♡ TL: Khadija SK
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After dropping Hazel off in front of the Easton family residence, Theodore returned to Bernier Manor and headed straight to his study instead of his bedroom.
The moment he opened the door, his eyes fell on the desk positioned in the center of the room.
It was a desk recently added after the sofa and table had been removed.
The desk was vast enough for two grown men to lie upon it. Papers and books were piled atop it like a small mountain.
Theodore shed his jacket, tossing it onto the chair, and tugged at his tie to loosen it.
All the while, his gaze remained fixed on the papers on the desk.
[A Study on the Relationship Between Banned Book Classifications and Scientific Progress], [The Publishing Market and Banned Books], [Franguard Law I], [Draft Bill Related to Publishing in Franguard – Canceled 1], and so forth.
They were all documents pertaining to publishing and banned books.
Theodore rolled up his sleeves and sat down, pushing aside the papers he’d already reviewed.
Soon, he plunged into a sea of text.
His focus was astounding. His reading speed was equally impressive.
He underlined key sections, folded page corners to mark them if needed, then moved on to the next study or book.
“Your Grace, I have something to tell you.”
How much time had passed?
As Theodore’s eyes began to tremble from fatigue, a steaming cup suddenly appeared in his field of vision.
He looked up.
Umberto smiled calmly, lifting his hand from the cup.
“How was your outing?”
“Fine.”
Umberto sensed something off in Theodore’s voice and scrutinized his face.
The creases between his brows were the first thing he noticed.
‘It seems the outing was a failure.’
Umberto’s guess was spot on.
Hazel didn’t know it, but that’s how Theodore felt.
He hadn’t managed a proper conversation with her, and throughout their time together, it felt as though she was guarding herself against him.
Her wariness had intensified after returning from wherever she’d gone. At times, she even missed what Theodore said.
He began to wonder if something dangerous had happened to her in a place he wasn’t present for, leading him to thoughts he didn’t like.
‘Should I secretly follow her next time?’
That was what Theodore was pondering when Umberto said:
“Shall I come back later?”
“Didn’t you say you had something to tell me?”
“It’s important.”
“Then say it.”
Theodore pushed aside the reviewed papers and pulled a law book in front of him.
“It’s about Miss Hazel.”
Theodore shut the law book he’d just opened and looked at Umberto.
Umberto’s facial muscles tensed slightly as he nodded at his master, who finally met his eyes.
“Speak.”
“I received a message from the person I sent to watch Mr. Fabri.”
“We’re talking about Miss Hazel, so why does Mr. Fabri’s name suddenly come up?”
Theodore snapped irritably, searching for a cigar on the desk.
He had a vague sense of where this was heading, but an instinctive refusal kept him from wanting to confirm it.
“They met at Metaphor Café. In a private room, specifically.”
Theodore set aside the cigar he’d put to his mouth.
He stared into space for a moment, lost in thought, then placed the cigar down and said:
“Bring the owner of Metaphor Café.”
Theodore had a deep connection with the café’s owner—or rather, he held leverage over him.
He’d discovered that the owner pretended to be mute to attract secretive patrons, then bought and sold the information he overheard.
Upon learning this, Theodore had intended to turn him over to the authorities immediately, but after the man’s pleas and tears, he relented and forgave him once.
That was three years ago.
Theodore had forgotten about it since, but he hadn’t expected to hear that name again now.
“I’ll fetch him at once.”
After Umberto left and a long while passed, Theodore rose from his seat, lit a cigar, and walked to the window.
Smoke rose swiftly from the cigar.
He inhaled deeply, slipped one hand into his pocket, and sank into thought.
He recalled a private note he’d seen in Hazel’s school records:
– Exceptional linguistic skills.
– Graduated top of the advanced Latin class. Capable of translating specialized scientific texts.
The translator Fabri was protecting, Hazel’s secret meeting, her stellar Latin skills.
When these three pieces came together, a single hypothesis formed naturally in Theodore’s mind.
“Is Hazel the translator of the banned books?”
A sharp glint flashed in Theodore’s eyes.
***
Since her meeting with Fabri, Hazel had confined herself to her room except for the times she had to spend with her family.
Even when André came asking to play chess or Charlotte insisted on tea, she’d reply that she had a book to read and send them away.
Since she held a book in her hand, neither André nor Charlotte suspected anything and withdrew without questions.
They knew well that when Hazel immersed herself in a book, she devoted no time to anything else until she finished.
Even if she played chess or drank tea with them, it was clear her mind would be captive to the book.
Their goal wasn’t to spend time with a Hazel-shaped puppet but to enjoy her company, so they understood the best option in such cases was to leave her be.
They also promptly informed Lord and Lady Easton of Hazel’s state.
Thanks to that, Hazel gained ample time to herself. She used it to replay her conversation with Fabri.
“Hazel, you’d better leave the country.”
Fabri had said the banned books list would be finalized in two weeks at the earliest, three at the latest.
“It seems they plan to arrest all the translators. For something called a mental evaluation or the like.”
Hazel closed her eyes. Today, her lashes felt especially heavy.
“Mental evaluation.”
She’d once read an autobiography of an author whose book was classified as banned.
Even that autobiography was burned for being prohibited.
Reading it had been pure chance.
The author vividly described the agony of the mental evaluation.
He wrote that it felt like his skin was melting, his body burning, as if all his words were being ripped from him, causing unbearable pain.
Was it like a severe fever?
Hazel laughed faintly at such a simplistic thought.
It couldn’t be. A writer wouldn’t lose their words over that level of pain.
“What do I do?”
Fleeing was the best option.
But how could she explain that to Viscount Easton?
He wouldn’t be angry that she’d been translating all along.
He might feel some displeasure that she’d done it secretly, but he’d accept it.
The problem came after. When she told him she might be arrested.
Lady Easton would collapse, Charlotte and André would cling to each other and weep, and Viscount Easton would spend his entire fortune to save Hazel.
“To save just me… the entire Easton family could be shaken.”
If Hazel’s actions—which she’d deemed entirely legitimate—became public in the process, the Easton family wouldn’t just lose money but honor too.
Faced with that horrific future, Hazel’s hands and feet grew cold.
She clasped her hands together, rubbed them, and made a decision.
“I mustn’t tell my parents. I’ll disappear quietly, in secret.”
There was only one choice. Hazel had to vanish from the Easton family.
Her eyes filled with tears. The mere thought of leaving broke her heart.
She’d always planned to leave someday, but not this soon, not as a fugitive.
She’d intended to depart after Charlotte married, after André grew nearly as tall as her, after she bought a house in a quiet town.
Hazel laughed bitterly.
The actions she’d taken to live with dignity now hindered her.
When she first earned money from translating, she’d felt proud of herself.
As translation work increased, she’d been happy, but the result was becoming a fugitive.
Hazel covered her face with both hands, anguished.
Knock, knock.
She lifted her head at the sound of knocking.
“My lady, may I come in?”
It was Anne. Hazel wiped the tears pooling in her eyes.
“Is it something important?”
“A letter from Miss Viola has arrived.”
Hazel shivered and told her to enter.
Anne opened the door cautiously and stepped in, her eyes widening in surprise.
“My lady, have you been crying?”
“Something got in my eye.”
Hazel muttered an excuse and extended her hand.
Anne looked skeptical but said nothing and handed over the letter.
“Viola” was clearly written on the outer envelope.
‘It’s Saturday today, so why did a letter come…?’
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