The Count's Secret Maid - Chapter 101

Translation: godsn

"It's not that she dislikes you."

"Then what?"

Johnny's eyes widened as he asked. I swallowed a bitter taste. Alicia doesn't dislike Johnny. She dislikes the poverty that clings to Johnny.

Even among the servants of this mansion, subtle discrimination existed. The reasons varied—background, education, age, experience, and more. Especially for people like Alicia and me with unremarkable origins, the discrimination was more severe. Alicia's pretty face wasn't even praised here. There were already plenty of people far prettier than her.

I'd become skilled enough at reading situations that the discrimination didn't bother me much. But Alicia paid no heed. If anything, she carried herself with confidence, sometimes even mocking their discrimination.

Once, when a housemaid splashed water on Alicia, Alicia retaliated by throwing wash water back at her. Then she shouted that she wouldn't let it slide if it happened again. With her chin held high and that self-assured attitude, she already carried herself like she was playing the Countess. When she loudly declared they'd all regret it later, I—the only one who understood what she meant—was left speechless.

But at some point, Alicia started mingling with the very housemaids who'd discriminated against her. Worse, she began creating her own chains of discrimination, drawing lines between herself and the other housemaids. I hadn't realized it until recently.

"Your first impression wasn't great, but I've come to see you're not that bad. Of course I can't call you a good person, but no one's entirely good, right? Aside from a few flaws, I can tell you're a decent person trying your best to get by."

"Is that an insult or a compliment?"

"I'm telling you to forget about Alicia."

"......"

"Find a woman who can accept you as you are. Not someone who can only be happy by building something up together, but someone who'd say she's happy just being with you as you are now."

People like us can't build anything up anyway. Wealth, honor—nothing comes easily to these hands. My hands are endlessly small, while their demands are endless. I know full well I'll never become someone great.

That's what it means to know your place. When you can't even escape immediate poverty, talk of reversing your fate is laughable. So at the very least, shouldn't the companion who walks ahead with me be someone who sees me as I am?

A one-sided relationship could never bring true happiness.

"Have you ever had that?"

Suddenly, Johnny asked me. Before I knew it, his solemn eyes, stripped of gloom, were fixed on me. A brief silence passed. The quiet posed its own question.

Have you ever loved someone regardless of who they were?

Has there ever been someone who loved you for exactly who you are?

Two faces came to mind. One was the person who'd just made me gloomy, and the other was...

The sorrow I'd been suppressing found its cracks and spilled out. My breath seemed to stop, and as I forced out an exhale that blurred my vision, my eyes burned. I clenched my throbbing hand tight. Words wouldn't come easily past my parted lips.

I bowed my head and forced the emotions threatening to swallow me whole back down.

"...... I don't know. That kind of thing."

"You're parched. Absolutely parched."

"Shut up."

"Really, never?"

"I don't know. Never had the luxury."

I don't have the luxury to dwell on the past. My life isn't comfortable enough to chase after memories and wallow in sorrow.

This time, when I hung my head low, Johnny studied me. Then suddenly, he clapped his hands.

"Hey, let's check that place out."

"Where?"

Johnny abruptly threw open the door before us.

"Whoa," Johnny let out a short exclamation as he curiously scanned the inside, so I also stole a glance in that direction. The room was quite spacious, with bookshelves arranged like a maze. The shelves were densely packed with books.

A study? Following Johnny as he looked around everywhere, I also kept glancing at our surroundings. As we stepped inside and closed the door, the scent of books permeating the room filled my nostrils. I sniffed. The familiar, welcoming scent eased my tension. It felt just like the bookstore I'd worked at as a child—old, worn, and all the more saturated with the smell of books.

"Wow, this looks fun."

"Hey, don't touch it."

I belatedly stopped Johnny as he stubbornly pulled out a book. But he paid no heed, flipping through the pages with a rustle. The fact that he could write and read meant he had some experience with books. Just like me. Seeing him absorbed in the book made me inwardly pleased.

After stealing a glance at Johnny reading, I ventured further inside. As I passed by the shelves, I skimmed the titles of the books lined up. Then I stopped when I spotted a familiar title. Smiling broadly, I pulled it out. It was one of my favorite books.

The fluttering pages occasionally revealed illustrations, which added another layer of novelty. What started as a casual browse soon turned into complete immersion. That was when Johnny approached me.

"What are you reading?"

"Sorrow of Love."

"Oh, that one."

"You know it?"

"Yeah. It's famous, isn't it? It's for kids."

I'd heard that before too—so it really was well-known. A masterpiece is a masterpiece, I nodded in agreement, but Johnny added that he didn't like it much. When I asked why, he said the ending was lame. What nonsense—that ending was my favorite part.

"It's a tragedy."

"That's the charm. How amazing is it that they go off to find their own life?"

"What's so amazing about that? They just dump everything and run away because they can't be bothered to deal with it."

I guess it could be interpreted that way.

"It's amazing precisely because it's something I could never do."

"......"

"There's a passage here I really like."

"What is it?"

Well, if he asked, I might as well share. Clearing my throat, I 'read' from the book for the first time in a while. Steadying my breath, I took in the words I had once read over and over until they were worn into my memory. Then, softly, I let my voice flow.

"When the gods created and bestowed you, your very existence was drenched in blessing—so love without reserve. All of it shall pave the path before you......"

My voice echoed through the quiet study. Johnny, showing curiosity, focused intently on my words. Encouraged by his attentive expression, I continued reading.

Then, in that moment—

The door suddenly swung open.

I immediately grabbed Johnny's shoulder and ducked down. His eyes widened in shock. I pressed a finger to my lips, signaling silence, and pointed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠toward the door with my other hand. Understanding, Johnny quickly covered his mouth with both hands.

I shoved the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠book I was holding back into the shelf haphazardly. Moving cautiously, I held my breath, trying not to make a sound. Only after sliding the book back into place could I finally exhale—silently, of course.

I turned my gaze back toward the door. Thankfully, the bookshelves were arranged like a maze. Plus, we were quite a distance from the entrance, hidden behind the shelves and books, so whoever was there wouldn't easily spot us. Unfortunately, that also meant we couldn't see the door clearly either.

I focused on the gaps between the books where I could catch a glimpse of the room. The door had definitely opened, yet strangely, there was no sound. No sign of movement. Just as I began to wonder if anyone had actually entered—footsteps echoed.

Thud, thud. The sound confirmed that someone had stepped inside. I strained my ears. Who was it? Maybe Lady Audrey? The footsteps alone weren't enough to tell. But one thing was certain—if we were caught, we'd be in for a scolding.

The footsteps drew closer to us. I swallowed nervously, my mouth dry. Beside me, Johnny shook my shoulder, asking what we should do now. I swatted his hand away and pushed him further inside, whispering in a voice just loud enough for him to hear.

"Let's go deeper in first."

"There's a window over there."

"If you plan to jump out, I won't stop you."

There was no escape route. Our only option was to hide further inside. As I whispered for him to move inward, Johnny crawled on all fours in the direction I'd indicated. I followed suit, crawling while stealing glances toward the source of the sound. The approaching footsteps abruptly stopped. They resumed intermittently, pausing as if searching for any trace of us.

Straining to make no noise, I peered through the gaps between the books. Gradually, the area near the door came into view. The figure standing there flickered in and out of sight between the shelves. From their build, it was clearly a man. His attire was refined.

And then, golden hair that instantly seized my gaze...

"...... Ra?"

My crawling body froze mid-motion. My widened eyes darted to the floor as my ears pricked up sharply. What in the world...?

Then a voice echoed through the room, and I clapped a hand over my mouth.

"Paula."

A gentle yet firm tone cut through the air. It pierced my ears with crystalline clarity. My entire body trembled from the shock.

With one hand still covering my mouth, I pressed the other over it as well and curled into myself. If I moved my hands, a scream might burst out—I couldn't even be sure if I'd heard correctly...

No further summons came. But I knew exactly who had entered. How could I not?

Vincent.

The person who'd come in was Vincent. He was here. And he'd just...

I hunched further into myself. Even knowing he couldn't see me, I kept hiding. I was terrified he might discover us. When his call stopped and silence fell again, I understood what he was waiting for. He was listening for any sign of who might be here. That's why I couldn't move a muscle. I squeezed my eyes shut, not even daring to exhale.

"......"

The silence stretched.

Neither I nor Johnny made a sound. The room was as still as if empty.

The quiet was finally broken by a heavy sigh. A few crisp footsteps followed—then gradually faded away. Thud. The door closed, and the footsteps cut off completely. Only then did the tension leave my body.

Johnny, who'd been holding his breath just as tightly, finally exhaled in relief. He crawled over and patted the shoulder I still had hunched.

"Hey, he's gone."

"......"

"Hey, hey. I said he left."

C'mon, get up. He shook me as he spoke. But I couldn't move. I just stared blankly at my shadow cast on the floor.

Perplexed by my utter stillness, Johnny bent down to study my face—then suddenly asked:

"Are you... crying?"

"...... Ah."

Only then did I realize what was dampening my cheeks. When I blinked, something hot pushed past my eyelids and pattered onto the floor in fat drops. My vision blurred. The round marks left on the wooden boards wavered in and out of focus. My fingertips traced the tears streaking down my cheeks, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠then I scrubbed at them with my knuckles—but they kept falling, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠relentless.

Then the dam broke.

"H-hic. Ssob."

"Hey, hey, why are you crying?"

"Ugh, h-hic."

"......"

Flustered, Johnny gripped my shoulders, but there was no stopping the tears now. Yet I couldn't even sob openly—what if the sound reached departing ears? Instead, I muffled myself with both hands, curling tighter. Choking back each heaving breath was all I could manage.