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The sky began to turn red. Long, feather-like clouds drifted on the wind, leaving wavy trails in their wake, followed by the slow creep of multicolored darkness.
Later than usual, Eloise and Ryan sat in the dining room.
They were not alone. Mrs. Parker, who always handled the cooking, stood nearby alongside Mr. Palmer, the butler.
Several bottles of wine lined the table beside the food.
All this was part of the preparations for the banquet.
The preliminary menu had been drawn up, but more detailed refinement was required. Everything needed to be prepared exactly as it would be at the actual event—to check for any problems with the service and to determine which wines would best complement each dish.
That was why dinner had been specially arranged for ten o'clock in the evening, matching the banquet's planned schedule.
This was usually the hour when everyone had finished their duties and settled into quiet reading or prayer. Just last night, Eloise had arrived home at precisely this time.
*But we need to test everything at the same hour as the banquet.*
It was common for high society to begin dinner at such a late hour. In the capital, banquets often commenced at midnight.
But at Feltham and Cambon, that would prove tiresome for everyone, so they had settled on ten o'clock—quite a reasonable time for a banquet to begin.
"I think this wine would pair better with the roast quail. According to the inventory, there are three cases of it at Cambon. Perhaps we should use that? It's the main course, after all, so guests will likely drink a great deal of wine. Best to choose something we have in abundance."
Eloise checked the price. Not too expensive, but not cheap either.
*Perfect for the principal wine at a banquet.*
At her words, the three others cut off pieces of roast quail, tasted them, and washed them down with sips of wine.
The combination was superb. All three nodded in approval. Having received universal agreement, Eloise placed the next dish before her.
This time, it was green pea soup.
*Hmm...*
Mrs. Parker waited with a tense expression for Eloise's verdict.
"I think it has a slightly herbal flavor. Perhaps we should add more spices?"
"Do you find it very pronounced?"
"It's actually quite ordinary, but there will be many discerning guests at the banquet. Best to eliminate that aftertaste entirely. The consistency, however, is just right."
Eloise continued offering her opinions while soliciting those of the others.
By the time they had finished discussing all the improvements and selecting wines for each dish, it was well past midnight.
While Mr. Palmer cleared the plates, Eloise began preparing to leave. Mrs. Parker, seeing her off, spoke anxiously:
"My Lady Eloise, it's so late. Perhaps you'd better stay in Blissbury tonight?"
The offer was tempting. She had been spending entire days in Blissbury lately, and since the weather had grown warmer, she had even brought a change of clothes.
Moreover, thanks to the maids' diligence, many rooms stood ready for occupation.
But Eloise shook her head.
"No, thank you. I need to prepare things at home. Besides, I'll be living here starting tomorrow anyway, so I must bring my belongings."
As the holiday approached, she planned to move to Blissbury, as she did every year. And this year, since Mrs. Severton was hosting again, Eloise needed to be present.
Emily too. Ever since Emily had joined the Severton family, she had always helped with the Blissbury celebrations.
In fact, Mrs. Parker seemed to anticipate Emily's arrival even more eagerly than Mrs. Severton did—Emily had proven an indispensable helper in the kitchen during past celebrations.
"Oh, well, what can I do? It's not me who'll suffer, but Sergeant Thornton."
With these words, Mrs. Parker announced she would go clean the kitchen, bid her farewell until tomorrow, and departed.
Eloise waited for Sergeant Thornton, tying the ribbons of her hat. And then she realized, with a small start, that she had grown accustomed to waiting for him.
He walked her home every evening like a gentleman, but the task was far from effortless.
*Two hours of riding there and back, every night—is that easy?*
Yet Sergeant Thornton had never missed a single day.
*And today he must be even more exhausted.*
He had worked alongside the laborers all day, drenched in sweat. Thanks to his efforts, by sunset the stump of the dead tree in the garden had been completely uprooted.
Guests attending the summer festival this year would see no dead tree—not even a trace of one. Only a beautiful garden.
Soon he descended the stairs, pulling on his outerwear.
"You're so tired today. I'll go alone."
"Don't make me look ignorant. You're tired too, aren't you?"
The word **"you"** that Sergeant Thornton uttered was particularly jarring.
For some time now, he had been frequently using "you" instead of "Miss Eloise."
*At first she had thought, "How far is he going to push this familiarity?"*
After all, people who weren't very close rarely addressed each other so directly.
Especially—as if mockingly—after each of their arguments, he would deliberately tease her by switching to "you."
Of course, every time this happened, Eloise prayed that a worm would appear in the next apple he ate. But God never seemed to hear her prayers.
"Let's hurry. It's already late."
He was about to leave when suddenly a commotion erupted from below. Listening closely, Eloise discerned coarse cursing and the sound of something breaking.
"What's happening?"
While Eloise stood puzzled, the small wooden door used by the servants flew open and one of the workers who lived in the basement came running up.
**"Someone help! Four people are fighting—something terrible is happening!"**
He himself appeared to have been caught in the crossfire: blood streamed from his nose and his clothes were torn.
*It looks like the fight is serious.*
"Oh. Wait here a moment."
Elderly Mr. Palmer would hardly be capable of separating fighting workers.
Only the manager, Sergeant Thornton, could silence them with his mere appearance.
He handed Eloise his outer clothing and descended the stairs with the worker.
A moment later, Mr. Palmer appeared.
"What's going on here?"
"There's a fight downstairs. Sergeant Thornton went down. Should we go as well?"
"Oh, don't trouble yourself. Workers fighting is a brutal affair, and it's best you don't witness it, my lady. There's probably enough swearing down there to make your ears bleed. Wait here a moment."
With that, Mr. Palmer also descended.
Eloise stood holding Sergeant Thornton's clothes, waiting for the noise below to subside. But the screaming continued.
Amidst the abuse, crude insults flew back and forth—remarks directed at each other's wives.
Hearing this, Eloise realized the fight would not end easily.
Glancing at her watch, she saw it was already past one o'clock in the morning.
*Mother won't go to bed until I return. Emily will be standing at the village gate with a lantern again.*
Even on a summer night, it was chilly to stand in the wind at such an hour. Emily was also essential for the upcoming celebration—she couldn't be left waiting like that.
Eloise placed the clothes on the dresser by the entrance and, finding some paper, left a note.
> *"It looks like this will take a while, so I'll go alone. You needn't worry about the deserter—he's already been caught. See you tomorrow.*
>
> *— Eloise"*
She placed the note atop his clothes and stepped outside. There, a groom had prepared her horse.
"Tonight we'll ride quickly, without talking. Hurry now."
The horse, as if understanding, neighed long and loud in response.
Eloise gradually picked up speed. As soon as she left Blissbury, darkness enveloped her.
Fortunately, the moonlight offered some illumination, but the moon was not full, making it impossible to ride at any real pace.
And so Eloise set off alone toward Feltham.
After several dozen minutes, when she entered the forest—
***Shurkh.***
She heard a sound.
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