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Chapter : 11
“Everything has a way. So… did you bring it?”
“Well… it has to be cooked in a special pot and eaten immediately. He said he’d come himself and cook it. Tonight, actually. How does that sound, Miss? Excited?”
At that moment, Loren felt like she could hand over her entire wallet to Noah. She thought she was bad at lying, but apparently not as bad as Peter. Loren fiddled with her teacup, pretending to be calm.
“Tonight?”
“Yes. You’ll have to beg Robinson like your hands and feet depend on it. Just make sure he knows you’re not tired of my cooking.”
Noah was coming. If a person could enter, then objects could too. Small knives or pistols could easily be smuggled in.
“It’s better to handle self-harm another way. It’s not just me who would get hurt.”
Cedric’s voice still seemed to echo in her ears—self-harm, threats, and…
Loren hid her smile behind the teacup. That was her new plan.
“Thank you, Peter. I already feel my appetite stirring.”
“Well, I just do as the Count commands.”
Suddenly, she felt a surge of urgency. She needed to write a note to communicate instead of talking, and check the distance between the kitchen and the dining room. Loren stood up.
“It’s been a delightful tea time.”
“Already leaving?”
“I’ve been sitting here for an hour, after all.”
“Has it really been that long…?”
“That’s right, Peter. You know…”
She stopped and turned to Peter, her voice soft and gentle.
“Cedric isn’t coming today either?”
“I suppose not. Don’t be too disappointed, Miss.”
Disappointed? She felt like dancing.
Loren inspected every corner of the mansion: open rooms, staircases, blind spots where people wouldn’t notice her.
She had spent several days “taking walks” as an excuse to investigate, so none of the servants she occasionally ran into suspected a thing.
She desperately hoped for time to speak with Noah. Just in case, she had written a small note and tucked it under her sleeve.
All preparations were complete. Now it was up to luck—and a little acting from Noah.
Loren slowly made her way down to the first-floor dining room.
Peter, lounging at the far end of the long table, immediately sat upright when he saw her.
“Peter, isn’t putting your boots on the table a bit much?”
“Anyway, only two or three people ever eat at this table. It’s a waste of space.”
He tapped the multi-person table with his palm. Indeed, only Loren and Peter ever used it, and rarely together, so it was practically a single-person table.
Loren chose the seat closest to the door.
“You came quickly. I guess you’ve been eagerly waiting, haven’t you? For that.”
Peter pointed toward the kitchen entrance. A man pushing a tray came into view.
An amateur detective, professional chef—Noah.
Loren felt like running to him, hugging him, and spinning around.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve been eagerly waiting.”
On the tray sat an absurdly large cast-iron pot. Loren had never seen a pot this big, but she smiled as if it were normal.
Even with the lid closed, a strong aroma wafted out. It smelled pungent, like it had a lot of spices.
“I can’t wait to try it.”
“It’s strange…”
Loren clenched her hands together in excitement.
“Please, I hope it’s delicious. At least so I can swallow it without trouble.”
Noah brought the tray over. His face bore reddish bruises. They had faded somewhat, but anyone could tell he’d been hit.
“Oh my! Chef, what happened? You must be in pain…”
“Ahaha. Well… some things happened while you weren’t coming to the shop. I’m fine now.”
Exchanging a few words, he gave a friendly smile.
“Here’s the beef jerky cream soup you’ve been waiting for. I was wondering why you hadn’t been coming to the shop recently.”
Peter’s eyes immediately fixed on Noah.
Loren pretended to sniff the plate in front of her. As expected, the spicy aroma was strong.
“Well… I haven’t been feeling well. It wasn’t exactly planned, but I took the chance to rest.”
Their eyes met.
‘Are you trapped?’
‘As you can see.’
A silent exchange passed between them. Peter was still watching Noah.
‘Talking will be difficult.’
He slowly got up and pulled a chair next to Loren, sitting down heavily.
“Peter, try some too.”
“No, it’s not an unfamiliar taste.”
“I thought you were curious to see it.”
He avoided the question. Loren scooped up the thick soup with a wooden spoon. White, mysterious cream covered it, and long strands of beef jerky floated in it. Loren shut her eyes tightly and swallowed a mouthful.
‘It’s awful.’
The strange taste made her frown instinctively. Yet Loren acted as if nothing happened and took another bite. The taste didn’t matter right now.
“Yes. This is it.”
She ate it with small exclamations, scraping the bowl clean. Gradually, she began to get used to it.
“Tasty, right? I cooked it just like last time. It pleases the regulars, so I’m happy too.”
Noah fussed excitedly beside her. Loren adjusted her sleeve to subtly move the note into her hand.
Peter remained alert, but only toward Noah.
“Could I have another bowl?”
Noah took a clean plate from the bottom of the tray, stirred the pot with a long ladle, and poured a ladleful of cream soup onto the plate, handing it to Loren. Steam still rose from the beef jerky soup.
‘Now.’
Loren reached for the plate as if to take it, tapping Noah’s wrist. The plate spun in midair, spilling the contents all over Loren’s hands and legs.
Clang!
The white porcelain plate shattered on the floor. Peter jumped up in alarm.
“Miss!”
Loren, covering her hands as if injured, grabbed the flustered Noah.
“I made a mistake. I was too eager…”
She muttered the words while slipping the note into Noah’s hand—a motion so natural even a sharp-eyed person would barely notice.
“Bring a wet towel!”
Peter shouted toward the kitchen. The maids rushed in with cold towels. The table, Loren’s clothes, and her hands were all covered in soup.
“Don’t make such scary faces, Peter. My hands slipped. I should’ve just waited until I set it down, but I was too impatient.”
Loren leaned on the maid, defending Noah. If he ever angered Peter and wasn’t allowed in here again, it would be a disaster.
Peter quietly watched Noah apologize repeatedly.
“Peter.”
Calling his name finally drew his gaze back to her.
“Ah, don’t bother with the bandages.”
The maid wiped off the cream soup carefully and applied ointment to the reddened skin. When she went to get a bandage, Loren shook her head.
“Please contact Cedric. He’ll worry unnecessarily otherwise.”
“…Yeah. Damn it.”
“Chef… well, you should leave now.”
Peter ruffled his hair and told the servant to escort Noah outside. Noah, anxious, hurried to follow.
Before leaving the dining room, he glanced back at Loren with a serious expression. It was clear he had received the note.
It had gone noisier than planned, but it was a success. Loren sighed in relief.
Even now, the scent of spices clung to her, as if she had crawled inside the soup pot herself.
“Better to… bathe first rather than treat it.”
“Shall I prepare the bathwater?”
“Yes, please.”
The maid busied herself leaving.
Loren stood awkwardly, wondering about the note. Had Noah read it by now?
What would he think after reading the single line: “I need a knife.”—and the more urgent postscript that followed?
