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Chapter 15
Rumors spread excitedly among the maids that Count Penwood, who was staying at the estate as a guest, might become a son-in-law of the family. However, the people most concerned—Jane and Delia—didn’t hear about it until quite late.
So the two of them continued to treat Count Penwood just as they always had. If they had known that talks of marriage had come up—or even that such rumors were circulating among the maids—they wouldn’t have been able to behave so naturally as before.
Well, it’s just a rumor anyway.
For some reason, I found myself in a strange mood.
It wasn’t just because of the baseless gossip spreading through the Flanagan estate. It was the realization that Ian—who was always by my side, smiling, joking, and throwing sharp remarks—might one day leave for some faraway place. It was almost strange that I had never even considered such an obvious possibility until now.
Would Ian really not care who it is, as long as he could become rich?
His reaction hadn’t been much different from the jokes he usually made to me, but if a rare opportunity really presented itself, who could say how his feelings might change?
A huge fortune could change a person’s life. Anyone who hadn’t lived comfortably might be tempted.
In the end, it’s Ian’s decision whether to marry or not. It’s not something I can interfere with.
“…did you bring it?”
But if it turns out Ian isn’t really a noble, that would be a problem… Even if it’s his grandfather, he wouldn’t go so far as to assist in a fraudulent marriage…
“Elly! Are you even listening to me?!”
Startled by the sudden shout, I jumped. Mrs. McBride, the cook, stood there with her hands on her thick waist, glaring fiercely at me.
“Where on earth is your mind these days? How many times did I tell you to go to the storage and bring cooking wine? Honestly, youngsters these days only think about playing! Do you think earning someone else’s money is easy?”
Like a mouse spotting a cat, I quickly slipped out of the kitchen. I was just about to enter the storage room next door when someone rushed toward me like the wind.
“Miss Beth!”
It was Ian. Startled, I instinctively covered his mouth and quickly looked around.
“Shh! Ian! Are you trying to get caught?”
Fortunately, there was no one nearby. I hurriedly pulled him into the liquor storage inside the pantry.
“Ian, did you start drinking in the daytime? What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”
“Thank goodness you’re safe, miss!”
Instead of answering, Ian grabbed both my arms and shook them. His eyes were shining in a way I had never seen before.
I was surprised. I had never seen him this flustered, not since he was very young.
His usually neat hair was completely disheveled, his expression somewhat dazed. His collar and sleeves were wrinkled and untidy.
“I was worried that something had happened to you…”
“What on earth are you talking about? Ian, get a hold of yourself!”
I lightly tapped his cheek. He took my hand and gently lowered it, as if to say he was fine now.
“…I thought you’d had an accident.”
“An accident?”
According to Ian, this is what had happened:
A moment ago, he had been walking down the corridor on the second floor of the east wing, maintaining his usual dignified presence as Count Penwood. Then he overheard a few servants speaking urgently.
“Someone fell into the pond earlier!”
“Again? Did someone drown again?”
“I don’t know if she’s dead or not! But it’s a woman!”
“A woman?”
“Yes! They said she has red hair!”
The moment Ian heard “a red-haired woman,” he didn’t even stop to think—he immediately rushed to find me.
He had been about to burst out through the east wing entrance, but just as he reached the first floor, he spotted a red-haired maid hurriedly entering the pantry. So he changed direction and ran toward it—and the rest was exactly what I had experienced.
“So even Ian can lose his composure sometimes.”
When I giggled, Ian finally looked embarrassed and adjusted his collar and sleeves.
“Please don’t tease me, miss.”
“My grandfather used to joke about that. He’d say butlers aren’t born from people but pop out of rocks fully formed. He said both Mr. Simon and you are so flawless it’s hard to believe you’re human.
He even said he wanted to see lightning strike near Mr. Simon while he was drinking tea—just grazing his ear—and that Mr. Simon would continue drinking without even raising an eyebrow. He bet ten flins on it.”
“Since lightning is unlikely to strike, such a bet would never take place.”
“It wouldn’t have worked anyway. I also bet ten flins that Mr. Simon wouldn’t even flinch. If both sides bet on the same outcome, it’s not really a bet.”
I laughed again.
“So I thought you wouldn’t even blink at lightning either. Seems you still have a long way to go before becoming a perfect butler, Acting Butler Ian Quaid.”
“If it had been lightning, I would have been less startled.”
Muttering that, Ian picked up a bottle labeled Lady Leovil from among the rows of liquor.
“I might need an excuse for why I came down here.”
He always has a plausible excuse, I thought with a wry smile.
The commotion that startled Ian that day turned out to involve Delia.
Ian had only heard “red-haired woman” and rushed down in alarm, but the servants who were talking had all been thinking of Delia, not me.
After all, there weren’t many red-haired women in the Flanagan estate. Aside from me, there were only a couple of maids—but their hair wasn’t as vividly red as mine.
The only one with hair as strikingly red as mine was Delia. From behind, the two of us could easily be mistaken for each other. We had similar builds and heights, and both had long red hair reaching our waists.
The reason Delia fell into the pond was rather absurd.
She was particularly timid. It was said that even after the age of ten, she couldn’t sleep alone at night and needed a maid to stay with her.
That day, Delia had been out for a walk around the estate when suddenly something white came fluttering toward her.
“Eek!”
Without even seeing what it was, Delia panicked and collapsed on the spot. Unfortunately, she had been standing near the pond. Instead of getting back up properly, she stumbled and rolled straight into it.
Splash!
The loud sound echoed, and people nearby shouted:
“Someone fell into the water!”
“Who is it? Did someone jump in?”
“That’s Miss Delia!”
“Miss Delia fell into the pond!”
Fortunately, it was broad daylight, and there were many servants nearby. Like her older sister Anne—who had drowned—Delia couldn’t swim, but people rushed in and managed to pull her out safely.
Later, Delia said, “I thought a ghost was attacking me.”
Rumors about ghosts had already been circulating around the estate, so it wasn’t surprising that she mistook the white object for one.
But the truth was almost laughable.
The maids had been washing bed sheets that day, and one of them hadn’t been properly secured with clips. It had come loose and flown straight toward Delia in the wind.
Thinking it was a ghost and falling into the pond over it—there was nothing more embarrassing.
And thanks to that, Ian had also shown me an embarrassing side of himself.
“Of course Miss Delia would be fine,” Amy said to me that evening.
“She’s so well-behaved. She never does anything the family forbids. There’s no reason for her to be cursed by a ghost.”
“Right. There isn’t a single painting in the study that reminds you of her either,” Carol added.
Everyone had started linking every incident in the Flanagan estate to the so-called ghost’s curse.
Delia just slipped and fell into the pond.
I found it absurd, but at the same time, I couldn’t help feeling uneasy about what might happen if Delia ever did something—even accidentally—that went against the family’s traditions and matched one of the paintings.
But the one who brought a new disturbance to the already troubled Flanagan household wasn’t Delia.
“Ugh, this place is still as tacky as ever.”
A strange woman stood in the first-floor hall of the west wing, holding luggage in both hands as she looked around.
I had come to the west wing on an errand, delivering candles and a few items. Though I hadn’t been working at the estate for long, I thought I recognized most of the people connected to it—but I had never seen this woman before. She must be a guest, I assumed.
Even so, her appearance was quite shocking.
Most notably, she was wearing trousers like a man, along with heavy leather boots. If not for her long, wavy black hair falling past her shoulders, one might have mistaken her for a man.
Did she come all the way here dressed like that?
I was deeply impressed by her boldness.
But someone else had a very different reaction.
“Eugenia! What on earth are you wearing?!”
Edward came storming down the stairs, looking furious enough to devour her.
The woman called Eugenia simply smiled brightly at him.
“Uncle Edward! It’s been a while.”
“Did you really come here dressed like that? What will people say? How can a woman go around dressed like—!”
“Uncle.”
Lowering her voice, Eugenia cut him off.
“I’m a Jenkins. So please don’t try to force Flanagan customs onto me.”
That was my first impression of Eugenia Jenkins.
