The person who had written this was no longer in this world. She could no longer bask in the superficial affection of her handsome lover, nor could she push Nina aside to become the head maid of the Baron’s household, walking proudly with her head held high. Therefore…

“……At the very least, I’ll find out whose hands took your life.”

Her softly murmured words scattered into the silence. A fierce wind rattled the window frame violently.

＊＊＊

“Miss, are you really going out like this? What is this look?”

“Why? I find it comfortable and nice.”

Maya fidgeted nervously as she looked at Lucienne wearing her clothes, but Lucienne felt much lighter in the casual outfit she hadn’t worn in a long time.

“If you’re going to the marketplace, wouldn’t dressing up properly get you better treatment from the merchants?”

“It’s too much trouble. I’m not planning to buy anything; it’s just for a change of scenery. This is better.”

“Shouldn’t we at least inform the Master?”

Maya asked cautiously as she watched Lucienne loosely tie her hair and tuck it under a hat. Lucienne smiled faintly.

“If my brother finds out, he’ll start buying me unnecessary things to cheer me up. If you keep nagging, I’ll go alone.”

“Oh, Miss, really.”

Maya hurriedly wrapped a long fur scarf around Lucienne’s neck and went to explain the situation briefly to the coachman. They were able to take the carriage into town.

Lucienne briefly considered telling Kirhin about Nina but decided against it. Kirhin had spent a long time with Nina and relied on her for much of his daily life, so without solid evidence, he wouldn’t easily suspect her. Finding what Laurel had obtained was the priority.

Perhaps because of the cold winter wind, the marketplace wasn’t crowded. Lucienne sent Maya to visit the shops Laurel had frequented and inquire about her. After only a few stops, Maya seemed to realize that Lucienne’s purpose wasn’t simply browsing.

“Miss, you’re trying to find out about Laurel, aren’t you?”

Lucienne laughed softly at the faint affection in Maya’s voice and replied.

“You didn’t suspect me?”

“Not at all. Others said Laurel was insolent, that she treated you poorly, and that you didn’t get along, but to me, it didn’t look that way. When you were with Laurel, you seemed… how should I put it? More at ease. Almost like a child. If anything, it seemed like you disliked Nina more……”

Maya trailed off, glancing at Lucienne cautiously. She was more perceptive than Lucienne had expected. Nodding, Lucienne spoke.

“But Carrie said she saw a green dress. In our household, I’m the only one who wears such clothes. From the beginning, they aimed to ‘show’ that dress to target me. There’s a convenient excuse that I didn’t get along with Laurel.”

“Are they trying to frame you for killing her? Then doesn’t that mean the person who killed Laurel is the same one framing you?”

Maya clenched her fists as if ready to shout Nina’s name at any moment. Lucienne patted her shoulder.

“Nothing’s certain yet, so hold your tongue, Maya. Whoever it was, they must have thought Laurel was dangerous. That’s why I want to know who she met recently and what she was looking for.”

“I’ll help. If it’s news from the marketplace, the milk lady who comes here every day would know best.”

With a face burning with determination, Maya darted around like a nimble squirrel. Occasionally, people passing by would hurl insults about the “cruel” young lady of the Baron’s household, so Lucienne pulled her hat down a little lower.

“Laurel had been coming to the marketplace every day recently, so people remembered her well. They said she often met the fabric shop owner, the tailor, and a butcher named Tom. His shop has a red flag and is known for its excellent skills.”

Maya returned after a long while, her cheeks flushed red. Lucienne handed her a piece of sweet chocolate she had bought in advance and said,

“Good. Splitting up will be faster. Which one do you want to take?”

“Uh, well, of course, Miss, you should go to the fabric shop. The butcher’s alley is dark and filthy, and you might encounter something unpleasant, and it smells so bad, and also……”

Maya’s small eyes darted back and forth, as if she didn’t even know what she was saying. Amused by her flustered expression, Lucienne shrugged.

“Then I’ll go see Tom. You handle the fabric shop.”

“What? But butchers are dangerous people. Some of them even work as executioners, and they’re all people who deal with blood. It’s risky.”

Maya flailed her hands in alarm, her words spilling out rapidly. Lucienne looked at her calmly before speaking.

“Maya.”

“Yes?”

“The reason I can eat meat without twisting a chicken’s neck or plucking its feathers myself is that they do the dirty work for us. Without them, both you and I would have no choice but to stain our hands with blood.”

Across from the house where Lucienne had lived as a child, there had been a butcher. The stench of rotting flesh and entrails filled the area daily, and many despised him, but Lucienne hadn’t particularly disliked him.

The man, with his scruffy beard, always wore a sorrowful expression as he led cows and pigs to slaughter. At night, he lit candles and prayed to God.

His knife movements while handling meat were oddly respectful, and Lucienne often found herself watching him in a trance. When he noticed her, he would grill leftover scraps of meat and serve them on a plate.

One day, during a torrential downpour, someone dragged him out and threw him into the mud. It was the son of a wealthy merchant, claiming the meat he had purchased had gone bad.

Lucienne remembered that man. He had bought the meat long ago during the summer, so it was natural for it to spoil if not eaten quickly.

But she hadn’t spoken up. The drunken young man had been cruel, kicking and stomping on the butcher and crushing his hands. She had been too afraid of suffering the same fate.

In a street where such beatings were common, people didn’t pay much attention. Only after a pool of blood formed beneath the butcher did the man leave.

Lucienne had done nothing, only watching as the butcher, battered and bruised, slowly got to his feet.

The butcher had been taller and stronger than the young man and could have easily overpowered him. Yet, he had silently removed his blood-soaked clothes, pressed them to his bleeding head, and weakly waved Lucienne away when he saw her watching.

The next day, as if nothing had happened, he bandaged his injured hand and continued to work with the same sorrowful expression, respectfully handling the meat. He had done so every day until the day Lucienne left that house after losing her father.

Even as a child, Lucienne had thought the butcher was far more admirable than the young man who had taken out his anger on him. When she first learned the word “respect,” she had vaguely thought of the butcher.

Maya, caught off guard by Lucienne’s unexpected words, opened and closed her mouth, unable to find a response. Lucienne smiled faintly and said,

“Let’s meet back here in an hour.”

“Ah, but……!”

At Maya’s call, Lucienne waved her hand dismissively, just like the butcher, and walked away.

Since butchers weren’t welcomed by others, their shops were located in the most secluded parts of the street. As she entered the dim alley, a faint smell of blood began to waft through the air. It felt like stepping into another world.

A man pulling a cart loaded with dead pigs and ducks frowned when he saw her. Lucienne pulled her hat down further and looked around. Among the various flags hung by the butchers, she spotted a red one.

As she approached, a loud thud startled her. A man holding a cleaver was flipping chunks of meat when he stopped and looked at her.

He appeared to be in his early thirties. Despite the cold weather, he wore only a sleeveless shirt that barely covered his torso, and even that seemed too hot for him, as steam rose from his body, making him look surreal.

His bulging arm muscles looked ready to burst, and the veins protruding from his skin seemed to writhe like living creatures. He exuded a wild energy.

The man smirked at her and spun the cleaver in his hand as he spoke.

“Which noble household sent a little lady like you on an errand to this stinking place? Did you lose your way?”

“Tom?”

When she called his name, he paused and looked up. Lucienne studied him carefully and took a step closer.

“Laurel Whitson is dead.”

He clearly already knew. His lack of surprise confirmed it. Instead, he scrutinized her with a calm gaze.

“Who are you? A maid from the Bickman household?”

“You could say I was a friend of Laurel’s. Like you. I want to hear about her. They said she met you often recently.”

“And what are you going to do with that?”