Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 97: Visiting Conan’s Mother.

Chapter 97: Visiting Conan’s Mother.

Varenda, Theodore Mansion.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

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Lydia had been called out from her garden to meet the person Hound had brought.

She had tucked her sketchbook back inside the library, she had managed to design three more pieces and her satisfaction made her eat a little more.

"Who might this be?"

Lydia asked when she reached the person Hound had brought back home. It wasn’t the dressmaker like she had thought.

Her fan in hand she waited for Hound’s reply, but it never came.

"I am a lampwright, Mrs Thedore, this...emm kind...very kind knight, man directed me here" the man stuttered, his eyes fixed on the floor. Too frightened to raise his head.

Hound had practically threatened him here, with his darkened gaze and expressionless face, the man had no potency to reject him. So he had followed him to the monster’s lair, not without his boys as Hound had informed him it was a call for work.

"Oh" Lydia merely said unable to form another word.

The apparent fear on the man’s face reminded her of the first day she had encountered lord Theodore.

Hound nodded, his face tight. "Yes, Lady Theodore I shall be at the gates" and with a bow he turned to leave.

Urgently Lydia called out. "Wait, what did Ms. Janet say?"

"I gave her the letter" he deadpanned.

She blinked. "Ah yes, thank you," she said.

He continued his walk without another word or expression. She wondered what happened to his mood.

"Come let me show you what you shall do, you have to finish today" she said to the lampwright who had two pale boys behind him. They look like they’ve seen the ghost.

One of them whispered. "Is the beast put away?"

"What beast?" Lydia asked back with a frown.

"Shut up Romeo" the second apprentice warned in a hushed tone.

Their steps followed the ladys’ as the first one said again. "I do not wish to stay behind wait for me"

And then they continued their whispered conversation as though Lydia and the lampwright weren’t present.

"Why is it so dark here?"

"Are there even windows?"

"We do not have to fix does chandelier with Mr. Feldman"

"The beast could pop out anytime, lower your voice"

Lydia frowned because whatever beast the lampwright was talking about must be the same one the muckraker had spoken of.

Could there indeed be a beast in the mansion? She mused.

As the lampwright saw the chandeliers, he was immediately impressed and his passion for his job with the undeniable hospitality of the mansion made him loosen up and work as meticulously as he could. He left with the usual huge payment that the lord’s mansion offers.

Soon when the workers of Critic Arley realize payment at the mansion are hefty they would begin to rush for opportunities.

It was early evening when Lydia started to look around her mansion. The mansion has significantly improved. The changes made it so much better than a monster’s lair.

In the middle of the parlour.

The chandelier is a marvellous masterpiece suspended from the ceiling, commanding attention with its majestic presence.

It is crafted with meticulous detail, boasting an intricate framework of gilded metal adorned with regal motifs, it incorporates symbols of ornate flourishes.

With its cascading crystal prisms refracting light, it cast a brilliant kaleidoscope that dances across the room.

Its grandeur is accentuated by tiers of gracefully curving arms, each glowing without the support of candles, illuminating the surroundings with a warm, luxurious glow.

This majestic fixture serves not only as a source of light but also as a symbol of indulgence and grandeur befitting the Lord of Critic Arley.

Lydia sighed, proud of herself and missing her husband.

*

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*

Early Evening.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

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In the waning light of Critic Arley’s afternoon, the carriage Helena rented, expensive yet modest, trundled along the cobbled streets of the bustling city.

Within the carriage, Helena sat in silent contemplation, her nerves fluttering like the delicate wings of a trapped bird.

She is dressed in the finery befitting the visit.

She had decided to go visit Conan’s mother in his stead because as it said in the letter if Conan didn’t come then she shall be forced to come herself and then she said she was lonely, Helena felt that sentiment was the one she too was going through and she shouldn’t let an elder woman suffer it alone, so she’d gotten dressed as beautifully yet as decent as she could to go meet the woman.

She glanced out of the carriage window anxiously, her gaze flitting from one passing landmark to the next.

As the carriage rattled on, the grandeur of the city gradually gave way to the tranquillity of this neighbourhood, here verdant fields stretched out in undulating waves of green beneath the vast expanse of the sky that was turning azure.

Yet, despite the bucolic beauty surrounding Helena her mind remained wrapped in trepidation, her thoughts consumed by the uncertainty of the encounter that lay ahead.

What would Conan’s mother think of her? She’d muse occasionally.

With each passing mile, the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves reminded Helena of the unalterable train of time, that was drawing her closer to her destination. And as the carriage finally came to a halt before the imposing gates of the elder woman’s estate, Helena’s heart quickened with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

Is the mother as easygoing as her son or as annoying as him? She’d think.

Suddenly she couldn’t even think about how his father was right now.

She stepped out onto the gravel driveway, she smoothed the folds of her gown with trembling hands, her resolve wavering like a candle flame in the evening breeze.

Yet, summoning every ounce of courage she possessed, Helena squared her shoulders and climbed the marble steps that led to the grand entrance of the mansion.

Inside the estate, the air was thick with the scent of polished wood and the distant murmur of servants going about their duties.

Soon Helena was guided by a liveried footman, she followed him crossing corridors adorned with ancestral portraits and gilded tapestries, each step bringing her closer to the fateful encounter that awaited her.

And as she finally stood before the door to where the elder woman’s confirmed to be, Helena’s pulse now pounded in her ears like the beat of a distant drum, she hesitated for a fleeting moment, her hand poised to knock.

She could simply turn around she thought But then, with a deep breath and a silent prayer, she tapped on the door gently, steeling herself for whatever lay beyond.

The door drew open, and a young maid whose height was rare stared down at Helena.

"Hello, good afternoon" Helena whispered, suddenly timidly.

"Oh, What a voice, let her in please" a female voice reached them.

Sarah Jones was sitting in her tea/knitting room when she heard a knock. Yes, the message boy around the house had told her there was a guest but she didn’t at all prepare, but just now Helena’s voice had been so melodious and soft that she had immediately accepted her.

"Yes, Good afternoon my lady" Priscilla, Sarah Jones’s maid greeted the visitor, with a bow.

Helena’s eyes widened, the tea room exuded an air of tranquillity.

"I am Helena of Critic-Ishelm and I am here to keep Lady Jones company," she said before she stepped inside.

"Oh? Where do I know you from? It must been a while"

Helena turned to the voice and was immediately mesmerized by the view with sunlight filtering through delicate lace curtains, a beautiful woman sat at the centre of the room, Her nimble fingers moved with practised grace, weaving intricate patterns into the soft yarn draped over her lap because though her eyes could not perceive the world around her, her other senses were keenly attuned.

She stopped knitting abruptly as though she remembered she should’ve dropped it now that a guest was here.

"Please come, sit down" Sarah invited.

Helena frowned, the lady had a steady gaze, too steady and wide, also she appeared to be looking slightly in the wrong direction.

"Thank you Lady Jones" Helena replied before marching forward.

"You have the sweetest of voices" she said with a giggle making Helena blush.

No one has complimented her voice before.

"I am honoured, thank you," Helena said as she met the lady’s eyes.

She looked nothing, Conan. Helena thought.

The faint aroma of freshly brewed tea mingled with the gentle rustle of leaves outside the window.

Helena took her seat and when the lady wished to ask ’Who are you really?’ she had looked at the wrong side making Helena blink.

She is blind, Helena came to the realization with a shock. Her lips parted as they tried to draw in air for her lungs.

Her sightless eyes reflected an inner serenity that Helena envied.

"I... you do not know me I believe" Helena stuttered before sitting better to say. "I am Consn’s friend, he is unable to come after your letter so I decided to come instead"