Chapter 52 – Clara’s Observation
Clara finally saw Jade again at supper, after Jade excused herself from the day’s tuition class.
“Our school patron has come – probably to ask about the mini-screen. I’ll go show him. Please look after the class while I’m gone.” That was what Clara remembered Jade telling her.
When Clara had asked how long she would be gone – worried whether she could manage the entire class alone – the young teacher had hesitated. Her mother, still deep in mourning for Clara’s late father, rarely left her room except for meals or necessities. Clara had no one else within the domus to rely on for overseeing a classroom of students.
“Probably an hour? I don’t know.” Clara could still recall the complicated expression on Jade’s face – a mixture of confusion and mild disdain, yet tinged with a teasing tone, as though she were speaking of some hopelessly naughty brother or cousin. “If anything happens, just call Josh over. He knows what to do.”
Everything had gone surprisingly smoothly until Clara dismissed the students so they could go home after a meal in the dining hall. Some ate within the domus; others hurried through their soup before rushing home with portions of offal pies and leftovers – mashed potatoes, chips, and tallow cracklings.
The residents of the domus took their meal only after the students had cleaned the dining hall and left. It was then that Jade returned, looking utterly exhausted.
“Jade, what took you so long?” Clara could not imagine what a patron and a ragged schoolmistress would have to discuss at such length. She had assumed Jade would simply present the White Lilies to the Lord, and that he would either purchase the piece or take it away for his sister to consider. At most, it should have taken half an hour.
“Gimme a second,” Jade murmured, her gaze unfocused. “I need to blank my brain for a bit… I’ll get back to you later, Clara…”
Clara cast the weary young teacher a careful glance.
Jade did not possess the sort of complexion that caught attention at first sight. More often, people noticed her peculiar accent and behaviour before anything else – marking her immediately as a foreigner, or perhaps a mixed-blood who had returned to Floland from abroad.
Yet now, under the candlelight of the dining hall, Clara found that, upon closer inspection, Jade was… interesting. She became pretty when animated by expression – the furrow of her brows when displeased or worried, the slight pout when grappling with a difficult thought, the puffed cheeks when frustrated, the way her teeth clenched when she restrained the urge to shout… She was lively – far more lively than any lady Clara had ever known.
If Jade were to cry, Clara imagined she would do so without restraint as well. Not like her mother – or the many ladies Clara had seen – who wept with composed elegance, almost theoretically, like an opera singer upon the stage: pure, tragic, romantic, dramatic, and beautifully restrained.
The exhausted Jade, meanwhile, had slumped in her seat, face down on the table.
Her attentive apprentice quickly brought her meal and waved a hand over the bowl, fanning the fragrance of the soup toward her. The scent alone seemed enough to revive his master from her wilted state. She straightened slightly and gulped down a spoonful.
“Ooh, pumpkin soup!” Jade smacked her lips, immediately analysing the taste. “Not just pumpkin… potatoes? No, there’s something else, another kind of puree… beans? Fava beans? And… malt sugar?”
“Very accurate, Miss Jade.” Sister Geenia nodded, once again impressed by Jade’s sharp palate. “We checked our storage again and realised we had overlooked some supplies. They were hidden beneath a pile of donated leather. The pumpkins and beans were among them, and we also found some water-glassed eggs! Miss Jade, do you have any suggestions on how we might let every student have a taste? There is too much for us alone, yet not enough to distribute to every student…”
“Water-glassed egg?” Jade turned to the domus cook, “What’s that?”
Water, glass, and eggs? Pour molten glass over eggs and dump them into water? Jade blinked in confusion.
“They are preserved eggs submerged in pickling water,” Sister Geenia explained, a little surprised. Given Jade’s ingenuity with scraps, the nun had assumed Jade would be familiar with such methods.
Pickling water? Jade blinked, processed, then asked, puzzled, “Salt water? I mean, brine? Wouldn’t that be called salted eggs?”
Jade was genuinely surprised. She had not expected to encounter something resembling East Asian cuisine in this setting. Then again, preservation methods often developed similarly across cultures – salt being the most common solution.
However, she was mistaken.
“Brine? No, you silly girl. Pickling water is not brine; it is lime water,” Sister Geenia corrected. She recalled, “I heard Madam Farray – the farm woman who lives south of the great oak – once tried preserving eggs with brine when she had no lime. It turned out quite dreadful.”
“Huh?” Jade was momentarily at a loss. In her previous life, she had personally preserved eggs in saturated saltwater without issue. Salted eggs had been quite expensive, so she had made them herself for mooncakes. The process was simple – prepare a saturated brine, fully submerge the eggs, weigh them down to prevent floating, and wait about thirty days.
What could possibly go wrong with that?
After a moment of thought, she asked, “Can I see the water-glassed eggs tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Sister Geenia said with a nod. “You may consider a suitable recipe tonight, Miss Jade. Otherwise, I shall simply boil and mash them to distribute them evenly for the students – frying that many eggs for them would be rather time-consuming.”
“Alright.” Jade dipped her bread into the pumpkin-potato-bean soup, setting the matter of the eggs aside before turning back to Clara. “Oh, Clara. We really need to work on what we’re preparing to sell. I mean, we should start making a range of more… refined goods.”
“Why so?” Clara asked. “Those take considerable effort and time. As you said before, it would slow our cash flow, and we need a steady income to feed the students.”
“Well…” Jade hesitated, recalling her earlier discussion with Mr. Trent – the one truly responsible for persuading the Dowager Countess of Canareith to lease the Silver Acorn, not Mr. Rich Sponsor who would likely remain at his estate to await Mr. Trent’s victorious return.
It had been an intense exchange. Mr. Trent had a talent of drawing out every idea she had, pressing her for details drawn from her previous life. The promotional strategies and event planning she had once used as a bakery cake decorator – perfectly ordinary in her own time – now seemed advanced in this world.
At one point, Jade had felt her back dampen with sweat. His questions had been so precise, so probing, that she nearly convinced herself he suspected the truth – that she was a reincarnated soul inhabiting this supposedly dead body.
The thought alone had sent a chill through her. The fear of being accused of witchcraft and beheaded for it grasped Jade’s nerves tightly…
Fortunately, Mr. Trent had done nothing more than cast her cold, stern glances. He never spoke a word about witches or demons. In the end, Jade could not tell whether he had noticed anything unusual about her, or if that was simply his usual manner. She rarely had the chance to speak with him, and she only knew that he always seemed reserved and composed. When Ashborne was present, he served as the background, to the point that she sometimes even forgot he was there.
The tension of speaking with Mr. Secretary had exhausted her, and she would rather not think about him any further.
Letting out a small sigh, she turned to Clara, “Our patron, Lord Ashborne, happens to know a Dowager Countess. The lady is planning to organise a charity bazaar. He said he’ll secure us a place there, and try to persuade Lady Canareith to include a small auction.”
Clara’s eyes widened. “Does that mean our work will be auctioned?”
Jade nodded. “If he manages to convince her. He said an auction would do more for the piece – both in terms of reputation and price.”
“Reputation?” Clara gasped. “O-our names would be announced during the auction?”
“Well, at the very least, your name will be listed as the project lead for the embroidery work,” Jade said with a grin. “Clara, you’ll be fully in charge of leading the girls. I’ll only provide the design drafts, remember?”
“But Jade…”
“I don’t need the attention, Clara.” Jade met her gaze. “I’m busy. I have other projects to oversee. And more importantly, you need it, Clara. You need to be seen as capable and accomplished, so you can attract better suitors. Staying silent in the domus won’t help you find a good husband, and with Mrs. Whitcombe’s current condition…”
Noticing Clara’s nervous expression, Jade quickly added, “Do your best, but don’t pressure yourself. This is just the first bazaar, we’ll have more in the future. The first time is always for making mistakes, so think ahead to the second one. Do not expect to find the right match immediately – but by the next time, maybe. Relax, Clara, I’m here, the pressure is all mine.”
Clara paused, then burst into giggles. “Oh, Jade, that’s an awful pun!”
“Awful? I think it’s brilliant!” Jade shot back. Being able to make a pun felt like proof that her English had improved – especially since it wasn’t her first language.
“Anyway, here’s what we discussed…” Jade went on to explain, in detail, how Mr. Trent intended to persuade the Dowager Countess, all while eating her meal.
Clara listened closely, though a small part of her attention drifted elsewhere – toward Jade’s table manners.
They were not elegant by any means, but neither were they crude or gluttonous, as Clara had once expected. According to her mother, those with little education behaved without refinement or restraint. Yet Jade was nothing like the sort her mother and her former schoolteacher had described with such disdain.
It was true that she lacked elegance. But she was polite. Respectful. Consistent, no matter whom she was dealing with.
Combined with her expressive features, the realisation struck Clara quite suddenly: Why would a school patron choose to spend so long speaking with a mere teacher instead of the principal? It must be because…
“What do I think about our patron?”
Jade echoed, blinking at Clara’s abrupt question, caught off guard. Still, she answered, “He’s a nice gentleman. A very reliable Landlord. And I’m glad I get to live in his parish. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” Clara said with a small grin, quietly tucking her theory away.