Chapter 5
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 5
Cedric saw Benedict to his seat, then naturally took the head of the table and gave a slight nod to the butler.
Waiting servants immediately began lining the long table with exquisite dishes, and a cordial warmth settled over the dining hall. Cedric waited until the wine had been poured into every glass before he finally spoke.
"I thank you all once again for attending my father’s funeral and standing by us in our grief. Though the head of the house has changed unexpectedly, the Kailas family wishes to maintain a strong bond with all of you moving forward. Provided, of course, that there are no… unforeseen issues."
At the playful caveat, a few stifled chuckles rippled through the room. However, the smile quickly vanished from Cedric’s lips as thoughts of his father returned.
"My father was thoughtful, devout, and meticulous. He never missed a single detail. While perfection is beyond the reach of any man, I believe my father came very close to it. Compared to him, I am merely a greenhorn with much to learn."
He truly respected and loved his father—an honest knight, a loyal patriarch, and a man who had wanted to give his son the world.
However, the world had not been kind to Rowan’s virtues. There were those who, knowingly or unknowingly, had looked down upon and deceived a man who was perhaps too sparing with his words and expressions.
Cedric’s eyes, a deep, wine-red, swept over every face at the table.
Poisonous weeds were sprouting everywhere. They needed to be culled, but rushing would only ruin the harvest. He had to keep his enemies at ease until the reaper’s scythe was pressed against their throats.
"Therefore, I intend to seek your guidance and navigate these challenges with the humility of a student. Please, do not judge me too harshly if I appear a bit foolish at times."
Light laughter rose again.
For now, this was perfect. A greenhorn who had lost his father on the battlefield, a boy whose life had been bought by his father’s sacrifice, a youth who had stumbled into the undeserved title of war hero—that was exactly the image he needed to project.
It’s better this way, he thought. No one needs to know what the greenhorn is hiding behind his back just yet.
Cedric, a faint grin playing on his lips, raised his glass high.
"A toast. To an everlasting covenant."
"To the covenant!"
The vassals shouted in unison, tilting their heads back to let the fragrant wine wet their throats. Had they known the wine was a substitute for someone’s blood and tears, they might not have drunk so merrily.
*
The morning chorus of birds echoed through the garden. Flowers were just beginning to unfurl their petals, and the grass, still heavy with dew, sparkled under the rising sun.
Harriet looked out over the gardens of the Listerwell Mansion. Every corner was steeped in memories, and her gaze lingered on each one.
I’ll be back in a year. So why does it feel like I’m seeing this for the last time?
Her heart felt hollow; her feet refused to move. Noticing her hesitation, John spoke up.
"There’s no use in dawdling. If you want to reach the convent by lunch, we have to leave now. Terry! Are you ready yet?"
He seemed terrified that Harriet might suddenly dig in her heels and refuse to go, so he hurried the departure along.
"Here is your admission permit for Saint Clarissa Convent. Keep it safe. The cook packed you some breakfast earlier; don't go showing your face around the stops, just eat it quickly in the carriage."
"Yes..."
"Don't take my words the wrong way. I’m saying all this for your own good. It doesn't look good for a grown young lady to be seen traveling alone, you know."
"Yes..."
Deciding he had done enough, John stopped trying to comfort the niece he was casting out. Following his master's orders, the coachman loaded Harriet’s luggage into the carriage.
Harriet had been mindful of John’s gaze while packing. Even though she was leaving for a year, her luggage was smaller than a typical bag for a two-week trip. This was despite her choosing the largest trunk available to her.
Her wardrobe consisted of only one or two sets of formal wear, casual clothes, and nightwear. She had packed a few extra layers of thick undergarments, having heard the convent winters were biting.
Just in case, I brought what little jewelry I had... Was it pointless?
It was barely a handful, but the knowledge that she possessed something of value was a quiet comfort. However, once she added a framed family photo, the rosary her mother had left her, and two pairs of shoes, the bag was full. There was no room left for cosmetics or books.
As she stared anxiously at her meager belongings, John urged her again.
"Stop stalling. Hurry up and go!"
"Yes. Well then... I’ll see you in a year."
Harriet took a heavy step onto the carriage. She didn't notice that John never replied to her final farewell.
*
"Mother Superior. Lady Harriet Listerwell, whose application we received recently, is expected to arrive this morning."
At Agnes’s report, Catherine let out a long sigh and set her spectacles down on her desk. Her hands were withered and lined with wrinkles, but her fingers were firm as they sought the beads of her rosary.
"Did they say she would be staying for a year?"
"Yes. It’s quite a long stay for a young lady sent here for 'reflection'." Agnes hesitated for a moment before adding, "Though it’s perhaps not right to say it this way, the donation provided for her living expenses was quite generous."
The furrow in Catherine’s brow deepened.
"If the convent’s finances weren't so dire, we could have refused such unwelcome guests."
"B-but still, I believe it is God’s will that our convent has become known as a place for young ladies to cleanse their sins. Because of that, we can help those in need and take in abandoned daughters."
Young, devout Agnes tried her best to put an optimistic spin on the situation.
Saint Clarissa was a convent exclusively for female monastics and nuns, located relatively close to the capital, Genoa. Because of its proximity, it had become the perfect place for noble families to hide daughters who had caused trouble under the guise of spiritual reflection.
"If only the Papacy would consider our circumstances, we wouldn't have to endure the derogatory nickname 'The Place of Exile'."
Catherine clicked her tongue and stood up. Every time the convent was forced to act as a laundry service for the sullied reputations of high society, she felt a surge of resentment toward the Papacy.
Why was it that operating funds were showered upon male monasteries, while female convents were cut in half with excuses like, 'Donations were low this year,' or 'Don't you have your own businesses?'
How much could we possibly earn by selling soap...?
It was absurd. Auxiliary businesses were assigned to religious houses to help cover costs. While male monasteries were given lucrative tasks like scripture transcription or sacred art production, female convents were saddled with labor that had nothing to do with faith.
Saint Clarissa had a farm of olive trees and herbs, and the nuns spent their days harvesting and processing goods to sell.
Where are monastics who labor in the fields all day supposed to find the time for scripture, or the energy to study theology? And then they have the nerve to ask why we aren't as accomplished as the men?
The thought made her blood boil. But whenever she voiced these complaints, she was met with rebukes questioning her piety.
"The Papacy and other monasteries have their own burdens. Why does Saint Clarissa constantly demand special treatment? Have you truly sought guidance and prayed to Yawar for a solution?"
Having earned their disfavor, Saint Clarissa received even less funding than other convents. It was a silent pressure to abandon the convent if she couldn't handle it, but Catherine could not turn away the women who relied on her.
In such a state, it was impossible to refuse the donations that came with a 'problem child.'
"What kind of trouble did this Lady Harriet Listerwell cause, then?"
When she asked in a resigned tone, Agnes looked embarrassed.
"They say she is a notorious scandal maker in Genoa."
"So, another romantic entanglement, I assume."
"And it seems she impersonated her cousins to lure men. Her cousin is said to be the most beautiful woman in the capital."
"Hmph..."
Catherine let out a hollow, stunned laugh. But sending someone away for an entire year for such a trivial reason seemed excessive. Even young ladies caught in affairs with their fiancés' friends usually only stayed for three or four months.
"That can't be the whole of it."
"There was a final incident, apparently. At the recent Victory Banquet, the young lady stole the Duke of Kailas’s brooch and wore it as if he had given it to her personally. It is said she earned the Duke's absolute wrath."
At those words, Catherine’s eyes widened.