1
The Delivered Girl
The child arrived by mail coach.
It was a late afternoon in early spring, a day spent entirely busy planting rose seedlings.
"Are you Mr. Bill Lemer?"
The child asked cautiously of Bill Lemer, who stood there with a bewildered expression. Her pronunciation was remarkably soft, carrying a strangely unfamiliar cadence.
"Yes. I am Bill Lemer, though."
Bill removed his straw hat with hands that had been dusting off dirt.
As his sun-tanned face emerged from beneath the wide brim's shadow, the child flinched and swallowed dryly. There was nothing new about this. People seeing the hulking, rugged-looking Bill Lemer for the first time generally reacted this way.
"Who are you anyway?"
As he frowned deeply, his face looked even more menacing.
"Hello, Uncle Bill. I'm Layla Llewellyn. I came from Robita."
The child spoke slowly and clearly. Robita. Now Bill understood the child's peculiar accent.
"You mean you came all the way to Berk, crossing the border, alone?"
"Yes. By train."
The child smiled awkwardly, standing unnaturally straight. Just then, the postal worker who had brought her here approached.
"Ah, so this child has already met Mr. Lemer."
"Good timing. Why did you bring this child here?"
"I saw her walking alone with luggage in front of the station and asked where she was going. She said she was on her way to find Bill Lemer, the Herhardt family's gardener. Since I was making deliveries this way anyway, I brought her along."
Smiling, he held out a letter to Bill Lemer. It was from a distant relative living in Robita, a neighboring country.
Impatient by nature, Bill tore open the envelope on the spot. Inside was the story of a child who had become a complete orphan, passed from relative to relative, and the explanation that their own dire poverty made it impossible to take in another mouth to feed. The child's name was Layla Llewellyn. So this tiny girl standing before his eyes was apparently that very orphan.
"Damn them. They certainly wasted no time passing on the news."
Bill laughed in disbelief.
The letter stated there were no relatives in Robita willing to take in the orphan child. Among those with even a tenuous connection to her, Bill Lemer's circumstances were comparatively better, so they were sending the child there. It also added that if his situation was similarly difficult, he should put the child in an orphanage.
Bill muttered curses and hurled the crumpled letter to the ground.
"To hell with these people. No matter what, sending such a young child all the way here alone?"
Now understanding the full situation, Bill's face flushed red with anger. Like a game of hot potato, once the child being passed around had nowhere left to go, they had essentially driven her beyond the border. With nothing but the address of a distant relative in a foreign country, as if chasing her away.
"Um, Uncle Bill. I'm not that young."
The child, who had been watching him quietly, spoke up.
"I'll be twelve in a few weeks."
Whispering in a deliberately mature tone, the child subtly rose on her tiptoes. The sight was even more absurd, and Bill laughed bitterly. She was so small he had wondered if she was even ten, but at least she was older than he had guessed, for better or worse.
Once the postal worker who had delivered the troublesome girl departed, only the two remained awkwardly in the garden. Bill grabbed his head, cursing his fate.
They called themselves relatives, but the child's father and he were practically strangers.
To raise the child of a distant relative he hadn't seen in over twenty years. And him, a widower, raising a girl barely bigger than his fist!
The child wore absurdly thin clothes despite the still quite cold weather. Moreover, she was as thin as a rail. The only things worth looking at were her large green eyes and hair like fine gold thread.
Taking in that child made no sense.
Bill reached a clear conclusion. But the only solution that followed was putting her in an orphanage, which drove him mad.
Bill once again muttered curses at those responsible for this situation. The child flinched as if frightened, but her expression remained fairly composed. Though her hands fidgeting anxiously and her lips, red from being bitten so much, betrayed her true feelings.
"Follow me."
Bill shook his head and started walking ahead.
"First, we need to fill your stomach before thinking."
His gruffly added words were carried by the evening breeze.
Layla, who had been standing straight as a stick, finally took her first steps. With each step, then another, the child's gait gradually grew lighter and more cheerful.
"Is that all you're having?"
Bill frowned as he glanced at the food on her plate.
"Yes. I only eat a little. Really."
The child smiled, and Bill's heart grew a little more uncomfortable.
"Child, I can't stand picky eaters."
At Bill's blunt words, the child's eyes grew round. The lamplight illuminating the table settled on her bony wrists revealed beneath her short sleeves.
"You need to eat everything heartily, like an ox."
Bill's expression grew even more gruff.
Layla blinked slowly, lost in thought, then moved another piece of meat and bread onto her plate. Apparently very hungry, the child began devouring the food.
"It might be hard to eat like an ox, but I actually eat well, Uncle."
With bread crumbs on her lips, the child beamed.
"Yes. You certainly look like it."
Bill laughed bitterly and picked up his drink again.
"Aren't you scared of me?"
Bill deliberately furrowed his brow. But the child didn't look away, staring straight into his eyes.
"No. You don't yell at me. And you gave me delicious food. So you seem like a kind person I should be grateful to."
If only that much made her grateful, what kind of life must she have lived?
Suddenly tasting something bitter in his mouth, Bill stood up abruptly and poured himself a large glass of beer.
The letter said the child's mother had abandoned her husband and children to run away with another man. Heartbroken by this fact, the child's father reportedly drank himself to death and passed away from illness. Knowing she had grown up being passed between relatives' homes after that, he could imagine what her life had been like.
Still, raising that child didn't make sense.
Gulping down his beer, Bill Lemer made up his mind. He would resolve the child's issue by next week at the latest.
"Did everyone hear? They say Gardener Lemer is going to raise a young girl."
A young maid rushed into the servants' break room, chattering excitedly. The eyes of those resting all turned toward her at once.
"A girl? Lemer? It would sound more believable if they said he was raising a lion or elephant."
A footman snorted.
Bill Lemer, gardener of the Herhardt ducal family, was a man with a natural gift for cultivating flowers. Thanks to that talent, despite his decidedly unsociable and gruff temperament, he had managed to keep his position as the family's gardener for twenty years.
Remarkably fair, Bill Lemer treated the ducal family no differently than others, yet he was trusted. The Lady of the house especially trusted him. She, who had a particular love for flowers, showed infinite understanding and leniency in matters related to her garden. It was also her decision to give the gardener the cabin in the forest behind the estate.
Bill Lemer's life was simple.
He worked in the garden and rested in the cabin. Except for occasionally sharing drinks with servants his age, he spent most of his time surrounded by flowers and trees. Though his wife had passed away from illness over ten years ago, he rarely had anything to do with women.
That wooden block Bill Lemer and a young girl?
Just as opinions converged that it was absurd, a maid standing by the window exclaimed.
"Oh my. It seems to be true! Look over there."
With wide eyes, the maid pointed beyond the glass window. The servants who gathered at the window soon wore expressions of surprise like hers. In the garden beyond, Bill Lemer was working in his usual stooped posture. And a tiny girl, apparently the child from the rumors, was following behind him.
Golden hair braided into a single strand swayed like a pendulum behind the child as she walked briskly.
"I'm thinking about it."
Whenever asked about the child, Bill Lemer repeated the same answer.
"I can't keep her here, so I need to think it through properly."
His deliberation continued from spring into summer, and during that time, Layla Llewellyn gradually became part of this estate. The sight of the child busily exploring the garden and forest had become a familiar scene to the Herhardt family's servants.
"She seems to have grown a bit taller already."
Mrs. Mona, the cook, smiled as she glanced out the window. Layla was wandering the forest behind the cabin, examining all sorts of grass and flowers.
"She still needs to grow a lot more. She's so tiny, after all."
"Listen, Bill Lemer. Children aren't like the potted plants you tend to. They don't just shoot up overnight."
Mrs. Mona shook her head and set down the basket she had brought on the table.
"What's this?"
"Cookies and cake. There was a tea party for the Lady at the mansion yesterday."
"I hate sweets."
"So? These are for Layla."
At Mrs. Mona's nonchalant reply, Bill Lemer's thick eyebrows twitched.
Even though he shouldn't keep the child here, the ducal family's servants had started looking after Layla at some point. Asking about her, bringing food, sometimes coming to see her. It was troublesome.
"We need to buy her some clothes. If she grows just a bit more, that young lady's skirt will be above her knees."
Mrs. Mona clicked her tongue briefly as she watched Layla running after a bird. Bill couldn't argue. Even to his eyes, knowing nothing about children, it was obvious that Layla was wearing clothes that didn't fit her.
"Oh my! Oh my goodness! Look at that child!"
Mrs. Mona, who had been about to leave, exclaimed in shock and rushed to the window.
Bill glanced casually at where she pointed. When the bird she had been chasing landed at the end of a branch, Layla quickly climbed up the tree. Her movements were agile and light, like a squirrel.
"She's quite skilled at climbing trees."
At Bill's calm response, Mrs. Mona glared with furious eyes.
"Bill Lemer! You knew and just let her be? How exactly are you raising this child?"
"As you can see, she's growing up strong and healthy."
"You're raising a girl like a wild tomboy! Good heavens."
Mrs. Mona loudly scolded him, but Bill listened half-heartedly while peering out the window. Layla was perched on a tree branch, watching the birds playing in the foliage.
Over the past few months of observing her, Layla Llewellyn was a child curious about everything in the world. Flowers and grass, birds and insects. She found everything her eyes touched fascinating and wondered about it all. Once, when she didn't return even after dark, he went to the forest and found her sitting alone by the river, watching a flock of waterbirds. She had been so focused that she didn't respond even after he called her name several times.
Mrs. Mona continued her ear-splitting lecture for quite a while before finally leaving. Bill shuddered and walked slowly toward the back of the cabin.
"Uncle!"
Layla spotted him and waved her hand with delight.
Descending the tree as quickly as she had climbed it, the child was soon right in front of Bill's nose. Her drab gray dress was short not only in the skirt but also in the sleeves. Looking like she was wearing someone else's hand-me-downs, he couldn't have her meet the Duke like this, so it seemed he would have to buy her at least one set of clothes.
"Get ready and come out."
Standing at the back door of the cabin, Bill spoke impulsively. In Layla's bewildered expression, fear momentarily rose in her eyes.
"Uncle?"
"We're just going into town to buy clothes, so no need for that expression."
Bill cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.
"Duke Herhardt will be arriving soon, and greeting him in this state seems rather inappropriate."
"The Duke? You mean the lord of this estate?"
"Yes. He should be returning now that it's school break."
"School break? Does the Duke go to school too?"
Layla tilted her head, then narrowed her eyes. Bill chuckled and ruffled the child's messy hair.
"Even a Duke has no choice but to attend school at eighteen."
"What? Eighteen years old? The Duke?"
Finding the child's shock adorable, Bill's laughter grew louder. Under his rough fingertips, the child's tousled hair felt soft like cotton.
The train departing from the capital entered the platform at Karlsvart Station.
The waiting servants approached the first-class carriage in perfect order. When they had lined up in proper posture, a tall, slender youth stepped onto the platform.
"Welcome, my lord."
Beginning with the butler Hessen's formal bow, all the servants bowed their heads toward him. Standing with straight, elegant posture, Matthias responded to their greetings with a slight nod. His lips, bearing a smile neither excessive nor insufficient, were red.
When Matthias took several long strides forward, only then did the Herhardt family's servants begin to move. Onlookers who had been glancing that way hurriedly stepped back to clear their path. Matthias passed through the platform without slowing his pace.
"A carriage."
Matthias smirked upon discovering the waiting carriage in front of the station.
"Ah... yes, my lord. The Lady doesn't trust automobiles very much."
"I know. To Grandmother, they're nothing but unbearably vulgar and dangerous lumps of metal."
"I apologize. Next time..."
"No matter. A classic, once in a while, isn't bad."
Matthias readily boarded the carriage. The movement of his long arms and legs, still giving an impression of not being fully filled out, lent a refreshing feeling even to his unhurried motions.
The carriage carrying him soon began to pick up speed. After passing through the square and the busy shopping district, the road became quieter. The luggage carriage maintained a moderate distance, following behind the carriage where the brilliant gold crest glittered.