TRCR 33

There weren’t many places that watched children without expecting anything in return.
Jack, left alone at home so often while Margaret worked, had suffered from sleepwalking, his emotions unstable to the point of torment.
But since coming here, he’d brightened noticeably.
Gloria, once a nursemaid in some noble household, gave the children basic lessons too.
For Jack’s sake, she couldn’t leave, even if it meant hiding her name.
“Hurry up, Margaret! Big group order came in!”
The moment Margaret opened the shop door, Bern shouted from the kitchen, kneading flour dough.
She tied on her apron in a flurry and rushed in.
The oven’s scorching heat made sweat pour without cease.
Unthinkable for a baroness’s daughter, yet Margaret was content.
Bread was honest. It didn’t care about the baker’s wealth or origins.
With care, the right measure of ingredients, and proper timing, it always yielded excellence.
Her wrists ached now and then, but it was fine. A customer’s praise melted the pain away.
The bakery’s morning was frantic, as always.
Only well past lunchtime could Margaret sink onto the small counter stool, wiping sweat from her brow.
“Good work. Lunch! My wife’s special sandwich!”
“Thanks.”
Bern thrust out a sandwich the size of his forearm from the kitchen.
He always told her that she was too slender for baking.
Yet he fussed over her, packing hearty lunches and dinners every day.
Sometimes he bundled leftover bread for the sanctuary folk.
Margaret eyed the thick ham and crisp vegetables nestled in the bread.
The savory aroma revived her vanished appetite.
As she leaned in for a bite, a clear bell tinkled, the door swinging open.
Of all times…
But Margaret didn’t complain. She rose with a warm smile.
“Welcome…!”
Afternoon sun poured in behind the customer.
Margaret’s eyes widened.
She looked familiar. Disguised, but Margaret recognized her instantly.
The face she’d dreamed of killing.
Rebecca Devonshire.
“Hello, Margaret.”
Rebecca removed her bonnet, holding it in her hand.
Her gaze fell on the sandwich.
“If you haven’t eaten lunch yet, join me?”
“W-What…?”
Bern burst from the kitchen.
“Of course! We’ve got a table and chairs in the back yard!”
“B-Bern, but…”
“First time a friend visits! Treat her right! No need to refuse!”
He winked, clearly misunderstanding.
Pushed by his zeal, Margaret was led to the yard.
“How quaint and pretty.”
Margaret wondered if it was praise or mockery.
Nobles rarely showed their true feelings.
She glanced at Rebecca, inspecting the table her wife had made.
No malice—just genuine admiration.
Watching her soft smile, Margaret said coldly,
“I don’t know why you’re here, Lady Rebecca, but this is my workplace. Showing up unannounced is inconvenient.”
“Oh, sorry. It’s the only way to escape the estate. And I thought you wouldn’t see me if I asked ahead.”
Rebecca studied Margaret’s hardened face.
She’d expected this chill but felt a pang of sadness.
Yet she understood.
Thanks to Kanna, Rebecca had learned Margaret’s past—shredded by Zeppelin’s twisted greed.
The Defria statue in the Hall of Light was the Bennett family’s heirloom.
Zeppelin, coveting its value, offered a fortune, but Baron Gideon refused.
Gideon cherished simple happiness, content with enough for his family.
But Zeppelin always got what he wanted.
Underestimating Gideon’s resolve led to tragedy.
Zeppelin’s hounds torched the baron’s estate on a quiet night.
The flames devoured their peace.
Only Margaret, widowed a week earlier, survived the inferno.
Her husband, Radburn Bennett, an orphan, left her with her family.
Zeppelin took it all.
Pregnant, Margaret fought to save her crumbling home.
But raised delicately, her options were few.
The family’s assets, including the statue, went to auction.
Zeppelin snapped it up.
When he came to inspect it, Margaret lunged at him.
“You! You did this! For a statue, you killed my father?”
“Ha! Accusing me without proof? Bold. Your family’s tragedy is regrettable, but ever considered it’s your fault for not managing it? If you’re so wronged, go to the temple. Who knows, the goddess might grant you merciful luck.”
He shoved her aside like a bug.
Margaret never forgot his cold eyes.
Recalling that, she glared at Rebecca, trembling.
She knew Rebecca wasn’t Zeppelin, and that she’d saved the sanctuary.
But seeing Zeppelin’s face in her made rage boil.
She hated Rebecca as much as him.
Sitting across from her felt like needles.
Fury surged.
Barely recovered, and Devonshire came to torment her again.
Margaret clutched her skirt.
She wanted to flee to her sacred work.
Rebecca bit into her sandwich.
“Mmm, the bread’s delicious. Did you make it?”
Her innocent smile infuriated Margaret.
“Get to the point? We’re not close enough for small talk.”
Rebecca, unfazed, continued.
“I understand why you hate me. It’s Zeppelin, right?”
Margaret bowed, toying with her cold glass, hoping to bury her anger in ice.
Rebecca watched the water droplets on her shaking hands.
Her chest ached.
She wanted to kneel and beg forgiveness, but she stilled her emotions.
“I don’t know what to say about the Bennett tragedy. No compensation can fix it.”
“So you came to apologize?”
“Of course not. It’s his fault. Strictly speaking, I barely knew you then. But as his wife, you’ll hate me just as much.”
“Yes. You get it. Though you might think me ungrateful for sheltering at the sanctuary. Lady Rebecca, I’ve never taken a scrap of cheese from there. I donate monthly rent’s worth.”
“Calm down, Margaret. I’m not here to argue your hate. I have a job offer.”
“A job…?”
“Yes. Not immediate—months away. I’m starting a business. Be its patissier.”
Margaret’s eyes widened.
“But I’m just a local baker. I can’t make noble desserts.”
“You can learn. If you accept, I’ll provide full training. You’ll pick it up fast.”
Margaret’s icy expression wavered.
Rebecca pressed.
“Oh, the pay’s half the profits. A partnership. You deserve it.”
“What? Half the profits?”
Margaret nearly spilled her tea.
That money could reclaim her title, send Jack to a good academy…
As a mother, greed stirred.
But she reined it in. No amount justified partnering with Zeppelin.
Rebecca, reading her thoughts, smiled softly.
“It’s natural to hesitate. To clarify, this business has nothing to do with the count. He doesn’t even know I’m planning it. That’s why I snuck out like this. For now, I can only say a kind investor’s helping.”
“But why me? There are plenty of skilled patissiers. And we’re not close.”
No. Rebecca knew Margaret well.
She’d given her a job in her darkest hour and helped with postpartum care when she couldn’t go home.