Chapter 19
Sitting atop a broken statue, Lizzy had spoken without much thought. But now, looking at the ghost slumped over with broad shoulders, she opened her mouth again with an awkward expression.
“Uh, sorry… You seem really startled.”
“……”
“D-Don’t worry. As long as the Peculium flower’s roots are healthy, it’ll grow back quickly.”
“……”
The ghost said nothing, still staring gloomily at the broken stem of the Peculium flower.
“You’re… really quiet, huh?”
“……”
Rather than quiet, the ghost seemed depressed—but Lizzy Atkins deliberately chose to ignore that fact.
Facing the silent ghost, she continued with a more cheerful voice.
“Anyway, I’m the new gardener. My name’s Lizzy Atkins. I came to see who had grown this beautiful Peculium flower cluster so well… but, well, this happened. Sorry.”
Only then did the ghost slowly turn toward the gardener.
With his face mostly obscured under a deep black hood, only the perfectly angled jaw and serious-looking lips were faintly visible.
The ghost seemed to be carefully examining the human who had suddenly appeared before him.
As Lizzy considered the meaning behind that gaze, something seemed to click in her mind.
“Oh, don’t worry. I am the gardener tearing up the backyard, but I wasn’t planning on destroying these lovely Peculium flowers too.”
“……”
At that, the ghost’s gaze—hidden under the black hood—shifted between the freshly overturned soil near the Peculium cluster and Lizzy’s small hands.
It was as if he couldn’t believe such a petite hand had uprooted such a large part of the garden—but Lizzy remained oblivious.
“Do you come out every new moon?”
To this, the ghost shook his head.
“Then do you come out at other times?”
The ghost nodded.
Huh, this feels like a game of twenty questions, Lizzy thought as she asked another.
“Then will I see you again?”
The ghost didn’t answer right away.
He dipped his head as if in thought, then slowly raised it again—his gaze resting silently on Lizzy’s bright carrot-colored hair, which appeared gray in the moonless dark.
Then he gave a slow nod.
Satisfied with the answer, Lizzy smiled and jumped down from the statue she’d been sitting on.
“Good. Then let’s meet again. I just came to see your face today, but I should head back soon. I need to finish clearing out the rest of the garden tomorrow.”
“……”
“Oh, and you probably know this already, but even though Peculiums grow by the water, they’re sensitive to overwatering—so be careful.”
Waving her small white hand without hesitation, Lizzy turned and headed back to her hut.
She looked far too calm for someone who had just encountered a mysterious presence haunting the manor grounds.
The ghost watched her until she disappeared into the hut, then slowly pulled back his hood.
In the moonless night, where nothing could be seen, violet eyes shimmered faintly in the dim light of the manor.
“…What a strange gardener.”
His voice was cool and emotionless, yet somehow dazed.
Squelch, thud. Squelch, thud.
The sound of rhythmic shoveling had been going on for three days straight.
Once loud and clear just outside the manor, it now echoed from farther away.
Turning his head toward the window, the manor’s cook spotted a figure with carrot-colored hair working busily near the pond and clicked his tongue.
“I don’t even think Mr. Willard used to dig that hard.”
“I was worried she’s so small, but the way she shovels is like a full-grown laborer.”
That comment came from Powell, a knight who had been caught sneaking into the kitchen for a snack.
He was the very same knight who had escorted Lizzy to the butler when she first arrived.
“She’s surprisingly strong. The grip during a handshake wasn’t ordinary either.”
In response to Geoffrey’s remark, one of the maids sitting at the table let out a sigh.
“Already trying to flirt, huh?”
“Oh, come now, Floretta. It wasn’t flirting—just basic courtesy to a lady, as I’ve said countless times—”
“So did she fall for it?”
“……”
Biting his lower lip, Geoffrey buried his face in his hands and shook his head.
“That gardener must have terrible taste…”
“Five silver.”
“Tch. Should’ve tried harder.”
Grumbling, a servant handed five silver coins to Floretta, who had casually extended her hand.
“You made a bet again?! Seriously, you lot always make me out to be the villain, but you’re worse!”
Geoffrey glared at the laughing Floretta, then sighed and turned back to the window.
There she was—his would-be conquest—shoveling like a woman possessed, completely ignoring him yesterday.
Squelch, thud. Squelch, thud.
For a moment, Geoffrey found her kind of cute. Then, startled by his own thoughts, he shook his head furiously.
He didn’t chase. He waited to be chased.
That was Geoffrey Carver’s creed in both work and romance, and he had no intention of betraying it.
“Still, not falling for my charm like that—she’s got guts.”
Shrugging at Floretta’s words, Geoffrey replied confidently.
“She’ll come around soon. She’s probably already grateful to me.”
“For what? What did you say to her?”
“I told her about the ghost that comes out every new moon. Yesterday was the new moon, so I warned her to stay indoors.”
“What?!”
Floretta wasn’t the only one gasping in disbelief.
Everyone—maids, servants, even the cooks—leapt from their seats with shocked expressions.
“Why would you tell her that?! This could’ve been our chance to uncover the ghost’s identity!”
“Yeah! I was literally waiting to ask her about that!”
“……”
Geoffrey, dumbfounded by the unexpected backlash, finally spoke up.
“I didn’t want to! I only said it because the steward asked me to! …Okay, fine, I also thought I might score some points by warning her—but mostly, it was the steward’s request! Honestly, after the whole assassin incident, if she saw a ghost too, she’d run for sure!”
“……”
“Ahhh…”
“Yeah… fair point.”
Everyone sat back down, reluctantly convinced.
Even Willard, known for gossiping, hadn’t dared to talk openly about the ghost.
Since ‘that day,’ a mysterious figure had been spotted occasionally from afar—but never encountered up close.
That left the ghost’s story in the realm of urban legend.
They’d hoped the new gardener might accidentally cross paths with it since she worked late—but the steward had beaten them to it.
“What a shame. I really wanted to know if it was a real ghost or a human.”
“It has to be a ghost. How else would they disappear so fast?”
“But didn’t Hella say she saw a pale hand last time?”
“Yeah? Victor said the hood got blown back by the wind and there was nothing inside.”
“……”
“……”
In the cold of winter, the conversation grew even chillier. Shivering, the servants tried to steer the topic toward something warmer.
“Ghost or no ghost, we just need to do our jobs. We’re getting paid well, right?”
“Exactly. And the Duke is here too. We’ll be fine.”
“……”
“…Wait.”
Will we, really?
They all went silent, remembering the Duke’s ice-cold sword and his even colder demeanor.
Yes—this was a very harsh winter for those who lived in the manor.
Cyrus Blanchard was in his bedroom.
He hadn’t come in to sleep.
He was here to observe a different side of the mansion, one that couldn’t be seen from his usual office or library.
Squelch, thud. Squelch, thud.
Sitting by the large bedroom window with a stack of documents in hand, Cyrus followed the sound outside.
There, the small carrot-haired gardener was digging with everything she had.
It was so cold that even indoors, you could see your breath if you weren’t close to the fireplace.
Yet the gardener was overturning the frozen, solid ground without flinching.
“……”
He found himself watching her far more than expected.
From the day she arrived—passing beneath the fighting crows and robins without a care, tending to the garden beds full of Lethia flowers, and then…
“I came to see who had grown the Peculium flowers so beautifully… but things turned out like this. Sorry.”
That voice he heard last night under the moonless sky—it held no fear, no disdain.
Only pure curiosity about the flowers and the one who’d grown them.
Cyrus frowned, his refined eyebrows sharpening his already cold expression.
If the mansion staff had seen his face now, they’d have bowed and scrambled away even faster—but somehow, he felt the gardener outside wouldn’t be scared at all.
“……”
Looking back and forth between the shoveling gardener and the papers in his hand, Cyrus thought:
I want to touch it.
Touching would tell him if what he saw was real—or a lie.
Ever since that day, the blessing—or curse—that allowed him to sense truth through contact had only driven him deeper into darkness.
But he couldn’t stop.
Because betrayal was worse than pain.
Knock knock.
A small knock came, and the door opened.
It was Bernadette Ward, the housekeeper, carrying a silver tray with a teacup.
Dressed in her usual stiff navy gown and white lace shawl, she placed a fresh teacup on the desk and picked up the cold one beside it.
“……”
Staring at the reflection of the chandelier in the teacup’s surface, she stayed silent.
Every cup was tested for poison.
But trusting it was another matter entirely—and she understood that better than anyone.
“Do you require anything else?”
Cyrus didn’t answer. He simply turned his eyes back to the documents.
“Then please call when needed.”
She bowed gracefully and exited with the tray.
As the bedroom door closed without a sound, Cyrus turned again toward the window.
The gardener was still shoveling.
“……”
One of his perfect brows twitched up and fell.
Then, with practiced calm, he returned to his paperwork.
The fresh teacup on the desk remained untouched.
🦠💞