After dinner, the hosts went to the conservatory for tea.
The conservatory was lavishly decorated, with wallpaper adorned in soft purple fabric dotted with tiny yellow velvet flowers. The seating varied in size and shape and was placed casually around the room. There were long benches, small armchairs, round ottomans, and little stools. A black piano stood by the window, and a tall bookshelf added to the decor. The guests gathered in groups, with the women fanning themselves and speaking in low tones, while the men engaged in spirited discussions, loudly airing grievances about politics.
The butler gave me a nod, signaling for me to leave the parlor with him, as fewer attendants were needed there now.
"You did well tonight," the butler said approvingly.
"You flatter me," I replied.
"With Claude's broken leg, you'll take his place for the time being. If you perform well, I'll recommend to the master that you be promoted to senior valet. Work hard," he said, giving my shoulder a pat.
I was a bit surprised; I hadn't expected this.
As we walked, the butler grumbled, "I'll also have to find a new lower valet to fill your previous role. It's hard to find good help in the countryside; they'd need to be trained all over again."
I followed him down the empty corridor.
"What do you think of the Baron?" he suddenly asked.
I glanced at the old butler, noticing the slight awkwardness on his wrinkled face. "No, I don't mean to discuss the young master," he clarified. "It's just… you know, I'm curious about your impression, since he may become the new master of Mormont Manor."
"This was only our first meeting, so it's hard to say… but haven't you known him for a long time?" I asked.
"Not at all," the butler replied. "Though our family has served the Bruces for generations, today was the first time I'd seen young master Oscar. You know, his late father and our Viscount were on poor terms. If he agrees to take one of the young ladies as his wife, then everything will be fine. I'm only concerned he may refuse."
"You needn't worry too much. He seems every bit the respectable gentleman and should understand the Viscount's position. I don't foresee any issues," I said.
"Let's hope so. And please, keep our conversation tonight to yourself," the butler said.
"Yes, sir," I replied, bowing to him.
"Get some rest. We'll know the outcome tomorrow," the butler said.
...
The next day, after serving breakfast to the masters, Annie quietly told me, "The Viscountess's personal maid, Eve, said that the Baron directly refused the suggestion of marrying one of the young ladies. He even mentioned that he would leave the manor tomorrow, and the Viscountess is absolutely furious."
I remained silent for a moment, keeping my head down and continuing my work. Once the masters had finished their breakfast, I sat quietly in the servants' quarters, waiting for what I knew was coming.
The fireplace burned brightly, crackling with sparks. Two maids embroidered nearby, speaking in low voices. A thick layer of frost had formed on the windowpanes, and the weather outside was gloomy, as if a heavy snowfall was imminent.
After some time had passed, Housekeeper Selena rushed in, ordering the two maids, "Quickly! Go prepare the braziers!"
I stood up immediately and asked her, "Has something happened?"
Her face was pale, and she looked at me anxiously, as if wanting to say something but hesitating. I moved closer and asked in a low voice, "What happened? You look terrible."
Once the two maids had left the room, Selena finally spoke in a panicked voice, "Something terrible has happened! What are we going to do?"
"Calm down and tell me what's wrong. No need to be so anxious!"
"How can I not be anxious? That man… that man brought some filthy disease from who-knows-where! He'll kill us all, oh my god!"
"You mean the Baron who arrived yesterday?"
"Who else could it be? This morning, he didn't get out of bed, saying he felt ill and had a fever. The doctor came to see him and said he was running a fever. But by midday, his face was covered in red pustules—one after another. It was revolting, terrifying! It's smallpox!"
"Did the doctor return to confirm it was smallpox?"
"The doctor heard it might be smallpox and refused to come over. The masters and guests have locked themselves in their rooms out of fear. The Viscount ordered me to burn, bury, or throw away anything he touched yesterday."
"We're not certain yet; try not to panic," I said.
"Not certain? One of his two personal valets had already fallen ill with the same symptoms and a high fever! If it's not smallpox, then what else could it be?" Selena paced nervously. "The Viscount, for the sake of appearances, wants me to find someone to care for him. It's outrageous—he should be sent away immediately."
"Who is caring for him now?"
"No one is willing to go, not even his other healthy valet. He's threatened to resign."
"I'll go."
"What did you say?"
"I said, I'll go take care of him."
"Are you out of your mind? That could be smallpox! If you catch it, it could be fatal! We have other lower valets; there's no need for you. Let Simon go instead." This time, Selena and I had a better relationship than in my previous life, and she was actually trying to send Simon in my place.
"It's fine; I'll be all right. I don't think it's smallpox."
In the end, I persuaded Selena.
Carrying a tray, I entered the Baron's room alone.
The room was dim, with thick, dark red curtains blocking the light from the windows.
A man lay quietly on the large bed under dark blue blankets. His face was flushed, his breathing rapid, and red rashes dotted his face. He seemed to be sleeping fitfully.
I placed the tray with a bowl of cool water on the bedside table.
I touched his forehead—it was burning hot. My movement woke him, and he looked at me for a moment, frowning as he asked, "Who are you? Why are you in my room? Where's my valet?"
His voice was hoarse and weak, and he seemed exhausted just speaking those few words.
"My lord, your personal valet has fallen ill, so I'll be taking care of you for now." I bowed, one hand on my chest and the other behind my back.
The room was silent, the fire in the hearth long extinguished, and it was rather cold inside.
He took a few labored breaths, shivering slightly as he murmured, "I feel very cold."
"I'll light the fire now." I went to the fireplace and rekindled it. I wasn't very skilled, and soon the room was filled with smoke. By the time I returned to his bedside, he had fallen asleep again.
I took a cloth, dipped it in cool water, folded it neatly, and gently placed it on the Baron's forehead.
There was a small stool beside the bed, and I sat down, doing my best to remain quiet.
As the fire gradually warmed the room, I spent the afternoon by his side, periodically replacing the cloth on his forehead. Near dusk, the room grew dim, and the light from the fireplace cast shadows on his face. I found myself watching him, lost in thought.
The man on the bed stirred, struggling to sit up before suddenly vomiting violently. He hadn't eaten anything, so his stomach was empty, and he only retched up bitter stomach acid. The bed linens and his undergarments were now soiled.
I helped him change into clean clothes and replaced the dirty sheets.
Afterward, he seemed a little better. Sitting in a chair, he looked at me and asked, "What illness do I have? Why hasn't a doctor come to see me?"
"It's snowing heavily outside, making it difficult for the carriage to travel," I lied.
"What's on my face?" He sat dazed in the armchair, directly facing a mirror. Touching his face, he stared at his reflection.
Suddenly, he widened his eyes, breathing heavily as he shouted at me, "Tell me—what is this? What illness do I have? Where's my valet? And the doctor? Bring the doctor! Bring the doctor now!"
His eyes, wide open and bloodshot, were terrifying to look at.
"It's nothing serious, my lord. Please don't panic," I said.
But he pulled open his clothing to look at his chest, where the same red rashes had appeared. He looked in disbelief, his lips trembling slightly. "What is this? Is it… smallpox?"
"No, my lord."
"No? Then tell me what it is! Go get the doctor! Bring the doctor!" he shouted, before being overtaken by a fit of coughing.
I gently patted his back to help him catch his breath, and once he calmed down, I said, "The doctor will come as soon as the weather clears."
"The weather clears? Nonsense! They're not coming back—they've left me here to die. Am I going to die? Am I?" He grasped my hand, his face pale and filled with fear.
"You won't, my lord. I'll take care of you, and you'll be fine."
He leaned back weakly into the armchair, then looked at me intently for a moment before suddenly asking, "What's your name?"
"Owen. Owen Eric," I replied.