Welcome to the Rose Mansion - Chapter 51
“W-Wait just a moment!”
Richelle’s arms were seized by a strong grip. She gasped in surprise.
“What are you doing…!”
The maid looked up at Richelle. A youthful face, probably seventeen or eighteen years old.
The girl rambled on to a momentarily speechless Richelle.
“Sorry if I startled you. I didn’t mean to say anything strange. I just really wanted to talk to you, Teacher Howard. We’re the only allies in this mansion, aren’t we…”
The only allies?
Richelle frowned slightly at that moment.
Suddenly, Richelle realized that this maid emitted a particularly faint scent of roses.
In Bertrand, roses were everywhere except in personal bedrooms. In the children’s playroom, Mrs. Otis’s reception room, and even in the small room where Alan Otis had taken out the medicine.
Thus, anyone living in Bertrand typically exudes a strong scent of roses. Perhaps, Richelle herself smelled of roses.
Wasn’t it even stated in the rules of Bertrand? That it’s not strange for someone from Bertrand to smell of roses.
However, the intensity varied from person to person. Mrs. Otis had a stronger scent of perfume, Alan Otis smelled of disinfectant, and Rogéros occasionally carried the damp smell of the forest, while the twins had a soft baby scent mingled with a faint rose aroma.
But the scent of roses from the servants themselves was overwhelmingly strong, as if drawn from their very depths.
Yet, this maid was different.
Only then did the maid’s eyes catch Richelle’s attention. She shone with unmistakable fear and desperation.
Richelle was sure. This maid was different from the other employees.
“My contract is ending soon. So, I wondered if there was anything I could do to help you, Teacher Howard…”
Then, could she obtain some information about Bertrand and the Otis family from her?
‘I shouldn’t be curious…’
Just a little bit. Just enough information to help the twins.
Richelle swallowed hard.
“What’s your name?”
For the first time, the maid who had looked like she was about to cry smiled brightly, like someone who had grabbed a lifeline while falling off a cliff.
“My name is Becky Dustin.”
—It’s only in the present that Richelle regrets this.
“Thank you so much… and I’m sorry.”
She should not have heard that name.
***
After introducing herself, Becky glanced nervously at the clock. Was there a time limit? Was there a certain amount of time she was allowed to stay in a room?
Richelle, too, couldn’t afford to be away for long now. Any longer, and the twins might attempt an escape.
Richelle sighed in disappointment. She thought she might hear something significant. It seemed today was not the day.
“I always come to clean your room at 2 PM.”
Becky muttered quietly as she gathered her cleaning tools. The message was clear: they should meet then.
“I see. Thank you as always.”
A silent promise was exchanged through a glance. Richelle left a light greeting and exited the room.
The next day, after assigning a drawing task to the twins, Richelle returned to her room before 2 PM.
She sat at the desk, spreading out papers and books, pretending to create test questions for the twins while keeping an eye on the clock.
5 minutes…
3 minutes…
1 minute…
10 seconds…
The moment the hour hand pointed exactly at 2, a knocking sound echoed.
“I’ve come to clean. I’ll enter now.”
The door opened, and Becky, carrying her cleaning supplies, met Richelle’s gaze.
“……”
As if nothing was out of the ordinary, the two exchanged nods and calmly greeted each other. Becky picked up a rag, and Richelle buried her head in her book.
Writing down a few numbers, Richelle glanced at Becky with just her eyes. The girl was looking around cautiously as she dusted, chewing on her lip as if worried someone might overhear them.
Pretending to be deep in thought, Richelle rested her face on her hand and looked towards the window. They were on the third floor of the mansion. It was unlikely anyone was behind the window, and the door was firmly shut.
Logically, it would be impossible for anyone to eavesdrop. But this was Bertrand, a mysterious mansion where all sorts of bizarre events happened day and night. It wouldn’t be surprising if the walls absorbed every conversation.
Who those absorbed conversations were relayed to, however, was another question.
