Chapter 64: Bud

Rae was a newly arrived servant and rather clumsy at looking after people. No sooner had she stepped into the room than she kicked over the girl’s scraper and scrubbing brush with a clatter, sending Beatrice into a flurry of panicked whimpers and gasps.

Clutching at Roland’s sleeve with one hand while pointing at the young maid with the other, Beatrice didn’t even wait for Roland to speak. She scampered over on bare feet, snatched up her jars and pots, and cradled them against her chest.

Rae let go with a helpless look, casting a covert glance at Roland as if she had long known he couldn’t see.

"Well, if you won’t hand them over, how am I supposed to tidy up?"

The maid’s voice was soft, but her face was etched with impatience.

The moment Beatrice hugged the hog-bristle brush to her, Rae glared fiercely at her, snatched the brush back, and hurled it forcefully to the floor.

Clatter. The oil pot went over with a crash.

"Oh my! How could you throw things about like that? Mr. Taylor bought all of these for you..."

She glanced sideways at Roland, whose expression remained unchanged. Her tone turned gentle once more, but with an air of disgust, she drew out a rusty-yellow towel and a wooden comb, seized a clump of Beatrice’s tangled golden hair with her other hand, and dragged the girl toward her.

The hair, matted together with dried paint, crackled as the comb was pulled through it. Gripping the comb tightly, the maid yanked downward, pulling strands of golden hair straight from the scalp and tangling them in the teeth of the comb.

"Ouch."

Beatrice let out a cry of pain.

"I didn't use any force at all, Miss." Rae glanced back at Roland again. Convinced his eyesight was truly failing, she turned back with a relieved look and raised her right hand as if to strike.

Beatrice shrank her neck back and hurriedly clamped her mouth shut.

Clenching her teeth, she looked up at the maid with tear-filled eyes, her brightly stained hands balmed into fists pressed against her throat—right over the necklace Roland had just placed there as a gift.

In the quieted room, only the sound of combing remained.

*‘And I still have to wait on some freak’s bath.’* Amidst roiling white flames, she muttered words only she could hear.

Having combed the front, she eyed the vast, matted clump at the back of Beatrice’s hair, lifted it up, spat on it a couple of times, and swiped carelessly through it with the comb.

"There! You're pretty again! Go look in the mirror!"

She smiled sweetly as she patted Beatrice’s cheeks twice. Seeing the girl shrinking back in terror without a word, Rae dropped her hand and gave her a vicious pinch on the waist.

Beatrice let out a short, sharp cry.

"Go look in the mirror, Miss."

With her brows knit, the maid flashed a fierce, soundless warning and shot Beatrice a meaningful look.

The young girl timidly turned back, pressed her lips together, and looked into the mirror, whispering fearfully, "Re—really pretty..."

"Oh, look at you, it’s only what I should do." Rae put away the comb, spat onto the towel a few times, wiped Beatrice’s face haphazardly with the damp cloth, and then scraped away the prominent globs of paint with her fingernails. "I'll go downstairs and get your towel."

"Okay..."

Humming a tune, the lithe-bodied maid used her foot to sweep the scattered tools and paint boxes into a pile in the corner of the room, lingering by the cabinet for a moment before leaving.

The jewelry box rested right upon the cabinet surface.

"Sir, would you like me to prepare some tea for you?"

As she spoke, she cast a furtive glance toward the door.

Meanwhile, one finger expertly slid open the lid of the box, revealing the jumble of gold, silver, and gemstone ornaments piled inside.

Like a small mountain.

"I'll pass. Please arrange for a manservant to assist me shortly."

Roland stared at a corner of the room, looking straight ahead without turning his head.

"Teresa is seeing to it, you'll have to wait just a moment longer..." Humming a brisk melody under her breath, the maid picked up a sapphire brooch from the box, lifted it to her eyes, and admired it against the light. "Miss, you've been leaving your jewelry scattered everywhere again."

Beatrice shuffled her toes, cowering behind Roland with just her head peeking out, keeping silent.

"I checked the inventory. You are short one bracelet and one sapphire brooch." The faceted blue gemstone glittered brilliantly under the lamp.

The greed shining in her eyes was just as brilliant.

The maid weighed the brooch in her hand, unfastened the buttons of her collar and bodice, tucked the trinket inside, and buttoned herself back up.

"Sir, when you came in, did you—ah! I'm so sorry, how terribly rude of me..."

Mid-sentence, she seemed to "only just" realize Roland’s visual affliction. Right before him, she leisurely adjusted her blouse while offering sincere, repeated apologies to Roland.

Roland smiled and waved a hand.

"My eyes are indeed inconvenient; I'm afraid I can't offer you any clues, Rae."

"It must have been dropped on the road or in the carriage, you know how some roads are—they simply ruin everything. And Miss, you're always so scatterbrained, Teresa is going to be angry again."

She closed the jewelry box properly, cast a distant, glaring look at Beatrice, pointed at her mouth, and raised an arm in warning.

Clutching Roland’s shoulders, Beatrice averted her eyes, not daring to meet the maid's gaze.

Having finished her work, the maid puffed out her chest with satisfaction, sized Roland up, and let out a pitying sigh.

"Please allow me to take my leave."

Roland smiled. "Of course."

Once she left, she gently pulled the door shut behind her.

Only then did Beatrice dare to let out a soft sob.

Sniffling, she padded over to the corner, picked up the scattered tools one by one, and neatly packed them into the small wooden box lined with green cloth that stood beside the wardrobe.

Roland tapped his knee, watching as she carefully wiped the tools clean with her skirt before stowing them away.

In truth, that skirt was worth far more than the tools.

"Miss Taylor."

Beatrice suddenly whipped her head around, her blue-purple eyes filled with terror.

She shook her head vigorously, as if she already knew what Roland was going to ask.

"Doesn't hurt!"

*‘Twist that maid’s head right off!’*

-I don't have that kind of ability.

*‘Tell them she’s a cultist!’*

-You know how much trouble that would bring to the Taylor family.

*‘The girl’s got a backside right at the front, isn’t she pretty?’*

-She is, but this is Randolph’s domestic affair.

*‘Just say she stole something!’*

Roland sighed.

-This is Mr. Taylor’s family business.

-I shouldn't interfere.

The white flame paused for a moment.

*‘...Su Yue would never stand by and watch.’*

-Miss Nina is Miss Nina, and I am a man of my own.

-Pointing out the faults of a host’s servant is neither decorous nor the behavior expected of a guest.

*‘You’ve certainly learned plenty of those “good habits” from that Chloe.’*

Though merely text, Roland could clearly perceive the sarcasm dripping from the words.

Supporting his chin and crossing his legs, he looked at the young girl crouching on the floor arranging her tools.

-I don't consider them “good habits.”

-They are merely rules.

*‘Rules made by a crowd.’*

-You could say that.

Ignoring the passive-aggressive text lingering in his vision, Roland tilted his head and called out,

"Miss Taylor."

The young girl looked back in puzzlement.

Roland beckoned for her to come closer.

"Does she treat you like this often?"

Beatrice thought for a moment, hesitated through a struggle of indecision, and then shook her head firmly. A trace of cautious, ingratiating sweetness surfaced on her face: "...Roland, the gift... really like it..."

"Is that so? I'm glad you like it."

*‘Look at this poor girl...’*

*‘Ah.’*

*‘Such is fate.’*

*‘Who told you to run into such a cold-blooded man?’*

Roland ignored it.

"You and I are friends now, aren't we?"

He looked into Beatrice’s blue-purple eyes and asked softly.

The girl’s eyes curved into crescent moons as she continuously rubbed the cylindrical gemstone, nodding repeatedly like a joyful little sparrow. "Pretty!"

Roland paused for a moment, then let out a long, sorrowful sigh, his voice dropping to a low murmur: "...Yet, I'm afraid I won't be able to see you anymore."

At these words, Beatrice grabbed Roland’s sleeve, her bewildered eyes filled with questions and reluctance.

"Roland, Roland, Roland..."

"Yes, I'm right here beside you." Roland swept a glance at her gigot sleeve—beneath the parted fabric lay a faint, bluish-purple bruise. "But I suppose this will be our last time meeting..."

Beatrice panicked so thoroughly that she grabbed Roland’s hands with both of hers, her cheeks flushing red.

"No..."

Roland pressed his lips together, the corners of his mouth drooping: "...Yet I have taken your brooch and bracelet, and even touched and harmed your body. I am an immoral friend, and an indecorous gentleman."

Beatrice’s eyes widened, her youthful voice instantly turning sharp:

"No! Not Roland!"

"I have no way of proving that." Roland gently withdrew his hands from Beatrice’s grip, spreading them with a self-deprecating shrug. "Look, I’ve only just arrived as a guest, and already you've lost a sapphire brooch and sustained injuries."

"Though Randolph and I are friends, neither he nor I should have our friendship tested by theft and harm."

"It would be best for me to stop visiting altogether, wouldn't you say?"

"That way, I shall be cleared of all suspicion."

Without waiting for Beatrice to argue, he rose from the stool and moved to push the door open.

"I shall explain everything to Mr. Taylor. Don't worry, Miss Taylor, perhaps we shall meet again at some salon someday?"

Lifting his walking stick, Roland left Beatrice with the view of his receding back.