Chapter 18
Poke, slap, poke, slap.
[“To-ma-toes!”]
Poke, slap, poke, slap.
[“Let’s plant! Let’s plant!”]
Poke…
[“To—…!”]
“Hey, could you not chant in rhythm with the shoveling sound?”
It’s kind of exhausting, you know?
As Lizzy spoke, the crow Garrett—who had been darting around on the already overturned soil—tilted his head and squawked indignantly.
[“I know you’re not tired!”]
“…Hoo.”
It was annoying, but also true. Lizzy let out a short sigh in response.
It hadn’t taken long after her possession to realize that her new body was incredibly strong and had great stamina.
It wasn’t just because she was a druid, but Lizzy decided not to think too deeply about it. It didn’t matter much anyway.
“Regardless, stop. Even if I’m not physically tired, this is a psychological issue. I keep feeling like I have to match the rhythm of the digging, and it’s driving me crazy.”
[“Tch.”]
“Tch?”
[“Hmph.”]
Watching the sulky crow stomp through the dirt with his clawed feet, Lizzy shook her head in disbelief.
“You’re so—”
“Who were you just talking to?”
“—AH!”
Clutching her suddenly pounding heart, Lizzy turned around and fell silent at the sight of a clear, handsome face watching her.
There stood a tall man with neatly swept-back red hair, dressed in a well-pressed white shirt and a deep navy coat.
From the outfit, it wasn’t hard for Lizzy to guess his profession.
“A servant?”
“Yeah, you can call me Jeffrey. Jeffrey Carver.”
“Lizzy Atkins, gardener.”
Trying to maintain her composure, Lizzy introduced herself and extended the hand that had been holding a shovel moments earlier.
As he shook her small, pale hand, Jeffrey asked again.
“But seriously, who were you talking to just now?”
Lizzy, quickly recovering her shameless expression, answered smoothly.
“Well, a gardener talks to all of nature. The sky, the wind, water, the earth…”
“…”
So that’s why she hasn’t been kicked out of the mansion yet—she’s clearly not normal.
Jeffrey thought, but then spoke again, looking slightly surprised.
“Oh, you’re stronger than you look.”
He’d felt an unexpected strength in her handshake.
“Well, you’d have to be to dig into frozen ground.”
Lizzy replied nonchalantly.
“Still, it’s surprising. You don’t seem like the shoveling type.”
Jeffrey examined her hand under the pretense of curiosity, smiling charmingly.
It was the same smile he called “respect for a lady,” though the maids in the mansion called it “flirting.”
New, young employees often let their guard down quickly with just that smile and some light physical contact.
No matter how odd Lizzy seemed, Jeffrey assumed the petite young gardener would be no exception.
But—
“…Lizzy?”
Jeffrey faltered.
The gardener, who should have blushed at his smile, wore a completely indifferent expression.
“Anyway, what brings you here?”
“Are you… okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“…Good grief.”
Jeffrey sighed.
No reaction at all to this perfect smile?
Does she… have no taste?
As he pondered this—something Garrett the crow would’ve nodded to enthusiastically—Lizzy tilted her head and asked,
“Is something wrong?”
Jeffrey stammered a little.
“Oh? Uh, no… I just thought, if you had any questions, you could ask! You’ve probably been too busy working to talk to anyone here.”
In truth, he’d come by to check out the gardener who hadn’t fled yet, maybe run a few errands, and if she seemed interesting, casually flirt a little. But with a well-practiced smile and gentle tone, he kept that to himself.
Lizzy raised an eyebrow.
There was only one question on her mind.
“Where does Cyrus Blanchard usually stay?”
But if she asked that right away, the ever-suspicious butler would surely catch wind and kick her out.
So a different strategy might be better.
If Cyrus was behind a giant wall, then breaking through that wall had to come first.
With that in mind, Lizzy asked,
“Hmm, what does the butler like?”
“…Huh?”
What does the butler like?
What kind of question is that?
Jeffrey had never once in his life thought about what the butler liked.
“Um… when you say ‘the butler,’ you mean… Mrs. Ward?”
He asked again, unable to believe it.
“Yup.”
But Lizzy nodded with a completely serious expression, and Jeffrey had no choice but to accept it.
His usual charm had absolutely no effect on this gardener.
What he didn’t know was that even the Duke of Blanchard’s beauty hadn’t swayed Lizzy in the slightest—so Jeffrey’s face was just a face to her, nothing more.
He was about to blurt out, “How the heck would I know that?”
But looking into those sparkly dark green eyes, he felt like he had to say something.
“The butler’s favorite thing… um… um…”
Digging through his brain, he finally remembered something the cook had once mentioned in passing:
—“I think the butler really likes eggplants. Every time there’s an eggplant dish, the plate gets cleaned.”
“Oh, right. Eggplants! She loves eggplants!”
“Hmm, really?”
At Lizzy’s intrigued nod, her gaze shifted to the garden she’d been working on.
Jeffrey, watching her seemingly calculating expression, quickly averted his eyes when they turned back to him.
He didn’t know why he instinctively avoided her gaze—but somehow, it made his ears feel hot.
“Thanks. That was really helpful.”
Lizzy said.
Jeffrey wanted to ask what could possibly be so helpful about the butler liking eggplants, but he didn’t.
Instead, he gave her hand one last squeeze and put on his “respect for a lady” (aka flirty) act again.
“By the way, are you working until late again tonight?”
“Yeah. Also… are you planning to keep holding my hand?”
“Huh? Oh, uh… it’s just, your strength surprised me! Really impressive!”
“That’s just how I am. Wanna see?”
Crack.
The sound that came out when she gripped his hand didn’t sound like it belonged to a handshake.
Jeffrey let out a silent scream and forced himself to keep a straight face.
“Wow… uh… r-really strong…”
While he was wiping his tearing eyes and checking if anything was broken, Lizzy looked over the dug-up garden near the pond and said,
“If I work through the night, I think I can finish soon.”
At this pace, she could probably start planting flowers by the day after tomorrow.
But Jeffrey shook his head.
“No, I think you should head in before sunset today.”
“Eh? Why?”
“To be honest, that’s what I came to tell you…”
Looking around, Jeffrey lowered his voice and continued carefully.
“There’s a ghost that appears tonight.”
“…”
Lizzy gave him a look that clearly meant: You seemed normal at first, but you’re actually weird, huh?
Jeffrey protested.
“I swear it’s true! Tonight’s the new moon, right? Every new moon, someone in a black hood shows up and circles the Patchouli flower bed! Lots of people in the mansion have seen it.”
“Wouldn’t the knights take care of someone like that? Could be an assassin.”
“The knights never see it. It vanishes like a real ghost before they even arrive. And the knights are already too busy guarding against actual assassins to go hunting ghosts every new moon. So everyone just tries to be careful. The timid staff don’t even leave their rooms!”
“…It circles the Patchouli flowers?”
“Yeah! So everyone thinks it’s the spirit of someone buried down there, rising on every new moon.”
“…”
“Anyway, just be careful and head in early tonight. Luckily, the ghost never leaves the Patchouli bed, so you’ll be safe in your cabin.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Lizzy gave a half-hearted nod, still staring at the Patchouli flower bed.
Feeling unsure about her reaction, Jeffrey insisted on walking her all the way to her cabin.
And before leaving, he gave her one last charming smile—a final flirt.
Then he returned to the mansion, clutching his throbbing hand and wondering what was wrong with his looks today.
“Hmm…”
In the cozy, spotless cabin, Lizzy took off her gardening apron and washed her dirty hands.
“Hmmmm…”
She slurped up a bubbling pot of delicious soup, then applied ointment to Garrett the crow, who’d apparently gotten into another fight with a robin.
“Hmmmm…”
Right before climbing into bed, Lizzy hummed again.
The crow banged his chest with his wings in frustration.
[“You’re gonna sink the ground! If you’re that curious, just go check it out already!”]
“Yeah, that might be the best idea.”
[…]
She’s been waiting for this.
The crow flapped its wings as if to say, Just go already.
Throwing on a thick coat over her pajamas, Lizzy stepped out of the cabin with an oddly cheerful bounce in her step.
“Whoever grew that many rare Patchouli flowers probably isn’t normal.”
She told herself—a flimsy excuse no one had asked for.
✦✦✦
The Patchouli flower bed in the darkness looked like a black-and-white photograph.
Swish. Swish.
The hem of a black robe brushed over dead grass, making a soft sound.
The “ghost” Jeffrey had spoken of was indeed circling the Patchouli flowers.
No—not just circling.
After a long hesitation, the figure carefully plucked a wilted petal, sprinkled a bit of soil over exposed roots, untangled some knotted stems with trembling, pot-lid-sized hands, and awkwardly pulled weeds nearby.
They gently stroked the healthy flower stalks, sat down to admire the patch for a while, let out a short sigh, and resumed their circuit.
The ghost had no idea—
—that someone was watching.
“So it was you taking care of the Patchouli flowers.”
“…!”
Snap.
Startled, the ghost spun around—only to realize they were still clutching a crushed flower stem in their large hand.
In their shock, they’d squeezed it too tightly.
