Obituary 7

Chapter 7

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Rose glanced at Ray, who was exchanging greetings with Count Greenwood, Sophia's husband.

His posture was as straight as ever, clad in a shirt and waistcoat that fit him perfectly, as if his weight had never changed.

His silver watch glinted on his left wrist as always, and the impeccably buttoned buttons and stiffly knotted tie remained unchanged.

Truly, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't imagine it. That... that stiff, unlucky man had once been a soft child.

"I just... can't imagine it."

"Right? I'm not the only one who thinks that."

Even at Rose's brief reply, the woman burst into a hearty laugh.

"Few people have known Ray as long as I have. But honestly, he's been exactly the same from back then until now. No matter how many times I told him to live a little more enjoyably, he'd just laugh it off. I used to wonder who on earth would marry a man like that."

The fact that she could have such a conversation with him suggested they weren't just long-time acquaintances, but very close indeed.

According to Rose's father, he was a match far beyond Rose's reach, but apparently not so for Sophia.

"But to get such a beautiful wife? Lucky him. Ray, Rose is far more beautiful in person than in photos, isn't she?"

Sophia must have seen Rose's photo gracing the front page of the newspaper too.

It was hard to imagine her looking any stranger in person than in that photo. She was standing on the street, mouth agape, munching away on fruit.

Agatha had looked at that photo and been speechless for a long while before quietly lecturing Rose that eating food on the street was something only ill-mannered people did.

Fortunately or unfortunately, since arriving in Orthuran, she hadn't found fruit or food delicious enough to eat right off the street.

"...Exactly, Countess Greenwood. What good deed did I perform to deserve such luck?"

Ray Crawford replied coldly, wearing a smile that wasn't quite a smile.

Aristocratic decorum was something else. That man probably considered her the greatest misfortune to ever befall his life.

"See how old-fashioned he is. He hasn't even called me by my name since I got married."

He didn't even call his wife Rose by name, though Sophia seemed to be the exception.

It wasn't entirely his fault. Rose didn't call his name either.

"The Earl of Crawford met with the Mayor of Merilyn this morning, didn't he? How is it that the Earl, who is the Foreign Secretary, seems busier with domestic affairs than the Prime Minister or the Home Secretary?"

The Count of Greenwood, with his gentle-looking face, smiled and addressed Ray.

"It's my duty to respond when help is requested."

Rose caught herself glancing at Ray as he replied quietly with his characteristic smile.

His expression remained unchanged, showing not even a hint of fatigue.

He must have gone out early to meet the Mayor of Merilyn or whoever, and then met Ambassador Antaka for lunch.

So many people sought him out that the man always left early in the morning and returned late at night. He rarely ate meals at the mansion.

Yet Rose had never once seen him yawn.

His expression was detached, as if enduring the world's weariness was simply his duty.

She vaguely understood he wasn't doing this for money.

A sense of duty.

"Why would he ask the Duke for help? Many believe Archibald Everett is unfit to be Home Secretary. Even in the by-elections, the Conservatives only won in constituencies where the Duke campaigned alongside them."

"What would someone who merely ran a newspaper know? It's only natural that Ray should step forward."

Agatha's elegant retort laced with scorn prompted Rose to recall the facts about this family she'd half-heard from her father.

That Ray Crawford's maternal grandfather had been a famous war hero, and his father had been gravely wounded in battle, succumbing later to the injuries.

And that Ray himself had gained his current popularity and honor by participating in the war a few years prior.

That too must have been duty and service.

All of this still felt bizarre to Rose.

The fact that someone who could pledge their life in loyalty and duty to their country could simultaneously treat the same person with such contempt and act so unlucky.

"But, Rose."

Sophia suddenly lowered her voice.

"I have a question..."

Somehow, a bad feeling came over her.

"Do they really eat snakes in Bolton?"

And her premonition hit the mark.

It was one of the questions she'd heard most often since arriving in Orthuran. Exaggerating a bit, she'd probably been asked it a hundred times.

"Oh dear, Sophia."

Agatha laughed awkwardly beside her. She seemed to be trying to stop her by calling her name, but Sophia's innocent face remained unchanged.

"But Agatha, I'm just so curious. People talk about it like it's so true..."

The time when the Boltons ate snakes was about a hundred years ago, during a period of war and famine when food was scarce. Now, since no one eats them anymore, even the Boltons themselves have forgotten about it.

It wasn't until Rose arrived in Orthuran that she learned how that brief dietary practice from a century ago had become distorted there.

She heard all sorts of stories: "Isn't it truly horrifying to eat the animal closest to Satan?" "Can the Boltons not even tell edible from inedible?"

When first asked this question, Rose was startled and would explain earnestly.

But most didn't seem to believe her, nor did they seem genuinely curious about her answer in the first place.

Rose realized the question bordered on mockery only after hearing it for the twentieth time.

The snake was merely a pretext. To tease her.

Later, Rose grew tired and began varying her answers.

"No, I only eat it occasionally when Orthuran raises food tariffs too much." "You seem really interested in snake meat—did you enjoy it?" And so on...

Rose stared blankly at Sophia's face. She saw only curiosity, no particular malice.

Then again, she was the very model of a fine woman, praised unanimously by Agatha and Beth. She couldn't possibly have bad intentions.

But why did it annoy her?

"Yes. Bolton has no wheat, no oats, nothing you'd call food at all."

At this earnest lie, delivered without a hint of hesitation, Sophia gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Really?"

Shocked, Sophia's voice dropped even lower.

"Rose."

Agatha called her name warningly, but Rose continued indifferently.

"If there's absolutely nothing to eat, why wouldn’t anyone eat snakes?"

She meant that Bolton wasn't exactly starving, so why would they eat snakes? But judging by Sophia's expression, it seemed her mind had already painted Bolton as a desperately poor country.

Didn’t people usually catch on by now? Bolton was right next to Orthuran. Surely they had wheat and oats?

She no longer even felt anger toward these people who so readily believed Bolton was a country lacking even that.

Unable to bear the situation any longer, Beth interjected.

"Sophia. Rose is joking."

"Huh?"

Sophia let out a startled gasp, then flushed bright red with embarrassment and forced a smile.

"Oh, you don't eat it? Phew, I thought... I was really startled! I guess Bolton people are good at jokes. I totally didn't catch on, goodness."

It was a relief it ended with laughter, but Rose wondered how long every single thing she did would be labeled and interpreted as 'Bolton-esque'.

Even this kind of joke wasn't Bolton-like at all. True Boltons never beat around the bush.

Uncle Howard, who lived next door, always nagged Rose about not acting Bolton-like, but since coming to Orthuran, she was judged a Bolton just for breathing like everyone else.

No matter how hard she tried to forget the traces of her homeland, people wouldn't let her forget.

Across the teacup, she saw Agatha's face slightly reddened, perhaps from anger, and Ray's expressionless face staring quietly at her.

She was sick and tired of this situation too.

This constant situation where she held back, only to be glared at as if she were the one at fault the moment she spoke up.

Rose suddenly wondered.

Was her mother, up in heaven, watching all this unfold? What on earth would she be thinking?

Even seeing all this, could she still firmly believe this marriage was the greatest fortune that had ever come to Rose?

"Don't make me regret teaching you piano, Rose. I beg you. Don't make me regret everything I taught you. I couldn't bear to have raised you like that. Please, I'm begging you like this."

How could someone's last words be like that?

How could the final words spoken before death be so insignificant? Her mother didn't even draw her last breath until she heard Rose's answer.

Only when Rose finally replied, "I understand," to that threat-like last statement did her mother cross the river of death with a look of relief.

Shouldn't one say something more important when facing death? Like "I love you," or "I was happy because of you."

If it were her, she would have said something more weighty than wasting her breath on such words.