Angela chapter 30

At dawn.

Angela packed food and warm blankets and headed toward the mansion’s prison.

“I can’t give you much time.”

She had been worried they might have blocked any visits, but fortunately, the prison guard allowed her through.

Inside the bars, Mary was sitting up, unlike before. A thick blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, looking quite warm—where had she gotten that?

At least she wasn’t shivering anymore. Relieved by the sight of the unknown blanket, Angela suddenly remembered telling Kalian before falling asleep that Mary must be cold.

So it was Kalian.

“Mary.”

Her voice, when calling out to her, had softened because of him.

“My lady!”

Mary, who had been staring at her feet, instantly lifted her head at the sound of Angela’s voice.

The moment she spotted Angela, she almost crawled forward, pressing herself close to the bars.

Angela frowned deeply when she noticed the blanket slipping off Mary’s shoulders as she moved. She pushed a blanket she had brought through the gaps between the bars, cramming it in with effort.

“It’s already cold enough. Keep yourself covered properly.”

Speaking in a reprimanding tone, Angela watched as Mary grinned sheepishly, laughing just like her usual self, and wrapped the blanket tightly around herself. Only then did Angela’s frown ease.

Noticing this, Mary laughed again.

What was there to be happy about in this situation? She really was an idiot.

Internally sighing at Mary’s foolishness, Angela began pushing food—fruits, bread—through the bars, one by one.

Mary, clearly starving, grabbed the bread the moment it reached her hands and immediately took a bite.

Watching her chew with all her might, Angela felt… fine. It was hard to believe she had ever felt pain. She even forgot about her bruises.

“I’ll get you out of here soon, so just wait quietly.”

At Angela’s words, Mary swallowed the bread stuffed in her mouth and spoke.

“Don’t push yourself. The mistress will… never let me go.”

Angela thought the same.

But it was strange for Mary, who knew nothing, to say it with such certainty.

She had assumed it was just Yvonne’s spite, wanting to leave her with nothing. But was there another reason?

“Why? Did you do something that would make her never let you go?”

Angela asked.

At that simple question, Mary, who had been devouring the bread, suddenly froze. Holding the piece of bread in both hands, her lips quivered, and then—tears began to fall.

Angela scowled as if caught in unexpected rain without an umbrella.

“Stop crying. Just tell me why, Mary.”

At her stern words, Mary opened her mouth as if to answer—but then, she burst into full-on sobs.

Her lips, paralyzed by tears, took a long time before finally parting.

“I… I know everything…”

What could this foolish maid of hers possibly know?

Angela leaned in, straining to hear the voice escaping through the bars.

“The mistress… she… when you were little… she bullied you… I know everything…”

Even with all her focus, Angela couldn’t understand what Mary was saying at first.

It wasn’t until more time passed that she finally grasped what Mary had just revealed.

“So… I got angry… and the mistress… the water from washing the rags…”

The last part, “I threw it on her,” was so soft it was barely audible.

Angela silently observed Mary, who had started wailing again.

Normally, she would’ve found it amusing that Yvonne had been drenched in dirty water. But right now, her face remained emotionless.

“…Does Yvonne know? That you know?”

Angela asked.

Mary shook her head vigorously.

“Listen carefully. Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Why not?”

Mary’s tear-streaked eyes widened.

Her expression clearly showed she couldn’t understand why.

But there was no other choice.

The Yvonne of today seemed capable of anything as long as it involved Angela.

If she found out that Mary knew about this, there was no telling what might happen to her.

In that case, maybe being locked up in this prison was actually fortunate.

“It’s improper to question your master.”

Angela deliberately spoke more sternly.

“…I won’t tell anyone.”

Mary, looking utterly miserable, forced out the words as if she were being punished.

Just as she said this, there was a metallic clank behind her.

The sound of armor shifting.

“You should leave now.”

It was the same guard from earlier.

—

Leaving the prison, Angela walked slowly, lost in thought. Then, suddenly, she picked up her pace.

The velvet-covered shoes on her feet carried her in the opposite direction of her own bedroom.

Toward Beatrice’s room.

No one would be pleased to have a visitor at dawn, especially Beatrice, for whom Angela’s presence was akin to the devil’s.

She was not a welcome guest, yet Angela did not slow her steps.

“Come in.”

Fortunately, Beatrice also seemed to have spent the dawn unable to sleep.

Mistaking the knock for her maid, she barely whispered her permission from outside.

But when the person who entered was an unexpected visitor rather than her maid, Beatrice shot up from the sofa in shock.

Instinctively, she stumbled backward—only to step on the hem of her dress and fall flat onto the floor.

Normally, Angela would have laughed and mocked her.

But she didn’t.

With a face devoid of even a trace of amusement, she approached Beatrice, who had fallen on her backside and struggled to get up.

The dim light in the room flickered as Angela moved.

Beatrice looked utterly terrified, as if Angela had come to kill her.

By the time Angela stopped right in front of her, Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut, turned her head to the side, and shrank away.

But Angela had no intention of wrapping her fingers around that fragile neck.

There had been countless days when she wanted to, and she had sworn that one day she would.

But not now.

Right now, she was only thinking about Mary.

Angela knelt before Beatrice.

For a moment, the icy wind from the garden seemed to sweep through the room.

“Gasp—!”

Beatrice swallowed a shocked breath and covered her mouth. Meanwhile, Angela, staring directly at Beatrice, opened her mouth to speak.

Her demeanor had changed from when she had bowed her head earlier, afraid that her insincere apology might be exposed. The reason was simple.

“Listen carefully.”

Because this time, she was telling the truth.

“I’m not the least bit sorry to you. I don’t understand why I should ask for your forgiveness. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have even lived to see eighteen—you would’ve died long ago.”

Angela conveyed her feelings exactly as they were. And perhaps because of that, Beatrice, who had looked so pale she seemed on the verge of suffocation, slowly regained color in her face.

“I’ve saved your life hundreds of times over. Am I wrong?”

At Angela’s question, Beatrice nodded her head vigorously—then, as if afraid it might be misinterpreted as disagreement, she quickly shook her head instead. Finding even that action strange, she hesitated before finally stammering out a response.

“Y-You’re right. L-Lady, y-you’re absolutely right.”

Angela looked at Beatrice, who answered meekly, before speaking again.

“Then forgive me. Right now.”

Beatrice pressed her lips tightly together. Did she not want to?

Her eyes darted around anxiously before she hesitantly moved and knelt before Angela, placing her knees on the floor. Tears welled up in her eyes again. It was exhausting—tears here, tears there.

“When did I ever tell you to cry? Forgiveness—”

“The forgiveness I can give…”

It might have been the first time. Angela’s eyes widened in surprise at Beatrice’s interruption.

Beatrice didn’t seem to realize what she had just done, nor did she notice the expression on Angela’s face. She simply continued speaking.

“…doesn’t exist. H-How could I dare to f-forgive or not forgive you, my lady? How could I…”

Though still timid, Beatrice had spoken her mind. Angela looked at her with fresh eyes.

She was surprised that Beatrice had managed to say everything she wanted to. And even more surprised that she held such thoughts at all.

That girl, who had always hidden behind her mother as if it were the most natural thing, had actually harbored such feelings toward her…

Angela stopped pressing Beatrice for forgiveness like a debt collector and instead quietly observed her.

Having said what she needed to, Beatrice now hunched her shoulders, unsure how to handle Angela’s gaze.

Angela hated how fragile Beatrice was. She blamed everything on this insignificant girl. If only you weren’t here… That was something Angela had muttered countless times.

She had treated Beatrice like a thief who stole Yvonne from her. Like the enemy who had ruined her life.

Meanwhile, Beatrice had apparently been harboring guilt. Angela had expected her to despise her, to curse her as a wicked woman. But instead, Beatrice—too frightened to even look her in the eye—had rationalized Angela’s cruelty.

Angela stared blankly into space before looking back at Beatrice. The crimson hair she had once cut off in disgust had grown long again.

Time had passed this much. And Beatrice had grown this much.

Suddenly, Angela remembered the day Beatrice was born.

“Beatrice, I’m your sister. My name is Angela. You heard my voice often while you were in the womb, didn’t you? It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She had whispered softly, careful not to let Grace hear her.

Her tiny hands and feet, barely big enough to count five fingers and toes, were so small and adorable. Back then, she had thought Beatrice was her little sister.

She had been beautiful. Simply lovable.

There was a time when she had felt that way.

“If that’s truly what you think…”

Angela’s voice was calm. The usual sharpness, ever-present when she dealt with Beatrice, had faded.

“Then go to Yvonne and tell her you’ve forgiven me.”

Beatrice shook her head. But Angela, patient for once, waited for her explanation.

Normally, she would’ve furrowed her brows in frustration. But after glimpsing a piece of Beatrice’s heart, she could afford to wait.

“I already… told her to release the maid… I kept telling her… but she won’t listen.”

Angela’s expression darkened.

So Yvonne had told Beatrice to ask for Angela’s forgiveness, despite never intending to release Mary in the first place?

Even in a moment when she thought Yvonne couldn’t possibly go any lower, she hadn’t expected such blatant deception.

Yvonne was no longer the Yvonne she had once known, the one she had clung to in her memories. Angela let out a hollow laugh.

How long would she have to live with this feeling?

Like a pauper being robbed.

Like losing something she never even had in her grasp.

Like having something stolen that was never hers to begin with.

It was all unbearable.

Now what? If even Beatrice’s pleas couldn’t sway Yvonne, should she follow Kalian’s suggestion and break into the prison to free Mary?

As Angela entertained such absurd thoughts—

“I… I will bring her out.”

Beatrice’s slow voice dragged Angela back to reality.

* * *

“I’m going to bed early.”

The next evening, after forcing down a dinner that wouldn’t go down, Beatrice lied to Yvonne for the first time in her life and returned to her room.

She had agreed to meet Angela at midnight after rescuing Mary, but she felt so guilty about plotting something behind her mother’s back that she couldn’t bear to sit with her any longer. If she stayed, she was certain her deception would be exposed.

She turned off all the lights in her room and dismissed her maid before pacing anxiously in the darkness.

Her stomach churned with nervousness—she had never defied her mother before.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

She repeated her apologies like a mantra, though no one was there to hear them.

Still, she had no intention of breaking her promise to Angela. This was one thing she wanted to do for her.

At last, the bells chimed, marking midnight throughout the estate.

With a trembling, sweat-dampened hand, Beatrice reached for the door.

“I’m really sorry.”

She whispered her apology once more, directing it toward Yvonne.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───