Episode 60
Jeffrey Grayson had held everything in his hands from the moment he was born. A noble family, and an affluent environment befitting it. Of course, the manners and bearing that came with it were demanded of him regardless of his age. Well, that much was worth putting up with.
And so he grew up without ever knowing what poverty was, without even knowing any commonplace lack. Not only was he materially abundant, but people were always kind to him even when he acted curt, and they willingly sought to become his friends. His father was moderately indifferent to him, and his mother was moderately fussy, so he grew up without ever hearing a harsh word.
That was, until he met Lady Rosalyn, his grandmother.
The old lady, still elegant and stiff-backed as the former duchess, disliked Jeffrey from the moment she first saw him. It was the first time he had encountered such blatant contempt. As soon as she saw Jeffrey, she stood right in front of him and criticized him point by point, pointing out his flaws. Strictly speaking, the words were probably meant for the duke and duchess standing beside him to hear, not Jeffrey himself.
But could Jeffrey Grayson, only six years old at the time, have understood that? Jeffrey Grayson hated his grandmother as much as she had disparaged him.
Until then, no adult had ever spoken harshly to him. Even if there were such people, most were of lower status and worse circumstances than he, so they could not even show displeasure in front of him. Yes. Among the privileges he possessed was, naturally, the right not to hear anything unpleasant.
“Jeffrey. Change into your outdoor clothes at once.”
It was a day when rain was pouring down fiercely. The duchess’s urgent words struck ten-year-old Jeffrey like a dart as he lay sprawled carelessly on his bed, playing chess alone.
Without knowing the reason, the young boy left the estate with his parents and headed for the capital. It was midsummer, and they were bound for his grandmother’s mansion on the outskirts of the capital. Since the capital, too, was usually plagued by the rainy season at this time, they had to endure all sorts of indignities along the way, with sheets of rain pouring down throughout the journey and the carriage wheels getting caught in the mud several times.
“Do we really have to go on a day like this?”
“Be quiet, Jeffrey.”
No sooner had Jeffrey grumbled than the duke scolded him in a cold voice.
Only after they arrived at Dilton Manor, the mansion where the old woman Jeffrey detested most resided, did Jeffrey learn exactly what had happened. The mansion was in chaos. The manor, always kept so neat it seemed measured by a ruler, as if reflecting the old woman’s temperament, was a mess starting from the garden.
Young Jeffrey entered a room holding his mother’s hand. There was a coffin.
There were two.
“Were the bodies recovered intact?”
While the duchess swallowed a groan and Jeffrey stared blankly back and forth between the two coffins, the duke asked calmly.
Only then did Jeffrey turn his head toward the person his father had questioned. His grandmother, whom he so hated, was standing there. Compared to the last time he had seen her two months ago, the old lady looked as though she had aged ten years in the meantime.
Her once-neat clothes were badly wrinkled, and even the hair she had barely pinned up was disheveled. Her face was pale. And the expression contained within it was calm to the point of being somewhat eerie.
“Where is Sasha?”
“In the bedroom. She refuses to come out of her room. There is no need to go looking for her.”
At the duke’s question, the old lady answered curtly.
Sasha. Sasha Grayson.
Jeffrey thought of the little cousin he had only seen a few times at family gatherings. Unlike Jeffrey’s parents, his uncle and aunt had always been full of smiles, and their daughter Sasha had been so bright and carefree it was almost pathetic.
Jeffrey sat among the adults and picked up a rough idea of what had happened.
They said it was a carriage accident. They said it had happened after his uncle and aunt visited this Dilton Manor, on the road back to their home. They said the carriage had slipped on the rain-slick road and plunged straight off a bridge, and that not only the couple but even the coachman had died on the spot. They said the only one who survived was that child, Sasha Grayson.
The funeral continued for several days. And during that time, Jeffrey did not see his cousin even once.
They said the child was in shock in many ways and needed stability. Even so, did it make sense not to show her face even once at the funeral? Jeffrey muttered that inwardly, but he did not show it in front of the adults.
It was the first funeral ten-year-old Jeffrey had ever attended since birth. He had assumed it would be for, at most, one of his father’s friends or a distant relative. How could he have known that the uncle and aunt who had warmly treated him at every family gathering every few months would become the first people he had to mourn?
The atmosphere was suffocatingly gloomy throughout. Naturally so. Like any parent holding a funeral for a child, Lady Rosalyn remained so broken throughout the funeral that no one dared even speak to her. Ten-year-old Jeffrey thought his grandmother looked quite a sight like that. It was regrettable that his uncle and aunt had ended up that way, but he did not think it was so bad to see the old woman, who had always said hateful things to him, fall apart.
Even after the funeral ended, the duke and duchess stayed at that mansion for another two weeks. By then, Jeffrey was so bored he could hardly stand it.
The patience of ten-year-old Jeffrey Grayson—who, on top of being ten, possessed far less patience than most—had long since run dry, so he relieved his boredom by tearing up the mansion’s garden, picking fights with servants he passed, and summoning boys his own age among the servants to ride them around as though they were his horses.
It was a rare clear day.
On that day, when the tiresome rainy season had passed and the sun peeked out from between the clouds, the gardener’s assistant, who had been playing Jeffrey’s human horse all along, ran off and hid. Jeffrey stood in the middle of the garden and screamed at the top of his lungs, throwing a tantrum and demanding he come out. Unable to keep watching, the gardener said he would carry him on his shoulders himself.
“Forget it! Bring me that fellow who trails after you! If you don’t bring him, you won’t like what happens to you either!”
His ferocity was so great that the nearby servants began whispering among themselves. Mrs. William, Jeffrey’s nanny, was sitting on a nearby bench, and from there she looked on at the humiliation the gardener was suffering.
Jeffrey, who had been shrieking until his throat was hoarse, finally stormed off, declaring that he would find him himself. Only then did Mrs. William, who had been sitting still, say a word.
“Young master, you must not go far.”
Naturally, Jeffrey ignored her.
Before long, Jeffrey’s steps carried him past the main building and to the annex. Jeffrey screamed the young servant’s name and threatened to break his arm if he did not come out at once. Jeffrey ran straight into the annex.
“Do you understand, Jeffrey? Do not enter the annex.”
Although the duchess, having received Lady Rosalyn’s stern warning, had told him in advance, Jeffrey, as always, smashed even that small rule. The annex was dark. And quiet.
Then, from far away, he heard a sound like someone scratching at a door. From the end of the corridor.
“Who’s there?”
Jeffrey asked, and at that moment the sound of scratching at the door stopped.
Jeffrey strode forward without hesitation and reached the door at the end of the corridor.
“I asked, who is it?”
“……Jeffrey?”
At Jeffrey’s sharp voice, a faint voice came from inside. It was the voice of a young girl.
Sasha Grayson, his cousin who supposedly needed rest, was there.
“What are you doing in there?”
Jeffrey asked, and for a moment there was no answer from beyond the door.
Soon, young Sasha carefully made a request of him in a tiny, crawling voice.
“……Jeffrey. Could you open this door for me?”
I want to get out.
……Could you open this door for me?
＊＊＊
Acrid cigarette smoke drifted through the air. Twenty-three-year-old Jeffrey Grayson, who had been blankly lost in thought, swung his fist at once toward the source of the smoke that filled the space right before his nose.
“Urgh!” With a groan, someone who had been struck out of nowhere shouted at him, “What the hell was that for?” But he did not dare think of returning the punch to Jeffrey. He let out a pained groan, then rose from his seat and walked away to the other side.
The hideout of the gentlemen’s club Jeffrey belonged to merely imitated the appearance of a decent salon on the outside; once inside, it was no different from any tavern. The wooden floor creaked with every step, and the stench of stale liquor rose from it.
“What did you say?”
Jeffrey asked the man who had approached and dared speak to him. The man was scrawny and ugly. To begin with, he was not a member of this club.
The only son of Sir Butler, the duke’s chief secretary, was far more pathetic than his father. Jeffrey usually did not even treat him as human.
“Th-that’s not what you said. Jeffrey……”
George Butler dared even use Jeffrey’s name as he mumbled.
“Un-unlike what you said, wh-what I saw, M-Miss Sasha and that bastard were……”
“What did I tell you, George Butler?”
“Y-you said they were only p-pretending to marry by force. S-so I might still have a chance too……”
Jeffrey listened to his stammering words with an expressionless face.
Someone nearby said mockingly, “Wouldn’t it be better to just hand him a sheet of paper? I can’t stand listening to this.”
“So, George Butler.”
Ignoring it, Jeffrey spoke to the pathetic man before him.
“What did you see? What were those two like when you saw them yourself?”
“…….”
“Tell me in detail.”