MAC 05

Chapter: 05

“I’ll show you one at a time. Starting from this side!”

“All right, let’s do that.”

After being invited to Beatrice’s greenhouse atelier, the Marquess and Marchioness focused on admiring several years’ worth of their daughter’s work, allowing themselves to forget their worries for a while.

“As expected, our Betty hasn’t lost her touch.”

There was a large landscape painting depicting a small fishing boat caught in the middle of a storm, several still-life paintings she had brought with her unfinished, and charcoal sketches that were rough yet astonishingly dynamic.

The couple were pleased, thinking that the paintings were good enough to be displayed in any salon without embarrassment. But Beatrice shook her head, saying that those were nothing compared to what she had been working on.

“What I’m really obsessed with these days is this kind of painting. You could say this is my future.”

Beatrice led her parents to the center of the atelier.

A white cloth covered the final piece she had painted before graduation. With her parents looking increasingly expectant, Beatrice swiftly pulled the white cloth away.

“Oh my!”

The Marchioness recoiled in surprise. The Marquess of Somerset stared at the canvas with his eyes wide, frozen in place. He was so speechless that he could not even bring himself to offer an opinion.

“Good heavens…”

Could this really be called a painting?

It was a chaotic picture with barely any recognizable form. Masses of intense colors—brilliant red, vivid blue, and bright yellow—seemed to collide as though they were trying to devour one another, all tangled together while each color aggressively asserted itself.

It was a feast of rough and fierce brushstrokes, to the point that it was impossible to tell which part was a landscape and which part was supposed to be a person.

“It’s Fauvism. They’re painters who appeared almost like comets recently, and their work is incredibly intense. It’s a kind of painting based on ‘feeling.’”

Beatrice offered a simple explanation, but her parents did not immediately understand.

A painting based on ‘feeling’?

“In other words, instead of copying exactly what you see, it’s a style where the artist freely expresses their own feelings. What do you think? Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Yes. It’s certainly quite… bold.”

The Marchioness could only move her lips, as though she simply could not bring herself to say the word ‘wonderful.’ Of all things, her daughter had become completely absorbed in such a style.

Where on earth had their lovely youngest daughter gone—the one who used to paint neat still lifes and delicate landscapes that inspired everyone’s admiration?

“Hmm.”

The Marquess was just as bewildered. Having traveled extensively abroad in his younger days, Beatrice’s work looked, to his eyes, almost…

“It’s primitive. It burns like a flame, so intensely that it has a charm capable of warming the viewer’s heart. Don’t you think so, dear?”

Because of her parents’ desperate attempt to squeeze out something positive to say, Beatrice eventually gave a faint, bitter smile.

“Well, I suppose that’s enough viewing for now. We need to prepare for dinner soon. Go change into your dress and come downstairs.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The Marchioness slipped away, using the approaching dinner hour as an excuse, and the Marquess of Somerset followed his wife out of the atelier.

The moment her parents left the atelier, Beatrice’s expression changed completely.

…I had hoped they would recognize the value of this painting, at least. I suppose it was simply too radical for the eyes of the older generation.

Then, the possibility that the two of them would see my work and allow me to study abroad…

As expected, there was none. This approach was hopeless.

They might even think that, now that Beatrice had graduated from art school, all that remained was for her to stay at home, paint proper pictures, find a decent man, and get married.

Beatrice was on her way to her room to change her dress.

As she passed in front of her mother’s sitting room, a quiet conversation drifting through the gap of the half-closed door suddenly caught her attention.

“Dear. I think it’s about time we properly talked to that girl.”

Beatrice stopped in her tracks without realizing it.

“She’s graduated now, so we have no reason to put it off any longer. Starting this season, we should seriously begin looking for a suitable match.”

“Hmm… Still, she’s only just returned. Let’s give the girl some time to catch her breath.”

“Oh, please. The entire social circle is already buzzing. There aren’t many eligible candidates left. I mean the candidates who are actually ‘worth considering.’”

Silence followed for a moment. Then her father’s voice came through the gap in the door.

“Do you think our Betty will willingly listen to us?”

“She won’t accept it easily, of course. That’s why we need to have a proper conversation with her. We have to be very careful when we bring it up…”

Beatrice quietly stepped backward.

She retraced her steps down the hallway on tiptoe and only after entering her room and closing the door did she finally release the breath she had been holding.

Just as I thought. Just as I thought.

‘Marriage.’

It had been the issue constantly tugging at her nerves ever since the moment she received her diploma.

They would probably tell her to spend a year or two resting at home, then start preparing for marriage by taking lessons in things like flower arranging and sewing, while also becoming more active in attending social gatherings.

That alone was absolutely unacceptable…!

Instead of changing her dress, Beatrice returned to the atelier and summoned Arthur, the butler who had been directing the servants as they organized her belongings.

“Arthur, come here for a moment. I have a favor to ask.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Was she overflowing with fighting spirit?

The moment Arthur met Beatrice’s unusually sparkling eyes, he was seized by an inexplicable sense of unease.

Usually, whenever Lady Somerset called for him with that kind of gentle look, she was about to cause some kind of major incident.

With her gentle voice, softly curved eyes, and sparkling turquoise eyes, she looked almost like a beloved grandchild. Arthur had spent more than a decade helping the troublesome young lady through one incident after another. What could it be this time?

“You see, Arthur…”

Arthur nervously blinked as Lady Somerset lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“What? Where are you going?”

Patrick frowned when he saw the carriage bearing the Harrington family crest in enormous letters.

“We’re going drinking. We’re going somewhere that goes perfectly with your tweed jacket, which makes you look like a common laborer.”

“Oh, come on. What’s wrong with tweed? It’s so comfortable. And this stuff doesn’t even get dirty easily.”

“What do you have servants for? At this rate, you’ll be doing your own laundry too. Enough. Just get in.”

After getting out in the bustling commercial district, the two walked down the street, exchanging pointless jokes. As the surroundings gradually became more run-down, Dominic turned into a narrow alley and stopped in front of the pub in the first building.

“All right, Patrick. Welcome home.”

The Golden Lion pub had an old, creaking sign painted with a faded picture of a lion.

It was a chaotic den crowded with workers and impoverished students, filled with the mingled smells of beer, sweat, and cigarette smoke.

This place had once been a hangout for Patrick, Dominic, and several other friends. Whenever they escaped from the hellish St. Jude’s boarding school, they would stop here and secretly drink.

“This place hasn’t changed at all.”

Patrick spotted the plump bartender behind the counter and let out a hollow laugh. Only the waitresses had changed. The heavyset, balding owner was still wiping beer glasses with the same sullen expression as always.

It was as though time had stopped.

“Let’s go inside.”

Pushing past people’s shoulders, the two squeezed their way farther inside and sat side by side with a greasy table between them.

Greasy snacks and alcohol soon filled the table. As the cheap liquor slid down their throats, Patrick felt as though he had returned to those days when they used to enjoy their little acts of rebellion away from the watchful eyes of adults.

“So, did you meet anyone while you were at Collins College? You weren’t spending all your time in the laboratory handling stuffed animals, were you?”

“My major is botany, you know?”

Patrick laughed incredulously.

He knew that no matter how many times he explained it, Dominic would bring up taxidermy again anyway. Still, Dominic was the only person who cared enough to ask how he was doing to this extent.

“Anyway, Patrick.”

Dominic shot him a sidelong glance as he took a sip of his drink.

“Her Ladyship gave me a special mission to find you a suitable partner. She seems rather desperate, so you’d better handle yourself accordingly.”

“Forget it.”

Patrick quietly refilled his glass.

There were countless other things they could talk about, yet even here, they had to bring up marriage again.

Whether it was because of his mother’s earnest request to find a partner for her son, or because Dominic himself was a male who had just entered the fierce competition, Patrick couldn’t tell. Either way, Dominic began relentlessly pestering him.

“Patrick. Get a grip. Do you think anyone gets married because they actually want to? In our kind of marriage, you meet someone, decide that this person is going to be your spouse, and gradually grow attached to them. It’s a union between families.”

“Maybe. But I have other things I need to do. I’m not thinking about marriage right now, and I don’t have time to devote to it either.”

“You can do those things after you get married. What’s stopping you?”

“I said I don’t want to.”

Patrick’s voice finally rose slightly.

“Just because everyone else is doing it doesn’t mean I have to do the same.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you bastard.”

Bang!

Dominic slammed his glass down and raised his voice even further.

“Be honest with me. Juliet. It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

Patrick’s hand stopped in midair for just a moment as he was about to empty his glass.

But only for a moment.

Patrick emptied the glass, doing his best to remain calm.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Tsk.”

Dominic clicked his tongue and refilled his glass.

“You should get some kind of treatment. Maybe go to a mental hospital and have them fry your brain or something. How long are you going to keep living while clinging to a ghost from the past?”

“Dominic, enough.”

The moment he returned to the capital, Juliet’s shadow had come over him once again.

I really should have thrown away that damn box.

Patrick emptied his glass roughly, as though venting his frustration.

No matter how much he thought about it, this was hardly a good sign. He could only hope to find a job as soon as possible so that he could devote himself entirely to his research….