“Ah! At last, the red curtain of the grand theater slowly rose….”
A large dining hall renovated from an old storage shed. The servants of Vicet Manor, not even noticing their breakfast growing cold, were all gazing at the young valet, Georges.
“At the Ejon Grand Theater, Charlotte Garel, the lead of the play *Beautiful Things* which began its first performance, appeared on stage….”
Charlotte Garel! Several young maids covered their mouths and stomped their feet. Amid the suffocating silence, Georges’s expression was infinitely serious as he carefully read aloud from the morning newspaper whose ink had hardly dried.
“As one hundred fifty ladies and gentlemen quietly held their breath, Charlotte’s beautiful lips recited her first line….”
The chefs and kitchen assistants, of course, the head valet and young footmen, dignified footmen. Added to these were a prickly governess, gardeners and their apprentices, and even a crowd of maids including clumsy trainees….
Every morning, those who filled this large dining hall numbered well over forty. And since those serving rotating shifts in the main building were limited in number, if all the servants of Count Vicet’s household were gathered, there would easily be eighty.
There were many people, yet only one newspaper was permitted in the annex, so whenever an interesting article was published, a squabble would break out over monopolizing the paper. Then at some point, one tradition had taken root: reading the newspaper aloud in turns at breakfast.
“Ah! Charlotte cried. Just what is love, that it tears my heart apart so….”
Georges, who was on duty today, was devoted to the reading but had absolutely no talent for acting. He flailed his arms about and put on a deliberately tragic expression, causing some to finally burst into laughter.
“I wish it were a fiery revenge play. Like cutting off a nobleman’s thing for good.”
When the maid beside her shook her fist with a vengeance, peals of laughter burst out. Even as chatter went here and there, Georges resolutely continued reading the article.
“The new muse of Ejon’s art world, Charlotte Garel! She is a rookie actress with eyes that sparkle like stars in the night sky….”
However, as it was the premiere, the rest of the play’s contents were briefly omitted, so there was no way to know if it was a revenge play or a sweet romance.
“Damn it all! I’m dying of curiosity. Can a beggar who can’t see plays even survive the heartbreak?”
“Right, we always only know the beginning and never the end. You gotta have gone to know the whole story.”
Complaints popped up here and there. As they chimed in with “Me too, me too!”, the latter part of the article had already turned to an interview with the rookie actress Charlotte Garel.
“…Having excellently pulled off a difficult role, what is Charlotte Garel’s private life like? After the play ended, the journalist was fortunate enough to have a private audience with Charlotte Garel in her dressing room.”
Those who had been grumbling fell quiet again. The private lives of celebrities were a topic anyone would be curious about. Perhaps because the gazes turning back toward him felt newly burdensome, Georges blushed but continued reading the remaining article clearly and deliberately.
“Charlotte, what do you think is a ‘beautiful thing’? At the journalist’s question, Charlotte fell into deep thought. Then, blushing her beautiful cheeks, she slowly answered….”
Gulp. The surroundings grew so quiet that the sound of someone swallowing could be heard. Georges falteringly continued.
“First, the night of Ejon where the lights never go out. Second, gold…. And, uh, huhk!”
Startled, Georges gasped and momentarily stopped speaking. Why? Why! Leaving the agitated audience aside, Georges, who had taken a moment to catch his breath, spat out the last word in one go.
“…Young Duke Olivier Dampierre!”
Kyaaah…!
The young maids screamed, stamping their feet, while the male servants openly whistled. It was as if someone had set a fire. The old dining hall began buzzing all over, seething with a heat that seemed ready to burst.
“It’s another scandal!”
“She aimed for it, she aimed for it! Saying ‘beautiful things’….”
“He’s such an expensive man. She’s openly flirting, trying to get his attention.”
“Whatever it is, it’s amazing. My heart is racing…!”
The following article contained the daring courtship of rookie actress Charlotte Garel, who had risen like a comet, and expectations for the reaction of Young Duke Dampierre, patron of the grand theater.
Naturally, the topic shifted to Young Duke Olivier Dampierre. That man who lacked nothing—wealth, honor, and even a splendid appearance—“Olivier Dampierre” was always the finest subject for conversation.
From the glamorous young ladies of high society who frequented Ejon’s opera houses to the maids of Vicet Manor working in the outskirts of Ejon—everyone knew his name.
Or so they said: the young Duke Olivier Dampierre, at twenty-three years of age this year, possessed a tall stature and broad shoulders, with dark blond hair and deep, languid green eyes that admirably suited him; his sculpted face and smooth skin radiating luster were flawless without a single blemish.
Moreover, he ate only extravagantly expensive things, and everything he wore or touched set the latest trends in Ejon… and so on and so forth.
The press of Ejon heaped all sorts of gossip upon that glamorous life. Rumor was piled upon rumor, and as a result, Olivier Dampierre’s value rose higher by the day.
Even the youngest maid in this household worshipped Young Duke Olivier Dampierre as though he were a great archangel, despite never having seen his face even once.
“Georges, is there a picture of the Duke in the newspaper?”
Most servants continued their meal, while some rose from their seats. In one corner of the dining hall, a group of maids surrounded Georges.
“There’s a crossword puzzle on the back, I’m telling you. I absolutely won’t let you this time!”
Georges quickly hid the newspaper behind his back and grumbled, but the maids, determined to somehow obtain a holy portrait of the Young Duke even if it was only fingernail-sized, surrounded him and fiercely rushed at him.
“It’s just a photo where you can barely make out his eyes, nose, and mouth, and you’re going to snatch it?”
“No matter how small, you can still see it!”
Amid the chaos, the only maid who quietly kept her seat was Amelie Garnier. With her brown hair neatly braided and tidily pinned up, and her upright posture as she calmly focused on her meal, she looked much like a well-educated noble young lady.
Even now, she didn’t so much as cast her gaze toward the uproar, merely eating her stew quietly.
“Amelieeee.”
Denise, a fellow maid pushed out from the battle to seize Olivier Dampierre, flopped down beside Amelie.
“I got pushed out again. Just what do they eat to be so strong?”
Having seemingly pushed away her own plate, Denise flopped onto the table and grumbled. Amelie, having calmly finished her meal, pointed at Denise’s painfully thin arm and offered advice.
“You have no strength because you don’t eat enough, Denise.”
“But it really tastes bad.”
Paying no mind to Denise’s resentful voice, Amelie soaked her own bread in the stew and pushed it into Denise’s mouth.
“You have to eat even if it doesn’t taste good. You need to eat to have strength to work. And next time, you have to make sure to grab Olivier Dampierre too.”
“Tch, even though you’re probably thinking it’s pathetic inside.”
Denise made a face and reluctantly chewed the bread. Still, seeing Denise chew the bread with some enthusiasm, Amelie burst into laughter.
“That’s not true. I’m just not interested, that’s all.”
Did she really have to get a photo of a nobleman constantly embroiled in scandal? Did she have to paste his face on her headboard to feel relieved?
There were certainly points that were somewhat difficult to understand. Still, if her friend was happy, that was enough.
Having finished her meal, Amelie wiped her mouth with a napkin and began neatly arranging the dishes. She needed to hurry to attend to Miss Katarina on time.
“By the way, Amelie,”
As she was about to stand up, Denise, who had gulped down the bread, spoke up as if she had just recalled something.
“Come to think of it, haven’t you been to the grand theater? Why, when we were little. The young lady took only you to the theater. How was it?”
“Huh?”
Amelie’s hands, busy tidying up, suddenly stopped. Her cheeks flushed slightly as she hesitated for a moment at the sudden question.
“…I don’t know either. I waited outside until it ended.”
“Really? She took you all the way there but left you outside and went in?”
Denise’s eyes went wide.
“That’s what happened.”
“That’s really something. Both Miss Katarina and the lady of the house.”
“Well, I’m not the young lady’s friend.”
With an ambiguous smile, Amelie ended the conversation. It was a memory she didn’t particularly want to recall.
It was the moment Amelie was just about to get up from her seat. The words Denise muttered touched Amelie’s heart.
“I thought Amelie Garnier would be a bit different.”
*Would be different.* What did that mean….
Amelie chewed over those words unconsciously and smiled bitterly.
“What are you talking about. What am I to be different.
What am I that I would be different from the other maids.
What am I.”
* * *
The day exactly two days after entering Vicet Manor—that is, when she was twelve years old.
Amelie, carrying a pile of laundry through the garden, ran right into a girl her own age.
“Hey, I’ve never seen you before. Who are you?”
“M-me?”
Amelie hesitated and looked at the girl before her.
“Yes, you. Are you the new maid?”
“Yes.”
This sullen-looking girl was probably Katarina Vicet, the cherished only daughter of Count and Countess Vicet.
Frightened, Amelie slowly blinked and stole a glance at the young lady.
“Hmph.”
Arms crossed, Katarina slowly looked Amelie up and down.
It was a fierce gaze that made her whole body tense even though she had done nothing wrong.
Shining shoe buckles, a silk dress adorned with plenty of lace, sparkling silver bracelets and jewels….
Amelie had been staring blankly at them with her head bowed low, but when Katarina Vicet strode up to her, she was so startled that she dropped her laundry.
“Maid, let’s be friends.”
*Maid*…? Only then did Amelie realize she hadn’t told the young lady her name, but Amelie’s name didn’t seem particularly important to Katarina. Only her jet-black eyes gleamed darkly.