Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 91

91. Try and Conversion Goal

Piercing through the pitch-black darkness, a faint light seeped through the cracks of the shutters. It signified that the carriage they were riding in had left the countryside and entered the town where houses lit up the night.

“Young Master, this place is…”

Sebastian, who had been dozing off in the carriage as if unconscious, glanced out the window and murmured in surprise. Richard continued fiddling with a small, mysterious box in his hand, showing no reaction to Sebastian’s words.

“Why did we come into town?

Richard Spencer’s house was located on the outskirts of Grentabridge. A simple turn of the reins at the town’s entrance would have taken them home quickly, making it unnecessary to pass through the town.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning to visit Miss Gurton?”

“……”

When Richard didn’t answer, Sebastian’s eyes widened. Barely restraining himself from pointing a finger, he spoke again.

“Young Master, you should at least inform her beforehand if you plan to visit! You, of all people, should know better. Moreover, it’s rude to show up unannounced at a lady’s residence at this late hour.”

Based on Sebastian’s limited experiences with unrequited love, women despised being summoned to their doorsteps without prior notice. Though the romance guidebooks claimed surprise visits would bring women to tears of joy, they were nothing but nonsense.

Sebastian recalled countless troubles caused by a book written by an Ingrintian man for Ingrintian circumstances. He nodded, reaffirming his belief that romance guides published in Gallia were superior.

“That aside…”

Even Richard’s understanding of proper etiquette deemed barging into someone’s home as a blatant act of rudeness. Though he didn’t care much about the specifics of visiting a lady, he knew that a noble’s visit required an invitation, permission, and an agreed-upon appointment.

The one time he had broken this principle was when he disrupted Theresius Wilford’s proposal. He barged into the Montague mansion unannounced, tackled the matter head-on, and prevented the “try” like a ruffian. Given the circumstances, it had been unavoidable.

Even now, Richard believed this was one of those “unavoidable” situations. The more time he wasted, the less time there was for the match, making attacks increasingly disadvantageous.

It was a do-or-die moment where the rugby ball barely grazed past the back of his head and rolled off the pitch. And once the ball’s location was confirmed, the best a player could do was grab it and resume the game as quickly as possible.

“Then let’s head home first. Tomorrow, I’ll visit Professor Dodgson’s house to arrange an appointment.”

Sebastian continued to persuade Richard. Charles Dodgson was, without a doubt, the resident lunatic of Grentabridge. If they weren’t drenched with water upon arrival, it would already be a blessing.

“We’ve arrived, Young Earl.”

Why did carriages always arrive so quickly at moments like these?

Before Sebastian could convince him otherwise, the carriage stopped in front of Professor Charles Dodgson’s house. After driving all day, the coachman spoke in a fatigued tone.

“Since we’ve arrived, let’s at least get out.”

Oh, heavens.

Sebastian followed behind Richard Spencer, the man of reckless action, and stepped out of the carriage. He even brought an umbrella to shield himself in case of an unexpected deluge.

Professor Charles Dodgson’s house was a three-story, quintessentially Ingrintian building. Rectangular and long, it had two windows per floor, illuminating the street faintly with the light from the second floor.

“I can’t imagine my aunt sent such a significant sum as a donation, only for Professor Dodgson to live in a place like this.”

“A place like this? What’s wrong with this place?”

Sebastian retorted, surveying the quaint red-brick house. For two people, it seemed spacious enough, with room to spare.

To house just three people, Richard Spencer had built a four-story residence on the outskirts of Grentabridge, complete with central buildings flanked by wings. Though others might see it as a mansion, it probably looked like a mouse hole to Richard Spencer.

“There are too few windows.”

“That’s because of the window tax. It’s a deliberate design choice.”

As Sebastian explained, the Ingrintian government taxed windows in buildings. About two centuries ago, while brainstorming ways to squeeze taxes from citizens, they devised this policy.

According to the “window tax” law, buildings with up to six windows were exempt from taxation. Buildings with up to nine windows were taxed two shillings, and those with up to nineteen windows were taxed four shillings. The tax increased proportionally with the number of windows.

So people blocked up existing windows, and new houses were built with no more than six windows. Professor Charles Dodgson’s house likely followed this same pattern.

Richard Spencer, a noble among nobles who wouldn’t blink at the thought of spending a few shillings or pounds, could afford to make such remarks. However, lesser provincial nobles and even average aristocrats in Lydon were forced to nail planks over perfectly good windows to avoid the tax and then disguise the fact as best they could.

Come to think of it, Blenheim Palace—which Richard visited perhaps once or twice a year—alone had hundreds of windows. Then there was the Earl’s residence in Lydon, the villa in Bath, the manor house in Wormleighton, the mansion in Althorp, the summer villa in Windermere, and the “modest” house in Grentabridge.

As Sebastian recalled the window count of the numerous other buildings owned by the Spencer family, he felt a pang of envy and quickly stopped himself.

“Lack of windows isn’t good for health.”

“That’s true.”

Who wouldn’t know that? Being poor didn’t mean being ignorant about health.

In Ingrint’s already dim climate, with its fog, rain, and constant humidity, proper lighting and ventilation through windows were crucial. Without them, it was no wonder most Ingrintians suffered from runny noses and sneezes.

“Still, it’s fortunate that we no longer have to pay taxes for each fireplace,” Sebastian added with a look of disgust.

Originally, the window tax had replaced the hearth tax. During Ingrint’s bone-chilling winters, many people froze to death because they couldn’t afford to install fireplaces to avoid the tax. The government eventually abolished the hearth tax and introduced the window tax instead.

Though Richard Spencer’s life had its share of emotional deprivation, he had never experienced material lack. While he knew why others fretted over taxes, he couldn’t truly empathize.

Even during the parliamentary session, when the Poor Law Amendment stirred heated debate, he was never internally shaken by the struggles of the poor. It was simply “someone else’s problem” to him.

Richard dutifully attended sessions, grasped the overall situation, but remained indifferent. After all, the Spencer family’s loyalty to the royal family meant he only needed to align his actions and votes with the Queen’s wishes.

But what if Grace Gurton ended up coughing in a damp, dark house plagued by window tax, eventually succumbing to tuberculosis? That was unthinkable. It couldn’t and shouldn’t happen.

Images of Grace coughing during a lesson, surrounded by cheap candle smoke, flashed through his mind. Richard clutched his chest as if he himself were a consumptive patient on the verge of a coughing fit. Such an atrocious law must be dealt with in the next session…

Then, another idea came to him, a justification to add to his grand gesture. He would save Grace Gurton from such a bleak fate, gifting her a healthy and happy life where she wouldn’t have to fret over trivial window taxes!

In rugby, when a player scores a try worth five points by touching the ball in the in-goal area, they are given a chance to score a conversion goal by kicking the ball through the posts for an additional two points.

An apology, reconciliation, and a grand gesture—achieving these would earn five points. If he could also grant Grace Gurton a new lease on life, that would be worth two more.

Seven points was no small score. It was more than enough to make up for past mistakes and even turn the game around.

As the light shining from the second-floor window of this shabby house felt like divine revelation, Richard was overcome with satisfaction. Somewhere, the sound of angelic trumpets echoed faintly.

“Sebastian, knock on the door.”

Richard straightened his posture, radiating confidence. Soon, the door would open, and Grace or Charles Dodgson would appear, inviting him into their modest abode.

This is truly a bad idea. Sebastian, unwavering in his belief, reluctantly tapped the door handle a few times. Silently, he prayed that no one would hear the sound.

But the door swung open with a sudden burst.