The rain continued to fall.
It had visibly weakened when they set out, but for some reason it suddenly grew heavy again during the journey.
It was as though a child who had almost calmed down had suddenly thrown a tantrum and started crying again.
Arthur Morstan stood on the porch. Behind him was the brightly lit mansion, and in front of him stretched the rain-covered night sky.
He stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp gaze piercing through the rain toward the girl beneath the umbrella.
Mary walked with a leisurely gait. The lace hem of her shirt dress swayed gently in the wind, and the oversized coat clung to her slender frame, looking somewhat out of place.
She walked up to the front porch, stopped three steps in front of her father, and then raised her face.
Arthur Morstan's gaze first landed on her face. A faint blush still lingered on her delicate features, a small smile played on her lips, and there was no trace of guilt or evasion in her clear blue eyes.
Then his gaze moved to the black coat that clearly did not belong to her. It was a man's coat. Given today's events, it was easy to imagine whose it was.
"Welcome home."
The man spoke in a calm voice. He showed no sign of being shaken by the fact that his daughter had impulsively left the house.
"Yes, I'm home."
Mary nodded and gave a light curtsy. The gesture was graceful and full of dignity.
"Did you have fun?"
"Very much so."
Arthur gave a slight nod, his gaze still fixed on her. When he saw her get out of the carriage, he had felt a strong, clear premonition.
She had changed.
This was probably what people called a rebellious phase.
"Your clothes."
He said.
Hearing this, Mary lowered her head slightly, glanced at the coat, and then smiled.
"This belongs to Russell."
She said, "He was worried I'd catch a cold, so he told me to wear it."
"Mm."
The man replied, then turned and walked into the house.
"Don't stand outside. Come in."
His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, yet it carried an unmistakable authority.
"Alright."
Mary answered and lifted the hem of her skirt, following behind him.
The butler touched the umbrella, followed the two of them, and then gently closed the heavy door, shutting out the sound of wind and rain from outside.
The entrance hall was warm and comfortable. The fireplace flames flickered, radiating a gentle warmth.
Arthur Morstan took off his coat and handed it to a servant, then turned and walked toward his study.
"Miss."
The butler stepped forward, trying to take the large coat from Mary's hands, but the girl simply shook her head. Instead of removing the coat, she wrapped it even more tightly around herself, as though it were a precious gift.
"No."
She said.
The butler paused for a moment, then nodded, gave a light bow, and stepped aside.
The study door closed quietly behind her.
Arthur walked to his desk, picked up a glass of whiskey, poured himself a drink, and then stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace. He didn't look at her or invite her to sit.
As a result, the girl had no choice but to stand straight in front of the desk, just like any other servant who had been summoned.
The study was quiet. The only sounds were the crackling of burning firewood in the fireplace and the ticking of an old-fashioned wall clock.
Mary waited for a while. When the man showed no sign of speaking, her gaze drifted around the layout of the study.
She didn't know how much time had passed before she finally heard the man's voice from ahead.
"How did you treat today's guest?" Arthur slowly opened his mouth, his gaze moving to the coat she was wearing.
"Very well," Mary replied. "I showed him around the mansion and we had afternoon tea in the glass greenhouse."
"And then what?"
"Then we went for a walk."
"Did you go to Baker Street?"
"Yes."
"With no servants and no carriage, ran through the streets soaked in rain and ended up returning using someone's dressed?"
"Yes."
Mary didn't deny it. There was no tremor or sign of guilt in her tone.
Arthur nodded. After a few seconds of silence in the room, he stood up, walked around the desk, and stopped in front of Mary.
He didn't get angry. He didn't continue questioning her. He simply looked at her.
That calm gaze was like an invisible net, gradually tightening around her, enveloping her, making it difficult to breathe.
This was one of his usual tactics.
Instead of overwhelming the other person with violent anger, he applied pressure through silence, causing the other person to lose their composure amid anxiety and speculation.
In the past, the girl might have apologized on her own and admitted her mistake.
But now, she simply raised her face and looked at him quietly.
"By the way, what is the meaning of those clothes?"
Arthur's gaze was fixed on Mary's outfit. Not the coat, but the shirt dress she was wearing, which looked out of place.
"I don't recall giving you permission to wear such unsightly clothes. Mary, this is extremely rude."
"This is not only rude to yourself, but also to the entire family. You are bringing shame upon the Morstan family."
"Father, I don't think a single piece of clothing warrants such an exaggerated reaction."
Mary calmly retorted.
"Am I making a fuss over something trivial?"
Arthur suddenly laughed.
"A single piece of clothing might not be enough, but what about you running through the streets of Kensington while holding a man's hand, without caring about your own image? Don't you look just like a stowaway who escaped from Whitechapel? Do you really need to go that far?"
Mary didn't answer, but her silence itself was an answer.
"This detective's assistant seems to be far more charming than I imagined."
Arthur Morstan continued.
"He made you forget who you are, forget the rules you should follow, and forget who you used to be."
As he spoke, his voice gradually grew louder. The anger he had been suppressing rose uncontrollably.
"He is using you to control you, turning you into a pawn in his hand—a useful weapon!"
"But what exactly did you do? Not only could you not control him, but you yourself got dragged into this ridiculous game and even argued with your father over him!"
He said this, then looked at Mary with a disappointed expression.
"Mary, I thought you were smart. I thought you understood what you should and shouldn't do.
I thought that with just a snap of your fingers and a small reward, you would understand that a man like him would do anything for you—charge through fire and water—if it pleased you.
But what exactly did you do?"
His voice suddenly took on a heavy tone, like a block of ice falling into a lake.
"I gave you the best education and the best life, and made you the most brilliant socialite in London. I even compromised and allowed you to play this childish game with that pitiful boy.
But you actually took all of this seriously. You actually placed yourself on equal footing with him—or even a step below him!
You tried to please him, fawned over him, and even ignored the honor and reputation of the Morstan family!"
"I didn't."
Mary retorted.
"You didn't?"
Arthur thought he had just heard the biggest joke in the world.
"Then tell me—what is that coat? And what is this attitude you're showing me now? And who caused that soul-stirring expression on your face?!"
"Mary."
Arthur took a deep breath, as though trying to suppress his anger.
He downed the drink in his glass in one gulp, then turned around, bent down, and looked at her.
"Listen. This is my final warning. You may continue seeing him. You may continue playing the role of a kind and gentle confidante. I won't interfere.
But remember this."
His voice was extremely low, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
"You are a member of the Morstan family. You are my daughter. Your life was given by me. Therefore, your future must be decided by me.
The person you marry must be someone who can bring great benefits to the Morstan family—someone who can lead our family to new heights. Not a poor young man who has talent and fame but lacks a solid foundation."
"He…"
"Stop talking to me about his future," Arthur cut Mary off.
"No one knows when the brilliant future you speak of will come, and no one knows his future either."
"How high exactly?
I said I would invest in him, but I never said I would pour the entire Morstan family fortune into him."
He stared straight into her eyes and spoke one word at a time.
"As long as I am alive, you and he will never be together.
You may treat him as an interesting toy, as a capable subordinate, or even raise him as a secret lover after marriage. I have no objection to any of that.
But there is one important point. He can never be your husband. He can only ever be a nominal partner!"
Arthur Morstan looked at the girl in front of him. Her face appeared completely motionless, like a mask.
"This is my final concession, Mary. Don't make me angry anymore."
"The rebellious phase should come to an end."
The scent of whiskey mingled with the smell of cigar smoke, as though an invisible net was closing in on Mary.
The air in the study felt as though it had been sucked out. The fireplace flames were still flickering, but they brought no warmth at all.
The man's voice was still echoing in her ears, but the girl's face remained expressionless.
She stood in front of the desk, quietly listening to her father's reprimand. Her usually calm blue eyes, which always held a smile, were now as still as the surface of a deep lake without a single ripple.
She didn't argue. She didn't debate. She didn't even show the slightest emotion.
It was as though his words were nothing more than insignificant noise that would disappear in a gust of wind.
"Do you understand?"
There was a trace of anger in Arthur's voice.
"I understand, Father."
Mary gave a light nod. Her voice was so calm that it revealed no emotion whatsoever.
Arthur looked at her and remained silent for a while before waving his hand.
"Get out."
"Yes."
Mary answered, then turned and walked out of the study at a slow pace.
However, just as she reached out for the doorknob, Arthur's voice rang out again from behind her.
"Wait."
Mary stopped but didn't turn around.
"Return that coat."
Arthur's voice came from behind. It was as cold as ice.
"I don't want anything in my house that doesn't belong here."
The girl's fingers, which had been reaching for the doorknob, twitched slightly before relaxing.
"I will."
She said this, pushed the door open, and walked out.
The door closed quietly behind her.
Mary walked toward her own room. Her footsteps were muffled by the carpet.
When she pushed the door open, cold air rushed in.
The room was dark. Only faint light leaking through the window barely illuminated it.
The fireplace was cold. Inside the hearth, coal that had burned out the previous night had turned into ashen gray ash, piled beneath the cast-iron grate.
The girl stood in the doorway and stared at the cold fireplace for a long time before finally stepping inside.
"Miss?"
Mel's voice came from outside the door. There was a note of worry in it.
"Shall I light the fire for you?"
She asked.
Mary paused for a moment, then shook her head. "No need."
As she spoke, she walked toward the fireplace. "I can do it myself."
Mel seemed as though she wanted to say something, but in the end she simply nodded and quietly closed the door.
The room fell silent once more.
Mary knelt down and reached out to pick up the matchbox placed beside the fireplace.
It was a small brass box with delicate patterns engraved on the surface. It had been a gift from a guest last Christmas, but she had never used it because there had been no need to light a fire.
The matchbox felt heavy in her hand, with the characteristic cool touch of metal.
She took out a match, but instead of lighting it immediately, she stared at it for a moment, as though waiting for something or confirming something.
Then she struck it.
Scratch—
With a small sound, a flame ignited in the darkness.
The flame was small and weak, flickering at the tip of the matchstick. It looked like a timid fairy that had just woken up.
Mary stared at the flickering flame. The flame never went out.
Her eyes were shining.
In those blue pupils, the small, flickering flame was reflected.
The light of the flame was small—almost insignificant compared to the darkness in the room—but in her eyes, there was nothing else.
She bent down and brought the match close to the firewood that had already been prepared in the fireplace.
The flame licked the dry wood and began to burn, spreading carefully through the gaps between the branches like an infant exploring.
Mary crouched in front of the fireplace and quietly watched as the small flame grew from a spark into a warm orange glow.
It jumped and danced inside the fireplace, illuminating the entire room.
The girl's shadow stretched long, cast onto the wall behind her, swaying gently in time with the flickering firelight.
The warmth of the flames also seeped into her face. The flickering light of the fire was reflected in her deep blue eyes, making them shine like two seas bathed in sunset.
Mary closed her eyes.
The warmth of the flames enveloped her like an invisible embrace.
The girl walked to the vanity and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
"The rebellious phase should come to an end, Mary."
She said quietly.
It's time to grow up.
The time has come to share Father's burden.
…