37. The disappearance of Miss Hardy
“Give him back, Viscount Hardy.”
Baroness Baden skipped the formalities of socializing and got to the point. She knew it was neither poised nor elegant, but she chose not to dwell on it. Life has its moments of exception, and now, with Walter Hardy before her eyes, was one of them.
“What are you talking about, Baroness?”
Walter Hardy, who had been staring at her with a drunken, dumbfounded expression, laughed and asked back. His unkempt appearance, greasy hair, and pale complexion were unbelievable. He looked as if he had aged without her noticing, almost as if he were her peer.
“Literally, it means that I will take Erna back.”
"Hah..."
“I don’t want to keep Erna with a father like you, who ruined that good child’s reputation like this, even for a single day.”
"Look here, Baroness. If you knew who owes you your continued residence in that house, you wouldn't be making such a rash statement."
“I don’t need that house that I saved thanks to you.”
Baroness Baden raised her head and sternly declared.
It was a decision made in tears the day they learned how Erna was being treated in the city. The two servants shared the same sentiment. The country mansion was a precious home for their entire lives, but nothing in this world could be more precious than Erna.
“It’s your house. You can take it or sell it, as you wish. Just give Erna back immediately.”
Baroness Baden concluded the conversation, rehearsed countless times during the long journey to Schwerin, with a forceful and articulate announcement. The order, the tone, the expression, the posture—it was a perfect success, without a single flaw. So now all that remained was for the Viscount to present Erna, her granddaughter, whose mere mention of her name brought tears to her eyes.
“Surely... you’ve really come to find Erna, Baroness? Are you serious and not just making up excuses?”
Walter Hardy, who had been studying her with suspicious eyes, now had a serious expression on his face. The Viscountess sitting next to him also felt the same way.
“So, Erna didn’t return to Buford. Is that what you’re saying?”
"What are you talking about? Erna going back to Buford?"
Baroness Baden's voice trembled faintly as she asked again, not knowing anything.
Walter Hardy, feeling a sudden sobering sensation, let out a breathless, "Huh?" It was clear that the old man really didn't know where Erna was. He wasn't the kind of person who would sneak her out and pull off such a convincing stunt.
So, did this brazen thing really run away from home?
He looked at his wife, who was sitting beside him, with wide eyes. Brenda Hardy was also looking at him with a puzzled expression.
It was on a stormy morning that he discovered Erna was missing. It all started with the sobs of Erna's maid, who had brought her meal to her room.
Erna Hardy has disappeared.
Walter Hardy, who had been drinking until dawn, heard the news while still drunk. It was absurd, but he didn't pay much attention. After all, that little girl had nowhere else to go.
He planned to bring her back soon, properly discipline her, and then sell her off to a lower-ranking noble, or if that didn't work out, to a wealthy man without a title. But who would have thought that Baroness Baden would storm into this house, and to reclaim Erna at that?
Erna Hardy has disappeared.
He now had to take this fact seriously. Suddenly, his throat began to parry and his head began to pound. Baroness Baden, who had been quietly observing Walter Hardy, suddenly sat up, sighing, "Oh, my God!"
“Are you saying that Erna disappeared, and that her father was out drinking without even knowing where his daughter was, Walter Hardy?”
Her sharp rebuke reverberated through the Hardy family's drawing room. The servants, who had been glancing sideways at the country woman in her old-fashioned dress, adorned with tacky brooches and corsages, were frozen in a moment.
"To think that even this idiot would let Erna go, calling yourself father! I was so foolish. I was so foolish!"
Baroness Baden, who had been cursing Walter Hardy in a fiery rage, left the drawing room on trembling legs.
“Madam! Where is Miss Erna?”
Madame Greve, who had been pacing anxiously in the hallway, approached with a tearful face. Baroness Baden, barely able to catch her breath, clutched her hand, sweat-soaked in it.
“The officer... I need to meet the officer first.”
“Huh? A police officer, ma’am?”
“They say she disappeared.”
The blue eyes of the Baroness of Baden, looking at Madame Greve, were wet with tears.
“That girl, our Erna, has gone missing!”
Unlike the leisurely South, which exuded a resort-like atmosphere, the North was far more bustling and dynamic. Schwerin, with its port serving as a hub for ocean-going trade vessels and its extensive commercial district, was arguably the most prosperous financial city in Letzen, or indeed, the entire continent.
Bjorn opened the window facing the harbor and stepped out onto the balcony. Beyond the towering masts of the sailing ship, the blue sky stretched out, clear and cloudless. It was a typical Schwerin summer day, with no trace of a storm to be found.
Bjorn glanced at the still-firmly closed bedroom door, letting out a soft smile as he turned his gaze to the scenery beyond the railing. The townhouse, located in a residential area adjacent to the financial district, boasted both a commanding view and a prime location.
Originally owned by a businessman, this house was put up for quick sale last spring. The owner, who had been defrauded by an investment scam that had swept the city, had put it up for sale at a fraction of its market value in an effort to secure quick cash.
Bjorn purchased the townhouse without hesitation. Its proximity to the bank made it a convenient place to stay when visiting the area for business. Even if it didn't see much use, it would still be worth a significant profit if sold, so there was no reason to hesitate. Now that it's finally being used in this way, it was a brilliant decision in many ways.
“Your Highness.”
Bjorn, who was enjoying the cool, refreshing sea breeze, turned around at the sound of a voice behind him. Madame Fitz, with her stern expression, was looking at him with her usual stern gaze.
“Now she is ready to receive visitors. Let’s go.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Bjorn thanked Mrs. Fitz for her hard work with a smile and a greeting.
The night he brought Erna to this townhouse, he sent his coachman to fetch the Grand Duke's doctor and Mrs. Fitz. It was a decision he made, judging that he trusted them most. And they proved worthy of that trust. Of course, there was a minor friction with Mrs. Fitz.
'Oh my god.'
After hearing a brief explanation of why the daughter of the Hardy family was lying here in such a state of illness, Mrs. Fitz's face turned pale, and she muttered the same thing over and over again. She seemed to be having a hard time accepting the fact that she had wagered money on a lady.
'Oh my goodness, Prince!'
She shouted sternly, like a nanny scolding a young Prince for misbehaving. It suddenly struck her that she was old enough to no longer be punished by having to copy out prayers to calm her mind. At that moment, Madame Fitz looked like she could have punished herself with a hundred prayers. Thanks to this, she was able to pay more attention to Erna Hardy, so it wasn't a bad thing.
Bjorn, who had just left the balcony, knocked lightly on the door of the bedroom connected to the small living room.
"... Yes!"
As the hurried movement ceased, a small reply was heard.
“Come in, Prince.”
The voice was very clear and soft.
Erna stared down at her own hand, its knuckles white from the force with which she'd clasped it, for several minutes. After exchanging thanks and a few polite greetings, she was at a loss for words.
“Have some tea, Miss Hardy.”
When the ticking of the clock and the irregular beating of her heart became unbearable, fortunately, Bjorn spoke first.
Erna instinctively gasped for breath and looked up at him with trembling eyes. Bjorn was sitting with his legs crossed, clutching a teacup. The ordinary cup seemed like something from a child's household, perhaps because of his unusually large hands. Erna recalled that night, three days ago, when that hand had been tightly wrapped around her face in a downpour, and her cheeks flushed slightly as she lowered her gaze.
After a full day of illness, Erna finally regained consciousness. It was an old woman who introduced herself as Madame Fitz who told her where she was. Her story felt unreal, as if she were still in a dream.
'I have no say in the matter, Miss.'
Every time Erna indicated that she wanted to leave, she repeated the same answer.
'Let's talk to the Prince.'
No matter what was said, the conclusion was always the same.
Unable to ask permission, unable to even control herself, and unable to sneak away, all Erna could do was wait for the Prince who held the final say. And today, he finally arrived.
“Thanks to you, Prince, I’m feeling much better now. Thank you.”
Erna put down the teacup she had been fiddling with and spoke carefully.
Bjorn looked at Erna with eyes filled with a lukewarm interest. Her face still bore the bruises and scars, but at least her eyes were as bright as ever, much more pleasant to look at than that night.
Bjorn's gaze, which traced her rosy cheeks and lips, and the slender nape of her neck, stopped on the ribbon attached to the neckline of her dress. The memory of that rainy night, evoked by that decoration, made Bjorn smile.
Even though Erna's hat and cloak were removed, she was still drenched. Unable to just lie down, Bjorn first leaned her back against the sofa. It was then that Erna, who had been groaning, opened her eyes.
"You're wet, you need to change. If you keep doing this, you're in real trouble, Miss Hardy."
Erna flinched and grabbed the front of her dress as Bjorn slowly spoke with strength.
'I will, I will do it. I will do it. I will do it.'
Even with that body, Erna persisted in her stubbornness.
It seemed clear that even a touch would send her into a rage, as if she'd been attacked by a thug. Bjorn decided to back off. All he could offer was a towel to dry her body and a trunk containing her clothes, which he brought to the sofa.
Bjorn leaned against the closed bedroom door, listening for the woman's movements. The floor creaked, as if she'd fallen, a small groan, and the slow shuffling of her belongings were all heard amidst the irritating sound of the rain.
5 minutes.
After setting his own Maginot Line, Bjorn opened his pocket watch. Even then, he'd rather be treated like a pervert than have a woman flirt with such a pointless obsession. And indeed, he did. However, exactly five minutes later, when Bjorn opened the bedroom door, what greeted him was a sight entirely different from what he'd expected.
Erna lay sprawled on the sofa in her pajamas. Surprisingly, she had buttoned up her dress, and even the ribbon that closed her neckline was tied. The knot was so neat and tidy. It was a night of renewed awe at the fact that something as simple as a ribbon could convey the strength of human will and conviction.
A laughing Bjorn lifted Erna into his arms and laid her on the bed. He stayed by the foolish young lady's side until the attending doctor, awakened from his early morning sleep, arrived.
“I... Prince?”
Erna, who had been hesitating, opened her mouth again. Bjorn nodded, indicating that he was listening.
“I am truly grateful and sorry for always receiving such great help.”
The same old, repetitive greetings were boring.
“I can’t be bothered any longer, so I’ll have to go back now.”
The same was true of the obvious, humble words that were already expected.
“I must not let the Prince get caught up in another scandal because of me, and I must also find a friend...”
"Friend?"
Bjorn cut Erna off with a furrowed brow.
“Ah. Pavel.”
Erna's eyes widened at the name he whispered. Looking directly into those confused eyes, Bjorn smiled, almost softly.
"Right? Pavel Lore. The promising painter from the Academy of Arts who tried to run away with Miss Hardy."
“Give him back, Viscount Hardy.”
Baroness Baden skipped the formalities of socializing and got to the point. She knew it was neither poised nor elegant, but she chose not to dwell on it. Life has its moments of exception, and now, with Walter Hardy before her eyes, was one of them.
“What are you talking about, Baroness?”
Walter Hardy, who had been staring at her with a drunken, dumbfounded expression, laughed and asked back. His unkempt appearance, greasy hair, and pale complexion were unbelievable. He looked as if he had aged without her noticing, almost as if he were her peer.
“Literally, it means that I will take Erna back.”
"Hah..."
“I don’t want to keep Erna with a father like you, who ruined that good child’s reputation like this, even for a single day.”
"Look here, Baroness. If you knew who owes you your continued residence in that house, you wouldn't be making such a rash statement."
“I don’t need that house that I saved thanks to you.”
Baroness Baden raised her head and sternly declared.
It was a decision made in tears the day they learned how Erna was being treated in the city. The two servants shared the same sentiment. The country mansion was a precious home for their entire lives, but nothing in this world could be more precious than Erna.
“It’s your house. You can take it or sell it, as you wish. Just give Erna back immediately.”
Baroness Baden concluded the conversation, rehearsed countless times during the long journey to Schwerin, with a forceful and articulate announcement. The order, the tone, the expression, the posture—it was a perfect success, without a single flaw. So now all that remained was for the Viscount to present Erna, her granddaughter, whose mere mention of her name brought tears to her eyes.
“Surely... you’ve really come to find Erna, Baroness? Are you serious and not just making up excuses?”
Walter Hardy, who had been studying her with suspicious eyes, now had a serious expression on his face. The Viscountess sitting next to him also felt the same way.
“So, Erna didn’t return to Buford. Is that what you’re saying?”
"What are you talking about? Erna going back to Buford?"
Baroness Baden's voice trembled faintly as she asked again, not knowing anything.
Walter Hardy, feeling a sudden sobering sensation, let out a breathless, "Huh?" It was clear that the old man really didn't know where Erna was. He wasn't the kind of person who would sneak her out and pull off such a convincing stunt.
So, did this brazen thing really run away from home?
He looked at his wife, who was sitting beside him, with wide eyes. Brenda Hardy was also looking at him with a puzzled expression.
It was on a stormy morning that he discovered Erna was missing. It all started with the sobs of Erna's maid, who had brought her meal to her room.
Erna Hardy has disappeared.
Walter Hardy, who had been drinking until dawn, heard the news while still drunk. It was absurd, but he didn't pay much attention. After all, that little girl had nowhere else to go.
He planned to bring her back soon, properly discipline her, and then sell her off to a lower-ranking noble, or if that didn't work out, to a wealthy man without a title. But who would have thought that Baroness Baden would storm into this house, and to reclaim Erna at that?
Erna Hardy has disappeared.
He now had to take this fact seriously. Suddenly, his throat began to parry and his head began to pound. Baroness Baden, who had been quietly observing Walter Hardy, suddenly sat up, sighing, "Oh, my God!"
“Are you saying that Erna disappeared, and that her father was out drinking without even knowing where his daughter was, Walter Hardy?”
Her sharp rebuke reverberated through the Hardy family's drawing room. The servants, who had been glancing sideways at the country woman in her old-fashioned dress, adorned with tacky brooches and corsages, were frozen in a moment.
"To think that even this idiot would let Erna go, calling yourself father! I was so foolish. I was so foolish!"
Baroness Baden, who had been cursing Walter Hardy in a fiery rage, left the drawing room on trembling legs.
“Madam! Where is Miss Erna?”
Madame Greve, who had been pacing anxiously in the hallway, approached with a tearful face. Baroness Baden, barely able to catch her breath, clutched her hand, sweat-soaked in it.
“The officer... I need to meet the officer first.”
“Huh? A police officer, ma’am?”
“They say she disappeared.”
The blue eyes of the Baroness of Baden, looking at Madame Greve, were wet with tears.
“That girl, our Erna, has gone missing!”
***
Unlike the leisurely South, which exuded a resort-like atmosphere, the North was far more bustling and dynamic. Schwerin, with its port serving as a hub for ocean-going trade vessels and its extensive commercial district, was arguably the most prosperous financial city in Letzen, or indeed, the entire continent.
Bjorn opened the window facing the harbor and stepped out onto the balcony. Beyond the towering masts of the sailing ship, the blue sky stretched out, clear and cloudless. It was a typical Schwerin summer day, with no trace of a storm to be found.
Bjorn glanced at the still-firmly closed bedroom door, letting out a soft smile as he turned his gaze to the scenery beyond the railing. The townhouse, located in a residential area adjacent to the financial district, boasted both a commanding view and a prime location.
Originally owned by a businessman, this house was put up for quick sale last spring. The owner, who had been defrauded by an investment scam that had swept the city, had put it up for sale at a fraction of its market value in an effort to secure quick cash.
Bjorn purchased the townhouse without hesitation. Its proximity to the bank made it a convenient place to stay when visiting the area for business. Even if it didn't see much use, it would still be worth a significant profit if sold, so there was no reason to hesitate. Now that it's finally being used in this way, it was a brilliant decision in many ways.
“Your Highness.”
Bjorn, who was enjoying the cool, refreshing sea breeze, turned around at the sound of a voice behind him. Madame Fitz, with her stern expression, was looking at him with her usual stern gaze.
“Now she is ready to receive visitors. Let’s go.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Bjorn thanked Mrs. Fitz for her hard work with a smile and a greeting.
The night he brought Erna to this townhouse, he sent his coachman to fetch the Grand Duke's doctor and Mrs. Fitz. It was a decision he made, judging that he trusted them most. And they proved worthy of that trust. Of course, there was a minor friction with Mrs. Fitz.
'Oh my god.'
After hearing a brief explanation of why the daughter of the Hardy family was lying here in such a state of illness, Mrs. Fitz's face turned pale, and she muttered the same thing over and over again. She seemed to be having a hard time accepting the fact that she had wagered money on a lady.
'Oh my goodness, Prince!'
She shouted sternly, like a nanny scolding a young Prince for misbehaving. It suddenly struck her that she was old enough to no longer be punished by having to copy out prayers to calm her mind. At that moment, Madame Fitz looked like she could have punished herself with a hundred prayers. Thanks to this, she was able to pay more attention to Erna Hardy, so it wasn't a bad thing.
Bjorn, who had just left the balcony, knocked lightly on the door of the bedroom connected to the small living room.
"... Yes!"
As the hurried movement ceased, a small reply was heard.
“Come in, Prince.”
The voice was very clear and soft.
Erna stared down at her own hand, its knuckles white from the force with which she'd clasped it, for several minutes. After exchanging thanks and a few polite greetings, she was at a loss for words.
“Have some tea, Miss Hardy.”
When the ticking of the clock and the irregular beating of her heart became unbearable, fortunately, Bjorn spoke first.
Erna instinctively gasped for breath and looked up at him with trembling eyes. Bjorn was sitting with his legs crossed, clutching a teacup. The ordinary cup seemed like something from a child's household, perhaps because of his unusually large hands. Erna recalled that night, three days ago, when that hand had been tightly wrapped around her face in a downpour, and her cheeks flushed slightly as she lowered her gaze.
After a full day of illness, Erna finally regained consciousness. It was an old woman who introduced herself as Madame Fitz who told her where she was. Her story felt unreal, as if she were still in a dream.
'I have no say in the matter, Miss.'
Every time Erna indicated that she wanted to leave, she repeated the same answer.
'Let's talk to the Prince.'
No matter what was said, the conclusion was always the same.
Unable to ask permission, unable to even control herself, and unable to sneak away, all Erna could do was wait for the Prince who held the final say. And today, he finally arrived.
“Thanks to you, Prince, I’m feeling much better now. Thank you.”
Erna put down the teacup she had been fiddling with and spoke carefully.
Bjorn looked at Erna with eyes filled with a lukewarm interest. Her face still bore the bruises and scars, but at least her eyes were as bright as ever, much more pleasant to look at than that night.
Bjorn's gaze, which traced her rosy cheeks and lips, and the slender nape of her neck, stopped on the ribbon attached to the neckline of her dress. The memory of that rainy night, evoked by that decoration, made Bjorn smile.
Even though Erna's hat and cloak were removed, she was still drenched. Unable to just lie down, Bjorn first leaned her back against the sofa. It was then that Erna, who had been groaning, opened her eyes.
"You're wet, you need to change. If you keep doing this, you're in real trouble, Miss Hardy."
Erna flinched and grabbed the front of her dress as Bjorn slowly spoke with strength.
'I will, I will do it. I will do it. I will do it.'
Even with that body, Erna persisted in her stubbornness.
It seemed clear that even a touch would send her into a rage, as if she'd been attacked by a thug. Bjorn decided to back off. All he could offer was a towel to dry her body and a trunk containing her clothes, which he brought to the sofa.
Bjorn leaned against the closed bedroom door, listening for the woman's movements. The floor creaked, as if she'd fallen, a small groan, and the slow shuffling of her belongings were all heard amidst the irritating sound of the rain.
5 minutes.
After setting his own Maginot Line, Bjorn opened his pocket watch. Even then, he'd rather be treated like a pervert than have a woman flirt with such a pointless obsession. And indeed, he did. However, exactly five minutes later, when Bjorn opened the bedroom door, what greeted him was a sight entirely different from what he'd expected.
Erna lay sprawled on the sofa in her pajamas. Surprisingly, she had buttoned up her dress, and even the ribbon that closed her neckline was tied. The knot was so neat and tidy. It was a night of renewed awe at the fact that something as simple as a ribbon could convey the strength of human will and conviction.
A laughing Bjorn lifted Erna into his arms and laid her on the bed. He stayed by the foolish young lady's side until the attending doctor, awakened from his early morning sleep, arrived.
“I... Prince?”
Erna, who had been hesitating, opened her mouth again. Bjorn nodded, indicating that he was listening.
“I am truly grateful and sorry for always receiving such great help.”
The same old, repetitive greetings were boring.
“I can’t be bothered any longer, so I’ll have to go back now.”
The same was true of the obvious, humble words that were already expected.
“I must not let the Prince get caught up in another scandal because of me, and I must also find a friend...”
"Friend?"
Bjorn cut Erna off with a furrowed brow.
“Ah. Pavel.”
Erna's eyes widened at the name he whispered. Looking directly into those confused eyes, Bjorn smiled, almost softly.
"Right? Pavel Lore. The promising painter from the Academy of Arts who tried to run away with Miss Hardy."
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