in his mouth but didn’t light it, tossing it into the ashtray.
Standing in wet underwear, shameless, like a child.
He continued rubbing the soggy cigar.
The grandfather clock struck two, and at that moment, Rufus entered, forcibly clearing the clutter of thoughts in Christopher’s head.
It was time to get moving.
“Sir, the carriage is ready. The Prime Minister’s confidence vote is scheduled for this week. From now on, it’s a race against time.”
The hearing in the Lower House had concluded, but the Prime Minister’s reappointment was still uncertain. As a member of the House of Lords, Christopher was negotiating behind the scenes, rallying votes and preventing vetoes.
“What’s the date?”
“The 23rd. They probably won’t go overnight, but things should settle by the 24th. The goal is to conclude before the New Year.”
“So, while the Lower House debates the Prime Minister, the nobles are putting on theater and powdering their faces?”
Rufus shrugged at his cynical remark. Christopher, though a noble himself, always mocked the aristocracy’s pretentiousness.
“You already have a bad reputation for clearing out the convent and orphans. That’s not entirely useless.”
In fact, Christopher was the first to volunteer for the charity play to help the poorhouse. He had initially mocked those urging him to participate, claiming that simply donating money was faster—but rumors of a murdered nun had changed his mind.
“And… your engagement to Miss Cecile can be announced around that time.”
“If there’s no major backlash from the Lower House regarding the Prime Minister.”
“The convent issue caused a bit of friction.”
Rufus adjusted his glasses.
“Is Phil Gordon still digging into that issue?”
“He’s quiet since nearly dying at the hotel.”
“Persistent man. Don’t let your guard down.”
Finally, Christopher nodded in satisfaction.
“Shall we clear the food?”
Rufus, about to leave, glanced at the remaining dishes on the table. There was still enough for two people.
“Why didn’t you eat? Hmm… you weren’t planning to eat all this alone, were you?”
“Stood up.”
Who could stand up Christopher Archibald Belmore?
Rufus felt strange seeing jelly, chocolate, and ice cream. The man he knew never touched sweets.
“What are you doing?”
At Christopher’s prompt, Rufus stood.
“Hmm, theater prep going well?”
“Do I need to worry about that? Asking with that smiling face makes me want to forget my patience in hiring you.”
Christopher’s cold expression silenced Rufus’s grin.
“No, really, a sincere question. Surely you don’t enjoy seeing the sir reciting sweet lines in that costume, do you? Haha.”
Christopher glared at him incredulously. Rufus quickly stopped giggling and rifled through his notebook.
“Uh… hmm… ah… You haven’t seen the lady who’ll be your partner, right? Her name… ah, Rose, Miss Rose Evans. The Evans invited her after Christmas dinner. Will you go?”
The intention was clear—to link the play with his daughter’s partner under the guise of an invitation.
A quiet war was shaking Londinium’s noble society.
“Not dinner. Lunch. It’s not that important.”
“She’s been abroad a long time, so her base is weak, but there might still be news worth hearing.”
“I’m interested if it’s about the mines.”
“That’ll be fine. And I looked into Miss Evans… ah, I’ll tell you when it’s confirmed.”
Christopher nodded indifferently. Rufus held his coat and hooked his arm through his, adding:
“May I ask who your promised partner is?”
Christopher frowned.
“You don’t need to know.”
“Whether personal or professional, we should know everything about each other, and I especially need to know about you.”
“Then this will be an exception. There won’t be such promises in the future.”
He said that and strode ahead. Rufus, looking as if he’d just been scolded, hurried after his master.
