Chapter Twenty-Five: The Passionate Walton

After returning home, Mulan went straight to his room, took out his writing tools, spread paper on his desk, and began writing quickly, determined not to forget Walton’s instructions. As he wrote and pondered, the dolls placed on his desk kept wriggling about. Apparently, their legs were too soft for them to stand or walk properly, so most of them crawled, only one or two managing a few careful steps. Whenever a doll made it to the edge of the desk, Mulan would reach over and drag it back to the center, watching their “game” as he continued writing.

Naturally, the one with a broken arm was especially listless, lying there unmoving, clutching its severed limb. Mulan poked it a couple of times, and only when it swayed did he confirm it was still alive.

“They said someone would come looking for me. Who exactly, and how long will it be?” Mulan mused.

No matter when they arrived, he had more pressing matters to attend to. The first task assigned by the big shot had to be taken seriously.

Without resting any longer, Mulan took off his undershirt and outer coat, then searched his wardrobe for his most presentable shirt and waistcoat. After some thought, he decided to wear the dark overcoat he had brought back from the army—it was the best quality and looked respectable. He topped it off with a hat matching the coat’s color.

He tidied his hair and checked himself in the wardrobe mirror. Though not as polished as a typical gentleman’s attire, the ensemble was quite fitting and made him look spirited—less refined, perhaps, but with an air of rugged distinction.

After straightening his collar, he gathered the dolls that had crawled to the edge of the desk, stuffed them all into a cloth bag, tied it tightly, and tucked it into his chest. Who knew what else these odd little things might do—it was best to keep them close at hand.

As he opened his door, the aroma of food wafted up from downstairs. Old Buck had braved the lighter wind and rain to go shopping earlier, so today’s lunch featured meat and soup.

Mulan had no intention of resting at home. After lunch, he simply greeted the household and headed out.

Perhaps due to the storm, winter had come early to Valentine this year; the November chill matched what was usually felt only in December. Though the weather had not cleared, the rain had stopped. Mulan lowered the brim of his hat against the biting wind; his breath turned white in the cold, as if the temperature had dropped yet again in just a morning’s time.

His duel with the killer had made Mulan keenly aware of the importance of physical fitness. Ever since retiring, he had neglected his training, and now, just a bit of cold wind made him shiver when he stepped outside.

He resolved to strengthen his exercise regimen, starting now. His destination wasn’t close, but there was no need to hire a carriage—he’d jog there, using the trip as a warm-up.

Thanks to the city’s portside design, the water drained quickly once the rain stopped, leaving only shallow puddles. However, debris swept everywhere by the storm made some streets look filthy.

Mulan jogged along, controlling his breathing so that he was warmed up but not sweating heavily. Along the way, he took in the current state of Valentine: gentlemen and ladies in fine clothes rode past in carriages; skinny children, some with adults, lugged poles and shovels, clearing mud and trash from the streets; in the open markets, crowds jostled to buy or snatch up cheap vegetables.

With his long strides, it took Mulan only about twenty minutes to reach the Laurel District, where Valentine’s wealthy were concentrated. He stopped in front of a three-story mansion with its own garden.

Exhaling several puffs of white breath, he calmed himself. In front of such a grand home, he felt a little uneasy—even a touch nervous—but it wasn’t hard to overcome. By the time he’d caught his breath, his composure had returned.

There was a bell on the gate, not electric, but a bell hanging from the iron railings with a short cord dangling down. Mulan pulled it a few times, and the bell rang out.

Before long, a maid hurried from the house, crossing the yard to the gate. Through the bars, she saw a tall, upright man standing outside.

“Sir, how may I help you?”

Mulan offered a polite smile. “Would you please inform Miss Hermier that Mr. Wolf, due to unforeseen matters, cannot keep his appointment…”

He hesitated, but forced himself to continue with the message. “Mr. Wolf asked me to tell Miss Hermier that her beauty shines like the stars, her smile as radiant as a flower, and that he will never forget the jewel of Valentine…”

As he recited the flowery, insincere lines, Mulan’s toes curled inside his shoes. The more elaborate the flattery, the greater his discomfort—he could have dug a hole in the floor and hidden inside with embarrassment, and then the Jonest family would never have to pay rent again.

He exhaled deeply. “That’s all. Please convey my message to Miss Hermier.”

As he turned to leave, the maid quickly called after him. “Please wait, sir!”

“Yes? Is there something else?”

The maid’s expression shifted from dreamy to apologetic. “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t remember it all… Please wait here while I inform the young lady. She may wish you to repeat it in person. I’m so sorry.”

“Uh, it’s fine.” As the maid hurried back inside, Mulan’s smile vanished. Heavens, he’d have to say it again?

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and glanced at it. The sheet was filled with various romantic lines, each matched to a name and address.

Indeed, by Mulan’s standards, Sir Walton was a real Casanova—a true master of duplicity.

Soon, the maid returned, opened the gate, and invited Mulan inside. He had given his word, and he was a man of his promises—especially when the person in question was not someone he could afford to offend.

Following the maid through the large house, he was soon led to a warm little sitting room. As he entered, he immediately felt the temperature rise.

Two girls in exquisite dresses were seated by the hearth. He couldn’t tell which one was Miss Hermier.

“Where did Mr. Wolf go? When will he return? What message did he send me?” One of the young ladies stood up as soon as she saw Mulan, allowing him to identify the one he needed. He took a breath and repeated the saccharine message, feeling as mortified as before. For the first time, he thought having a good memory was a curse.

Hearing the message, Miss Hermier looked disheartened. After sitting down in disappointment, she gazed up at Mulan.

“He’s so thoughtful—even with so little time, he still made sure you came to tell me all this…”

Mulan was stunned. Was she really praising that scoundrel?

“Are you Mr. Mulan Jonest?” As Hermier sat there crestfallen, the other girl, who had been eyeing Mulan for some time, suddenly exclaimed in surprise.

“Mulan Jonest? The retired officer who dueled with the killer?” Miss Hermier, too, looked astonished, studying the visitor carefully—the brim of his hat tipped low, wavy sideburns visible, his face angular and his eyes bright, matching the newspaper photos exactly.

Mr. Jonest was even more handsome in person! So Mr. Wolf had sent him to deliver the message—surely Mr. Wolf was as righteous as Mr. Jonest himself…

Mulan did not deny it. He nodded. “Yes, miss, I am Mulan. I’ve delivered the message, and I have other matters to attend to, so I’ll take my leave.”

“Wait!” The girl who had recognized him leapt up, visibly nervous but moving quickly toward him.

“Mr. Jonest, this weekend, at Manor Six in the Laurel District, I’m hosting a ball. I—I would like to invite you. Will you come?”

A ball?

“Uh, sorry, I don’t know how to dance.”

“That’s all right; actually, I don’t know how to dance either. Many people there can’t dance!” Her eyes were full of hope. Mulan was about to refuse again, but recalling what Manor Six was, he guessed at the ball’s significance. The old Mulan had been so determined to restore the Jonest family, and even now he could still feel that drive deeply.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to meet more people of influence…

“All right. I’ll come and see what it’s like. I only hope I won’t embarrass myself.”

“Wonderful!” The girl clapped her hands in delight. “That’s marvelous! I’ll send you an invitation—Mr. Jonest, where do you live?”

Mulan had no choice but to give his address, then bid farewell and made his escape.

As soon as he left, the girl in the sitting room was nearly jumping for joy. “Fantastic! I met Mr. Mulan Jonest in person! He’s even more handsome than in the papers. Hermier, I invited him, and he agreed!”

“Yes…” Hermier replied, though she seemed less enthusiastic, still saddened by Mr. Wolf’s sudden departure.