When Mary bumped into her, the hot water from the bucket must have spilled and scalded Beatrice. Realizing this, Mary’s face crumpled in distress.
“I-I’m so sorry! Are you badly hurt?”
Mary clasped her hands together and reached out instinctively. She hadn’t meant to touch Beatrice, but before she could, Beatrice’s elderly maid swiftly slapped Mary’s hand away with a sharp smack.
“How dare you lay a hand on her.”
“Ugh… I-I’m sorry.”
“You. You’re Lady Angela’s maid, aren’t you? Did you do this on purpose?”
The maid’s voice was so sharp that Mary, even though she had done nothing wrong, couldn’t manage to speak up loudly.
“No! Never! It was just an accident…!”
Feeling helpless, Mary turned toward Rita. Since this whole situation had happened because Rita had pushed her, she was silently pleading for Rita to explain the truth.
But instead of helping, Rita stuck out her tongue mockingly at Mary.
When Mary bit her lip and glared at her, Rita finally spoke up—but, of course, not in the way Mary had hoped.
“She did it on purpose. She was walking perfectly fine, but the moment she saw Lady Beatrice, she suddenly pretended to stumble. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“What?!”
Beatrice’s elderly maid immediately turned ferocious.
Beatrice, who was holding her scalded hand, looked down at Mary with teary eyes. Her gentle gaze was now filled with unconcealed suspicion.
“No, no! That’s not true! It really wasn’t!”
Mary shook her head desperately, but no one believed her.
—
Yvonne, Beatrice, Beatrice’s maid, and Mary—awkwardly caught between them.
Angela silently observed this unusual group of uninvited guests. Judging by Mary’s pale face and restless fidgeting, it was clear she had caused some sort of trouble.
What kind of trouble could a little thing like her have caused to bring them all here?
Angela closed the book she had been reading, set it down on the table, and stood up from the sofa.
“Mother, have you come to check whether your reclusive eldest daughter is still alive?”
She spoke nonchalantly as she approached Yvonne.
At this, Yvonne shot a glare at Mary and jerked her chin in the maid’s direction. The look on Yvonne’s face was venomous—something Angela had never seen from her before. Not even during her time as Angela’s nanny, or as recently as her wedding reception.
It was surprising.
“This girl poured hot water on Beatrice’s hand.”
Angela’s gaze flickered ever so slightly as she stared at Yvonne for a long moment.
She didn’t even glance at Mary—not out of suspicion, but because she realized something.
Yvonne completely lost all rationality when it came to Beatrice. She was incapable of seeing things objectively where her daughter was concerned. That realization made Angela hesitate for a beat before responding.
“That’s not true, my lady! I didn’t pour it on her! It was an accident—ah!”
Just as Mary moved toward Angela, as if to plead her case, Beatrice’s maid suddenly yanked her back by the hair.
Mary screamed as she was forcibly dragged away.
Angela tsked and clicked her tongue at the scene.
“You, over there. Let go of her right now, or by tomorrow, you’ll have no hands to hold a spoon with—you’ll be eating with your face buried in a bowl instead.”
The image her words conjured was so cruel that Beatrice’s maid immediately loosened her grip, allowing Mary to bolt straight to Angela’s side.
“I swear, my lady! I didn’t do it on purpose! It was really just an accident!”
Mary clung to the hem of Angela’s dress, her voice trembling.
Angela glanced down at her for a brief second before turning back to Yvonne.
“She says it was an accident.”
Her voice was perfectly calm, as if none of this mattered.
Perhaps that was why—compared to Angela’s composure—Yvonne’s voice sounded all the more emotional.
“Would you have let it slide if someone said it was an accident?”
Angela let out a small laugh—the same condescending chuckle she always gave when mocking someone.
Yvonne knew that laugh well.
Though Angela hadn’t even spoken yet, Yvonne’s face flushed red, as if she had already been thoroughly insulted.
“Angela never lets anything slide.”
Angela spoke smoothly, her voice almost sweet.
“But you’re not Angela, Mother. You’re Yvonne.”
Her tone was unmistakably mocking.
Yvonne pressed her lips together tightly before suddenly pulling Beatrice’s injured hand forward for Angela to see.
Even in the midst of her anger, Yvonne’s touch remained gentle when handling her daughter.
“Look at Beatrice’s hand.”
Angela cast a disinterested glance at it.
Beatrice’s hand was slightly reddened, and a tiny blister had formed on the back of it.
That was all.
But to Yvonne, it seemed like a catastrophe. Her expression practically screamed that she wished she could take the pain upon herself instead.
Angela nearly laughed out loud at how ridiculous it was.
“Does it hurt?”
Angela looked Beatrice straight in the eye as she asked.
For some reason, Beatrice suddenly hiccuped and lowered her head, hiding behind her mother.
“Did you order this?”
Yvonne raised her voice, enraged.
She had seen Beatrice shrink away from Angela so many times before, ever since they were children. It was clear Yvonne felt sorry for her daughter, who could never stand her ground against Angela.
Like a woman who had lost her mind, Yvonne’s voice grew hysterical.
“You ordered her to hurt my Beatrice, didn’t you? Just admit it! I know you’re the type of person who would do something like this!”
Angela’s expression stiffened for a fraction of a second—then, it softened again.
She smiled brilliantly, her lips moving in a whisper-like murmur.
“I always wish that wretched thing would drop dead.”
Her already pale fingers whitened even further—but no one noticed.
Not even Mary.
“But not this time, so don’t misunderstand, Mother.”
Yvonne clenched her teeth and trembled with fury before turning her glare onto Mary.
“So, if it wasn’t on your orders, then this maid did it on her own?”
Her voice was icy.
“Then I’ll have her whipped. Just like you would.”
Mary’s face turned pale. She was trembling with fear.
Yet, perhaps that small mind of hers had decided that since she had injured the young lady of the house, it was only right that she be punished.
Letting go of Angela’s dress, which she had clung to like a lifeline, Mary hesitated before stepping back toward where she had fled from, looking deeply wronged but not resisting.
Angela didn’t care what she did.
Letting people decide their own fate was Angela’s philosophy. As long as a maid didn’t offend her, their affairs were of no concern to her.
In fact, under normal circumstances, Angela might have been the first to raise a whip against Mary for dragging her into such an unpleasant incident.
So this was an exception, even Angela couldn’t explain.
“Ah.”
Angela suddenly spoke up brightly, as if to break the tension.
She even clapped her hands together—snap!—drawing all the attention in the bedroom to herself.
“Now that I think about it, I did order her to do it.”
“Ah, I forgot, I forgot.”
Angela exaggerated her words, acting as if she had just remembered something trivial, like an actress on stage.
Mary, who had been frozen in place, widened her eyes in shock.
“Mary, you stupid girl.”
“M-my lady…?”
Mary stammered, tongue-tied, unable to believe that Angela was suddenly admitting to something she hadn’t done.
And worse—cursing at her.
Angela smiled artificially and patted Mary’s cheek—hard enough to sting.
“You didn’t do it properly, so I nearly thought it wasn’t my order at all.”
“W-what…? What do you mean…?”
Mary, utterly confused, faltered, but Angela’s expression suddenly turned terrifyingly cold.
“When did I ever tell you to pour hot water on her hand? I told you to pour it over that unsightly face of hers.”
A heavy silence fell over the room, thick with horror.
—
“It wasn’t my lady! It was me! It was me, please, madam! I did it! It was my fault! Madam! Madam!”
Mary screamed desperately, clinging to Yvonne’s skirts as Angela was dragged away.
Even as she was being taken, Angela found herself idly wondering—where had this child, who normally did nothing but smile, found such desperation?
But the thought didn’t last long.
One of Beatrice’s maids came forward, roughly pulling Mary away and holding her back so she couldn’t move.
“Let me go! Please! Madam, please! Lady Angela did nothing wrong! Madam!”
Mary’s tearful screams followed them down the hallway, but as the floors changed, her cries faded into the distance, like something happening in another world.
The last thing Angela heard was a sorrowful wail, echoing through the stairwell.
Yvonne, without a moment of hesitation, walked toward the west corridor of the mansion.
At first, Angela simply allowed herself to be pulled along without resistance.
But then she held her breath and suddenly stopped in her tracks.
She knew exactly where this hallway led.
She knew what was waiting at the end.
“Y-Yvonne, you… what are you…?”
For the first time, Angela’s voice wavered.
She struggled, twisting her arm to break free from Yvonne’s grasp, planting her feet firmly to stop from moving forward.
But Yvonne yanked her forward without mercy.
Angela’s vision blurred.
Her legs weakened, her resistance crumbling.
She staggered, barely able to stand, as she was dragged helplessly along.
And finally, she was shoved inside the massive room at the end of the corridor.
Angela’s face, slick with cold sweat, darted around the room.
Her bloodshot eyes widened in shock.
Grace’s room.
The luxurious art pieces Grace had obsessively collected were gone, but the room was unmistakably still hers.
The bed Grace had lain in remained.
The table where she had sipped her tea remained.
And…
The wardrobe that had taken up one entire wall remained exactly where it had always been.
“Why… why here…?”
Angela turned to Yvonne with a face drained of all color, as if every drop of blood had been sucked from her body.
But before she could even finish her sentence, Yvonne grabbed her thin wrist again and yanked her forward.
They were heading toward the wardrobe.
It was only then that Angela realized exactly what punishment Yvonne intended for her.
Like a fish caught on a harpoon, she thrashed in terror.
“No! No! No!”
She screamed, struggling with everything she had.
But still, her feet dragged against the floor.
She was powerless against Yvonne, who was blinded by rage.
“No, Yvonne! Yvonne!”
Angela’s voice cracked as she called her name, panic consuming her.
But Yvonne ignored her completely.
She gripped the wardrobe’s handle.
Angela’s breath hitched in horror.
She felt like she was going to faint.
“Please, Yvonne!”
Yvonne didn’t hesitate.
She yanked the wardrobe open and shoved Angela inside.
The heavy door slammed shut, and the sound of the latch clicking into place scraped across Angela’s ears like a blade.
“Hah… Hah…”
Angela gasped for air, pounding desperately against the inside of the wardrobe.
“Yvonne! Yvonne!”
Yvonne’s voice, harsh and unrecognizable, shot through the thick wooden door.
“You, who would raise a whip over the smallest mistake—are you truly so afraid of something like this?”
Her voice was so cruel, so merciless, that it was hard to believe it belonged to the ever-kind, ever-gentle Yvonne.
“Yvonne… Yvonne…”
Angela, unable to say anything else, just kept calling her name.
Yvonne didn’t even flinch.
“Don’t ever lay a hand on Beatrice again.”
Yvonne’s voice burned with fury as she issued her warning.
“I won’t hold back anymore. I have the power now. I finally have the strength to stop you.”
“Yvonne… Yvonne…”
“Don’t say my name so carelessly.”
“Yvonne…”
“I said don’t say my name!”
Yvonne’s rage exploded like thunder.
“I’m not your nanny anymore. Beatrice is not the nanny’s daughter anymore. You can’t treat us however you please, you wretched, demonic girl!”
Silence.
Angela’s voice stopped.
Yvonne let out a deep, trembling breath.
Then, without another glance at the wardrobe, she turned away coldly.
And she left Grace’s room.
She had no idea that, inside that darkness, Angela had curled up into a five-year-old child again.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
