Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 10

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 10
Beatrice exhaled softly, a sigh drawn up from somewhere deep.
She’d known this was coming—of course she had. The drawing rooms were full of girls in her position, their prospects equally constrained.
But still.
Facing the cold truth proved far more painful than any resolve she’d steeled herself to bear.
Even her open-minded parents, who had granted her permission to study Art at university, were now consigning her to a marriage she’d never chosen—and the indifference of that reality cut like ice.
“In any case, Beatrice, I think it would be best if, starting next week, you were to meet with the candidates one by one. Once you’ve spoken with them, perhaps among them you might find—”
“I don’t want to. I won’t.”
Beatrice drew herself upright, her spine rigid, and fixed her parents with an unwavering gaze—eyes alight with determination as she looked squarely at them both.
“Beatrice. What on earth are you saying? Marriage is something you must—”
“I don’t want it. I won’t get married!”
The sharpness in her voice made even the Marchioness Somerset fall silent for a moment. Seizing that brief pause, Beatrice spoke quickly, her words tumbling forward.
“I’m going to Verquion.”
Verquion?
The Marchioness Somerset’s eyes narrowed in disbelief, while Somerset’s fork—which had been rising toward a piece of steak—froze suspended in mid-air.
“Where are you—what did you say?”
“Ver-qui-on. Verquion, the country next to Brionia.”
Beatrice spoke each syllable with crystalline precision.
“I’m going to study abroad in Ejon, the capital where artists from all over the world gather.”
“What—what are you talking about? Who is going with you?”
“I’m going alone.”
Her stunned parents stared at her as she, in turn, stared back at them with absolute calm before dropping a bomb into the hushed dining room.
“I’m going to study in Verquion, train under a master of the highest caliber, and debut as a proper artist at a Salon Exhibition.”
“Beatrice! That is utterly out of the question. I will not allow it. What in God’s name—”
“I’ve already sent my application and portfolio to Etienne. I’ll leave the moment I receive his reply.”
Clang!
The silver fork slipped from Somerset’s fingers and fell against the plate with a sharp, discordant ring.
“Child, my dear…”
Somerset fumbled for words in the face of his daughter’s staggering announcement. She could see the hurt and bewilderment in her father’s eyes, yet Beatrice continued calmly, without wavering.
“I’m not asking for permission, Father. I’m telling you my intentions. And honestly, I’d already begun to worry about this—so if my value on the marriage market is truly so low, then I’m rather relieved.”
“…Beatrice!”
“Mother, I will forge my own path in this world. I’ll live alone, doing the work that I love and that I do well.”
“Are you even listening to yourself? Have you lost your mind? Do you truly believe you can live alone in that place?”
The Marchioness Somerset’s voice rose, her napkin discarded as if flung away. She fixed her daughter with a sharp, cutting stare.
“Stop this childish defiance at once. There’s a time to grow up and accept what’s been given to you. How long do you intend to live only for yourself?”
“…Mother.”
“Listen well, Beatrice. You must take a husband and establish a home. You must bear an heir for his house. This is your duty, do you understand? Everyone lives this way!”
The Marchioness Somerset’s voice grew louder, her indignation spilling over, while beside her Somerset’s eyes began to glisten with tears as he spoke with quiet desperation.
“My dear. I beg you. Must you drive your father to his grave? If there is anything you need, I will buy it for you—the finest Paint? Canvas? Name your price. Even after you marry, you can paint as much as you wish—”
“…That’s a lie. Don’t lie to me!”
Beatrice jumped to her feet with such force that her chair crashed backward with a bang, the impact violent enough to make the candles on the table flicker and sway.
“Once I’m married, it’s over. How could I paint what I want to paint? I couldn’t, could I?”
Beatrice gritted her teeth as she spoke, her words forced out between clenched jaws. Tears had welled up in her eyes, catching the candlelight with a tragic gleam.
“My work, my future—all of it will be lost. You both know this, and yet you pretend not to see it.”
“Beatrice, that’s enough.”
“You know what art means to me. You’ve watched me struggle with it. You know how much I—how much this means to me, how much strength it gives me—”
Her voice trembled, wetness thick in her throat. Beatrice’s quiet sobs filled the silence of the room.
“Besides, my brothers are both well past a suitable age and neither of them is married yet. Why do you say only I’m running late? Why speak of marriageable age as if it’s some deadline I’m about to miss?”
The Marchioness Somerset said nothing, her hand pressed to her forehead. Somerset, speaking in his wife’s stead, ventured carefully forward.
“Beatrice. You are… not like your brothers. Your brothers are serving as officers right now. And you—”
But Somerset could not find the words to continue. His lips moved silently for a long moment before he drew a deep breath and finally managed to speak.
“…You are a woman.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“If a woman grows older—”
“If she grows old, she won’t find a husband? How wonderful! That’s exactly what I want!”
Beatrice cried out, her voice sharp with fury.
“I cannot because I’m a woman. I must not because I’m a woman. How long must this continue? A new age is dawning. You read the newspapers, you read the books—so why do you close your eyes to me? Why do you pretend not to see?”
“Beatrice, that’s simply—”
“What of Women and Labour, sitting on the shelf in your study? Have you forgotten what Olive Schreiner wrote? ‘To deny women the opportunity to work and to confine them as ornaments in the marriage market is to train them into dependence, to make them parasites upon the efforts of others.'”
“…Yes. I read it.”
The Marquess nodded without protest.
“And Mother?”
Beatrice didn’t pause, her eyes moving between her mother and father as she pressed on.
“I saw all the clippings you kept from Foster’s articles. ‘To confine women within the home under the guise of protection, to strip away their lives, is to murder the soul.’ You collect pages and pages of such words—and yet you still bind your own daughter?”
Even as she gasped for breath, tears streamed relentlessly down her cheeks.
“I was proud. I was so proud that my parents were the sort of people who gathered and read such progressive writing. You have no idea how proud….”
“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, Beatrice.”
The Marchioness Somerset murmured quietly. As always, she carried herself with grace and dignity, yet now her voice trembled slightly.
“Just listen to me for a moment. People like that—”
“I won’t listen. You cannot break my resolve!”
Before anyone could stop her, Beatrice spun on her heel and bolted from the dining room. The door swung shut behind her, and the Marquess scrambled after her in haste.
“My dear! Beatrice, my dear!”
A long breath escaped.
The Marchioness Somerset sat alone at the emptied table, her eyes squeezed shut. The nightmare of years past was unfolding all over again. No—this was harder than before….
Ting.
In the silence, as the lady rang the servant’s bell, the butler Arthur appeared quietly from beyond the glass door. Having heard every word of the commotion in the dining room, his face bore the same troubled expression.
“Arthur. Consider this an emergency from this moment on. Watch her constantly. She’s the sort who, if angered enough, might just board a steamship on impulse.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Lock all the doors firmly. Post guards at night as well.”
“Of course, madam.”
Understanding the gravity of the situation, the butler bowed his head quickly. Then he slid the silver tray he held gently toward the lady.
“A telegraph just arrived from Sir Edward. It seems his arrival schedule has changed….”
“Let me see it.”
Arrived safely. Plan to depart for the Southern Region on a collection journey at once and shall see you on the day of the Museum event. My regards to my brother-in-law and Beatrice. — Your loving uncle, Edward
“This man, truly. Here I’ve prepared everything, and he goes and rearranges his schedule on a whim.”
The Marchioness Somerset, irritated, cast aside her brother’s telegraph and sank deep into the sofa. As she thought of her daughter, a dull throb began again behind her eyes.
“As long as she doesn’t run away to some foreign country, marriage or no….”
Pressing gently at her temples, she suddenly turned her attention back to the telegraph on the table.
Your loving uncle, Edward
The lady gazed at that name, lost in thought. What wind had suddenly blown to bring him back like this….
One eccentric per household was more than enough. With two of them, she feared the trouble would double—so at the thought of it, her temples ached anew, and Somerset’s wife flipped her brother’s telegraph face-down on the table.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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