Whispers Through the Wall
Late into the night, the prolonged banquet finally concluded, and Emily and Olivier returned to their room, collapsing into bed as if dead to the world. The day had been utterly exhausting from morning till evening—likely the most grueling since Emily had become Olivier's maid.
The next day, Emily rose earlier than her lady, dressing Olivier and barely stifling her yawns as she attended to breakfast. But the woman named Ellie, whom she'd seen the night before, appeared even before the meal began, serving Baroness Belpharos just as she had at the banquet.
The baroness maintained a perfectly composed expression, as if nothing were amiss, but Emily felt a scorching gaze directed at Ellie from somewhere nearby. Turning her head, she spotted Lotte, who was attending the countess, glaring at Ellie with murderous intensity at intervals.
Do they have bad blood between them? To Emily, it was an inexplicable hostility without any apparent reason.
Rising early and still drowsy, Emily attended to Olivier's breakfast while discreetly observing the subtle tension flowing between the two women.
Only in the afternoon, after a light tea time, did Count Loren and his wife prepare to depart the supervisory villa, heading to the entrance hall. The entire Belpharos family turned out to see them off, bowing formally in the grand foyer.
Gazing at Olens—who had been so meek and polite over the past two days—the stern Count Loren broke into a kindly smile.
"Olens—no, Baron Belpharos. Seeing you reminds me of my grandson. You're around the same age, aren't you...? How old did you say you were?"
"Seventeen, Count Loren."
Emily was astounded by Olens's theatrical transformation into a lamb-like figure. He usually showed no restraint even in front of his mother, the baroness, yet before Count Loren, he was the picture of a top graduate from the Imperial Etiquette Academy—meek and refined.
"Ah, the same age, then. Next time, you must visit with him."
"Evril too, dear," added the countess with a smile, and the count nodded in agreement.
"Indeed. I nearly forgot about Evril. My lovely granddaughter Evril must be senior to Lady Belpharos here—she turns sixteen this year. You two must visit together. Well, then."
The count extended his hand as if granting permission for farewell. Baron Belpharos swiftly approached and pressed his lips to the large ring on the count's finger. Olens followed his father with precise, elegant motions.
"It would be an infinite honor if you graced us again."
The portly middle-aged baron spoke deferentially, bowing once more. Watching this, the countess smiled warmly and beckoned to Olivier.
As Olivier approached, the countess gave her a light embrace and spoke with affectionate warmth.
"Next time, I'll bring the grandchildren—they're both at the Academia, such well-mannered children. You and Evril would make fine friends, I think."
"Your praise is too much for me, but I would dearly love to meet Lady Loren."
Olivier replied shyly with a smile. The countess bestowed another kindly smile upon her before the baroness's courteous send-off concluded.
Surrounded by mounted knights, the white six-horse carriage bore Count Loren and his wife away amid the profound bows of the entire household and staff, departing the supervisory villa.
As they vanished into the distance, Olivier finally relaxed her rigidly straight posture, tension draining away as she muttered,
"Ugh, I want to rest. I'm so tired."
Baroness Belpharos nodded to her relieved daughter.
"Go and rest now, dear."
Back in the second-floor private quarters, Olivier and Emily slept like the dead. With two straight days of sleep deprivation, they were so deeply immersed that no one could have roused them.
Emily finally stirred after a long slumber, blinking groggily and surveying her surroundings. Dusk had fallen; the red sunset painted the evening sky. Dinner would soon be served, so she rose from the long sofa and approached the bed to wake Olivier—but her lady was dead to the world.
Shaking her gently and insisting she needed to eat, Emily finally got through. Olivier flopped back onto the bed with a groan.
"...I'll eat in the room. Bring it up later. Mom will understand on a day like today—even if I eat alone."
Before Emily could protest, Olivier had drifted off again. Watching her, Emily returned to the long sofa where she'd been sleeping. The accumulated fatigue of two days lingered, but she felt somewhat revived.
She decided to head to the dining hall and inform them that her lady would dine in her room. As always, she locked the door with the key.
Olivier, terrified of Olens, insisted on locking the door even when Emily was inside during outings—to block any sudden intrusions from outside, since it could still be opened from within.
Emily double-checked the lock. Then she glanced across the hall at Olens's door.
Since that day in the guest room, with Emily now serving as maid, Olens seemed to have given up harassing Olivier. Apart from his usual surly demeanor, there were no reactions.
If only winter break would end and the young master return to the Academia—then my lady could relax.
Recalling her own escape from the clutches of the horrific Mark upon becoming a maid, Emily worried for Olivier in the same plight and set off down the hall.
Passing through the door to the guest wing, she saw the row of rooms lining the long corridor on both sides. She briefly thought of her mother, who managed the second-floor guest rooms.
Emily glanced around. Twilight dimmed the space. Her mother, on daytime duty at the villa, would have gone home long ago—probably eating dinner with Father by now.
Thinking of her father lifted Emily's spirits. Heading for the stairs, she suddenly paused and looked up at the second room from the end—the one where she'd changed the bedding.
With the count's guests gone today, Mother would have cleaned it and changed the sheets.
Sheets. Emily tilted her head.
What on earth was that brown stain?
The empty corridor stretched silent before her. With a sudden hunch, Emily tiptoed to the second room from the end.
The doorknob turned smoothly with a soft click. Heart pounding, Emily pushed the door open.
The room was as empty as before. She stepped toward the bed. Fresh white sheets lay spotless, as if newly changed.
What was it, then? That stain?
Standing blankly by the bed, lost in thought, Emily suddenly heard a faint sound from somewhere.
Straining to catch the barely audible noise, her eyes widened. It sounded like a human voice.
She scanned the room, frowning. A human voice in an empty guest room with no visitors? A ghost?
Emily closed the open door to focus on the thin sound. Her heightened hearing, attuned to even the smallest noise, picked it up growing clearer—a muffled exchange, like a conversation between a woman and a man.
She scanned the sealed room again. The sound was definitely coming from somewhere.
Tilting her head and looking around, Emily noticed a subtle anomaly: the picture frames, which had hung straight on both walls, were all level—except the one above the bed, which was crooked.
To straighten it, Emily climbed onto the bed and grasped the frame. It slid too easily, startling her. For its size, the frame was remarkably light.
Then the sound teasing her ears grew louder. It seemed to come from right nearby.
Emily approached the wall by the bed. As expected, the voices intensified, so she pressed her ear to the wall just below the frame.
"Sooo... come here..."
A woman's voice rumbled through. This was the room next to the bed— the secluded one at the very end of the hall.
Emily pulled back from the wall, pondering. The frame that slid so lightly—could it be?
A hunch hit her. She pushed the frame aside, and it moved effortlessly, revealing the white wall behind—and in its center, a hole the size of an eye.
Gulping, Emily peered through.
As suspected, she could see straight into the adjacent room—the darkest, most secluded guest room at the hall's end. And soon, she found the source of the voices.
A woman in a brown maid's dress, bonnetless with her hair loose, sat there—pale-faced. Beside her lounged a sturdy middle-aged man she'd just seen, reclining diagonally on the bed.
The pale woman's smile revealed a beauty mark below her red lips, exuding sultry allure. It was Ellie, the one who'd served Baroness Belpharos during meals with Count Loren's party.
Unlike her pallid, sickly look in the banquet hall, subtle makeup accentuated her white skin and red lips, crafting a captivating face.
Reclining casually beside her was Baron Belpharos—the man who'd fawned over Count Loren throughout the meals.
"Hehe, so has your condition improved today, my lord?"
The voices carried clearly through the hole.
"Well, if you lavish a bit more attention on me, I expect it'll be very good."
The baron chuckled slyly.
Sexily smiling Ellie placed her pale, delicate hand on his chest. Her index finger trailed slowly from the center of his chest down to his thick belly's navel, flicked it teasingly, then circled back to twist his left nipple—thick with chest hair—slowly between thumb and forefinger.
"How shall I attend to you, my lord?"
Her voice dripped with moisture, eyes smoldering. The baron glanced downward.
"Start with something hot and heavy, Ellie. Your skills are the best, aren't they?"
"Shall I? Hehe."
Replying in a seductive purr, Ellie swept her long, flowing hair up and pinned it atop her head. Locking eyes hotly with the baron, she slowly untied the knot of his trousers with her long fingers.