Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 58

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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 58
“Could you check once more? The reservation is under Edward Rockwell, and there should be two rooms.”
“Let me see.”
The Manager flipped through the thick guest register. Patrick leaned against the counter, peering anxiously at the ledger, while Beatrice stood beside him, her leather-gloved fingers fidgeting nervously as her eyes darted back and forth.
“Ah, here—it’s been marked as cancelled.”
The Manager tapped his finger triumphantly on the register, having proved the hotel was not at fault.
“We had to cancel the reservation due to repairs from a fire—we notified you over a month ago. We even have the postal confirmation receipt. It seems someone forgot to file the paperwork properly.”
Both their heads drooped simultaneously. Where the Manager’s finger pointed, the red letters stood out clearly: “Room unavailable due to repairs” and “Notice delivered to guest.”
“I understand.”
Patrick grimaced once he grasped the situation. Rosie was famous for her meticulous attention to detail—there was no way she’d made such a mistake. The culprit was almost certainly the Director.
“It’s bound to be Uncle. He’s just forgotten again, hasn’t he?”
Beatrice sighed heavily. Living as Edward Rockwell’s niece and having experienced similar disasters multiple times, she pointed to her uncle as the source of this trouble with practiced ease.
“Is there another room available? Size doesn’t matter.”
But the Manager’s expression turned troubled again.
“I’m terribly sorry. We have no vacant rooms at all tonight. The other hotels are in the same situation. Starting tomorrow, the entire Street will be overrun with outsiders. It’s because of the Research Society’s conference overlapping with the town’s traditional Festival.”
Patrick turned to Beatrice, his mind reeling.
“Beatrice, what do we do? If there are no rooms anywhere….”
“We still have to try. Let’s look elsewhere.”
Beatrice shook her head firmly.
“You know how much I’ve been looking forward to this conference. I was just as eager.”
Her unwavering resolve heartened him. In moments like this, he was struck anew by how relentless she could be.
They picked up their bags and stepped out into the Street.
First lodging, no vacancies. Second lodging, no vacancies. The third, fourth—all the same. “Fully booked,” “We ran out long ago because of the Festival.” The answers came back identical, as if rehearsed.
The weight of their suitcases pressed down on their shoulders with each step, and Beatrice’s heel kept catching on the gravel path, slowing her pace. Yet she never once complained of fatigue.
As they walked, the storefronts and lodgings became increasingly shabby. When they stopped before what seemed to be the last inn in this district, Patrick resolved to give up entirely.
“This won’t work. Let’s go back. We can attend the conference another time.”
His voice was low and quiet. But behind those words, the nights he’d spent anticipating this trip flashed painfully through his mind. Only regret for dragging her into this situation weighed on him more than that disappointment.
“We can’t do that. This is far too important.”
Beatrice stepped in front of him, facing him directly.
“One more place. Just one more, all right?”
The last place they came to was a shabby inn with a tavern on the ground floor. Through the half-open doorway, the smell of stale beer and raucous laughter seeped out. The worn sign bore the ridiculous name “Sleeping Otter” in crooked letters.
The moment they pushed through the door, a gruff voice called from inside.
“Welcome!”
They were in luck!
Not “no rooms available” but “welcome”—there must surely be a room left. Patrick’s face brightened as he hurried toward the counter.
“Do you have a room?”
Behind the oak counter, the Innkeeper with a thick mustache appeared without ceremony.
“Got one—just the one.”
“…Just one?”
Patrick’s hopeful tone faltered. Of course there wouldn’t be two rooms left. With the whole town this crowded, having even a single room available was something to be grateful for.
But they were unmarried, and an unwed man and woman couldn’t possibly share….
He hesitated, then turned to look at Beatrice.
“What do we do?”
“I… I’m not sure.”
Beatrice trailed off, equally at a loss.
By now the sky outside had darkened considerably, and the ticking of the old wall clock scraped at their nerves, urging a decision.
Yet neither of them could bring themselves to suggest giving up, to say they should leave.
“Hmm.”
Then the Innkeeper leaned out from behind the counter, his expression distinctly displeased. His thick eyebrows shot upward.
“What, is our inn too old and shabby for you to bring a new bride into?”
“…Excuse me?”
The Innkeeper draped a dish towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms. As if his inn’s honor were at stake, his mustache twitched.
“You look like newlyweds fresh from the city, the fancy sort. Our place is old, sure, but it’s got history, I tell you…!”
“No, it’s not that at all….”
“Then what are you hesitating about? Once you go upstairs, you’ll like it fine. My wife’s a good cook—we serve a hearty breakfast.”
“Well….”
It was Beatrice who moved first. She stepped quickly toward him, linked her arm through his, and rested her head lightly on his shoulder.
“I don’t mind, darling.”
Darling.
Heat flooded Patrick’s face all the way to his neck. The warmth of her against his arm made his spine stiffen, but fortunately the Innkeeper seemed to read it only as the bashfulness of a shy new bridegroom.
“You’ve got a good heart, after all! Well, if the young bride suits you fine, then it’s all settled, isn’t it? If you’ve come all this way to see the Festival, you should know how to enjoy the small places too.”
The Innkeeper chuckled warmly and slid the Guest Register back across the counter.
“Here, write your name, please.”
Patrick took the pen, hesitated for a moment, then filled in the blank with “P. Bennett and Wife,” doing his best not to look at Beatrice pressed against his side.
“Perfect timing, really.”
The Innkeeper unhooked a Key from the wall and handed it over.
“The last Room 204 we have is absolutely ideal for Newlyweds. It’s a spacious room with a bathtub included. I’ll have hot water brought up to your room when you’re ready—just let me know.”
…Brought up to the room? Surely they don’t bathe in the room itself? There’s no separate bathroom?
Another complication.
Patrick was about to ask whether the inn actually lacked a proper bathroom, but he swallowed the words at the last moment.
Just as beads of cold sweat began to form on Patrick’s back, the Innkeeper’s gaze suddenly sharpened, studying them both with care.
“…Wait a moment.”
Had he seen through the deception? As both Patrick and Beatrice stood there blinking, the Innkeeper gestured toward their luggage with his bearded chin.
“Are you members of the Lichen Society, by any chance?”
“Ah… yes.”
“Well! How fortunate. My wife and I are devoted members ourselves. Welcome, welcome.”
“Oh, yes, thank you. It’s a pleasure.”
Somehow he’d managed to draw the Innkeeper’s full attention. At least they had a room, but Patrick found himself a bit anxious about managing the rest of the itinerary.
“Then we’ll head upstairs, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course you will. You two look so right together—like Newlyweds who only have eyes for each other. Make some wonderful memories here with us, won’t you? Even if you’re both completely undressed, there’s plenty of firewood to keep things warm and cozy. Gets rather cold at night in these parts.”
The Innkeeper finished speaking and, without waiting for a reply, began whistling while he swung the shutter shut with a bang, leaving the two of them—both flushed red as turnips—standing alone in the dim lobby.
Beatrice couldn’t bring herself to meet Patrick’s eyes directly, and Patrick awkwardly touched the Key, his throat working as he tried to compose himself.
“Shall we… head up, then?”

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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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