Swan Grave - Chapter 2

All traces of the Marchioness were sealed within the forbidden room. It was as if he believed that if even one of her belongings left the room, she would escape from him forever.

The furrowed lines between Rothbart’s brows showed his displeasure and impatience. By nature, he was a man who never had to endure anything, in any circumstance. But in matters concerning the Marchioness, it was different. Perhaps the only one who could ever have held onto his patience so long was the Marchioness herself… yet even that had now reached its limit.

Knowing that nothing good came from pushing Rothbart past his breaking point, the butler sighed softly and stepped back at once.

“…Then I will make my report tomorrow morning.”

Without answering, Rothbart walked on ahead. Every servant he passed stiffened like mice caught in the gaze of a snake.

At that moment, Rose, Svanhild’s governess, who had been standing a little apart from the servants, approached Rothbart with a radiant smile. Her golden hair, pinned up neatly, gleamed like honey. She was a bewitching beauty who seemed more suited to the capital’s social circles than a household tutor in this mansion.

“Marquess.”

But Rothbart brushed past her without so much as a glance and entered the lobby. Rose’s smile faltered for a moment, and watching her from the side, Madame Dova, the head maid, curled her lips in a mocking smirk.

The polished tips of his shoes matched the gleaming marble floor perfectly. Just then, as Rothbart stepped into the lobby, his son Svanhild was descending the central staircase.

Black hair, red eyes. The boy was the spitting image of Rothbart. Now eleven years old, Svanhild was a handsome child. Within the mansion, he was an untamable tyrant and a troublemaker, but before Rothbart, he was nothing but impeccably polite. The boy bowed his head with courtesy upon meeting his father.

“You have returned, Father.”

Yet, even though it had been a long time since he last saw his son, Rothbart only gave a slight nod and strode past, climbing the stairs. Svanhild gazed silently at his father’s back, but he couldn’t look for long. Soon, his father had disappeared onto the upper floor.

Barrett, arriving a step later, looked quietly at Svanhild’s small back with pity and spoke softly, “Don’t be too disheartened, young master. The master…”

“I know. Whenever Father returns to the mansion, he goes to Mother’s room first.”

Svanhild shrugged indifferently, but his red eyes, fixed on the floor above where Rothbart had vanished, gleamed like rubies filled with blood.

***

The forbidden room was the brightest room in the mansion, but now, its heavy curtains, layered several times over, shut out every speck of light.

Anna, unaware of how dark it would be inside, was taken aback. She thought of going back to fetch a lantern, but she had little time. If she lingered and ran into someone, it would be troublesome. She squeezed her eyes shut, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her. Soon, her vision adjusted to the dark, and the outlines of the room imprinted themselves on her retinas.

After roughly grasping the layout, Anna moved toward the window and pulled the curtain open a little. It was not enough light, but opening it too wide might be seen from outside.

She began searching the places where a diary might be hidden: the desk, the bookshelf, the dresser… The top drawer was locked.

This is bad. Anna clicked her tongue softly. If the diary existed, it had to be inside the locked drawer.

She didn’t know when she might get another chance to enter this room. She had to try something. Anna removed the hairpin holding her hair in place. Her tightly secured hair loosened and fell around her shoulders.

Recalling how she used to pick the locks of diary books and lockers back in her school days, Anna slipped the pin into the keyhole and fiddled with it, but it wasn’t easy. In her nervousness, cold sweat rolled down her neck and pooled at her collarbone.

This isn’t working.

After several attempts, Anna gave up on that method. As she searched the room for another option, her eyes caught a curtain draped over the fireplace. No, more precisely, it was covering a framed object above the mantel.

Peering closer, she noticed a part sticking out from behind the curtain. It seemed to be a portrait of someone.

Could it be the portrait of the Marchioness?

Thinking that the Marchioness might have come from the same place as herself, Anna grew curious. Just how beautiful must she have been to have ensnared that Marquess…

Almost against her will, Anna stretched her hand toward the portrait. It felt like something was drawing her to it.

But just before her fingers touched the curtain, footsteps approached from outside the door.

The butler? Or…

Anna’s face fell in panic. If she were caught, it would be a disaster. She glanced around frantically for a hiding spot and soon found a space large enough for one person beside the fireplace. With the curtain hanging down, it wouldn’t be easily visible.

Slipping quickly into the gap, Anna gathered up the long hem of her maid’s skirt. The very moment she tucked her toes behind the curtain, the door opened.

She clamped her mouth shut, fearing even the sound of her breath might give her away. Her breathing felt rougher than usual, probably from the tension. Not only was her presence concealed by the curtain, but her vision was blocked as well, and the inability to see anything gnawed at her with fear.

Step, step. The heavy tread of a man’s shoes matched the frantic beating of her heart as he drew closer.

“Has Barrett grown old? He can’t even close the curtains properly.”

The voice, dripping with displeasure, was one she had never heard before. Anna’s heart pounded wildly. He spoke the butler’s name with ease, and entered the forbidden room without hesitation. It could only mean one thing…

‘It must be the Marquess Lohengrin…’

Rothbart Lohengrin only stayed at the mansion once a season. Since Anna had become a maid only a few months ago, this was her first time seeing him.

Judging by the timing, it seemed he had come straight to this room as soon as he arrived at the mansion. As the saying goes, “even if you fall backward, if your luck is bad, you’ll break your nose.” Right now, Anna felt as if her nose was broken and she had a concussion as well.

Striding into the room, Rothbart pulled the curtain Anna had opened back into place. His touch was harsh, filled with irritation.

The faint light that had seeped into the room vanished completely, swallowed again by darkness. Yet he moved smoothly, unfaltering. Either his night vision was strong, or he was simply that familiar with this room.

Anna replayed in her mind the glimpse she had caught of him under the weak light earlier. Perfectly dressed from his collar to his shoes, the Marquess looked as though he had stepped straight out of a portrait. From his sharp profile radiated the resolute conviction of a man who would never allow emotions to break through his composure.

As Anna sharpened her senses toward the other presence in the room, Rothbart suddenly spoke.

“Have you been well?”

There was no one else in the room except him and Anna. Her heart sank. But the words hadn’t been meant for her.

“I have not. The trip to the capital was a complete waste.”

Only then did Anna realize he was addressing the Marchioness’s portrait.

Rothbart drew nearer. Anna pressed her back against the wall, desperate not to be noticed.

Fortunately, he passed her by. He lit the candles in the holder above the fireplace beneath the portrait. The flickering flame spread a dim glow. Fearing the faint light might reveal her crouching form behind the curtain, Anna curled herself up tightly like a baby goat hiding from a wolf inside a grandfather clock.

From the candle wafted a strangely sweet fragrance.

“Hhhhhh… haa.”

Like a man inhaling smoke from a cigar, Rothbart drew in the scent deeply and stood there for a long time. Anna thought he must be staring at the portrait of the Marchioness.

When would he finally leave? She hadn’t even found the diary yet…