Chapter: 17
When they entered the banquet hall, they could not help but sigh when they found that there were still far too many people gathered around Edward.
Apparently, being his niece was not enough to make the crowd willingly part for them. After peeking around in every direction, Beatrice finally let out a short sigh.
“Okay. I think there’s only one way left.”
She turned to Patrick and smiled sweetly.
“To be honest, I’m not exactly thrilled about it. But you helped me today, so I’ll give it a try.”
“…Pardon?”
“Are you ready? I’ll make an opening, and you go in when I do.”
While Patrick hesitated, wondering what she meant, Beatrice simply said, “Wait here,” before confidently pushing her way through the crowd.
Then, right in the middle of the reporters who were busy scribbling down their interviews in their notebooks, she shouted at the top of her lungs.
“Uncle! Uncle Edward!”
A hand waved back and forth above her head. A brown-haired head poked up from inside the human barricade.
“Oh, Beatrice!”
At the sight of her delighted expression, the previously solid barrier swayed and loosened. The niece who was said to have a particularly close relationship with Mr. Greenleaf. And on top of that, she was an exceptionally beautiful young lady of high society!
The second juiciest story of the night had walked right up to them of its own accord. As camera flashes began going off from all directions, Beatrice felt a little embarrassed, but she nevertheless approached Edward Rockwell, slipped her arm through his, and smiled with the sweetest expression of an affectionate niece.
After a few more flashes went off, Beatrice tilted her head toward the reporters.
“Is there anything you’re curious about? Perhaps I could tell you some stories about my uncle’s childhood?”
The effect was immediate. The reporters had already gotten most of what they could out of Lord Rockwell throughout the evening, so they swarmed toward their new prey.
As notebooks fluttered open and elbows bumped into one another amid the commotion, Beatrice smiled brightly and raised both hands.
“Gentlemen, please calm down. And I’d appreciate it if you could let my uncle rest for just a moment. He’s been through quite a lot, hasn’t he?”
The arrival of the kind and lively Beatrice changed the atmosphere. Since most of the reporters were nodding along in agreement, she gathered them together and asked them to wait for a moment. Then she gently pulled Edward closer and whispered something into his ear.
“…Really?”
Edward raised an eyebrow. At his niece’s whisper, the curator’s gaze turned toward Patrick, and Patrick Bennett, his entire body stiff with tension, cautiously bowed his head.
Soon, the reporters surrounded Beatrice, while Edward Rockwell, finally free, smiled and slowly walked toward him.
“Um… hello, Curator. I’m Patrick William Bennett.”
“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m somewhat familiar with the Count Bennett family.”
“Yes….”
“So, what brings you here?”
“Um.”
Patrick swallowed nervously. With his palm damp from sweat, he carefully handed over his research proposal. Edward accepted it with a faint smile.
“Actually, I came because there’s some research I wanted to show you.”
Patrick’s hand trembled slightly, embarrassingly so, as he handed over the paper.
Quite a long time passed, yet the curator remained completely still, reading Patrick’s research proposal.
At first, he seemed to have intended to merely skim through it, but the hand that had been casually turning the pages gradually slowed, and his expression slowly became more serious. Eventually, he even went back to the beginning and started reading it all over again.
“Hm….”
Whenever he came across an interesting passage, the curator’s eyebrows would twitch slightly. Patrick nervously bit his lip, wondering how far Edward had gotten in his reading.
A waltz ended at the far end of the corridor, and another began, yet the curator continued standing there. Only after a very long time did he finally raise his head and look at Patrick with interest.
“This is very interesting and refreshing. It’s quite a remarkable discovery.”
The moment he heard those words, Patrick abruptly raised his head, unable to believe what he had just heard.
“Really? But everyone else….”
Patrick stared blankly at Curator Edward’s face for a long moment. Was he dreaming?
“They probably did. These days, everyone likes ‘research that makes money.’”
With a somewhat biting retort, Edward Rockwell tapped Patrick’s research proposal lightly with his fingertips.
“But this isn’t like that. In my eyes, it’s precious research whose value cannot be measured.”
“…Ah.”
Thinking his heart might burst right then and there, Patrick quietly steadied his breathing. Those were the words he had desperately wished and prayed to hear for so long. It felt as though all the anguish he had endured until now had vanished in an instant.
“Thank you. Truly….”
“However.”
Edward Rockwell looked straight at Patrick.
“You even have a title, yet you chose to study this field. How did you end up taking this path?”
Having gained courage, Patrick quickly answered.
“I’ve admired your writings for a long time. In fact, I became interested in my research topic after reading one of your works.”
“Really? Did I ever write about moss?”
“‘…Moss is a resilient plant that can take root even without soil. Upon bare rock, inheriting nothing from anyone, it absorbs water by itself… and creates soil with its own body….’”
“My goodness.”
Edward’s eyebrows rose in amusement. He must have written hundreds of articles over nearly twenty years, moving between newspapers and academic journals. This was the first time he had ever met someone who could recite one from memory.
“‘Even after a forest has fully grown, moss survives the longest in the lowest places. In this insignificant little creature, I see a complete self-reliance greater than that of any towering tree.’”
Patrick continued, carefully emphasizing every word.
Moss that inherited nothing from anyone, growing entirely through its own strength and finding its own place. To fifteen-year-old Patrick, who had struggled to breathe beneath the path his family had laid out for him, those sentences had felt almost like literature.
Patrick took a breath before quietly adding,
“When my heart was troubled and I was going through a very difficult time, your writing saved me.”
“That’s quite a grand statement, but I can understand it.”
A faint smile spread across Edward’s lips. He closed the paper and examined its front and back covers once before tucking it under his arm, as though he had no intention of returning it, and faced Patrick.
“Bryonia’s research into bryophytes is practically an unexplored frontier. There’s a lot to do. Specimens are pouring in from every region, but the classification systems are a complete mess, and every academic society is making a fuss over the identification of new species. It’s rather admirable that you willingly threw yourself into such a chaotic field. Where do you intend to conduct your research from now on?”
“That’s why….”
Patrick straightened his shoulders and drew in a deep breath. Then he boldly revealed his ambition to Edward Rockwell.
“If you would give me the opportunity to work at the museum, I would like to continue my research in earnest.”
Edward did not answer immediately. He tapped the edge of the paper tucked beneath his arm with his finger, pausing for a moment as though weighing something before speaking.
“There are many experienced researchers, so I’m not sure whether we’ll be able to take on a new researcher. But I’ll consider it. Have you reached an agreement with the elders of your family?”
“Yes.”
“And marriage?”
“Pardon?”
Edward gave a wry smile.
“As you know very well, if someone from a family like yours decides to do something like this, they usually become the family’s villain. I imagine there’ll be considerable pressure for you to get married. What I’m asking is whether you’ll have enough time to devote yourself to your research.”
“I can do it.”
Patrick nodded vigorously, and the curator burst into hearty laughter.
“Good. Then I’ll look into it.”
After giving Patrick a light pat on the shoulder as if to encourage him, the curator turned away and left him with one final remark.
“That was an impressive paper. I’ll contact you once your employment is confirmed, so wait for my word.”
There was a strangely meaningful smile on the curator’s lips as he walked away.
And so, their brief meeting came to an end. Patrick stared blankly at Edward as he was once again surrounded by the directors, then turned and walked away.
Even now, he still couldn’t believe what had happened to him.
