17. Debt Relationship
It had been three days since Erna had been confined to her home when Pavel's letter arrived.
Lisa, who received a letter delivered not by the postman but by an errand boy, hurried up the stairs. When she knocked, there was no answer, so she quietly opened the door. Erna, who was sitting at her desk, jumped up in surprise. The rose arrangement she had been working on since morning was still unfinished. It was unusual for Erna, who was known for her quick hands.
“The letter you’ve been waiting for has arrived! It’s from Mr. Pavel Lore.”
Lisa placed the letter directly into the hand of the girl, who was shyly avoiding eye contact, as if she'd just been caught doing something wrong. Only then did Erna regain her bright smile.
“You must reply quickly, Miss.”
Erna's eyes widened at Lisa's urging.
"Now?"
"Yes. The messenger who brought this letter is waiting in the backyard. Mr. Lore asked you to get a reply right away."
Erna, taken aback by the unexpected words, looked again at the letter in her hand. It was a letter asking if they could take a walk along the river that evening.
Erna quickly sat down at her desk and scribbled down a reply. In her haste, she dropped a few drops of ink, but she didn't have time to rewrite the letter.
Lisa handed the letter while the wax hadn't yet hardened, and hurried out of the bedroom. Only after the sound of her footsteps faded down the hallway did Erna breathe a sigh of relief.
I'm meeting Pavel this evening.
As that thought crossed Erna's mind, she felt aggrieved and upset again.
He couldn't tell anyone the truth about the ordeal the Prince had caused him. He was so afraid of even the slightest misunderstanding. Not only did he grab her wrist, but he also covered her body with his. His lips even brushed against her neck. It was such an immoral act; if her grandmother knew, she might faint.
Erna brought her hand back to the back of her neck, where a red mark remained from her habitual rubbing. The more she tried to erase it, the clearer the memory became. The irregular breathing, the hot, damp breath, the menacing weight of a large, solid body. Erna could recall it all as clearly as if it were present.
“It’s a poisonous mushroom.”
Erna shuddered slightly, recalling Lisa's warning. The beautiful, colorful, poisonous mushrooms she'd often seen while walking through the forest overlapped the face of that vicious man.
“That’s what happened.”
Erna closed her eyes tightly, as if trying to erase the memory of that giant poisonous mushroom.
She just prayed for evening to come quickly, so she could meet Pavel and vent her frustrations.
“Wouldn’t it be better to call your doctor?”
The butler's gaze, examining Bjorn's bare back, was filled with clear concern again today.
As he had for the past three days, Bjorn casually put on his shirt. Every time he buttoned it, a sigh escaped his lips, a hollow laugh. It was like the moment he'd first noticed the bruises on his back after waking up from the alcohol.
He vaguely remembers being hit pretty hard, but he never thought he'd end up like this. It was quite a monumental event, the first time in his life he'd been beaten so hard he'd have bruises.
What? A deer?
As the adoring praise for Erna, heard here and there, came to mind, Bjorn began to giggle aloud. He suddenly felt regretful that he was the only one who knew the true nature of the beast.
She's not just a beast. She's also a thief. A very bold thief.
Remembering his trophy, which gleamed in the woman's grasp, Bjorn buttoned the last button of his shirt. Butler Greg, with a swift and silent movement, handed him the tie he had been holding on a tray.
“If you find the doctor burdensome, then at least get treatment...”
"It's okay."
Bjorn turned around, tightening the knot on his tie.
“Is there anything serious that can happen with just this much damage?”
“Oh, you’re right? Who dares, Your Highness!”
Greg's eyes widened.
"There is."
Bjorn nonchalantly picked up the jacket he had almost dropped.
“A ferocious beast.”
Bjorn, smiling and putting on the jacket, walked out of the dressing room with a long stride. He waved away Greg, who was following behind with a clothes brush, and Mrs. Fitz approached him as if she had been waiting.
“They said you were injured...”
"It's okay."
Bjorn smiled at Mrs. Fitz, who was expressing her concern with a face like that of a butler, just as she had before.
“If my life seems to be in danger, let’s ask Mrs. Fitz for help first.”
“Prince!”
Even in front of her, who was giving him a stern expression, Bjorn continued to babble without batting an eyelid.
Mrs. Fitz simply sighed and stepped back. She knew from long experience that further nagging would be pointless.
Mrs. Fitz, her expression softening, followed Bjorn and began reporting on the Grand Duke's duties that needed to be completed today. The final message came after Bjorn arrived in the study.
“And I think you should also respond to the invitation from Harbor Street.”
Mrs. Fitz, who had maintained a composed demeanor throughout, added in an embarrassed tone. Bjorn, who had just sat down at his desk, raised his narrowed eyes and met her gaze.
“If you go to Harbor, great-aunt?”
"Yes, Your Highness. The Marchioness of Harbour is hosting a party in two days. You should decide whether or not to attend by today at the latest."
“Ah. It’s the season for my great-aunt to brag about her connections.”
Bjorn nodded and looked through the papers on the desk.
The Marchioness of Harbour, who boasted a wide network of connections, was renowned for her grand parties. It was no exaggeration to say that she was a gathering place for all the socialites.
“Then I will send her a letter of rejection.”
"No."
Bjorn, who had been looking over the report on the previous investment, raised his head again.
“I said I’d go.”
Mrs. Fitz's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected answer.
“But, Prince, as you know, the Marchioness of Harbour...”
“I know. I’m sure she invited Princess Gladys, too.”
For the Marchioness of Harbour, the boisterous parties she threw, drawing in all manner of connections and the various incidents they entailed, were the greatest joy of her later years. There was no way she could miss the former Crown Prince and his wife, the biggest attraction of this social season. And Erna Hardy, a woman who would be second only to the most talked-about of the extravagant.
“If I may venture to say so, there are many mouths that want to speak maliciously about Princess Gladys and the Prince.”
Mrs. Fitz looked extremely worried.
“Everyone is expecting so much, so why not do something nice for them?”
Bjorn opened the cap of the fountain pen on the pen tray and nodded nonchalantly.
"I'd like to give my great-aunt, who doesn't have much time left, a gift of great joy. Oh, of course, since she has a chronic illness, I'll have to keep it within the limits that won't strain her heart."
“Wow, Prince!”
"Even if the Marchioness of Harbour goes to hell, she'll still be throwing parties, connecting with Satan and the devil. Don't you think so?"
“Even so, is it hell for the Marchioness?”
"My great-aunt can't live in heaven. Hell, full of troublemakers, is heaven for the Marchioness."
Bjorn smiled and signed the bottom of the report. The numbers on the document were satisfactory, as was his great-aunt's party, which would provide an easy way to catch the thief.
“I will do as you command.”
Although embarrassed, Mrs. Fitz obediently followed the order.
Bjorn concluded the conversation with a brief glance, puffing on a cigar as he approached the study window. From the Abbey River, the cheers of the group practicing rowing could be heard, as usual.
“You crazy kids.”
Bjorn let out a long puff of cigarette smoke and cursed softly, almost as if whispering to Milirado.
Amidst the savage shouts, the sunlight, and the fishy wind, Bjorn pondered his debt to the woman. He leisurely considered which method would yield the most satisfying number.
Pavel arrived at the Grand Duke's bridge earlier than the appointed time.
This bridge, spanning the lower reaches of the River Abbey, was renowned for its gilded statues adorning its railings and its elaborate, ornate streetlights. It was named after Philip II, who had built it to commemorate his military victories, but most people simply called it the Grand Duke's Bridge, simply because it connected Schwerin Palace, the Grand Duke's residence, to the city center.
Pavel leaned against the railing, looking down the path Erna would soon follow. Except for events at Schwerin Palace, the area was generally deserted, and the path was deserted. That was why they had chosen this place as their meeting place.
It was about a week before the art exhibition's opening ceremony that he heard the news that Erna had come to Schwerin to live with her father. Miss Hardy. Who would have thought that name, along with the former Crown Prince and his wife, was the hottest in high society these days? Erna Hardy.
The rumors he heard about Erna from his upper-class friends were all maliciously misrepresented. She was a vulgar, scheming woman blinded by marriage. There couldn't have been a more incongruous reputation for Erna. That's why he changed his mind about visiting her immediately.
Pavel, having encountered it indirectly, knew the depths of high society. It was no exaggeration to say it lived and died by reputation. Even if they were friends in Burford, here, they were a noblewoman and a painter. Even a hint of intimacy could spark a scandal. That was likely why Erna hadn't shared her news.
So he planned to quietly contact her when the time was right, but he never expected to encounter her like that at an art exhibition. It was equally shocking to see that, in just a year since they last saw each other, that childish country girl had transformed into a perfect young woman.
“Pavel!”
Pavel, staring at the clear, cloudless summer sky, lowered his gaze to a familiar voice coming from afar. It was the face he'd expected: Erna, waving at him. A girl, presumably a maid, was also present.
Pavel, who had been studying Erna as she approached him with brisk steps, suddenly burst out laughing. Where had the perfect lady of that day gone? Erna had returned to the country girl he knew: a floral dress, a hat full of ribbons and flowers, and a smile all the more delightful with a hint of shyness. It was undoubtedly the Baden girl, his friend Erna.
The two people who had been approaching each other stopped a step apart. Erna was the first to extend her hand.
“Should I call you Mr. Lore today, too?”
"No."
Pavel shook his head and firmly grabbed Erna's outstretched hand.
“Today is Pavel.”
“My friend Pavel?”
Pavel nodded readily as he looked at Erna, who was asking again.
Erna's face, beaming with joy, shone like sunlight. Pavel, staring blankly at her, found himself smiling, a smile resembling Erna's.
It was the first time in a year that they met face-to-face in real life.
It had been three days since Erna had been confined to her home when Pavel's letter arrived.
Lisa, who received a letter delivered not by the postman but by an errand boy, hurried up the stairs. When she knocked, there was no answer, so she quietly opened the door. Erna, who was sitting at her desk, jumped up in surprise. The rose arrangement she had been working on since morning was still unfinished. It was unusual for Erna, who was known for her quick hands.
“The letter you’ve been waiting for has arrived! It’s from Mr. Pavel Lore.”
Lisa placed the letter directly into the hand of the girl, who was shyly avoiding eye contact, as if she'd just been caught doing something wrong. Only then did Erna regain her bright smile.
“You must reply quickly, Miss.”
Erna's eyes widened at Lisa's urging.
"Now?"
"Yes. The messenger who brought this letter is waiting in the backyard. Mr. Lore asked you to get a reply right away."
Erna, taken aback by the unexpected words, looked again at the letter in her hand. It was a letter asking if they could take a walk along the river that evening.
Erna quickly sat down at her desk and scribbled down a reply. In her haste, she dropped a few drops of ink, but she didn't have time to rewrite the letter.
Lisa handed the letter while the wax hadn't yet hardened, and hurried out of the bedroom. Only after the sound of her footsteps faded down the hallway did Erna breathe a sigh of relief.
I'm meeting Pavel this evening.
As that thought crossed Erna's mind, she felt aggrieved and upset again.
He couldn't tell anyone the truth about the ordeal the Prince had caused him. He was so afraid of even the slightest misunderstanding. Not only did he grab her wrist, but he also covered her body with his. His lips even brushed against her neck. It was such an immoral act; if her grandmother knew, she might faint.
Erna brought her hand back to the back of her neck, where a red mark remained from her habitual rubbing. The more she tried to erase it, the clearer the memory became. The irregular breathing, the hot, damp breath, the menacing weight of a large, solid body. Erna could recall it all as clearly as if it were present.
“It’s a poisonous mushroom.”
Erna shuddered slightly, recalling Lisa's warning. The beautiful, colorful, poisonous mushrooms she'd often seen while walking through the forest overlapped the face of that vicious man.
“That’s what happened.”
Erna closed her eyes tightly, as if trying to erase the memory of that giant poisonous mushroom.
She just prayed for evening to come quickly, so she could meet Pavel and vent her frustrations.
***
“Wouldn’t it be better to call your doctor?”
The butler's gaze, examining Bjorn's bare back, was filled with clear concern again today.
As he had for the past three days, Bjorn casually put on his shirt. Every time he buttoned it, a sigh escaped his lips, a hollow laugh. It was like the moment he'd first noticed the bruises on his back after waking up from the alcohol.
He vaguely remembers being hit pretty hard, but he never thought he'd end up like this. It was quite a monumental event, the first time in his life he'd been beaten so hard he'd have bruises.
What? A deer?
As the adoring praise for Erna, heard here and there, came to mind, Bjorn began to giggle aloud. He suddenly felt regretful that he was the only one who knew the true nature of the beast.
She's not just a beast. She's also a thief. A very bold thief.
Remembering his trophy, which gleamed in the woman's grasp, Bjorn buttoned the last button of his shirt. Butler Greg, with a swift and silent movement, handed him the tie he had been holding on a tray.
“If you find the doctor burdensome, then at least get treatment...”
"It's okay."
Bjorn turned around, tightening the knot on his tie.
“Is there anything serious that can happen with just this much damage?”
“Oh, you’re right? Who dares, Your Highness!”
Greg's eyes widened.
"There is."
Bjorn nonchalantly picked up the jacket he had almost dropped.
“A ferocious beast.”
Bjorn, smiling and putting on the jacket, walked out of the dressing room with a long stride. He waved away Greg, who was following behind with a clothes brush, and Mrs. Fitz approached him as if she had been waiting.
“They said you were injured...”
"It's okay."
Bjorn smiled at Mrs. Fitz, who was expressing her concern with a face like that of a butler, just as she had before.
“If my life seems to be in danger, let’s ask Mrs. Fitz for help first.”
“Prince!”
Even in front of her, who was giving him a stern expression, Bjorn continued to babble without batting an eyelid.
Mrs. Fitz simply sighed and stepped back. She knew from long experience that further nagging would be pointless.
Mrs. Fitz, her expression softening, followed Bjorn and began reporting on the Grand Duke's duties that needed to be completed today. The final message came after Bjorn arrived in the study.
“And I think you should also respond to the invitation from Harbor Street.”
Mrs. Fitz, who had maintained a composed demeanor throughout, added in an embarrassed tone. Bjorn, who had just sat down at his desk, raised his narrowed eyes and met her gaze.
“If you go to Harbor, great-aunt?”
"Yes, Your Highness. The Marchioness of Harbour is hosting a party in two days. You should decide whether or not to attend by today at the latest."
“Ah. It’s the season for my great-aunt to brag about her connections.”
Bjorn nodded and looked through the papers on the desk.
The Marchioness of Harbour, who boasted a wide network of connections, was renowned for her grand parties. It was no exaggeration to say that she was a gathering place for all the socialites.
“Then I will send her a letter of rejection.”
"No."
Bjorn, who had been looking over the report on the previous investment, raised his head again.
“I said I’d go.”
Mrs. Fitz's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected answer.
“But, Prince, as you know, the Marchioness of Harbour...”
“I know. I’m sure she invited Princess Gladys, too.”
For the Marchioness of Harbour, the boisterous parties she threw, drawing in all manner of connections and the various incidents they entailed, were the greatest joy of her later years. There was no way she could miss the former Crown Prince and his wife, the biggest attraction of this social season. And Erna Hardy, a woman who would be second only to the most talked-about of the extravagant.
“If I may venture to say so, there are many mouths that want to speak maliciously about Princess Gladys and the Prince.”
Mrs. Fitz looked extremely worried.
“Everyone is expecting so much, so why not do something nice for them?”
Bjorn opened the cap of the fountain pen on the pen tray and nodded nonchalantly.
"I'd like to give my great-aunt, who doesn't have much time left, a gift of great joy. Oh, of course, since she has a chronic illness, I'll have to keep it within the limits that won't strain her heart."
“Wow, Prince!”
"Even if the Marchioness of Harbour goes to hell, she'll still be throwing parties, connecting with Satan and the devil. Don't you think so?"
“Even so, is it hell for the Marchioness?”
"My great-aunt can't live in heaven. Hell, full of troublemakers, is heaven for the Marchioness."
Bjorn smiled and signed the bottom of the report. The numbers on the document were satisfactory, as was his great-aunt's party, which would provide an easy way to catch the thief.
“I will do as you command.”
Although embarrassed, Mrs. Fitz obediently followed the order.
Bjorn concluded the conversation with a brief glance, puffing on a cigar as he approached the study window. From the Abbey River, the cheers of the group practicing rowing could be heard, as usual.
“You crazy kids.”
Bjorn let out a long puff of cigarette smoke and cursed softly, almost as if whispering to Milirado.
Amidst the savage shouts, the sunlight, and the fishy wind, Bjorn pondered his debt to the woman. He leisurely considered which method would yield the most satisfying number.
***
Pavel arrived at the Grand Duke's bridge earlier than the appointed time.
This bridge, spanning the lower reaches of the River Abbey, was renowned for its gilded statues adorning its railings and its elaborate, ornate streetlights. It was named after Philip II, who had built it to commemorate his military victories, but most people simply called it the Grand Duke's Bridge, simply because it connected Schwerin Palace, the Grand Duke's residence, to the city center.
Pavel leaned against the railing, looking down the path Erna would soon follow. Except for events at Schwerin Palace, the area was generally deserted, and the path was deserted. That was why they had chosen this place as their meeting place.
It was about a week before the art exhibition's opening ceremony that he heard the news that Erna had come to Schwerin to live with her father. Miss Hardy. Who would have thought that name, along with the former Crown Prince and his wife, was the hottest in high society these days? Erna Hardy.
The rumors he heard about Erna from his upper-class friends were all maliciously misrepresented. She was a vulgar, scheming woman blinded by marriage. There couldn't have been a more incongruous reputation for Erna. That's why he changed his mind about visiting her immediately.
Pavel, having encountered it indirectly, knew the depths of high society. It was no exaggeration to say it lived and died by reputation. Even if they were friends in Burford, here, they were a noblewoman and a painter. Even a hint of intimacy could spark a scandal. That was likely why Erna hadn't shared her news.
So he planned to quietly contact her when the time was right, but he never expected to encounter her like that at an art exhibition. It was equally shocking to see that, in just a year since they last saw each other, that childish country girl had transformed into a perfect young woman.
“Pavel!”
Pavel, staring at the clear, cloudless summer sky, lowered his gaze to a familiar voice coming from afar. It was the face he'd expected: Erna, waving at him. A girl, presumably a maid, was also present.
Pavel, who had been studying Erna as she approached him with brisk steps, suddenly burst out laughing. Where had the perfect lady of that day gone? Erna had returned to the country girl he knew: a floral dress, a hat full of ribbons and flowers, and a smile all the more delightful with a hint of shyness. It was undoubtedly the Baden girl, his friend Erna.
The two people who had been approaching each other stopped a step apart. Erna was the first to extend her hand.
“Should I call you Mr. Lore today, too?”
"No."
Pavel shook his head and firmly grabbed Erna's outstretched hand.
“Today is Pavel.”
“My friend Pavel?”
Pavel nodded readily as he looked at Erna, who was asking again.
Erna's face, beaming with joy, shone like sunlight. Pavel, staring blankly at her, found himself smiling, a smile resembling Erna's.
It was the first time in a year that they met face-to-face in real life.
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