Bab 12: Chapter 11 – One Month Later
I woke up in the damp darkness.
My whole body ached and felt stiff. My shoulders, neck, and back muscles screamed as if I had taken on all the sins of the world.
What was all this about?
"Well, it's because I stayed up for three nights straight hitting the keys..."
I twisted my stiff limbs and waist as I tried to get up from the bed. If I didn't, I felt like I would black out and collapse again.
Crack, crack, crack.
I couldn't tell if my joints were cracking or breaking. But fortunately, my body loosened up, and I felt a strange sense of vitality returning.
With a deep sigh, I opened the curtains to peek outside.
The sun was already high in the sky.
If I went downstairs, I could probably grab something to eat. I realized that I hadn't had anything proper to eat in about 80 hours except for coffee and bread.
And the glamorous life in London...
A month had already passed, but it still felt like just a few days ago.
I returned to Ashfield three weeks ago.
I should have come back later, but thanks to Mr. Miller's sudden fuss about going back, I managed to return while I still had some energy left.
Anyway, after that, I went into self-imposed isolation.
I started writing feverishly, combining notes I had scribbled down in London with the inspirations that came to me.
That's how writing usually goes.
When you have no ideas, you waste hours staring blankly at the monitor, scribbling and erasing. But when you're inspired, you can churn out a chapter in a couple of hours.
'Usually, it's the deadline rush that does the trick, but...'
This time, I felt the urge to write, just like when I first picked up the pen.
London's various experiences had deeply impressed me.
But turning inspiration into a manuscript was a different matter, and it took time to sift through the ideas and piece them together.
I wasn't a genius who could instantly turn inspiration into a manuscript, so I had no choice.
Instead of lamenting my lack of talent, I relied on the skill and effort honed through experience.
Anyway.
"It seems it was worth the effort."
I looked at my desk.
There were two piles of manuscripts.
One of them was the manuscript for the third volume, completed with a bit of inspiration and 99% effort.
I had just finished it yesterday, draining all my energy.
Though it was my labor of love, it now looked like a necronomicon or some cursed book. Any book that drains its author's energy could be called cursed.
"Anyway, this should allow me to take it easy for about three months..."
Oops, my voice sounded horrible. It was like it was coming from the depths of a cave. Come to think of it, my throat felt dry since I had just woken up.
And now that I realized it, I felt hungry.
I hadn't had a proper meal, had I?
"I need to go down and get something to drink..."
I staggered downstairs, swaying from side to side.
Half-closed eyes, unsteady legs.
Anyone who saw me would think I was a zombie, not someone heading to the kitchen for a drink.
This won't do. I was so tired that my brain wasn't working.
I reached out for the banister to steady myself.
At that moment, I felt the cool, distinctive texture of porcelain.
"Are you okay, Hanslow?"
"Ah, Madam."
I finally realized that Mrs. Clara had personally brought me a cup of water.
Hurriedly, I accepted the cup respectfully and drank it without delay.
The cool water went down my throat, life-giving and refreshing.
"Thank you. I thought I was going to die."
"Did you have a lot of work? You haven't secluded yourself like this for days before."
"Well, yes, kind of."
Mrs. Clara's eyes were full of worry.
She probably misunderstood, thinking I didn't have time to write because I had been away on a trip to London.
I smiled, gently avoiding her gaze.
"Sometimes creators get like this. We get so caught up in our own inspiration that we can't help but write for days on end."
"Is that so?"
Mrs. Clara tilted her head. She seemed to understand to some extent, but her face was still filled with concern, like she was looking at a child who had fallen into water.
Is it because of my typically youthful Asian appearance? Sometimes she treats me like her own children... When I play with Maji, she looks at me with the warm eyes of a proud elder sibling, which is a bit embarrassing.
Anyway.
"Yes, I just get carried away by my own enthusiasm, so there's no need to worry."
"You say it proudly. It doesn't sound healthy to me at all."
"They say it's good to work hard while you're young, Madam. Hahaha, no need to worry about me."
I laughed, looking around. Come to think of it, why did Madam bring this herself? Where are Jane the cook or the maids?
Noticing my expression, Mrs. Clara smiled faintly and said,
"The nanny is taking care of Mary. Jane is preparing lunch."
"The children are at school, I suppose."
"Yes."
Mary was Mr. Miller's youngest daughter, born shortly after I arrived. She was just three years old, the perfect age for cuteness to explode.
The other children, who were ten years older, adored their little sister, which meant they played with me less.
Anyway, lunch... What time is it now?
Looking at the grandfather clock, I realized it was almost noon.
Wasn't I up quite late?
Although since coming here, it hadn't happened often, it was common in Korea for my days and nights to be reversed.
"That's good. I'll tell Jane, so would you like to join us for lunch?"
"Thank you, Madam. I was starving to death."
I said with a wry smile.
This is how Mrs. Clara was.
Despite our close relationship, she treated a servant and a person of color like a guest... no, even more, like family.
No wonder Mr. Miller was head over heels for her. Such a kind and beautiful wife, and even a childhood friend. It had to be a beautiful, pure love.
Thanks to her, I could fill my stomach.
Though I avoided bread or meat, considering it's bad on an empty stomach, I had cream soup and salad, which were indeed better for my empty stomach.
Of course, finishing three bowls of soup in one sitting and discussing what's better for digestion might be a bit ironic.
Well, what could I do? I was starving.
During this storm of a meal, Maji and Monty returned home.
"We're back!!"
"We're back."
"Welcome back, both of you."
Maji was 14, Monty was 13. In Korean terms, Maji was in first-year middle school, and Monty was in sixth grade.
I skillfully took their school bags. Seeing this, their eyes grew wide.
"Hanslow! You're finally out?"
"Long time no see!"
"Miss, Young Master."
Tears welled up at the sight of the two children rushing at me.
Yes, even though they had a new sibling, the feelings of the kids I raised, changing their diapers, hadn't gone anywhere...
"We thought you were dead!"
"Yeah, we heard strange noises from your room and thought you were really sick!"
"...Who said that?"
"Daddy did!"
Ah, of course.
I turned my gaze quietly to Mr. Miller's room. Let's see, is that the room where he bought that cricket bat with great enthusiasm from London?
Anyway, the two children thought I was really dying and even tried to take care of me.
They were really such kind children, far too good for their father.
I patted their heads and said, "It's okay. I was sick and almost died, but I didn't."
"What hurt so much?"
"Should I blow on it for you? Hoo~"
"Thank you, young master."
I was really grateful for the children's concern, but accepting their care would feel socially inappropriate, so I just appreciated their sentiment.
"By the way, I finished my latest manuscript... Who wants to read it first?"
"Me! Me!!"
"I'm going to read it first!!"
At the mention of the book, their reactions became enthusiastic. It was understandable since they were the first readers of my work.
"It's my turn! You read it first last time!"
"What kind of way is that to talk to your sister!"
"You have to act like a sister to be called one!!"
"Now, now, both of you."
The problem was they got heated up quickly like children do. I quickly intervened.
"Let's do this. Go put your bags away, wash your hands, and change your clothes. Then I will bring up some tea, cookies, and the manuscript to read to you."
"Really?"
"What kind of cookies?"
"Brioche."
The children cheered. The favorite snack of the Devil's Daughter was well-received by the British children too.
A little while later, the children and I were settled in a sunny spot in the Ashfield mansion's garden. Having a wide estate was indeed nice for moments like these.
"Where did we leave off last time?"
"The doggy!"
"The bad dog bit Ruri!"
"Ah."
It was that episode.
I grinned as I looked at the manuscript. The ink was already dry.
"This is the manuscript for the volume. Peter and his friends became third-year students at Oberon Academia. That year, during the spring when all life begins to sprout and new lives are born, Peter is invited to the wedding of the water nymph, Dracae, who is getting married during the Fairies' Spring Festival..."
The children's noisy voices gradually faded into my narration. I didn't lower my volume. They were just holding their breath, completely absorbed in my story.
I smiled as I saw four eyes sparkling like jewels.
Pure admiration and awe, and the beautifully realized story created by their rich imaginations, were shining in those gems.
I didn't know if it was my story that drew out their imagination or if I was just transcribing the fully realized story. That's something for philosophers to ponder.
But what mattered to me was whether the children found it enjoyable or not.
And judging by their reactions now, it was a clear success.
That was the reward of my writing.
***
"... Really, this author."
London, Bentley & Sons Publishing.
Richard Bentley Jr. gulped.
His eyes sparkled with the same excitement as Frederick Alva Miller's children.
Admiration and awe.
And as a professional, although not as pure as the children's, it was more refined.
The first and second volumes were recently released on the market.
And this was the third book.
Each book was more interesting. It was thrilling. The vivid story penetrated his mind.
The writing came out so fast that there was no need to set a deadline! Could there be better value for money than this?
"Really."
Bentley grinned.
It was a smile full of pride in having contracted with the best writer.
"If it continues like this, I have no other wishes."
His wish did not come true.
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