If You Leave Without a Word - Chapter 141
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
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The awkwardness in her movements, as if she couldn’t quite conceal her inexplicable hostility, was so unrefined that it made her seem even more out of place. She couldn’t even manage to hide a single emotion.
This woman was clearly far removed from the refined upbringing of a noble. Had Cain truly had a relationship with this wandering gypsy woman?
Now that Agatha had resolved to leave him, the truth of the rumors didn’t matter much. What she was curious about, though, was whether Cain had really given this woman a mansion and used Kristin’s name as a shield because of some petty ‘love.’
Four years ago, when he had made that distasteful proposal, he had spoken of ‘love that practically offered no help whatsoever.’ Could he really stand before others and admit that he was now chasing after the same kind of ‘useless love’?
Agatha followed the woman inside, her thoughts still tangled in confusion.
The woman’s long red hair, perhaps faded by the glaring sun, didn’t shine with the same luster anymore. Still, there was an undeniable vitality to her—she exuded a sense of health and strength.
Since arriving, Agatha hadn’t been able to shake Cain’s thoughts from her mind—not since before she even got here. Was it instinctive curiosity that kept making her think of Cain when she looked at this gypsy woman? Agatha tried to reassure herself that it was just that.
The interior was as simple as it looked from the outside. There were no embellishments, only the bare essentials needed for everyday living. For the house of a hidden mistress of a powerful person said to be able to bring down even a flying bird, it was woefully inadequate.
“I couldn’t sleep properly for days after reading your letter,” the woman said, bringing a kettle of hot water.
She served Agatha, Karon, and Rubens each a cup with tea leaves and poured the water slowly. The tension in her every move was very visible.
“I still haven’t properly greeted you.”
Since the tea leaves needed time to steep, the woman placed the teapot down and stepped back a bit from the table.
“Duchess Kristin.”
She folded her hands neatly and kneeling on the floor.
Agatha looked down at her indifferently, then poured milk into her teacup. She didn’t look the woman in the eye.
The reason for that was simple: Agatha didn’t want to make eye contact. The act of pouring milk into her tea was deliberate—an old trick used by noblewomen to conceal their emotions.
The eyes are as much a window to emotions as the heart is.
If she couldn’t maintain a proper poker face, it was better not to show anything at all. Just like now.
“I learned it through Cain… no, through Marquis Vernat.”
The name slipped out of the woman’s mouth so naturally and familiarly that Agatha felt a strange sense of defeat. It wasn’t just Agatha who felt it; the shadows on Karon and Rubens’ faces deepened sharply as well.
“Ah, but it wasn’t the Marquis himself who told me that the Duchess would be coming.”
“Then?”
“I suspected it might be the Duchess after reading the letter you sent a month ago, but after seeing you today, I’m certain of it.”
“You guessed my identity from the letter? The sender would have remained anonymous.”
“Only Marquis Vernat knows about this place. He would never speak carelessly about it, so I thought, who else could possibly know about it without going through the Marquis?”
“…”
“My conclusion was Kristin’s family.”
The woman’s reasoning was sound. It almost seemed too coincidental that a wandering gypsy would have such insight. Was it really just a coincidence?
“What do you mean, ‘when you saw me today, your guess turned into certainty’?”
The woman looked up, still kneeling on the floor.
“Whenever the Marquis visited here, he would talk about the Duchess,” she said, flashing a bright smile.
That strange sense of deja vu crept up again when she saw the woman’s smile.
Why? Why did this woman’s face keep reminding Agatha of Cain?
Agatha set her teacup down.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
The rain poured relentlessly through the night. The downpour drenched the streets, leaving the area eerily deserted.
Crash!
The sound of something breaking sharply cut through the rain.
“How dare a worthless squire lay hands on something? Do you want to die?”
The muffled voice came from behind the training grounds, in a secluded area usually frequented by stable boys. Occasionally, some apprentice knights and squire would gather here to enjoy a smoke after their training.
“I told you, I didn’t steal anything!”
“You little bastard.”
The group muttered curses, then began mercilessly kicking at the boy curled up on the ground. The boy, perhaps about ten years old, endured the kicks without making a sound, even though they were aimed at his small frame.
It seemed to only make the group angrier. The kicks became more forceful, showing no signs of stopping.
