Chapter 24: After the Mass
Rolls, like most of the faithful, should have been shedding tears. But after the recent "accident," he was filled only with shock—not a single tear in sight. He had no choice but to resort to a desperate measure: reviving his childhood skill of faking a cry.
The Mass had reached its conclusion. The congregants in the front rows had already risen and walked toward the altar to begin their donations.
Rolls pulled his wallet from his pocket, took out 100 pounds in cash, stood up, and stepped into the aisle toward the altar.
He tapped four points on his chest in a clockwise direction, tracing the sign of the Crimson Moon. Under the compassionate gaze of Electra, the Bishop of Saint Samuel's Cathedral, he dropped the money into the donation box before the altar.
Tapping the four points again to trace the moon, he nodded to Bishop Electra before yielding his spot to Belin and Delia behind him.
Normally, unless it was a door-to-door request for a donation or a bequest from a will, the largest sums the church's offering boxes received were only a few dozen pounds. Even the most devout believers wouldn't throw money in every time they visited; usually, depending on the family's circumstances, they would donate once or twice every week or two.
That was the standard. Every year on the Feast of the Evernight Goddess—also known as "Winter Prayer Day"—the amount given in a single offering would swell significantly. Well-to-do commoners might choose two or three soli, the middle class around 5 pounds, while members of high society would donate directly to the diocesan bishop or church charities, ranging from hundreds to thousands of pounds.
Klein had donated 300 pounds during the Moon Mass, partly out of excitement from seeing the Captain and Old Neil again, but also to project his status as a wealthy man. He wanted to build a rapport with Bishop Electra to prepare for the theft of the Antigonus family notebook from behind the Chanis Gate of Saint Samuel's Cathedral.
However, veteran believers like the Adrian family didn't need large donations to earn the Church's trust. Frequent attendance at Mass and services was enough to secure the Church's confidence and protection.
Once Belin and Delia finished their donations, the three of them walked out of the Main Prayer Hall together.
Using his superior observation skills, Rolls noted that both Belin and Delia appeared to have donated 1 pound each.
Rolls felt that 1 pound was reasonable for Belin. Her family was in the liquor business; even if they were facing some difficulties due to the impending repeal of the Corn Laws, they weren't so short that they couldn't afford a pound. Once this hurdle passed, they could pivot to sourcing red wine exclusively from Intis, perhaps even reaching new heights.
The Loen Kingdom was famous for its beer, the most renowned being Southville Beer. The Republic of Intis was most famous for its red wine; its most prestigious and expensive vintage was even named after the Giant King, "Aurmir," who was said to love drinking blood-red wine.
Furthermore, Rolls guessed that Belin's work at the "Metropolitan Domestic Servants' Assistance Association" was partly influenced by the Church of Evernight to find a job, and partly to help her father expand his network. After all, those who went there to find servants and butlers were at least middle-class families—the primary consumers of red wine. As for the nobility, they were extremely picky and often had their own estates; they looked down on Belin's family's wine, and it was difficult for her family to establish connections with them.
Compared to Belin, Rolls knew very little about Delia. Judging by her attire, though she was meticulous, her clothes and jewelry were clearly dated. Either her family was in decline, or she had only modest savings and enjoyed reading ladies' magazines or had taken etiquette classes. These magazines often taught simplified aristocratic etiquette and social rituals, offering courses or salons to provide simple demonstrations for these women.
Donating 1 pound was likely a bit of a strain for Delia. She probably couldn't bear to lose face; coming with Belin, it would have been awkward not to donate or to give too little. Then again, how many young men could handle that kind of social pressure either?
"Whew."
Stepping out of the cathedral, Belin let out a soft sigh and said, "Every time I finish a Moon Mass, I feel much lighter, as if the day's fatigue has been washed away."
"Yes, it's just a pity that only the Moon Mass and Winter Prayer Day give that feeling," Delia echoed softly.
"Winter Prayer Day" referred to the longest night of the year, believed to be the birthday of the Evernight Goddess.
Rolls knew the underlying reason but couldn't speak of it. He offered a casual explanation: "It must be the gathering of the faithful combined with the Goddess's blessing that produces such an effect."
Belin sighed. "If only there were one every week."
The Chanis Gate beneath the cathedral relied on the spirituality generated by the devout prayers of the faithful to maintain its sealing arrays. If they held such a mass every week, the Sealed Artifacts behind the gate would certainly riot.
"One cannot demand God's grace," Rolls said, then tapped four points on his chest clockwise to trace the Crimson Moon.
Seeing Rolls's gesture, Belin and Delia followed suit, tracing the moon on their chests.
Rolls pulled out his pocket watch and clicked it open; it was already eight o'clock.
"It's getting late. I wonder if I might have the honor of seeing you ladies home?"
"No need, we'll take a public carriage back."
After a round of polite refusals, the two ladies eventually took a public carriage.
After a short wait, a public carriage arrived. Rolls saw the women off and tipped his hat in farewell.
The clack-clack of hooves sounded as Fitch drove the carriage up to Rolls. He had been waiting near the cathedral; seeing Rolls come out with Belin and Delia, he had tactfully avoided approaching directly, instead trailing slowly behind.
Fitch jumped down and greeted him: "Good evening, sir."
Fitch didn't indulge in useless banter or jokes like some of his peers; such things rarely won a guest's appreciation and more often caused annoyance. Besides, he wasn't sure if Rolls was currently in a bad mood.
"Good evening."
Rolls didn't realize Fitch was overthinking things and climbed straight into the carriage. He wasn't a "Spectator," after all; attending the Mass with Belin and the others had just been a coincidence.
Fitch was pleased; his guest's tone sounded cheerful, meaning his income for the next two days was likely secure.
"To 45 Garden Street, West District."
"Understood."
Fitch called out, cracked his whip, and the carriage headed toward the West District.
Rolls took off his silk top hat and placed it on the bag containing his trench coat and soft felt hat. He leaned his silver-inlaid black cane to the side and leaned back against the carriage wall.
He raised his right hand and looked at his palm. There had once been a mark of a black inverted pyramid there, but now it was empty.
Rolls extended his spirituality, attempting to sense the mark on his palm.