Chapter 142
The Vanished Memory
A sharp pain pierced her chest as if she had stepped on shards of glass.
She felt like an unwelcome intruder between the two of them.
“Then, I’ll head up first. Have a peaceful night.”
Clara, her right cheek shyly cupped in her hand, broke the uncomfortable silence with a polite goodnight.
Johan gave her a brief nod.
“Rest well too, Miss Josephine.”
Olivia smiled faintly, polite and formal. Clara turned and ascended the central staircase.
Once Clara’s graceful and dignified steps receded into the distance, Olivia’s eyes shifted to Johan.
He too was watching Clara. His gaze followed her, unreadable and unbroken.
Olivia wondered what he might be feeling, but she didn’t have the courage to ask.
She had planned to tell him she had found a green thread by the lakeside—that Clara seemed suspicious—but decided it was best to hold off for now.
The bedroom was so quiet that they could hear each other’s breathing. Johan silently unfastened the buttons of his coat.
As the sound of fabric brushing against fabric filled the stillness, a low voice cut through it.
“I told you not to go to the lake.”
Olivia, who had just taken Johan’s dark beige trench coat, froze, inhaling sharply.
Apparently, some servants had seen her heading toward the lake with Anne.
So that’s why he was upset.
After hanging the coat neatly in the wardrobe, Olivia turned back toward him.
Johan, pulling his navy silk tie loose from his collar, fixed his eyes on her.
“Sorry I broke my promise. But I wanted to show—”
“Never go there again.”
His heavy voice cut her off. Johan gripped both her shoulders firmly.
Startled by his roughness, Olivia stared up at him blankly. His parched gray eyes locked on hers.
“Don’t expose yourself to danger before those who would harm you.”
He acted as though if she went near the lake, she would surely drown.
“I was with Anne. It wasn’t dangerous.”
“That maid cannot protect you, Olivia. That day, you didn’t fall into the lake by accident.”
“……”
Tightening his grip on her shoulders, Johan bent closer. His eyes, now only inches away, were submerged in shadow.
“Diane Brooke. The woman you trusted and followed like a sister—she pushed you.”
Ah. Olivia let out a faint gasp.
Diane Brooke.
Her memory of that day was hazy, shrouded in a mist like the dawn fog that had hung over the lake.
She had taken an unusual mix of tranquilizers, sleeping pills, and painkillers with alcohol.
Her mind had been blurred, her rain-soaked vision unclear. Even if someone had pushed her from behind, she would never have noticed.
Poor woman.
Even as she sank into the depths of the lake, Olivia Blanchet likely hadn’t known the truth—had ignored Anne’s warnings while staying close to the cunning woman who betrayed her.
“So never go there again, even if you’re only with that maid.”
“……”
“Answer me, Olivia.”
“…I will.”
After a long pause, Olivia nodded, gathering herself.
Johan exhaled heavily and drew her into his arms.
Olivia thought of her dress, drifting like lakeweed at the bottom of the water.
Was the green thread just bait meant to lure her in?
A duchess who had once already thrown herself into the lake—no one would find it strange if she drowned a second time. Whether by accident or by misstep.
Olivia lifted her gaze beyond Johan’s shoulder into the pitch-black darkness.
Perhaps what that darkness wanted was more than her madness.
Perhaps it wanted Olivia Blanchet’s death.
Since the ending had to flow toward its destined conclusion.
Without realizing it, Olivia clung tightly to Johan.
A suffocating fear pressed down on her, but she didn’t want to let go. She wanted to feel the warmth he gave her.
If it was with him, she thought, she could drift along the current. She only wished he would stay on her side until the very end.
She dreamed a dream she hadn’t had in a long time.
Waiting for her mother who never came back, Ji-an had dozed off, then opened her eyes at twilight.
Hungry, she called “Dad, Dad” as she opened the door. In the room filled with blood-red sunset light, she saw her father.
He was hanging limply from the laundry line.
Before she could even feel horror or grief, his face began to blur—until a new image emerged.
Olivia Blanchet.
It was her.
Gasping, Olivia woke up.
A sharp pain stabbed her temples and eyelids.
She closed her eyes, clutching her head, trying to steady her breathing. But the vivid remnants of the nightmare forced her to open them again.
The empty space beside her caught her eye. She reached out to Johan’s side of the bed. No warmth remained—he must have left the room some time ago.
I need to go to the palace tomorrow.
As her breathing slowly steadied, Johan’s words from the previous night came back to her. That his absence had disrupted his work schedule.
The green thread.
Staring blankly at the dying embers in the fireplace, Olivia quickly climbed out of bed.
Throwing on a robe and hastily fixing her disheveled hair, she tugged the bell cord.
Moments later, the head maid, a young maid, and Anne entered.
That day’s scheduled coloring work was canceled due to Johan’s visit to the palace.
As an apology, Olivia invited Clara for tea.
“Did you recently redecorate your rooms?”
Visiting the duchess’s bedroom for the first time, Clara looked around with admiration. At least it seemed she hadn’t been the one who’d sneaked in that night.
“Yes. It was Bessie’s eye for detail.”
Olivia replied lightly, watching the maid who stood behind Clara.
The girl’s modest manner and gentle face reminded Olivia somewhat of her mistress. Harmless, it seemed.
“Such impeccable taste.”
Clara turned to the head maid, praising her.
“It’s not me, all thanks to this child.”
The head maid shifted the credit to the young maid, who blushed and bowed her head.
“Please sit, Miss Josephine.”
As Clara sat, the head maid respectfully filled her teacup.
Clear tea shimmered in the white porcelain, a specialty from Kranz gifted by Princess Irene.
“The aroma is delightful.”
Clara’s smile spread warmly, like autumn sunshine.
The tea party truly began.
At the same time, Anne quietly set about the weighty task she had been given.
She checked again to make sure the corridor was empty before carefully turning the handle.
It was the maid’s room—the one who had accompanied Clara.
Anne. What I’m about to tell you must stay secret.
Anne had nodded.
The story of the red dress that her lady calmly confided was shocking.
Anne immediately thought of Diane Brooke. No one else in Greythill would have done something so cruel.
But the surprising suspect was Admiral Rondos’s daughter.
Josephine Clara Sinclair.
When Anne first saw her, she had thought of the Virgin Mary. With her pure, saintly aura, could she really…?
But Anne’s reason quickly recalled Diane Brooke. Anyone could be a devil. After all, even devils were once angels.
Anne quietly locked the door.
She unfolded a handkerchief from her apron pocket. Sunlight from a small window lit up the green thread lying across her palm.
Anne, find this thread. Whether from a shawl or a sweater, something must be woven with it.
Taking a deep breath, Anne quickly approached the wardrobe standing against the wall.
The sunlight streaming through the window gilded the rim of the teacups.
“The tea’s deep, subtle fragrance reminds me of you, madam.”
Clara set down her cup after a sip.
“You flatter me. If you like it, I’ll send some to you.”
“I won’t refuse.”
Clara laughed with her eyes, radiant. Each time Olivia faced her, she felt this woman’s ability to mislead was remarkable.
Suddenly, she thought of Edgar.
He too had been skilled at deceiving, and the end result had been bitter. Olivia met Clara’s gaze with a faint smile.
“Do you have any special plans this weekend?”
“I might need to check.”
It sounded like a troublesome proposal was coming.
“There’s a friendly match at the tennis club. I was hoping you might grace us with your presence.”
“…I’ll think about it.”
Olivia delayed her reply, leaving a pause. To refuse an invitation so firmly pressed would have been rude.
It wouldn’t be too late to decide once she saw the results Anne brought back.
Her eyes drifted to the clock on the side table. The golden pagoda-shaped timepiece read 2 p.m.
Had she found it?
Suppressing her impatience, Olivia lifted her teacup.
But the tea had no taste at all.
