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Chapter 22
“That’s just speculation, miss.”
When I told Ian about finding Aileen’s letter, he cut me off firmly like that.
“I know this family’s traditions are suffocating, but you think they’d kill someone just to maintain them? Their own relative, no less?”
“Well, maybe there’s a bigger secret hidden behind it?” I shot back.
“For starters, the so-called ‘ghost of the Flanagan family’ might not necessarily refer to their stifling traditions. You see it in novels all the time—families hiding terrible secrets. Maybe the Flanagans have been committing horrifying crimes behind the scenes for generations, and Aileen found out about it.”
“That kind of thing only happens in novels. You just like crime fiction, so you’re letting your imagination run wild.”
“Ian, I’m serious. Can’t you at least try to think this through with me?”
“Well, based on what you’ve told me…”
Ian paused for a moment before continuing.
“If we follow your reasoning, then the ‘ghost created by Lady Alice Norma’ that Aileen mentioned must refer to the paintings in the study. There’s nothing else it could be.
And since Aileen said she found a way to get rid of the ghost, that would mean a way to get rid of those paintings. Maybe she was planning to take them all down, pile them up in the garden, and burn them in a bonfire.”
“Ian!”
“I’m not joking. If a woman of the Flanagan family were to destroy those paintings, it would symbolize a massive act of defiance against the family.”
“Still, it can’t be that simple. Literally destroying the paintings? No, that doesn’t feel right.”
I shook my head.
“And if you read the letter, you can tell Aileen was in a very good mood. She wasn’t thinking about suicide at all.
We don’t know exactly when she wrote it, but she said she would continue writing—and yet there’s nothing after that. She must have written it right before she died. If that’s the case, then it’s very likely her death wasn’t suicide.”
“We’re back to square one again,” Ian replied. “There’s still no evidence that she was murdered.”
“Maybe we just haven’t found it yet. Anyway, there’s definitely something off about those creepy paintings.”
I said it with conviction.
“Last night, that startled me to death—Grandma Melissa suddenly appeared out of nowhere. From what Mrs. Pierce says, she sometimes comes to the east wing study to look at the paintings.”
“Ah, Lady Melissa? She does come occasionally.”
“Huh?”
“One night I went out into the hallway after hearing a strange noise, and I saw her coming out of the study. Twice, actually. She kept muttering things like the family is doomed, and women don’t know how to behave properly.”
“What is that supposed to mean? That’s ridiculous.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it, miss.”
Ian shook his head with a sympathetic expression.
“When someone has certain beliefs ingrained in them from a young age, it’s incredibly difficult for them to break free from those ideas on their own.
I heard Lady Melissa is a distant cousin of the previous head of the family. Even if she married into the family, she must have been familiar with the Flanagan traditions since childhood.
She probably never had a single chance in her life to think beyond what she was taught—that ‘this is how a Flanagan woman should be.’ So we can’t blame her entirely.
It’s different for someone young like you, who has more opportunities to experience new things. She likely never had that chance.”
“Well… I guess you’re right.”
Still, I silently added to myself that I would rather not run into Melissa in the middle of the night again just to hear lectures about how women should behave.
Later, while waiting for the right moment, I casually asked Carol and Amy whether Aileen used to visit the study often. Amy said she didn’t know, but Carol answered without hesitation.
“Miss Aileen used the study more than anyone—except for Master Edward. He uses it for meetings with the butler or to receive minor guests like tenant representatives or shop workers.
But when it comes to reading books, Miss Aileen was the one who used it the most. Miss Delia and Miss Lucy read occasionally, but not as much.”
That made me consider that Aileen might have gone to the study not just because of the paintings, but possibly for a specific book.
Using cleaning as an excuse, I took a closer look around the study again. In wealthy households, having a well-decorated library filled with books had long been fashionable. The Whittington estate also had a larger library than this one, packed with old, tedious-looking books passed down through generations.
I was the same, and so was my grandfather—we never read those kinds of books. Instead, he secretly ordered books from bookstores and hid them under his bed.
Since I had secretly taken and read those books myself, I knew his taste very well—detective novels and romance novels. (Especially the tear-jerking kind; sometimes I would pretend not to notice him sniffling while reading them.)
And yet, he would always sternly claim that such books were not suitable for respectable people.
“No wonder you ended up playing detective in disguise, miss. It’s because of the books the count enjoys reading.”
That was what Ian had said with a sigh when he first infiltrated the Flanagan estate while pretending to be a noble. He had definitely read those books too.
This place was no different from the Whittington library. Shelves were lined with serious-looking, intimidating books that seemed unbearably dull.
Some of them had never even been opened—the pages were still stuck together just as they were when purchased. There was even a paper knife prepared in the study, but it looked like no one had ever bothered to use it.
As I continued browsing, I noticed a corner where a collection of particularly old, worn-out books had been gathered.
“Wow… these look like they’re over a hundred years old.”
Then I remembered Carol casually mentioning, “There are some really old books in the study—like ones from the time of the legendary Lady Alice Norma.”
Curious, I pulled one out.
The title read: On Women’s Professional Occupations – Why Is It Difficult to Find Women in Jobs Other Than Nannies, Maids, and Laundresses?
As I flipped through it, dust flew everywhere. The inside was just as worn and grimy as the cover.
After coughing for a moment, I put the book back and scanned the other titles.
Why Women Need the Right to Vote, Women’s Participation in Society, Women and Higher Education… Every single one of them seemed completely at odds with the Flanagan family’s values.
‘They really don’t read books in this house, do they?’
Given their traditions, if they had actually read these books, there was no way they would still be here. Maybe they simply couldn’t bring themselves to throw away books that had been passed down for generations.
Then another thought struck me.
‘What if Aileen came here to secretly read these books?’
As I lifted my head from the bookshelf, my eyes were naturally drawn to the portrait of Lady Alice Norma. Slightly to the upper right hung a painting titled:
“Pretending to be educated, Alice is struck by books thrown at her.”
The very painting that had been hanging above Aileen’s head when she died.
‘You’re no different. If a woman dares to step out of line, she’ll be punished.’
For some reason, the painting felt like it was threatening me with those words. Of course, I wasn’t the type to be scared of something like that.
Like Ian said, I wasn’t going to pile them up and burn them in the garden—but I would find a way to “get rid of the ghost,” just as Aileen had intended.
‘But what exactly is that ghost…?’
Click.
“Ahh!”
The sudden noise behind me startled me so badly I almost stopped breathing. Normally I wouldn’t react like that, but I had been so focused that the sound caught me completely off guard.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize someone was here.”
It was Eugenia. She smiled apologetically when she saw my face.
“You must be cleaning. Don’t mind me—just carry on. I don’t mean to interrupt.”
I waved my duster around, pretending to clean the bookshelf.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Eugenia wasn’t paying much attention to me. She stood a little distance away, tilting her head up—looking at the paintings on the wall.
“It’s been a while… these paintings.”
It was hard to tell whether she was talking to herself or to me.
‘I wonder why she’s here? She’s a playwright, so she probably likes books.’
But I couldn’t shake my unease. Eugenia had sharp instincts, might have overheard my conversation with Ian, and—like me—could be investigating the deaths in this estate.
“Ellie works on cleaning the second floor of the east wing, right? Then you must be forced to look at these paintings every day, whether you like it or not.”
As if reading my thoughts, Eugenia kept speaking.
“When I was young and lived in this estate, I was often locked in this study as punishment for not behaving properly. I was told to reflect while looking at these paintings.
I hated it back then, but now it almost feels like a fond memory. Oh, and once, when I was locked in here, I rearranged all the frames as a prank and got scolded for it.”
She chuckled softly and stopped in front of one painting, studying it closely.
It was titled:
“Lewd Alice, who flirted with men, is dunked upside down into water.”
Feeling uncomfortable being alone with her, I tried to slip out of the study, pretending my cleaning was finished.
“Ellie.”
Without even turning around, Eugenia stopped me with her voice.
“The rumors going around the estate… are they true?”
“Pardon? What rumors?”
I pretended ignorance, but I could already tell I wouldn’t be able to hide everything.
Eugenia’s voice carried the certainty of someone who already knew the truth.
