"Perhaps, what?"
"No, nothing, my lord."
The maid dropped her head helplessly, perhaps frightened by Olivier's scowling expression. Her cheeks were flushed red and she was panting heavily; it seemed she hadn't been lying about being in pain.
With an unpleasant feeling, Olivier examined the receipt from Saint Francis Hospital. When he confirmed the name 'Amélie Garnier,' his face stiffened.
So this very moment was clearly, unmistakably, Olivier d'Anpierre's delusion and mistake.
Olivier glanced over Amélie Garnier. Now that he looked, he didn't even need to check with the hospital reception desk.
The maid, her brown hair disheveled every which way, was barely standing by leaning against the wall, her face flushed red.
Damn it, this isn't right….
Olivier furrowed his brow and let out an annoyed sigh. He had been certain—certain—that this was the maid sent by Mademoiselle R.
The second letter from Mademoiselle R had arrived that very morning. This time, it had scraped his nerves with something rather like a threat, and she had even boldly written down her address. He had no intention of visiting, but he had dashed after the maid who delivered the letter.
But well, all maids look similar, so how could he tell? In the end, he had grabbed the wrong person.
Damn it, a mistake….
Olivier flipped the document in his hand over several times. It was the letter the maid had tearfully asked to be returned just moments ago.
"What's this?"
〈Addressee: Amélie Garnier〉
The sender was the court. And the criminal division, at that? This was no ordinary matter. Suddenly, Olivier's expression turned crooked. The addressee's name was printed clearly in bright red ink, as if to say, Amélie Garnier, know thy sins.
Unconsciously, Olivier unfolded and read the document that wasn't even his.
"To Miss Amélie Garnier."
The following lines concisely summarized how much Miss Garnier's father had borrowed from whom, and what fraud he had committed.
"Ha."
1,700 francs? Olivier's face wrinkled involuntarily, and he let out a hollow laugh.
"He's a real bastard."
Of course, this was directed not at Amélie Garnier but at her father. However, he didn't realize that Amélie Garnier, hearing those words now, was trembling with shame.
As Olivier continued reading through the various details, he confirmed that the repayment deadline for the 1,700 francs was less than a month away and found himself at a complete loss for words.
"……."
So this young-faced maid was truly in a terribly difficult situation.
It seemed she had barely managed to pay the hospital bill. She obviously wouldn't have this large sum of money, so she would inevitably end up in prison.
"Hey, Miss Amélie Garnier. Can you pay back all this money?"
The maid with her head dropped low gave no answer. He thought he could hear a small hiccup, as if she were holding back tears….
"Here."
Olivier folded the court letter and returned it to Amélie. The maid reached out with trembling hands to take it, only to drop it on the floor.
"Ha…."
Olivier became conflicted. He began to be bothered by the sight of himself picking up the document, half-soaked in muddy water.
After all, it was clearly his fault that she had been dragged to this alley and humiliated….
For a brief moment, the heart of Olivier d'Anpierre—one of high society's major patrons in Ejon—wavered slightly. Was 1,700 francs an amount he couldn't pay? Should he compensate her like this…?
The moment his heart softened, Amélie Garnier jerked her head up. Her tear-stained face was burning red. Her bloodshot eyes glared straight at Olivier.
"You're Viscount Olivier d'Anpierre, aren't you?"
In the end, his identity was discovered. Olivier's face flushed red. Though there was no one in the dark, cramped alley, if anyone were to see him like this…!
The feeling of pity that had briefly surfaced vanished. He was already sick to death of threats, his nerves on edge as it was, and now the maid before him glared at him, making his stomach suddenly churn with anger.
"Shut your mouth. Aren't you going to lower your voice?"
Olivier, hurriedly checking his surroundings, lowered his voice and growled. Though panting heavily, the maid didn't back down and stammered out a retort.
"So high and mighty… because you're a young master……. You're truly selfish. Reading other people's letters… as you please… without permission."
"What?"
Olivier's face grew even redder.
"Dragging a person all the way here… by force… without even checking properly! After doing something so rude… without even an apology… how can a person!"
She was shedding tears drop by drop, yet she also seemed unaware of exactly whom she was speaking to….
Before her, Olivier, his face burning red, was greatly flustered when the maid who had been muttering something suddenly lost her balance and swayed.
"Uh, uhh…."
Startled, Olivier reflexively reached out his arm. When he caught the maid's body as it collapsed, a burning-hot body landed in his arms. A scorching forehead pressed firmly against the nape of his neck.
"Hey, you have a fever…."
This kind of contact was truly bewildering.
Olivier grimaced in disgust but couldn't bring himself to push the maid away. From within his embrace, the maid suddenly muttered.
"Trash… young master… selfish bastard."
Trash young master…?
Selfish bastard…?
The words were brief but the blow was heavy. Olivier, at a complete loss for words, stood there blankly. Not knowing what to do with the delirious nonsense caused by fever, he stiffened completely, supporting the maid in a rigid posture.
Normally, he would have abhorred such an obvious ploy. But now, the patient before him looked truly, terribly ill….
The maid, who had drooped limply for several seconds, desperately tried to regain consciousness and pushed him away, then straightened her swaying body.
"Wait a moment, you need to go to the hospital…."
Just as Olivier, unable to leave Amélie be, cautiously called out to her.
"Garnier! Miss Garnier!"
Right then, a loud voice calling for her was heard from the mouth of the alley. It was the rough voice of a hackney carriage driver searching for his booked passenger.
"Miss Garnier! Count Vichet's! Count Vichet's! Amélie! Garnier!"
The maid gathered her belongings with hurried breaths. Olivier, for his part, felt somehow empty when her hot body suddenly slipped from his embrace.
What, can she go alone….
Watching Amélie Garnier with a troubled face, Olivier eventually strode quickly up to her. Opening his wallet in haste, he pulled out a bundle of bills and pressed them into her hand.
"Here, take this. Laundry fee."
After forcibly placing money in the hands of a woman who looked too weak to even stand, Olivier hesitated briefly before his expression finally hardened.
He had to say his piece too. Since he had already been called 'trash' and a 'selfish bastard.' Lowering his voice, Olivier threatened her.
"If you go around telling people you met me today, know that something very troublesome will happen."
"……."
The maid glanced up at Olivier with tear-filled eyes, then silently staggered out of the alley.
Olivier watched her retreating figure for a while, then rubbed his face with an awkward expression.
"Damn it, what a day…."
The sensation that had burned the nape of his neck still remained vividly. Clicking his tongue, he brushed off his coat collar several times, then tilted his head as if something strange had gotten on him, before choosing the opposite path and exiting the alley.
* * *
It was a hackney carriage that smelled of urine, but fortunately, this time it had a lid.
Amélie, leaning against the carriage window with her eyes closed, slowly opened her eyes to the yellow sunset pouring across her face. It seemed the medicine was taking effect somewhat; her head had cleared a little.
Under the fading sunlight, the streets had already turned completely golden. A lamplighter with a long pole on his shoulder walked along the boulevard, and laborers hurriedly heading home flooded the streets, creating a commotion.
Amélie watched the scene blankly, then suddenly looked down at her feet at a damp feeling.
"Ah…."
All strength drained from her. Only now did she realize that her clothes and shoes were thoroughly soaked with filthy mud. So that's why he gave her laundry money….
The moment she suddenly ran into Olivier d'Anpierre surfaced vividly, and her face turned bright red.
What did I say…?
She had blurted out whatever came to mind, but now she couldn't remember what she had said. She did recall that all the anger she had suppressed had burst out in that alley.
How could she say such things to a stranger….
She felt as embarrassed as if she had made a drunken scene. And of all people, to someone like Olivier d'Anpierre….
It was surprising enough to have met him in that alley, but to have said such absurd things on top of that….
A sigh escaped Amélie. She tried to cover her mouth, then gasped again at the sight of her black-stained hand. She had retrieved the envelope from the dirty water, and it seemed the ink had run; her fingertips were grimy and black.
She had accepted that money with these hands.
Amélie rested her head powerlessly against the seat. Though it was too late to undo what was done, it seemed it would remain an embarrassing memory for a long time.
She hadn't wanted to confirm her wretched life in this way… and of all places, before someone who was the very symbol of beauty, value, and all things good—more than ever.
Could it be because she had used that name to get a carriage ride to Ejon? Was she being punished? If this was punishment, what exactly had she done wrong?
While busily wiping away tears that kept spilling no matter how she tried to stop them, Amélie looked down at her dirtied hands resentfully.
Amélie Garnier wasn't originally like this. She was someone who kept herself cleaner than anyone else….
You pushed me into the alley, misunderstood me as you pleased and frightened me, and drove sick me until I fell.
She hated crying pathetically by herself, yet things that made her cry kept happening. Some sorrows were irresistible.