Chapter : 49
So that’s how it was. Doline took Hena’s advice to heart. Hena guided Doline to the door. As she stepped outside, drifting flower petals filled her vision. Though it was late spring, the cherry blossoms in the Rohanson mansion showed no sign of fading. A branch of the cherry tree swayed in the wind, with Evangeline hanging from it, her body rocking.
“You worked hard today as well. Please take care on your way.”
Doline snapped back to her senses at Hena’s farewell. When she wiped her mouth and nose, white powder came off, but she didn’t even register it.
‘What was I doing?’
Ah, she had received money from the butler and come out. She felt the bulging pocket when she touched it.
“Cough, cough. Hena, you as well. See you next time.”
Doline bid farewell to the gloomy maid and left the Rohanson mansion. When had she been injured? When she mentioned she was in pain, she noticed her knees were scraped.
What had she planned to do after leaving the mansion? Right—she had decided to send a letter. That way, she would be able to receive holy water.
But a major problem arose. Since Doline had to abide by the rules of the Rohanson mansion, she was not allowed to disclose anything that happened inside.
What should she do? If she didn’t write the letters, she wouldn’t receive holy water. While worrying, Doline decided to write them anyway. Of course, those letters never reached Bishop Zabania and simply piled up neatly in Doline’s desk drawer.
To Bishop Zabania.
Bishop, I have safely entered the Rohanson mansion.
The count is away, and the mansion is being managed by the butler named Phlox. The interview was very simple. I heard the butler isn’t from a noble background, so perhaps due to a lack of education, he seemed to evaluate me very favorably without realizing the documents were falsified. A drug addict becoming a etiquette teacher—it’s quite ridiculous, isn’t it?
There are many rules to follow in this mansion. Considering that such rules are imposed not only on the staff but even on a governess, it’s obvious that Evangeline Rohanson is quite particular. I’ve attached the rules I received. I plan to begin proper lessons from my next visit. But Bishop, what exactly should I teach in etiquette?
—Doline Ponor, who successfully obtained employment.
To the Bishop who never replies.
Yes. I understand your intention well. You meant that I should not write personal notes and handle things on my own, correct? So I resolved everything myself. I borrowed a book titled Basic Etiquette Education from the library. It’s meant for ten-year-old children, but isn’t it enough to just meet the basic standards? I hope you acknowledge how much effort this drug addict is putting in.
—Doline Ponor.
Bishop, is it time for you to pass away from old age?
Please forgive me for starting the letter with such crude words. This is entirely your fault. When I asked you what kind of person Lady Rohanson was, you brushed it off by saying she was “not ordinary.” In my opinion, you must have developed presbyopia. It seems you need holy water more than I do.
Since you live in the temple every day, you must always be seeing the statues placed throughout it. That’s probably why you considered Lady Rohanson familiar. But what if those statues started moving? I would probably faint. That’s exactly how I feel now. Please understand my situation, having to teach etiquette to a living statue.
—Doline Ponor, recommending treatment to the Bishop.
To the Bishop.
I am doing my utmost in this assignment. Since it seems that more information about Evangeline Rohanson is known by those around her than by herself, I have been subtly asking around. However, the people in this mansion tremble in fear even at the mere mention of the letter “E.” I did manage to hear some things from Lantana, who enjoys boasting.
They say Lady Evangeline is frightening and intimidating, but as long as you do not cross the line, she will not reprimand you, so there is no need to be afraid. In particular, the two maids beside her handle all the chores, so there is no need to approach her closely. I had seen three maids, so I asked if there wasn’t a fourth named Canna. She cursed, saying she speaks just like someone called Olive’s child—someone I don’t know—and told me never to mention that name.
She also told me everything about the two “monsters” the lady keeps, the news that a maid named Daisy had quit and returned, and stories about the new staff employed at the Rohanson mansion. It’s the first time I’ve seen someone with such a loose tongue.
When I asked why she was telling me everything and whether she wasn’t worried I might go around spreading it, she said, “You wouldn’t be able to.” What could that mean? Perhaps it means I appeared trustworthy enough?
—Doline Ponor, seeking a token of gratitude.
Bishop. Are you even reading my letters?
You promised that upon my employment at the Rohanson count’s household, you would provide one bottle of holy water in advance. I waited sufficiently, thinking I might be rushing you. Do you know how many letters I have already sent?
My withdrawal symptoms are worsening. At this rate, I may not be able to properly carry out your request. Of course, I am not threatening you. How could a drug addict like me dare to demand anything from you? So please, send the drugs—no, the holy water—as soon as possible.
Except for me and one other person, all the governesses employed at the Rohanson mansion have quit. None of them could endure the first day. You understand how hard I am working, don’t you?
—Doline, who seeks your grace.
To the Bishop.
Bishop. Are you just using me? You bastard! What did I say? I told you my withdrawal symptoms were getting worse! All day long I hear voices telling me to die. I have so little of the remaining drugs left that I have to use them just to stay somewhat sane. Imagine having to teach etiquette while high on drugs! They say Evangeline Rohanson has amnesia. Did she use drugs too? This place is strange. It feels like I’m stepping on flesh when I walk. When I saw Evangeline Rohanson’s body hanging, I accidentally stepped on an eyeball today and burst it. I’ll stop here.
—Doline.
To the Bishop.
I am afraid of the young lady (traces erased). Bishop, the young lady is a kind person. Even though I have confessed all her private matters like a spy, she said she would forgive me. I love her more than you, who never reply to my letters. This will be my last letter. I like this mansion. I worship Lady Rohanson. She will save me.
From Doline Ponor at the Rohanson mansion.
To Miss Doline Ponor.
Doline, are you properly handling the task I entrusted to you? I am not pressuring you, but I have not received a single letter from you. I heard that you passed the selection, but since there have been no updates on your situation, I am worried that something may have gone wrong. Are you doing well? I am quite curious about how you are faring at the Rohanson mansion. You may also share stories about your employer, Lady Rohanson. I hope you have not forgotten our promise.
From Zabania, the chosen one of God, under the brightest sun.
“Housekeeper, this is a letter addressed to Miss Doline. What should we do? Should we inform the young lady?”
“No. If the young lady learns of this, things may escalate. Deliver it to Sir Gabriel instead. He is scheduled to visit this afternoon anyway. Daisy, please take care of it.”
“Yes, I will.”
“May the chosen one of God make a wise decision.”
At the time when shadows were at their shortest, the Rohanson mansion—normally a place that quietly hummed like a lullaby for Evangeline, who would still be indulging in late sleep—was unusually busy.
Four carriages were parked in front of the mansion gates, and the servants helped unload the luggage from them.
“You may stay in the guest rooms on the second floor. We’ll help carry your luggage.”
“Oh, thank you for your help.”
“Hey, that fabric is dragging on the ground! Please be careful!”
Embroidered fabrics, colorful textiles, lace decorations—there were so many that even catalog booklets brought along because they couldn’t all fit in the carriages required two people to carry them, and even then it was barely enough.
“There’s really too much…”
If converted into money, just selling those fabrics alone could buy an entire estate in a provincial territory.
Watching the procession of luggage, Raphaela couldn’t help but marvel. At that moment, the woman directing the operation struck Raphaela on the back. With a sharp smack, Raphaela staggered and fell to the ground.
“It hurts, Misha!”
“Then should I hit you so it doesn’t hurt? What are you standing around for? Help out.”
“What? Me? I’m a knight.”
“Then are they my porters?”
Following her pointing finger, Raphaela saw her fellow knights of the Paralos Order—whose uniforms inspired awe in all who saw them—now reduced to worker bees, carrying luggage. Being knights, their stamina was exceptional, and they carried twice the load of ordinary people without showing fatigue.
“Uriel, Seraph…”
Even Jeremiah, who normally found breathing bothersome, had been enlisted. With the exception of the commander who had gone ahead to meet Lady Rohanson, no one was exempt. Raphaela reluctantly dragged her feet and tried to lift some luggage, then suddenly stopped.
“Misha, why aren’t you saying anything to your younger brother?”
“…Michel has a headache right now.”
Artemisia looked at Michel as though she were seeing the most pitiful and unfortunate thing in the world. Still, as his sister, she had softened her words somewhat. Raphaela, however, decided to push back and share the burden. Even if he had a headache, his body was fine—they couldn’t let labor go to waste.
“Haah…”
Michel stood with his eyes closed, taking a deep breath. Ignoring Artemisia’s glare, Raphaela slung an arm over Michel’s shoulder.
“Michel, what are you doing?”
“I am inhaling air to my heart’s content. Perhaps because Lady Rohanson is here, the air feels so pure and fragrant. I have never seen cherry blossoms blooming so abundantly. I long to be part of this scenery, but unfortunately I am a person who must atone within the Paralos Order.”
Crazy… Raphaela shuddered and quietly removed her arm from his shoulder.
