Rose and her friends ran a night school on the outskirts of Portnum. It was a school for girls who worked at a nearby factory.
For girls who couldn’t attend regular school because of work, they taught not only reading and writing, but also arithmetic and domestic skills like sewing.
It was Rose who had first decided to form this group. Drawing on her two years of experience teaching telegraph delivery boys at a night school run by Walsingham University students, she had organized the program herself.
She was also the one who persuaded Amy and Dora. Back then, they had refused again and again, insisting they wouldn’t do it—but now they were even more passionate than Rose herself.
“Teacher, is this the correct spelling for this word?”
Rose, who had been standing absentmindedly, unable to focus on the lesson that day, snapped back to attention only after hearing the student’s question.
“Let’s see… yes, that spelling is correct for this word. You used it properly. That’s very good.”
The student blushed shyly at the praise. Rose gently patted the girl’s head, her touch warm and affectionate.
Rose was an exceptionally kind teacher. Like Mister Reagan, who had taught her when she was young, she showed her students unconditional trust and never withheld praise.
As a child, Rose hadn’t understood why Mister Reagan treated her as such a remarkable student, but now, as she taught others, she finally understood.
It had all been encouragement—meant to build confidence and give children the strength to achieve things on their own.
While her two friends watched over the students, Rose went into the kitchen. The small space held nothing more than a modest counter and a stove.
She placed a pan over the fire, added firewood, and warmed bread. It was to make sandwiches for the children who came to class without having eaten dinner.
Their funds were far from abundant, so the sandwiches were simple—cheap ham and cheese tucked between slices of bread, served with milk.
“All right, everyone. Eat this, then let’s continue.”
Though the meal was humble, the students accepted the sandwiches with their usual gratitude.
Because she had worn a short-sleeved dress and had been cold for a while now, Rose didn’t sit at the desks with the students. Instead, she stood by the fireplace, eating her sandwich.
Seeing her standing there like someone being punished, the girls giggled before breaking into cheerful chatter among themselves.
Rose tried to listen to their conversation, but she found it hard to focus, her thoughts repeatedly drifting back to a memory flickering before her eyes.
I’m sure it was Edmund.
The man she’d encountered at Portnum Square. After the water spray had settled, she’d looked again, but he had vanished without a trace.
Was it just her imagination?
Yet no matter how hard she tried to dismiss it as a mistake, the sensations of that moment—the temperature, the air, the pounding pulse in her ears—replayed vividly every time she recalled those blue eyes, making it impossible to escape.
It was definitely Edmund, and yet he felt unfamiliar. Perhaps that was what unsettled her most—that he was no longer the boy who lingered in her memories.
In the four years since coming to Walsingham, Rose hadn’t met Edmund even once.
When he had returned to Islesford after finishing his studies in Queensland, Rose had been on break. Her mother had written, asking her to stop by home—but she hadn’t gone. She’d used Dora’s family’s invitation on a trip to the South as an excuse.
She’d thought,
There’s no need.
Just as she was becoming accustomed to city life and her past was beginning to blur, she didn’t want to add firewood to embers that had already cooled by meeting him again.
Now, four years later, the thought of marriage brought not excitement but an automatic sigh. With graduation approaching, her mother’s letters—filled more and more often with talk of marriage—only added to her stress.
She thought she had grown indifferent to Edmund, and to the feelings she’d once had for him. So much so that she’d believed she truly had forgotten him, just as she’d resolved to when leaving Islesford.
But recalling the mirage-like moment that had brushed past her in Portnum Square, Rose let out a hollow laugh.
How could he, in defiance of four whole years, still bind her so completely with nothing more than a single, hazy instant?
You’re still remarkable… and I’m still so utterly exhausting.
She exhaled a sigh-laced chuckle—when suddenly Amy, who had been eating with the children, sniffed the air.
“What’s that smell? Something’s burning somewhere.”
“Rose, do you have anything on the stove?”
Pulled out of her thoughts, Rose shook her head. But the moment she turned around, a scream burst from her lips.
“Oh no—my dress!”
She’d been standing too close to the fireplace, and a stray spark had jumped out, setting her dress on fire.
Panicking, Rose shrieked and beat at the hem, while her friends and the children rushed over to put out the flames.
In the end, her only winter velvet dress was left with a charred black mark—burned dark, much like her own heart.
__________𓍯𓂃𓏧♡𓇢𓆸_________
The evening sky turned violet as lamplighters began lighting the street lamps one by one.
“Rose, are you really going to Mrs. Harrison’s salon dressed like that?”
On their way down to the street to catch a carriage after class, Rose replied to her worried friends, doing her best to hide her disappointment.
“It’s fine. I’m not dancing tonight anyway. I’m just dropping off some embroidery for the bazaar.”
“Now that you mention it, isn’t the bazaar at the Soho Hotel in three days? Were you going too, Rose?”
“I was planning to stop by after class. I promised to help watch one lady’s stall.”
Rose invited her friends to come as well, but Amy and Dora declined.
They lacked both the nerve to wander around that late—and certainly the stamina to sneak back into the dormitory by climbing ivy afterward.
“By the way, those girls from the laundry factory—and the younger ones too—they still haven’t been paid for weeks.”
“What? Didn’t they barely get their overdue wages last time?”
When Rose stared at her in disbelief, Amy sighed.
“I guess they’ve had enough. They said if they don’t get paid again this week, they’ll bring their parents.”
“I read in the paper that some wool mill didn’t pay its workers either, and it led to a strike. What is this—factory owners colluding to withhold wages?”
As Dora said, this wasn’t limited to the laundry factory. It was happening all over Walsingham’s countless factories.
Unlike her friends, who had grown up in the city and were somewhat accustomed to such things, Rose—raised in the countryside—could never quite get used to news like this, no matter how often she heard it.
How could adults—people working just to survive—be exploited so ruthlessly?
It was unimaginable in Islesford, where she’d lived. Country folk might be nosy and talkative, but they were generous-hearted in return.
Though Rose loved the city, moments like this made her sigh at the harshness hidden beneath its splendor.
Chatting quietly, the three of them reached the carriage street and boarded a shared carriage. Its route passed through Portnum Square and by Walsingham University.
Rose got off at Portnum Square to head toward the upscale townhouse district and said goodbye to her friends.
“See you later!”
“Rose, you know you’ve been coming back too late lately. Dean Blair and Mrs. Molly can only turn a blind eye so many times. If you keep this up, you could be banned from going out altogether.”
Rose nodded reassuringly at her friends’ earnest concern.
“I know. I’ll make sure I’m back before nine.”
__________𓍯𓂃𓏧♡𓇢𓆸_________
Edmund had just finished an on-site inspection of the Harrison Steel Company factory—an investment Carl Shore had recently finalized—and was scheduled to have dinner with President Harrison afterward.
After a full day of meetings, Edmund desperately wanted to go home and rest, but with dinner looming, he had no choice but to head to the restaurant at the Soho Hotel.
“Well, well. To think you’re a junior from Waterford Military Academy, Mr. Shore—what a pleasure.”
President Harrison, who had graduated from Waterford fifteen years earlier, seemed genuinely delighted to meet a fellow alumnus.
And it was no wonder. Throughout the inspection, Edmund had not only listened patiently to every story that began with “Back when I was at the academy fifteen years ago…”—though in truth he’d let them go in one ear and out the other—but had also responded with unwavering politeness.
A man who greatly valued connections—blood, school, and social alike—Harrison went on to suggest that they stop by his house for drinks after dinner.
“Mr. Shore, I have a bottle of Etunia port wine I’ve been saving for honored guests. Why don’t you come by after dinner?”
Already longing to leap from the carriage and head straight home, Edmund swiftly declined.
“I truly appreciate the invitation, but I think accepting so late would be discourteous. Especially to your wife.”
But Harrison only laughed heartily.
“If that’s your concern, don’t worry. My beautiful wife welcomes guests with open arms—especially handsome ones like you. She’s probably hosting a party right now as we speak.”
Had Harrison been merely a business partner, Edmund would have refused him to the end.
But he was more than that—he was a senior from his academy. And as a freshly graduated cadet whose discipline hadn’t yet worn off, Edmund found it difficult to reject such a senior outright.
In the end, Edmund had no choice but to put on a flawless smile before an oblivious adult, pretending cheerfully—for the sake of social courtesy.
Paid for this chapter and it still won’t unlock. I’ve refreshed, gone to the previous chapter etc probably 40 times. Can someone fix this website?