Chapter 81
The Count's Secret Maid - Chapter 81
Translation: godsn
Several days later, the replies to Robert's letters arrived one after another. Robert was truly delighted to receive them. Seeing how those letters seemed to ease his loneliness even slightly made me happy too. For a brief moment, I felt fortunate to be literate.
However, the most important reply still hadn't come.
That day, Vincent, who had been personally requested by Nanny, had promised to deliver the reply himself. Though he'd shown such displeasure toward me. While this was good news, recalling how Vincent had grabbed my arm left me with an odd feeling. What had he wanted to ask me?
But as the wait grew longer, I began doubting whether Vincent had properly delivered the letter. Watching Robert's initially excited face gradually sink into disappointment made me increasingly anxious. Nanny seemed to share this concern, as her expression had been grim these past few days.
"You wrote well."
I politely returned the emptied ink bottles to Johnny.
"Did it pique your interest?"
"Immensely. Thank you."
"Then help me get closer to Alicia."
"Still no progress with Alicia?"
I'd been too busy with my own affairs lately to pay attention to other matters. Johnny exhaled deeply and let his shoulders slump. This situation felt familiar—hadn't I seen it before?
"She's been ignoring me again lately. When I talk to her, she just glares and barely responds. It's like how she treated me before we came here."
"Did you two fight?"
"How could we? We barely even talk."
After some deliberation, it seemed Alicia had finally set her heart on Vincent. Whenever Vincent visited, he would meet Joelli with Robert. The three often had tea time together, during which Alicia would dress up prettily and stand by shyly. Once, she went so overboard that Audrey had to reprimand her.
"Just give up."
"It's not that easy."
"Do you like her that much?"
"She's exactly my ideal type, you know?"
That much? Well, good luck then. Though it seems hopeless anyway. But then again, Alicia's situation looks just as hopeless.
I patted Johnny on the shoulder, comforting him in his endless struggle with unrequited love.
"But this is fascinating. It really has color."
"First time seeing it?"
"Yeah. Rich people really use all sorts of fancy things."
Johnny shook the ink bottle.
"What's so good about using this?"
"It stands out. And it's pretty."
"Have you used it before? Oh, now that I think about it, how did you know about this stuff?"
"I've received some before."
Though not exactly given to me. I swallowed the rest of my words along with a bitter taste. Back then, I'd regretted burning those letters, but now I was grateful no traces remained. Because nothing was left behind, because I couldn't bring anything with me, I could forget more easily.
"Anyway, thanks. This must be really expensive, but you got it so quickly."
"I know someone who has this."
"Who?"
I was curious about who would lend out such expensive items. Did he have connections with nobility? Judging by appearances alone—though one shouldn't judge—he didn't seem the type to have such connections.
At my question, Johnny shrugged his shoulders and carefully packed away the ink bottle. Apparently, he had no intention of answering.
"If you ever need my help with anything, let me know. As repayment."
"You'd help me?"
"With anything within my power. Except Alicia's business."
It'd be better if you asked before the probationary period ends.
Waving goodbye to Johnny, I walked down the corridor again. Robert had stayed up late reading letters yesterday and slept in. Since there was no need to wake him, I left him be. Thanks to that, my morning was leisurely.
As I strolled casually toward Robert's room, I saw someone standing at the door. Goodness—what a surprise. It was Vincent, whom I hadn't expected at all. His sudden appearance made me stop in my tracks—he'd been so busy lately that I hadn't even caught a glimpse of him.
Vincent, who had been standing with arms crossed while staring at the floor, lifted his head as if sensing my presence. I immediately clasped my hands and bowed deeply.
"G-good morning, Master."
"......"
Though flustered, I offered my greetings first. I bent so low my back ached—an effort to hide my face. The gaze burning into the top of my head stung sharply.
For a long moment, he remained silent before suddenly striding toward me and thrusting something out abruptly.
"Huh?"
It was a letter. I immediately recognized what kind of letter it was.
"Thank you!"
I eagerly grabbed the long-awaited letter with both hands—along with his hand as well.
Seeing Vincent's displeased expression, I quickly pulled my hands away.
"I was just trying to take the letter."
"I know."
Vincent pushed the letter further toward me. Still bowing, I carefully reached out my hand. Then, something suddenly occurred to me, and I rummaged through my pocket. Vincent watched me with a puzzled look. Honestly, I hadn't expected him to deliver it in person, so I hadn't prepared anything in advance—would this even work?
I pulled out a chocolate cookie from my pocket. I usually kept a few on hand to placate Robert by popping one into his mouth occasionally. I held it out to Vincent.
"What is this?"
"A cookie. A sweet chocolate cookie."
"Why are you giving this to me?"
"Even though I made such a sudden request, you still granted it. I wanted to express my gratitude, but this is all I have on me right now. It's not much, but I hope you'll enjoy it."
It's very sweet and delicious, I added, emphasizing the sweetness in particular. Realizing my intention, his expression darkened before he let out a hollow laugh. Ah, so cookies aren't enough, huh? I should've prepared cake instead. The way he's looking at me is downright murderous.
"I don't need it. Put it away."
"But—"
"Not putting it away?"
His tone suggested he'd throw it away himself if I didn't, so I swiftly stuffed it back into my pocket. Why is he acting like this? I know he has an enormous sweet tooth.
My attempt to soothe his mood with sweets had failed. Vincent shot me a displeased look.
Bowing again, I reached out my hand. But just as my fingers were about to touch the edge of the letter, it was abruptly pulled back. My gaze flicked up to meet his.
"Before that, I have a question."
"Please ask."
"This."
He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and waved it. My eyes followed the motion.
"Who came up with this?"
It was the letter Robert had written—the one I had delivered.
"Young Master misses his mother so much that—"
"Not the letter. What's written here."
"......?"
Unable to grasp his meaning right away, Vincent unfolded the letter. Multicolored handwriting came into view.
"The ink colors are different."
"Ah—yes. I used several colors of ink."
"Was this your idea?"
"Yes. Since he dislikes writing letters, I thought using this might make it more enjoyable for him."
"Have you ever seen ink like this before?"
"Pardon?"
"I asked if you've ever seen colored ink like this before."
"......"
"May I ask why you're asking that? Is there some problem?"
"Answer first."
At his sharp command, I hesitated before replying.
"Yes. I've seen writing done with that kind of ink before."
"Where?"
"A long time ago, briefly—"
Was it just my imagination?
"Where exactly did you see it before?"
It felt like I was being interrogated.
"Have you worked here before?"
"......!"
Why—why is he suddenly asking that? Caught off guard by the unexpected question, I panicked. My emotions, too quick to hide, flashed across my face before I hastily lowered my head. Vincent, who had caught a glimpse of my reaction, frowned.
What on earth is he seeing that makes him say these things? Was this what he meant to ask when he grabbed my arm last time? Why—what exactly is he seeing—?
In that instant, tension prickled down my spine. The handwriting in the letter. The colored ink. Only now did I realize what he had noticed in the letter—what it had reminded him of. Just as something had occurred to me, something must have occurred to him too.
I messed up. I'd only thought of it as an expensive item. Even after seeing others' reactions, I hadn't pieced it together. Though I'd been fascinated when I first saw it too, now that I think about it, I'd never encountered ink like this before coming to this mansion.
Vincent's reaction now was as if he was asking where I'd obtained such a thing. That meant it was rare. Or perhaps not something sold commercially.
"This ink isn't commercially available."
At his words, I tightly shut my eyes. Not only was it not sold anywhere, but I'd practically confessed to having seen it before.
"No, perhaps it's sold somewhere across the sea, but at the very least, I've never seen it for sale here. So very few people would know about it. Especially among the lower classes—they'd have no way of knowing such a thing exists. It's not sold, but I know someone who uses this ink. I've received letters from them. Yet you said you've seen it before. So either you worked here, or..."
Or you know Lucas.
That's what he's implying.
Who are you?
My lips parted but no sound came out. What should I say? Where should I even begin? I was utterly confused. The man waiting for my answer came into view. His face was as rigid as when he'd grabbed my arm.
But his emerald eyes gleamed sharply. As if determined to uncover whatever the other person was hiding.
Could it be... does he recognize me?
I pressed my lips together and swallowed dryly. Should I tell him? Should I just say it? That I was the maid who tended to you when you were blind—what kind of reaction would that get? I was curious. I wanted to say it. The impulse I'd been suppressing suddenly burst forth.
Just as I was about to voice it, light glinted behind his back. A beam of sunlight streamed in, which he blocked with one hand. Squinting, I saw the sunlight reflecting off the glass panel crossing the doorknob, shimmering brightly. As the glimmer faded, a woman's figure appeared. Small, thin, plain—an ugly woman.
"...... As you know, Master, I can write a little. I used to do transcription work before. That's where I heard about it from a coworker. They said there was multicolored ink. I thought it was so fascinating that I kept a sample of the writing—just once, I saw it."
How strange. Lies flowed effortlessly from my mouth. Even as I spoke, I let out a hollow laugh inside—it came out so naturally. Since when had I become so good at lying? Layer upon layer of falsehoods had made me uncomfortably adept at weaving them.
"Who was that person?"
"I'm not sure. We didn't pry into each other's circumstances."
"Where was this transcription work?"
"A small house near Nobelle Square... but it's gone now."
Afraid he might go looking for it, I hastily added that last part.
"Then where did you get this ink?"
"I asked someone I knew to get it for me. I heard they borrowed it from an acquaintance."
"Who did they borrow it from?"
"All I heard was that it was through mutual connections."
"Then who did you ask?"
"Well..."
The questions kept coming, one after another. No matter how I dodged, he was relentless, as if determined to dig out what I was hiding. Afraid my nervousness would show, I clenched both hands tightly.
"Master, could you tell me what this is about?"
"It's something I need to know, so answer."
"Is it important?"
If he said no, I planned to insist I truly didn't know.
But his reply was firm.
"Yes. It's important."
"......"
"Who did you ask?"
"Another servant... I'll look into it."
Afraid he'd ask who that servant was, I quickly added more. He seemed ready to march off and meet whoever had supplied the ink right then. I couldn't drag Johnny into this.
He fell silent. His scrutinizing gaze was unbearable. I felt like I was standing on a bed of thorns.
"Can I see the ink myself?"
"I've already returned it, so I don't have it. I'm sorry."
Thank goodness I'd just given it back.
"Did the person who mentioned this ink say where they'd seen it or anything like that?"
"They only said it was from their old workplace."
"Did you hear where that was?"
"I didn't get that far... I'm sorry."
I bowed deeply, hiding my face to conceal my trembling. He went quiet again. With each passing second, my heart felt like it was plummeting to the floor. I was terrified he'd suddenly shout at me to stop lying.