Chapter 5

Once the tea time had drawn to a natural close, Elma smoothly ended the conversation and took her leave from Lady Juliana’s presence.

As a result of the circumstances, Lucas and the other two accompanied her.

They had rushed there intending to save a novice maid who was surely about to commit a blunder, yet for some reason, they were the ones who had been served perfect tea and sweets by the girl herself, and were now being led back to the castle in a mysterious turn of events.

The four of them walked in silence along the cloister leading to the main castle.

Too many unexpected things had happened in succession, and none of the three knew how to even broach a topic.

Then, Irene, who had been walking at the very back, looked up as if she had made up her mind. She rushed toward Elma from behind and grabbed her arm.

“E… Elma!”

“Yes, what is it?”

Elma, in contrast, remained aloof.

As Elma stopped and stared back at her, Irene momentarily lost her words. Then, as if dragging the voice out of her throat, she muttered an apology.

“Um… about today, I’m sorry. I… I looked down on you.”

“I haven’t done any work worthy of being evaluated yet, so that is only natural.”

“What are you saying?! How many maids on this continent do you think can finish the work of four people in half a day and brew a perfect tea that makes the former Consort beam with joy? And that sweet called ‘Karma’ or whatever… it was so delicious my heart almost stopped.”

Irene was the impulsive type; she would immediately attack someone she didn’t like, but her saving grace was that she could reflect on her actions just as quickly and express her respect honestly.

She tightened her grip on Elma’s arm and continued, her eyes growing misty.

“So, well… f-from now on, as maids on the same floor… I… I wouldn’t mind… b-being friends with you!”

However, it seemed she couldn’t quite manage to be humble until the very end.

With her face flushed as red as an apple, Irene looked away at the last second as if in a desperate huff.

But the fact that she was setting aside the Second Prince Lucas—the man she was supposed to adore—to secure a friendship with this mysterious girl spoke volumes about how captivated she was by Elma.

“I see. I look forward to working with you.”

In the end, Elma accepted the offer with that characteristically lukewarm reply. Lucas watched with an arched eyebrow, while Gerda looked on with a heartwarming smile.

“Ah, but really, Elma. Your competence is truly terrifying!”

When the conversation reached a lull, Gerda spoke up, clasping her hands together.

“Your language skills and your actual work performance are wonderful, of course, but what moved me most was your keen insight. To think you saw through Lady Juliana’s preferences on your very first try.”

“No. As for her preferences for tea leaves and milk, I simply asked her directly.”

“What are you talking about? Lady Juliana is a person who demands cleanliness and refinement from her maids, intelligence from her conversations, and a story even more than taste from her meals. Without even asking, you provided all of those perfectly.”

As expected of the Head Maid, she had noticed not just Elma’s surface-level skills, but her sharpness in reading the room.

Listening from the side, Lucas nodded inwardly, thinking she’s right.

It seemed that in front of Juliana, this girl named Elma had carried herself with an entirely different atmosphere than when he had interviewed her.

Clean, refined, and intellectual—in other words, Juliana’s ideal.

‘Manipulating her impression to match the person and the situation… or am I overthinking it?’

For instance, appearing dowdy to avoid drawing interest from a man who likes women; acting admirably in front of a potential protector; and being aloof in front of an honest colleague.

He glanced toward her, seeing the girl who hid most of her true face behind thick glasses as she spoke flatly with words of humility.

Lucas observed her closely and, for the first time, noticed that the bone structure of her face was remarkably well-proportioned.

“No, don’t say that. I am genuinely impressed; it’s truly amazing. How on earth did you discern Lady Juliana’s preferences?”

“I simply observed her face and followed a train of thought.”

“Oh, stop it. Can someone really do such a thing just by reading a person’s expression?”

“Even if you say that…”

Gerda, intensely curious about the source of Elma’s insight, persistently layered her questions.

Faced with this, Elma closed her mouth in apparent bewilderment, then reached into her apron pocket as if suddenly remembering something.

“That reminds me—Head Maid.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“I am returning this to you on behalf of the gardener boy, Hans.”

What she held out was a brooch set with an amber-colored gemstone, the same color as Gerda’s eyes.

It was the very gift Gerda had given earlier that morning to the boy, Hans, out of sympathy when he cried about having no money for his sick mother’s medicine.

“Eh…? Why do you have this—”

“When speaking with you, the boy Hans seemed to close the personal space between you more than necessary. It was to create an illusion of intimacy. Furthermore, while explaining his mother’s illness, he did not look away for a full five seconds; this was likely to confirm whether you believed his lie. In fact, the moment your eyes grew misty, I saw his upper lip lift slightly as if pulled toward his cheek. This is a micro-expression representing contempt.”

She had found many other minor signs as well, Elma noted, pushing up the bridge of her glasses.

“It is safe to assume he was committing an act of fraud against you. For the time being, I took the liberty of recovering the morning’s losses.”

“Eh? What? Uh…?”

“Please take it back. Think of it as protection money.”

“Whaat…!?”

For a second there, it felt as though some prison slang had slipped out.

“Wait, micro-expressions? Protection… no, wait, from where on earth were you watching this?”

“The fourth floor of the maid dormitory.”

“What?!”

“Just what kind of eyesight do you have?!”

There were so many things to recoil at that Gerda’s eyes were darting about in confusion.

Ignoring Irene, who had joined in the shouting, Lucas slightly knitted his brows with a sense of wariness.

“Your knowledge… that depth of insight… does it perhaps come from your war… mentor?”

He had almost said “warden,” but quickly corrected it to “mentor.”

He couldn’t exactly reveal her prison upbringing in front of Irene.

He didn’t think she could have been educated by criminals, but if she had been taught by an excellent mentor—the kind who might be assigned to a prison—it would at least make sense.

That was the logic behind his question, but Elma flatly denied it.

“No. My mentor was just a pig that couldn’t fly. The art of reading expressions was something I learned from the Father of ‘Sloth’.”

“…A pig? A lazy father?”

“No, the Father of ‘Sloth’.”

She seemed to be answering seriously, but the meaning was entirely lost on him.

Just as a bewildered Lucas was about to ask more, Elma tilted her head as if to cut him off.

“…Or rather…”

It was hard to see through her glasses, but she herself seemed somewhat troubled.

“Isn’t reading micro-expressions something everyone picks up from early childhood through things like playing house? Could it be… that people on the ‘outside’ are incapable of even that?”

She wasn’t mocking them.

Her tone was one of sincere wonder, leaving Lucas, Gerda, and Irene all standing there with their mouths hanging open.