The afternoon classes passed quietly as time went on.
As usual, the two of them waited until everyone else in the classroom had left before slowly making their way out.
At the school gate, Mary stood on tiptoe and gently touched Russell's face, as though marking the approaching farewell.
Russell stood there and watched the carriage carry Mary away until she disappeared from view. Only then did he turn and head toward Baker Street.
…
Mary sat in the carriage, gazing at the passing city scenery outside the window. Her hand rested unconsciously on top of her backpack.
She reached inside the bag, fumbled for a moment, and pulled out a sheet of white tablets. There were six pills in total.
In truth, she had arrived at school quite early that morning, but she hadn't gone straight to the classroom.
Instead, she had gone to the school clinic—not to help the clinic director, Mrs. Sophie, move luggage, but to see a doctor.
Of course, the reason for seeing the doctor was also a lie. Her real goal was to obtain that sheet of tablets.
It's nothing serious. I just took some barbiturate tablets for treating insomnia.
Using insomnia as an excuse, she had perfectly lied, claiming she suffered from severe insomnia and was in a mentally unstable state.
Mrs. Sophie hadn't suspected a thing. After all, she had heard how much pressure Mary Morstan, Imperial College's most brilliant new student, was under.
So, after a simple consultation and examination, Mrs. Sophie had given her a small packet of barbiturate medication.
Of course, she had instructed Mary that this was only for emergency use and should not be taken long-term.
Mary had immediately agreed. It was indeed for an emergency.
She still remembered the instructions Mrs. Sophie had given her at the time.
For insomnia, take one tablet. For an adult, one tablet will allow you to sleep soundly.
Taking two or more tablets may cause you to fall into such a deep sleep that it will be difficult to wake you without strong stimulation. Also, first-time users may experience stronger effects.
Taking four or more tablets at once carries a very high risk of falling into severe coma. Increasing the dosage further may cause respiratory depression and could even lead to death.
Therefore, to prevent Mary from doing anything foolish, Mrs. Sophie had only prescribed her six tablets. This was not a lethal dose; even if she took all of them, she would only fall into a deep coma.
Of course, this dosage was more than enough for Mary.
The girl gently stroked the raised tablets with her finger, then returned them to their place.
It's still not the right time.
She need to wait.
She need to wait for the right moment so that everything goes smoothly and naturally.
The carriage slowly came to a stop.
Mary snapped out of her thoughts. She sat in the carriage for a while, straightened her appearance, and then slowly stepped out.
"Miss."
Mel approached, took the backpack from Mary's hands, and followed behind her.
Master and servant continued walking. Mel's attitude was no different from usual, but there was a thoughtful look between her brows.
Mary's gaze lingered on Mel's face for a while. Mel had been her personal maid since childhood and was one of the few people in this mansion she could trust.
However, at this moment, that trust seemed to be turning into something hollow.
Mary remained silent until she returned to her room. After closing the door, she sat at the vanity and, as usual, had Mel comb her hair.
"Mel."
While tidying up, Mary suddenly spoke and looked at Mel through the mirror.
The maid's body stiffened for an instant, but then she smiled.
"What is it, Miss?"
Her hands were steady, her movements calm and practiced. Her gaze was fixed on one point, as though she was simply going through the motions of this daily routine.
"What's for dinner tonight?"
Mary asked in a flat, casual tone.
"Tonight…" Mel thought for a moment before saying. "The kitchen has prepared roasted lamb chops, served with mashed potatoes and asparagus, and crème brûlée for dessert."
"I see."
Mary gave a light nod. "It's been getting cooler lately, so don't forget to keep the fireplace warm. Also, leave some charcoal in Father's study."
"Yes, Miss. If the master knew how much you care about him, he would surely be very pleased."
"Tomorrow I'm planning to wear that white cashmere coat—the one with the frayed collar. It's warmer."
"Understood."
Mel's replies were always concise and polite. Every word was delivered at the perfect timing, and the rhythm of combing her hair was flawless—each stroke as uniform as a pendulum.
Mary looked at her reflection in the mirror, then at the obedient maid behind her.
The room fell silent for a few seconds.
"Mel."
"Yes?"
"Did Father say anything?"
The moment she finished speaking, Mel's hands paused for an instant.
Mary silently peered into the mirror, observing the maid's reaction.
Mel's breathing stopped for a moment, but quickly resumed—only slightly faster than before.
Her lips parted slightly, then closed, then parted again. For a brief second, a flicker of unease appeared in her eyes before quickly disappearing, returning to her usual gentle and worried expression.
Mary understood everything.
"Miss…" Mel's voice came out slightly hoarse. "Why are you asking that?"
"I was just curious."
Mary said. "After all, I snuck out of the house without telling anyone yesterday, so Father was really angry. I thought maybe he gave you some instructions. Did he say anything?"
She looked at Mel through the mirror.
Mel pursed her lips, then finally nodded.
"What did he say?"
Mary asked.
"The master told us not to let you out of our sight."
Mel said, "Mr. Watson is no longer allowed to visit."
Hearing this, Mary nodded with an expression that showed she had understood, showing no surprise at the demand.
"I see."
She seemed to believe it and looked away.
After a moment of silence, Mary spoke again as though she had remembered something.
"Mel, do you know Father's schedule for the next few days?… No, do you know his schedule for the next month?"
Hearing this, Mel looked slightly surprised, then shook her head.
"I don't know… Miss."
She said this time, but her tone didn't sound false.
"I'm only responsible for the master's daily life. His schedule is managed by the butler, William."
"That's true…" Mary avoided making a direct statement. "Then, could you ask William for me? I don't need the detailed itinerary. I just need to know the times when Father won't be home at night."
She smiled and turned to face her friend.
"Mel, I have a favor to ask."
The moment she finished speaking, Mel unconsciously tightened her grip on the comb.
Seeing Mary's smile reflected in the mirror, she felt a chill run down her spine for no particular reason.
This young woman was the same girl she had grown up with since childhood. She was gentle, considerate, and always wore a polite smile. She never caused trouble for the servants.
But this young woman was now making her feel a sense of alienation she had never experienced before.
Those blue eyes were still clear, but now they resembled a bottomless pool. The surface was calm, yet beneath it lurked a violent current that could swallow everything.
Mel knew what orders the master had given. She also knew how angry the master was.
The master had said that if the young lady did anything unusual again, she must report it immediately and tell him everything the young lady said or did every day.
But now, the young lady wanted her to investigate the master's itinerary and act as an informant…
Mel swallowed, feeling her throat go dry.
"Miss…" she began with difficulty, trying to dissuade her. "The master said he doesn't want you to become any closer with Mr. Watson."
"I know."
Mary nodded with a gentle smile. "He already told me that last night."
"Then why…"
"He didn't say I'm not allowed to see him, did he?"
Mary smiled. "I only asked you to have a look into Father's schedule for me."
"Is my request putting you in a difficult position, Mel?"
Mary looked at Mel and asked quietly in a slightly worried tone. "If it is, then forget it. Pretend I never asked."
"Miss… I…" Mel was momentarily at a loss for what to do.
"At least… at least tell me first."
"What are you planning to do? Will this be okay?"
She pleaded as though she couldn't refuse Mary's request, yet at the same time couldn't go against Arthur Morstan's wishes.
"Of course."
Mary laughed.
"I just want you to find out which days next month Father will be going out—especially at night.
And after that, help me reserve two tickets for the Royal Opera House on those nights—private box seats. The location doesn't matter.
I just want to go see a play with Russel and come back before Father finds out. That's all."
Mary spoke quietly, explaining her plan in detail.
The room was silent.
The only sound was the ticking of the pendulum clock.
Mel's hand, holding the comb, froze in midair the moment she saw her own familiar yet somehow unfamiliar face reflected in the mirror.
Those blue eyes held pleading, loneliness, and a faint longing for the outside world. It was the final wish of a girl trapped in this magnificent cage.
Mel opened her mouth to ask something, but the words stuck in her throat.
She had been with Mary since childhood and had seen countless smiles from her. The proper smile she practiced in front of the mirror, the polite smile she showed to ladies at social gatherings, and the obedient smile she showed her father.
And… she only smiled when the young man named Russell Watson was mentioned.
But now, the smile on Mary's face was neither of those. It was a smile Mel had never seen before.
"Mel?"
Mary's voice rang out again. There was a hint of confusion in it, as though she was wondering why she still hadn't received a response.
Mel snapped out of her daze and met her gaze.
"Just going to see a play?"
Her voice trembled slightly. "If the master finds out…"
"As long as neither of us says anything, he won't notice."
Mary reached out and gently touched the back of Mel's hand resting on her shoulder. The girl's hand was slightly cold, yet it carried a reassuring power.
"I'll definitely come back before the play ends, and I absolutely won't cause any trouble."
Mary pleaded gently, like when she was a child asking for one more piece of candy.
"Mel, in this house, you're the only one I can trust."
"O-okay, Miss."
Mel lowered her gaze, unable to meet those clear eyes.
"I'll look into the master's schedule. If there's a night performance, I'll go to the Royal Opera House in advance and reserve the box seats."
"Thank you, Mel. You really are my best friend."
Mary smiled, having received the answer she wanted.
That smile was like a newly bloomed white camellia in the greenhouse—pure and harmless.
Mel smiled as though she had made the right decision. After combing Mary's hair, she politely left the room.
When the door clicked shut, Mary's smile disappeared like rocks exposed by a receding tide, revealing a cold expression.
This was both a test of loyalty and a big gamble.
The room fell deathly silent. The only sounds were the ticking of the wall clock and the constant crackling of firewood burning in the fireplace.
Mary sat quietly in front of the vanity, stroking her long hair as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
The person in the mirror was still beautiful, and her eyes were as clear as those of an innocent girl, but there was no longer any trace of a gentle smile.
Mel would go through with it. She had no doubts about that.
It wasn't because Mel lacked loyalty. On the contrary—it was because her loyalty was too strong.
She was loyal to the family, loyal to the head of the Morstan family, and loyal to herself.
That was why she had been placed in a dilemma where she could neither refuse nor go against Arthur.
When faced with a dilemma and unable to make a decision, the safest and most likely choice for such a person was to hand the problem over to someone in a higher position.
She knew Mel well.
Mel would report her—this was a decision she had made based on her understanding and trust in Mel.
It might be tonight, or tomorrow morning after she left the house for Imperial College London.
In any case, she would definitely do it. In a tone filled with guilt and helplessness, she would tell that man:
"Master, the young lady asked me to help her hide her travel plans. She wants to secretly meet with Mr. Watson on nights when you're not home."
Thinking this, Mary couldn't help but smile. It was as though everything was going according to plan.
Now then, what would that man do after learning this information?
In his rage, he would probably first confront her, then confine her to her room?
No, that would damage his dignity and reputation as the head of the family. He had never been the type of man to show his emotions openly.
Arthur Morstan had been arrogant his entire life. His favorite thing was to control everything.
If it were him, he would never expose such a ridiculous escape plan in advance. Doing so would definitely backfire.
It would only strengthen the other person's rebellious spirit and lead to repeated acts of defiance.
What he should do was completely nip that rebellious tendency in the bud while it was still in its early stages.
Therefore, he would go out that day as though nothing had happened, allowing her to happily head toward the destined meeting place like a canary that had escaped its cage.
He would generously grant her a few hours of false freedom so that she could find some comfort for the rest of her life.
Just like death row inmates, they are always allowed a lavish final meal before execution.
After she and Russell finished watching a romantic opera filled with joy and anticipation for the future, she would quietly return to the mansion.
He would be waiting for her in the dimly lit study.
He would be sitting in a large leather armchair, holding a glass of whiskey with ice, watching with the expression of a victor as his daughter opened the door with a face twisted in terror and despair.
He wanted to personally crush the last trace of rebellion left in her using the cruelest method possible.
Only then would she truly understand who the master of this mansion—and of her entire life—was.
"What a perfect script!"
Mary muttered quietly to herself in front of the mirror.
Unfortunately, the story of the bird in the cage must come to an end.
…
The next day, the sky over London was unusually clear. Pale golden sunlight pierced through the early winter mist, illuminating the old brick walls of Imperial College.
In the lecture hall, sunlight streaming through the tall arched windows made the fine dust particles floating in the air sparkle like scattered gold.
The old professor stood at the podium, continuing to speak in a monotonous voice that seemed to hypnotize everyone, delivering a long and boring theory.
For Mary, her days at Imperial College felt like a dream.
When she came back to her senses, the bright daylight had turned into the dim, yellowish glow of sunset.
The girl stood at the school gate, tightly holding Russell's hand.
"See you tomorrow, Mary."
His voice echoed in her ears.
Mary turned around, gave him a light smile, then let go of his hand and, just like before, gently kissed him on the cheek.
"See you tomorrow."
She said this quietly, then turned and boarded the family carriage.
The carriage door closed, cutting off Russell's figure and the youthful, free atmosphere of Imperial College. The carriage glided smoothly along the streets of London at dusk, the wheels rolling over the cobblestones with a monotonous, rhythmic sound.
Mary sat deep in the soft seat, quietly watching the passing city scenery outside the window.
The last rays of sunset dyed the Thames a shimmering gold. Gothic spires turned into black silhouettes under the light. Gas lamps lit up one after another, as though wrapping the city in a hazy veil.
Mary looked away and closed her eyes to rest.
By the time the carriage passed through the familiar black wrought-iron gate, it was already completely dark. The Morstan residence was brightly lit, like a magnificent cage waiting for the return of the bird inside.
The butler, William, had been waiting at the front porch since early morning. As soon as the carriage stopped, he stepped forward, opened the door, and respectfully extended a hand wearing a white glove.
"Welcome back, Miss."
Mary placed her hand on his wrist and accepted his support as she stepped out of the carriage. Her movements were truly elegant.
"Has Father returned?"
She asked casually, as though it were a normal question born from concern.
"Yes, the master returned an hour ago and is currently in his study."
William answered with his gaze slightly lowered, in a posture of respect.
"I see."
Mary nodded and handed over her coat. She passed it to a servant standing nearby, then walked straight toward the stairs.
Mary passed through the spacious entrance hall and walked past the firmly closed dark oak door without stopping for even a moment.
She had already imagined what kind of expression the man behind that door would have. Perhaps a mocking expression, or one of anticipation for the start of a show, or perhaps one where dark clouds gathered with thunder.
None of that mattered. She didn't care.
In the end, the only face she would see would be one peacefully asleep.
Mary returned to her room, stopped the maids who tried to attend to her, and kept only Mel.
The fireplace in the room burned brightly, driving away the early winter chill, but it could not erase the coldness in the girl's eyes.
"Mel..."
After confirming that the door was closed and there was no movement in the hallway, Mel finally spoke in a low, cautious voice.
She kept her head lowered, fidgeting with the edge of her apron like a child who had done something wrong.
Mary sat at the vanity. Mel stepped forward, took a silver comb, and began combing her hair.
Mel's expression in the mirror grew increasingly uneasy, and a thin layer of sweat had formed on her forehead.
When Mel's mental defenses were on the verge of collapsing, Mary stopped what she was doing and turned to face her.
"Did you find out anything?"
Her voice was soft, with a balanced mix of expectation and anxiety.
"I… I found out."
Mel swallowed hard, her voice trembling slightly.
She looked around anxiously, as though worried that someone in the house might be watching.
"Don't worry. It's just the two of us right now."
Mary spoke gently, trying to reassure her.
The moment Mel finished speaking, she looked visibly relieved, as though she had been comforted. Then she lowered her voice and whispered into Mary's ear.
"Around noon today, while I was chatting with Mr. William, I overheard him say, 'The master has an important dinner hosted by the London Chamber of Commerce next Friday and probably won't be back until late at night.'"
"Next Friday?"
Mary raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Mr. William's statement should be verified."
Mel nodded. "After all, he works with the master, so he arranged the schedule for us in advance."
"I see…"
Mary nodded as though accepting the information.
Of course, she also knew that this was a blatant lie.
There would be no business-related events held next week. As the Morstan family's social tool that they had built up, she couldn't possibly lack her own information channels.
"Understood, Mel."
Mary turned around, smiled at Mel, and said, "Thank you."
"No, no, Miss."
Mel lowered her head, unable to meet those clear eyes.
"Ah, that's right—the tickets too…"
As though remembering something, she quickly pulled a thin envelope from her waist and handed it to Mary.
"As you requested, here are the tickets for the second-floor private box."
She said hurriedly.
Mary reached out, took the envelope, and pulled out two tickets from inside. The exquisite gold lettering sparkled under the light.
La Dame aux Camélias — a tragic love story.
Generally, private boxes were fully booked quarterly or monthly, and reservations needed to be made weeks or even months in advance.
The Morstan family did not have the habit of renting a theater long-term, because Arthur Morstan did not enjoy that kind of show.
Therefore, all the private box seats were already reserved, making it practically impossible to obtain tickets for next Friday.
Of course, unless the person who reserved the box seat was willing to transfer the tickets.
Even if the maid used her own name, she naturally wouldn't be able to obtain something like that.
Therefore, the origin of these two tickets… was self-evident.
This was a trap Mary had set from the very beginning.
For Mel, this had been an impossible task.
If she had prepared two seats in the front row of the main hall and apologized, saying, "I'm sorry, I couldn't reserve a private box," Mary might have felt uneasy that her plan had failed.
But now, with two private box tickets right in front of her, their very existence meant only one thing.
The fish had taken the bait.