My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 44

Chapter : 87

Sensing the bodyguard's unspoken question, Lloyd offered a wry, knowing smile, tilting his head slightly as if acknowledging Ken’s internal analysis. "Don't look so concerned, Ken," he said lightly, his tone suggesting he could indeed read the man like an open book, a feat few could claim. "It's not what you think."

He gestured vaguely back towards the direction of the kitchens and the hidden smokehouse. "I'm not skipping because I disdain study, nor out of adolescent rebellion." He met Ken’s steady gaze, his expression turning earnest. "Quite the contrary. I am engaged in a practical application of economic principles. Developing a new product. Creating value. Something," he added, the smile returning, tinged with confidence, "that I suspect even Master Elmsworth, with his focus on profit and resource management, would ultimately approve of. Perhaps even applaud, once he sees the results."

He let the enigmatic statement hang, offering no further details. Let Ken report that back to his father. Let them wonder what 'practical application' the heir was pursuing that could possibly impress the notoriously traditional Master Elm.

Ken absorbed the explanation without comment, his expression reverting to its usual professional neutrality. If he found the claim baffling, he gave no sign. "Understood, Young Lord. I will convey your message to Master Elmsworth." He paused. "Your instructions for my own duties today?"

"Maintain standard discreet observation," Lloyd instructed. "But focus your attention outward. Keep an eye on any unusual activity within the estate, any lingering signs of Rubel's faction regrouping, or," he added grimly, remembering the previous day's encounter, "any hint of… external interest. My current project requires concentration, minimal interruption."

"Acknowledged," Ken confirmed. "External surveillance prioritized. Internal disruption minimized." With a final, almost imperceptible nod, he melted back into the corridor shadows, resuming his role as the unseen guardian.

Lloyd didn't waste another moment. He headed directly towards the kitchens, not to enter the main chaos this time, but skirting around to the rear service areas, near where Jasmin would be finishing her earliest morning tasks.

He found her near the woodpiles, wiping down her butchering tools, her face alight with nervous energy when she saw him approach. The shared secret, the successful creation of the lye, had forged a new kind of bond between them, overriding some of her inherent timidity.

"My lord!" she greeted, offering a quick, less flustered curtsy than before. "Is it… is it time?"

"It is indeed, Jasmin," Lloyd confirmed, grinning. "Phase Two awaits. Did you manage to rest? Today requires focus."

"Yes, my lord! I… I barely slept! Thinking about… the liquid soap!" Her eyes shone with bewildered excitement.

"Excellent!" Lloyd clapped his hands together. "Then let's not delay. To the laboratory!" He gestured towards the hidden smokehouse.

Back within the familiar, dusty confines of their makeshift workshop, the air still held the faint alkaline tang from yesterday. The three trays of curing hard soap sat undisturbed under their sacking covers, slowly undergoing their quiet transformation. But today’s focus was different.

"Right," Lloyd began, surveying the remaining jar of tallow and the jug of potent hardwood lye. "Liquid soap. The theory is similar, but the execution differs." He explained again, simplifying, "We need a lye that encourages liquidity, not hardness. Ideally, we'd use ash from softer woods, which contains more of the 'soft fire' – potassium hydroxide. But," he glanced at their limited resources, "we adapt."

"So, we cannot use this lye, my lord?" Jasmin asked, looking disappointed.

"We can," Lloyd corrected, "but we need to adjust the recipe and process. Using this 'hard fire' lye will naturally tend towards solid soap. To counteract that, we need to introduce other factors. More water in the initial mix, perhaps. A different type of fat or oil that resists solidifying. And careful control of temperature during the reaction." He tapped the tallow jar. "Tallow alone makes very hard soap. We need to blend it. Olive oil would be ideal, known for softer soaps. But procuring enough discreetly…" He trailed off, frowning. Olive oil was expensive, imported, its use monitored by the household bursar. "We'll start with just the tallow for now, but use a higher water-to-lye ratio in our solution. It might result in a softer paste rather than a true liquid initially, but it's a start."

Their first task was preparing the fragrance. Last night, guided by moonlight and Lloyd's surprisingly specific instructions, they had gathered a large bundle of fresh, aromatic rosemary sprigs from the estate gardens. Now, Lloyd set about extracting the essential oil.

Chapter : 88

He didn't have proper distillation equipment, of course. Improvisation was key. He instructed Jasmin to finely chop the rosemary leaves and stems, releasing their pungent oils. Then, he placed the chopped herbs into the large iron cauldron with a generous amount of clean water, positioning the cauldron back over a carefully controlled, very low fire in the hearth. He rigged a makeshift lid using a flat piece of slate tilted slightly, with a smaller earthenware bowl placed upside down beneath it, directly over the simmering herbs but not touching the water.

"Watch," he explained to Jasmin as the water began to gently simmer, steam rising. "The steam carries the volatile oils from the rosemary upwards. It hits the cooler underside of the slate lid, condenses back into water droplets – but droplets now infused with the rosemary oil. These drops run down the tilted slate and collect," he pointed, "in this small bowl."

It was a crude form of steam distillation, inefficient, yielding only a small amount of hydrosol (fragrant water) and an even smaller amount of separated essential oil floating on top. But it was something. The air in the smokehouse filled with the clean, invigorating scent of boiling rosemary. Jasmin watched, mesmerized, as tiny, precious droplets of fragrant liquid slowly accumulated in the collection bowl. Alchemy indeed.

While the rosemary infusion simmered, they turned their attention back to the main event. Lloyd carefully diluted a portion of their concentrated hardwood lye solution with extra water, aiming for a specific weaker concentration he calculated mentally, hoping it would favor a softer result.

Meanwhile, Jasmin melted another large portion of the clean tallow in a separate, smaller pot, stirring diligently, keeping the heat low and steady.

Once the tallow was melted and the diluted lye solution was ready, Lloyd took charge of the critical mixing stage again. "Alright, Jasmin," he instructed, "slow stirring, just like yesterday."

As Jasmin stirred the warm tallow, Lloyd began slowly adding the diluted lye solution. The initial reaction was similar – cloudiness, a faint hiss – but perhaps less vigorous than with the concentrated lye.

"Keep stirring," Lloyd urged, emptying the bowl of diluted lye. "Now we watch for trace again. But," he cautioned, "it might look different this time. We're aiming for something softer, perhaps taking longer to reach that thickening point."

They fell back into the rhythm of stirring, the silence broken only by the crackle of the fire, the gentle bubbling of the rosemary infusion, and Lloyd's occasional quiet instruction. This batch did indeed seem thinner, taking longer to emulsify. They stirred patiently, watching for the subtle signs.

After what felt like another eternity, the mixture began to thicken, but not to the thick custard stage of the hard soap. It reached a consistency more like heavy cream or thin pudding. When Lloyd lifted the paddle, the drizzled trail remained on the surface, but seemed less defined, sinking back in more quickly.

"There," Lloyd judged, peering closely. "That's likely as close to 'trace' as we'll get with this recipe aiming for softness. Remove from heat!"

They carefully moved the pot off the fire. The mixture was opaque, creamy, smelling of cooked fat and alkali. Now, for the scent.

Lloyd carefully collected the small bowl of fragrant liquid from under the makeshift distillation lid. A thin, iridescent film of pure rosemary essential oil floated on top of the milky hydrosol. Using a feather quill borrowed from the study supplies, he carefully skimmed off the precious oil droplets, transferring them to a tiny vial. There wasn't much, maybe half a thimbleful, but the scent was potent, pure rosemary. He then poured the remaining rosemary-infused water (the hydrosol) directly into the warm soap mixture.

"Stir it in gently, Jasmin," he instructed. "Incorporate the fragrance."

Jasmin stirred, the clean scent of rosemary rising, mingling with the heavier base notes of the soap, cutting through the alkaline sharpness.

"Now, the oil itself," Lloyd added the few precious drops of concentrated rosemary essential oil, stirring it in quickly before the volatile compounds evaporated.

The final mixture was a thick, creamy, pale beige liquid, smelling pleasantly of rosemary. It wasn't the clear, refined liquid soap he ultimately envisioned, more like a soft soap or a thick gel, a result of using tallow and hardwood lye. But it was liquid. Ish. And it smelled good.

"We let this cool completely," Lloyd declared, surveying the pot with satisfaction. "It will likely thicken further as it cools. We won't pour it into molds. We'll store it in stoppered jars once it's cool enough to handle."