Obituary 1

Chapter 1

****

1. EXPOSITION 

The obituary arrived like an invitation.

Ray Crawford held the fine paper, bound with a black ribbon, and read it silently. A hollow laugh escaped his lips.

The slow waltz playing on the phonograph began to feel like an unpleasant noise.

Until receiving this news, his day had been flawless.

The headlines in the morning papers he'd received were no different.

<Conservative Party Wins 3 of 5 By-election Seats, Riding Crawford's Popularity>

The papers, without exception, were telling him in unison that he had been right, as always.

It was a perfect day, as always. Until he received this obituary.

No. That's not right.

Perhaps the word "always" was wrong. Because at some point, his days had ceased to be entirely perfect.

Recalling the turning point of that change, he slowly blinked his eyes open and closed them again.

That woman.

Ever since discussions began about a forced marriage to a woman he hadn't even known existed, incidents like this had occasionally come along to ruin his mood.

This unexpected death notice was part of that absurd chain of events.

"What are you going to do?"

Agatha Crawford, sitting across from him, asked her son.

Her cold, piercing blue eyes and the way her lips immediately pressed together after the question seemed to reveal her character.

"I'll go. Unofficially."

From her son came a concise answer, not deviating an inch from what she had expected.

"Yes..."

Her son's face quickly returned to its usual calm, as if he'd never let out that hollow laugh.

His hand quietly placed the obituary down as if it were nothing, revealing no emotion whatsoever.

Even though she knew her son's personality mirrored her own as closely as his looks did, she sometimes found herself shaking her head in disbelief.

Agatha had tried hard over the past month to remain detached about the sudden arrival of a foreign woman as a daughter-in-law at Crawford Manor, but she never quite succeeded.

"Yes, I suppose so. It's not ideal, but it's only proper to go..."

Her exasperation always made her add this one line.

Even she, who had pushed for this match, found herself sighing occasionally. Yet her son, who had been reluctant about the marriage, had remained utterly calm since the decision was made.

"I was worried he wouldn't show his daughter's face until the wedding day itself. That might have been better. Not only did I have to prepare the wedding feast beforehand, but I’ll meet my fiancée for the first time at her funeral."

"It doesn't seem like it could get any worse now."

Agatha responded with a lighthearted answer, impossible to tell if it was a joke or serious, and Ray silently agreed.

No matter how many funerals they held, this marriage couldn't get any worse. Because the marriage itself was the worst thing.

Ray looked away from his mother, whose expression seemed complex, and looked down again at the paper bearing the obituary notice.

The obituary was for his fiancée's mother. A name utterly unfamiliar.

The marriage had only been discussed two months prior, and they hadn't even formally become engaged.

But the dowry had already been received, and they were at the stage where he only needed to choose one of several proposed dates. Not attending would be discourteous.

Neither the fiancée nor her mother had ever met him; they were strangers to him. Yet, had she lived just a month or two longer, she would have become his mother-in-law.

"At least we can verify if what Elliot Davis said is true before the wedding."

"Has that fool ever said anything worth verifying? 'Virtuous,' 'beautiful'—what else did he say?"

That simpleton of a prospective father-in-law never once considered showing him his daughter, only repeating that she was 'a distinguished beauty of exceptional virtue'.

Judging by his insincere and exaggerated manner, Ray even began to doubt whether he truly knew his own daughter.

Even when describing a stranger, one would show more sincerity than that.

"Even if that were true, what difference would it make? It doesn't change the fact she's a Bolton woman, or that her father's background is different. If she were truly a decent woman, Archibald Everett would have taken her as his wife himself. He wouldn't be pushing her onto you and threatening you into marriage."

Ray didn't bother pointing out that such threats wouldn't have worked at all if it weren't for his mother. They'd already exhausted themselves arguing about this once before.

"Well, the second condition is rather important. There's no harm in being beautiful."

Instead of saying it was his mother who'd succumbed to such a vile and pathetic threat, he changed the subject.

"You make jokes in a situation like this."

Even at the scolding, Ray only offered a perfunctory smile.

He did genuinely think he should at least see what kind of woman she was. If her family was making such a fuss about not showing her, there must be a reason.

He’d been told she had no major physical defects, but well, a woman who hadn’t married by twenty-six surely had some kind of problem.

"I suppose I should prepare to go to Bolton."

His mental preparation had begun the moment they discussed the wedding date.

He was ready to accept whatever the worst woman might be.

"Yes... There's no point delaying something already decided. And Tommy, turn off the phonograph? My head is starting to ache now."

At the lady of the house's command, the servant moved, abruptly cutting off the overly sentimental music.

Feeling his mind clear, Ray Crawford finally lifted his cup and savored a sip.

This quiet acceptance did not mean resignation or defeat. Ray was simply quick to recognize what he could change and what he couldn't.

He'd won wars; what did one woman matter?

Ray Crawford had never lost a single battle in his life.

The process might unfold slightly differently than he envisioned, but the outcome would be the same.

As it always had been.

***

Bolton was a republic.

A country without a king.

Among the nations near Orthuran, a few had also become republics, but that was a recent development. Bolton had been without a king for far longer.

Ray Crawford set foot on the soil of a country without a monarch for the first time in his life.

"Nothing special. Do you think the people of Bolton have tails too, Spencer?"

Ray asked his aide as he surveyed the mourners gathered at a rural church in Bolton.

"I'm not sure, but the older folks probably thought differently."

Paul Spencer, his personal secretary, answered his boss sincerely, even when asked about a story that seemed like a mocking fable told by elders long ago.

As the old tale revealed, the Orthurans' distaste for Bolton wasn't merely because they were the sort to bristle at words like 'republic' or 'democracy'.

It stemmed from a complex history marked by countless conflicts, and differences in character and disposition greater than the distance between heaven and earth.

The Orthurans couldn't help but look down on the Boltons' overly frank speech, their fiery temperaments true to their emotions, their voracious appetites that turned everything into a meal.

"Well, maybe so."

The boss, with his peculiar sense of humor, chuckled to himself, though it was unclear what was so amusing.

When Elliot Davis, who had been talking with the bishop for some time, approached, he wiped the smile from his face as if nothing had happened.

"Ah, Minister, Minister."

"I'm not visiting as a minister, so that's rather burdensome. Call me Lord Crawford."

Ray shook his head, placing his index finger to his lips, at Elliot, who was showing excessive courtesy to a man at least twenty years his junior.

"My condolences. May your wife rest in peace in God's embrace."

"Thank you, Minister—no, Lord Crawford."

"I would like to offer my condolences to your daughter as well. Assuming she is indeed my fiancée."

Despite his polite face and tone, Ray seemed to detect something unusual. Elliot looked around the church interior awkwardly.

Ray knew full well the woman who was to be his fiancée was not inside the church.

Standing far away in an inconspicuous spot, he watched the back of the woman standing beside Elliot throughout the service.

The woman wearing a hat adorned with a black satin ribbon vanished into the crowd the moment the ceremony ended.

"She was so devoted to her mother that she's having a very hard time. She's not herself today. I sent the notice of death as a matter of duty, but I don't think it's possible to meet today..."

"I'll wait."

Ray cut him off naturally.

"We've crossed borders; what's a little wait?"

"...Then please wait just a moment. I'll find her quickly."

Ray maintained a formal smile until the end as the man bowed and hurriedly left.

Secretary Spencer couldn't help but glance at him. Ray's mouth corners were fixed in a perfectly measured position. A smile that was subtly elevated, not quite a straight line.

His boss wasn't stingy with smiles. But they were rarely genuine.

"It'll take a while anyway, so I need to step out for a bit."

"Step out" meant he needed to go smoke. Ray waved his secretary away with a light gesture before he could reflexively follow.

"No, I'll go alone. No need for us to cross paths."

Behind the church, a vast cemetery stretched out.

The gloom cast by the rows of gray gravestones was partially obscured by the dense trees growing around it.

As Ray, searching for a secluded spot, approached a large tree beside the cemetery, a strong, sweet scent stung his nose.

An unfamiliar fragrance...

Mesmerized, Ray watched the purple berries exuding their sweet aroma. Soon, his gaze was drawn to a black skirt hem peeking out beside a pillar, carried by the wind.

Without thinking, he moved behind the tree and saw a woman in a black dress crouched against it.

The hat perched on her head bore the black ribbon he had watched throughout the ceremony.

The moment that familiar black satin ribbon fluttered in the wind, Ray knew. She was his fiancée, the woman destined to be his wife.

Had she slipped out to cry secretly?

Just as he debated offering comfort he wasn't cut out for, the woman stirred.

Her pale green eyes lifted to check the intruder, meeting his gaze. From her colorless lips, white smoke rose with her breath.

The sweet scent of some unknown fruit mingled dizzyingly with the smell of tobacco.

Ray looked down at the stick dangling precariously from the woman's fingers and couldn't help but laugh.

His fiancée was quite the virtuous lady.

Wow.