Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 29

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

Chapter 29
Edward’s motorcar—purchased with the rare extravagance of substantial funds—was a refined model recently imported from the New Continent.
Its olive-colored body and gleaming brass fittings at every seam caught the fading sunset light over Windham, lending the vehicle an air of considerable dignity.
Yet despite sitting in so handsome a conveyance, Beatrice could not seem to relax her expression.
Riding in a motorcar’s passenger seat for the first time, she found everything different from a carriage. The engine’s residual vibration rattled up from the floorboards, an acrid smell of oil brushed past her nose, and the evening wind rushed in unfiltered above the hood. Ordinarily she would have been too delighted to examine every detail, but now nothing pleased her.
Edward, who had been glancing at Beatrice since the moment they departed, ventured to speak first.
“What’s the matter? The usual Beatrice would be bouncing about with excitement. It’s strange to see you so quiet.”
Beatrice kept her lips pressed together for a moment before finally blurting out what she’d been holding back.
“I don’t think I’m suited to this work.”
“Why? Did Patrick say something to upset you?”
Edward, who held the steering wheel, raised an eyebrow with evident curiosity.
“I suspected there might be some difference of opinion between you two. But I didn’t expect it to come to blows quite so soon.”
“Uncle, this isn’t a jest.”
Beatrice’s expression grew serious, her brow furrowed.
“Patrick has dismissed me.”
“Dismissed?”
Edward jerked the wheel so abruptly that the motorcar lurched and shuddered.
“He says he’ll come find you and tell you directly. He wants to replace me with a different illustrator.”
“Good heavens, what am I to do? That won’t do at all. What happened?”
“He asked to see my work, so I drew the moss as he instructed. But then…”
A fresh wave of hurt rose to the very depths of her chest, and Beatrice bit down hard on her lower lip.
“I thought that while it was alive, it must surely have been as red as a heart, so I painted it red. But then he said he was the only person who’d ever seen a living Red Heartwood Moss with his own eyes…”
“Hmm.”
Edward’s face assumed an air of seriousness, yet his fingers tapped against the steering wheel with evident amusement.
“He said my drawing was just a hindrance—that I’d imagined it all without looking. The form was all wrong, he said, and I’d missed every characteristic—the shape of the granules, the downy texture of the stems. He’d grant me artistic merit, perhaps, but as an illustration it was beyond redemption.”
“And I imagine our young niece didn’t take that lying down?”
“No, I… I was hurt and angry. I raised my voice…”
“What did you say to him?”
“Well…”
The thought of confessing it to her uncle made her cheeks burn with shame. She had wounded Patrick deeply enough that she’d unleashed harsh words of her own in return.
Beatrice crumpled the fabric of her skirt for a moment before finally deciding to tell him exactly what she’d said.
“I asked what some moss was doing insulting a person like that…”
As always, her uncle burst into quiet, amused laughter. Beatrice’s face flushed hot, and she turned her gaze away.
Dusk fell over the city. The streets of Windham flowed past swiftly—shutters being drawn over shop windows, the lamplighter’s long pole touching a flame to each gas lamp one by one. From her perch a hand’s breadth higher than she would sit in a carriage, the evening streets seemed like a city she was seeing for the first time, strange and unfamiliar.
After a brief silence, Edward spoke again.
“So you only said that, I suspect? What else?”
“I said—I told him he mustn’t have thought much of drawing if he learned it just to paint worthless weeds like this…”
“Ah, now that’s a rather deep wound.”
Edward gave a low whistle and let out a laugh.
He was navigating a corner languidly with one hand on the wheel when a load-bearing cart approached from the opposite direction, startling the horse, which shied and reared.
Edward quickly slowed the motorcar and gestured an apology to the driver, who in turn lifted his hat slightly to show no harm was done. What might have been a serious collision dissolved smoothly in a moment of tension, eased away by the light gestures and glances exchanged between them.
Watching this, Beatrice let out a sigh. How fortunate it would be if such things could pass so lightly.
“Do you think I was too harsh, Uncle?”
Beatrice asked, her eyes troubled.
“Yes. You drove the knife straight in. If I were Patrick Bennett, I’d have collapsed right there. Especially when he’s already carried so much sorrow.”
What was she to do? Beatrice felt herself sinking into despair. His voice—saying that insignificant moss was all he was—echoed with terrible clarity. The cool, settled sadness in Patrick’s eyes returned to her in perfect detail.
“But he wounded me terribly too, you know.”
Beatrice’s brow drooped as she set forth her own defense.
“He treats my drawing as though it were just a hobby sketch, picking out only the hurtful parts to criticize. Not a single kind word about what I did well, just that it was beyond redemption as an illustration…”
“That’s scholars for you. When their research is at stake, they all grow sharp-tongued. Still, doesn’t a person need conviction and stubbornness in their own world if they’re to see something through?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Beatrice grumbled, frustration thick in her voice.
“Surely he could have taught someone doing this work for the first time with a bit more gentleness. ‘Beyond redemption’ right off the bat!”
“That’s fair. And calling it a ‘hobby sketch’—that was meant to wound you, I think.”
“Yes.”
After pouring out all her grievances, her nose began to sting, and Beatrice released a long, hollow sigh.
“You’re right. Your heart is truly wounded. I understand,”
Edward paused, then shifted the gear. The engine sound dropped a level, and the motorcar glided forward at a gentler pace.
Presently, Edward spoke again, his tone soft.
“But Beatrice. Looking at the facts alone, I can’t replace you just yet. I have no other hands to spare. And our deadline is pressing. So I’m hoping you’ll continue working with Patrick Bennett.”
“Uncle, that’s….”
“And one more thing I want to make clear.”
Edward still spoke gently, but his tone had grown more serious.
“Beatrice. That is precisely what ‘work’ is.”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“Patrick Bennett has no reason to praise your drawings. He’s neither your guest nor your suitor.”
“I suppose that’s true….”
“If what you desire is entry into the rigorous world of a true professional, then this moment today becomes practice for your future. I don’t say this to wound your heart. You’ve already set foot through that door, so the rest falls to you alone.”
By now the motorcar had drawn near the fence of the Somerset Estate. Edward guided the vehicle along the iron railing and softened his voice, as though soothing his niece.
“So this is what we’ll do. I’ll introduce you to someone skilled, so you can properly grasp what Museum Illustration truly entails.”
“You mean you’ll introduce me to a teacher?”
“Yes. We have someone at our Museum who is quite renowned for Botanical Illustration. Meet with them, learn how to render botanical drawings, and join the work. And I assure you—”
He smiled warmly and reached over to gently stroke his niece’s hair.
“You’ll come to love this work more than anyone else, before long. Just be patient and learn.”
Beatrice’s expression remained uncertain. She welcomed any opportunity to learn something new, but the prospect of facing Patrick Bennett again felt decidedly awkward.
“Patrick is likely troubled as well. He may feel remorse toward you. Still, he seems to be a researcher of genuine passion and a good fellow, so spend a little more time with him. After all, you’re only just beginning, aren’t you?”
Edward’s voice always carried that unhurried, affectionate quality—something that mysteriously had the power to soothe the heart.
“…Very well. I’ll try it that way for now.”
Watching his reluctant niece nod her head, Edward smiled. Above them, the sunset over Windham burned crimson.

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