Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 8

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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 8
When the commotion erupted moments earlier, Patrick had been so absorbed in the moss growing in the narrow cracks between stones that he’d noticed nothing—heard nothing.
Just before leaving the Garden, he’d managed to spot another small moss colony on a different wall.
This time there was no clamor around him, and the Viscountess’s shrill, theatrical voice hadn’t bothered him at all.
For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Lady Norton had also vanished from the fertilizer heap where she’d been sitting, so Patrick felt free to withdraw the Magnifying Glass from his pocket.
Drawing close to the stone wall and lowering himself as he raised the glass, a miniature universe appeared before him, densely sprouted within a shadow no larger than his palm.
Each tiny leaf of moss held moisture within it, swollen and taut, glistening wetly; adjust the magnification a fraction more and you could see small insects moving busily through the spaces between.
In the heart of the city, in this shaded corner of such a brilliant Garden, such stubborn vitality persisting in its own quiet way!
This was why Patrick Bennett loved moss more than any other plant.
The joy of discovering a hidden world. A wonder humble yet magnificent to him, beautiful beyond measure. Nature itself, honest and untouched, where no human hand could easily reach and no artificial intervention had corrupted.
Moreover, moss colonies were infinitely varied. Each time he looked through the magnifying glass, a completely different landscape unfolded—this was what made moss such a pleasure to observe.
Patrick carefully brought his fingertip to its surface. As he gently brushed the soft colony, the sensation that came to him was refreshingly alive.
“This is nature.”
The words spilled out before he could stop them. He didn’t notice how his face, listless all day, had suddenly come alive with a faint smile.
Whenever he gazed at something like this, Patrick’s mind became utterly serene.
The Viscountess’s magnificent Garden, which she boasted of perfecting over a lifetime and maintained with astronomical expense, was a hundred times less beautiful to him than a handful of moss in a neglected crack between stones.
Far removed from sticky stares and suffocating courtship dances and such sordid entanglements, he could find happiness simply by gazing at this small wilderness and marveling at it.
“Viscount?”
At the sound of his name, he lifted his head to find the Viscountess looking down at him with a worried expression. Patrick gathered up the magnifying glass and rose to his feet.
“Oh, yes. Is Lady Norton all right?”
“Yes, she went to change her clothes.”
The Viscountess’s face flushed as she hastily changed the subject.
“The moss has rather overgrown the path here—it looks quite unkempt, so I’m embarrassed to see you studying it so closely. Wouldn’t you like to view the Orchids instead?”
“The moss isn’t unkempt at all. Actually, it’s a variety I haven’t seen before, which is why I was examining it so carefully.”
“Oh, thank you for saying so, though moss really is a dreadful nuisance to me. It spreads so relentlessly, it gives me a headache….”
The Viscountess frowned as she looked down at the ground, and irritation flickered sharply in her voice. Patrick observed her expression intently.
“Well, in any case.”
The Viscountess’s face cleared just as quickly, and she began tugging at Patrick’s arm theatrically, eager to launch into an explanation of the Orchids.
“I had them brought from the East—they’re exceedingly rare specimens. They’re terribly fussy, so I paid a tremendous sum for them. Since they’re so precious only a select few are allowed to see them, but especially for you, Viscount….”
Patrick’s patience ended there.
The tea, the garden tour—it was all just one elaborate performance designed to bind him as a husband candidate. It was nothing but a waste of time.
“I am grateful for your kindness, madam.”
Patrick’s tone was impeccably polite yet left no room for negotiation.
“I regret to have been nothing but an inconvenience when you were kind enough to invite me. I’m afraid I must go look up some reference materials.”
“My dear Viscount! Surely you must see the Orchids before you leave.”
The Viscountess tried desperately to hold him back, but Patrick shook his head firmly.
“I have little interest in Orchids, I’m afraid. Some people may prefer plants they’ve paid dearly for, but that simply isn’t to my taste.”
Striding out of the Garden, Patrick approached his mother, who was still chatting with the other ladies.
“Mother, I’ll take my leave now. There’s work I need to attend to urgently.”
“You’re leaving already? Patrick, wait just a moment.”
His mother tried to hold him back, but he was already walking toward where the carriage waited.
He couldn’t bear to stay another moment.
He wanted only to escape to some place where he needn’t mingle with people, where he could bury himself entirely in his research. That was all that consumed him now.
He had no intention of ever being dragged to such an affair again.
* * *
The East Wing of the Somerset Estate.
The sun was setting. In the second-floor corridor, hurried footsteps echoed. The source was the elderly butler Arthur.
Though Arthur was ordinarily so fastidious that not a speck of dust could touch his clothes, gray ash clung to his back in clumps—the residue of his passage through the rarely used underground cargo passage to reach this place.
“Goodness….”
A sigh escaped his lips as he made his way to the far end of the long corridor, his heart heavy. He paused before the firmly closed door, listening for any sound from within, then knocked carefully.
“Miss?”
There was no response from inside. Arthur waited a moment, then knocked again with proper formality. The third time, he opened the door himself.
“Miss Beatrice? Are you in?”
The moment the door opened, a sharp smell struck his nose—paint and linseed oil. Arthur wrinkled his face and looked about the room.
“Miss?”
Arthur carefully made his way past scattered papers and paint containers strewn across the floor, glancing around as he stepped.
The young miss had only just returned, yet how had the room already come to this state?
“Ah!”
Arthur nearly kicked an oil container and recoiled in alarm.
Unfinished sketches and reference materials, books, canvases propped against the wall, water containers, and the oil can that had nearly touched his shoe—every direction was a minefield.
The other servants wouldn’t dare set foot in this room, which meant that only Arthur bore the brunt of her carelessness, absorbing stress in double measure.
Sighing deeply, Arthur began his search through the vast studio, peering between tables and behind canvases, hunting for wherever Beatrice had buried herself this time.
“Miss?”
Fortunately, Arthur didn’t have to search far before spotting Beatrice Somerset nestled in a long velvet armchair.
“Good heavens.”
She must have exhausted herself laboring over her work all night. Beatrice lay completely swaddled in a blanket, her face hidden, her breathing slow and deep in the grip of profound sleep.
Arthur stared at the enormous blanket cocoon rising and falling with each breath, then shook himself back to attention and spoke up loudly.
“Ahem! Miss?”
The tightly wound blanket bundle stirred. After a moment the cloth slipped down, and a golden head emerged with a sudden pop.
“Ar…thur?”
Her voice came out thick with sleep, and as her face appeared, her lustrous golden hair cascaded out over the blanket’s edge.
“I’ve returned, miss.”
Arthur waited patiently as Beatrice sat up, rubbed her eyes, delicately covered her mouth, and yawned with grace—all the while studying her face.
Despite having reversed day and night for several nights now, her complexion remained radiant; it seemed to be her natural constitution.
Her skin was flawless and luminous, her eyes clear and sharp with no trace of the weariness that should have marked a sleepless night—the very picture of a flower in full bloom. Every time he saw Beatrice Somerset, he found himself admiring this particular quality.
“Well? How did it go? Did you deliver it safely?”
“Yes, as you instructed….”
Arthur lowered his voice abruptly.
“I’ve successfully sent your artwork and study abroad application to the Bergion Salon.”

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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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