Chapter 07
While I was absorbed in looking at the paintings, something suddenly caught my eye.
Like most studies in other mansions, this one had bookshelves lining every wall, filled to the brim with books. Whether anyone actually read them or they were just for decoration, a considerable number of books were neatly arranged on the shelves.
However, there was one shelf—just one—that stood out.
The books on it were in complete disarray.
Some were shoved in with their spines facing inward, others upside down. Some were stacked sideways, lying flat, and others weren’t even pushed in properly, sticking out at odd angles.
Rather than saying “books were placed on the shelf,” it would be more accurate to say “books were crammed into it carelessly.”
I recalled what Amy had told me. Aileen had been found hanging in this study, and ever since then, the servants had been reluctant to take on cleaning duties here.
If that was the case, the messy condition of the study wasn’t entirely strange. Still, something felt off.
All the other shelves were neatly organized. If this had been the result of neglect over a long period, the entire study should have been in disarray. But only one shelf was like this. That made it unnatural.
I remembered Amy’s words again.
“The maids who saw it said Miss Aileen must have struggled terribly after hanging herself from the shelf. All the books fell to the floor. When they first found her, the body was still swaying, and the floor was a mess with books scattered everywhere. The whole study was in chaos.”
There was no doubt—this was the very shelf from which Aileen’s body had been hanging.
For a moment, it felt like I couldn’t breathe. The image of Aileen hanging from the shelf, surrounded by fallen books, vividly formed in my mind.
I shook my head violently, forcing the image away. Even as imagination, I didn’t want to picture it any longer.
I stepped closer to the shelf and began putting the books back one by one. Then, as I lifted my head, a framed picture hanging above the shelf caught my eye.
One painting showed a girl speaking in front of a crowd. Another showed a girl almost buried under a pile of books.
The title read:
“Alice, who pretended to be learned, is struck by the books people throw at her.”
The next day, I secretly met Ian while organizing the food storage room next to the kitchen on the first floor of the east wing.
Although the first floor of the east wing wasn’t my assigned area, it was common to help out when others were short-handed. More than anything, I was the youngest maid—an easy target for being handed all sorts of miscellaneous tasks. I wasn’t really in a position to complain.
Since the day he arrived at the Plenigan mansion, Ian had been gathering information about Aileen’s death as part of the “deal” we made.
Unlike me, who could only get information from fellow maids, Ian had access to people from various social ranks, making it more likely for him to uncover something new.
Right on time, as we had agreed the day before, Ian came to the storage room. But before I could even say anything, he strode past me and headed straight into the liquor storage room attached inside.
“What the—Ian! Don’t tell me you came here for the alcohol?”
While I was grumbling, Ian came back out, holding up his prize like a fisherman showing off a big catch.
“‘Lady Leoville.’ As expected of the wealthy—there are thirteen bottles of this in there.”
“How good can that possibly be?”
I stared incredulously at the bottle filled with amber liquid.
I had tried alcohol once after becoming an adult. But the moment I took a sip, I spat it out. Why would anyone willingly pay money to drink something so bitter and unpleasant, even harming their health in the process?
Come to think of it, Ian quite liked alcohol. Of course, he was never the type to lose control, but I had seen him occasionally relaxing after work, enjoying a quiet drink. His one indulgence was saving part of his wages to buy a bottle or two of fine liquor.
Given that, it wasn’t surprising he could easily pick out high-quality alcohol from someone else’s cellar.
“Do you really have to get greedy over alcohol at a time like this? And aren’t you supposed to be a guest here? Is it okay to just take things like that?”
“Well, as an esteemed guest, I doubt anyone would dare say anything even if I indulge a little.”
He said that so shamelessly without batting an eye.
“Even if my impersonation of a noble gets discovered, twenty bottles of this would more than cover the fine. So naturally, you take what you can when you can.”
“Wait a second. The fine for impersonating a noble is under 5,000 flin… That means one bottle costs 250 flin? My weekly pay as a maid is only 30 flin!”
“There were even more expensive ones, but I do have some conscience, so I settled for this.”
“No, once you’ve already taken it, you’ve lost the right to talk about having a conscience.”
“Miss.”
Instead of responding, Ian suddenly grew serious and changed the subject.
“We didn’t meet here to talk about alcohol, did we?”
He had a point, even if he started all this nonsense. So I dropped the topic and got to the main issue.
“I heard from the maids that Aileen committed suicide. She was found hanging in the study on the second floor of the east wing. The family considers suicide a disgrace, so they reported it as an accidental death.
Or maybe they told the authorities it was illness. It seems they bribed the physician to write the death certificate that way. Either way, it’s definitely not what’s been publicly reported.
That’s all I could get from the maids. Either they were ordered to keep quiet, or they’re just too scared to talk since someone died.”
“I heard something similar,” Ian replied. “From Aileen’s sisters, over tea.”
For some reason, that sounded absurd to me.
“I thought the family didn’t allow women to speak freely with men, and yet they had tea with you?”
“It seems guests are an exception. Of course, they’re not allowed to meet one-on-one—only in public settings with several people present.
Anyway, I brought it up casually, saying I heard there had been a funeral recently and that it must have been difficult for them.
The older sisters seemed intent on staying silent, but the eldest, Miss Anne, appeared suspicious about her sister’s death.”
According to Ian, after hesitating for a long time, Anne finally spoke as if she had made up her mind.
“…Around that time, my sister was in very good spirits.”
The comment came out of nowhere, in the middle of an unrelated conversation.
“Pardon?”
“That’s why… I never imagined she would die like that.”
“Like that?”
Ian deliberately asked as if he didn’t understand, but Anne shut her mouth again.
Her younger sisters, Jane and Delia, looked frightened, glancing around nervously as if afraid someone might be listening in. It didn’t seem like they were actually being watched, but more like they had been raised to constantly be aware of their surroundings.
Sensing it would be difficult to push further, Ian changed the topic. But after some time, Anne suddenly spoke again.
“…Maybe she was murdered.”
“Sister!”
Delia cried out sharply. But Anne, as if she had already committed herself, continued:
“A ghost… the ghost of the Plenigan family might have put the rope around her neck and kicked away the stool.”
That was all Anne said before leaving early, claiming she had a headache.
“There are a few things we can confirm from Miss Anne’s words,” Ian said, laying out his thoughts.
“First, as you heard, it’s almost certain that Miss Aileen died by hanging.”
“And regardless of what they told the outside world, the family believes it was suicide.”
“Given the circumstances, that would be the most reasonable conclusion, wouldn’t it?”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Or don’t tell me—you believe the ghost theory too?”
“Ian, I don’t believe in ghosts at all.”
I cut him off firmly.
“If I did, I wouldn’t have disguised myself as a maid and come here in the first place.”
“Of course. I also think the ‘ghost’ Miss Anne mentioned is symbolic. The question is—what it symbolizes.”
Ian nodded thoughtfully.
“As you must have noticed over the past few days, the Plenigan family’s traditions are extremely restrictive toward women. And Miss Aileen was already clashing with her family over her studies.
In that sense, the ‘ghost’ likely represents the suffocating atmosphere of the Plenigan household.”
“No, Ian.”
I shook my head. His explanation was no different from what Amy had said.
“What I want to know isn’t why Aileen committed suicide.”
“…Then what?”
“What bothers me is whether Aileen really committed suicide at all.”
“Miss, I feel like we’re going in circles here.”
Ian shrugged.
“She was found hanging from a bookshelf. While accidental strangulation is possible, in this case it’s unlikely.
And since ghosts don’t actually exist, the logical conclusion is that she was driven to suicide by that suffocating environment.
But if it wasn’t suicide—and it wasn’t an accident—then…”
He frowned slightly.
“…that leaves only one conclusion: murder.”
“That’s not an impossible deduction, is it?”
I said firmly.
“Aileen had no reason to kill herself! Just a week ago, she was excitedly talking about inviting me!
And I’m not the only one who thought so—Anne felt the same way! So isn’t it only natural to be suspicious?
The Plenigan family didn’t even investigate and rushed the funeral. What if she had injuries from resisting her attacker?
I read in a book that the marks on the neck differ between hanging oneself and being strangled and staged as a suicide. But no one properly examined Aileen’s body. We can’t be sure it was suicide—so we have to consider the possibility that she was murdered.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Ian replied calmly.
“You’re suggesting that evidence of murder might have been overlooked because the body wasn’t properly examined.
But, Miss, by the same logic, it’s also possible that evidence confirming suicide was overlooked.”
Ian countered each of my arguments methodically, almost annoyingly so. But he wasn’t wrong, which made it hard to argue back.
(To be continued in the next chapter)
