I Did Nothing — 4
Theresia's bearing was remarkably defiant. Rather than someone who had come to beg forgiveness for her sins, she carried herself with the grim resolve of a woman determined to pry something out of me, whatever it took. I had no idea what her true purpose was in seeking me out. But I had a feeling that purpose would turn out to be something quite absurd. ...At the very least, one thing was certain: she had not come to offer a sincere apology.
Watching the woman stride toward me from far across the grounds, her back ramrod straight, I quietly turned over what would come next. Even as she crossed the garden and closed the distance, not a flicker of hesitation stirred in Theresia's eyes. Was she rehearsing her words in her head? While I waited to see what her opening line would be, she walked straight up to me and fixed her gaze on the round table.
"Where is the antidote?"
"The antidote, you say."
"Stop playing innocent and tell me. What poison is my brother poisoned with? A poison not even the priests can cure — I've never heard of such a thing in my life."
Of course she hadn't. I had never touched any poison to begin with. But it was equally true that no physician existed in this world skilled enough to cure a disease called acute pneumonia. Might a Saintess have managed it, perhaps? It wasn't that I hadn't weighed the possibility — only that I had never once heard of a Saintess's divine power extending to the healing of disease.
The eyes looking down at me as I sat were calm. But that darkness ran so deep and cold that one thing came through to me with perfect clarity: her mind was slowly twisting out of shape. Did she loathe me, or did she resent me? I couldn't say which of the two was the right answer, but one thing was certain — she had come here with some manner of resolve. ...And yet, resolve was no excuse to abandon courtesy as well.
"You start in on antidotes the moment you arrive. I haven't heard a word about any poison either — could it be that your brother is feeling unwell?"
"...Don't ask questions you already know the answers to. You know perfectly well that my brother is dy—!"
"And how would I know that?"
The voice that left my mouth was startlingly cold — even to me. But it was the truth. I knew the future in which her brother would fall ill, yet it was only the message just now that had told me it had come to pass in this life as well.
"Are you truly prepared to insist you knew nothing of my brother's condition?"
"Whether I claim such a thing or not is beside the point — what an admirably proper attitude you have. The message I received said you were coming to offer an apology. I suppose someone else must have written it?"
"I will apologize. But—"
"Then you should have apologized first. Not come here demanding an antidote before anything else."
A scoff slipped out unbidden, twisting the corner of my mouth. My mood had soured considerably. Perhaps it was her face, or the past it dredged up — but what weighed on me more was the memory of the man I used to be, so easily swayed by a woman of this caliber. I could have discarded her long ago. If only I had cut her loose a little sooner, I wouldn't be nursing regrets like these at all.
I had taken no action against Theresia whatsoever. I had done nothing to her, and yet here she was, driven by her own suspicion, having come all this way on her own two feet. I could have cleared up the misunderstanding. But that willingness had died. Perhaps her fate had warped the very moment she set foot here. The future that might have shifted, even slightly, had she truly knelt and apologized — it was now vanishing from my mind entirely.
For an instant, Theresia's body flinched. The moment our eyes met, she stumbled back a step, narrowing her eyes at me as though wary of some threat.
"I don't know why you're staring at me like that. Am I frightening you?"
"...If you would just hand over the antidote, all of this ends. My brother is collapsed as we speak — how can a person do something like this?"
"I told you already. I know nothing about it."
Theresia's arms trembled, her fists clenched white. The sight of her struggling to smother her own rage was rather laughable. Where on earth did that confidence come from? There could be no solid evidence. Because I hadn't done it. And no poison was simply going to turn up somewhere, either. Naturally so — no poison existed that could mimic the effects of acute pneumonia. And even if one did, her brother Arthur's illness had not been brought on by poison. Theresia was simply in the thrall of her own conviction. Taking the words I had spat out last time as her sole proof, she had come all this way on that alone. Truly a remarkable woman. Foolish as she was, she even possessed convictions of her own. Could there be a more terrifying woman in all the world?
"The reason I said I wished to meet your brother is because of this Full Moon Festival."
"What does my brother have to do with the festival..."
"Arthur Violet is one of the executive committee members for this year's Full Moon Festival. Or were you unaware?"
At that, the words died in Theresia's throat; she could only glare at me, unable to force out a single syllable. Of course, I hadn't said it with that intent. I had tossed the remark out hoping she would react exactly like this — and it was she who took the bait so splendidly. If you asked whether the fault was mine, well. Wasn't it the fault of the one who took it?
"You show no interest in what your own family does, yet you come all this way and carry on so disgracefully. How amusing. And then, after claiming you've come to apologize, all you do is spout incomprehensible nonsense about antidotes."
"...That's—"
"Is House Taylor a joke to you?"
I asked again, my voice sinking low. Her conduct could readily be read as mockery of this family. It was no different from attempting to drag my honor through the mud on the strength of this absurd suspicion. Not that I felt any attachment to the house — but if I so wished, I could wield it however I pleased. Far more ruthlessly than she could ever imagine. It was quite the enviable title to hold, after all. The most prestigious family in the Empire had, in this moment, become the finest of weapons.
Behind that chilling question — is Taylor a joke? — I opened my mouth once more, smiling with feigned innocence.
"I do hope that wasn't your intention."
"Th-that's not it. I don't think House Taylor is a joke—!"
I knew nothing of any antidote. House Taylor had never been involved. And my mention of her brother had been nothing more than a desire to speak of the Full Moon Festival — a thing she knew nothing about. With not a single word she could offer in reply, she squirmed — then, at length, fixed me with a long, troubled stare.
"Then the reason you came all this way. It was purely to apologize to me, then. For what happened before."
"......"
Watching Theresia fail to answer for a long while, I gave up on her and lifted my teacup. The chamomile was doing its work admirably. It soothed the emotions that might have flared, allowing me to regard Theresia with nothing but a level gaze. The past hardly bothered me anymore. It was only the past, after all. Phantoms that were nothing more than memories had no power to obstruct what I intended to do from here.
At the sight of me chuckling, Theresia's jaw clenched. But perhaps she still had nothing to say to me — her sealed lips showed no sign of parting. Should I simply sit here in silence? Even if I did nothing, the fact that she would break remained unchanged. A woman devoured and undone by her own suspicion — looking back on my own life, hadn't there been no shortage of such cases? I had been one of them myself, once, so I knew all too well that she had crossed the line. Even if our conversation ended here, I would likely have little occasion to see the woman called Theresia again. And yet, I had no intention of letting it end here. My wish was that the woman named Theresia would never appear before me again in this life. I would not kill her by my own hand — but I wanted never to hear that name again for as long as I lived. Was that not precisely what I had wanted — for her influence to cease existing in my life altogether? And so I resolved to crush her. I had planted in her the seed called doubt, and it had flowered and carried us to this point... Which was to say, there was not a single reason to stop now.
With a soft clink, I set the teacup down, a gentle smile settled on my lips. It was a smile that rose truly, genuinely from the heart. For the more I imagined the expression Theresia would wear next, the less I could contain this feeling blooming under the name of euphoria.
"If you had apologized the moment you arrived... then perhaps, just perhaps, I might have forgiven you."
I said it as though it were a pity, but it was not the truth. I had never harbored the slightest intention of forgiving her — and at my words, the eyes that had stood so firm wavered. She gnawed at her bloodless lips, and all that remained was a vacant stare fixed on me.
"I knew every sin you committed. Buying jewels with the money you took from me, commissioning dresses. Along with those darling little games of yours — even the strange way the Violet family's fortune swelled. I knew all of it."
"That was my fault. I was the one who went to my father and asked it of him. It wasn't my brother's doing. I'll apologize, so please...!"
"No, it is not yours to apologize for. Did I not tell you from the start that I know nothing of your brother's affairs?"
When I parried with a composed smile, the look on her face was something to behold. She shook her head as if such a thing were impossible, then seized my hand and began pouring out her pleas. She had stood there so defiant mere moments ago — why only now? Had desperation finally caught up with her? I brushed her hand away coldly and continued.
"I never had any intention of doing anything about this matter. I simply thought that once the engagement was dissolved, our relationship would be over."
"Robert, I was wrong. I'll apologize for my rudeness just now, too. Just give me the antidote — even as we speak, my brother... he may be dying. Please, Robert!"
I knew. Arthur would die, most likely tomorrow or the day after. He had always perished around the time the Full Moon Festival began, so little time remained. As much as I grieved his death, overturning what was already decreed was a thing only a god could do. I was no god, and so I could not grant her wish. But... could I not, perhaps, cultivate the suspicion she harbored, just a little further? I cleared my throat briefly, then murmured it, soft as a whisper.
"By now he must be coughing up blood, so one thing at least is certain — he is dying. What a tragedy. With that dreadful cough, he can scarcely manage to move. Is he managing to eat properly?"
The eyes that had been fixed on me went round, confusion and panic flooding into them. Naturally so. In not one of the letters she had sent me was there a single word about her brother's symptoms. Still stammering, she sank to the ground and weakly clutched my hand. As if to ask what those words just now were supposed to mean. Of course, she would never truly grasp the meaning of my words, not in this lifetime. Because I had used no poison, nor had I deliberately brought the pneumonia upon him. Who, after all, would believe that I had died a hundred times and knew the future?
"Come to think of it, he must be suffering terribly — he cannot even get porridge down just now. His condition worsened so drastically in a matter of days; everyone must be run off their feet. Wouldn't you say?"
"...I never told you any of that."
What filled her eyes was conviction — and desolation. She must have been certain of it now: that I had done something. The hand gripping my collar slipped and slid downward. Then she laughed quietly to herself, and after a moment looked up at me, lips trembling.
"W-was it you? Did you do it... really...?"
"No. I have done nothing."
"Then how do you know my brother's condition? I never... I never told you any of it. Robert, did you truly poison him?"
"If you're asking how I know."
I gave a faint smile, then answered with a shrug.
"Who knows? How could I possibly know?"
Theresia's body showed no sign of movement. She simply stared at me, blankly, trying to retrace the meaning of what I had said. The face of the woman who had stood so proud only moments before was now riddled with cracks. Her heart, crumbled and shattered, was reflected plainly in her eyes — the Theresia I had known was nowhere to be found.
I stepped down from my chair and lowered myself to her eye level. Kneeling to meet her gaze, I drew the hand resting on the ground toward me — gently. And held it, lightly.
"Theresia, I have no intention of reproaching you for suspecting me. Nor, for that matter, do I intend to say a word about your coming here and behaving so rudely."
"......"
"Because there is no need to. You seem to be under the delusion that you are someone to me — but you are nothing to me. Which means there is no need for you to apologize, and no need for you to come here begging for forgiveness."
It was time to give the woman called Theresia Violet my own sort of farewell. That we would never see each other again — and that if ever our paths did cross, we would not so much as pretend to know one another. Theresia could only gaze at me, hollow, as I held her hand softly, the way I had when we were lovers once.
She looked as though she had so much to say. From how I knew of Arthur's condition, to the very existence of an antidote. But there was nothing I could give the pitiful woman. I had nothing — and knowing there was no physician who could treat his illness, what could I possibly do for her? The only thing left to offer this woman was to hold her hand like this. To the woman whose face had drained ghost-white, as though she had seen a specter, I murmured, low.
"I would prefer that you not come here like this again. I know nothing about this matter, you see. If an antidote existed, I would have given it to you — but as it happens, I know nothing of such things."
"...I was wrong, Robert. Just once — can you not look the other way, just this once? Please..."
Thud—
At the sight of her now on her knees, rubbing her hands together, a hollow laugh slipped out of me. Again and again she knocked her forehead against the ground with dull thuds. Her clothes fouled with grass and dirt, she looked nothing like a noblewoman. She looked like nothing more than a madwoman, deranged and thrashing at something unseen.
Thud—
In this quiet garden, there was only one thing left to say to her. And so I raised the shoulders of the bowing Theresia and smiled gently.
"As I recall, I have told you many times already."
"......"
"I did nothing. My lady."
Would Theresia ever come to realize that all of this was the truth? I suspected she never would. And even if she did — by then, I would already be someone with nothing left to do with her.