The Uninvited Guest Of The Haunted Mansion (20)

A tempting strawberry shortcake piled high with cream.

Serenity blinked at the plate set before her and scanned the table.

Neither the Count nor the Countess had the same dessert.

She glanced up at the faceless footman who had brought it. The footman only pointed toward the kitchen. There, the head cook was grinning broadly, his mouth torn up to the ears, rows of teeth gleaming.

Ah. Could it be…?

Because she had said she disliked sherbet, the glass kind, they had prepared a separate dessert just for her.

It seemed that was the case.

When she gave a small nod, the cook chuckled and vanished back into the kitchen, walking with an oddly cheerful bounce.

‘My goodness, the day has come when that face looks cute to me.’

She must have lived too long already if she was thinking such things.

“Come to think of it, there’s talk going around among the kitchen staff.”

Startled, Serenity turned. The Count was smiling kindly, idly fiddling with his glass of water.

“They say you even sent the head cook an encouraging letter. How thoughtful.”

She had expected word to spread quickly, but it traveled even faster than she thought. It wasn’t surprising, of course… the entire manor, except for her room, was under the Count’s eye.

Serenity returned his look with a light, practiced smile.

“He’s the one who always prepares such delicious meals. I just wanted to give him a little thanks.”

In truth, it had been closer to a desperate act to avoid death.

The Count studied her face for a moment, then beamed.

“You always fussed about not eating. I thought you were just a picky child. But you’re wiser than I believed.”

“Father, I’m already twenty.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

He chuckled heartily.

‘Could this possibly be… a positive sign?’

She remembered Blake’s words from yesterday, hints about gaining the Count’s trust. Reflexively, she glanced at him across the table. Blake only lifted his teacup with an indifferent expression, as though the matter had nothing to do with him.

‘Is he just playing dumb?’

At that moment, the Countess cut in sharply.

“It seems our Serenity has grown fond of His Grace. She hasn’t taken her eyes off him since earlier… thirty-six times, in fact.”

“Uh, Mother… ”

So that explained the Countess’s piercing gaze. From the moment Serenity had entered, she had been under watch, white eyes glaring, scrutinizing every movement.

‘If I let anything slip, she’ll interrogate me on the spot.’

Experience had taught Serenity well: keep words with the Countess to a minimum, show nothing suspicious.

The Countess’s notion of a noble young lady’s dignity shifted like sand. At any moment she could seize on something and bare her fangs.

Simply being in the same room with Blake the night before would be enough for the Countess to condemn her. And as an anomaly herself, the Countess might not stop at words.

Serenity’s gaze slid away from Blake. From across the table, a soft laugh drifted over.

‘He’s enjoying this.’

Sometimes she almost forgot… almost thought him ordinary. But then he left her with dissonant moments like this, and she was reminded all over again.

“Oh, that reminds me.”

The Count dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

“A tailor will be coming at three today, my daughter.”

“A tailor?”

“You’ll need a dress for the engagement ceremony, won’t you?”

“…Yes.”

Right. The engagement ceremony.

So much had happened that she had nearly forgotten. But the thought of it set her heart sinking.

Countless anomalies she had yet to meet would surely gather in the courtyard for the event. She couldn’t begin to imagine what dangers they might bring… or what deaths awaited her.

‘And in the meantime, that man remains so calm.’

Whether he was pretending or truly indifferent, she couldn’t tell.

Her sigh almost escaped. Catching the Count’s and Countess’s cold eyes on her, she curved her lips mechanically.

“Thank you. I’m truly happy.”

Her mouth twitched at the corners.

—

‘Come to think of it, is this the first time I’ve seen the tailor in person?’

Serenity’s dresses were usually ordered from outside tailors after Nia measured her. Having one step into the manor was unusual.

She had expected Blake to join her, but as soon as the meal ended the Count whisked him into the study. He wouldn’t be out anytime soon. Perhaps, Serenity thought, he wasn’t as dangerous as he seemed… at least not to her.

“Mi… ss!”

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Nia burst into the room, wooden clogs clattering, glassy eyes rolling with excitement.

“We’re getting your dress fitted today, aren’t we?”

“So it seems. Things move quickly.”

“Ah, but just the thought of you in your engagement dress! My heart flutters already! You’re the only daughter of the great Primdellrose, and your fiancé is a Duke of the imperial branch. Why, all the capital’s finest will gather to bless you!”

Nia’s shoulders jittered with a dark little laugh. Serenity forced down the unease rising in her chest and asked, “Nia, do you know who this tailor is?”

“My goodness, miss! You don’t know?”

Nia blinked her large eyes and covered her mouth dramatically.

“I haven’t heard exactly who. Is she famous?”

“A tailor is a tailor! The most famous in the capital! Honestly, knowing how much the Count cherishes you, how could you not know?”

“There’s only one?”

“Of course, of course!”

Serenity wondered if the tailor was like the gardener or librarian, an anomaly known only by title. As she thought this, Nia twirled around her like a performer, voice lilting.

“Ah! She’s the era’s greatest artist, weaving one-of-a-kind creations with her fingertips! If the Creator made the world, she makes splendid art from fabric! Anyone who sees her work even once falls helpless into her artistry!”

“I see…”

From experience, Serenity knew the “aesthetic sense” of anomalies couldn’t be trusted. Sometimes it was beauty, sometimes horror. She let Nia’s rhapsody wash over her.

“Genius is always extraordinary! Her perfectionism is already notorious in the capital!”

“…Perfectionism?”

That did not sound good.

Nia suddenly froze, then leaned forward in exaggerated secrecy, joints creaking as she bent to Serenity’s ear.

“Word is, she won’t tolerate her work being even an inch off. If something goes wrong, she screams and throws a hysterical fit! But the results are so exquisite, everyone praises her endlessly!”

“Ah…”

The words sensitive and hysterical from Nia were enough to make Serenity dizzy.

‘This really doesn’t feel right.’

She had a strong premonition this tailor would be more troublesome than expected.

Nia, flushed with excitement, began shoving her toward the door.

“Don’t dawdle… go see for yourself! The tailor’s already waiting!”

“Can’t we go a little slower?”

“Oh, miss, honestly!”

Serenity wasn’t ready for another forced return to death. But her timid protest meant nothing. Nia hurried her out, across the stairs, down to the grand reception room.

The door opened.

“Welcome, miss. I’ve been waiting for you.”

A tailor stood inside, wide-brimmed hat shadowing her face. Gray-tinged skin, navy-blue nails grown so long they hung down to her thighs… those were the first things Serenity noticed.