121. Defaulter
[ To Bjorn.
I'm sorry I had to leave you this way. It was wrong, but I had no other choice. I won't dare ask for your understanding. I also know full well that I can't ask for your forgiveness.
Bjorn, I think our marriage is over.
I can no longer live in harmless, beautiful harmony. I can no longer smile the way you want me to. It's too painful and difficult to remain with your wife when I have nothing left to give you. I believe you feel the same way. ]
Bjorn put the letter aside for a moment, lit a cigar, and bit into it. He exhaled the smoke he'd inhaled deeply, and a hollow laugh escaped his lips. Even though he'd read it countless times and already knew its contents, the letter still seemed absurd.
I let my guard down because you've been acting so well, and now you're going to bite my neck like this?
Bjorn, who had brushed away the ash from the end of his cigarette, picked up the letter again and began to read it more carefully.
[ Thank you so much for everything.
Although the marriage you envisioned was different from the one I envisioned, I know you've been incredibly kind to me. I've received so much, yet from beginning to end, I've always been a burden to you. I tried to be a good wife, but I fell short of my expectations.
I wanted to take full responsibility for my choice, but I fear that would only bring more misery and pain to you, me, and all of us. Now that you've cleared your name, you no longer need a trophy wife to shield you. Similarly, I no longer want to be the wife of a husband I no longer love. ]
Bjorn's gaze remained fixed on the same spot as when he first read the letter.
A husband I no longer love.
The child's whiny lie, like a tantrum, made Bjorn laugh again.
Was this the reason for such absurd acts? Love. To bring up such a word as that.
The memory of the moment when he realized Erna was gone came flooding back to him, over the absurd letter.
'I'm looking for her.'
He gave orders to the servants who came running out of their sleep in a panic.
'Erna... find my wife. Hurry up.'
How pathetic he looked, acting as if the world was falling apart.
It felt like being doused with cold water. As the alcohol wore off, an abnormal heartbeat began to shake Bjorn.
His breathing was ragged. All sorts of absurd, ominous thoughts raced through his mind, leaving him unable to stand still for even a moment. Erna. Every time he repeated that name, his throat felt tighter and tighter. He might have turned the whole house, no, Schwerin, upside down like a madman. If he hadn't seen this letter from Mrs. Fitz.
Only after a while of smoking a cigar did Bjorn turn his gaze back to the letter.
[ I owe you so much, but I think it's better to turn away now than to continue this meaningless marriage and create even more debt.
I need to make this a proper ending, but I can't hold on any longer, so I'm leaving first. I know you need time to gather your thoughts, too.
Thank you so much for all the help you've given me. I deeply apologize for leaving you in this situation, unable to repay you. I'll give you the enclosed bankbook. It's the money I originally saved to pay off your trophy.
I'll now return to my seat. Please let me know when you're ready. I'll make sure to finish it by then. ]
At the bottom of the letter left behind by the defaulter who ran away like a thief, a neatly written signature was added.
Erna.
Bjorn's gaze lingered for a long time on the name that was left behind, as if mocking him.
The woman who had committed such an outrageous act was both absurd and laughable. If she had disappeared, leaving behind a letter like this, would he have knelt before her and confessed his love? Bjorn, feeling pity for Erna Dneister, who still didn't know much about her husband of a year, stood up.
Aside from that damned cookie jar, all she had taken was a few worn-out clothes she'd brought with her when she got married. It wasn't the sort of luggage someone who'd decided to leave for good would pack.
Erna.
Bjorn laughed again as he remembered the petty rebellion that left behind that one name.
Is our marriage over here? Don't you love me?
Where did you get such a worn-out trick?
After remaining silent for a while, Bjorn rang the bell with his hand, carelessly tossing away crumpled letters and bankbooks. Unlike the servants who appeared, hunched over in thought, Bjorn's demeanor was calm.
Close the curtains. Eat dinner in the afternoon. Return to your room when the bell rings. Keep the fireplace flames from getting too hot.
Bjorn gave a brief, no-nonsense order and headed to the bathroom, leaving the frozen servants behind. A few more short chuckles escaped him, and the door closed behind him.
That was all.
“I am half a month.”
“Isn’t that too short? I’ll give it a month.”
“I can’t live like this any longer. For a week!”
The table in the break room, where employees gathered one by one after finishing their morning work, quickly became noisy.
When will the Grand Duchess return?
It was a question that was often asked as a greeting among the servants of Schwerin Palace these days.
The Grand Duchess ran away in the middle of the night.
It took less than half a day for every servant in the mansion to learn of the rumor. Yet, it's been nearly a month since, and it's been kept secret, thanks entirely to Mrs. Fitz.
'If you want to talk nonsense, then go ahead and do it.'
One morning, when Prince Bjorn, who had turned the whole house upside down, had fallen asleep as if nothing had happened, Madame Fitz gathered the bewildered servants together and gave them an order with a gentle smile on her face.
"If you're curious about what might happen if this rumor spreads beyond the walls of Schwerin Palace, feel free to ask. Of course, you'll be prepared to take the appropriate responsibility."
The white-haired old woman, standing upright, sent chills down the nerves of her opponent without raising her voice.
Mrs. Fitz does it if she has to.
She was generally generous, but she had a ruthless streak when it came to overstepping her own boundaries. She bore a striking resemblance to Prince Bjorn.
'If you have two lives, why don't you give it a try?'
Mrs. Fitz's face became even calmer as she spoke with renewed force.
'I can't guarantee that second life, though.'
It seemed like a lighthearted joke, but the servants at Schwerin Palace knew. Madame Fitz would never joke like that about the Prince she raised.
'Her Highness went to the countryside to recuperate at his maternal grandparents' house.'
Mrs. Fitz's eyes, as she examined the servants who were holding their breath, were as cold as frost.
'Does everyone understand?'
If you don't want to die, keep your mouth shut.
Mrs. Fitz's warning was clear, and everyone understood. Now that they were serving the Prince, who had finally regained his honor, the resolve to avoid another scandal played a significant role in keeping the secret. The rumor that a husband had become a corrupted man because of his wife's midnight elopement was simply too humiliating.
“Want to make a bet?”
The conversation, which was becoming increasingly heated, suddenly turned into a betting game due to a word thrown by someone.
A week. A fortnight. A month. Next year.
How systematic were the actions of those who placed bets so quickly? These weren't skills acquired through a single or two-day practice.
Lisa, who was sitting in the corner, sobbing, watched the scene with a look of astonishment. The Prince, who was unfazed by his wife's escape, was sweeping the deck of cards, and the servants were betting on it. This truly was the end of the world.
“Why is she like that again?”
As Lisa's cries, filled with sorrow and resentment, grew louder, the servants who were in the middle of a heated bet turned their attention to the end of the table.
“Leave her alone. That’s how she was.”
A maid glanced at Lisa and replied calmly. Since the Grand Duchess's disappearance, Lisa Brill had been shedding tears every day.
“Lisa, what about you?”
The servant who was diligently collecting money also asked Lisa a natural question.
“If you don’t like it, then don’t say it.”
The servant, who had brushed past Lisa, who was glaring at him with murderous intent, collected all the bets and skillfully settled the accounts. The fortnight was the most dominant, followed by the month. Just as everything was being settled, the bell rang in the Grand Duke's bedroom.
The servants, who had stopped all movements for a moment, let out a desperate sigh without anyone saying anything first.
It was the hellish bell that announced the arrival of an irritated wolf.
Today's ordeal began with the curtains.
The maid, anxious that she might offend the Prince, opened all the blackout curtains in the bedroom with excessive zeal. The wind let in the midday sunlight, shining directly at Bjorn, who was leaning against the bed.
There were no words of reprimand. Bjorn simply stared at the maid with frowning eyes.
The maid, once again amazed at the human gaze's ability to contain such a wealth of profanity, hurriedly closed the curtains. That choice wasn't entirely wise, as evidenced by the Prince's brow, which showed no sign of softening. Bjorn, his well-shaped eyebrows furrowed, looked like a truly angry wolf.
Half! Half!
The maid turned around, putting down her morning tea and newspaper, and shouted desperately with just the shape of her lips.
Only then did the young maid understand the Prince's exacting order, and with trembling hands, she half-opened the curtains, carefully adjusting them so that the sunlight would shine precisely on half of the Prince's bed.
When Prince Bjorn opened his eyes, which had been closed tightly, and took hold of his teacup, the maids finally breathed a silent sigh of relief. Of course, it was still too early to feel relieved.
From the moment he opened his eyes until he fell asleep, the Prince had been displaying extreme irritability, making the Grand Duke's servants bleed. It had been a symptom that had begun the day the Grand Duchess fled in the middle of the night, but somehow, it seemed to be growing more intense by the day.
The week of their first wedding anniversary was a horrific one. A flood of servants rushed to take time off, hoping to avoid encountering the Prince. However, only a limited number were able to enjoy such a privilege, and most were forced to spend their time enjoying the feeling of walking a tightrope.
The Prince, who had been reading the newspaper while drinking his suitably cooled tea, thankfully entered the bathroom without further aggravation. The maids' sighs, having overcome the first hurdle, quietly permeated the late autumn sunlight that filled the bedroom.
"When will you return, Your Highness? I think I'm going to get neurotic at this rate, head maid."
The maid, having endured the ordeal of the curtains, asked desperately. It was something that warranted a sharp rebuke, but the head maid, Karen, couldn't say anything in response. She, too, was in complete agreement.
“I miss you, Your Highness.”
Everyone agreed in silence to the sobbing young maid's words.
Those were good times when you were here.
It was a painful lesson learned from enduring the chronic irritation of a wolf who had lost his wife.
[ To Bjorn.
I'm sorry I had to leave you this way. It was wrong, but I had no other choice. I won't dare ask for your understanding. I also know full well that I can't ask for your forgiveness.
Bjorn, I think our marriage is over.
I can no longer live in harmless, beautiful harmony. I can no longer smile the way you want me to. It's too painful and difficult to remain with your wife when I have nothing left to give you. I believe you feel the same way. ]
Bjorn put the letter aside for a moment, lit a cigar, and bit into it. He exhaled the smoke he'd inhaled deeply, and a hollow laugh escaped his lips. Even though he'd read it countless times and already knew its contents, the letter still seemed absurd.
I let my guard down because you've been acting so well, and now you're going to bite my neck like this?
Bjorn, who had brushed away the ash from the end of his cigarette, picked up the letter again and began to read it more carefully.
[ Thank you so much for everything.
Although the marriage you envisioned was different from the one I envisioned, I know you've been incredibly kind to me. I've received so much, yet from beginning to end, I've always been a burden to you. I tried to be a good wife, but I fell short of my expectations.
I wanted to take full responsibility for my choice, but I fear that would only bring more misery and pain to you, me, and all of us. Now that you've cleared your name, you no longer need a trophy wife to shield you. Similarly, I no longer want to be the wife of a husband I no longer love. ]
Bjorn's gaze remained fixed on the same spot as when he first read the letter.
A husband I no longer love.
The child's whiny lie, like a tantrum, made Bjorn laugh again.
Was this the reason for such absurd acts? Love. To bring up such a word as that.
The memory of the moment when he realized Erna was gone came flooding back to him, over the absurd letter.
'I'm looking for her.'
He gave orders to the servants who came running out of their sleep in a panic.
'Erna... find my wife. Hurry up.'
How pathetic he looked, acting as if the world was falling apart.
It felt like being doused with cold water. As the alcohol wore off, an abnormal heartbeat began to shake Bjorn.
His breathing was ragged. All sorts of absurd, ominous thoughts raced through his mind, leaving him unable to stand still for even a moment. Erna. Every time he repeated that name, his throat felt tighter and tighter. He might have turned the whole house, no, Schwerin, upside down like a madman. If he hadn't seen this letter from Mrs. Fitz.
Only after a while of smoking a cigar did Bjorn turn his gaze back to the letter.
[ I owe you so much, but I think it's better to turn away now than to continue this meaningless marriage and create even more debt.
I need to make this a proper ending, but I can't hold on any longer, so I'm leaving first. I know you need time to gather your thoughts, too.
Thank you so much for all the help you've given me. I deeply apologize for leaving you in this situation, unable to repay you. I'll give you the enclosed bankbook. It's the money I originally saved to pay off your trophy.
I'll now return to my seat. Please let me know when you're ready. I'll make sure to finish it by then. ]
At the bottom of the letter left behind by the defaulter who ran away like a thief, a neatly written signature was added.
Erna.
Bjorn's gaze lingered for a long time on the name that was left behind, as if mocking him.
The woman who had committed such an outrageous act was both absurd and laughable. If she had disappeared, leaving behind a letter like this, would he have knelt before her and confessed his love? Bjorn, feeling pity for Erna Dneister, who still didn't know much about her husband of a year, stood up.
Aside from that damned cookie jar, all she had taken was a few worn-out clothes she'd brought with her when she got married. It wasn't the sort of luggage someone who'd decided to leave for good would pack.
Erna.
Bjorn laughed again as he remembered the petty rebellion that left behind that one name.
Is our marriage over here? Don't you love me?
Where did you get such a worn-out trick?
After remaining silent for a while, Bjorn rang the bell with his hand, carelessly tossing away crumpled letters and bankbooks. Unlike the servants who appeared, hunched over in thought, Bjorn's demeanor was calm.
Close the curtains. Eat dinner in the afternoon. Return to your room when the bell rings. Keep the fireplace flames from getting too hot.
Bjorn gave a brief, no-nonsense order and headed to the bathroom, leaving the frozen servants behind. A few more short chuckles escaped him, and the door closed behind him.
That was all.
***
“I am half a month.”
“Isn’t that too short? I’ll give it a month.”
“I can’t live like this any longer. For a week!”
The table in the break room, where employees gathered one by one after finishing their morning work, quickly became noisy.
When will the Grand Duchess return?
It was a question that was often asked as a greeting among the servants of Schwerin Palace these days.
The Grand Duchess ran away in the middle of the night.
It took less than half a day for every servant in the mansion to learn of the rumor. Yet, it's been nearly a month since, and it's been kept secret, thanks entirely to Mrs. Fitz.
'If you want to talk nonsense, then go ahead and do it.'
One morning, when Prince Bjorn, who had turned the whole house upside down, had fallen asleep as if nothing had happened, Madame Fitz gathered the bewildered servants together and gave them an order with a gentle smile on her face.
"If you're curious about what might happen if this rumor spreads beyond the walls of Schwerin Palace, feel free to ask. Of course, you'll be prepared to take the appropriate responsibility."
The white-haired old woman, standing upright, sent chills down the nerves of her opponent without raising her voice.
Mrs. Fitz does it if she has to.
She was generally generous, but she had a ruthless streak when it came to overstepping her own boundaries. She bore a striking resemblance to Prince Bjorn.
'If you have two lives, why don't you give it a try?'
Mrs. Fitz's face became even calmer as she spoke with renewed force.
'I can't guarantee that second life, though.'
It seemed like a lighthearted joke, but the servants at Schwerin Palace knew. Madame Fitz would never joke like that about the Prince she raised.
'Her Highness went to the countryside to recuperate at his maternal grandparents' house.'
Mrs. Fitz's eyes, as she examined the servants who were holding their breath, were as cold as frost.
'Does everyone understand?'
If you don't want to die, keep your mouth shut.
Mrs. Fitz's warning was clear, and everyone understood. Now that they were serving the Prince, who had finally regained his honor, the resolve to avoid another scandal played a significant role in keeping the secret. The rumor that a husband had become a corrupted man because of his wife's midnight elopement was simply too humiliating.
“Want to make a bet?”
The conversation, which was becoming increasingly heated, suddenly turned into a betting game due to a word thrown by someone.
A week. A fortnight. A month. Next year.
How systematic were the actions of those who placed bets so quickly? These weren't skills acquired through a single or two-day practice.
Lisa, who was sitting in the corner, sobbing, watched the scene with a look of astonishment. The Prince, who was unfazed by his wife's escape, was sweeping the deck of cards, and the servants were betting on it. This truly was the end of the world.
“Why is she like that again?”
As Lisa's cries, filled with sorrow and resentment, grew louder, the servants who were in the middle of a heated bet turned their attention to the end of the table.
“Leave her alone. That’s how she was.”
A maid glanced at Lisa and replied calmly. Since the Grand Duchess's disappearance, Lisa Brill had been shedding tears every day.
“Lisa, what about you?”
The servant who was diligently collecting money also asked Lisa a natural question.
“If you don’t like it, then don’t say it.”
The servant, who had brushed past Lisa, who was glaring at him with murderous intent, collected all the bets and skillfully settled the accounts. The fortnight was the most dominant, followed by the month. Just as everything was being settled, the bell rang in the Grand Duke's bedroom.
The servants, who had stopped all movements for a moment, let out a desperate sigh without anyone saying anything first.
It was the hellish bell that announced the arrival of an irritated wolf.
* **
Today's ordeal began with the curtains.
The maid, anxious that she might offend the Prince, opened all the blackout curtains in the bedroom with excessive zeal. The wind let in the midday sunlight, shining directly at Bjorn, who was leaning against the bed.
There were no words of reprimand. Bjorn simply stared at the maid with frowning eyes.
The maid, once again amazed at the human gaze's ability to contain such a wealth of profanity, hurriedly closed the curtains. That choice wasn't entirely wise, as evidenced by the Prince's brow, which showed no sign of softening. Bjorn, his well-shaped eyebrows furrowed, looked like a truly angry wolf.
Half! Half!
The maid turned around, putting down her morning tea and newspaper, and shouted desperately with just the shape of her lips.
Only then did the young maid understand the Prince's exacting order, and with trembling hands, she half-opened the curtains, carefully adjusting them so that the sunlight would shine precisely on half of the Prince's bed.
When Prince Bjorn opened his eyes, which had been closed tightly, and took hold of his teacup, the maids finally breathed a silent sigh of relief. Of course, it was still too early to feel relieved.
From the moment he opened his eyes until he fell asleep, the Prince had been displaying extreme irritability, making the Grand Duke's servants bleed. It had been a symptom that had begun the day the Grand Duchess fled in the middle of the night, but somehow, it seemed to be growing more intense by the day.
The week of their first wedding anniversary was a horrific one. A flood of servants rushed to take time off, hoping to avoid encountering the Prince. However, only a limited number were able to enjoy such a privilege, and most were forced to spend their time enjoying the feeling of walking a tightrope.
The Prince, who had been reading the newspaper while drinking his suitably cooled tea, thankfully entered the bathroom without further aggravation. The maids' sighs, having overcome the first hurdle, quietly permeated the late autumn sunlight that filled the bedroom.
"When will you return, Your Highness? I think I'm going to get neurotic at this rate, head maid."
The maid, having endured the ordeal of the curtains, asked desperately. It was something that warranted a sharp rebuke, but the head maid, Karen, couldn't say anything in response. She, too, was in complete agreement.
“I miss you, Your Highness.”
Everyone agreed in silence to the sobbing young maid's words.
Those were good times when you were here.
It was a painful lesson learned from enduring the chronic irritation of a wolf who had lost his wife.
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