Ghervil’s true astonishment wasn’t rooted in Callan’s identity, but rather in how she had managed to discover her clandestine outing.
She was certain she hadn’t encountered a single soul in the forest, having proceeded with utmost caution every step of the way.
If Callan possessed some unique ability, then every one of Ghervil’s actions could potentially be exposed… even the events of that very morning…
“I left no discernible trace; how did you possibly find out?”
She had even meticulously wiped down and put away the stool she’d used, which had been placed to avoid leaving footprints.
The bloodstains and broken hairs in her hair – this woman was so unconventional; her attention must have been elsewhere at the time. Had she truly noticed, she wouldn’t have spoken so casually.
It was more likely that Callan had spotted a detail Ghervil had overlooked, deducing only that she had gone out, without knowing precisely what had transpired.
‘A game of wits, then… This presents an opportune moment to gauge the Abbey’s stance towards me.’
“How should I put this…” The doctor crossed her legs, her gaze lingering on Ghervil’s tightly pressed knees.
“First, you must promise not to be angry after you hear it.”
Ah, Ghervil now understood the likely culprit: her stockings. The previous pair had been white pantyhose, whereas these were thigh-highs.
Yet, beneath her long skirt, her legs were currently bare, as her only remaining two pairs were far too warm for the current season.
Retrieving a cushion from nearby, she placed it over her lap, physically shielding herself from Callan’s gaze, before offering a strained, insincere smile.
“Rest assured, I won’t be angry. When have you ever seen me angry, my dear neighbor~”
“But you’re already angry, aren’t you!” Callan quickly averted her gaze, straightening her posture.
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop teasing you. Simply put, it’s the shape of the rips in your stockings.”
“Shape?”
“Precisely. There are long, jagged tears with uneven edges, all forming irregular slits, primarily concentrated on your calves and below. Considering the local terrain and a few other details, the only explanation I can conceive is that they were snagged by branches or bushes of varying sizes.”
“Alright, you’re right.”
Such distinctly shaped tears were indeed too conspicuous; she had to concede the accuracy of Callan’s deduction.
‘So this woman had noticed it then, and still deliberately played dumb?’
“You were running with such intensity that your stockings tore, yet you didn’t even pause to attend to them. Normally, if someone snags their stockings, they’d stop to untangle them, resulting in only a small hole, not these consistent, torn ruptures.”
“It’s highly probable you encountered some danger in the forest this morning.”
“Wait, stop!”
A cold sweat began to prickle Ghervil’s skin; before she could even begin her probing, her own secrets had been laid bare.
‘This is a problem!’
‘I inherited the entirety of the Dean’s estate, and the Dean was so powerful; it’s difficult for people not to draw connections…’
‘What if the Abbey adopts a strict supervisory approach towards me, prohibiting me from leaving in the future?’
“Are you here to monitor me?” she ventured, testing the waters.
“That’s not quite the way to put it,” Callan replied, waving a dismissive hand, though a hint of smugness flickered in her eyes.
“Strictly speaking, we both belong to the Abbey’s system—we’re colleagues. It’s just that my work is a bit more specialized, so there’s no such thing as one person monitoring another. If someone truly wanted to watch you, they’d do so covertly, without needing to spend so much money buying a property.”
It sounded perfectly logical, with no discernible flaws, but to believe her outright would not be Ghervil.
Besides, the woman’s smug expression was utterly infuriating.
“Your purpose in moving here wasn’t for me?”
“You could say that.”
“Nor will the Abbey restrict my activities or travel?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you and I truly colleagues?”
“Yes. If you don’t mind, you can consider me your senior.”
“I believe you, Senior Callan.” Ghervil rose politely, lifting the hem of her skirt with both hands and curtsying slightly.
“It’s lunchtime now, and I’m going to take my nap. If you don’t wish for me to throw you out, you may remain here.”
“Hm???”
Callan froze for a moment, wondering if she had misheard.
‘Did the little nun truly say that with a smile?’
‘It seemed she did.’
She recalled that this sweet-smiling little nun disliked beating around the bush, often uttering words an educated nun would never use, and her actions were consistently unpredictable.
“After I’ve revealed so much, shouldn’t you let down your guard and discuss your dangerous encounter from this morning with me?”
“Don’t even think about it, young lady. If you don’t leave soon, the mistress of this house will be seeing you out. Or perhaps you’d prefer to be ‘kicked out’ instead of ‘thrown out’?”
She even thoughtfully walked over to the door, opened it, and made several gestures of invitation.
“What if… I don’t leave?”
Callan discerned that the young woman wasn’t genuinely angry; true anger would manifest as a chair flying across the room, not a battle of words.
She was curious to see how the nun would manage to expel her.
With a hint of defiance, she settled into the nun’s vacated seat, embracing the cushion the nun had held and inhaling its faint scent.
“I still wish to stay a while longer.”
‘Alas…’
Faced with this rascal—who had a history of being impervious to both gentle persuasion and stern warnings—Ghervil truly had no recourse until she could uncover some leverage or weakness.
Others might have respected Ghervil’s status, but this woman harbored no such reservations.
Her midday nap was no mere excuse; the sensation had persisted since her bath, leaving her head feeling heavy and muddled.
She currently lacked the energy to discern the truth from the falsehood in Callan’s words.
Having endured it for so long, the feeling intensified, threatening to overwhelm her at any moment.
She couldn’t rule out the possibility of an illness exacerbating; narcolepsy, for instance, was characterized by an inability to be roused once asleep, requiring one to awaken naturally.
It was confirmed that Callan belonged to the Abbey, and if she discovered Ghervil was a ‘patient,’ the consequences were utterly unpredictable.
They might place her under house arrest to study her condition, or perhaps even worse outcomes awaited her…
A soft ‘thud’ echoed.
The door softly closed.
“Do as you please.”
Ghervil’s demeanor abruptly shifted to one of indifference; as she passed Callan, she didn’t even spare her a glance, merely uttering a casual remark.
“It’s rather convenient to have someone volunteer to look after the house.”
She then proceeded towards the stairs.
“That’s it?”
Callan’s astonished gaze followed the nun’s movement; she found herself understanding Ghervil less and less.
‘Had something similar happened before?’
“The naptime has passed now; too much sleep makes one groggy!”
Placing the cushion back, she followed, somewhat unwilling to give up, chattering incessantly behind Ghervil.
“Actually, I made something delicious and wanted to invite you to eat it with me.”
“…”
“I can tell you more things you want to know, including knowledge about the plague!”
“…”
For the first time, Callan experienced the terror of passive aggression.
She trailed the nun all the way to the second floor, yet Ghervil never once glanced back, though her steps grew progressively slower, her hand moving from the banister to the wall for support.
Callan assumed she was merely being careful not to trip over her skirt.
It wasn’t until the silhouette of several rose pots appeared at the end of the corridor—having been moved from the balcony and placed quietly in the corner—that Callan realized something was amiss.
The afternoon sun barely reached them, casting short, fragmented shadows.
The nun finally halted before her bedroom door, her back to Callan, utterly motionless.
Callan resolved to engage in a slightly underhanded tactic. She still wished to maintain some goodwill with the nun, yet Ghervil’s attitude towards her seemed to oscillate wildly between casual indifference and outright impatience.
‘In any case, it won’t improve immediately, and there will be plenty of opportunities in the future.’
Placing both hands on the nun’s shoulders, Callan leaned in close to her ear. A pleasant, faint fragrance, identical to the one on the cushion, wafted to her, causing her to momentarily pause before she whispered a devilish suggestion.
“You wouldn’t want Mrs. Keith to find out about your secret escapade and the danger you encountered, would you?”
Three seconds passed without a response.
Suddenly, the nun’s body went limp, threatening to collapse.
Callan was momentarily stunned with fright, but before Ghervil could fully fall, she reacted swiftly, wrapping one arm around her waist and crouching down, allowing the soft body to lean into her embrace.
“It seems I’ve taken the joke too far…”