Having finished her lunch at the madam’s house, and adhering to basic etiquette, she had refrained from venturing beyond the living room and kitchen.
If her guess was correct, that brass key ring granted access to every room in the house.
A subtle sense of pride stirred within Ghervil at this display of trust.
It felt as though the madam was the first person to ever trust her so completely.
The dean, on the other hand, had always been more cautious, withholding information rather than sharing it freely.
Only after tidying up and thoroughly watering all the potted flowers in the front yard did she slowly make her way back to the door of 101, laden with a large basket of perishable fruits and vegetables.
“The key…”
“Strange, why isn’t it here?”
Setting the basket down, she lifted a rather inconspicuous grey stone, overgrown with weeds, from the right side of the steps, revealing a small, empty wooden box.
Ever since Dr. Callan had discovered her previous hiding spot, Ghervil had chosen an even more concealed location.
Could a thief have broken in during just one morning?
Yet, how would a thief possibly know where the key was hidden?
Inevitably, her mind raced, and with a grim expression, she turned to look at the house across the way—the one whose owner had been absent for three days.
The doors and windows remained tightly shut, showing no signs of having been opened.
The deception was meticulously crafted; even the few withered leaves on the front steps lay undisturbed.
Still, Ghervil’s keen eyes caught a crucial detail.
In the window of the second-floor bedroom, a spot she glanced at every night while writing her diary, there was usually a narrow gap of about two centimeters, easily noticeable when moonlight streamed through.
Now, in the bright daylight, it was even clearer: the curtains were drawn tight, completely obscuring the window.
The identity of the key thief was painfully obvious.
‘How utterly bored must one be to pull such a stunt?’
Powerless against this particular individual, Ghervil tried the doorknob with her right hand while knocking with her left, which moved without issue.
“I know you’re in there. If I were you, I wouldn’t have taken the key; I’d have put it back to avoid the owner noticing…”
With a soft click, the door swung open.
Indeed, if they had no intention of hiding, leaving the door unlocked was a highly probable scenario.
“What a pity. I was hoping to surprise you.”
Hauling the basket inside, Ghervil immediately spotted a pair of black-stockinged legs, crossed and elegant beneath a short skirt, to her right.
Dr. Callan sat casually on the sofa, hands spread wide, a key twirling deftly around her finger.
“Often, the most dangerous place is the safest. You could have someone create a false bottom in the mailbox by the door; perhaps hiding it there would have stumped me.”
Following the woman’s words, Ghervil’s gaze flickered over, then just as swiftly, darted away.
‘This person is acting as if this is their own home.’
She opened her mouth, then closed it, realizing that speaking her mind would be like casting pearls before swine.
With a determined grunt, she lifted the basket and headed towards the kitchen.
“Did you go shopping for supplies?” Unfazed by the apparent disregard, the woman rose from the sofa with an effortless movement, taking the basket from Ghervil’s hands.
“Why did you buy so much?”
With her hands now free, Ghervil finally felt the urge to respond.
“I didn’t buy them; the madam prepared them for my cooking lessons.”
“It’s a shame I don’t have time this afternoon, otherwise my dinner for tonight would be sorted.”
“There’s no need to wait until afternoon,” Ghervil retorted with a cold smile.
“I’ll be making them shortly, and you’ll be the first to taste.”
Having delivered her words, she underwent a rapid shift in expression, her face resuming its usual impassive demeanor.
Pouring herself a glass of cold water, she carried it to the living room, drank half of it in one gulp, and settled back onto the sofa.
“Where should I put these?” a voice called from the kitchen.
“Somewhere out of the sun and out of the way.”
As she replied, Ghervil squinted, sitting up to scan the additional items on the table—specifically, a piece of parchment.
Realizing she couldn’t decipher it, she leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes to rest.
Having just taken her medicine that morning, understanding the irregular, distorted patterns on the parchment was out of the question.
Her energy often flagged after lunch, which was why she didn’t wish to engage in further conversation.
Before long, Dr. Callan emerged, biting into a red apple.
“You should thank me.”
“Thank you for illegally breaking in? Or thank you for treating this place as your own home?” she replied, her eyes still closed, not bothering to look at the woman.
“Why, for…” Dr. Callan slowly bent down, pulling a tote bag from beneath the table and, before Ghervil’s eyes, began to remove its contents.
“Thank me for washing a certain untidy little nun’s habit.”
‘Her habit?’
‘It couldn’t be…’
Ghervil was forced to open her eyes, but it was already too late to intervene.
Dr. Callan laid the folded habit across her lap, and atop it rested white silk stockings and intimate undergarments.
“Didn’t I tell you that after the blood was cleaned, I insisted on doing the washing myself!?”
“Crunch.”
Dr. Callan took another bite of her apple.
“Washing is part of cleaning. I must have forgotten to mention it to you.”
Blushing crimson, the young woman was rendered speechless.
She realized then that Dr. Callan had done this entirely on purpose.
To quibble over such a matter now would only make her appear awkward.
A rational person would consider the potential issues and risks of clothes stained with rat blood, rather than dwelling on trivial, messy details.
Besides, they were both women…
Yet, the thought of her intimate undergarments being hand-washed by someone else stirred an indescribable, peculiar sensation within her.
“Thank you…” After a long moment, she finally managed to force out the words.
“Could you… give them back to me now?”
Her face still flushed, her right hand, which had instinctively wanted to snatch the clothes, veered towards the water glass after a brief internal struggle, picking it up to take a large, desperate gulp.
The white nylon and wool garments displayed so prominently on top were simply too glaring.
“Of course.”
Dr. Callan smoothed the clothes with her hands, refolded them, and pushed the tote bag, along with its contents, towards the young woman.
‘There was absolutely no need to display them.’
‘Damn it, it was her own carelessness for not noticing the bag under the table.’
Rising swiftly, she carried the tote bag upstairs to her bedroom, then returned.
To Ghervil’s surprise, the woman did not adopt a flippant attitude.
She had expected at least a teasing remark or two, yet there was none.
“Your hand… it should be fine now, shouldn’t it?” Dr. Callan asked, her tone subdued.
“Normally, a broken bone takes over a month to regain basic function; how could it possibly be healed so quickly?”
She gazed at the woman with astonishment, remembering to lift her hand and give it a couple of experimental shakes.
“You just said it would take a month, yet what are you doing right now?”
“I’m…”
Belatedly, she swung her hand in a wider arc, completely devoid of any pain.
Upon reflection, her left hand had been involved in her cooking lessons these past few days, to varying degrees, and not once had she felt any pain.
Such was human nature; in a relaxed and peaceful life, one subconsciously overlooked anomalies, simply assuming things were as they should be.
She should have realized something was amiss much sooner.
“Why did you lie to me?” Although she knew she was partly to blame, a hint of indignation still colored the young woman’s tone.
“In a state of extreme tension, people lose their normal judgment regarding various things, such as their own physical condition or their surroundings. Once safe, they are highly likely to trust the person who helped them escape danger.”
“When I examined you then, I reset your dislocated joint and told you it was a fracture. The reason? To make you cautious, to stop you from constantly thinking of running off and doing dangerous things.”
Ghervil looked up, astonished, to see Dr. Callan’s face etched with solemn seriousness.
“And now, even if you don’t want to run off, you can’t.”