A Lady's Transformation
The nephews' mother, and Victor Bayern the Grand Duke's own younger sister.
Her name was Seranna Bayern.
"What kind of person was she?"
"Very kind, they say. She loved to sing. Oh, and she played the piano too. Even the biggest troublemaker in the house would stop his antics and listen whenever Miss Seranna began to sing."
She had been the heart of the family.
Losing someone like that must have left a deep scar.
"Would it be too much trouble to tell me what happened?"
"It was the miasma. Miss Seranna sickened from bad air and passed away."
Banya's face grew sorrowful.
Ibel wanted so badly to empathize with that pain... but she couldn't, leaving her at a loss.
Miasma, huh. People out in the provinces still cling to such nonsense.
Professor Pasteur had discovered 'germs' in Franche back in 1861.
Of course, academia was still debating hotly, but Ibel knew from hard experience that Professor Pasteur was right.
"Um, if I may... I heard the lady graduated from a renowned medical university and is a doctor herself. Is that true?"
At Banya's tentative question, she nodded. The old woman's face immediately brightened.
"Oh, thank goodness. Lately, the eldest young master's cough has been getting worrisome. It must be the miasma, so we've kept all the windows shut tight and stoked the fires nonstop, but he just won't get better..."
What?
What did she say they did?
As Ibel stood speechless, Banya rattled on with one jaw-dropping tale after another.
"One day, Lady Genevieve—that's the Grand Duke's aunt—had the whole household marching around with torches. To drive out the miasma, you see."
"......"
"We thought the eldest was on the mend after that, but once the rainy season ended, the coughing started right back up. Seems the miasma doesn't retreat all at once."
Where to even begin correcting this?
Ibel pressed a hand to her forehead, then ran her fingers over the dresses one by one before selecting a soft, lightweight white one and slipping her arms through the sleeves.
Anyway, without seeing the situation firsthand, there was nothing she could say here. It would be pointless.
Didn't Dr. Lister just announce the success of carbolic acid in the Lancet—the world's most authoritative international medical journal, first published in Britain in 1823? That was March 1867, I believe.
Less than a year had passed, so it made sense that belief in 'bad air'—miasma—still held sway, the notion that it made people sick.
How could ordinary folk possibly understand what germs were?
Even among doctors, plenty still didn't grasp the need to disinfect hands and tools with carbolic acid before treatment.
But carbolic acid isn't perfect. In my view, Aseptic Technique is far superior.
The Aseptic Technique in Ibel's mind meant disinfecting the patient's entire space.
Especially, she wanted a dedicated operating room where no one could watch.
Charging admission for tickets to gawk, as they did now... well.
Wasn't that just telling the patient to drop dead?
Doctors ought to keep surgical garb spotless and change into fresh sets, with tools soaked in carbolic acid and thoroughly dried before use.
Of course, this aseptic approach existed only in her head for now.
Academia and the public alike judged a surgeon's prowess by the gory crust of flesh and blood on their blades.
"No doctors in the duchy using carbolic acid?"
"Pardon? What's that?"
"Guess not. If there were, they'd be advertising far and wide for spectators. Carbolic acid is a disinfectant."
"Disinfectant...?"
Banya blinked as she laced up the corset strings.
"At university, they disinfect entire operating or exam rooms with carbolic acid to kill airborne germs. Wounds and the medical staff's hands get the same treatment, naturally."
A blatant lie.
The university led the charge in hawking surgery-show tickets.
"Really? Why's that?"
"Ever helped deliver a baby, Granny?"
"I have."
This time, as she fastened an amber necklace matching the color of Ibel's eyes, Banya's expression turned reminiscent.
"Washing hands back then raised the odds of both surviving, didn't it?"
"Ah, midwives in the duchy have washed their hands for generations. No idea why, with water that dirty, but it's been that way since my great-great-grandmother's time."
"That's disinfection. A way to keep germs from invading wounds."
But carbolic acid cost a fortune.
It was a hassle, stung the eyes, and even after disinfection, wounds could still go bad.
Those drawbacks had doctors rejecting it left and right.
Dr. Lister wouldn't earn his fame operating on the Queen of Ingria until 1871.
Hmm... so I need to start with the very concept of disinfection.
Now she was truly ready.
In the mirror, she looked every inch the daughter of some exalted house.
This might actually fool people.
"You're utterly beautiful. His Grace will be quite smitten."
That man of stone? Ibel let the words slide past as she slowly adjusted her posture.
Straighten the shoulders, brace the core. Tuck in the chin.
Habits drilled into her since childhood gradually surfaced, and Banya's eyes flew wide.
She looked like an entirely different person from moments before.
"So, you mean I have to transform the lady candidate into a proper noblewoman in just two months?"
Aide Matthias pressed a hand to his forehead at the detailed orders from his superior.
He had no idea what the strategy was, but if His Grace had commanded it, there must be good reason.
The sudden Contract Duchess advertisement and this situation alike—they all had purpose.
Still, he wasn't confident.
A noble's dignity was tied to birthright.
His thorough investigation revealed House Klarren as fallen nobility, recently forced to sell even their manor due to the son's gambling addiction.
'Ibel Klarren' wasn't even listed in the noble registry.
Twins were rare and sometimes seen as ill omens. If the second-born was a girl, noble houses occasionally omitted them from the rolls—superstitious nonsense about her siphoning her elder brother's luck.
Apologies, but she's practically a commoner. Though that's what makes adopting her as an Eberstein ward feasible.
Had she been registered, they'd have needed to contact House Klarren. It would have gotten messy and demanding.
As things stood, an adult commoner being adopted into nobility required no parental notification, noble blood or not.
Paperwork's no issue.
The problem was... how to make a half-commoner pass for high nobility?
In a mere two months, no less!
"We'll need to shape public opinion too. Claim she's the Eberstein foster daughter returning from studies abroad."
"Yesss..."
Matthias had given up trying to understand.
"She likely knows basic etiquette, so we'll focus on speech, dance, foreign languages, and cultural refinement."
Anyone who'd undertaken secret work alongside His Grace would pick things up quickly enough.
Truth be told, Matthias still couldn't believe that boyish figure was a real doctor. Probably some private code between the two.
"The lady is ready."
A knock, then Banya's voice.
Entrusting the candidate's close attendance to Banya carried weight in House Bayern.
It was a measure of how much His Grace truly cared.
"Your Grace."
Matthias looked up at the voice so calm it evoked falling autumn leaves.
The next instant, he froze solid.
Who... who is that?