Chapter 141
The Green Thread
Morris entered the office cautiously, gauging the mood as he walked.
Has something happened?
Just yesterday, he had finally savored the sweetness of a rare holiday.
Dragging himself reluctantly from his bed that morning, Morris had gone to work, only to sense something strange in the air.
Unaware of last night’s commotion, he assumed the chilly atmosphere was merely the aftermath of the couple’s increasingly frequent quarrels.
“These are the reports that need to be reviewed by this morning.”
After bowing politely, Morris placed the thick stack of documents in the center of the desk, then stepped back.
Johann, who had been sitting languidly, straightened his posture. Rubbing at the corners of his reddened eyes, he began to go through the papers one by one.
When he finally signed off and closed the file, Johann opened a silver cigarette case.
Tilting his head slightly, he lit the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips and called Morris in a low voice.
“Morris.”
“Yes, sir.”
After letting a long stream of smoke fade into the air, Johann gave his order.
“Investigate the personal backgrounds of the servants working at Greythill. Everything besides their letters of recommendation.”
His calm voice resonated faintly in the office, where the glow of sunset spilled in.
No matter whose pawn they might be, it was difficult to rule out the possibility that a rat had slipped in among them.
Staring into the heavy shadows cast by the crimson light, Johann continued.
“As quickly as possible.”
Through the drifting smoke, his ashen eyes glimmered faintly with menace.
By late afternoon, Olivia went walking in the back garden with Ann.
‘Aren’t you going to report this to the police?’
Clara’s voice seemed to ride on the breeze that rustled the red leaves.
For her to make such a bold suggestion, she must have prepared thoroughly to avoid leaving any trail.
If Olivia were to report it, she risked being publicly branded a madwoman.
Allen Detective Agency.
The name suddenly surfaced in her mind.
What if she hired a private investigator?
There were too many restrictions on her moving personally. The same went for Ann, who was rumored to be favored by the lady of the house. She needed someone to act as her hands and feet.
Someone who could handle things discreetly, without any word leaking out.
But could that detective be trusted?
If he discovered that his client was Olivia Blanchet, he might sell the information to the press for a hefty sum.
That was how her pitiful life had always been consumed.
A soft sigh dispersed into the wind.
She hadn’t dared to tell Johann of her suspicions toward Clara. Facing those cold gray eyes, stripped of trust, no one could have said it aloud.
I need evidence.
Lost in thought, the two women soon reached the path that led to a small trail. At the far end, a lake shimmered silver in the fading light, catching Olivia’s gaze.
A lake.
In that instant, it felt as if the fog clouding her mind was swept away.
If it wasn’t gone, if it hadn’t been burned to nothing…
If so…
The silver scales on the rippling water between the cedar trees suddenly seemed to heave violently. Her heart began to pound faster.
‘Don’t ever come here again.’
Johann’s voice whispered at her ear, but the sound dissolved into the rustling of dry leaves. Olivia hesitated, then took a step forward.
If the conditions were right, the lake would guard a secret in silence.
With only a few heavy stones, a dress would never float—it would sink forever to the lakebed. A simple law of nature.
“Young Lady! You mustn’t go that way!”
Startled by the sudden change in direction, Ann rushed to stop Olivia.
She remembered the duke’s strict orders to keep her away from the lakeside. But more than that, Ann herself felt anxious at the thought of Olivia approaching the water.
It was because that rainy spring day flashed back to her mind.
The black surface of the water… and the white dress, floating like an overturned magnolia.
“Young Lady!”
Ann hurriedly followed as Olivia strode toward the trail.
“Let’s turn back now, miss. If the master finds out, we’ll both be in for it.”
But Olivia ignored her, scanning the dirt path for footprints as she walked slowly ahead.
Unfortunately, the hard, dry ground kept no secrets.
“Young Lady…”
The closer they came to the lake, the stronger the fishy smell of water grew on the wind.
Breaking out of the cedar grove, they stepped into the light spilling over the water, where tall reeds brushed against their fingertips in the breeze.
It was then that Olivia noticed something fluttering, suspended in the air.
“…”
She stopped and bent down slowly.
Caught on the russet cattails was a thin strand, swaying gently. She reached out carefully.
What she plucked was a thread.
A deep green thread.
Olivia gazed at it resting in her palm.
It was about as thick as the twisted tassels on the cream shawl she had draped around her shoulders.
Perhaps…
She closed her eyes, trying to recall if she had seen a shawl of this color recently.
Nothing came to mind.
Still, finding the owner would not be difficult.
A mere thread couldn’t convict anyone, but it was justification enough to demand that the lakebed be searched. That alone was more progress than she had hoped for.
“Let’s go back, Ann.”
Turning toward the manor glowing like fire in the sunset, Olivia began to walk away.
As night fell over Greythill, Olivia sat staring at the green thread resting on a white handkerchief. She pondered how best to trace its owner.
She had already searched the servants’ quarters once. To dig through their private spaces again would be too much. Deep in thought, she was startled by a knock at the door.
“My lady?”
It was the housekeeper’s voice from outside the bedroom. Olivia quickly wrapped the thread in the handkerchief, locked it in the desk drawer, and called out.
“Come in, Bessie.”
“The master has returned.”
The housekeeper entered, announcing Johann’s unusually late arrival.
Olivia glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock—two hours later than usual.
Rising from her chair, she stared briefly at the top drawer before going out with the housekeeper to meet him.
They were passing through the long west corridor toward the central staircase when a familiar voice echoed from below.
“You’re late.”
Clara.
Olivia froze instinctively, then crept to the railing.
Leaning her hand against the dark banister, she looked down at the hall.
Johann had just entered through the front door. Clara, coming from her studio, stood face-to-face with him.
“…”
Olivia’s lips parted soundlessly as she watched.
A green shawl.
She could no longer hear their words. Perhaps Clara was laughing, but it didn’t matter. Olivia’s heart pounded violently.
Clara reached out toward Johann. His expression was hidden, but he made no move to refuse her.
“My lady?”
The housekeeper’s voice coincided with Olivia’s hurried step forward, her eyes fixed below—more precisely, on Clara’s back, where the green shawl swayed.
Johann gazed down silently at the woman before him.
“A woman should always conduct herself properly. Look at Josephine—she never danced anything but the quadrille. How modest she was. It’s astonishing there are still such ladies in this world. I had long thought she would be a fine match for Johann. At last, the chance has come.”
Well. Whether modest or not, he could at least agree with his grandmother that such women were rare in this age.
“You’ve got paint on your face.”
“Oh!”
Startled, Clara raised a hand to her cheek, rubbing at it.
“Not there. Here.”
Johann pointed to his own right cheek. Clara kept wiping the wrong spot, her blue eyes lifting shyly at last.
Their eyes met, and he chuckled softly.
“You have it there too, Your Grace…”
Her face, blushing like the pink paint smeared across it, leaned closer as she reached out a small, pale hand. Just as her fingers were about to brush his black suit—
‘…I don’t like other women touching you.’
The sharp sound of heels striking marble rang out at that very moment.
Both Johann and Clara turned toward the grand staircase.
Olivia stood there, watching.
Clutching her skirt tightly, she looked down at the two of them.
She felt once more the suffocating barrier of thick glass between her and the world.
The vision of a torn, bloodstained dress flickered in her mind, but she forced herself not to waver as she fixed her gaze on Clara.
The opal brooch fastening Clara’s green shawl sparkled under the chandelier light. Olivia felt she might stumble if she lost focus for even a second.
Holding her breath, she descended slowly.
The closer she came, the clearer Clara’s green shawl became.
…No.
A hole opened in her chest, as wide as her disappointment. Steeling herself, Olivia reached the bottom of the stairs.
Sadly, Clara’s shawl was a brighter shade of green.
Raising her eyes from Clara’s shoulder, she met her gaze directly.
Her face, smeared with pastel paints like flower petals, looked disarmingly pure.
Of course. Things were never so simple.
Smiling faintly at Clara, Olivia finally turned to Johann.
“You’re back?”
The cold gleam in his eyes made Olivia shrink without meaning to.
He looked in low spirits, and she felt certain she was the cause.
After all, Clara wouldn’t have been the only one smiling in front of him.
