Matthew scooped up a large bowl with one hand and held it out. Layla picked up the tray, took the bowl from Matthew, and staggered as the weight threw off her balance. Helena had been asking for stew with plenty of broth every single day lately. The stew bowl was heavy enough that she had to brace her arms just to hold it steady.

“Let’s hope she likes this one.”

“Exactly! It’s good that she’s less violent than before, but she keeps giving such strange orders, and it’s exhausting, and frightening…….”

Murrel, the kitchen assistant trimming turnips nearby, whined and picked up where Matthew had left off. Matthew seemed to share the sentiment. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and let out a deep sigh.

“She keeps telling me to throw strange spices into the stew, and now it’s so spicy I can’t even taste-test it anymore. I don’t even know if I’m doing it right.”

“Isn’t this a new form of torment?”

Before long, the conversation had drifted into a debate over whether the young lady was trying to torment the servants in more sophisticated ways. Layla gave a small cough at the sharp smell of the stew, then slipped past Matthew and Murrel, who had already forgotten about her in the heat of their discussion, and made her way out of the kitchen.

“She really is a bit strange…….”

Layla rode the lift fitted with a magic circle up to the floor and murmured to herself as she walked down the long corridor. Could fainting and waking up with partial memory loss change a person’s tastes too?

She set the unanswerable question aside, reached the door, checked her maid’s uniform, and let out a slow breath.

“My lady. I’ve brought your meal.”

She knocked carefully as she spoke, but no answer came. She could have sworn she heard a voice from inside. Layla deliberated for a moment, then quietly opened the door and stepped in. The room’s occupant was bent over the notebook filled with those mysterious characters, drawing lines through them, and muttering to herself in what looked like deep thought.

“A trustworthy ally…… Just the male lead? No. He’s obviously going to die. And how would I ever manage that obsession.”

“Um, my lady…….”

“Tsk. Come to think of it, isn’t this novel a bit too harsh on the female lead? Anyway, what am I supposed to do? Seriously?”

“My…… lady?”

“Ah!”

With a short shriek, the fountain pen Helena was holding flew through the air. Layla twisted her upper body just in time to narrowly dodge the nib and stood there for a moment catching her breath, one hand pressed to her chest.

Everyone had said it seemed like her soul had been swapped out, and for a split second Layla thought the old young lady had come back. Had all her memories returned? Her light green eyes trembled with fear as they fixed on Helena, but Helena seemed not to understand what that look meant and was flustered.

“I’m sorry. I mean, sorry. Are you hurt, are you, are you all right?”

“P, pardon?”

Layla was even more flustered because those were not words she ever expected to come out of the young lady’s mouth. Her light green eyes went wide with unease as they looked at Helena, and Helena straightened her back abruptly and cleared her throat.

“Your name……?”

“It’s Layla.”

Helena listened to Layla’s answer, then half-closed her eyes and rolled them as though turning something over in her mind. Then, apparently realizing something, she pointed at Layla with her index finger.

“Ah. Right. The one who brought the washing water that day! It feels like it’s been a while.”

“I come every day…….”

Being ignored was something she was used to, but it was always a little sad all the same. Layla mumbled with her shoulders slumped, and Helena seemed to catch it, pausing for just a moment.

“Ah, sorry. I’m not good at recognizing people.”

Helena had once been someone who remembered the servants better than anyone, who tailored her cruelty to each individual maid when she was in a temper. She had been sharp-eyed enough to remember even Layla’s name, despite how little presence Layla had. And now she couldn’t recognize people? On top of that, such a straightforward apology?

Layla’s mouth fell open and she slowly raised her head to look at Helena. Whether or not Helena knew that the suspicion in those light green eyes was directed at her, she was scratching her brow and lost in thought.

“Wait a moment…… Layla, did you say?”

Helena wore a slightly odd expression and stared at Layla. It wasn’t the frightening sharp-eyed look from before she had collapsed, but Layla shrank her shoulders without thinking.

“Making me feel guilty for no reason. Hah.”

“P, pardon?”

She had spoken too quietly for Layla to catch the words clearly. Layla asked again, tense, but Helena gave no answer and only sat there with her lips pressed together, watching her.

The silence stretched on, and the unease crept up steadily. Layla decided it was best to get the meal to the young lady before the food went cold, and with a small wave of sadness, she bowed her head and drew the tray closer.

“Um, I’ve brought your lunch, my lady.”

“Right. Thank you.”

Had she heard wrong? The young lady was thanking her? Before Layla could process what was happening, a sharp smacking sound rang out. She looked up in surprise to find Helena slapping her own lips with her palm over and over, muttering something to herself with great urgency.

“I’m a villainess, a villainess!”

“Pardon? A what?”

“……Ahem. Never mind. Listen, Layla. I have a favor to ask.”

Helena looked up with a creak, then suddenly put on an expression of contempt toward Layla and opened her mouth. She seems like her usual self when she does that, so why does it still feel off somehow? Layla set down the plate on the table and clasped her hands together.

“A favor, my lady? Please, go ahead.”

“There’s something I need you to go check near the Devon forest. Without anyone knowing.”

The Devon forest? She had heard that the young lady refused to set foot in that filthy forest where she couldn’t wear a dress, not even a single step…… What could possibly be bringing her to the Devon forest now? Layla found it puzzling but nodded promptly.

“What should I look for in the forest?”

“Can you do it?”

Helena ignored her question and asked with a grave expression. She looked so strangely desperate about it that Layla nodded again, almost without thinking.

“Yes. I can.”

If it was something that needed to be done in secret, she might be the right person for it. She had no presence wherever she went.

“Please tell me what I need to check.”

“Good. Then, hmm. Go and see whether there’s a man with dark, shaggy hair hanging all over the place.”

“Pardon?”

“He’s probably covering half his face with his hair. His height is, hmm. Probably about as tall as your bedroom door, but he’ll be standing hunched over, so…… maybe a little shorter.”

Helena paid no attention to Layla and stared into the air, wiggling her fingers as though trying to gauge a height. Layla stood there listening, not understanding a word of it, and then Helena turned to look at her and pressed the instructions on her with great urgency, apparently satisfied she had said everything she needed to.

“He’s probably at the gamekeeper’s cottage. Come straight to me the moment you’ve confirmed it and report without delay.”

“Yes, my lady…….”

“Quickly, and without being seen. I need you to do this without anyone finding out. Understood?”

“Pardon? Yes!”

She had assumed that whatever needed checking in the forest would be an animal or a plant, but now it was suddenly a shaggy, enormous, dark-haired man. Layla stumbled out of the room in a daze.

She had been about to run down the corridor, then remembered the instruction not to be seen and switched to a quick trot. However little presence she had, running freely through the quiet manor was a sure way to get caught by the head maid or the butler’s fury.

She made her way down the spiral staircase and hurried along the gallery leading outside the manor, then stopped dead in her tracks at a thought that had just occurred to her.

“The Devon forest?”

Come to think of it, even if the gamekeeper’s cottage was at the edge of the forest, wasn’t it still a considerable distance in, even by carriage?

The young lady couldn’t possibly not know that, and yet she was sending Layla alone and telling her to hurry. Could Murrel and Matthew’s theory about a new form of torment actually be right?

Layla tried to hold her swimming vision together and steadied her breathing.