It was more than just surprise.
A team, likely among the nation’s elite, had presented their inability to identify a transmission method as a research finding.
A desperate measure born from helplessness.
The sheer terror of the plague was unimaginable.
It was almost akin to being told in her previous life that a cure for narcolepsy had been found, only for the condition to worsen irrevocably, ultimately proving incurable.
No one could remain composed in such circumstances.
Should a plague emerge with an extremely high mortality rate, rapid spread, unknown transmission vectors, and no viable countermeasures, the course of human history itself could be irrevocably altered.
And now, in the very city where she resided, this plague had resurfaced.
Seizing the brief lull after finishing the page, she cast a sidelong glance.
Mrs. Keith’s expression was grave, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze riveted to the book.
It was a state rarely seen from her.
Turning the page, more content awaited.
A quick check of her pocket watch revealed nearly three minutes had passed.
Shifting slightly forward, straightening her back, and adjusting her posture, Ghervil took a deep breath before continuing to read aloud.
“The plague does not transmit through any currently known methods.
We reached this conclusion only after great sacrifice.
Of course, you could also interpret it as us having made no progress, merely using elimination to rule out all possibilities.”
“It is terrifying; it can effortlessly infect people and claim lives without them even realizing it.
Perhaps you believe I am being an alarmist, that the danger ranking doesn’t align with the casualties caused, but I must tell you that at that time, Mistfall City still harbored a well-known abbey.
Of course, it remains there now… I wonder what those individuals were thinking; perhaps we should be grateful for their foolish decision?”
“It’s rare for you to share my opinion.”
“I’m not at all surprised you would think that, madam.”
“Is that so… please continue.”
“What I am about to say, if possible, I truly wish would not be recorded or disseminated.
It is also an admonition my teacher, Mr. Steven, often repeated, and it is a statement that could now overturn my beliefs: When your research yields no clues and you find yourself at a dead end, consider the worst possible scenario.”
“Didn’t Professor Steven also say: ‘Don’t stubbornly cling to one problem; perhaps you were wrong from the very beginning’?'”
“It couldn’t be wrong… though I wish it were as you say…”
“Are you always this contradictory?”
“Such an impertinent question would only ever come from your lips.”
“Frankness is one of my greatest virtues, and I trust this isn’t the first time you’ve heard it.”
****
The subsequent content largely consisted of inconsequential jabs between the two individuals.
The process unfolded smoothly enough, concluding the interview, which spanned over a thousand words, within ten minutes.
What particularly troubled her was why the researcher so adamantly believed his teacher’s words could overturn his faith.
The worst possible scenario…
For a scientist, the worst possible scenario capable of shattering their beliefs…
“There were many shortcomings,” Mrs. Keith’s abrupt assessment interrupted her train of thought.
“For instance, your pronunciation was imprecise, and you lacked the emotional depth appropriate for the characters, making you sound like a machine merely reciting a script.
From the moment I presented this book, the criteria for assessment extended far beyond mere literacy.”
Oh, right, the final results of the assessment hadn’t been announced yet.
From Mrs. Keith’s tone…
“Could I… could I have another chance?”
Pushing the interview’s disturbing content from her mind, Ghervil found herself hesitant to meet Mrs. Keith’s gaze.
She had attached immense importance to this assessment, feeling a palpable tension, and while reading, she had focused solely on avoiding errors and absorbing the information, inadvertently neglecting everything else.
“I regret to say,” Mrs. Keith shook her head, “you no longer require an opportunity.”
Before Ghervil could even conjure a clumsy excuse, Mrs. Keith’s demeanor abruptly shifted as she added,
“Because, as a beginner in a sense, your performance was quite satisfactory.”
“That means I can start learning to cook!” Ghervil exclaimed, her eyes widening in delight.
“Not so fast.
Now, we must fulfill the agreement between us.”
Amused by the girl’s infectious excitement, Mrs. Keith chuckled, propped herself up with hands on her knees, and ascended the stairs.
“Agreement?”
“You’ll know soon enough.”
****
Three minutes later, footsteps echoed from the second-floor landing.
Mrs. Keith descended the stairs, an arm laden with several exquisite, unwrinkled dresses, meeting Ghervil’s suddenly enlightened and expectant gaze.
In her hands, she held two wooden triangular hangers, each displaying a dress that, while not dazzling, was undeniably elegant.
“Considering your various attributes and drawing from my past experience, I’ve crafted styles and colors that are rather demure.”
“They’re more than enough!”
It was even beyond her expectations; she hadn’t anticipated them so quickly.
No, something felt off…
Ghervil felt a strange sensation.
Was she subconsciously delighted to receive beautiful new dresses?
It was too odd…
…Surely, she couldn’t go out wearing men’s clothes, could she?
Primarily, it was about saving money; buying them outright herself would certainly be different from having an acquaintance help craft them.
Finding reasons to convince herself, she reached out and took one set to lighten Mrs. Keith’s load, examining it closely in her hands.
The first set, the one she held, was a light blue, high-necked long dress with an A-line skirt that reached her ankles.
The bodice was specially tailored to be loose rather than form-fitting, and the cuffs featured lace lantern sleeves.
Unlike the common styles that accentuated one’s figure, this design was more understated and suitable for formal occasions.
The second was a cream-colored everyday dress, its neckline adorned with a circle of lace, a matching thin belt cinching the waist to subtly define the lower waistline.
The skirt featured purple rose patterns, and the sleeves were gently flared.
It was paired with a small, white cloche hat.
A typical afternoon tea dress style.
Compared to the black and white Gothic dress she currently wore, these two outfits were far less conspicuous.
Yet, on this street, or venturing out to Canary Street, they would still attract considerable attention.
There was simply no helping it; her snow-white hair alone was a rarity.
Regardless, today’s haul had far exceeded her expectations.
“Your appearance is far too striking; living in a place like this, that isn’t necessarily a good thing.
You need suitable attire to help you blend in more.”
Mrs. Keith’s gaze upon the girl was akin to that of a true mentor looking at her most favored student.
“You’ve gone to such expense.”
She replied, a touch embarrassed.
With the fabric she had provided, at most one dress of such refined craftsmanship could have been made; Mrs. Keith must have contributed a significant amount herself.
Factoring in other tailoring fees, design costs, and various miscellaneous expenses, she longed to offer to cover that portion of the money, but ultimately, the thought remained just that—a thought.
It would seem too distant, and Mrs. Keith might even be displeased.
“You may try them on.
I am quite eager to see how they look on you, and to check if they fit properly.
There’s a vacant bedroom upstairs.”
“Very well.”
Nodding in agreement, the young woman, with both dresses cradled in one arm, lightly jogged upstairs.
After hearing the door close upstairs, Mrs. Keith gazed at the thick, open book on the table, her benevolent smile gradually fading, replaced by an expression of seriousness and worry.
****
Inside the room, the light blue high-necked long dress lay spread across the bed.
Standing before the mirror, holding the cream-colored tea dress by its collar in front of her chest, Ghervil found herself at an impasse, unable to take the next step.
Sometimes, she felt a blush creep up even when changing clothes in her own home, let alone anywhere else.
She cautiously surveyed the room, confirming that the doors and windows were securely closed and the curtains drawn, which offered a small measure of relief.
It wasn’t that she feared being seen; the street was sparsely populated, so such a worry was largely unnecessary.
How to describe it… driven by some inexplicable impulse, she nervously checked the empty wardrobe, drawers, under the bed, the crevices between the bookshelf and the wall, and even pulled back the curtains to inspect the balcony.
Only after completing all this did she realize how impolite her thief-like actions were.
Speechless with herself, she returned to the bedside.
She wasn’t sure about the recovery progress of her left hand, but it was essentially pain-free, and simple movements caused no issue.
Carefully untying the straps, she blushingly unfastened her Gothic long dress, then clumsily put on the new dress before returning to the mirror to adjust it.
She couldn’t help but marvel at Mrs. Keith’s craftsmanship; both outfits, without exception, fit perfectly, meeting her need to cover most of her skin.
They even featured well-hidden small pockets, suitable for stashing money or a diary, though one couldn’t expect to carry too much.
After re-securing the straps and neatly bundling up the discarded dress, she spun around in front of the mirror, inspecting her reflection.
Dressed in the knee-length tea dress, revealing white stockings below her calves, Ghervil descended the stairs with a light step.
“I apologize for the wait, madam.”
“It seems a change of attire cannot conceal certain inherent qualities,” Mrs. Keith remarked, a hint of surprise in her eyes as she sat on the sofa.
“I can assure you, even among the circles of royalty and nobility in the Royal Capital, your demeanor would easily rank among the top three.”
“Haha… is that so…” Feeling a touch awkward, Ghervil touched her cheek with her right hand, her gaze shifting as she sought to change the subject.
“May we begin the cooking lessons now?”
For her, this was the true reward.
External appearances, fashion, and attire were all superficial, with the sole exception of money.
“Before that, there is one more matter.”
Once the young woman had settled back into her seat, Mrs. Keith spoke, unhurriedly,
“Three days from now, Ratte, my only son, will be coming to take me to live in the Royal Capital of Morpheus for a period, as is our annual custom.
I wish for you to accompany me, as a student of the Keith family.”