Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 12

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

Chapter 12
Eight o’clock sharp.
As arc lamps along the museum’s walls blazed to life in sequence, the assembled crowd gasped and tilted their heads toward the ceiling.
The dimly lit Central Hall transformed into daylight brilliance, and the grand Romanesque columns turned gold in turn, while the skeletal form of the colossal Diplodocus, caught in the light, seemed ready to stir to life at any moment.
The museum really is the finest place in the world.
Patrick, positioned behind one of the pillars, thought this as he gazed contentedly at the spectacle before him.
“Well… then we shall begin….”
The Board Director’s remarks were measured and desperately tedious. He spoke of the Natural History Museum’s illustrious history, the crown’s profound generosity to Brionia, the Board’s diligent labors, several major patrons and the latest research achievements….
As an endless cascade of words unfolded, people throughout the hall began to nod off. Only Patrick Bennett, lingering at the very rear of the crowd, craned his neck forward to stare at the podium.
His heart hammered against the Research Paper he held tight to his chest.
“…and so, this evening, it is my great pleasure at last to present to you our new director. The new director is, ahem.”
The Board Director adjusted his spectacles and paused for effect. The audience, by degrees reclaiming consciousness, blinked and fixed their eyes intently on his lips.
“You likely know him better by the name ‘Mr. Greenleaf.'”
The hall erupted in murmurs. Greenleaf? Had he just say Greenleaf? That Mr. Greenleaf?
The languid flutter of ladies’ fans ceased abruptly, then resumed at double speed. The gentlemen, hitherto indifferent, exchanged glances with knowing expressions, while the ladies in the back rows rose onto their toes.
Patrick trembled, every hair on his body standing on end.
Though he had tried not to set too much store by the speculative articles, the truth was he had longed for this desperately. How he had wished to see Mr. Greenleaf at the Natural History Museum…!
“Ladies and gentlemen, please, a little quiet.”
The Board Director rapped the podium, but it was in vain. In the end, he had to raise his voice above the clamor and nearly shout his conclusion.
“I present to you the new director of the Brionia Royal Natural History Museum—Sir Edward Rockwell!”
Flash! Flash! Camera flashes erupted from all corners.
Patrick’s eyes widened as he stared forward. Mr. Greenleaf, whom he had seen only in newspaper columns. The man behind that name now ascended the podium.
So that’s him….
Edward Rockwell, Mr. Greenleaf, appeared to be in his mid-forties. His frame was long and lean, his hair dark chestnut streaked with gray, somewhat unruly, and behind round spectacles, his eyes gleamed with a boyish, mischievous light.
“Ah, pleased to make your acquaintance. Your new museum director.”
As the tide of gazes and camera flashes descended upon him, the man scratched his head with an air of embarrassment.
“Well, this is something. Twenty years of keeping hidden, and I’ve made back my entire investment in mere minutes. So this is what I look like.”
With this light jest as his opening, he began to speak naturally, without so much as glancing at a prepared text.
“I have spent these long years serving as a nameless contributor. My expertise was questioned by some, yet I chose to write anonymously because I hoped my words would reach a wider audience.”
He allowed his gaze to sweep slowly across the hall, his eyes finding the far corners, meeting his audience members without omission, before he spoke again.
“Among those who have read my work were learned scholars held in wide esteem, and there have been boys who unfold the newspaper to read after finishing their early morning milk deliveries. Factory workers from the textile mills have even sent me letters.”
In the next moment, Edward Rockwell’s eyes flickered with a peculiar light.
“I believe the museum should be no different. These splendid collections did not gather here merely to collect dust behind glass. Henceforth, our museum shall receive many more visitors. Even on Sundays, in fact.”
The Archbishop, seated in a place of honor, shifted noticeably in discomfort, though Edward Rockwell continued undeterred.
“What use is a locked museum to those who labor hard all week and rest but a single day? And the work accomplished by women beneath this museum’s roof must expand far beyond its current scope. We shall have to tear into old things rather noisily, so I apologize in advance. It will be quite loud.”
A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, though it lacked the warm harmony of moments before. From the section where elderly scholars with graying hair had gathered, not a sound emerged.
As though he had anticipated this response, Edward Rockwell concluded his remarks with easy humor.
“If I speak too long, it becomes tedious, so I shall stop here. Oh, and finally—my sister and brother-in-law are also present this evening. It is thanks to my sister and brother-in-law’s generous care of this wanderer for the past twenty years that I stand here today. I offer them my gratitude.”
Director Edward descended from the podium with a graceful bow, and a thunderous applause erupted. Patrick clapped with all his might until his palms stung.
* * *
By tradition, the opening dance belonged to the director.
Unmarried as he was, Director Edward did not take the floor with a lady, but instead led Mary, the museum’s most senior patroness and an elderly widow, onto the stage, where amid enthusiastic cheers he danced with awkward but genuine cheer.
“One can tell you’ve been tramping through the Jungle—you’re rather out of practice with a ball!”
When someone called this out, laughter burst forth. The director and the elderly woman laughed as well, continuing their steps.
Patrick watched the scene unfold, pressing down on his racing heart. The real Mr. Greenleaf seemed somehow far more impressive than he had imagined.
When might he find the chance to speak with him?
The mere thought brought beads of cold sweat to his palms. His idol, the very embodiment of his dreams, was dancing within arm’s reach!
Patrick, who had long admired Mr. Greenleaf’s every move, found himself loving his idol even more by the end of this night.
A man who had set aside his family name and chosen to be judged solely by his words. A man who had walked away from tedious aristocratic life on his own terms.
The fact that Patrick had resolved to abandon his family’s obligations and become a professional in his own right was no strange thing at all—for it seemed that this man, who had walked that path first, gave him strength.
Meanwhile, while Patrick Bennett struggled to contain his excitement, Beatrice Somerset on the opposite side of the hall had been watching her uncle and the elderly woman dance.
“Director!”
“Mr. Greenleaf! Please, an autograph!”
The moment the new director’s opening dance ended, a throng of eager people surged forward and encircled him. Edward, swallowed up in the crowd, was visible only from the top of his head.
Good grief, he’ll become everyone’s uncle at this rate.
She had long known that her uncle had enjoyed considerable renown as an anonymous contributor, but witnessing firsthand the fervor with which people greeted him the moment he emerged made this all feel strangely alien to her.
Having monopolized her uncle’s affection since childhood, she found herself, oddly enough, feeling a bit peevish….
More to the point, she needed to hold onto him and ask him to convince their parents, to take her side—and yet it seemed she wouldn’t even manage a proper greeting.
Just as Beatrice, her pulse quickening, began to step forward, a flash of camera light suddenly blazed beside her, bathing her in brilliance.
“Miss Beatrice Somerset, isn’t it?”
“I… I beg your pardon?”
Beatrice’s eyes widened in shock.
“A word with you, please!”
“Were you and Edward Rockwell on particularly close terms?”
“How long have you known your uncle was the anonymous contributor?”
A throng of journalists materialized from nowhere, thrusting enormous cameras toward her as flash after flash erupted in her face.

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