Guidelines for the Perfect Goodbye - Chapter 45
“Butler.”
“Yes.”
The aged butler, silently waiting, approached and bowed his head.
“Prepare a gift.”
“What kind of gift, sir?”
“Red roses.”
“Should I send them to the Madam? She must be very upset about this incident. You are always so thoughtful, Master.”
“……”
Adam had completely forgotten about Bernarda. She was never really a point of consideration for him. Nathan was important, but she was nothing more than Nathan’s mother.
He paused, then responded.
“…Send tulips to her. Embed diamonds in the pistils.”
“Then the roses…”
“Do I need to elaborate further?”
The butler hurriedly bowed at Adam’s sharp inquiry.
“My apologies, Master. I will do as you’ve instructed.”
The roses were obviously meant for Lilith. More accurately, a consolation gift for her, asking that she spend time with him.
Adam often gave her flowers, bright and red that resembles her. At night, those flowers would be scattered on the bed as he was entwined with her, crushing the petals. The remnants resembling bloodstains the next day brought a sense of fulfillment, momentarily easing his loneliness.
“And……”
Adam stopped the departing butler to give another order.
“Call Jason.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shortly after, his aide entered.
“You called for me, sir.”
“Jason.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go to Hannah Linfitt and re-investigate the circumstances.”
“The recent attempted poisoning?”
“Yes. Separate the incidents involving Nigel and Nathan. Detail them separately.”
Nigel’s sudden illness and the poisoned sachet linked to Ulysses, as well as Guinevere’s attempted poisoning of Nathan.
Two seemingly unconnected events converging to one conclusion through Hannah Linfitt.
It could be a remarkable coincidence. Perhaps, both Guinevere and Nigel decided to employ such inconvenient schemes at the same time in the Rosencrantz residence.
But plausible coincidences are often fragments of necessity fabricated by a conspirator. Especially when the endpoint of an incident is a mere servant……
“Start from Hannah Linfitt and work backward. Let’s see who ends up at the end of this.”
Adam’s face had returned to its usual ruthless expression.
A man longing for the warmth of family just moments ago was now nowhere to be seen, impossible to imagine that he was ever there.
***
The annex where Guinevere resided was eerily silent, almost as if a funeral was being prepared.
“Is Mother still denying it?”
“She remains steadfast.”
The doctor sighed in response to Ulysses’ question, adding,
“This time, it’s certain. We can even name the poison she ingested. ‘Palmascus.’ Its symptoms closely mimic scarlet fever. If an adult shows such symptoms, it’s highly likely they’re poisoned by Palmascus.”
Nigel’s recovery suggested a misdiagnosis by the doctor.
But Guinevere’s case was different. She was almost certainly poisoned, and she wouldn’t be able to deny it any further.
“We need to administer the antidote. I’ve told the Marchioness several times that if she continues like this, she will die. But she stubbornly insists it’s not true.”
Suddenly, a clattering sound came from inside the room. Ulysses opened the door and entered to find a woman, clearly unwell, gasping for air and glaring at him.
“Why are you here? I can’t stand the sight of you. Get out!”
“You need to take your medication, Mother.”
Ulysses ignored Guinevere’s words and sat by the bed.
“Please follow the doctor’s prescription.”
“That quack… I’ve told him repeatedly I didn’t ingest any poison.”
“……”
“I never drank poison! This is just a summer cold, and I’ll get over it anyhow!”
Her entire body was covered in red spots all over, yet she still continued to utter such words.
Ulysses suddenly felt suffocated.
He gazed out the window. A warm wind was blowing inside, signifying the full onset of summer.
The sunlight, carrying the scent of grass, beat down. The freshness of the garden was also visible. Within that rectangular world, a woman caught his sight.
Her auburn hair, tied up in one, fluttered. As a blue satin ribbon fluttered upwards, the woman looked in the direction of the wind.
It was just a glance upwards due to the wind, yet it felt like their eyes met. Unwittingly, Ulysses turned his head away.
Guinevere, who had been observing this scene, let out a sharp laugh.
“Deranged, that’s what you are.”
It was obvious whom he was looking at.
“That girl has not a single speck of affection for you.”
“I know.”
“Do you remember what you told her when you were younger?”
“I remember.”
Ulysses asked with furrowed brows,
“What are you implying?”
His tone felt somewhat rebellious, unlike usual.
“It was wrong. I am reflecting on it. I apologized, but she rejected it.”
As the past’s shadows pierced his heart, his expression darkened again.
A confession and apology made impulsively during one stormy day of his fifteenth year.
I’m sorry. And to tell you the truth, I like you.
At that time, Sicilia never looked up from her book while he spoke.
And then, after a long while, she uttered just one word:
‘Sure.’
Ulysses twisted his lips at her brief and indifferent response, which turned his anxious waiting into emptiness.
