The Knight in the Morning Fog and Conversations Amidst the Chopping Wood

Four or five servants were dismissed, and the housekeeper, Selena, believing herself to be at fault, also left the manor. 

What I did didn't seem to harm the Bruce family at all; instead, some innocent servants suffered. But I have no regrets. I tell myself it's not my fault, it's Bruce's. Even without me, they would have blamed innocent servants for any trouble, just as they once used me.

That's the thing about lies — repeat them a thousand times, and they're no longer lies. Like someone deceiving themselves, I ignored the unease and guilt in my heart, dismissing them as mere trivial emotions.

In my eyes, nothing in this world is more important than revenge.

The Bruce family has been in a gloomy mood these past few days.

"What are we going to do? The bank has come knocking for money again," the viscount paced back and forth anxiously.

The viscountess, fanning herself and breathing heavily, asked, "Isn't there anywhere else we can borrow money from?"

"Borrow! Borrow! Borrow! That's all you know!" the viscount shouted angrily. "If it weren't for Margaret's disgraceful actions, we wouldn't be in this situation. Now, who's going to marry them? They've become infamous, like those lowly courtesans! Maybe it would be better if they actually became courtesans; at least they might make some money and save us from this embarrassment."

The viscountess tried to console her husband, "Alright, calm down. Can't we really borrow any money? Surely, there are some merchants eager to cozy up to the nobility who'd be willing to lend us money if we humble ourselves."

"Enough! Our family already married the daughter of a merchant, and that alone brought us disdain from the noble circle. Now you want us to lower ourselves even further by associating with those merchants for a loan? Our family would become the laughingstock of high society. We'd never be able to show our faces again."

"So what should we do?" the viscountess asked fearfully, "Should we reduce the number of servants again or collect rent from the tenants early?"

"If we do that, the nobles in Yorkshire will immediately know we're in financial trouble, and then no one will lend us money."

"If that won't work, and neither will this, are we just supposed to wait here?"

"I think perhaps we could talk to that boy Oscar again," the viscount said, stroking his short beard. "We both bear the Bruce name. He won't just sit idly by while we're in trouble. Maybe he'll lend us money."

"Well, I guess we have no other choice. Let's invite that wretch back and hope his sour face will show some respect for his elders."

Spring comes early in Yorkshire. The sea breeze carries warm air and brings the gentle rain of early spring. The entire land is shrouded in mist, and moisture seems to fill the whole world. Especially in the morning, when the fog is thick, you can't see anything but a white blur.

Baron Oscar arrived at the manor on one of those foggy mornings. This time, unlike the previous visit where he traveled light, he came with six male servants, a four-wheeled carriage, and several fine horses, making a grand entrance to Mormont Manor.

Although the manor was only hosting one guest, it was as busy as if they were entertaining royalty. To the viscount's family, Baron Oscar was indeed a distinguished guest. After all, anyone with money was important, wasn't that right?

Annie told me that Miss Margaret was heartbroken and had lost a lot of weight. She wasn't eating, drinking, or dressing up, as if gravely ill and barely clinging to life. After such an incident, her reputation was ruined, and it was impossible for her to marry a nobleman of equal standing. Even a landowner without a noble title wouldn't want her now.

She only had two options left: marry a merchant or marry a doctor or lawyer. The former would mean losing her status, while the latter would mean losing her wealth. Miss Margaret was unwilling to give up either her privileged lifestyle or her respectable status. So, the hunchbacked Baron Oscar Bruce, whom she used to look down on, suddenly seemed like a beacon of hope. This man would inherit his father's title after his father's death, and he should, and must, marry her.

In Margaret's eyes, Catherine became an annoying obstacle. According to many, Catherine was young, beautiful, gentle, virtuous, kind, and gracious. She hadn't ruined her reputation. If Baron Oscar had to choose between the sisters, Catherine's chances of being chosen were undoubtedly greater.

So, early that morning, we saw the newly dressed Miss Margaret in the hall. As a noble lady who usually slept until noon, there was only one reason for her to get up so early — to see Baron Oscar, who went horseback riding every morning.

To be honest, Margaret was a very beautiful woman. Otherwise, Viscount Wilson wouldn't have been so smitten with her, to the point where he, at his old age, insisted on marrying a girl barely in her teens.

At that moment, Margaret was dressed in a sleek black riding outfit, wearing a rose-colored sun hat and holding a riding crop, looking extraordinarily striking and heroic.

At that hour, the masters had not yet woken up, and the servants had just finished breakfast. Everyone looked at Miss Margaret pacing in the hall with astonishment, as if they had seen a ghost. After a while, Miss Margaret grew impatient. She stopped a passing servant and asked, "Has Baron Oscar gone out for his ride?"

"No, Baron Oscar has not gone out."

"Why not? Doesn't he go out riding every morning?"

"This morning, the baron's servant sent word that the weather was foggy, the roads weren't clear, so they wouldn't be preparing his horse."

"I see," Margaret said, her face showing signs of awkwardness. "Is breakfast ready? Hurry up, I'm hungry."

She hurried off to the dining room after speaking, and the servants exchanged knowing glances and subtle smiles.

In the kitchen, Simon said to me, "Look at her, she's not as clever as Miss Catherine. Early this morning, I saw Catherine's maid go to the baron and tell him that riding in the fog could be dangerous, hoping he'd stay indoors. She managed to fulfill her duties as a hostess while showing care and consideration. Miss Margaret, on the other hand, is making a fool of herself. When the baron hears about this, it will certainly become a joke."

I gave a distracted "Hmm."

"By the way, what did you do to upset the baron? Yesterday, I saw him give you a disdainful look. At times like this, you really don't want to get dismissed," Simon said.

That was exactly what I was worried about. Normally, the baron wouldn't pay any attention to the servants, but when he walked past a row of footmen and suddenly stopped in front of one of them, giving them a disapproving look, the situation became delicate — especially since this baron was an honored guest at the manor.

The housekeeper thought I had displeased the baron and summoned me to his room that evening, where he sternly told me, "It seems the baron doesn't like seeing you. For the time being, stay out of the drawing room. You're only allowed in the kitchen and outer courtyard."

I secretly panicked, wondering if the housekeeper was going to fire me. Recently, Mormont Manor had been laying off large numbers of servants, and several lower-level footmen had already been dismissed. Our workload had increased significantly. From the housekeeper Aaron's tone, it seemed like there would be more cuts to come.

Just then, the cook Betty chimed in with a flushed face, "Don't worry, the baron will probably leave soon."

Simon glanced at Betty in surprise, teasingly smiled, and patted my shoulder. "Are you worried about this guy? How enviable, right, everyone?"

Everyone in the kitchen started to join in, making fun of Betty, whose face turned even redder. Like a startled animal, she hurriedly ran out of the kitchen. Simon laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. "She's adorable, isn't she? Aren't you going to chase after her? This is your chance."

I sighed and said, "Don't joke about this anymore. You're going to make Betty feel awkward."

"No way, that girl likes you too much to feel awkward."

A plump cook glared at Simon and me in annoyance. "You boys, stop bothering my girl. Go fetch Betty, we're short-handed. Doesn't she know that?"

Simon nudged me and winked. Helpless, I went after her.

Outside, the fog was still thick. The sky wouldn't clear until after eight. The ground was damp, and my sheepskin shoes left a trail of footprints. It seemed Betty had gone to the stables to find her uncle, John.

Through the mist, I saw someone leading a horse out of the stables.

As I approached, I realized it was the baron himself, dressed in his black riding outfit.

Baron Oscar, as usual, cast a cold, downward glance as he passed by. The moment he saw me, he paused briefly before continuing forward.

I thought I should apologize and ask for his forgiveness, at least so he wouldn't show such open disdain for me in front of others. That would surely lead to me being expelled from the manor. But I was also worried about saying something wrong and angering him, especially since he had once angrily told me never to appear before him again.

I found myself in a dilemma, unable to advance or retreat. As I hesitated, he led his horse right up to me.

"Good morning, my lord," I bowed to him respectfully.

He took out a white handkerchief, lightly covering his mouth as he coughed, then looked down at me from above without saying a word.

The atmosphere was too tense, so I forced myself to speak. "My lord, are you going for a ride? In this weather, it might not be very safe. Perhaps it would be better to wait until the fog lifts."

He didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on me. Suddenly, he tightened the reins, swiftly mounted his horse, and rode off like the wind, disappearing into the thick white fog in no time.

I stared after him, puzzled by his actions. Unable to make sense of it, I decided to stop thinking about it. Turning around, I headed into the stables. Sure enough, Betty was there with her uncle. When she saw me, her face flushed red, and she shyly lowered her head.

"Mr. Eric, what brings you here?" she asked nervously.

"Just call me Owen, no need for 'Mr. Eric'—I'm not worthy of that title," I replied with a smile.

Her face turned even redder after hearing that.

"The cook asked you to come back, Betty," I said. The moment I finished speaking, she rushed out of the stable as if fleeing, then turned back and softly added, "Thank you, Owen."

Once Betty was out of sight, her uncle, John, said to me, "That girl is as timid as a rabbit, but she's kind-hearted and hardworking. She's a good lass."

I smiled and nodded in agreement.

Uncle John chuckled heartily and patted me on the shoulder, saying, "Lad, I heard you got kicked out of the drawing room yesterday. If you've got nothing to do, help me chop some wood."

He then led me to the small grove at the back, where a few small cypress trees lay on the ground, and an old axe was wedged in a tree stump.

I took off my coat, grabbed the axe, and began chopping.

Uncle John brought over his rickety cart and said, "Chop as much as you can. I'm off to town, and when I get back, I'll bring you some ale."

"Go ahead, leave it to me," I nodded.

As he walked away, I heard him muttering under his breath, "Young lads always manage to catch the girls' eyes..."