123. Cheap plans
Will be back.
Recalling what he already knew, Bjorn took out another cigar, already exhausted. His intemperate smoking was another habit he'd developed since the woman, coughing like an old man about to die, disappeared.
Memories of Erna, dressed in a shabby dress, wandering through this square, floated through the hazy smoke. The timid country girl usually only appeared at quieter times, but she always caught his eye.
His eyes went to that woman.
The pretty woman who suddenly appeared in the social scene one day was the object of interest to every man that season. Bjorn readily accepted the fact that he was one of them. Perhaps the reason he had stepped into that pitiful bet wasn't simply the stakes that were supposed to be his.
A momentary, childish prank sent shockwaves through his life. He could have avoided it, but he accepted it willingly. He'd paid a price enough. That's what he'd believed. In truth, he knew it all. Until he heard the bet from Erna.
For a moment, his mind felt like it was going blank. He felt unbearably anxious and nervous. It was just something he once considered trivial, something he once intended to confess.
He guessed he really wanted to become that woman's omnipotent god.
A smirk, mixed with smoke, escaped Bjorn's lips as he remembered his wife, who had treated him like her entire world. He seemed to have longed to live within those eyes. He wanted to become the man Erna dreamed of, obscuring the meaningless truth.
Trophy. Gladys' shield. A lump of red.
The words that flowed from Erna's lips paralyzed his reason. It was funny. He had always treated his wife that way. Why couldn't he bear those words?
Divorce.
Even so, the last line that was barely maintained collapsed with those words spoken by Erna, who looked as if she was about to cry.
He was absolutely mad. He seemed obsessed with never allowing himself to think like that again. He was confident of victory. He believed he held a hand he could never lose. But in the end, he suffered this kind of counterattack.
Bjorn, silently gazing at the night sky, inhaled deeply, as if to dispel the lingering scent of blood and disinfectant. These hallucinations had been haunting him lately. It was one of the reasons he found it difficult to restrain himself from smoking.
"Divorce..."
The words he spat out, along with the cigar smoke, were carried away by the cold wind.
He felt sorry for the woman who was so good at threatening him. It was laughable. It was impudent. But still, Erna Dneister was his wife. Even if, as she said, she could no longer serve him as she had before, it was the same. He had no intention of settling her debts the way she wanted.
As the carriage's arrival drew near, Bjorn rose from the fountain. His footsteps across the frozen square were as leisurely as ever.
The white, frost-covered countryside sparkled in the pale winter sunlight.
The rustle of dry grass followed the sound of footsteps as they passed through the colorless landscape. As the isolated house at the end of the road came into view, the sounds grew busier.
"Miss!"
Ralph Royce, who had just finished filling the stable, shouted in surprise. Erna closed the gate leading to the field, turned around, and with a smile, removed the hood of her cloak.
“Good morning, sir.”
“It’s so cold out here. Why did you go out for a morning walk again?”
Unlike Erna, who greeted him calmly, Ralph Royce looked as if he had witnessed the sky falling. It was a scene from Erna's daily routine, a scene that had been repeated every morning since she returned to Baden.
As she finally managed to escape his fidgeting presence and enter the house, Madame Greve's nagging began. Only after finally reassuring her grandmother, whose eyes were filled with concern, was Erna able to return to her room.
It was an ordinary day.
After a brief break, reading, Erna had breakfast with her grandmother. The conversations at the table were ordinary. The early winter weather, with the first snow expected soon. Madame Greve's arthritis. The newborn calf. Not a word was mentioned about the city Erna had left behind. It was a natural, unwritten rule of the Baden family.
The morning passed by at the country house, chatting and solving crossword puzzles with her grandmother. It was soon time for the postman to visit. Assuming he had mail to bring.
Erna left the house, her shoulders wrapped in a thick woolen shawl. Waiting for the postman at this hour was one of her daily routines. She hoped to receive a call from Schwerin informing her of the divorce proceedings sometime today, but even if that didn't happen, she wouldn't be too upset. Their marriage was already over, and Bjorn had accepted it in silence. The rest was only a matter of time.
Erna stood in the bright sunlight and chilling wind, gazing down the road leading to Baden. The remote countryside was desolate, save for the occasional chirp of a small bird.
More than a month had passed since she walked that road back to her hometown. Baroness Baden was struck by the shock of seeing her granddaughter, clutching a trunk, without a single word. She was speechless for a moment.
'I'm sorry, Grandma.'
Erna, who had been staring blankly at her, finally managed to utter those words after a long pause. She needed a more plausible apology, but her mind, feeling emptied, had already stopped thinking.
Baroness Baden embraced Erna without a word of rebuke. She felt as if she would burst into tears at the sight of her grandmother, but surprisingly, her heart remained exceedingly calm.
I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.
Baroness Baden embraced her granddaughter, who only softly repeated those words, and shed hot tears for a long time. Erna felt relieved to have her grandmother cry for her instead. That seemed enough.
After that day, Erna's memories were hazy. For days, she seemed to have slept deeply, as if dead, and then slept again. At some point, even the distinction between night and day became blurred. When she awoke from that long slumber, Erna's world had become remarkably simple and clear.
Erna checked the watch she pulled from her pocket and turned away. It looked like the postal carriage wouldn't arrive today, but it didn't matter because there was tomorrow.
Erna walked calmly, reflecting on her afternoon routine. She planned to finish organizing the books in her study and knit a new pair of stockings. Baking a cake laden with cinnamon and sugar seemed like a nice afternoon. The sweet aroma was perfect for the weather.
“Your Highness!”
Just as she was about to climb the first steps of the front door, steeling her resolve, Erna heard a familiar voice.
“Your Highness! Your Highness!”
As she shook her head to clear the hallucination, the voice became clearer.
"Lisa..?"
Erna muttered the name, turning her head in disbelief. A tall young girl was running from the end of the empty country road. She wore a hat covered in artificial flowers and clutched a large trunk in one hand.
"Lisa!"
As Erna turned around and called her name loudly, Lisa started running as fast as she could, leaving her trunk carelessly tossed aside.
While Erna was stunned, unable to believe this situation, Lisa suddenly ran up to her. Her face, flushed red, was glistening with tears.
Lisa's sudden burst of tears, thrown into Erna's arms, echoed through the peaceful silence that had enveloped the country house.
As the sun began to set, the Harbor Street mansion began to bustle.
From the most prestigious families to the most illustrious, carriages bearing a variety of emblems lined the gates of the magnificent mansions. It was a spectacle befitting the party's reputation as a magnet for all the socialites.
The carriage carrying the Grand Duke arrived at Harbour Mansion only after the party had already begun. The Marchioness of Harbour's face brightened noticeably when the news reached her.
“I’m so glad you came, Bjorn!”
She found Bjorn alone and ran over to him, giving him a warm greeting.
She knew this wasn't right for a boy who had just finally shed the stigma of being a poisonous mushroom, but she couldn't help but hope for at least a small stir that would elevate the reputation of this party. Looking back, wasn't he a particularly exemplary Prince even back when he was loved by all of Letzen?
"How is the Grand Duchess doing? I hope she recovers quickly and returns."
As if concealing her secret desire, the Marchioness of Harbour asked a kind, adult question.
“Yes. My wife will return soon.”
Bjorn answered cheerfully. A smile escaped his lips as he met the Marchioness of Harbour's gaze, a mixture of relief and regret.
My great-aunt. You should be able to expand your network to hell and throw a party.
Bjorn, with a smile that carried that congratulatory message, slowly crossed the hall filled with familiar faces. Those who crowded around him, each one asking about the Grand Duchess's well-being, began with a question.
It was a rather irritating question, but Bjorn repeated his answer skillfully. At least it was better than the crippled idiot who lingered in front of the portrait hanging in his study, smoking a cigar. That was why he accepted most invitations to social gatherings these days.
“Come to think of it, you two danced together at the party at Harbour mansion.”
The landlady of a Count's house, who was anxious to flatter him, began to irritate him.
“I looked at you in awe, seeing how well you matched.”
Bjorn, who had been staring intently at her proud face, smiled again, the corners of his lips slightly tugging at the corners. He was deeply grateful to Erna Dneister for cultivating his ability to remain calm even in the most horrific of situations.
The Countess's flattery must have been quite successful, as testimonies of the day's events flowed out from here and there. Erna, dazzlingly beautiful. The Prince, who recognized the true worth of the lady whom everyone had sorely misunderstood, fell in love with her. It was as if these two were a match made in heaven. The words used to cover up the thief who stole the golden trophy and the bettor who used it as an excuse to win the prize money were so dazzling. The effort was almost tear-jerking.
"Are you okay?"
Leonid, who had been watching from afar, approached quietly.
Bjorn turned around, his grip loosely on his glass. It was obvious why the exemplary Crown Prince, who loathed the parties of the Harbour family, had shown up here. He must be worried about his brother. His mother's needless worries must have weighed on him.
"What do you want? Your Highness, you've gone through the mud for me, so I must repay you accordingly."
Bjorn's gaze, wandering to the corner of the banquet hall where Erna stood alone, turned back to Leonid. Leonid simply stared, dumbfounded, but remained silent. This silence only made Bjorn even more anxious.
“If nothing comes to mind, would you mind giving me an example?”
“Why are you being so sensitive?”
Leonid frowned and let out a small sigh.
“Your mother worries a lot about you and the Grand Duchess. Your father is no different.”
“Say thank you deeply.”
“Bjorn!”
“I will ask the nanny to sing a lullaby for me, so don’t worry.”
He knew he was rambling, but Bjorn lacked the willpower to control himself. Erna. That woman's name felt like a trigger.
Bjorn brushed past Leonid, who still had much to say, and joined the drinkers at the club. It was an unjustified outrage. But it was also the best consideration. Erna. He didn't know what he would say if Leonid mentioned that name again.
The party was moderately fun and boring.
Amidst the relentless drinking and chattering crowd, Bjorn also drank more than usual. As the intoxication began to creep in, the patience Erna Dneister had gifted him was slowly reaching its limit.
Bjorn made up a suitable excuse and left the banquet hall. As he entered the eastern corridor of the mansion, away from the hustle and bustle of the party, his thoughts suddenly turned to poetry. At the same time, a shrill scream echoed from the other side of the empty hallway. It was a scream filled with fear, much like Erna's that day.
It was a situation he knew without even looking. An extravagant party. A deserted corner of a mansion. A woman. The annoyance and disillusionment stemming from this cheesy, theatrical situation spilled out as a long, curse-laced sigh.
Bjorn, who had been tightly shut, opened his eyes and turned in the direction from which the terrified woman's cries had begun to come. The sound of his shoes, striding briskly with wide strides, echoed through the empty hallways of the mansion.
Will be back.
Recalling what he already knew, Bjorn took out another cigar, already exhausted. His intemperate smoking was another habit he'd developed since the woman, coughing like an old man about to die, disappeared.
Memories of Erna, dressed in a shabby dress, wandering through this square, floated through the hazy smoke. The timid country girl usually only appeared at quieter times, but she always caught his eye.
His eyes went to that woman.
The pretty woman who suddenly appeared in the social scene one day was the object of interest to every man that season. Bjorn readily accepted the fact that he was one of them. Perhaps the reason he had stepped into that pitiful bet wasn't simply the stakes that were supposed to be his.
A momentary, childish prank sent shockwaves through his life. He could have avoided it, but he accepted it willingly. He'd paid a price enough. That's what he'd believed. In truth, he knew it all. Until he heard the bet from Erna.
For a moment, his mind felt like it was going blank. He felt unbearably anxious and nervous. It was just something he once considered trivial, something he once intended to confess.
He guessed he really wanted to become that woman's omnipotent god.
A smirk, mixed with smoke, escaped Bjorn's lips as he remembered his wife, who had treated him like her entire world. He seemed to have longed to live within those eyes. He wanted to become the man Erna dreamed of, obscuring the meaningless truth.
Trophy. Gladys' shield. A lump of red.
The words that flowed from Erna's lips paralyzed his reason. It was funny. He had always treated his wife that way. Why couldn't he bear those words?
Divorce.
Even so, the last line that was barely maintained collapsed with those words spoken by Erna, who looked as if she was about to cry.
He was absolutely mad. He seemed obsessed with never allowing himself to think like that again. He was confident of victory. He believed he held a hand he could never lose. But in the end, he suffered this kind of counterattack.
Bjorn, silently gazing at the night sky, inhaled deeply, as if to dispel the lingering scent of blood and disinfectant. These hallucinations had been haunting him lately. It was one of the reasons he found it difficult to restrain himself from smoking.
"Divorce..."
The words he spat out, along with the cigar smoke, were carried away by the cold wind.
He felt sorry for the woman who was so good at threatening him. It was laughable. It was impudent. But still, Erna Dneister was his wife. Even if, as she said, she could no longer serve him as she had before, it was the same. He had no intention of settling her debts the way she wanted.
As the carriage's arrival drew near, Bjorn rose from the fountain. His footsteps across the frozen square were as leisurely as ever.
***
The white, frost-covered countryside sparkled in the pale winter sunlight.
The rustle of dry grass followed the sound of footsteps as they passed through the colorless landscape. As the isolated house at the end of the road came into view, the sounds grew busier.
"Miss!"
Ralph Royce, who had just finished filling the stable, shouted in surprise. Erna closed the gate leading to the field, turned around, and with a smile, removed the hood of her cloak.
“Good morning, sir.”
“It’s so cold out here. Why did you go out for a morning walk again?”
Unlike Erna, who greeted him calmly, Ralph Royce looked as if he had witnessed the sky falling. It was a scene from Erna's daily routine, a scene that had been repeated every morning since she returned to Baden.
As she finally managed to escape his fidgeting presence and enter the house, Madame Greve's nagging began. Only after finally reassuring her grandmother, whose eyes were filled with concern, was Erna able to return to her room.
It was an ordinary day.
After a brief break, reading, Erna had breakfast with her grandmother. The conversations at the table were ordinary. The early winter weather, with the first snow expected soon. Madame Greve's arthritis. The newborn calf. Not a word was mentioned about the city Erna had left behind. It was a natural, unwritten rule of the Baden family.
The morning passed by at the country house, chatting and solving crossword puzzles with her grandmother. It was soon time for the postman to visit. Assuming he had mail to bring.
Erna left the house, her shoulders wrapped in a thick woolen shawl. Waiting for the postman at this hour was one of her daily routines. She hoped to receive a call from Schwerin informing her of the divorce proceedings sometime today, but even if that didn't happen, she wouldn't be too upset. Their marriage was already over, and Bjorn had accepted it in silence. The rest was only a matter of time.
Erna stood in the bright sunlight and chilling wind, gazing down the road leading to Baden. The remote countryside was desolate, save for the occasional chirp of a small bird.
More than a month had passed since she walked that road back to her hometown. Baroness Baden was struck by the shock of seeing her granddaughter, clutching a trunk, without a single word. She was speechless for a moment.
'I'm sorry, Grandma.'
Erna, who had been staring blankly at her, finally managed to utter those words after a long pause. She needed a more plausible apology, but her mind, feeling emptied, had already stopped thinking.
Baroness Baden embraced Erna without a word of rebuke. She felt as if she would burst into tears at the sight of her grandmother, but surprisingly, her heart remained exceedingly calm.
I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.
Baroness Baden embraced her granddaughter, who only softly repeated those words, and shed hot tears for a long time. Erna felt relieved to have her grandmother cry for her instead. That seemed enough.
After that day, Erna's memories were hazy. For days, she seemed to have slept deeply, as if dead, and then slept again. At some point, even the distinction between night and day became blurred. When she awoke from that long slumber, Erna's world had become remarkably simple and clear.
Erna checked the watch she pulled from her pocket and turned away. It looked like the postal carriage wouldn't arrive today, but it didn't matter because there was tomorrow.
Erna walked calmly, reflecting on her afternoon routine. She planned to finish organizing the books in her study and knit a new pair of stockings. Baking a cake laden with cinnamon and sugar seemed like a nice afternoon. The sweet aroma was perfect for the weather.
“Your Highness!”
Just as she was about to climb the first steps of the front door, steeling her resolve, Erna heard a familiar voice.
“Your Highness! Your Highness!”
As she shook her head to clear the hallucination, the voice became clearer.
"Lisa..?"
Erna muttered the name, turning her head in disbelief. A tall young girl was running from the end of the empty country road. She wore a hat covered in artificial flowers and clutched a large trunk in one hand.
"Lisa!"
As Erna turned around and called her name loudly, Lisa started running as fast as she could, leaving her trunk carelessly tossed aside.
While Erna was stunned, unable to believe this situation, Lisa suddenly ran up to her. Her face, flushed red, was glistening with tears.
Lisa's sudden burst of tears, thrown into Erna's arms, echoed through the peaceful silence that had enveloped the country house.
***
As the sun began to set, the Harbor Street mansion began to bustle.
From the most prestigious families to the most illustrious, carriages bearing a variety of emblems lined the gates of the magnificent mansions. It was a spectacle befitting the party's reputation as a magnet for all the socialites.
The carriage carrying the Grand Duke arrived at Harbour Mansion only after the party had already begun. The Marchioness of Harbour's face brightened noticeably when the news reached her.
“I’m so glad you came, Bjorn!”
She found Bjorn alone and ran over to him, giving him a warm greeting.
She knew this wasn't right for a boy who had just finally shed the stigma of being a poisonous mushroom, but she couldn't help but hope for at least a small stir that would elevate the reputation of this party. Looking back, wasn't he a particularly exemplary Prince even back when he was loved by all of Letzen?
"How is the Grand Duchess doing? I hope she recovers quickly and returns."
As if concealing her secret desire, the Marchioness of Harbour asked a kind, adult question.
“Yes. My wife will return soon.”
Bjorn answered cheerfully. A smile escaped his lips as he met the Marchioness of Harbour's gaze, a mixture of relief and regret.
My great-aunt. You should be able to expand your network to hell and throw a party.
Bjorn, with a smile that carried that congratulatory message, slowly crossed the hall filled with familiar faces. Those who crowded around him, each one asking about the Grand Duchess's well-being, began with a question.
It was a rather irritating question, but Bjorn repeated his answer skillfully. At least it was better than the crippled idiot who lingered in front of the portrait hanging in his study, smoking a cigar. That was why he accepted most invitations to social gatherings these days.
“Come to think of it, you two danced together at the party at Harbour mansion.”
The landlady of a Count's house, who was anxious to flatter him, began to irritate him.
“I looked at you in awe, seeing how well you matched.”
Bjorn, who had been staring intently at her proud face, smiled again, the corners of his lips slightly tugging at the corners. He was deeply grateful to Erna Dneister for cultivating his ability to remain calm even in the most horrific of situations.
The Countess's flattery must have been quite successful, as testimonies of the day's events flowed out from here and there. Erna, dazzlingly beautiful. The Prince, who recognized the true worth of the lady whom everyone had sorely misunderstood, fell in love with her. It was as if these two were a match made in heaven. The words used to cover up the thief who stole the golden trophy and the bettor who used it as an excuse to win the prize money were so dazzling. The effort was almost tear-jerking.
"Are you okay?"
Leonid, who had been watching from afar, approached quietly.
Bjorn turned around, his grip loosely on his glass. It was obvious why the exemplary Crown Prince, who loathed the parties of the Harbour family, had shown up here. He must be worried about his brother. His mother's needless worries must have weighed on him.
"What do you want? Your Highness, you've gone through the mud for me, so I must repay you accordingly."
Bjorn's gaze, wandering to the corner of the banquet hall where Erna stood alone, turned back to Leonid. Leonid simply stared, dumbfounded, but remained silent. This silence only made Bjorn even more anxious.
“If nothing comes to mind, would you mind giving me an example?”
“Why are you being so sensitive?”
Leonid frowned and let out a small sigh.
“Your mother worries a lot about you and the Grand Duchess. Your father is no different.”
“Say thank you deeply.”
“Bjorn!”
“I will ask the nanny to sing a lullaby for me, so don’t worry.”
He knew he was rambling, but Bjorn lacked the willpower to control himself. Erna. That woman's name felt like a trigger.
Bjorn brushed past Leonid, who still had much to say, and joined the drinkers at the club. It was an unjustified outrage. But it was also the best consideration. Erna. He didn't know what he would say if Leonid mentioned that name again.
The party was moderately fun and boring.
Amidst the relentless drinking and chattering crowd, Bjorn also drank more than usual. As the intoxication began to creep in, the patience Erna Dneister had gifted him was slowly reaching its limit.
Bjorn made up a suitable excuse and left the banquet hall. As he entered the eastern corridor of the mansion, away from the hustle and bustle of the party, his thoughts suddenly turned to poetry. At the same time, a shrill scream echoed from the other side of the empty hallway. It was a scream filled with fear, much like Erna's that day.
It was a situation he knew without even looking. An extravagant party. A deserted corner of a mansion. A woman. The annoyance and disillusionment stemming from this cheesy, theatrical situation spilled out as a long, curse-laced sigh.
Bjorn, who had been tightly shut, opened his eyes and turned in the direction from which the terrified woman's cries had begun to come. The sound of his shoes, striding briskly with wide strides, echoed through the empty hallways of the mansion.
Comments
Post a Comment