Chapter 14: Neighbors
"Ah~ ha~"
Rolls rose from his luxurious king-sized bed, letting out a string of yawns. Last night, he had finally managed to fall asleep amidst the loud protests of his "Temple of Five Viscera"—his hungry stomach. Despite falling asleep, his quality of rest was poor, and he was jolted awake at seven o'clock by his internal biological clock.
As he stretched, Rolls realized he was likely going to miss breakfast again. In this £7,000 garden villa, he was the sole occupant. There was no cook or servant to prepare breakfast, and there was practically nothing to eat in the house.
Usually at this time, his intern solicitor, Locke Grant, would have already arrived in the firm's carriage to pick him up. Once they reached the office, Locke would go out and buy breakfast for him.
However, Rolls had told Locke to take a week off yesterday and had hired a private carriage to return home. Consequently, no one was coming to fetch him today.
Since this was a wealthy neighborhood, every household owned a private carriage. No public hackney carriages passed through this area; the nearest carriage stand was two streets away on Williams Street.
Rolls waited until seven-thirty, but there was no sign of Locke or the firm's carriage. It seemed Mr. Grant was faithfully following the "advice" he had been given. With a sigh, Rolls began changing out of his dressing gown, preparing to walk to Williams Street while contemplating whether he should replace his intern.
After donning a knee-length black trench coat and a matching black soft felt hat, Rolls abandoned the idea of firing Locke. He decided to wait until Locke's internship ended and then find someone a bit sharper.
Then again, he wasn't sure if he'd even have the time by then! He'd need to discuss the firm's affairs with Uncle Robert soon; he certainly wouldn't be able to balance everything in the future. Uncle Robert was getting older, too. Although he had survived a close call thanks to Byrd Mastang's potion, he really shouldn't be overworking himself.
If Rolls hadn't adjusted his own affairs in a week's time, he would have to consider transferring Locke to another barrister. It might do the lad some good to realize that not all barristers were as merciful as he was. Some middle-class families could find themselves sliding back into the lower-middle class after paying their legal fees, even if they won their lawsuits.
Locke Grant was twenty-four years old—two years older than Rolls—and was one of the few lawyers at Middle Temple from a peasant background.
Lawyers from such backgrounds usually swung toward one of two extremes: either they became overly sympathetic toward the working class and farmers, offering pro bono defense, or they became predators who squeezed every drop of profit out of their clients, especially those from the lower-middle class. Neither type was particularly welcomed by Backlund's law firms, though if forced to choose, the latter was naturally preferred.
Originally, Locke didn't fit either category. Though his father was a farmer, the family had enough funds to support Locke's studies thanks to the Corn Laws.
However, with the Corn Laws facing imminent repeal, the Grant family's situation was predicted to take a sharp turn for the worse. Fortunately, Locke had already graduated from the law academy and entered his internship; otherwise, dropping out would have been his only option.
Because of Rolls's "misguidance" over the past fortnight, Locke had clearly begun leaning toward the first extreme. This was why Rolls had been so blunt yesterday in pointing out his flaws; Locke currently lacked the capital to emulate Rolls's altruism.
Selecting a black cane with a silver inlay, Rolls stepped out of his residence at No. 45 Garden Street in the West District.
The weather was decent today. The sun had made a rare appearance, dispersing the usual damp chill. Backlund's weather was notoriously poor, and with the heavy pollution, sunny days were few and far between.
"Mr. Adrian?"
A slightly raspy, surprised female voice reached Rolls's ears.
Rolls turned and saw a lady in a light blue gown wearing a gauze hat adorned with purple ribbons. It was his neighbor from across the street, Mrs. Curtis of No. 46 Garden Street.
Rolls tipped his hat in greeting. "Good morning, Madam. You look as beautiful as ever."
"Good morning, Mr. Adrian." Mrs. Curtis returned the gesture, asking curiously, "Is no one coming to take you to the firm today?"
Rolls opened his mouth and managed a wry smile. "Indeed, Madam."
"I recall the young man who usually picks you up is named Locke Grant, yes? He is quite polite. Did something happen?"
"I sent Mr. Grant home to rest for a while, but I forgot to notify the firm's coachman."
Mrs. Curtis covered her mouth and chuckled. "Rolls, that is entirely your fault."
"Yes, Madam," Rolls readily admitted his mistake, completely forgetting his earlier impulse to blame the situation on Locke.
"Are you heading to the office now? I have an extra carriage at home; you may use it to get there."
Rolls tipped his hat again in gratitude. "Thank you very much, generous Mrs. Curtis, but I don't need to go to the firm today."
"Oh? Our busy Mr. Adrian actually has a day when he isn't going to the office? That truly is rarer than today's sun!"
The Curtis family had been neighbors with the Adrians for nearly a decade and knew Rolls very well. Since Rolls took over the firm, he went there every day except for New Year's, sometimes even staying overnight for long periods. If she didn't catch a glimpse of him occasionally, Mrs. Curtis would have thought he'd moved out.
Rolls shrugged. "After being busy for so long, one must eventually take a holiday."
"And how long will our busy man be on holiday? Do you have time to attend the art salon I am hosting?"
Although Mrs. Curtis was Loenese, she had grown up in Trier, the capital of Intis. Trier was a hub of culture and art—a sanctuary for painters, musicians, and novelists.
Heavily influenced by that upbringing, Mrs. Curtis frequently held art salons at her home in Backlund. Many ladies and daughters from wealthy West District families attended. During the Backlund Social Season, even noble ladies from Empress Borough would occasionally join.
Rolls declined with a smile. "Thank you for the invitation, but I have other matters to attend to recently, which is why I'm staying away from the office for now."
After a few more pleasantries, Rolls took his leave politely. If he stayed any longer, Mrs. Curtis would surely hear the rumbling in his stomach.
Upon reaching Williams Street, Rolls hired a carriage and told the driver to head to the nearest restaurant. He intended to properly appease his "Temple of Five Viscera."