Karen Florence (4)
Anger and masturbation share a certain similarity. Above all in this: while you are absorbed in the act itself, you notice nothing, but once time has passed, a crushing emptiness rolls in. And depending on the case, shame and self-loathing come along with it.
That was exactly how I felt right now.
I sighed as I stared up at the ceiling, spotless without a single stain.
I did something stupid.
Stirring up emotions from such a precarious position could only end badly. I'd already watched it play out in the novel until I was sick of it — people plunging into the abyss down the wrong path. I knew I was no exception. And yet, knowing that, how is a person supposed to live on reason alone?
It was a worthless excuse. The fact remained that I had failed to hold my emotions in check and made a mistake.
If only my reputation were even slightly intact, Rihardt wouldn't be able to lay hands on me so carelessly.
As if my position weren't narrow enough already, I'd gone and blocked it with my own two hands. Nine times out of ten, a rumor would start circulating — some maid strutting about, bragging that she had Rihardt's backing. If Rihardt caught wind of it, he'd be thoroughly entertained. He'd probably laugh at the idiot maid who sealed off her own means of survival; I'd count myself lucky if he stopped at mockery.
In my room, I rubbed at my throbbing forehead.
This was a private room, granted to me in honor of becoming Rihardt's personal maid. (I'd been told as much by the head maid after arriving at the estate.)
If you wanted to call it a privilege, it was a privilege.
I could have declined, but I saw no reason to turn it down. It beat an uncomfortable cohabitation with some other maid, didn't it?
Looking out the wide window, I found the scenery had gone dark. In an era where artificial light was a rarity, the world outside was genuinely impossible to see even a hand's breadth into.
It's late.
Which meant that, barring some unforeseen development, Karen Florence would be spending the night at the estate. The question was when exactly she would leave.
Is dinner over by now?
A meal with Count Line, the Countess, and Rihardt all seated at the same table — a lineup where you'd count yourself lucky simply not to lose your appetite. And Karen Florence was in fine spirits, too.
First things first — I need to move.
If my heart had its way, I would have sunk into this plush bed and slept without a single worry. But there was no room for such luxury now. I needed to get close to Karen Florence somehow, within this narrow window of time. Building even a sliver of a bond with her was the only way to nudge up my vanishingly slim odds of survival.
I rose from my seat. My condition wasn't bad. I knew which room she was staying in, so all that remained was to come up with a plausible pretext. I'd think of something on the way.
With that thought, I opened my door.
It wasn't just the darkened corridor that greeted me. There was a person there. Karen Florence, hand raised, on the very verge of knocking.
Which left me with only one possible question. Why are you here, of all people?
Maybe she'd seen my dopey expression, because Karen's pupils blew wide all at once. She looked just as startled as I was — caught off guard by the same unexpected encounter.
"Uh, h-hi?"
Karen Florence's greeting, embarrassment dripping from every syllable. It was impossible not to notice how awkward it was. Amusing as it was, though, this was still the best reaction I'd gotten from her yet.
"Good evening, Miss Karen Florence. Did you finish your dinner without any trouble?"
"Ah, yeah! The Count and the Countess were both so kind!"
I couldn't vouch for the Count, but the Countess really was a good person. Dinner seemed to have wrapped up quite early. Which, if anything, worked in my favor.
I cut straight to the point. "So — what business brings you to my room?"
My tone was strictly business, and Karen seemed to wilt a little at it. That surprised me. This was a woman who normally said whatever she pleased without sparing a thought for anyone's gaze. Was it because the misunderstanding about us being love rivals had been cleared up? Somehow I couldn't shake the impression that her responses had gone oddly meek.
"I came to see you."
So Karen did know this was my room. The source of that information was probably Rihardt. What on earth had the two of them talked about?
"You came to see... me?"
"Yeah."
Silence fell again. True to her tongue-tied nature, she seemed to have no idea how to drive a conversation forward. She just kept stealing glances at me, like a puppy with no clue what to do with itself.
"Was there something you wanted to say to me?"
"Huh? Ah — no? No! I mean, there is, but... it's..."
Would the me of a few hours ago have believed this? That this foul-tempered woman was fidgeting and stammering in front of me? Even watching it with my own eyes, I could barely believe it myself.
I calmly took stock of the situation. A reason for Karen Florence to come looking for me the moment dinner ended? I had none. Not even a guess. But in cases like this, it was usually Rihardt's handiwork.
"Did the young master put you up to this? Tell you to come find me?"
"Th-that's not it! Rihardt never said anything like that!"
...No? If it wasn't the work of Rihardt, fountainhead of all evil, then this was Karen acting on her own initiative.
She has no reason to seek me out, does she?
She stared at me with something like expectation in her eyes. People who looked at you that way usually wanted to ask for something difficult.
What could Karen Florence possibly be lacking, that she'd come asking me for a favor?
"I-I have a favor to ask!"
And there was Miss Karen Florence, demolishing my reasoning in a single stroke.
What on earth was this?
Karen's request was a modest one.
Come to the market with me tomorrow and help me pick out a gift that suits Rihardt!
Why ask me, of all people? Her reasoning: since I was Rihardt's personal maid, surely I knew him well.
Face to face with Karen Florence, eyes sparkling like a morning star, radiating pure, uncut expectation, I couldn't bring myself to say, I've been his personal maid for all of one day, you see.
Well, it's not as if I don't know Rihardt's likes and dislikes.
On the other hand, I was curious. When I asked what had brought on this sudden gift, her answer was:
Rihardt says he's giving me a wonderful present! It just feels wrong to only ever be on the receiving end!
Come to think of it, Rihardt had indeed mentioned a "wonderful present" when he invited Karen. But that present... I had a strong feeling it was not the kind of gift she was imagining.
In any case, I brought the discussion with Karen to a reasonable close and sent her back to her room. Somehow, without my having planned any of it, things seemed to be working out.
So Karen Florence will be staying at the estate through tomorrow.
I already had a suitable pretext in mind for calling on her. If word reached her that Rihardt wanted to meet her somewhere private, just the two of them, she was bound to take the bait. Besides, the entrance to the Basement wasn't only in Rihardt's room — there was one from outside as well.
If I lead Karen Florence in through the outer passage, no evidence will be left behind.
Until then, closing the distance with Karen was my top priority. So that nothing I said would strike her as the least bit strange. So that she could come to see me as someone she could trust.
This is no way for a person to behave.
I'd struggled enough for one day. Time to just sleep. All things considered, it had been a long day, in every possible sense.
I took off my frilled lace headband and set it on the table. Then I undid the cord that had wound my hair up and let it fall loose, and worked through the buttons of my bodice one by one. The cuff buttons that had cinched my wrists tight came undone as well. Last, I stepped out of my shoes.
Come to think of it, the people of this estate wore their shoes even indoors. For someone raised in the East, it was a custom I could never quite wrap my head around. Wearing shoes inside the house really did strike me as strange.
And so I was left in a white négligée that doubled as sleepwear and underwear. The fabric was thin and semi-transparent — if the moonlight fell on it just right, I half-feared my breasts or the mound between my legs might show through.
At last, for the first time that day, I lay down on the bed. I could feel the plush give of the mattress across my entire body.
If only I had a smartphone.
Checking my phone before bed had been as much a part of the routine as breathing. Of course, ever since I'd been flung into this world, I'd had to declare a permanent parting of ways with such marvels of civilization. Tonight, sheer exhaustion would carry me straight into sleep — but once I'd settled into life here?
I'll have to track down a few books, I suppose.
How pitiful my lot was, reduced to staving off boredom with travelogues and tomes of practical knowledge. How had a life where a single tap unleashed a flood of dopamine come to this?
"Lucy, going to sleep already?"
Goosebumps erupted across my skin. Worse than the time a hornet came bursting out of the recycling bin. My comfortably sprawled body snapped upright on the spot. There was something faintly ironic about the way only my upper half shot up like a spring-loaded toy — but not nearly as ironic as the figure who had barged uninvited into my room.
"...Young Master Rihardt."
"That's quite the startled face."
"Is that even a question?"
Use some common sense — who wouldn't be startled, with you materializing out of thin air in the dead of night? You could at least make some noise announcing yourself. Showing up like a ghost and turning a person's stomach inside out.
At the sight of my shock, Rihardt snickered. "Now you understand a little of what I felt back then, don't you?"
Was he talking about my first day in this body? What a petty man. He'd still been carrying that grudge around all this time?
When I glared at him without a word, he settled himself casually onto the edge of my bed. I instinctively dragged the blanket up toward me.
"What brings you here — without so much as a sound?"
"Did things go well with Karen? She seemed like she wanted to talk to you, so I told her where your room was."
"Well enough."
"I see. Part of why I came is a small matter of getting even for last night, but the more fundamental reason is that I need to confirm something."
"Confirm... what, exactly—"
I never got to finish. The reason was simple: Rihardt had pushed my shoulder. All at once, I found myself staring up at the ceiling.
"Young Master?"
Pay my bewilderment no mind — he proceeded to scrutinize my body with meticulous care. Honestly, it was mortifying. Given the state of my attire, no less.
"There's a rumor I heard after dinner."
Where everything before had been laced with playfulness, these words carried no emotion whatsoever — pure, flat indifference. Had he already heard about my scuffle with that blonde maid? His ears certainly worked fast.
"What does that rumor have to do with you persecuting me like this?"
Rihardt gave no answer. He merely stroked his own chin. It was a silence incomparably more dreadful than the one I'd shared with Karen.
Then, without warning, he spoke. "Who did it?"
His voice was sunken impossibly deep and cold, like the dead of winter at its cruelest.
"...What do you mean."
"Lucy, as you know, I hate repeating myself." His voice colder still, he asked again. "Who was it — the one who laid hands on your body?"