Episode 14
Evidently caught off guard, Kirhin’s eyes went round in the brief silence. Then, with a bright, cheerful burst of laughter, he patted my shoulder.
Snickering so hard I could feel the puff of his breath, Kirhin pointed toward the carriage parked in the distance.
In all my life, I had ridden in a carriage only once. That day when I was eleven, shoved inside by my mother without a clue where I was going, fighting down wave after wave of nausea from the motion sickness.
Ever since, my world had been confined to walking distance. Not that I ever felt I was missing out. To me, carriages were synonymous with sickening misery.
Yet the carriage I boarded with Kirhin was startlingly comfortable. The seats were plush, the ceiling high, and if I shut my eyes, I felt as if I could drift right off to sleep. In fact, the moment Kirhin got in, he sprawled out across the entire opposite bench, leaving me free to gaze out at the dark, passing scenery.
Exhausted and drowsy as I was, I couldn’t bear to close my eyes, terrified I would wake up back in that dungeon. Fortunately, the ride was short, and the carriage soon arrived at Mrs. Allmon’s house.
Every light was out, casting the house in its usual heavy silence. Seeing the window left open just as I’d feared, I quickly hopped down from the carriage. Kirhin stepped out on the other side and clicked his tongue.
I hadn't spent much time with him, but it was already obvious that Kirhin wasn't the type to measure his words. As I hurried inside, he trailed behind with an “Oof!” before hastily unwinding his scarf to clamp it over his mouth and nose.
He seemed to wrestle with the thought, but after stuffing the scarf right up into his nostrils, Kirhin muttered with surprising solemnity,
Come to think of it, he was right. Someone had murdered the baron and left his corpse abandoned in this house.
Who could have done it? Had they intended to frame me from the start?
Gathering my thoughts, I pushed open the door, and the familiar stench poured out. Kirhin, his face completely wrapped in the scarf, shrank in behind me.
I was so used to it that I could have navigated blind, but realizing he couldn’t, I searched for the flint. When I caught the wick on the table aflame, Kirhin finally let out a sigh—only to press the scarf over his mouth again immediately.
Swallowing down an impending sigh out of courtesy to my savior, I rushed to shut the window, only to freeze when something felt terribly off.
There was no raspy wheezing. That sound had always filled the room, as constant as the air itself, as pervasive as the stench.
It couldn't simply vanish. Except for one possibility.
My steps slowed as I approached the bed. My lips went completely dry. Mrs. Vino lay perfectly still, like a child lost in deep sleep. It was unlike her.
One look at her face brought an immediate certainty to my eyes. With crusty traces of pale drool dried around her mouth, Mrs. Vino rested with her eyes peacefully closed.
No breath passed through her slightly parted lips any longer. I hurried to draw the tangled quilt up over her shoulders.
Coming over with the candlestick, Kirhin flinched at the sight of Mrs. Vino. I kept fiddling aimlessly with the quilt, letting the words spill out.
Even with a gentle hand gripping my shoulder, I couldn’t stop talking.
“Lucy, stop. She’s already gone.”
Kirhin’s soft murmur cut through my trembling voice. My eyes remained fixed on Mrs. Vino’s shut lids. Even the dark liver spots scattered across her wrinkled skin seemed to have drained of color.
A metallic rasp scraped my throat. A taste like blood seemed to rise. No tears came, but my body wouldn't stop shaking.
Clicking his tongue in a heavy sigh, Kirhin pulled the quilt up to cover her face. Turning me around as I stood frozen like a stone statue, he added,
Noting Mrs. Allmon's absence, he cast his gaze around the room. Shadows wavered in the flickering candlelight, looking as if ghosts, drawn by the woman's passing, had come to dance.
My mind had gone blank, but regardless, there was nothing I owned that I couldn't bear to leave behind.
There was a cookie tin in the drawer where I had kept the wages Mrs. Allmon paid me each year, but I had no desire to take it. Nothing from this place. Nothing at all.
Nodding in understanding, Kirhin turned and left the room. Slipping my hand beneath the quilt, I gently took Mrs. Vino’s hand.
The fingers, stiff and devoid of all warmth, felt just like branches fallen from a tree long ago. It felt as if a hollow hole had been punched clean through my chest.
Over the past few years, she was the person I had spent the most time with. I couldn't call her a friend; we had never shared a proper conversation.
Yet she was my duty, the reason for my presence here. Ridiculous as it was, I had relied on her in this house and grown attached to her. That was how I had survived.
She was the only person who would listen to me without complaint, day in and day out. Even when the soup was too thin or the bread burnt, she never beat me or hurled things. She would only wheeze softly, quietly submitting to my care.
The sudden thought brought a twisted smile to my lips. Perhaps we had even died at the exact same hour.
If I had met you there, it would have brought me comfort. If you happen to run into my father, my brother, my sister, or my little sibling, please tell them that you know me.
Tell them that thanks to me, living was just a tiny bit less bleak, just a tiny bit less lonely.
…Goodbye, ma'am.
Letting go of the hand whose soul had departed, I turned away. The wind blowing through the open window felt as if it were painfully scratching across my skin. The Beekman manor was more magnificent than anything I had ever laid eyes on. To someone whose boundaries had never extended beyond her home, the forest, and the marketplace, it was only natural that the vast, imposing noble residence felt utterly overwhelming.
While I felt on the verge of fainting from exhaustion, my entire body was strung taut with nervous tension, leaving my mind dazed. Stepping down from the carriage, Kirhin stripped off his scarf and coat as the butler came forward to greet him.
The butler Brook looked haggard, his face lined with deep exhaustion. With the head of the house meeting his end in such disgraceful circumstances, he must have spent the entire day dealing with one headache after another.
I tried my best to piece together the rumors I had heard about the baronial family.
Long ago, after the baroness died of illness, Baron Beekman had kept numerous mistresses, yet the position of lady of the house remained vacant. In such households, most affairs naturally fell into the hands of the butler and the head maid, giving rise to persistent rumors that Nina, the head maid, held her head exceptionally high.
Had the Beekman heirs been of any real use, the staff's burdens might have been lighter, but both sons were utterly hopeless. The eldest son, naturally lame in one leg, rarely showed his face in public, while the younger son, renowned for his good looks, was a prominent fixture of high society who took after his father in chasing women and little else.
Neither possessed the skill nor the slightest interest in governing the estate. Even so, the Beekman fortune was considerable, leaving everyone to marvel at their luck with envy.
