Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 63

63. The Anonymous Patron

“That most of the characters in this story are criminals and lower-class individuals may seem crude and shocking.”

“But even in the ugliest and saddest tales, we must admit that the purest and most virtuous lessons can be found.”

“Thus, I aimed to show through the protagonist the truth of this world—that ‘good’ survives all hardships and ultimately triumphs.”[1]

At the charity school building attached to the poorhouse in Dockland, the lights remained on past midnight. The cheap, tallow candles continuously emitted acrid, black smoke, but they could not suppress the students’ fervent desire to learn.

The young women, gathered closely in the classroom, were taking turns reading aloud the foreword of a novel Grace Gurton had painstakingly transcribed and distributed. One by one, they stumbled through each sentence. When the last student finished, Grace clapped her hands, her face glowing like the flickering candlelight.

“T-that was excellent. Y-you all did a wonderful job.”

Then, a little girl sitting at the very front raised her hand. She was dressed in a shabby, patched blue dress.

“But, teacher, I don’t understand any of it.”

“Lily is a fool.”

The students found the youngest member of their class utterly endearing. Though they teased her often, they also doted on and adored her. A molasses candy, given up by the student sitting next to her, rolled around in Lily’s mouth.

“Ah, it means that no matter how hard life gets, eventually, something good will happen.”

Grace smiled. In truth, the story couldn’t be summarized so simply. The novel contained more villains than virtuous characters, and it was not uncommon for good people to be sacrificed.

The book, which had recently become the talk of Ingrint’s literary circles, struck Grace as more realistic than any other work she had encountered. Only after coming here did she begin to grasp the reality faced by urban poor communities.

Lily, not yet ten years old, had a face darker than the others—a trait typical of children working in matchstick factories. Matches were made by coating the ends of small wooden sticks with chemicals. Workers were exposed to toxic fumes throughout the production process. Prolonged exposure darkened their complexion, and in severe cases, the lower jaw could necrotize and deform.

The circumstances of the other students were not much better. Women working in munitions factories had yellow faces and hands, a result of handling explosive powders barehanded all day. This earned them the nickname “canaries of the slums.”

Seeing these individuals stirred emotions in Grace that she could not articulate. A persistent, unsolvable frustration gnawed at her.

It was during such moments that this novel brought her comfort. By raising questions about the broader Ingrint society, it spoke on her behalf. Grace thought that was the power of literature.

The protagonist of the story finds happiness after overcoming countless hardships. That ending was why Grace encouraged her students to read the book.

She feared she might be planting baseless hope. But she realized that hope already existed within them. The determination to study, even with their fatigued bodies, was that hope.

“I-It’s so late. P-please be careful on your way home. N-next time, I’ll teach you math.”

“Do we really need to learn math, teacher?”

Emily, the “canary” who had been studying most diligently near the window, asked.

“I-it’s not enough to just read numbers. Y-you need to know addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.”

Grace remembered Theresius’s claim that teaching the poor how to calculate was unnecessary. But she felt a strong obligation to teach her students math, ever since she’d seen the cleverly reduced wages they received.

“W-well, goodbye now.”

The students left the poorhouse in a hurry. Grace leaned against the classroom wall and caught her breath, watching until her students disappeared into the dark alleys. Her cheeks were softly flushed, like a blooming peony.

“Did you enjoy observing the plight of the poor?”

Sebastian, stifling a yawn, spoke in a sarcastic tone. He and Richard Spencer had been hiding in the shadows of a tree outside the classroom window, watching Grace teach.

Quite a sight.

Richard Spencer’s right lip curled slightly upward. Sebastian wrinkled his nose as he observed this.

This is serious. He’s a full-blown case. And the worst part? He doesn’t even realize he’s sick.

However, Sebastian had no intention of pointing this out. Any attempt to broach the topic would only provoke Richard into a fit of defensive rage. He’d likely justify himself by saying it was all for Lady Montague or that it was his duty as a noble, all while telling Sebastian not to misunderstand.

Thus, the attitude of the seasoned servant attending to Richard Spencer, the Young Earl, remained steady and consistent, like the proud, blue fir trees deep in the forests of the Northern Continent.

Let’s not stop him.

“Sebastian, have you ever been to a place like this?”

“No, but it doesn’t seem like a place one should linger.”

Sebastian answered promptly. Honestly, the stench was so overwhelming that he didn’t even want to yawn. The filth seemed to seep through his mouth and throat, contaminating his very insides.

“Agreed. But how does Grace Gurton manage to come here so often?”

Richard was genuinely curious. Even the few steps it took to get from the carriage to the poorhouse had left his once gleaming shoes splattered with muddy water and the soles sticky with some unidentifiable substance.

For someone like Richard Spencer, who prioritized cleanliness and hygiene above all else, this was nothing short of torment. He had already resolved multiple times to burn everything he was wearing the moment he returned home.

This was why he detested imitating the Son of God and descending into the depths.

Richard held his pant leg up to the faint light, inspecting the dirt. It felt as though germs would soon crawl up his body and devour his left temple.

“I haven’t known Miss Gurton for long, but…”

“……”

“This is the most at ease and joyful I’ve ever seen her,” Sebastian replied contentedly.

From his perspective, Grace, who was left alone in the empty classroom tidying up, looked genuinely comfortable. She had never shown such a relaxed demeanor at the Montague mansion in Chelsea or the Spencer villa in Bath.

“And during the lessons, she seemed genuinely excited. If Lady Mary Montague hadn’t taken her in, she might have become a renowned governess.”

Sebastian had once been young Richard’s tutor. Teaching required patience to endure challenges—in other words, the ability to hold back a great deal.

Or perhaps it wasn’t the act of teaching itself that was challenging, but teaching Richard Spencer that had been the true ordeal.

“Perhaps she’s used to it, having grown up in a poorhouse.”

See? He twists everything to suit his narrative. Sebastian felt his chest tighten as he observed the product of his comprehensive education—Richard.

“If anything, growing up in a poorhouse would make her detest it even more. Who would want to revisit painful memories of the past?”

“Then why does she?”

“Maybe teaching suits her nature. It might even bring her a sense of fulfillment.”

“Well, you would know, Sebastian.”

“……”

“Having a clever pupil is a tremendous blessing, after all.”

“……”

Richard spoke earnestly. Sebastian turned his head away without responding, recalling the trials and tribulations caused by his disobedient pupil.

“Sebastian, didn’t we send charity funds to Wilford under the Spencer name recently?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Then why is this place in such disrepair?”

“Well, I’m not sure…”

“Investigate where Theresius Wilford has been allocating the funds. I suspect the money received from the nobility isn’t being used for charity at all. It seems likely he’s embezzling it.”

No matter how much one despised a rival, this level of suspicion was extreme. Sebastian despaired at the prospect of yet another task being added to his workload.

“And if he is?”

“What do you think I’d do?”

“Pursue his family’s destruction by any means necessary?”

“Sebastian, what do you take me for? Naturally, I’d handle it justly. That’s why Ingrint has laws.”

“…That’s true.”

A man who could topple someone’s life with a mere word to the Metropolitan Police or the courts was now pretending to be virtuous.

“Candles, stoves, coal, blackboards, chalk, desks, chairs, curtains, paper, pens, ink…”

“Pardon?”

“Arrange for an agent to purchase these items tomorrow and deliver them here anonymously. Make sure the Spencer name remains completely hidden. I don’t want any complications.”

“Oh…”

“Also, see if the walls and ceiling can be repaired. This place is worse than a haunted house. Handle it discreetly as well.”

Despite his grumbling, Richard meticulously took stock of what was needed and the repairs required. Sebastian gazed at him with a mix of awe and disbelief.

How could someone who once lived as though the world revolved around him show such consideration?

And to insist on anonymity! This was the same Richard Spencer who once believed it was only proper for his left hand’s deeds to be announced to his cousin’s wife’s friend’s husband’s right hand.

Love truly worked wonders. Sebastian reaffirmed his resolve.

Let’s not stop him.

“Understood.”

Only then did Richard climb back into the carriage, seemingly satisfied. He watched with his own eyes as Grace Gurton safely returned to the Montague mansion before ordering the coachman to head to Westminster.

Of course, he told himself it wasn’t for Grace, his former friend, but out of respect for the esteemed Montague couple.

Author’s Footnote:

[1] Partially modified from the preface of Charles Dickens’s Oliver Twist