Obituary 5

 Chapter 5

***

“So, am I not going to that luncheon?”

As they reached the mansion’s gate, Rose stopped and asked.

Though feeling like a mere dog wasn’t exactly pleasant, Ray lowered the arm that had been escorting her without showing it, offering a faint smile.

“Because you’re ill, Madam.”

"Me?"

Ray gave a slight nod without further comment and turned away.

Then, without hesitation, he began walking toward the carriage.

Well, it wasn't a lie.

By his standards, by the standards of the world he belonged to, not knowing one's place, or one's proper role, was considered quite a serious ailment.

"I think I've moved back a century."

"Why don't you check the newspaper?"

Ray chuckled softly as that unmistakably gentle voice and tone came back to him.

Ray Crawford knew it the very first day he met Rose Davis, that funeral day, when he saw her stumbling to her feet beside the tree.

He knew he would come to dislike this woman.

Even when he learned about her father and background—those unpleasant facts—he found her bothersome, but he hadn’t disliked the woman herself.

But when he actually faced her, Ray knew. He could never like this woman.

Her tiny frame, as if it would collapse with a tap; her face, all pale hues, giving an impression of fragility.

Her green eyes, utterly devoid of strength, seemed ready to overflow with tears at any moment.

Overall, she gave the impression of being utterly weak.

All things he disliked. Every aspect of her irritated him. In a deeply unpleasant way.

Ray's prediction was correct.

The only thing he got wrong was the intensity of that feeling.

Ray Crawford genuinely hated the woman who had become his wife.

Even more than he had vaguely anticipated.

* * *

That damn bastard.

Chewing her food, Rose tried to imagine that what she was chewing was her husband, whose face was only half decent.

He had branded a perfectly healthy person as sick, yet his expression was utterly shameless.

When she asked him back, "Am I sick?", Ray Crawford merely tilted his head sideways.

It felt like he was saying, "Why, is there something wrong with your head?"

If only she could have a cigarette.

The conservative Orthuran culture, which acted as if a woman smoking would be sent straight to hell, forced her to quit.

Her brother Ben was still at boarding school in Orthuran, so she also wanted to avoid any unnecessary noise in the papers.

If she could just have one cigarette after dealing with her lousy husband or the people in this country, she could handle all this much more easily.

"Rose will definitely like Sophia too!"

The voice of Beth, her husband's sister and the one person in this family she could somewhat tolerate, came from beside her.

Beth had said that at least ten times already.

"Who wouldn't like that child? There's no one in the world who wouldn't."

Rose, who had been forcing down the tasteless egg dish, looked up in surprise at Agatha's words. Her mother-in-law, Agatha Crawford, wore an unusual, gentle expression on her face.

Ever since hearing that the Earl and Countess of Greenwood were visiting Crawford Manor today, Beth had been this excited.

Crawford had stopped inviting people to the manor since Rose married into the family, so the Greenwoods must be very close friends indeed.

So close, one might guess, that they felt comfortable showing their flaws—like Rose's.

"Sophia plays the piano too. She plays very well."

Now fifteen, Beth brought up the piano whenever she was bored, ever since learning Rose had played.

Perhaps because she herself lacked talent, she seemed to admire skilled players intensely.

For a month, Rose had diligently pretended not to see the young face that clearly longed to watch her play.

"Sophia too? What does that mean?"

Agatha asked, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

"Rose, you play the piano too?"

"……I'm not particularly good at it."

"Particularly."

Out of nowhere, Agatha repeated the word Rose had just spoken.

"Huh?"

"It's 'well,' not 'fun.' You always pronounce it like 'fun,' Rose. Pay attention."

Agatha often corrected Rose's pronunciation or word choice mid-conversation like this. She was particularly sensitive to stress and intonation, unable to let things pass without fixing them.

“Mother. Rose’s native language isn’t Orthuran, you know.”

“Who doesn’t know that? I’m not scolding you, Rose. I’m teaching you.”

“Yes, I know.”

Rose understood well that Agatha meant no real harm.

She was simply fulfilling her duty diligently. To reform this daughter-in-law, who didn't quite fit the family's standards, as much as possible.

"Anyway, you don't need to play it perfectly. Just knowing how to play is enough. That's good. It would be nice if you could play with Beth sometime."

"Oh, come on. Rose, you're kidding, right? You’re not exactly a good player. How could you teach the kids?"

The relatively peaceful atmosphere at the table changed completely with Beth's last remark.

Agatha stared at Rose with a shocked expression.

"...What?"

"Huh?"

Rose was even more surprised by Agatha's intense reaction and unconsciously asked back.

"You taught piano to someone?"

"Mainly to female students."

Despite the situation being perfectly natural and straightforward, her mother-in-law seemed to grow increasingly confused.

"...Why? Was it volunteer work? I suppose the late Mrs. Davis asked you to do it."

"Huh? To earn money."

The moment Rose finished her answer, the napkin Agatha was holding fell to the floor.

"So."

Agatha was so startled she didn't even notice the napkin she'd been holding so carefully had fallen to the floor.

"So. You mean you did work like Miss Gordon? In Bolton?"

Miss Gordon was the governess who taught Beth.

"You mean you did that kind of work, like Miss Gordon who taught our Beth?"

Rose couldn't understand what was so shocking about that at all.

Then again, considering what happened on her very first day in this house, it wasn't entirely surprising.

On that first day, when Rose tried to dress and undress herself, Agatha had clutched her chest and cried out.

After that, every time Rose did anything, her mother-in-law made that same sound. ‘You're not a maid.’

Even now, Agatha wore the same expression.

The kind of shocked look one might have upon witnessing not a daughter-in-law, but a maid, sitting at the same table.

"What about your father?"

"He went through some tough times in his business."

It was true there had been times when his business was so bad he couldn't even pay child support, but later, he stopped giving money because he was supporting two households. He even threatened her mother, saying he'd give her money if she divorced him.

But telling her this much would probably make her noble mother-in-law collapse on the spot.

"Is earning money through piano playing really that wrong? I hear the Countess of Greenwood plays the piano too."

Rose had never once felt ashamed of earning money as a piano teacher.

Rather, it was the only escape that allowed her to endure life at that time, the only thing keeping her from sinking into self-loathing.

"Good heavens, are you comparing yourself to her! Mrs. Greenwood plays as a hobby! That's the realm of refinement. It's a fundamental part of one's education."

"So, Mother, are you saying a lady shouldn't work and earn money?"

Agatha stiffened at Rose's words and replied.

"A lady certainly should! Don't you dare ask such a question again."

"Mother, it's different now. Mrs. Sullivan writes for the newspaper, doesn't she?"

"Is that the same thing? Does she get paid for that? And this isn't your place to speak, Beth."

"What's wrong with getting paid? You should be paid for your labor. I could write to Mrs. Sullivan tomorrow, couldn't I? To ask if she gets paid or not?"

"Elizabeth Mary Crawford. That's enough. You really ought to stop reading all those novels."

Undeterred by Agatha's cold expression, Beth was about to protest further when Rose's quiet, imploring gaze finally silenced her.

Rose didn't want Beth to intervene in this conversation and speak for her. Agatha would only think Rose had corrupted Beth.

"But she wasn't a lady in Bolton. Didn't you know that?"

"But your mother, Mrs. Davis—"

"There are no nobles in Bolton. Even if they hold titles in Antaka and Orthuran, it means nothing here."

Of course, as everywhere, there were plenty in Bolton who yearned for such things.

"I know full well your mother and maternal grandfather held no titles. That doesn't change the fact their family was of noble origin. I heard your late mother was well-educated and had servants."

"Mother had one maid, but that was all. I managed my own affairs and lived independently."

Judging by Agatha's visibly shocked expression, she hadn't been properly informed about Rose's previous life.