Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 49

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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 49
The final verse settled quietly into the space between them.
Patrick was the first to look away, breaking their gaze. He gave a low, awkward cough and turned his head toward the setting sun, while a flush crept across Beatrice’s cheeks.
Beatrice was the one to break that ticklish silence, offering a soft laugh.
“I didn’t know you enjoyed poetry.”
“Literature shaped who I am today. I was even involved with the Literature Club once, you see.”
Patrick murmured this while keeping his gaze fixed elsewhere.
“Really? So was I. Back in my schooldays, I mean.”
“Yes.”
The moment “schooldays” slipped out, Patrick paused subtly, but Beatrice, unaware of the shift, simply chattered on with renewed enthusiasm.
“Me too, me too! Every school has one, don’t they? It was really the only place I could breathe, you know? As you can imagine, boarding school is so stifling, and rather….”
“Mm, yes.”
“Anyway, I don’t think I could have survived those difficult years without the Reading Club. That’s where I met friends who were much like me⋯.”
There, Beatrice faltered.
Something felt wrong about his reaction. The warmth had suddenly drained from Patrick’s expression as if a door had slammed shut.
But why? Hadn’t the mood been quite pleasant just moments ago?
“Boarding school isn’t easy,” he might have said, or “I understand,” or even asked her to elaborate on what those times were like. But “mm, yes” was rather⋯.
Had she talked too much? Was he incapable of empathizing?
Come to think of it, Patrick Bennett was the sort of man who adhered to principle with unwavering integrity, though he could be rather sharp-tongued at times.
He’d likely adjusted well enough at boarding school. Not like her, the problem child. He probably excelled at his studies too⋯.
Her heart suddenly felt smaller.
‘Beyond help.’
That was what Miss Hayward, the headmistress of Saint Mary Boarding School, had hurled at her. Those eyes that looked at her like an insect over the rim of her spectacles—they haunted her now.
It had been the same today. She’d had no dignity whatsoever. In the motorcar on the way here, she’d cursed at the wind until her throat was raw, and let her hair fall messily loose.
‘What does a kiss feel like?’
She’d even said something so ridiculous.
Whether it could be salvaged now, Beatrice wasn’t sure, but she felt the need to smooth over the situation. It might help to dilute her words into the sort of ordinary hardship anyone would have faced.
“As you know, boarding school rules are quite strict. I always struggled most with the early morning wake-up calls because I’m such a heavy sleeper.”
That ought to do it.
She didn’t want to mention being called loose or beyond help. It was far too embarrassing⋯.
But Patrick didn’t even answer this time. He walked on, lost in thought, his mind clearly elsewhere.
Beatrice, worrying at her lip, decided it would be better to change the subject entirely.
“You attended boarding school too, didn’t you Patrick? Which one was it?”
But the moment she looked up at his face, Beatrice’s heart sank.
An expression so cold and severe—one she’d never seen from him before—had settled over his features. Had she made some kind of mistake?
Her whole body went rigid with tension.
“I’d rather not say the name. I left early.”
He cut her off with a chill in his voice.
“I studied on my own afterward and went to university later. I have no fond memories of that place. Not a single one. I don’t even want to speak its name.”
“Ah⋯.”
The warm summer evening air turned cold around them, and a mortified Beatrice’s shoulders drew in slightly. Noticing her distress, Patrick softened his expression and gently steered the conversation elsewhere.
“Anyway, about tomorrow’s work—”
As if the moment had never happened, he went on with an even tone, but Beatrice, still lingering in her confusion, found herself studying his face.
She was relieved to realize she hadn’t made a mistake, but now she was curious about what had troubled him. Could Patrick also have been caught up in some incident, just as she had?
“So after we finish the work, we’ll need to go to the printing house⋯ Beatrice, are you listening?”
“Yes, of course.”
Beatrice fell back into step beside him.
She still didn’t know what he’d been through. But at least⋯.
If someday she were to share her own pain with him, perhaps he could understand a little. That thought, strangely, offered her great comfort.
On this evening when their hearts had drawn a little closer, the summer air carried the faint aroma of freshly baked bread.
* * *
By the time the motorcar came to a stop before the Somerset Residence, dusk had already settled in soft, blue shadows.
“We’re here. It’s gotten quite late—are you sure it’s alright?”
Patrick asked with some concern as he checked the lit windows of the residence. The low rumble of the engine still vibrated beneath them.
“I’ll say I was out on business. Besides, with you as company, my parents won’t say a word. You know how adults regard our—”
“It’s convenient.”
As her words trailed off, Patrick readily nodded in agreement.
“Oh, wait a moment.”
Just as Beatrice was about to step out of the motorcar, she caught sight of her reflection in the window and gasped. Her blonde hair, buffeted by wind all day, was in complete disarray.
“If I walk in looking like this, Mother will have me for it. Just a moment—I need to fix this properly.”
She held a pin between her teeth as her skilled fingers began to twist her hair upward. With each movement of her hands gathering the bright golden strands, the loose waves were gathered one by one into neat coils.
Patrick pretended to check his Pocket Watch.
Those threads of gold, so vivid even in the gathering dusk—they demanded his attention far more than they should. And beneath them, the delicate curve of her exposed nape.
At some point, he realized his mouth had fallen slightly open and he was staring at Beatrice. Startled at himself, he let out a belated cough and quickly looked away toward the distance.
“There. Done.”
Beatrice secured the final pin and tilted her hat into place, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. A few stray wisps of hair peeked out, but they would be hidden well enough beneath the brim.
Patrick stepped out of the Motorcar and retrieved the Paint Set from the rear seat. He offered to carry everything up to the entrance—the load was rather substantial—but Beatrice waved him off in alarm, shaking her head firmly.
“If you so much as set foot in our front door right now, my father and mother will descend on us both. They’ll be asking when we’re setting the wedding date.”
“Good heavens. That won’t do at all.”
Patrick threw both hands up in mock surrender, even stepping back a pace or two with exaggerated caution, drawing a laugh from Beatrice.
“So, how was today?”
Before they parted ways for the last time, Patrick asked softly as he handed over her things.
“Thanks to you, I feel wonderfully at peace. And I had the loveliest time.”
Beatrice answered while cradling the bundle against her chest.
Until this very morning she had felt shattered, as though she might splinter into pieces, but now her heart was so settled she could barely remember that pain.
Instead, it was racing with delight, as if she might float away into the sky itself.
“This morning, I thought the world had ended.”
“You’d been nursing that dream for so long.”
Beatrice answered with a slight nod rather than words.
“And one more thing, before we go.”
Patrick withdrew a rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper from beneath the seat and held it out to her. A surprise gift. She had selected everything they’d purchased today with her own hands, but when had he prepared this?
“A book? But we didn’t stop at any bookshop today.”
“I bought it last weekend. I kept wondering when to give it to you, and I suppose today turned out to be the moment.”
As Beatrice’s eyes widened and she took it from him, Patrick added with slight bashfulness.
“It’s a poet I’m rather fond of.”
“Who is it? Won’t you give me a hint?”
“Where would be the fun in that? Half the pleasure is opening it to find out.”
“You’re awful. But fine—thank you. I’ll save it and open it before bed.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As the Motorcar pulled away, Beatrice drew in a long, deep breath.
She looked up at the summer night sky for a moment, then slowly made her way toward the entrance.

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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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