31 – Do not feature a Chinese person (7)
Tensed, Moran accidentally bit her tongue. She blurted something foolish, and Bisil, cowardly so, laughed at her.
He didn’t laugh openly, but Moran’s sensitive senses didn’t miss the quiet chuckle. Clearly, Bisil was narrow-minded. He didn’t let any small errors slide and laughed at them all.
So, without realizing, she bared her teeth, as she would in her days living in the East End as a stray.
“Grrr―”
– Swat!
“Bang! Crash!”
“Behave like a human, Miss Moran. How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not right to show your teeth and growl. Especially, Mr. Moriarty is your employer. Mind your manners.”
However, as a result of the swift hit she felt on her buttocks, Moran had no other option but to let out a moan. The elderly woman, who had been in charge of her education ever since she arrived at this mansion, had hit her buttocks again with the icy cold rattan stick.
Of course, the elderly housekeeper that Moriarty employed was a gentle and cultured person, and although strict, she did not have the habit of abusing people.
However, as strict individuals often do, she did not hesitate to use a cane when disciplining maids.
Educating a werewolf girl to be a maid was a first even for her, so there were bound to be numerous trials and errors.
Unlike the young maids or servants who were frightened and causing a commotion at the sight of a girl with animal ears, the housekeeper received her calmly.
Of course, she was not without surprise inside, though being a cultured woman, she couldn’t show such a reaction to the girl who was said to be a distant relative of her employer.
But the first time the maid made a mistake, even the housekeeper, who had been working as a distinguished manager, recommended by various mansions over a long period, was a bit taken aback when she attempted to lightly hit the maid’s calf with the cane.
Like many others, she wasn’t aware of the power of werewolves or those who inherit their blood. They were as rare to come by as wizards and witches and were almost never encountered in everyday life.
Above all, Sebastian Moran appeared to be an ordinary girl, except for the beast-like ears and tail, and the fact that her pupils glowed like those of a carnivore.
Of course, she was shocked by the rough behavior of the girl and the existence of her deceased parents who gave a boy’s name to their daughter, but without a doubt, Moran was a girl.
However, the first whipping incident ended with the cane breaking. For a moment, she felt as if she had hit an iron lump with a club.
Looking perplexed at Moran, the girl was actually laughing at her. From then on, the housekeeper began searching for an appropriate method to discipline Moran.
It was somewhat a matter of pride.
Eventually, what she found was a cold metal paddle.
At first, she was cautious about using it on a dauntless girl, but she soon realised that using it was no different from whipping ordinary people. It’s been long since it transformed into a useful tool to teach Moran manners.
With a stinging pain in her buttocks, Moran glared resentfully at the housekeeper, only to avert her eyes first under her stern gaze.
Getting hit with the paddle was only slightly stingy compared to being beaten in the East End.
The old woman was frail, not unlike Bisil, and there was no way she could beat the unquestionably stronger Moran.
But perhaps it was her experience, Moran couldn’t fully rebel even against her.
Moriarty opened his mouth, observing this process of civilization with satisfaction.
“May I take Moran with me for a while, Mrs. Bance?”
“Well, I can’t honestly agree with your opinion of raising her as a secretary, but of course, your opinion is the most important, Mr. Moriarty. Ah, a letter arrived today. It’s on your office desk, please check it.”
“Thank you. Shall we go, Moran?”
“Hmm… Yes… Yes, Master.”
As Moriarty gently patted Moran’s back and gestured, she wanted to respond grumpily.
Of course, feeling Mrs. Bance’s icy cold paddle and gaze surreptitiously, she had no choice but to eventually act as she was taught.
Professor Moriarty’s office was located in the deepest room on the second floor. The mansion’s maids, gossiping among themselves, found it eerie due to the scant human presence.
The library-cum-office was adorned with countless books and bookshelves, much like a typical professor’s research room, with a large desk and chairs on the side facing the door.
Moriarty, once seated, motioned for Moran to join, much like a professor about to counsel a student. His expression grew stern again once Mistress Vans disappeared, yet Moran obediently followed his command.
Of course, without the presence of a watchful mistress, the young girl reverted back to calling Moriarty by his informal nickname, “Beetle”.
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“What is it this time, Beetle?”
“…Seems like I might have to get a fresh stick to whack you with. I am your master, Moran.”
“Heh, even if you tried hitting me, it wouldn’t hurt! And like I said, I can’t accept someone as weak as you as my master.”
“Whatever, just take this for now.”
As Mrs. Vans had stated, several letters had arrived for James Moriarty, currently situated on his desk. Most were addressed to Moriarty as a professor at Oxford, and he grumpily collected them before passing them to Moran.
“What is this, Beetle?”
“Check who these are for and remember it, like usual. Learn from it. You can do it now, right, Moran? Record everything.”
“This is boring. And… I’m not good at it, Beetle.”
Despite her words, Moriarty could only smile faintly at the positive connotation they implied. She was once an audacious little child, a lone wolf pup, who used to reject everything, finding it all dull whenever she had to do work.
However, in only a few weeks, this young girl has objectively grasped the reality of her imperfect abilities and was able to communicate that.
The beast was gradually evolving into a maiden.
Of course, Moriarty had no intention of raising her to be a simple housemaid engaging in cleaning tasks, hence he firmly rejected her self-assessment.
“As I’ve said many times before, you can learn and you don’t need to worry about it, Moran. I employed you and making judgements on you is my job. Would you like some candy while you work?”
“Candy! Ah, I don’t want sour ones like last time, I want sweet ones! I’m having something sweet, Beetle!”
Her quite uncouth accent was still intact, and her manner of speaking was far from refined. But still, there were glimpses of normalcy in her behavior native to young girls, not some wild beast from the streets.
Moriarty casually opened a drawer and tossed a chocolate he’d prepared in advance towards Moran. The lupine girl caught it effortlessly, as though performing a trick, and started unwrapping it with a beaming smile.
‘Sherlock used to love lemon candies.’
Sherlock turned up his nose at the sour candy when Moriarty first tried to bribe him with it. He recalled the childlike distaste for sourness.
It suddenly struck him that in many details, this little girl was undeniably different from Sherlock.
However, there was a distinct pleasure in teaching her. Sherlock was specific, already brimming with his own colors—the most Moriarty could do was provide him minimal guidance.
But the wolf girl in front of him was unmistakably different. Moriarty felt he understood why craftsmen felt attachment towards their creations.
Although she was unquestionably not as clever as Sherlock, at least he was confident he could raise her to assist him, to be a secretary and a subordinate that suited his taste.
Of course, there was a long way to go. The most significant issue was that, owing to the wolf blood that ran through her veins, she refused to accept him as her pack leader. However, he knew this was a minor problem that could soon be resolved.
The first thing Moriarty concentrated on was transitioning the wolf into a human. If Moran had known his intentions, she might have been angry, but Moriarty couldn’t help but think it was fortunate the girl was as straightforward as a beast.
The first step in taming a beast was introducing it to food. She gingerly placed one piece of chocolate at a time into her mouth, a far cry from when she used to stuff it in all at once. This reminded Moriarty of the time he first took her to a grocery store near Oxford.
Watching her blow all her money on a mountain of candies was truly comical.
