When Philip seemed equally delighted, Abigail asked in bewilderment:
"Is it truly such good news that the flood has a name?"
She didn't understand what difference it made whether it had a name—or why the three men had grown so animated.
Then Philip explained:
"If the royal family names a disaster, it means they acknowledge the scale of the damage. In that case, there's a strong possibility of receiving special assistance."
"Special assistance?"
"Ordinarily, when major disasters occur, the royal family allocates funds to stabilize the situation. This year they received compensation from the war, so the treasury should be full... How much they'll allocate is uncertain, but..."
At this point, Julia sighed and said with displeasure:
"For something like that, you probably need connections at court, don't you?"
"Perhaps so."
Richard nodded in agreement.
"Then it seems we'll receive nothing. There's unlikely to be a nobleman with court connections in Cambon—or anywhere else in this region. Baron Stanford, of course, could..."
Baron Stanford had served in the army for many years and accomplished numerous heroic deeds. So had he wished, meeting the king would have presented little difficulty.
The problem was that it was now awkward for the people of Feltham to ask Baron Stanford for such help.
If he had been responsible for administering the area, it would have been different—but he was more of a 'neighbor,' owning only the lands belonging to Blissbury.
So asking Baron Stanford to enter the palace and plead for Feltham was, by any measure, excessive.
Of course, knowing his character, upon learning of the damage in Feltham, he might attempt to meet with the king.
"But isn't Baron Stanford in Brisham at present?"
"Yes."
The Baron had departed for a southern resort town. It was unclear when he would return to the capital—and even if he did return and submitted a petition, who knew how long it would take?
As the atmosphere at the table grew increasingly somber, Ryan quickly finished his portion and stood.
"I think I'll be going."
When he left, Richard also hastily finished eating and rose.
In the end, it was Philip who remained to console the dejected ladies of Feltham.
---
"Ryan!"
Richard followed Ryan into the library.
Now, like most rooms in Blissbury, the library was in complete disarray.
Not only were the blankets of children who had slept there at night scattered about, but household items the villagers had managed to salvage with difficulty were piled in the corner.
Ryan, seemingly oblivious, walked past and sat at the table.
Before retiring, one of the bored children had apparently tried the pen left on the table—there were strange scribbles on the paper, and a fountain pen lay nearby.
Ryan tidied all of this away and pulled a blank sheet from the depths of the drawer.
Richard, standing opposite and observing his actions, spoke:
"What are you going to do?"
"Submit a request for an audience."
"Ha... I thought as much."
When Julia said there was no one with court connections, Richard had glanced sideways at Ryan.
There was. A man who could meet the royal family more easily than Baron Stanford.
Ryan Wilgrave.
In the past, Ryan had saved the Queen's second son—the Duke of Kent—on the battlefield.
And he hadn't merely saved him by chance.
With the Duke of Kent's detachment isolated, Ryan had infiltrated the battlefield alone, sowed confusion among the enemy at night, and single-handedly eliminated an entire platoon heading toward the Duke in the darkness.
Even knowing Ryan could see well in the dark and was an exceptional marksman, people could scarcely believe he had dealt with thirty men alone.
The Duke of Kent, watching from the sidelines, had promised Ryan after winning that battle:
*"I will award you the Order of the Golden Lion. Saving the life of a member of the royal family is no small feat."*
Even those who disliked Ryan couldn't claim it was too great a reward—lest it sound as though saving the prince were a trivial matter.
But the Order of the Golden Lion had never before been awarded to anyone without a title.
*"Then we can grant him a title, can we not?"* the Duke of Kent had proposed boldly.
The aristocrats were aghast.
*"Be that as it may, he's a gravedigger's son. Some say he isn't even his biological child. He spent his childhood in the slums of an industrial city. How can you bestow a hereditary title on such a man?"*
But the Duke of Kent had no intention of yielding. When tensions between him and the nobles began escalating, Ryan had intervened.
*"The Order of the Black Lion is sufficient for me. The appearance of the medal will not change what I have done."*
When the recipient himself spoke thus, the Duke of Kent could no longer insist.
In any case, thanks to Ryan's concession, the disagreements between the Duke and the aristocracy ended. It was said the Queen had also been very pleased that the matter concluded quietly.
The only person dissatisfied was the Duke of Kent. He had constantly apologized to Ryan and said:
*"The reward of the Order of the Black Lion is insufficient. Not nearly enough. So, Ryan Wilgrave, if you ever face difficulties, be certain to tell me. If I can help, I will fulfill any request you may have."*
Hearing the Duke of Kent's promise, Ryan had assumed he would rarely—if ever—need to ask him for anything.
Indeed, during his interrogations before the Disciplinary Committee, Ryan had not requested his help.
Therefore, the Duke of Kent—though not asked—had fussed about trying to assist somehow.
Had Baron Stanford not stopped him, saying the Duke's intervention would only create more uproar, the Duke—knowing his character—might have stormed in with a cane and thrashed the committee members.
One way or another, the Duke of Kent had made Ryan a promise.
*If you need help, contact him.*
Ryan picked up the pen and began writing a letter.
To the Duke of Kent, naturally.
---
Another week passed.
As the Feltham residents lingered at Blissbury, various problems began surfacing.
First, food became an issue.
Though they received aid from Cambon and urgently purchased flour, the sheer number of people meant that even with a cart of provisions arriving daily, there was always a shortage after dinner.
Moreover, money for purchasing food was also a problem.
No matter how generous Baron Stanford's budget, there were limits. And with most surrounding fields and warehouses damaged, food prices had skyrocketed.
It reached the point where Mrs. Parker—who believed that if a person missed even one meal, the world would collapse—wondered whether it might be necessary to reduce the amount of bread distributed.
The next problem was quarrels among the people.
At first, overjoyed at their rescue, everyone had consoled and supported one another. But those who had lost everything save their families gradually sank into despair.
Realizing it was impossible to restore their fields, livestock, and homes.
The first to leave Blissbury were those with relatives they could turn to.
Having collected whatever could be salvaged from the rubble, they hired a cart and departed.
"We're planning to move there permanently. Fortunately, we have land and an empty house, so we'll have somewhere to live. Thank you for everything, Sergeant Thornton."
The villager bowed to Ryan several times as he departed Blissbury. Ryan led him to a spot out of the children's sight and handed him a small pouch.
"There will be many hardships in your new place. Use this when times grow difficult."
Realizing Ryan had given him a fair sum, the man bowed again and again.
Those who left were fortunate. But those with nowhere else to go remained, desperately clinging to hope for Feltham's recovery.
"These are dishes from our house!"
"What nonsense! Where's your proof?"
When something valuable was pulled from the rubble, people—claiming it was theirs—grabbed each other by the collars.
Quarrels among adults became more frequent. Children, too, began fighting more often.
"Beggar! You've lost everything! We'll be back in the village soon! And you'll be eating and sleeping under a tree! Like a vagrant!"
The adults scolded the child who said this severely—but he huffed and puffed to the end, insisting he had told the truth.
Watching this, Eloise felt pain.
She was witnessing the destruction of the village she loved.
*If things continue like this...*
Rebuilding Feltham would be impossible. People were increasingly giving up and beginning to consider leaving. Darkness was deepening.
And then, one day—
"Everyone, come quickly!"
Suddenly a child ran in and shouted.