Episode 7
Mrs. Mollet was kind and affectionate the whole time. Even though she squinted at Riella, a smile never left her lips.
But at this moment, for the first time, a look of absurdity settled over her face.
At the same time, her gaze turned to Monica’s hand.
“Miss Monica?”
Monica felt her gaze but calmly bent down to pick up the pieces of the letter of introduction scattered on the floor.
If Mrs. Mollet’s stare had been a weapon, Monica would have been pierced long ago. Still, Monica spread out the torn letter of introduction—split into four pieces—before Mrs. Mollet.
“What is this…?”
“I forgot my bag was old, ma’am,” Monica said as she held up the small handbag at her waist.
“I ripped the neatly folded letter of introduction when I took it out. I’m so sorry.”
“Miss Monica, I don’t quite understand…”
The letter looked as though someone had deliberately torn it. It was even crumpled.
Mrs. Mollet glanced at Riella with a look of bewilderment.
At that moment, Riella, whose eyes met her adoptive mother’s, reflexively looked at Monica. However, Monica kept her gaze fixed on the torn letter, saying nothing.
Suddenly, Mrs. Mollet’s eyes fell on the back of Monica’s hand.
“Miss Monica, you’re bleeding.”
“Ah.”
Only then did Monica glance at her hand, noticing a small drop of blood.
Mrs. Mollet turned back to Riella with a questioning look, her expression practically demanding, What’s going on?
Caught off guard, Riella stammered, “T-that’s it, Mother. Miss Monica scratched her hand on the thorns of the door when she entered the room.”
“Oh my goodness, really?”
Mrs. Mollet looked at the door in surprise. Monica blinked and glanced at Riella, who was clearly improvising.
“She must have been startled, so I offered to help treat it,” Riella added, her voice unsteady.
“Of course, you were surprised! Oh my, what were the maids doing?”
“Mother, please listen. That’s why I said I would treat her,” Riella blurted, cutting off her mother mid-rant.
Her uncertain tone didn’t escape Mrs. Mollet, who paused, suspicion creeping into her gaze.
“Riella, are you okay? Something feels… off.”
“… I remembered that I had some medicine in my bag,” Riella stammered, floundering for a convincing explanation.
Finally, Monica stepped in.
“I said I had ointment in my bag and offered to apply it since I’m a former nurse, ma’am,” Monica explained with a sigh, improvising her own lie. “But then I realized the ointment was back at the dorm. In my panic, I remembered I hadn’t handed you the letter of introduction yet.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Monica noticed Riella staring intently at her. Refusing to meet her gaze, Monica continued, “As I hastily took it out of my bag, the letter of introduction was torn.”
“But this looks like someone tore it on purpose…”
“Mother, that’s not it,” Riella interjected again.
“I was so startled while asking if Monica was okay that I… tore it again,” she said, lowering her head guiltily.
“You?”
Mrs. Mollet’s eyes narrowed, disbelief evident. Riella nodded quickly.
“Well, you know how clumsy I am,” Riella said, attempting a sheepish smile. She pointed to the carpeted floor.
“The maids must have forgotten to straighten it after cleaning. It was wrinkled, and I nearly tripped. Miss Monica…”
Riella hesitated, then took a deep breath as though steeling herself.
“… caught me.”
“Oh, I see,” Mrs. Mollet murmured, though traces of doubt lingered in her tone.
“Still, Riella, you’re not lying to me, are you?”
“L-lying?” Riella stammered, clutching the hem of her dress nervously.
Monica, equally tense, could only watch.
But Mrs. Mollet’s sharp gaze softened.
“My dear daughter, I know everything.”
Riella’s shoulders stiffened. She stood frozen under her mother’s scrutinizing stare.
“Was that dress made by Madame Noir of the Yellow Brick Dress Shop?”
“… Yes, but…”
Realization dawned on Riella.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” she admitted with a small laugh.
“I lengthened the hem a little.”
“I knew it!”
Mrs. Mollet stamped her foot in frustration.
“Young people these days only care about fleeting trends! That dress is dangerous, Riella!”
“It’s not that bad,” Riella muttered, pouting. “I just wanted to look good when I met Sir Sullivan.”
“Oh my! You met Sir Sullivan?”
“Yes, Mother,” Riella replied, feigning the bashfulness of a young woman in love.
The conversation soon shifted into a lively argument about dresses, trends, and Riella’s antics. Meanwhile, Monica stood silently, observing the warm dynamic between the two.
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