Chapter 10 – Stay Still

A girl with curly red-blonde hair pushed her bicycle down the hill. Instead of an apple basket, she hung a basket full of new paints from the handlebars. The bicycle, weighted to one side, looked as if it might topple, but it didn’t. Instead, she hopped along, lifting one foot as if performing a trick.

Mr. Robert—or, unintentionally acting as the caretaker of the country mansion, the Duke of Guienne—watched her from behind the curtains of Hawthorn Mansion.

To say he was hiding wasn’t quite accurate. This was the mansion he had purchased with his own money. It just happened that he was in a spot visible from the window when Sasha Vinoche stood by the second-floor library.

But then, why had he bought a house in Manolie for no particular reason? When he announced he’d build a summer villa here, everyone was surprised. In Laurent’s social circles, rumors spread that the Duke of Guienne was suffering from an incurable disease and was secretly looking for a place to die. Of course, these were baseless rumors. Still, lately, he was dominated by some uncontrollable impulse.

Meanwhile, the small, lively girl from Manolie pushed her bicycle over the hill and disappeared from view. Only after she was gone did he feel an inexplicable sense of relief.

* * *

Mr. Robert had allowed Sasha to visit the garden and atelier whenever she liked. But there was an unexpected obstacle to Sasha’s visits to Hawthorn Mansion: Mr. Vinoche.

<Sasha, I wish you wouldn’t go to that mansion. It’s not a house with good memories.>

Mr. Vinoche thought it inappropriate for his young daughter to frequent the home of such a conspicuous man. Besides, Mr. Robert had no trustworthy letter of introduction, and the only known fact was that he had graduated from the military academy—a rather suspicious man. So one evening, he sat Sasha down and warned her.

<Mr. Robert used to be a soldier. He probably keeps a gun at home. He could suddenly turn and shoot you.>

He tried to scare her seriously, but it didn’t work on Sasha.

Mr. Robert was not the kind of person who would suddenly pick up a gun and shoot Sasha in the head. Not because he was kind enough to give her paints, but because he was someone who knew how to cultivate such a beautiful garden.

<Then why doesn’t he clarify the strange rumors? If he doesn’t refute them, it means they must be true.>

Sasha found this argument unconvincing. It was simply because Mr. Robert had no interest in Manolie affairs. He truly had no intention of mingling with the locals. It made one wonder why he’d come here at all.

Maybe Mr. Robert’s employer had forced him to Manolie? Was he protesting by refusing to socialize? If so, would he someday leave for Laurent without looking back if given the chance? Sasha tilted her head, always full of questions when she thought of Mr. Robert.

‘If he just said “no,” at least a few would believe him.’

For whatever reason, Mr. Robert never tried to explain himself, and the people of Manolie believed the nasty rumors. The shopkeepers banded together and refused to sell him bread and meat. Everyone wanted Mr. Robert to leave Manolie. Suspicious strangers were never welcome.

Sasha, undeterred by rumors, became the only guest at Hawthorn Mansion. She lied at home, saying she was going to the Manolie forest, and ran to the mansion every morning.

Sasha liked everything about the place: the delicately tended garden, the vast library, the atelier full of new paints and brushes, and Mr. Robert, with whom she could talk about art.

But Sasha’s escapade didn’t last long. About halfway through summer vacation, Mr. Vinoche discovered her visits.

After learning Sasha was going to Hawthorn Mansion, Mr. Vinoche confronted Mr. Robert. From the next day, after hearing strange rumors from Mr. Vinoche, Mr. Robert firmly locked the mansion’s doors.

One morning, as usual, Sasha dashed to Hawthorn Mansion after breakfast, only to find the door locked.

‘Did he forget to unlock the door?’

She calmly rang the doorbell, but there was no answer. Knocking didn’t help either. It was as if no one was inside, though the lights were clearly on.

Could the villagers have refused to sell him food, and he’d fainted from hunger? Sasha, frightened, tried to check on Mr. Robert by climbing over the fence, but fell.

The mansion’s fence was high, and Sasha was hurt enough to cry. She heard someone running down the stairs inside. It was Mr. Robert.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He scolded her, mixed with bewilderment and concern. Sasha was a mess when he found her under the fence. Her palms were scraped, and her skirt was stained red at the knees.

“So why didn’t you open the door if you were inside? Do you know how many times I rang the bell? You said I could come anytime as long as it wasn’t too late. You never cancelled that.”

“If the door is locked, you should have understood and gone home.”

“I thought you’d fainted from hunger. How could I leave someone sick alone?”

Once Sasha confirmed Mr. Robert was safe, her tension eased and her sense of injustice surged. The man squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face. He couldn’t scold a crying girl sitting right in front of him.

“Get on my back.”

“Me? Why?”

“Sasha, do you expect to walk inside looking like that?”

Sasha was carried into Hawthorn Mansion on Mr. Robert’s back. He sat her on a soft brown leather sofa and brought out a first aid kit. Kneeling beside her, he expertly opened a brown bottle, soaked a cotton ball, and disinfected her wounds. The strong smell of alcohol wafted up. Did the military teach things like this?

Curious, Sasha peeked, but the unfamiliar pain made her yelp and jump. Her bottom lifted half a palm’s width off the sofa. Mr. Robert looked at her in disbelief as he disinfected her wounds.

Fortunately, Sasha quickly adapted to the pain and, unable to contain her curiosity, looked around. It was her first time inside Mr. Robert’s room.

“Stay still. Unless you want scars.”

He warned quietly. From then on, Sasha tried to behave. She didn’t mind scars, but didn’t want to upset Mr. Robert further. He already seemed to be enduring enough. When he treated her scraped hands, his face twisted with guilt, as if he’d committed a grave crime.

His breath tickled Sasha’s palm as he treated her wounds. She tried to endure it at first, but it wasn’t easy. The sensation was so unfamiliar it made her shiver.

When he looked up, he saw Sasha’s face flushed bright red, about to burst.

“I’m sorry. It tickled, that’s all. It doesn’t hurt.”

He held his breath, occasionally turning his head and sighing deeply. Still, Sasha’s strange feeling didn’t subside. The ticklish sensation lingered. She heard her own breathing, unusually loud.

Breaking the silence, her stomach rumbled. Unbelievable. Surely Mr. Robert was the one who hadn’t eaten properly, yet here she was, making hungry noises after eating breakfast. Embarrassed, Sasha sank into the chair and swung her feet as if nothing happened.

Mr. Robert took a handful of chocolates from the drawer. They were wrapped in colorful foil, like Christmas ornaments. Sasha cupped her hands and received the chocolates. It was unexpected—she thought he was the kind of man who didn’t keep snacks in his drawers.

“Eat.”

“All of them?”

Mr. Robert started to say something, looking annoyed, then stopped. She didn’t know what he meant, but probably it was up to her. Sasha unwrapped a chocolate in blue and gold striped foil and offered it first. He didn’t take it.

Sasha put the rejected chocolate in her mouth and let it melt slowly. The brown chocolate melted on her tongue, sweet enough to make her forget the pain. She didn’t throw away the blue-gold foil, but smoothed it out and tucked it in her pocket.

Her treated ankle was slightly swollen. It hurt, but she could still walk. Riding her bicycle home would be difficult, though.

In the end, Mr. Robert sighed and carried Sasha on his back.

“What about my bicycle? Can I leave it at the gate until I come back for it?”

“Do as you like.”

Strange. When Mr. Robert said “do as you like,” it sounded odd. It felt like he meant, “Whatever you do, it doesn’t affect me.” His silence felt like a wordless declaration. Was it just her imagination? Still, it always felt like there was an invisible line drawn by Mr. Robert at her feet.

Should she cross it or not? Sasha hesitated, then retreated. People want others to stay within the boundaries they set. Sasha was a child who respected such boundaries. She didn’t want to cross Mr. Robert’s line and be disliked.

Mr. Robert walked steadily with Sasha on his back. He could probably run like this. His hair brushed Sasha’s forehead. Such a pretty color. Sasha silently whispered to herself. It was deep like a summer night’s sky, and as soft as the chocolate he’d given her. Sasha thought she wanted that color. She secretly stroked the ends of his hair, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

A quiet sigh was heard. The sound, muffled by the rustling leaves, left Sasha uncertain.

“Don’t touch.”

He cautioned her to stay still. Sasha obediently listened. Before she knew it, they had arrived at the lemon-colored gate.