Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 30

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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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Episode 30
As the blue of twilight began to tint the windowpanes, the Earl and Countess looked up simultaneously at the sound of the reception room door opening.
“I’m back.”
“Patrick? About dinner—”
Before his mother’s affectionate greeting could fully reach him, Patrick offered only a stiff bow and turned to leave.
“I’ll rest first.”
His voice was heavy with exhaustion. As his footsteps faded toward the second floor, the bewildered Bennetts exchanged uncertain glances.
Soon after, the sound of a door closing at the far end of the upstairs corridor rang out with a bang—louder than usual.
“What’s gotten into him?”
The couple looked at each other. Deep concern gathered in the Countess’s brow.
“Something must have happened at work.”
The Earl murmured to himself, quietly setting down the evening newspaper he’d been holding.
“This is his first time working alongside others. It’s only natural that it’s difficult for him. He’ll overcome it through his own struggle and growth.”
As he spoke these words of comfort to his wife, the Earl himself released a heavy sigh.
Until moments before, it had been an ordinary, peaceful evening like any other. But their son’s dark expression had left them both unsettled. The Countess, who had been pacing the reception room, approached the decorative cabinet on the wall.
She took down one of the silver frames arranged there—the smallest and most worn—and gazed quietly at its contents before extending it toward her husband.
“Look at our son.”
The photograph held a young Patrick in the neat blue uniform of Saint Jude Boarding School.
Among his classmates standing in a row, beaming widely, the boy alone wore a dark expression. Though he looked toward the camera, his gaze held something distant and withdrawn.
“This photograph was taken, I believe…”
“Just before he left that cursed boarding school.”
The Earl finished her sentence, studying his son’s image in the frame. A buried memory flickered through his mind, and his eyes grew shadowed.
“I never understood it then. He was such a well-behaved boy—why on earth did he resort to violence?”
The Countess released another sigh.
“Will he truly be able to get along at the Museum? He’s such a particular child that I worry he won’t fit in with his colleagues. If he could just remain at ease, why must he insist on working?”
“Let’s not overthink it. He’ll manage.”
The Earl’s fingers traced gently across the boy’s face in the photograph.
“I simply wish… that he might no longer feel so alone.”
The young boy’s face from the photograph and the lonely silhouette of his son climbing the stairs moments before seemed to overlap again and again, and the Earl felt his heart grow heavier.
* * *
The following morning, Patrick arrived at the Museum alone, having spent the entire night awake and arriving much earlier than usual.
The more he dwelt on the previous day’s events, the more he wondered if he’d been too harsh with Beatrice. Yet he couldn’t bend his principles either. Indeed, the more he had considered it throughout the night, the clearer his conclusion became.
He could not employ someone lacking skill simply out of human sentiment. Illustration was an area that admitted no compromise, and the success of the research paper depended entirely upon it.
So upon arriving at work, he resolved to request a direct meeting with the Director—and instead of heading to Annex Room 101, he went straight to the Director’s Office.
“Welcome, Patrick Bennett. The Director is waiting for you inside.”
A round-faced woman with a pleasant demeanor smiled warmly and ushered Patrick in.
Had she already heard from Beatrice? Raising the question of Beatrice Somerset’s insufficient skill with the Director, who doted on his niece, felt rather awkward. Yet Patrick summoned his courage and knocked on the Director’s Office door.
“Come in.”
A record spun atop the gramophone, and the guest table held a teapot with steam rising from its spout, along with two teacups.
“My, you’ve been troubled, have you? You look quite worn this early in the morning.”
Edward led Patrick to the table without ceremony. He poured tea for Patrick, then lowered the gramophone’s needle to stop the music, and sat across from him with a pleasant smile.
“Well then, tell me what’s on your mind.”
Patrick couldn’t speak at once. He held the teacup between both hands and spent some time searching for the right words. Where to begin? How to phrase it?
The silence stretched on, but Edward didn’t press him, waiting with unhurried patience.
“I… sir.”
At last he managed to open his mouth.
“If I may speak plainly, I would prefer to work with someone who possesses a deeper understanding of illustration.”
“In other words, you’re asking to replace Beatrice Somerset with another illustrator who has more experience.”
“To be honest, yes.”
Patrick lowered his gaze.
“I’m not disparaging Lady Somerset’s skill as an artist. However, as you know, botanical illustration is quite different from art in its nature.”
“Right. Lack of experience is the problem. Isn’t it?”
Edward acknowledged his words gently, without reproach. But what followed was a refusal far more definitive than Patrick had anticipated.
“However, Patrick, I’m sorry, but I can’t grant your request.”
“Pardon?”
Patrick looked up. Edward was still smiling warmly.
“First, a shortage of personnel. We’ve discussed this before.”
He set down his teacup and continued calmly.
“Ah…”
“Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not that I’m protecting her because she’s my niece. If I let Beatrice go now, you’ll end up working with someone far less capable than she is.”
“Is there truly no one else?”
Patrick had spoken the question before he could catch himself, and quickly felt a pang of regret, hurrying to apologize.
“Not that Lady Somerset is insufficient, I simply meant—”
“No, it’s fine. I understand what you’re saying.”
Edward Rockwell set down his teacup with an unhurried gesture and raised his hand. After letting the cup settle, he continued.
“Right now, she’ll strike you as falling rather short. But once Beatrice begins to grasp that world, she can delve deeper than almost anyone else. I know this. You simply haven’t seen it yet.”
He grew distant for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if reaching back into memory.
“When she was a child, she’d paint the roses in the garden, and she rendered every insect-eaten hole in each petal with such fidelity it was breathtaking. Absolutely lifelike.”
…
“That she now paints so freely comes from having exhausted herself chasing perfect form—she’s tried nearly everything in pursuit of capturing her subject flawlessly.”
Ah…
Patrick, as Edward began extolling his niece’s genius, found the account lacking somewhat in credibility. It seemed like watching the sort of typical doting uncle who had lost all objectivity in his fondness for his ward.
Could this be about a marriage arrangement?
He wondered whether the great-uncle’s private affection—his desire to keep his carefully raised niece close—might be coloring this. The question rose to the back of his throat. Yet it never quite passed his lips.
The light in Edward’s eyes, after all, seemed to lie elsewhere than such an inclination.
“In any case, I spoke with the girl last evening, and she told me everything—that you and she had quite a clash.”
He added this while pouring more tea into his cup.
“So beginning today, I intend to engage a specialist in Botanical Detail Painting to work with her. I’ve told her to learn properly, from the very foundation. By next time, you’ll see marked improvement. And if even then you find the fit simply won’t do, I’ll be happy to find someone else. You have my word on it.”
If he was willing to appoint a dedicated tutor for his niece, Patrick could hardly press his objections further.
“I apologize, Director.”
He bowed his head at last.
“My ambition for the research ran away with me. I made an unreasonable request.”
“Nonsense—it was a fair concern. Had I any spare hands, I’d have assigned more staff to the project.”
“Then… I will do my best to find harmony with Lady Somerset.”
“Good. I’m grateful for your understanding.”
The Director took a satisfied sip of his tea, then settled deeper into his chair and crossed his long legs.
“There will be emotional clashes ahead, I’m sure. You’re both wellborn, refined youths—neither of you knows how to bend first.”
Patrick felt a twinge of recognition and busied himself with his teacup.
“But Patrick, I believe in the end it will prove good for you both.”
Edward’s gaze grew deeper still.
“Through friction and compromise, you grow—each by degrees. It’s the process of maturing as scholars, of becoming more fully human. So do your part. You’ll be a strong pair, I’m certain of it.”

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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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