Ch.14 The Sweet Cake with Green Eyes

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Before going to the station, Enid brought Roland to the workhouse to say goodbye.

Abner, one of the trustees, and Yarm Jones received them.

The seamstress looked utterly worn out, but at the sight of Roland, she still managed a joyful smile.

This child, so battered by fate, had at last found favor in the eyes of the gods.

“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right! To have raised Roland into such a… such a little gentleman, we can only claim the tiniest sliver of the credit…”

The fat trustee pinched his fingers together, leaving only a narrow gap between them, as thin as his eyes. “The rest comes entirely from his birth, you understand. A nobleman’s child remains a nobleman wherever he may end up. But a criminal’s son—teach him all you like, he’ll still be itching to steal something.”

With his belly thrust forward, he ushered them into his secretive office and pulled out a chair with exaggerated deference.

Roland had never seen him behave like this.

“Would you care for a little wine, or shall I have a cup of tea warmed for you?”

Enid did not display such a wealth of expression when dealing with other people.

She cast Abner an indifferent glance and, without even removing her gloves, waved her hand twice before his face in a gesture of utter discourtesy. “We have no time to linger here, Mr. Abner. Let us dispense with the formalities.”

“Yes, yes! Of course! You are His agent, after all. These hypocritical and absurd nuisances should not be allowed to waste even a moment of your time…”

“I brought Roland here to see Yarm Jones and bid farewell to his friend. Trustee Abner, if you are not busy—”

“Not busy! Apart from caring for the children all day, soothing those weeping women, helping the men, and teaching them how to do their work both beautifully and quickly, the only thing I have left is to lie in bed after I return home and ponder how to make everyone in the workhouse more diligent and industrious. I am not busy at all! Madam! I am not—”

Roland could feel Enid’s patience wearing thinner by the moment.

She simply rose to her feet and gestured for the fat trustee, still wedged in his chair, to lead the way.

She could not be bothered to say another word.

Thus, Abner “escorted” them all the way to Yarm’s room.

Along the way, he made liberal use of his creaking leather shoes to “sweep the floor.” Any filth blocking Enid and Roland’s path, along with tongs or wooden slats lying on the ground, was met by Abner’s tireless charge and swept far out of the way.

He was like a fat but remarkably agile loyal hound.

When they reached their destination, Mr. Loyal Hound was preparing to leave with that same ingratiating smile on his face.

But Roland stopped him.

“Mr. Abner.” He let Enid enter first, then remained by the doorway. “I would like to ask you for a favor.”

The trustee’s usual arrogance vanished, replaced by a tone that could only be called friendly.

“Of course! Wherever you go, you will always be my child. Roland, tell me—what can I do for you?” He thumped his chest and gave his word.

Roland tapped his cane and approached Abner one measured step at a time.

He leaned close, bringing his face near the trustee’s.

His voice was as soft as wind passing through a long corridor.

“I heard that Father placed a five-sovereign gold coin in the letter he sent, yet you gave me only half a crown. Mr. Abner, is that true?”

Abner nearly leapt into the air.

He glanced fearfully through the crack in the door and waved his hands with his neck drawn in. “There was nothing like that! Roland! You’re slandering me!”

“Indeed.” Roland nodded and stepped back slightly, savoring the moment. His tone grew hesitant. “…Perhaps I should ask Miss Enid. She may be able to determine whether—”

Abner seized him and cut him off at once. “Five pounds! Five pounds it is! No problem!”

Roland curled the corner of his mouth and slowly accepted the coins Abner handed him, rubbing them between his fingers.

Then he suddenly said, “This money is for Miss Enid. She bought quite a few things for me today, and I ought to repay her somehow…”

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Before Roland could finish, the coins in his hand were swiftly snatched away.

They were replaced by another.

It was heavy, and on its reverse seemed to be a design resembling curtains.

“Oh, thank you for your generosity, Mr. Abner.”

Roland turned and entered the room, leaving Mr. Loyal Hound alone outside, whimpering softly.

Inside, Yarm Jones was bowing repeatedly to Enid in gratitude. She had heard all about it: Old Collins from that household was a madman who had set fire to the house and nearly taken little Roland with him.

If the officer had not happened to pass by and rescue Roland…

“It was our duty, Mrs. Jones.” Enid’s gaze shifted repeatedly between Yarm and Roland. “And we should thank you for caring for him all these years. With an eye condition, life in a place like this must be difficult. Forgive my asking, but where is your husband?”

Yarm lowered her eyes.

“I understand. Then the Church will take Roland away. His uncle is in London. I believe he should be able to raise the boy well.”

Yarm was delighted for Roland.

To the seamstress, anywhere was better than remaining here.

Especially the bustling heart of the country.

“You’re a man now, Roland. You must learn to understand the ways of the world.” While Enid turned to examine the room, Yarm drew Roland into her arms and whispered into his ear, “The officers of the Holy Cross Church are formidable, you know.”

Roland said nothing. He slipped the coin he had just obtained from his pocket and pressed it into Yarm’s hand.

She glanced at it, startled, and tried to refuse.

Roland only smiled and shook his head.

The seamstress could not find the words.

She held Roland close, her throat tight and her voice choked with tears.

Roland embraced Yarm firmly once, then released her.

Who knew how long it would be before they saw each other again?

“Thank you for taking care of me all these years, Mrs. Yarm Jones.”

“Remember to write to me, little one.”

“I will.”

The amber in his eyes gazed upon words that trembled like candle flames.

“Yarm Jones in Tears”

……………

……

There was a minor incident when they reached the place where the carriage was waiting.

The town mayor, wearing a beaming smile, had arrived early with several people in tow.

Enid told Roland to remain where he was while she went to meet the priests and converse with them a short distance away.

Just then, a small pebble struck Roland’s heel.

The familiar style of mischief.

Then he heard a familiar voice.

“Pretty face, hey! Over here—”

Roland knew who it was.

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Without making a sound, he watched the priests in the distance and shifted his feet slightly. He went around the carriage and pressed himself against the blue-brick wall lining the street—

Rose was waiting at the corner.

She had probably found “work” again today. Her billowing cream-colored dress and layered, flounced ruff made her look like a doll planted atop a pastry.

Suppressing a laugh, Roland casually glanced over her playful curls and the mischievous light sparkling in her green eyes.

She was looking him over too.

“You look so…”

The woman had no idea where to begin praising him. After repeating “so” for quite some time, she finally forced out a stiff compliment:

“So handsome.”

Roland could not hold it in. He burst out laughing.

She flushed with embarrassment and anger. “Don’t be so stupid! That’s how refined people talk!”

“Furious Wicked Cake”

—Couldn’t she come up with a single normal description?

“It’s all over town!”

As he was thinking this, the girl in front of him had already begun firing off a relentless barrage of questions. “Your father was old and senile, nearly mad, and he actually set the house on fire! Hey, how did you survive?”

Seeing her curiosity battling with the need to keep her exuberant, restless body balanced, Roland felt another urge to laugh.

“They say you were rescued by an officer passing by… I suppose it was one of those black crows?”

“Enid. The person who saved me was named Enid.” Roland tapped his cane.

“Oh, now you really do look like some important person. You’ve got quite the air about you.”

Rose covered her mouth and giggled, turning from side to side as her skirt swayed. “Old Collins left quite an inheritance, didn’t he?”

Guessing what she meant, Roland sighed softly. “Not a penny. Miss, I am penniless. I have nothing but the clothes I’m wearing. Besides, don’t you still owe me some money?”

“Hey, what kind of person do you take me for?”

The short-haired woman raised her voice.

She tapped one foot, and her skirt bobbed up and down like a jellyfish swimming through the water. Then, from somewhere, she produced several coins and forcefully pressed them into Roland’s hand.

“I never take advantage of my friends!”

“We’re friends now?” Roland tilted his head and blinked.

The moment he said it, he could “see” the cake before him getting ready to take flight again.

So he had no choice but to put away the money and extend his hand. “Then we ought to introduce ourselves properly. Roland. Roland Collins. Roland Collins, bound for London.”

“…We’ll get there sooner or later too. This place is too small; there’s no real money to be made here.”

The woman muttered a few words, her green eyes as lively as a little fox that might dart away the instant you stopped watching.

“Who taught you all these manners? They’re far too ‘fashionable’…”

She looked into Roland’s beautiful, vacant eyes and sighed faintly. Even so, she gave his hand a proper, delicate shake.

“All right. I’m Rose, you little pretty thing with the awful manners you learned God-knows-where.”

“Lillian Rose Van Sittart.”

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