Chapter 11
The Count's Secret Maid - Chapter 11
Translation: godsn
Many letters arrived at the Bellunita Count Family's estate. While some were anonymous, most inquired after Vincent's well-being. Invitations to dinner parties and social gatherings also arrived with some frequency.
Yet the master never replied to any letter. In truth, even when letters were delivered to him, he wouldn't acknowledge them. So most were handled by the servants before they could even reach his hands.
Among the persistently arriving letters, one name stood out particularly. [Violet]
A woman's name...?
Though letters arrived every other day, these too never reached Vincent.
Isabella instructed me to store these letters separately. Was this someone who required special attention? If so, why weren't they being delivered to him? Naturally, since Vincent didn't read them, no replies were sent either. Nevertheless, the letters from this 'Violet' person kept piling up neatly inside my dresser drawer.
And then there was another that caught my eye. [Are you doing well?]
I'd discovered it by chance while clearing out the ashes filling the fireplace. On the half-burned scrap of paper remained golden letters. When sunlight hit them, the shimmering script appeared elegant and beautiful.
After that, more letters with identical contents arrived. [Are you doing well?]
They were written on high-quality envelopes with stiff textures. The strange thing was that the paper inside the envelopes was completely blank. Had they written directly on the envelope thinking I might not open the letter?
Yet the golden letters kept arriving without fail every single day. Of course, no replies were sent. Vincent didn't even check them.
Then one day, following Isabella's instructions, I wrote a reply to one such letter. Though told to write something simple, I carefully considered before picking up my pen. [I'm doing well.]
But after sending that reply, the letters stopped abruptly. I worried I might have written something wrong, but with my duties attending to the master keeping me busy, I soon forgot. The letters only returned to my thoughts when an entirely unexpected reply arrived.
Still written in practiced golden script, but this time the words were on the paper inside rather than the envelope. [The weather is nice here.]
So? While the intention behind such an inscrutable message puzzled me, what stood out more was the slightly smudged ink on the final character. Looking closer, I noticed water stains scattered across the envelope. Like tear marks.
Had they been so overjoyed they wrote their reply through tears? Surely not.
Though curious, since Isabella said no reply was needed this time, I didn't send one. Whereupon the letters resumed arriving daily without fail, and with identical contents. As if stubbornly demanding a response.
Eventually I had to write another reply under Isabella's orders. I nearly wrote something casual like before, then hesitated. The memory of those water stains on the paper surfaced. Somehow it felt wrong to reply with the same tone as last time. As I wavered, I glanced out the window. Spotting buds forming on the trees, I moved my pen. [Here, buds are starting to form on the bare branches.]
After that, replies came again, and when I responded, yet more replies followed. Before I knew it, I was exchanging letters with someone whose identity I didn't even know. The contents remained just as uneventful as before. After that first reply, no more water stains appeared. [I'm doing well today.]
And so, on one such day when this slightly unusual routine had become established...
Stretching lazily to greet the refreshing morning, I braced myself for another exhausting day dealing with the master's erratic temper. As usual, I changed my clothes, tightly tied up my messy hair, and opened the door.
"Vincent—!"
But an unfamiliar voice reached my ears.
Right next door, in front of the master's room, stood a man I'd never seen before. A tall gentleman wearing a top hat was knocking on the door, desperately calling Vincent's name.
"Vincent! Open the door, please!"
Even though there was no response from inside, the man kept knocking persistently. Just as I was staring at him in bewilderment, he suddenly turned his head. Having noticed me, his brown eyes widened in surprise.
A moment of mutual scrutiny followed. Both the strange man and I openly looked each other up and down, silently questioning who the other person was.
Then the man ended his inspection first.
"Ah, the new maid?"
Reacting to being called "the new maid," I immediately bent at the waist. It had become almost instinctive lately.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Paula."
I remembered the rule—keep bowing until the greeting is acknowledged. Unless the other person was also a servant, one shouldn't straighten up before receiving a response. Recalling this, I waited for him to accept my greeting.
"Aah."
The man sighed briefly and approached me. Shiny leather shoes suddenly entered my downward field of vision. Then he took one of my clasped hands.
Startled, I looked up to see the man slightly bowing with one hand behind his back while lightly kissing the back of my hand.
"Pleased to meet you, miss maid."
A pleasant baritone voice. When our eyes met as he raised his head slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkled.
"Delighted to make your acquaintance. I'm Ethan Christopher."
"Uh... yes..."
I replied stupidly, still trying to gather my scattered wits.
His subsequent actions—straightening up and releasing my hand—were effortlessly elegant. Even after his hand withdrew, mine remained suspended in midair. The back of my hand where his warmth had touched burned hotly.
"Vincent seems to have locked his door. Could you open it?"
"Ah..."
Finally regaining my senses, I lowered my hand. Unconsciously scratching the back of my hand, I headed toward the door.
Very occasionally, Vincent's door would be locked. I'd always wondered how he managed it—apparently among the numerous cords hanging by his bedside wall, pulling one would activate connected wires that locked the door.
The cords snaked across the walls like vines, extending in various directions. At first, between the perpetual darkness of the room and being too busy attending to Vincent, I hadn't noticed. But after recently observing the room more carefully, I'd discovered that the cord he pulled to lock the door ran all the way from the wall to the door.
When I first witnessed this spectacle, I couldn't believe my eyes. Vincent had explained that he'd installed it as a precaution against potential dangers when alone. The first time I saw it in action, I'd been so fascinated that I asked all sorts of questions, but when Vincent refused to answer, I soon lost interest. Presumably, the other cords hanging on the wall served similar purposes. But he'd repurposed them differently.
For such occasions, Isabella had given me an emergency key bundle. Since the annex was essentially my responsibility, she'd stressed that I should keep it safe. So whenever his door was locked, I would use those keys.
I rummaged through my apron pocket and pulled out the emergency key. Just as I unlocked the door and turned the knob, it dawned on me that I hadn't asked the man named Ethan Christopher about his relationship with Vincent.
"Ah, about you and the master—"
Something whizzed past through the crack of the opened door. Then—crash! The sound of shattering glass echoed. The words I'd been about to utter scattered unfinished.
Ethan turned his head toward the noise, startled. I, too, traced the source. A shattered glass bottle lay in pieces against the wall. Given past experience, I could easily guess who had thrown it.
Sure enough, a chilling voice seeped from the darkened room.
"Close the door."
Honestly, how dangerous.
I subtly grimaced and glanced at Ethan. He was still staring at the broken glass, his dazed expression flickering with a whirlwind of thoughts.
Is this his first time experiencing that godforsaken temper? No wonder he's shocked. Shaking my head, I stepped inside—only for another object to slam against the wall. This time, a drinking glass. I left that there for water, and now he's taking his anger out on it?
I closed the door. Mostly to keep the man from getting hurt.
"There's a young gentleman waiting outside."
"Tell him to leave."
"Who is he?"
Come to think of it, how did this man even know Vincent was in the annex? Most guests who came to see him headed straight to the main mansion, assuming he'd be there.
Given Vincent's circumstances—living in the annex—it fell to the butler to receive guests arriving at the main house. When the butler was absent, Isabella took over.
Yet here this man stood, right outside the annex—no, right outside Vincent's door.
"I don't care. Send him away."
"Master."
"You leave too."
Why is he throwing another tantrum?
Then came a firm knock at the door.
"Vincent."
It was the man—Ethan. His voice sounded steadier now, as if he'd composed himself.
I immediately looked back at Vincent. His eyes were shut. Is he pretending to sleep?
"Vincent, let me see your face. It's been so long. Don't you want to see me?"
"......"
"I've missed you."
What is this atmosphere? There's something... strange between these two.
"Don't get any weird ideas."
"I didn't."
"I can tell exactly what you're thinking just from your breathing."
"I said I didn't!"
I turned away haughtily, only to realize I hadn't brought breakfast. Come to think of it, I'd forgotten the washbasin and fresh clothes too—distracted by the unexpected chaos.
"I'll bring your meal."
"I'm not hungry."
"Please wait."
"I said I'm not hungry!"
Ignoring Vincent's shout, I opened the door and faced the man who'd been desperately knocking. He immediately tried to peer inside, but I swiftly shut the door, blocking his view.
"My apologies. The master says he doesn't wish to see you."
"Ah, but I must meet him! I have something to deliver!"
His plea wasn't directed at me. Still, no answer came.
Ethan's shoulders slumped. Forcing a disappointed smile, he said,
"I'll be staying for a few days."
A guest had arrived at the Count's estate.
"It's been a while, Isabella."
"Indeed it has, Lord Ethan."
Ethan stepped into the drawing room and greeted Isabella warmly. She, in turn, accepted his top hat with familiar ease. The affectionate exchange between them made it clear—this man was no ordinary guest.