Chapter 42

It was less a letter than a note.

My apologies, Sir Bertholdt. Until you hear from me again, please stay inside as much as possible.

Not a word of explanation.

But considering who the new Director was, he wasn't going to be making pointless demands. Not with a royal guardsman used as a runner, no less.

"Haah. Hah."

The guardsman — Harold couldn't tell how far he'd ridden — was drenched in sweat, his face tight. The horse he'd come in on was breathing hard too.

"...Do you know what this says?"

"No, sir!"

"Then why would the Viscount —"

Harold narrowed his eyes at the guardsman.

"What's happened?"

"Uh, well..."

"..."

"..."

For someone who'd been so quick to say he didn't know what the letter said, he was awfully tense.

Something had happened. Something serious enough that a royal guardsman was ignoring the chain of command and taking orders from an Intelligence noble. And there weren't many things that could rattle the royal guard like this.

The list narrowed further when Intelligence was involved. The one link between the two organizations Harold could be sure of right now was—

"Has something happened to Marquis Roys?"

"Master Grisha?"

Linda didn't know what was in the letter, but her attention sharpened at the mention of Grisha.

The guardsman still looked tense but didn't ease his posture. If he'd answered right away, that would have been its own problem.

"..."

The guardsman let out a sigh.

"It'll be in tomorrow's morning papers anyway."

Big enough to make the papers?

Harold's brow furrowed.

"Marquis Roys's carriage overturned."

"What?"

"Master Grisha — is he all right?"

Before Harold could react, Linda had lunged at the guardsman. Harold hastily held her back.

The guardsman raised both hands to calm her down.

"I don't know the details either. All I heard was that he'd been taken to hospital."

Linda squeezed her eyes shut. As the strength went out of her, Harold carefully let go.

Linda drew in a long breath to steady herself. But the color didn't come back to her pale face.

---

I'll survive without you.

That was what Grisha Lambert had said.

Just as the guardsman had predicted, the next day the papers were full of Marquis Roys's carriage accident. A few papers dredged up the accident that had killed the former Count Bertholdt as well.

Setting the more grating touches aside — the papers only called it a carriage accident, and not one of them said how it had actually happened. If it had actually been a coincidence, Gauss wouldn't have sent word through a royal guardsman.

"You really don't need to go to him?"

Harold asked, looking up from the paper.

Linda gave a small snort. The shaken look from in front of the guardsman was nowhere in sight.

"If he'd needed me, Master Grisha would have asked directly."

"...Fair enough."

"So it's fine."

That morning, Linda had moved into the room Harold had prepared for her. When Harold had shown her the letter, she'd made up her mind without hesitation.

"It looks like I'm needed more here."

Harold didn't press further and thanked her.

"Uncle!"

Edwin came running into the kitchen, dragging Edgar behind him.

One way or another, Harold had ended up staying with the children after all. Since that was how things had turned out, he was going to watch them a little more carefully.

The time they'd spent together was starting to add up, but he was still an uncle they'd only known for a month or two. At first they might have latched onto him without a second thought because he looked like their father, but it could start to feel strange to them later.

Or, once they'd settled a little, the reality of their father's death might hit them properly. Every so often, even Harold caught himself feeling as though his brother's death were some absurd joke.

"You're not going out today?"

"I don't go out every day..."

Edwin circled around Harold. His playful smile didn't have a shadow in it.

Whether the boys were really all right, or only putting on a good face, Harold couldn't tell just by looking. He only wanted them to be all right.

"Really not going?"

"Do you want me to go out?"

He asked it just to tease. Edwin didn't answer, only grinned.

"No! I like it when you're home!"

Wasn't that reply a beat too late?

Harold looked at Edwin. When their eyes met, Edwin beamed.

Harold gave a shrug.

He'd been about to say something else to Edwin when Edgar cut in. The familiar teddy bear was tucked under Edgar's arm.

"Uncle, when are we going to fetch the plant encyclopedia?"

Unlike Edwin, Edgar hadn't seemed particularly interested in the garden, but once he'd actually planted the seeds with Linda, something had shifted. Even now, the moment he'd come into the kitchen, he'd slipped a look at the pots by the window.

The way he then pretended he hadn't, all prim and offhand, was almost funny. It was even more so with Edwin, who'd already lost interest in his uncle and gone bounding straight over to the pots.

"I'm hungry!"

Not that the pots held Edwin's attention long either.

This time Edwin was clinging to Linda.

"Already? You only just had breakfast."

"But I'm hungry..."

"Well now... we don't have anything ready right now."

Linda spoke as though troubled, but she wasn't the sort to leave a hungry child hanging.

"I'm hungry!"

"Shall I make you some toast?"

"Hmm..."

Edwin rocked back and forth as he thought it over, then answered.

"I want bread with jam. Toast would be too filling. I have to eat lunch later too."

Edwin puffed out his chest and made a solemn face.

Linda laughed and played along, and got out the bread and jam.

"And Young Master Edgar?"

"..."

Edgar took a seat at the table after Edwin.

It was a homely scene, rarely seen in a noble household. Small as it was, the manor had been built as a royal residence, and inside there were rooms sized for every purpose. Beyond the heavy wooden door off the kitchen was a fine dining room.

But Harold didn't want to raise his nephews into people who could only eat in a fine dining room. His brother would have understood — not if the way the boys sat down at the plain old wooden table in the kitchen without a moment's hesitation was anything to go by.

"Uncle. So when are we going to get the books?"

Edgar's lip stuck out.

Harold smiled fondly and set a plate down in front of Edgar. There was a matching one in front of Edwin.

"You really love books, do you?"

Just like his brother.

His brother, too, had never had his hands off a book at that age. And because Albrecht had been the firstborn, when the second child came along and wouldn't so much as sit still, let alone read, their parents had apparently been at quite a loss. Harold had heard the stories much later.

Of course, his brother had never re-read a book he'd already been through... Harold could only hope his good-natured nephews hadn't inherited that particular trait.

"Books are a treasury of knowledge, you know."

Edwin said it with a rather grown-up look. The fork he was clutching took a good half of the gravitas out of it.

"But it's not enough just to hoard knowledge. You have to know how to use it."

Linda cut in as she placed a slice of bread on each plate.

"You could read a plant encyclopedia a hundred times, and it still wouldn't be the same as growing something yourself. There are things you can only learn by doing."

"Books aren't good?"

"Oh, they are. What I mean is, read plenty of books and then think about how to actually use what you've learned."

It felt like heavy talk for eight-year-olds, but Edgar and Edwin nodded along.

Had they really followed it? The way Edwin's eyes were tracking the glass jar of jam suggested he might just be putting on a show of understanding.

Linda seemed to have reached the same conclusion, and didn't press the point.

When she opened the jar, a sweet strawberry smell spread. Edwin swallowed.

"Shall Uncle spread it for you?"

"No! I'll do it!"

Edwin scooped up a heaped spoonful of jam. Pleased that the wobbling mound had somehow stayed put, he thrust the spoon out at Edgar to show off.

"Look, Edgar. I got so much."

"You're going to drop it."

"I won't. Look, will you?"

"I'm telling you, it's going to fall!"

"I said I've got it."

Amused by the frown on his twin's face, Edwin poked the spoon at Edgar in a teasing jab.

The already precarious lump of jam wobbled hard. Just as Harold was about to give Edwin a warning—

The jam started to slide, and startled, Edwin moved and knocked his arm into the jar.

Crash!

"Ah!"

"Oh, sorry, Edgar!"

"Edwin!!"

Suddenly covered in sticky jam, Edgar glared at Edwin, fuming.

"My bear!"

Edgar seemed more upset about the jam on the bear than about the jam on him. The fur was brown, so Harold couldn't really see the stain, but it clearly mattered to Edgar.

Edgar shoved the bear at Edwin.

"You got it dirty!"

"It didn't even get that much on it."

"Edwin!"

"Here, I'll wipe it off."

Edwin licked a fingertip and rubbed at the bear's arm. Horrified, Edgar snatched the bear back.

"What are you doing!"

"I said I'd clean it."

"Forget it!"

Finally, unable to watch any longer, Linda stepped in.

"There now, Young Master Edgar. Come upstairs and change. Linda will clean the bear for you nicely."

"...I want to clean it."

Edgar hesitated, then asked Linda,

"How... do I get it clean?"

"Shall I show you?"

Edgar nodded. Linda smiled brightly and held out a hand.

"First, let's change your clothes. And a bath? Oh, my — it's in your hair too."

Edgar stared at Linda's hand.

Harold found himself tensing up despite himself. Edgar's trial period with Linda wasn't over yet. Edgar hadn't gone to Linda first on his own before.

But Edgar took Linda's hand without a word.

Whether it was because he was still annoyed at Edwin for spilling the jam, or because Linda had said she'd show him how to clean the bear, Harold couldn't tell... but whatever the reason, Edgar had gone to Linda first for the first time.

Watching Edgar head upstairs with Linda, Harold smiled — and then, a beat late, snapped back to himself.

Endearing and heartwarming as it was, as the boys' primary caretaker Harold had a job to do.

"Edwin?"

"Yes, Uncle?"

Edwin was picking up the spoon from the floor. His answer was all innocence.

"You know you're not supposed to fool around at the table. It's dangerous."

"Um... yes. I'm sorry."

"You apologize to Edgar later too. Understood?"

"Yes!"

Only then did Edwin nod, looking a little sheepish.

Harold laughed softly and ruffled Edwin's hair. The overturned jar was rolling around on the floor. Harold picked it up and set it back on the table.

Better to clean up the jam on the floor too, before it stained. Looking around for a cloth, Harold felt a gentle tug at his shirt and looked down.

"Uncle."

Edwin was looking up at him with clear eyes.

The blue eyes he saw every day looked unusually clear. Something about it felt off. The smile on his face was the same as ever.

"There's something I want to ask you."

"Yes. What is it?"

Edwin crooked a finger. Harold obligingly bent down.

Edwin cupped a hand to Harold's ear. As though someone might overhear.

A small breath came close. Thinking maybe it was some kind of prank, Harold felt a small pull of anticipation. How wild could a little kid's prank really be...

"Did Dad really die in an accident?"