Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 5

5. The Gentlemen and the Ruffians

Richard stood firm on Grentabridge’s neatly maintained green field, every muscle in his body taut. Positioned at the rear of the tightly packed scrum, like stacked stones, was forward number 8, Richard Spencer, the captain of Christ Church College’s rugby club.

Following the referee’s orders, the forwards of both teams formed their scrum positions, completing the crouch and bind. With that, the battle of strength began.

“Damn it, Edmund Beaufort! Put some strength into your thighs!”

An exasperated shout erupted from the second row of the scrum.

“I told you, Edmund’s legs are jelly today because he partied too hard last night!”

Lawrence Fairfax, struggling beside Edmund, shouted back with a booming voice.

“We’ve finished exams and are about to graduate. You’ve got to let loose a little, right, Lawrence?”

“That blonde you disappeared with last night? I’d been eyeing her for weeks!”

“Well, she must’ve compared your legs to mine and made her choice.”

“If she saw how pathetic you look right now, she’d change her mind.”

They say football is a gentleman’s game played by ruffians, while rugby is a ruffians’ game played by gentlemen. That sentiment rang true. The members, mostly nobles, spewed crude and vulgar remarks non-stop. Feeling disgusted by their incessant gossip about their private lives, Richard finally snapped.

“Beaufort, Fairfax. Focus!”

At that, the team members turned their bawdy jokes on Richard Spencer, as was their custom.

“Richard Spencer, how about joining us in town tonight? The women we met yesterday were quite passionate! If you put even half the energy into the bedroom that you do on the pitch, all of Brighton would be overrun with Spencer bastards!”

“Even the lionesses are getting restless, wondering when the Lion King, with his flowing red mane, will make his grand entrance to town.”

“You should’ve told them ‘that’ Lion King Richard was too busy satisfying heathen women during the Crusades.”[1]

“And what about your Gallian fiancée? By now, she must be ripening like fine wine. Wait too long, and she might sour into vinegar!”

As their jokes grew increasingly explicit, Richard’s face darkened. Gallian fiancée? They weren’t even formally engaged. Thinking of her made the left side of his temple feel stiff again.

Just then, the ball rolled into the scrum between the two teams. The opposing team’s number 9 slipped the ball in with a slight tilt, directing it toward their side.

“Damn it!”

With Lawrence’s curse, the ball ended up in King’s College’s possession. The opposing team quickly passed the ball with precision and speed, successfully scoring a try.

The captain of King’s College, Theresius Wilford, added 5 points for his team. Following that, he successfully scored a conversion goal, adding 2 more points. As the brown ball soared in a perfect arc between the goalposts, Richard stared at it, thinking:

Nothing’s going right today.

That summed up his disheartened mood about everything that had transpired.

“No side!”

Shortly after conceding 7 points, the referee signaled the end of the match. While the phrase meant there were no sides at the end of the game, today it felt especially grating.

Perhaps it was because the referee had failed to penalize the opposing team’s back for subtly angling the ball during the scrum. Maybe he had poor eyesight, was negligent, or was an alumnus of King’s College. Likely the latter.

Still, there was no use complaining. If there was one gentlemanly aspect of this ruffians’ game, it was this: the referee’s authority was absolute, and the players, before him, had to be as docile as lambs.

Richard took a deep breath and extended his hand to shake those of the opposing team’s players.

Ah, there was another gentlemanly aspect to this ruffians’ game: no matter how brutal the rules and play, players had to act magnanimously once the whistle blew. That, too, was maddening.

“Richard, we’ll do better next time.”

“We can’t win every time, right?”

Leaving behind Edmund and Laurence who were smiling awkwardly, Richard slowly walked off the pitch. He didn’t feel like blaming his teammates.

After all, he hadn’t been fully focused on the match either. His mind kept circling back to the contents of the letter he had received from Graham, penned by Lady Montague:

[Dearest Richard,

I’m writing to you first since I’ve returned earlier than expected.

I know how much you detest Lydon, but I have a favor to ask.

Could you visit here after your exams? There’s something important I need to discuss with you.

I hope you’ll consider it seriously.

Fondly,

—Mary Montague]

The important matter Lady Montague wanted to discuss was obvious. It must have been about the woman she intended to adopt.

Whoever this woman was, she must have been a sly opportunist to have persuaded the kind and compassionate Montague couple to agree to an adoption rather than mere sponsorship or guardianship.

Even Lady Montague couldn’t escape Richard’s ire today. Despite her usual whimsical tendencies, how could she have come to such a sudden decision?

Richard Spencer fanned himself with his sweat-soaked shirt and wool jacket, trying to cool down. His damp trousers clung to his legs, adding to his irritation.

At that moment, the captain of King’s College’s rugby club, Theresius Wilford, blocked Richard’s path. Wilford was the very person responsible for Christ Church College’s defeat in today’s match.

“Richard Spencer, I hear you’re no longer the Lion King but a narcissist now.”

Ha, what’s this idiot up to now? Richard stopped in his tracks, feeling a wave of fatigue wash over him.

Theresius Wilford was one of the many figures Richard had no choice but to encounter repeatedly since arriving at Grentabridge. The frequent intercollegiate rugby matches ensured that their paths often crossed. Even during exam periods, the players didn’t neglect their practice games.

Initially, Theresius had been cordial to Richard. After all, who wouldn’t be polite to the heir of one of Ingrint’s great noble families? Theresius, driven by ambition, sought to build connections with Richard Spencer to further his own goals.

However, Richard’s personality was easily misunderstood. Though approachable at first glance, he was anything but simple. Most people who tried to get close to him ended up feeling confused, frustrated, and eventually, angry.

Even so, people handled their anger differently. Many chose to suppress it quietly, reluctant to risk falling out of favor with Richard Spencer. But Theresius Wilford was different. He expressed his irritation openly, often in sneaky and snide ways. Just like now.

“Think what you like. If that’s all you have to say, I believe you’re wasting my valuable time, Wilford.”

“Is staring at your reflection in the stream not a waste of time?”

“What does that have to do with you?”

Richard Spencer was unique. Warm yet cold, close yet distant. Those who met him often struggled to define him in a single word. Even Sebastian, who had served Richard for years, sometimes found him perplexing.

Women might be drawn to such multifaceted charm, but men were not. At some point, Richard became a favorite topic of mockery in Grentabridge’s pubs. The bizarre nickname “narcissist” had undoubtedly originated there.

“Know thyself. The rumors in society say you’re acting out because you’re worried about being overshadowed by your younger sibling. Maybe you should listen to what people are saying.”

Despite the rumors and jeers, no one had ever dared to insult Richard so openly. To publicly humiliate the heir of a great noble family took either extraordinary boldness or sheer recklessness. Theresius Wilford, evidently, was the first.

As soon as Theresius finished speaking, the atmosphere around them turned icy.

“Is he insane?”

“Seems like it…”

Edmund and Lawrence whispered in astonishment. But Richard didn’t so much as flinch. Without changing his expression, he turned his back, signaling his complete rejection of the conversation.

What happened next was inevitable. Richard and Theresius ended up grappling on the field, rolling on the grass. Before turning away, Richard had delivered a parting shot:

“I have no interest in listening to someone whose father holds nothing more than a pathetic seat at the very bottom of Parliament. Soon enough, Baron Wilford will understand his place.”

Both men stood over six feet tall. Richard Spencer himself was over 6’3″. When rugby forwards of their size clashed with full intent, the outcome could be catastrophic. Intervention was clearly necessary.

“Should we step in?” Edmund nudged Lawrence’s side and asked.

“If we get involved, it’ll turn into a full-blown brawl. Are you ready for that?”

“We can’t just stand by. That’s our captain they’re messing with. This isn’t something the college can overlook.”

“…Edmund, just admit you’re itching for a fight.”

The ruffians masquerading as gentlemen hurled punches and kicks at each other until a sharp whistle blew. By the time Edmund and Lawrence were ready to jump in, players from both teams had rushed onto the field, turning the skirmish into chaos. The referee had been watching the entire scene unfold.

“From this point onward, both Christ Church College and King’s College are banned from competing in future matches!”

“Theresius Wilford started it! Richard Spencer was only retaliating!”

Edmund stepped forward, passionately protesting. But the referee simply shook his head, ignoring him.

“Theresius Wilford and Richard Spencer, you should have upheld the spirit of rugby. Don’t you know that one person’s misconduct reflects on the entire team?”

“……”

“With that in mind, repeat after me and disperse!”

The referee solemnly rebuked them. Begrudgingly, Richard Spencer found himself mumbling the absurd rugby mantra that sounded like something out of The Three Musketeers:

“All for one, one for all…”

Translator Footnote:

[1] Refers to the historical King Richard the Lionheart, renowned for his role in the Crusades.