"Very interesting..."
Jenkins raised an eyebrow in surprise, looking at the portly gentleman seated across the table. As he understood it, the mysterious death of the current troupe director alone shouldn't have been enough to compel Mr. Nelly to agree to such demanding terms. The Silver Jasmine Opera Troupe was an artistic group renowned across the continent; the value of even a one percent stake was hard to imagine.
Following his usual custom, he had intended to start with an outrageous offer and then haggle his way down, but he never expected Mr. Nelly to agree on the spot.
"Perhaps I should have asked for three percent..."
He wasn't worried that the troupe's unknown troubles would affect him. After all, by any asure, Nolan City was his ho turf. For now, they had only reached a verbal agreent. Jenkins planned to commission the Church to investigate the matter upon his return; if it truly wasn't a good fit, he would simply not sign the contract.
For a man of business in this era, Jenkins's caution was hardly unusual.
Leaving Jenkins to his calculations, if we shift our focus back to Nolan City, the red-haired lady Hathaway Hersha had recently run into so serious trouble.
It all began early last week, around the sa night Jenkins was "proposed" to, when she happened to discover she was being followed.
That evening, she had planned to dine with her family, but Earl Hersha had been forced to leave mid-al for an urgent military matter. The entire family's mood was spoiled, and Hathaway, changing her plans for a quiet weekend at ho, decided to invite Miss Mikhail to spend the dull winter hours at a city club.
But it was in the carriage, just after leaving the earl's estate, that she keenly sensed the pursuer. As a follower of the pseudo-god known as the "Wondrous Musical Score," Hathaway possessed unique divine arts related to sound, which made her hearing exceptionally sensitive.
This was no isolated incident. In the days that followed, even as she pretended to go about her life as usual, the stalker would appear, a faint but persistent presence in her periphery.
The person possessed extraordinary stealth abilities. Even the expensive tools she had purchased from the black market failed to reveal a single trace of their identity or whereabouts.
This situation persisted from the weekend into the following week, and she gradually began to suspect that her stalker was not human at all.
On Monday night, after declining Miss Mikhail's invitation with the excuse of feeling unwell, she carried on with her social life as usual. Dinner was with her family, an event she only occasionally missed on weekends, as Earl Hersha was an old-fashioned nobleman with deeply traditional values.
She gently inquired about her younger brother's recent studies and chatted with her mother and older sister about this winter's latest fashions.
Upon the white tablecloth, silver cutlery was neatly placed to the left and right of their plates. She ate little, despite the sumptuous al; a girl her age had to maintain her figure to fit into those dresses with their impossibly narrow waists.
"Hathaway."
The Earl interjected into the won's conversation quite abruptly, which was a rare occurrence.
The Hersha family did not possess an ancient, inherited title like the Mikhails. The current earl was the first of his line, having earned all his honors on the battlefield. This lent the stout, middle-aged man an exceptional air of authority.
"Hathaway, I hear you're friends with the young Baron Williatte?"
The low chatter at the dining table imdiately ceased. No one dared to look up at the head of the household, but everyone knew exactly what he was implying.
"Yes, Father."
Hathaway lowered her head, biting her lip as she answered softly.
"Speaking of which, Baron Williatte must be the youngest nobleman in the city, wouldn't you say? Oh, that's truly remarkable. In that case, why haven't you invited him to our ho as a guest? Hathaway, one must be more attentive to one's friends."
As he spoke, the Earl continued to work on the steak on his plate with his silver knife. He would occasionally glance up to gauge his family's expressions, but his tone remained calm and even throughout.
The red-haired girl's youngest brother secretly rolled his eyes. Noticing his sister had seen him, he made a funny face at her, which earned him a look of displeasure from the Countess.
The youngest Hersha child also had a head of brilliant red hair, just like his brother, his sisters, and his father. The Countess's beautiful blonde hair had not been passed down to any of her children, a fact that was her greatest regret.
Although her father's tone was rely a "suggestion," Hathaway knew the matter was not up for discussion.
She hesitated for a mont, staring at her own reflection in the polished surface of her plate, then nodded gently.
"But, Mr. Williatte has not yet returned to Nolan City."
"That's of no consequence. He will have to return eventually, will he not?"
The Earl smiled at his daughter, then gestured to a servant, who handed him a fresh napkin. He dabbed the corners of his mouth before adding, "I hope the Baron will be able to accept our invitation before the end of the month. I have always held a great appreciation for such enterprising young n."
The Earl's local accent was not very pronounced, likely due to his upbringing. When he spoke, he would sotis change the last syllable of a word from a long vowel to a rolled R, which usually served to lighten his tone.
But it clearly had no such effect this ti.
Having said his piece, the Earl paid no mind to Hathaway's obvious expression and, his smile vanishing, turned to admonish his sons.
"And you lot, stop staring down at your plates. I don't expect you to earn your own titles, but you can at least avoid disgracing the family in your school examinations. Whoever cos in last on the year-end exams will have their allowance docked for six months. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father."
The three males—one large, one dium, one small—replied in unison, though none of them lifted their heads.
And just like that, there were three more gloomy faces at the dining table.
Hathaway wasn't particularly worried about inviting Jenkins, even though she knew full well what her father was plotting. Her mind was fixed on the stalker, a problem made all the more pressing by the fact that the great writer was not around to help.
After dinner, she returned to her bedroom alone. She made a show of reading for a while, then toyed with the perfu bottles on her vanity—a birthday gift from Miss Mikhail, given along with a Harvest Festival badge.
Claiming she was exhausted and wished to retire early, the troubled girl had her maid close the door from the outside. Her family, it seed, understood her mood.
As the door clicked shut, sealing out the dim, yellow light from the hallway, Hathaway sat on the edge of her bed and took several deep breaths. A few minutes later, she rose, opened her wardrobe, and from a hidden compartnt in the very back, she retrieved a black-and-white photograph.
Reviews
All reviews (0)