Chapter 12: “Even Mistakes Can Be Useful”:
By now, the lake had grown cold, and the season had come when thrushes cried noisily on the bare branches.
Timothy had spent sleepless nights at the newspaper office, preparing for the upcoming Prime Ministerial hearing, while Lily buried herself in the various tasks she had taken on, now that she had grown accustomed to life at the hotel.
For Lily, the happiest part of her day was reading letters from the nun who had come from East Longfell.
[Dear Lily,
I can still hear your laughter clearly in my ears, yet you are not here. While unpacking the last of my moving boxes, I discovered a letter from Sister Brigida.
I hesitated to open it, wondering if it contained anything related to the convent, but I finally did.
There was a passage that said, “We cannot confirm whether the child the assemblyman is looking for belongs to our convent, but it is true that a child was left in front of our convent.”
I may be scatterbrained, but forgetting such an important detail would be impossible. There must have been a reason Brigida kept this from me.
Or perhaps she meant to adopt Rosie? That doesn’t seem right either. The couple who wanted to adopt Rosie were diplomats.]**
Lily clutched the locket in her pocket tightly.
**[That passage alone doesn’t tell me much. I wanted to help you.
My eyes are growing tired, so I will stop here. I’ll let you know if there’s any news.
—Bolina, East Longfell]**
Lily’s hands trembled as she finished the letter. The idea that someone was looking for her shook her to the core.
Habitually, she opened the locket around her neck with one hand. Inside was the initial ‘E’ engraved alongside a faint floral pattern.
“Elizabeth.”
It felt as if the thoughtful nun’s gentle voice were calling her, and Lily pressed the letter to her chest.
But her reverie did not last long. A strict voice sliced the air, calling her in broken syllables:
“El― li― za― beth―.”
Startled, Lily turned around. A maid, expressionless, was pointing toward the chime bell.
“Room 301 is calling.”
That mysterious guest remained in the hotel even after the evaluations had ended.
Whatever business he had in the city was unknown, but it was clear that he still occupied that room whenever the door opened.
“Sir, may I come in?”
Room 301 smelled of ink, the faint residue of pressed cigars, and a subtle hint of alcohol. To Lily, it smelled like adulthood—mature, cold, with a weighty authority that was untouchable.
He did not look at Lily, focusing solely on the documents at his desk. Bathed in soft sunlight, he seemed like a male deity from an ancient Greek sculpture.
Sensing her gaze, he momentarily lifted his eyes from the papers and met hers. Lily picked up the coat that seemed to drag along the floor.
“Then I’ll have this coat washed and put in the closet.”
It was unnecessary to say, but Lily wanted to break the awkward silence and distract him. Near the spot where the laundry was placed, she pulled a clip from her pocket and fastened it to the sleeve.
“No, leave it in the closet.”
“Oh, understood.”
“……”
“Anything else you need done?”
Christopher recalled the woman’s slightly disheveled hair from the hat shop, now neatly tucked beneath her bonnet with not a single strand escaping.
He slammed the documents shut and tugged lightly at his tightly knotted tie. The upper shirt button popped off and rolled to Lily’s feet.
“The button…”
The two of them stared at each other in silence. Lily bent down to pick it up—a luxurious ivory button.
“I’ll sew it back on for you.”
“That’s inconvenient. I need to wear it today.”
Lily paused, then took a small pouch with needle and thread from her apron. She was not officially in charge of mending, but a single button she could manage.
“I’ll do it. Please just take off the shirt.”
To be told to remove his shirt! Christopher almost laughed aloud at her innocent and candid way of speaking.
“That’s inconvenient too. I don’t want to cause any misunderstandings by taking my shirt off in front of you.”
Hearing this, Lily froze, realizing how her previous words might have sounded.
But he added a gentle condition, showing no intent to embarrass her further.
“As long as you don’t stab me with the needle.”
Lily nodded and began sewing the collar of the shirt on the seated Christopher.
“You don’t need to worry. I’m good at sewing.”
“I meant—you dislike me, don’t you?”
Lily did not answer verbally, her hands moving busily instead.
Throughout this, Christopher observed Elizabeth closely. She would avoid his eyes unless provoked by something interesting, at which point she would return his gaze honestly and refreshingly, even beautifully.
“Honestly, no one in the world do I dislike more than Lord Belmore.”
The white thread passed through the buttonhole, stretched, and was pulled tight. Lily’s chest rose and fell close to his face.
“Then why the frown?”
He lifted his head slightly and asked. Lily finished tying the knot and trimmed the remaining thread neatly.
“I was afraid of stabbing your neck.”
“Thank you for not stabbing a man who knows your secret.”
“I was just doing my job.”
They remained very close. Christopher studied the blonde maid’s face in the sunlight, noting every detail—her skin, her neat lips, and the glimpse of white teeth. Though he had never analyzed people like this, he found himself fascinated by her intricate beauty. Yet, the moment ended when she quickly lowered her head. She avoided eye contact whenever speech ceased.
“Christmas is coming soon.”
Lily, unsure what he meant, glanced at the puffed-sleeve blouse draped over the desk, realizing the reference. He was looking at it, apparently.
“Every year at this time, I perform in a play.”
“Even nobles?”
“Some wait for it. Not me, though.”
She laughed at the thought of this flawless man wearing a costume and wig.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Do you wear a wig too?”
“Because I’m the main character.”
“What role?”
“A man who loses the woman he loves. Classical.”
“A tragedy at Christmas?”
“That’s up to the director.”
He shrugged.
“Can you tell me the title? I read whatever comes my way—comedy, tragedy, even newspaper ads.”
His candid remark momentarily disarmed Lily. A piece of thread fell on his shirt.
“You can read?”
He handed her a thick stack of papers.
“Now?”
Lily hesitated, then took the script. He had allowed her to stay at the hotel with her winnings; this was a small way to repay him.
“That secret, the ice-hearted one shall never know.”
“That’s my line.”
Noticing, Christopher adjusted and read it aloud in a cavernous voice:
“Those who saw me on the battlefield never saw the sun again with their eyes. Yet I cannot lift my sword against a witch who neither serves me nor fears me—what irony, Lord, you who taught me war! Have I failed? Punish me, for I love her.”
He reached toward her cheek.
“Wrong. You must not touch me. It says, ‘I have failed.’ The witch stands tall while Asshele kneels, casting down his sword.”
“Excellent observation. Shall I try again?”
Lily could not bear to hear the confession read again; his earnest expression had already made her face burn.
“No… it’s just practice… that’s enough.”
“The coward’s weapon is a kiss.”
Despite his cynical tone, Christopher was serious. Lily muttered her lines while burying her nose in the script.
After reading Act 1 about three times, lunchtime nearly passed.
“You have an exceptional memory. After only three readings, you barely make a mistake.”
Lily brushed imaginary stray hairs behind her ear.
“No, I read it several times. And we’ve only practiced the first part.”
A lie. She pretended to read, too flustered by their eye contact.
“Do you like plays?”
“Only watching them.”
His cynical remark made her smile.
“I’ve found a rather excellent practice partner. Come at the same time tomorrow. I want to rehearse the final kiss.”
Lily remained silent, cheeks bright red from head to toe.
“Really the kiss? Are we really going to kiss? Isn’t this just practice?”
“What?”
Christopher replied, astonished.
“I’ve never kissed anyone before. Even if it’s just a play…”
Thinking he might leap at her, she covered her mouth with her hands.
Christopher, captivated by her innocent charm, struggled to suppress his laughter.
“I meant, let’s rehearse the lines together. Of course, there is a kissing scene later.”
He smiled silently, then laughed aloud. Surely, this was the first time Christopher Archibald Belmore had ever laughed like this. He had succumbed to this strong, innocent temptation.
