Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 59

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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 59
Room 204 was at the far end of the second floor of the Inn, the deepest room in the corridor. As she climbed the wooden stairs and opened the door, a surprisingly spacious room revealed itself.
Beneath a ceiling tilted to one side, two Iron Beds with brass fittings sat a distance apart. The bed linens, fortunately, were clean, but upon spotting the large brass chamber pot beneath the bed, both of them desperately averted their eyes in opposite directions, feigning ignorance of the reality before them.
In one corner stood a washstand with a ceramic pitcher and basin, while a small table at the head of one bed held an Oil Lamp. The diminutive Cast Iron Fireplace affixed to the wall seemed to belong to an immemorial age.
“Somehow… it feels like we’ve traveled back in time thirty years or so.”
“I’d say it looks more like forty years, at the very least.”
Patrick added ruefully. He’d endured the dusty train all day long, and upon arriving in town had spent a considerable time wandering through damp mud roads searching for an empty room. In this relic of the previous century, the two of them stood for a moment in strange silence.
The fact that there were two beds was at least a small mercy—they could maintain separate sleeping arrangements even if they shared the room. Trying to take some comfort in that thought, Beatrice set down the Leather Art Supply Case and Outdoor Watercolor Set she had slung over her shoulder onto the table.
“The view outside, at least, is rather nice.”
Patrick, who had been examining the shutters, pointed out the window. A river flowed slowly just below the Inn.
“Yes, it is.”
Beatrice agreed. While it was far removed from the grandeur of a city hotel, the room did have a certain understated coziness about it.
“Hmm.”
As Beatrice tidied their belongings, she glanced around the room and posed a casual question.
“But where is the bathroom? I’ve been traveling all day and would dearly like to wash up.”
Patrick, too, looked around with bewilderment. There was no sign of a door leading to a bathroom anywhere. Then he pointed to a Folding Screen that stood folded and leaning at an angle beside the fireplace.
“…That would be it.”
He spoke with difficulty.
“The bathroom, I presume.”
Beside the Folding Screen sat a solitary Zinc Bathtub with a dull metallic finish. So this was the ‘bathroom’ that the innkeeper had boasted about.
Left speechless, they gazed back and forth between the zinc tub and the screen. They could manage the situation of having two beds in one room well enough, but to have to immerse themselves in a metal basin sitting openly in the middle of the floor—that was another matter entirely.
It was at this moment that the innkeeper’s sly smile—when he’d praised it as “perfect for newlyweds”—suddenly came into focus.
Yet there was no avoiding a wash. She was covered in train dust from the entire journey, and tomorrow they would begin the serious work of the Wetland Survey, spending all day wading through thick vegetation and muddy marshes.
“I’ll warm the room for now.”
Unable to endure the awkward silence any longer, Patrick began tending to the fireplace’s embers. He shed his rugged Norfolk Jacket for outdoor fieldwork and draped it over the back of a chair, quickly rising from his seat. Trying to conceal his face, which had flushed as red as the heart of a bloodroot, he forced out his words in a gentlemanly tone.
“I’ll ask downstairs to have bathwater brought up. While you’re washing, I’ll step out for a bit, so please make yourself comfortable.”
Beatrice couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him directly; instead, she merely nodded slightly, carefully smoothing the hem of her long Walking Skirt.
Not long after, an elderly worker came trudging up the stairs with two steaming metal buckets in his hands, the sound of his footsteps heavy and dull.
As he poured the hot water into the Zinc Bathtub, white steam rose up with a loud clang and splash. After making several trips to ferry the water, the innkeeper’s worker gave Patrick a roguish wink and gave his shoulder a playful tap.
“Your bride’s a real beauty, sir. No need to worry about being cold at night. Shall I bring up a bottle of wine?”
“We already have some.”
Patrick’s face flushed crimson up to the tips of his ears as he quickly pressed a Silver Coin into the man’s hand and practically shoved him toward the door. The moment the worker left, Patrick slammed the door shut behind him and then hastily excused himself from the room, mentioning he would fetch a bottle of wine from the bar downstairs.
Left alone, Beatrice slipped behind the screen, unlaced her Lace-up Boots, and undressed. As she sank into the bathtub, the muscles that had grown tense from a day of travel finally began to unwind into a grateful languor.
Yet her mind offered no such relief. Once she emerged from this bathtub and dried herself, she would sleep in the same room as that man. And tomorrow’s Wetland Survey—how would she manage? As she thought of the spot where Patrick had been standing just moments before, she found herself growing increasingly self-conscious.
Surely he was waiting in the corridor beyond the door. At the thought of that fact, her body seemed to grow even warmer.
Beatrice rushed through her bath and dried herself off. It may well have been the quickest wash of her entire life.
Even as she wrapped herself in a thick towel after stepping from the water, her ears remained pricked toward the door. With every small sound, her heart would skip. Mercifully, Patrick refrained from knocking until she had completely dressed.
Once she had composed her appearance, Beatrice pressed her wet hair with a towel and turned toward the door. Now it was her turn to give him space.
“I’ll step out into the corridor for a bit. Please, make yourself—”
But Patrick shook his head firmly.
“That won’t do.”
“Pardon?”
Beatrice blinked.
“It’s just…”
Patrick hesitated for a long moment before finally stumbling through his words.
“The corridor is far too dark, and there are strangers about—it would be unsafe. Besides, if you went out with your hair still wet, you’ll catch cold. If you don’t mind… I’d prefer if you stayed here.”
How could he send someone who had just soaked in hot water, drenched from head to toe, anywhere at this late hour? The world outside had already grown pitch black, and a chill hung in the night air—if she caught a cold, tomorrow’s Wetland Survey would be compromised entirely.
“Please… stay.”
Patrick lifted the Folding Screen and moved it to the corner furthest from the fireplace.
Beatrice didn’t dare turn her head in that direction; instead, she hastily went to the chair by the window and sat down. Without so much as glancing back, she pulled the Oil Lamp closer and rummaged through her bag, drawing out a Plant Collection Notebook and opening it.
“Then I’ll just look over the plants we’ll be surveying tomorrow.”
The words on the page made no impression whatsoever. Beyond the screen behind her came the soft sound of water being poured.
Splash. Drip. Each time a drop fell, her ears pricked up involuntarily. She must be losing her mind. Beatrice gripped the notebook pages tightly and forced her eyes wide open. Even as she struggled to concentrate, she heard behind her the sounds of him washing.
After a long while, the water sounds ceased, and she heard the rustle of fabric. Patrick shook out his wet hair and folded the screen closed.
The air between them shifted once more now that they had both washed. A faint scent of soap, tired bodies, and the warmth of the heated room seemed to ease the tension that had lingered.
By now, the logs in the fireplace had burned to a glowing red, sending up a respectable blaze. As if to shake off the remaining awkwardness, Patrick idly rolled the Brass Magnifying Glass on the table with the tips of his fingers and carefully broke the silence.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”

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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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