Chapter 05:
The ache in my arm and shin, bruised from colliding with the edge of the staircase, throbbed relentlessly. Even though Marianne had stopped touching the tender spots, the pain lingered.
“It’s not your fault, Marianne,” I said, my voice trembling as tears welled up, making my words sound convincingly shaky. “It’s me. I was mean to Lucia. You kept telling me not to pick on the other kids…”
The tears, spurred by the pain, lent a natural quiver to my voice. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry…”
I could feel Branda’s gaze boring into me, as if I’d betrayed her in some grand, unforgivable way. Clinging to Marianne’s neck as though I’d never let go, I held on tight. Marianne froze, startled, before her arms wrapped around me in a surge of emotion.
“My lady…” she murmured.
Tears spilled from her lifeless eyes, cascading down her cheeks. Those green eyes, reminiscent of wild grass, seemed to reclaim their vibrancy at last—like parched blades of grass revived by a long-awaited rain.
“…Alright, let’s take a look at those injuries first,” my father said.
Sniffling once, I lifted my skirt to reveal my shin. Thanks to the carpet on the stairs, the damage wasn’t severe, but I’d taken quite a tumble, and a child’s delicate skin couldn’t escape bruising. My father’s brow furrowed slightly as he examined the marks.
“Where’s the doctor?” he asked.
“They’ll be here soon, my lord,” replied Ella, the maid. “Shall we take the young lady to her room?”
I nodded faintly, but before anyone could move, I grabbed my father’s arm. “Papa…”
He looked down at me, silent.
“Don’t send Marianne away,” I pleaded.
His hand, so much larger than my six-year-old one, dwarfed mine as he glanced at it, then at me, and finally at Marianne. “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding,” he said.
“My lord!” Branda’s voice rose in a shrill protest, as if the very idea was absurd. Tsk, tsk—hardly the behavior of a refined lady, especially for someone well past six years old. “Leticia’s being deceived! That woman’s been scheming with the maids, filling her head with nonsense. Just earlier, when I was with her, she was perfectly—”
“Waaaah!” I cut her off, throwing myself back into Marianne’s arms and clinging to her neck. The maids tried to lift me to take me to my room, but I ignored them. Marianne patted my back soothingly, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“It’s alright, my lady,” she said softly. “Shall we go to your room now?”
“I’m going with you,” I insisted.
“I’ll come up after I finish speaking with the count, alright? Be a good girl.”
“No…” I muttered stubbornly.
I could be the most obedient child in the world, but not today—not until I had absolute assurance that Marianne would remain my nursemaid.
“It seems your affection for Leticia led to a mistake,” my father said, turning to Branda. Her pale, gaunt face flushed a furious red.
“I… I may have misunderstood,” she admitted, clearly reluctant.
Branda might have played the lady of the manor in my father’s absence, but the true master of this estate was him. Though she looked utterly aggrieved, she turned to Marianne with a grudging nod. “If there was something unfair, you should’ve spoken up sooner. You kept quiet, so I…”
She trailed off, and my father cleared his throat. “I acted too hastily myself, so let’s put this matter to rest.”
His words didn’t sound entirely sincere, but they signaled his intent to avoid escalating the issue. Marianne gave a small nod, then, noticing my gaze, spoke up. “It’s… alright.”
Oh, why did she have to say that? If she’d complained about Branda making her work impossible, I could’ve kept throwing a fit.
“I’m sorry for putting you through this,” my father said to Marianne, offering a slight bow. “I trust you’ll continue to care for Leticia.”
Marianne, still holding me tightly, quickly bowed in return. “I’ll do my very best, my lord.”
“And Leticia,” he said, turning to me. My heart tightened with nerves, but Marianne’s gentle hand on my back steadied me. “You said you were mean to Lucia?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded slowly. What if he asked why? All I knew was that I’d hit her—I didn’t know anything else. Branda claimed Lucia must’ve provoked me first, but that naive girl? Hardly.
“If you know you did wrong,” my father continued, his voice gentle but not overly indulgent, “then after you’re treated, you should apologize to her first.”
I looked up at him. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“I will,” I promised.
“Good,” he said with a nod, saying no more as he rose to his feet. I watched him turn away, then, on impulse, grabbed his sleeve.
“Papa…”
His steps halted at my small voice. I hesitated, then spoke softly. “I’m sorry.”
At the news of Leticia’s execution, he was the one who had abandoned everything to rush to the capital. The man who knelt at the Emperor’s feet, begging for his daughter’s forgiveness.
Having read the original story, I knew what Leticia, standing on the scaffold, had wanted to say to her father. And I knew that passing on those words was the only thing I, now inhabiting Leticia Blandot’s body, could do for her.
“I’m sorry, Father.”
Those were the words Leticia had wanted to convey in her final moments, knowing her father had never abandoned her. He looked at me intently, then placed his hand on my head.
“Don’t say that anymore.”
With those words, Father turned and walked back to his room. Watching his retreating figure, I thought to myself: perhaps if the original Leticia had heard those words, her life might have turned out differently.
Marianne gently stroked the child’s forehead. Just a few hours ago, this same child had been throwing tantrums and causing a scene, but now she was as calm as if it had all been a lie.
“Nurse, you’re really not leaving, are you?”
Leticia, her bruises freshly treated with ointment, clung to Marianne’s sleeve even as she lay in bed. She seemed to be watching Marianne’s every move, as if gauging her intentions.
“Where would I go, my lady?” Marianne soothed, pressing a kiss to Leticia’s forehead. But the girl still gripped her sleeve tightly. Marianne rubbed Leticia’s reddened eyes and kissed her round forehead again.
“I’m not going anywhere. Alright?”
She spoke with conviction, taking the child’s small hand. A look of relief washed over Leticia’s face, so much like her mother Selena’s, as if she had heard exactly what she needed. The sight made Marianne’s nose sting with emotion.
She had thought she’d endured for a long time. Since Selena, the young lady she’d served since childhood and her dearest friend, had suddenly vanished. Since whispers began about Leticia, who, despite taking her first steps, showed no sign of the family’s abilities. Or perhaps since Fabian Blandot, turning his back on his daughter, left the estate for the borderlands.
No, that wasn’t quite it. It had been difficult, but she had managed to hold on until Branda Blandot arrived at the estate. The child, so like her mother, was just troublesome enough to keep things lively and far more lovable than that.
At least within the estate, Leticia had grown up cherished by everyone except her father. The kitchen maids were always eager to slip her a sweet, and even on days when she returned with her dress caked in mud, the strict butler would laugh it off. Lucia, too, had loved playing with her peer, the young lady of the house. But then—
“Auntie said it was all fine!”
“What does it matter to you, Nurse!”
The change in the bright, healthy child began when Branda arrived. At first, it was small—getting angry over trifles, throwing tantrums. Then it escalated to hurling objects or, at its worst, lashing out with her fists.
“Lucia’s your daughter, so you’re always on her side, aren’t you? Even though you’re my nurse!”
“She ignored me first! Auntie said I didn’t do anything wrong!”
At first, Leticia would shout in anger but then glance nervously, offering apologies. But she changed more and more. The servants began avoiding her or tiptoeing around her moods, and the more they did, the bolder she became.
When Marianne tried to discipline her, Branda would fly into a rage. How dare a mere servant presume to teach a count’s daughter? She’d scream for Marianne to know her place and serve without overstepping.
Unreasonable demands were followed by unjust treatment. Spoiled food would appear at meals, clothes sent to the laundry would return torn, and there were times Marianne was slapped for talking back or falsely accused of theft.
But those things, she could endure. She held fast to Selena’s plea to protect Leticia. Spoiled food could be avoided, torn clothes could be mended.
But the moment she found her daughter crying silently in the dark, Marianne had thought for the first time: What am I doing?
If she couldn’t even protect her own child, who was she protecting?
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
