Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 6

6. Lucky Women

Rugby games were not to Grace’s liking at all. Watching the rough physical clashes between men throughout the match made her instinctively furrow her brow.

The players ran, stopped, pushed, pulled, collided, fell, and rolled. Every time they did, Grace found herself mentally calculating.

With that person’s weight and speed, colliding with an opponent of similar conditions, the impact energy would be…

It was horrifying.

Among the players, one stood out: the only red-haired player on the pitch, the captain of Christ Church’s rugby club and forward number 8, Richard Spencer. He, too, ran, stopped, pushed, pulled, collided, fell, and rolled tirelessly. Each time, Grace couldn’t help but hold her breath in worry.

“Aaaaah!”

A commotion erupted around her. Contrary to Grace’s inner anxiety, the women sitting near her were utterly thrilled by the increasingly intense game. They cheered passionately, calling out the names of their favorite players as they enjoyed the spectacle.

The colleges in Grentabridge consisted entirely of male students, mostly young men in their late teens or early twenties. Many were high-ranking nobles or promising commoners with bright futures.

Elsewhere, such individuals would be nearly impossible to encounter. It was incredibly rare for ordinary people to meet nobles in person.

But Grentabridge was different. It was a place where these elite individuals gathered for education—a cradle of intellect and a stage for socializing.

In that sense, the women living here were lucky. On very rare occasions, town girls would fall in love with college students and change their fortunes by marrying them.

Or perhaps it wasn’t luck at all. The phrase “very rare” meant the chances of a town girl ending up with a college student were slim. Many students who became involved with women during their studies abandoned them upon graduation.

Women who were cast aside by noble sons had to endure the scornful gazes of those around them for the rest of their lives. If they ended up bearing illegitimate children, their lives became even more miserable and humiliating.

Some made tragic decisions in the face of such despair. It was said that unlucky women sometimes ended up in Whitechapel, an infamous brothel district in East Lydon.

Nevertheless, many women in Grentabridge couldn’t give up hope. They clung to the rare possibility that they might be the exception.

For this reason, the rectangular grass field hosting rugby games was always teeming with women. Deafening chatter filled the air as they gathered, hoping for a chance to change their destinies.

“Agnes, did you hear about Paris Trois?”

“What news?”

Two women near Grace’s seat chattered away.

Paris Trois. He was the son of the Baron of Trois and had moved in with a town girl shortly after enrolling at Magdalene College in Grentabridge seven years ago. He was a hopeless case, notorious for being disowned by his family after repeatedly failing his exams. Having lost his financial support, he became infamous for living off the earnings of the woman he was with.

“But…”

“But what?”

“He disappeared without a word.”

It was an unsurprising conclusion. Such was the fate of women who loved noble sons who came to Grentabridge to study.

“And then?”

“And then, what else? After he vanished, her parents tried to marry her off to some old man she’d never met.”

“And?”

The woman who had been speaking suddenly fell silent. After glancing around nervously, she continued, “She took her own life.”

“……”

“The day before she was to move into the old man’s house, she hanged herself from the ceiling of her room.”

“Is that true?”

“She even left a letter for the bastard who abandoned her.”

“It’s not like he’d ever see it…”

“After supporting him through his studies and caring for him like a wife, he left without a word. And the old man who bought a woman younger than his daughter? Men are all the same, really.”

“……”

The woman let out a sharp sigh and spoke in exasperation. Her companion remained silent.

“…So, Agnes, you need to get a grip.”

“W-what did I do?”

“Everyone’s talking about how you’ve been dressing up and going to the pub every evening.”

“Well, that’s…”

“Sitting here, I’m no better, but pubs are dangerous.”

“Nothing happened…”

The other woman’s voice grew faint. In contrast, the one beside her raised her voice even louder.

“Nothing has happened yet. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up like that woman!”

“That’s not going to happen…”

“This is about him, isn’t it?”

“W-who are you talking about?”

“Theresius Wilford.”

“……”

“Please, Agnes, wake up.”

“…It’s not like that.”

“Oh, come on! That man wouldn’t spare a second glance for someone like us.”

“How would you know?”

“How do I know? You’re the only one blind enough to not see it.”

“……”

“And he’s leaving soon. This is his final term here.”

At that moment, loud curses erupted from the pitch. King’s College’s captain had scored, leaving the Christ Church players, including Richard Spencer, visibly upset.

“Richard Spencer.”

The woman named Agnes murmured. Grace perked up her ears once more.

“I wish I could meet a man like that…”

“Not Theresius Wilford?”

“Minnie, if I could meet Richard Spencer, why would I bother with Theresius Wilford?” Agnes replied, pouting.

“Fair point…” Minnie nodded in agreement. “But Agnes, you’ll never meet him.”

“Why not?”

Agnes turned sharply, her delicate features tightening with irritation.

“Do you think Richard Spencer would ever step into a pub you frequent? Maybe Cherry Hinton, but not there.”

“So it’s true? Richard Spencer really is a narcissist who stares at his reflection in the Cherry Hinton stream?”

“Plenty of people have seen him doing it.”

“Then maybe I’ll go there, too.”

“Don’t even think about it.” Minnie laughed, exasperated.

“Why not? A natural encounter is the perfect way to start a romance. It’s exactly the kind of love I want. Who knows? Maybe I’ll end up as the Countess Spencer!” Agnes protested indignantly.

“Agnes, do you think no one else has thought of that?”

“……”

“Half the women in town have tried going there.”

“And?”

Lowering her voice, Minnie replied, “None of them have managed to talk to him.”

“Not even a word?” Agnes asked, incredulous.

“At Cherry Hinton, there’s this strange aura around him that keeps people at bay. It’s weird, isn’t it? Just staring at his own reflection.”

Grace suppressed a laugh. Minnie’s account was accurate. From what Grace had observed while lingering near Richard Spencer, plenty of women had approached Cherry Hinton to see him, but none had managed to strike up a conversation. Interestingly, Richard himself seemed oblivious to their attempts. It was as if an invisible boundary surrounded him, keeping others away.

“So, Agnes, forget about Wilford or Spencer. Stick to someone more your level. Nobles don’t see us as people.”

Minnie concluded firmly, as though giving advice. Agnes didn’t reply.

At that moment, the whistle signaling the end of the game blew.

“Oh, and by the way, Richard Spencer, the Young Earl, already has a fiancée. They’ve been promised to each other since before they were born. She’s a foreigner.”

Grace closed her eyes tightly. In the darkness of her mind, the Cheshire Cat appeared, grinning before fading away. Its shadowy remnants lingered, drifting like smoke.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out on the pitch. Grace’s eyes flew open.