Try Begging Novel - Chapter 14

On the way to the tram station, she stopped by Madame Benoit’s cafe.

“These two, to go, please.”

Two slices of cake from a high-end cafe were a luxury her tight budget couldn’t afford. But she wanted Nancy, Fred’s sister and her childhood friend, who worked at the safe house, to enjoy a small luxury too.

She tied her bicycle to a pillar at the tram station and boarded the tram heading for Winsford. As she sat by the window, gazing out aimlessly, the pastoral scenery of sheep grazing soon transformed into a vast factory district spewing black smoke.

Once, this place had been an apple orchard. The landlord had cut down all the apple trees a decade ago and sold the land to an automobile parts company.

As technology advanced, those who owned land grew richer, and those who farmed that land grew poorer. The meager wages earned after being driven from farms to work long, strenuous hours in factories, never seeing the sun, were invariably squandered on medicine.

The buildings passing by slowly grew taller. The disparity between rich and poor, inconspicuous in small rural villages, became more pronounced closer to the big city.

When a grand opera house came into view, Sally disembarked from the tram. Weaving through the bustling crowd, she came upon a large department store.

A young woman, draped in a flamboyant sable fur coat unsuited for the mild weather, walked towards a taxi parked by the roadside, holding the hand of a boy about ten years old. In the boy’s hand was a train set that had recently become famous after the youngest prince received it as a gift from a foreign royal family.

Another boy of similar age by the roadside stared at it with unfocused eyes. Coal soot smudged his face, and a cardboard sign hung around his neck, stating he was looking for work.

Sally pulled out a few banknotes from the money she intended for military funds and offered them to the boy. The boy’s eyes widened, but he hesitated to take the money.

“…What kind of work?”

He meant, what kind of harsh work would she demand in exchange for such a large sum, without even bargaining?

“It’s just a gift.”

The boy blinked like a frightened puppy, slowly extending his hand, his fingernails black with grime. His eyes showed fear of kindness that expected nothing in return.

Whisk. The money was snatched from Sally’s hand. The boy, clutching the money, ran off without a word of thanks. He was running away, perhaps fearing the strange woman might change her mind and demand the money back, or accuse him of theft.

Distrust wasn’t only in the boy’s heart.

Sally also needed to leave this place quickly. The boy might harbor ill intentions and bring rough men to rob Sally instead. With no gun now, she had to be even more careful.

She decided to use the department store as a detour. The department store, anticipating Easter, was decorated whimsically and lavishly, like a fairy tale world.

Come to think of it, I need to buy stockings…

The stockings Winston had torn and ripped yesterday were unusable. She approached the display of stockings. The clerk, who had been calculating figures in a ledger, slightly raised her eyes, elongated with black eyeliner, to Sally, then lowered her gaze back to the ledger.

The clerk’s judgment wasn’t wrong. The department store’s luxurious stockings were not for Sally.

Sally pretended not to like the stockings she had picked up, naturally putting them back and turning away. On her way back to the mansion, she would have to check if the general store in Hailwood had any rayon stockings on sale.

She suddenly stopped as she turned the corner. It was because her modest reflection appeared in the glass.

An old, light gray cardigan, a white blouse with a plain round collar, a navy pleated skirt that reached below her knees, and a worn brown leather bag.

With a mannequin wearing a flamboyant dress, ten times her weekly wage, standing just beyond the glass, she looked not just modest, but almost shabby.

“Don’t grow up beautiful. Don’t dress beautifully. Don’t catch anyone’s eye.”

Her mother’s voice softly echoed in Sally’s mind as she unconsciously imagined herself in that extravagant dress.

I’m not a beauty who makes every man on the street turn their heads, like my mother was, anyway.

Her mother was often away on missions, so Sally was raised by the revolutionary army’s community. Whenever her mother occasionally returned home, Sally would go into her bed and pretend to be asleep. Her mother always acted sternly when Sally was awake or in front of others.

When Sally fell asleep, she would sit on the bed and stroke her hair. It was a rare touch of affection.

“Don’t grow up beautiful. Don’t dress beautifully. Don’t catch anyone’s eye.”

Her mother always repeated the same words like an incantation. It wasn’t just meaningless drunken rambling; if anyone bought Sally cosmetics or pretty accessories, she would not only dislike them but even throw them directly into the trash.

On Sally’s fifteenth birthday, when her father bought her red lipstick, she was so enraged that she even threw a wine glass at him.

As a child, she felt hurt. Her mother’s vanity drawer was packed with colorful cosmetics, and her closet was full of expensive dresses and shoes, bought with money from who knew where.

So why did she do that to me?

She wanted to ask, but her mother was no longer of this world. Whatever the reason, the fact that her mother was an excellent revolutionary remained unchanged.

You are an excellent revolutionary too.

Sally gazed at her reflection in the glass and smiled faintly. She smoothed her hair, which was slightly disheveled from cycling, with her hand and repeated to herself:

This is the path I chose.

A heavy silence had settled in the sedan that began driving towards Govern after leaving the Western Command in Winsford. It was broken by a low, amused chuckle.

“He’ll be nothing but bones at this rate.”

Leon turned his gaze from the car window to Lieutenant Colonel Humphrey, who sat in the passenger seat.

There was no need to ask whom he was referring to. In Leon’s mind, too, the Western Commander was already screaming at the Govern raid site, his face emaciated.

“A moderate weight loss is good for one’s health.”

“If you can live long enough, that is.”

The commander’s path was already a cliff edge, simply by having his driver and mistress revealed as rebel spies.

But then, while escorting one of the spies to the detention center, they were attacked by rebels, losing the spy and suffering casualties in the escort unit. The commander’s reprimand, when summoned to the capital, would be doubled.

The commander was a man who had lost his military discipline and dignity, leaving only greed. Leon had always found him disgusting, but lately, he even felt pity for him.

“Harris’s face will be a sight to behold too.”

The lieutenant colonel laughed, mentioning the escort unit’s commander. The intelligence agency, which the lieutenant colonel headed, had no responsibility for this incident, so he laughed as if it were someone else’s problem.

But could it truly be someone else’s problem?

Leon sharply observed the back of Lieutenant Campbell’s head, who sat in the co-pilot’s seat.

How did they know the destination was Govern?

They hadn’t dispatched personnel to follow the escort vehicle and attack it. They had waited on the outskirts of Govern and ambushed the escort vehicle. The attack was organized and meticulous. That meant they knew in advance when the escort would take place.

Information had leaked somewhere.

This might not be the first time. A few months ago, a man they had released as a double agent was eliminated in just two days. Suspicion was turning into certainty.

Of course, information could have leaked from the escort unit or other departments in the command.

But what if it wasn’t?

If someone under Leon’s command had betrayed them, his path, too, would become a cliff edge.

That can’t happen.

He wasn’t naive enough to simply hope it wasn’t true. He had to find and bury the culprit before the superiors did. That meant burying the fact that a subordinate had betrayed them, and burying the traitor’s body somewhere.

Campbell?

Leon softened his gaze, which had been glaring at the back of Campbell’s head.

He wouldn’t do that.

The Campbell family had been vassals of the Winston family for centuries. Now that the vassal status was gone, they were running a military supply business with the Winston family’s help. So Lieutenant Campbell was a dog sent personally by the Campbell family for Leon to command as he pleased.

I need to give orders.

After arriving in Govern, when the lieutenant colonel left, he planned to subtly give instructions. To thoroughly investigate the recent movements of his domestic intelligence department and the soldiers stationed at Winston’s private annex.

And…

Leon’s pupils widened instantly as he casually turned his head to look out the window.

Why is that woman there…?