TLMS 02

Chapter 02

Aylin’s hometown residence, the Plenigan Mansion, was about a six-hour carriage ride from the Whittington estate.

Since it was quite far, I had to depart the previous afternoon by carriage in order to attend the funeral scheduled for the next morning. Mrs. Weber, the head maid, accompanied me as my chaperone.

Grandfather, uneasy about sending me such a long distance alone with only women, also sent Ian, the steward’s deputy, along.

You might wonder, “A steward’s deputy? What does that even mean?” But it’s quite literal. Ian Quaid, two years older than me, occasionally handled the duties of our family steward, Mr. Simon.

According to Grandfather, though young, Ian “is sharp, discreet, and efficient in handling tasks,” and he had already been marked as the next potential steward after Mr. Simon.

Ian’s parents had been employees of our household, but both passed away from illness before he even turned five. With nowhere else to turn, Grandfather took him in and raised him, so Ian and I spent much of our childhood together.

Unlike the other household staff, we were of similar age and shared the experience of losing our parents early, so we became close easily.

Still, since I was the lady of the house, Ian always treated me politely and formally—even though we were childhood friends. Yet I knew he only put on the appearance of politeness. He often made sarcastic comments behind that façade whenever he got the chance.

When I was fifteen, I once accidentally broke one of Grandfather’s collectible teacups. Knowing it was a rare piece made in some Eastern country, I held the detached handle in my hand, tears brimming in my eyes.

“Hmm, it looks like it could be fixed with glue.”

Ian had silently approached and glanced at the broken teacup over my shoulder before speaking.

“There are visible cracks, but if we’re lucky, no one might notice it’s broken.”

“And if they do notice? Grandfather will be furious!”

“Then…”

Ian smiled faintly—a mischievous sort of smile.

“You just pretend and say, ‘The teacup has a crack? Since when?’ as if nothing happened.”

“Ah.”

I looked at Ian again. He was the type praised by Grandfather for being obedient and reliable beyond his years. Yet here he was, devising such a clever trick.

“Th-then that should be fine, right?”

“Of course…”

Ian maintained his mischievous expression and interlaced his fingers.

“If I don’t tell the Earl the truth, Miss Beth will remain safe, right?”

“Are you seriously thinking of tattling? That’s so mean!”

I protested, but Ian didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

“By covering up your mistake, what benefit would I gain?”

“Well… that is… so…”

“If I tell the truth, Miss, you’ll be scolded by the Earl and learn to act more cautiously in the future. That would benefit your upbringing. And for me, it would strengthen the trust between the Earl and myself.”

“You just want Grandfather to praise you for keeping an eye on me! You’d tattle just for that?”

“I did consider another option.”

Ian winked.

“If, during your next day off, you visit the shopping district and buy a box of whiskey chocolates from Blitz Confectionery, I’ll keep this secret until I die. What do you think? Would you rather get scolded by the Earl for saving money, or buy a box of chocolates? That’s a much cheaper option, I’d say.”

I gaped in disbelief.

“Wow, now you’re even threatening your master!”

“Let’s be precise with the term,” Ian said firmly.

“It’s not a threat—it’s a trade. A threat only benefits the one making it. A trade benefits both parties.”

“But minors aren’t allowed to buy whiskey chocolates!”

I pouted again, but Ian looked unconcerned.

“I’ll accompany you, then. People say I’m mature for my age anyway.”

“I thought people said you’re an old soul? And you’re a minor too! You shouldn’t have whiskey chocolates!”

“It’s just chocolate, what’s the harm?”

Ian said lightly, then quickly added, as if to avoid leaving any loopholes:

“Anyway, I’ll turn eighteen next year, an adult. I can just store the chocolate you give me for a year before eating it.”

Whether he actually saved the chocolates for a year or ate them immediately, I couldn’t tell. But Ian often acted in ways that made it seem like he was using me. Despite that, he was generally easy to communicate with. So it was fortunate that he accompanied me on this gloomy journey.

Although I had received the obituary, I hadn’t been formally invited to Aylin’s home. Since staying at the Plenigan Mansion would have been difficult, we lodged at an inn in the village.

Mrs. Weber spoke only when necessary, and Ian was not the type to misread the mood, so neither of them spoke to me much. This allowed me to mourn my friend properly.

I had expected to visit this village under Aylin’s invitation—to walk through the forest together and enjoy the village festival.

‘What could have happened to Aylin?’

Aylin had been young and healthy; it seemed unlikely that she had died suddenly from illness within a week. It must have been some accident.

The obituary gave no details, so the only way to learn what happened was to attend the funeral and hear it from her family.

Yet even at the funeral, I could not gain any information about Aylin’s death.

The Plenigan family was a long-established and influential family in the region, but the funeral had a somewhat modest atmosphere.

There were few attendees: Aylin’s immediate family and a few relatives, some household staff behind them, and a few local notables and business associates who likely felt obliged to attend. Then, of course, the funeral directors.

I seemed to be the only friend present. Usually, local villagers also attended to console the bereaved and pray for the deceased, but this was not the case.

It wasn’t a happy occasion, given the sudden death of a young lady. Even I, inexperienced at funerals, was surprised by how brief and hurriedly everything was conducted—as if they wanted to get it over with quickly.

But I was not part of the family, so I could not interfere, and perhaps they had their reasons.

I approached a woman in her forties who appeared to be managing the funeral to offer condolences. She was Mrs. Jenkins, Aylin’s aunt.

“You must be Elizabeth Whittington.”

Mrs. Jenkins nodded. Her expression showed no trace of sadness, but this was not unusual—people often lacked the time to grieve due to the exhausting preparations and running of a funeral.

“I heard about you from Aylin when she was alive. A young lady of the Whittington family. Thank you for coming all this way. I apologize for troubling a young lady of such a distinguished family with these messy duties.”

As she spoke, Mrs. Jenkins lifted her head, and for a moment, her eyes seemed to pierce me.

Still, I was dressed in mourning attire with a black veil, and my fiery red hair was tightly pinned under a black net, making me appear at least ten years older than my actual age.

“Trouble? Attending is only proper,” I said.

“I did not wish to trouble you, but…”

Mrs. Jenkins spoke firmly:

“I learned just before this that Aylin had written you a letter. We thought that if we didn’t notify you of Aylin’s death, you would be worried and curious. So we intentionally informed you.”

She then turned resolutely, as if to say, “We’ve shown the proper courtesy to the guest.” I quickly called after her.

“Excuse me, just a moment!”

“Yes?”

“If it’s not improper, may I ask one thing…?”

I swallowed hard and continued.

“How did Aylin pass away?”

“It was an accident.”

The curt reply came immediately, as if prepared.

“An accident? What kind of accident…?”

“Just an accident. I see no need to explain in detail. From the family’s perspective, it’s painful enough without dwelling on it. Now, Miss Whittington, please return safely.”

It was impossible to continue the conversation. Mrs. Jenkins turned and left with decisive steps.

‘I suspected it was an accident, but is there really a need to hide what kind of accident it was?’

At that moment, I overheard two young women in maid attire whispering as they passed by me.

“I told you, this mansion has a ghost.”

‘A ghost?’

I felt a strange premonition and strained to listen while pretending to look elsewhere.

“So you’re saying the ghost did it?”

A short, freckled maid shivered as she whispered.

“Well, in such an old mansion, having one or two ghosts wouldn’t be strange. But no way! A ghost killing someone directly…”

“But I clearly heard Lord Norma say it. The ghost killed Miss Aylin.”

The taller maid with brown hair stated it confidently.

“The ghost that wanders the mansion cursing the women of the Plenigan family! This time, it cursed Miss Aylin!”