Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: The Prepared Room
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A paper fluttered down from Dever's hand. Before it could even reach the study table, a gust of wind from the open window snatched it away.
Dever simply watched as the newsletter flew off into the winter breeze.
"Was your respite in Brent a peaceful one?"
The butler Oliver, who had brought the newsletter, inquired.
"Yes."
Dever replied curtly.
The desk where he handled paperwork was piled high with documents that had accumulated while he was away.
The sharp scratch of the pen nib against paper echoed through the quiet study.
"Are you all right?"
"Is there any reason I shouldn't be?"
Even as Oliver, who must have read the newsletter first, asked worriedly, his young master responded with calm composure.
"No one who sees it would think the newsletter is talking about you, my lord."
"In fact, it's all for the best."
The butler fell silent.
"At least wherever she goes, they won't dare treat her lightly."
"Her, you mean?"
"Have you finished the task I asked for earlier?"
Dever rose slowly from his seat. The duke, dressed simply in a shirt, looked far more relaxed than he did in public.
His face was serene, as if he were a completely different person from the vulgar gossip in the newsletter. His butler might even have doubted that the initials referred to Dever, judging solely by that composed expression.
"Yes. The furniture arrived just before you returned."
"Let's see it."
Dever's footsteps turned toward his bedroom for the first time in ages. His hand kneaded his nape with force.
Since returning from Brent, he hadn't set foot in his bedroom even once. He would work late into the night on documents before dozing off on the sofa, or lie in the bathtub while bathing—that was his only rest.
The servants standing guard in the hallway swiftly opened the bedroom door in unison with his steps.
Dever paused for a moment and gazed at the military jacket hanging by the bed.
"Is there something you need done?"
"No. Open the passage."
Dever turned his head and pointed to the corridor leading to the wife's quarters.
When Cassius had been there, that corridor had been nailed shut with massive planks to keep the duke and duchess apart. It was the only place in the mansion Dever's feet had never touched.
The butler nodded and instructed the servants to open the door.
"Since it had been sealed for so long, we redid the finishing work."
As the butler said, the corridor—now free of nails and freshly refinished during Dever's absence in Brent—gave off a scent of fresh wood.
"Does it meet your approval?"
Dever's gaze slowly swept over the room. It was the wife's bedroom, a place he barely remembered. Perhaps his feet had never even reached here.
Unlike the duke's room, which was framed entirely in dark wood, the wife's room seemed to draw in all the light of the mansion, making it bright and airy.
Sunlight poured in through the large windows, and the bed draped with a pristine white canopy made the space feel even more luminous.
From the small tea table beside it to the vanity and the faint floral scent wafting through the air—it didn't suit the Cliff family at all, who acted as if they owned the darkness itself.
"The colors are as you specified."
"I see."
Pale sky-blue accents dotted here and there lent the room an even gentler warmth.
"You've done well."
It was dry praise, but the butler bowed his head in gratitude.
"However."
Dever walked to the window and flung it wide open. A cool breeze rushed in immediately.
"Artificial scents don't suit it much."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Dever looked down from the window ledge.
'It's a bit high to climb up.'
'Come down here.'
It was exactly this height. The time he had feigned weakness, begging Beth—looking down at him from the isolation room—to come down, exposing his back to shake her resolve.
Dever gripped his stiff nape once more. The throbbing headache now stabbed at his skull like a knife.
"Will you be all right without taking it?"
The butler asked, omitting the word "medicine."
Dever swept back his hair whipping in the wind and perched on the window sill. His bloodshot eyes grew even redder, stung by the dry gusts.
"The owner of this room will be coming soon."
His voice was stubborn and firm.
"Take good care of it until then."
As he left the room, Dever turned back once more.
The now-familiar scene filled his eyes. He gazed at it as if it were the lost face of Beth herself.
"How did the Cliff Duchess fare?"
"If you mean the previous Duchess Cliff."
The butler hastened to respond. Dever had never once asked about his mother, so even the seasoned butler couldn't hide his surprise.
"She passed early, but in life, they say she was more beautiful than Her Majesty the Empress herself. Everything she did became the fashion among Nexus women. She had exquisite taste."
"Is that so."
It was a dry murmur, devoid of any affection.
Dever recalled Beth from his memories. Save for the time she borrowed his friend's clothes, she had always worn threadbare nurse uniforms.
Beth and exquisite taste.
A genuine laugh, one he hadn't let out in ages, burst from Dever's lips.
The clueless butler and servants cautiously watched their master's expression.
"Ah, something just came to mind."
Dever touched the corner of his lips, reining in his smile.
The Cliff Duke's steps were noticeably lighter than before.
"Fill it with clothes and jewelry befitting the Cliff Duchess as well."
"Check if she's hiding anything on her body and bring her out!"
At the man's bellow, the boy huddled in the corner limped forward.
The man would beat the boy whenever Beth refused to comply. No matter how many times she clawed at him, or even bashed her own head against the wall when all else failed, Beth inevitably ended up crawling on her knees to beg.
Please don't hit the boy.
She could endure the pain countless times herself, but she couldn't bear to watch the young boy curl up and take the merciless violence.
Only after the rickety door slammed shut did the boy stagger over to Beth. She took a step back at his gesture to touch her.
"I'm a girl. Don't worry. I'll just check."
Her voice was hoarse.
With short hair and a gaunt frame, she looked more like a boy than a girl at first glance.
The girl cautiously ran her hands from Beth's neck to her shoulders, down to below her ribs. Her hand paused near Beth's hip.
The girl's fingers slipped into the pocket of Beth's dress. What emerged was a gold brooch engraved with the Nexus emblem. The girl stared at it blankly. With empty eyes fixed on it, she slipped the brooch back into Beth's pocket.
"Don't let them catch you."
It was a quiet murmur.
Beth met the gaze of the girl, who was a bit taller than her. The girl had spotted Beth on the train and had been with her ever since. She seemed to be the man's planted spy.
"I'll cover your eyes."
The girl took Beth's hand—now blindfolded—and led her out of the room.
"Nothing?"
The girl said nothing.
In that instant, a rough hand shoved something into Beth's mouth.
"!"
A sticky texture accompanied a bitter taste. It wasn't the girl's hand clamping over Beth's mouth as she tried to spit it out. Her body went limp as she tore at the hand.
Beth struggled to rouse her foggy mind.
She shook her body, intending to smash her head against the wall, but it wouldn't obey. She collapsed limply back onto the bed, surrounded only by darkness.
It had been grueling days.
After the man left, Beth—blindfolded again—was moved somewhere else. The new place was unlike the dingy, moldy basement before. The bed was plush, the linens carried a pleasant scent. Best of all, the girl was gone.
Yet it was just as horrific.
The man came once a day, urging her to submit, and Beth would smash his nose with her forehead or stab the back of his hand with the pen she clutched.
But her resistance didn't last.
The man brought the girl back.
'You only came to your senses after watching everything fall apart because of you since you were little.'
He beat the girl. His movements were even more savage than before.
Beth had no choice but to nod frantically, promising to do anything, and prostrate herself on the floor. She was inured to taking the pain in her place.
'It's up to you. Whether your mother and this child live or die.'
The man didn't come after that. Instead, medicine arrived on a silver tray.
Just swallowing those pills brought on drowsiness, clouding her mind. Her judgment blurred, and her sense of time vanished.
Beth had refused the medicine several times, but crumbled helplessly when the girl first whispered, 'If the tray isn't emptied, I'll get beaten again.'
Beth swallowed the pills repeatedly, vowing to herself.
The medicine isn't killing me.
My thoughts are killing me.
I'll escape. I won't miss any chance.
Even as deep sleep overtook her, she murmured inwardly.
One night when she briefly regained her wits, a lamp in the room flickered on for the first time. Beth stared at that small, precious circle of light for a long while.
She dragged her deathly limp body from the bed and sat at the table. Beckoning the girl seated at a distance, the hesitant girl approached.
[What's your name?]
Her hand trembled from writing after so long. Perhaps it was the drug's effect.
"Name..."
The girl fidgeted with her hands. Her small, beak-like lips mumbled a response.
"I don't have one."
Beth stared blankly at the girl for a moment. She seemed somehow familiar.
Ah, then she understood why the cunning man had assigned this child to her.
To exploit her guilt and get what he wanted.
[Shall I give you one?]
"A name?"
A spark lit in the girl's perpetually vacant eyes.
Beth's lips quivered. She was so drained that even smiling was a struggle, but if it could reassure the girl...
[Luca]
"...Does it mean something?"
At the first question tinged with childlike curiosity, Beth gripped the slipping pen tightly.
[It means go wherever you want]
"Luca..."
[A name meaning fly free, unbound]
The girl murmured "Luca" several times before shyly nodding.
"I like it. Luca..."
In the wavering lamplight, the letters spelling 'Luca' flickered unsteadily.