Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 55

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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 55
On Friday afternoon, Beatrice entered the Dressmaking Shop in the Windham Shopping District to collect the clothes she’d ordered several days earlier.
As she pushed open the door, the bright chime of a bell mingled with the crisp scent of freshly pressed fabric and soap. A clerk greeted her warmly and led her toward the worktable in back where her order awaited.
The clothes she’d commissioned were nothing like a ball gown. Before departing for Northfen, Patrick had impressed upon her a warning—not once, but several times.
‘The Peat Bog region of Northfen has terribly capricious weather. The wind is fierce, rain strikes several times a day, and the ground beneath your feet is nothing but mud. Prepare yourself with clothes that are as simple and durable as possible.’
A sturdy Tweed Skirt that would survive tramping through muddy wetland without complaint, and a Blouse that held its neat appearance even without a restricting corset,
along with a thick Duster Coat to shield against the wind—she’d prepared everything necessary. As a Plant Illustrator and a Researcher, this would be the ideal attire for working in the field.
“Lady Somerset, it suits you beautifully.”
The Seamstress examined the garments with a satisfied eye.
“I’ve had to order everyday clothes myself these days.”
“My work outside has increased.”
Beatrice laughed off the matter lightly.
The Seamstress added her thoughts while smoothing the hem with practiced hands—nowadays, young ladies who drove motorcars were becoming more common, and more customers than one might expect were seeking practical clothing. The world was changing so quickly, she observed.
Beatrice examined her other items carefully as well. A dark-colored Skirt that wouldn’t show soil stains, Waterproof Arm Guards to secure her wrists, a simple Hat with a narrow brim that wouldn’t obstruct her vision—everything and more.
“Welcome!”
Beatrice glanced up at the new customer almost absently, and her expression hardened slightly.
“What? Beatrice Somerset?”
The person regarding Beatrice with arms crossed sharply was none other than Eugenia Norton.
“Lady Norton, I’ll be finished shortly. Please wait a moment,” the Seamstress offered.
Ignoring the Seamstress’s words, Eugenia swept forward and began rifling through Beatrice’s Tweed Skirt laid out on the worktable, her voice turning cutting.
“So you handle these sorts of things here now? How degrading.”
“Well, that is… Lady Somerset ordered these items specially…”
“Why are you having clothes made here? Why not go to the Department Store where the common people shop and buy ready-made things?”
“What others wear is hardly your concern. These are clothes I need for work.”
“A ‘working woman,’ no less. What happened to your family honor as a marquess’s daughter?”
As Eugenia let out a scoffing laugh through her nose, Beatrice shot back immediately.
“At least I’m not so hopelessly outdated. Think what you like. There’s no point explaining—you wouldn’t understand anyway.”
Unable to bear the mounting tension, the Seamstress made her retreat under the pretense of wrapping packages, leaving Beatrice and Eugenia Norton facing each other in a standoff.
“I only mentioned it because the skirt is so frightfully ugly.”
Eugenia twisted her mouth mockingly as she continued to stare at Beatrice’s skirt.
“Speaking of which, about that ‘work’ of yours. I’ve noticed you’ve been rather friendly with Patrick Bennett lately?”
“We’re simply colleagues working together at the Museum.”
Beatrice shrugged and turned her body toward the clothing box. But from behind her, a voice shot out, rising an octave higher.
“Oh, spare me. From what I observed, you hardly seem like mere colleagues. There are whispers all around about the two of you flirting at the Ball. What will you do now?”
The Ball. Now that she mentioned it…
The Museum’s opening reception came to mind. Eugenia had been particularly sharp-tongued in the Private Room that evening, and she’d been unusually bright and affectionate toward Patrick.
And it was the same at the Devonshire Ball.
She’d stood by a pillar the entire evening, watching Beatrice and Patrick dance the waltz with such a savage gleam in her eyes that it could have devoured them whole.
“Stop minding other people’s business and mind your own. We’re simply colleagues, so don’t go imagining strange things.”
“How comfortably you live in your own world. When will you ever mature?”
Eugenia Norton’s brow furrowed.
“What do you think would happen if that Patrick Bennett—the one you call a colleague—learned about your past?”
In that instant, the color drained from Beatrice’s face.
“What are you trying to say?”
Beatrice slowly lifted her gaze to meet Eugenia’s directly. Heat surged in her chest like a burning coal.
Eugenia’s chin rose with smug satisfaction, as though her provocation had struck home perfectly.
“That you were ill and took time from school—that’s not true, is it? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You had a love affair with a man. A passionate one, shameless enough to exchange embarrassing letters. I know everything. So watch yourself and be careful how you act.”
Eugenia was already turning to leave, pleased with herself for having wounded Beatrice Somerset so thoroughly once again, when—
“Eugenia Norton.”
Beatrice Somerset, whom Eugenia had assumed would slip away as she always did, stepped forward and fixed her with a steady gaze.
“Why are you so invested in me? You’re always looking for a way to put me in a difficult position. What about me has rattled you so much?”
“Who said anything about being rattled? I’m concerned for you, that’s all.”
Her tone was curt, but for a brief moment, confusion flickered across Eugenia’s face. Why was she acting this way today?
No matter what Eugenia had said in the past, Beatrice Somerset would become sharp for a moment and then withdraw first.
Beatrice was always the one who stood to lose more if the conflict escalated, and Eugenia had always known that. But today something felt different.
Beatrice fixed her with a piercing stare and spoke.
“Don’t try this with me here. If you’re interested in Patrick Bennett, pursue him yourself. Whether he remembers you from that evening in the Private Room is another matter entirely.”
It was meant as a light counterattack. At least, that’s what Beatrice believed.
But her words, unintentionally, had struck Eugenia Norton’s most vulnerable point—the wound that years of chasing had failed to heal. The most fatal of weaknesses: her forgettable existence.
“You, you—!”
Eugenia’s face drained of color in an instant, then flushed crimson, and finally settled into an ashen gray.
Tap. Tap. The sharp report of her heels struck the floor in quick, rough succession. She closed the distance to Beatrice in a few urgent strides and seized her by the shoulder.
“Listen here—no matter how much I despise you, at the very least I know how to keep my mouth shut. I’m holding the perfect blade to destroy your reputation, and I’m still choosing to think of you, even a little. You ought to be grateful. Shouldn’t you?”
“Is that so? Then why not spread the rumors about town? Is that what you really want to do?”
Beatrice clenched her teeth and stepped forward instead, her eyes blazing with such intensity that Eugenia’s grip on her shoulder faltered and fell away of its own accord.
“Go ahead. Spread every secret you know about me vanishing quietly from the Boarding School. Tell everyone, everywhere, exactly what you’ve discovered.”
With each deliberate step forward, Eugenia retreated until her back struck the dresser with a sharp thud. But Beatrice did not relent, continuing with measured, cutting precision.
“I think I understand now. Why you despise me so intensely, which part of me makes you burn with envy. Would you like me to tell you?”
Beatrice held Eugenia’s gaze steadily and smiled slowly.
“You want to live the way I do. Every single day you struggle to become the perfect lady, to earn people’s recognition as a modest, proper woman. Isn’t that right?”
Eugenia’s face had gone deathly pale. She wanted to protest, but her throat seemed to close, and no words would come.
“You must be exhausted, suffocating under the weight of every moment. No wonder you’re furious that someone like me exists beside you. Am I wrong?”
Beatrice laughed, serene and unhurried.
The Beatrice Somerset standing here now no longer flinched at labels like ‘outcast’ or ‘misfit.’ She knew, finally, that she was not a strange person at all.
Because she was no longer alone.
“I⋯ why would I envy someone like you? Have you lost your mind?”
Eugenia stammered and trembled, but Beatrice paid her no attention and spoke freely, without hesitation.
“Please stop concerning yourself with me and focus on yourself instead. I don’t consider you a friend, but I’m telling you this anyway, in memory of our time at the same school. Just as you meant well in saying what you did to me.”
Beatrice picked up the dress box the Seamstress had wrapped and walked past the silent Eugenia, departing the Dressmaking Shop with unhurried grace.
Ding. The cheerful chime of the bell rang out, and Eugenia Norton stood motionless in the empty shop.
“Miss⋯ Lady Norton? Shall I show you the new dress that just arrived?”
The Seamstress, who had been watching quietly from the corner, approached and ventured to ask.
“Never mind!”
Eugenia snapped irritably, gathered up her skirts in her fists, and bolted from the Dressmaking Shop. Her sharp voice could be heard even through the closed door, scolding the Maidservant who had been waiting outside.

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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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