“This is the house where the Dean used to live…”
Having watched the policewoman depart, Konehl-Ghervil opened her case and retrieved the string of brass keys.
She fervently hoped this grand, three-story house, with its second-floor balcony overflowing with withered, dark-red, nameless flowers, contained a room where she could bathe and rest.
Similar buildings lined the entire street, numbering around twenty, most of them residential.
Her luck held; on her third attempt, she found the key that unlocked the main door.
Gently pushing the door open, she found the indoor temperature considerably lower than outside, the cool air settling over her body with a comforting embrace.
The ground-floor hall was spacious, its windows tightly shut, and the furniture stood neatly arranged and complete.
Judging by the dust covering the floor, the last thorough cleaning had likely taken place two to three months prior.
Fortunately, it hadn’t reached the point of thick dust accumulation or pervasive cobwebs.
Instead of immediately cleaning, she set her sights on the large sofa by the window, flanked on its right by a bookshelf—likely the Dean’s preferred spot for leisurely reading.
She placed her case out of the way and, rummaging through a large storage chest filled with old clothes, discovered a blanket.
Dragging her weary body, she sank onto the sofa, immediately sprawling out.
It was remarkably soft and springy, suggesting built-in springs.
She was utterly exhausted.
Cupping her hand over her mouth and nose to ward off the rising dust, she casually pulled the blanket over herself.
In less than a minute, her eyelids involuntarily drifted shut.
Regardless, a brief nap to regain her energy before tackling the cleaning seemed absolutely essential.
****
When she next opened her eyes, the light within the room had significantly dimmed.
Adjusting her attire and folding the blanket, she glanced at the grandfather clock.
Its numbers were a distorted blur, yet the position of the hands clearly indicated it was around five o’clock in the afternoon.
“Could this be… I slept through the entire afternoon?”
Konehl-Ghervil’s small face immediately crumpled.
Her original plan—to wake after a thirty-minute to an hour-long nap, then visit neighbors, clean the house, arrange for laundry, and purchase groceries—had now completely gone awry.
She wasn’t overly fastidious, as evidenced by her sleeping on a dusty sofa.
However, out of respect for the Dean, she felt compelled to thoroughly clean the house, inside and out.
She saw herself more as a tenant of this house, taken in by the kind Dean, helping with the cleaning and upkeep.
Simply having a place to live was enough; how could she possibly aspire to become its owner?
Her upbringing instilled in her a sense of shame at receiving unearned benefits and unexpected windfalls.
The Dean hadn’t even stipulated that she must become a nun to inherit the estate, though she seemed to have already been mistaken for one.
Yet, she differed greatly from true nuns; a fundamental lack of faith in God resided within her, and she found herself unable to adhere to dogmas or doctrines.
Thus, the time it would take for her to truly embrace the identity of a nun would not be short.
This realization only deepened her sense of guilt.
Better to simply get things done.
Rather than fretting here, she should take action; perhaps the Dean was watching her from somewhere, and it wasn’t too late yet.
An hour later, clad in an old white long dress improvised as an apron, Konehl-Ghervil ascended the wooden staircase to the second floor, carrying a bucket, mop, and broom.
Having finished the first floor in an hour, she considered herself quite efficient, a slight sense of pride swelling within her.
This was largely because it wasn’t particularly dirty; most areas simply required a single wipe.
“The second floor… how should I go about cleaning it?”
A quick glance revealed eight rooms and a corridor leading to a balcony.
The light was abundant and clear, with ample illumination, meaning she wouldn’t need to switch on any lights at this hour.
After a moment’s thought, she decided to begin cleaning with the innermost room down the corridor, proceeding room by room before tackling the corridor itself, thereby avoiding re-soiling cleaned areas.
“Knock, knock, knock…”
Just as she found a key and inserted it into a lock, a faint knocking sound echoed from the first floor.
“Have they come looking for me so soon?”
Setting down her tools, Konehl-Ghervil hurried back to the first floor.
Opening the door, she was met with a surprise.
Standing before her was a woman, likely in her fifties or sixties, wearing a headscarf and a simple, long grey dress, her face etched with worry.
The woman’s hand remained poised in the knocking gesture, not yet lowered, and upon seeing the young girl, she clearly froze in surprise, a reaction mirrored by the girl herself.
“I’m from next door… I heard some commotion just now, so I came to check…”
‘This is the downside of oversleeping!’
Konehl-Ghervil instantly understood what had happened.
Her failure to visit her neighbors as planned had led them to mistake the cleaning noises for a haunting or a break-in.
The door of the house to the right was ajar, and smoke curled from its chimney, suggesting she was an occupant of that dwelling.
To the left… there were no residences, only a path leading elsewhere.
Number 101 was the last house on the street.
“My apologies, the cleaning must have disturbed you…
I hadn’t yet had the chance to call on you… I’ve just moved in; I am Dean Anthea’s heir.”
“Dean Anthea’s heir…”
The woman took a step back, scrutinizing the young girl with a serious gaze, then, after the initial surprise, spoke in a comforting tone:
“She was a truly good person, and both Keith and I respected her deeply.
No one could have foreseen such an event; please accept our condolences…
By the way, Keith is my husband; you can call me Mrs. Keith.”
“Konehl-Ghervil; you can simply call me Konehl-Ghervil.”
She responded politely.
“Do you need any help, little Konehl-Ghervil?
Cleaning such a large house is no easy feat.”
Mrs. Keith noticed the watermarks and stains on the young girl’s old long dress.
Her lace-edged sleeves were rolled high, and her hair was tied into a rather untidy, short ponytail.
A few beads of what appeared to be splashed water clung to the ends of her hair near her cheeks, and faint smudges from wiping sweat were visible on her forehead beneath her bangs.
She looked quite adorable, almost comical, in the oversized, ill-fitting long dress, resembling a mischievous child who had secretly donned adult clothing and just returned from playing by a pond.
Yet, her serious expression indicated she was engaged in proper work, a stark contrast to her attire.
Mrs. Keith surmised that the young girl hadn’t been with the Dean for long, nor had she received strict instruction or lessons in deportment.
Perhaps she had only recently joined the convent, a notion supported by her apparent lack of appropriate grief for someone so important who had only recently passed.
Out of politeness, Mrs. Keith refrained from vocalizing these observations.
“There isn’t much left to clean in the house; in fact, I’m almost finished.
Only the final touches remain, so please allow me to decline your kind offer, Mrs. Keith.”
While having help with the cleaning would be beneficial, Konehl-Ghervil was reluctant to impose on others so soon after her arrival.
“I see…”
Mrs. Keith nodded thoughtfully.
“I’m home most days, so please don’t hesitate to ask for my help if you encounter any difficulties.
The Dean often helped us resolve many problems in the past.”
Konehl-Ghervil offered a slight nod, acknowledging the offer.
Just as she was about to bid farewell and not detain Mrs. Keith further, eager to finish her cleaning, a distinct aroma wafted over.
It was a scent akin to freshly baked bread and butter, mingled with the fragrance of various spices cooked together.
Smoke billowed from the neighbor’s chimney, strongly suggesting that food, still warm, was emitting a rich fragrance.
Ever since tasting the food prepared by the Dean, she had developed a certain fixation on ‘eating’.
No longer needing nutrient solutions or bitter medicines, simple, flavorful dishes were enough to satisfy her.
Having eaten nothing since breakfast, this craving now spread throughout her empty stomach.
“Please wait a moment!”
She called out, halting Mrs. Keith, then turned and rushed back into the house.
Locating her suitcase, which rested quietly in the corner, she rummaged through it, grabbing a dozen or so silver coins from a mixed pile of gold, silver, and copper currency.
She tucked them into her clothing, then returned in a few swift strides.
“I’d like to use this money to purchase a substantial dinner from you.
If it’s not enough, I can pay extra!”