TPHT 10

Chapter 10

I must have been around eleven.

It was far too young an age to be working as a servant.

“You should have taken proper care of it!”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

The boy with light brown hair and green eyes, just like the Marchioness, answered in a flat, emotionless voice.

His voice was incredibly thin, as if his voice hadn’t yet broken.

My eyes widened even more.

Because of his shabby appearance, I’d thought he was a servant—but he was her son?

“We must have it resolved by the time Regina and Leopold arrive, Timothy. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would you?”

“H-Ha, but…”

The boy stammered, his face full of terror.

I swallowed dryly.

I guessed that Regina and Leopold were the Marchioness’s other two children.

Could he be an illegitimate child?

But if so, Timothy looked far too much like the Marchioness herself.

“If all the rooms are already full, there’s nothing I can do…”

“Then you will bear the consequences.”

“Mother, there are other hotels nearby…”

The Marchioness ruthlessly cut him off.

“Are you making excuses when you can’t even handle a single task I’ve given you?”

“…I’m sorry.”

Timothy bowed his head deeply.

“Please forgive me, Mother…”

“Forgiveness, my foot.”

The Marchioness’s voice was sharp.

“I don’t care what you have to do, but make sure we can check in! Show me your usefulness.”

The hotel manager was now frantic, sweating cold.

“I’m terribly sorry, my lady. We would like to help, but there’s simply no way… I beg your understanding.”

The Marchioness tilted her chin haughtily.

“I have no intention of speaking further with you. Deal with my son instead.”

Then she immediately left the hotel.

Her excuse was that the carriage was more comfortable, but I knew.

It was just another way to torment Timothy.

“…”

Timothy, his face pale, appealed to the hotel manager.

“I-Is there… is there really no way? I’ll do anything. Even work…”

“…There’s no way. I’m sorry.”

The manager looked at Timothy with great sympathy.

“I-I might die this time. Last time, my leg was broken. Please, any way at all…”

I didn’t know why I stood up. Perhaps it was because of my title as Vice-Director of the Child Protection Agency.

Even if the position was just for show, a title shapes a person.

Or perhaps…

My conscience simply wouldn’t allow me to turn my back on this young boy.

Just as I hadn’t been able to turn my back on Melissa.

I walked toward them.

“I’ll give up my room. I don’t know if it will be up to the Marchioness’s standards, though.”

The manager sighed in relief.

“It is an excellent room, the kind that would surely satisfy the Marchioness.”

I was puzzled.

That wasn’t the grade of room I had…

The manager quickly answered.

“We always reserve the best rooms for imperial officials.”

Ah, so that was it.

Even if it was a demotion, the title of “Vice-Director” apparently carried some weight.

“Th-Thank you, sir.”

Timothy bowed.

“Mother will be pleased.”

I shrugged.

“What your mother thinks is none of my business. I’m interested in you.”

“Pardon…?”

“How long will you be staying?”

“…I believe about a week.”

“Is that so? Then be my companion during that time.”

In my heart, I wanted to separate the child from his parents immediately, but I couldn’t act rashly.

The Child Protection Agency was a nominal institution to begin with.

Even as Vice-Director, there was no legal way to forcibly separate abused children from their parents.

If they were commoners or lower-ranking nobles, I might invoke the authority of the imperial court, but the other party was the House of Marquis Dubér.

If they wished, they could easily make my life miserable.

So all I could do was…

…at least give him a brief escape from the abusive environment.

Timothy stammered, looking flustered.

“Me… as your companion…”

“Yes. Your mother will allow it, won’t she? She told you to get a room by any means.”

“Yes…”

Timothy looked down at the floor.

The hotel manager fidgeted and looked at me.

“Still, he is the young master of a marquis. Shouldn’t we ask the Marchioness first?”

He wasn’t wrong.

Even if the situation was absurd—having to ask the abusive parent for permission—

“Then go tell your mother. Tell her I’ll give you the room on the condition that you be my companion for the next week.”

Timothy immediately ran to the carriage.

After a moment, the Marchioness strode back into the lobby, chin lifted high and stiff.

“Your name?”

“Tessa Harrington, my lady.”

“…Hmph, an imperial official. So you have at least enough brains not to do anything stupid…”

The Marchioness seemed to weigh Timothy’s worth against the value of a week’s stay in a hotel room.

“Not bad. However, you must return him before dinner.”

“Of course, my lady.”

I answered as politely as I could.

“Thank you for lending me your precious son as a companion.”

A chill ran down my spine.

Because the moment I said “precious son,” a sharp sneer appeared on the Marchioness’s face.

Though I had finally gained a precious opportunity, conversing with Timothy was not easy.

The next day at lunchtime, in the restaurant we’d agreed to meet, he had merely exchanged brief greetings and then clamped his mouth shut like a clam.

“…”

“…”

Feeling the slight awkwardness, I decided to order food first.

“Go ahead. Order whatever you want.”

At those words, Timothy’s eyes sparkled just a little.

…Ten or so minutes passed.

He really can’t decide.

Instead of rushing him, I quietly observed the child.

The boy had a slender, gentle appearance.

But it wasn’t his looks that caught my eye.

…Bruises.

On his wrists, his cheeks, and even, upon closer look, his eyelids—faint bruises were visible.

There wouldn’t be many people who could lay hands on the son of a prominent marquis.

Is it only the Marchioness? Or…

Timothy suddenly spoke.

“I-I think… potato soup would be fine.”

“Ah, really?”

I took the menu from Timothy.

“Soup, nothing else? No, we’ll have a main course and dessert too.”

“Uh…”

Timothy hesitated.

“If you don’t choose, I’ll order everything.”

“No!”

Timothy cried out.

In the end, I had to order for both of us. Two main courses, two desserts.

…Though because Timothy refused, I had to insist that everything was my portion.

I deliberately put a hand on my stomach and sighed.

“I’m so full… I think I’ll have leftovers. Would you eat half for me?”

“Yes.”

Surprisingly, Timothy readily accepted the steak I pushed toward him and ate it.

Strange.

I narrowed my eyes.

Because Timothy looked far too natural accepting food from someone else.

…Am I overthinking?

The thought that perhaps he was only used to eating leftovers from the marquis family made me uncomfortable.

Timothy quickly finished his food, and he didn’t refuse the crème brûlée I pushed to him, claiming I was full.

“Th-Thank you.”

Timothy wiped his mouth and bowed.

“Was it good?”

“Yes. It was very good.”

Now that his voice was finally starting to show a little life, I asked him a light question.

“Timothy, how old are you? I don’t think I even asked.”

“Thirteen.”

Something felt strange.

Timothy was far too small for a thirteen-year-old.

I thought he was at most twelve.

“When is your birthday?”

“It just passed not long ago.”

“Perfect. I was wanting to go to the souvenir shop anyway. I’ll buy you one thing as a birthday present.”

Timothy flusteredly waved his hands.

“I-I don’t need anything! I’ve already received a lot…”

But no matter how much he refused, he was just a thirteen-year-old boy.

Having been toughened up in the imperial palace, I soon made him give in.

And so we went to the souvenir shop.

It was surely a precious chance to grow closer to Timothy, but…

“Hello, Tessa. Fancy meeting you here.”

“…?”

Half startled and half exasperated, I glared at Cain Incaris.

“Weren’t you the one who said my location shouldn’t be known?”

At that perfectly natural question, Cain answered shamelessly.

“It’s fine, I’m in disguise.”

“…”

Could wearing a single brown wig truly be called a “disguise”?

Meanwhile, Timothy, utterly terrified, began to stammer.

“Wh-Who… Who is…?”

“Just someone I know.”

I answered curtly.

“Don’t worry about him.”

“Tessa!”

Making an exaggerated hurt expression—that academy classmate of mine was none of my concern.