This Three-Year-Old Is A Villainess - Chapter 51
“Won it be gweat if Gwanpa bwecomes thwe shif stuwawd?” (Won’t it be great if Grandpa becomes the chief steward?)
“Pardon?”
“Yew know awistocattic bocabwuwawy too. And youw smawt. And awso coow!” (You know aristocratic vocabulary too. And you’re smart. And also cool!)
“Your words are much appreciated.”
“Yew dun wanna?”
“Young Miss, may I be so bold as to inquire something?”
“Whassit?”
“Those living in poverty aren’t fit for the role. When one is in urgent need of money, they tend to develop desires, you see.”
He seemed reluctant to take on such ambitions for fear of being driven to act out of necessity.
But that only made me like Michelan even more.
‘Come on, come on!’
Honest, straightforward, and loyal.
If there’s someone like him around, I can feel secure in leaving the jurisdiction.
I blinked my eyes like a child.
“Pupupty…?” (Poverty…?)
“It means being poor.”
“Why?”
“Well…”
Michelan’s gaze clouded briefly, but he quickly regained his friendly expression.
“I apologize, Young Miss. I am quite busy and should take my leave.”
“Owkay…”
“Have a good day.”
He bid me farewell with impeccable manners and walked away.
I watched Michelan’s departing figure and thought.
The job of a chief steward itself doesn’t seem to displease him.
Rather than saying yes or no, he seems reluctant to take on the job, telling me that an impoverished person shouldn’t take the post.
‘So if I remove the worry…’
I chuckled to myself and went straight into the mansion.
As I went to the dining hall on the first floor, I saw Father having a meal. Enzo was with him.
“Hewwo.”
I greeted and entered, and Enzo nodded.
“Young Miss, good morning. You’re up early.”
I nodded and took my seat. Immediately, an attendant hurried over.
“Shall I bring your meal?”
“…”
I stared at the servant. He hesitated and looked at me.
“Ywes. I hungewy.”
The servant quickly headed to the kitchen.
‘He’s extremely polite.’
His hands were almost trembling. He must be worried that he’ll also be dismissed, seeing the servants being chased away in large numbers yesterday.
Come to think of it, the servants I encountered this morning all seemed contemplative and ran over when they saw me.
“Good morning, Young Miss.”
“Do you need anything?”
It felt satisfying to have sent away Mrs. Rachel.
‘We just need to bring in a competent butler here.’
If it’s Michelan, he might be able to recruit good employees when filling the gaps.
Father, who was reading the newspaper, glanced at me.
“Where have you been this early in the morning?”
“Gawden.” (Garden)
“What for?”
The conversation was going in the direction I wanted.
I spoke innocently, pretending to be an ignorant child.
“Thewe in the gawden. Gwanfavver who wowks thewe.”
I blinked, and Enzo said, “General?” and called Father.
Father frowned and spoke.
“I don’t like the word ‘grandfather.’ Nor the word ‘duke.'”
“…”
“…”
I see. It seemed like Father had a stronger aversion to his father than all people in general.
“Thwen, not gwanpa. I caw him Michewan!” (Then, not grandpa. I’ll call him Michelan!)
“Michelan?”
“Ywes! In thwe gawden, the gawdenew’s name’s Michewan. He know awistocwatic wowds too! An he’s sooo~ooo good at gweetings!” (Yes! In the garden, the gardener’s name is Michelan. He knows aristocratic words, too. And he’s sooo good at greetings!)
Enzo asked, “Manners?” So I stood up to demonstrate.
And I put one arm between my chest and my navel and moved my leg back.
“Wike thwis!”
Enzo looked bewildered.
“What kind of greeting is that?”
Enzo, being a soldier, probably wouldn’t know. I was about to answer, but Father narrowed his eyes.
“It’s a greeting used for nobility. Nowadays, it’s used by elderly aristocrats or within the imperial palace.”
“How would a gardener know such a greeting?”
“…Michelan, you said?”
That’s right. Michelan was the chief steward of the late imperial consort.
‘Father would notice.’
At that moment, my meal arrived, and I pretended to be clueless, lifting my spoon.
Father pondered something for a while.
Then, he chuckled.
“If that Michelan is the same one, it seems there’s been an unmined ore in my castle all this time.”
“Sir?”
Enzo asked, but I laughed to myself.
Exactly.
Michelan is not only skilled but also well-informed about the palace.
If he becomes the butler of this castle, it’s like getting a joker card in your hand that’s got an endless number of uses.
“You. Go to the garden and find that Michelan—”
But then, it happened.
“Guh.”
A tremendous pain struck me.
I quickly covered my mouth, and something dripped through my chubby fingers.
‘Blood…?’
The liquid that soaked my clothes was bright red blood.
Now that I think about it, my health hasn’t been good for a few days.
“Erylotte?”
“Fathew, I…”
I wanted to say something, but the world turned upside down.
“ERYLOTTE!”
I fell from the chair.
The last thing I saw was Father shouting.
