Home/My Youngest Keeps Bringing Me Male Leads/ch 41

Chapter 41

She seemed to hate the thought of going home so much that as soon as the words were out, Elizabeth grabbed Edmund's hand and ran out.

Silmare followed them at a distance.

That day, thanks to Silmare's advice, the two actually managed to find work.

It was remarkable persistence.

Elizabeth, unexpectedly outgoing and proactive, went around to dressmaking shops and repair shops, begging them to let her help.

"If I get in the way, I'll leave on my own! Just give me a chance!"

She didn't mind speaking politely to commoners.

She seemed determined to prove she could be useful.

After going through their own interviews, surprisingly, their skills were deemed acceptable, and Elizabeth was hired as an apprentice at a small dress shop, while Edmund found work as an errand boy at a publishing house.

Silmare did his own checks to make sure there was nothing shady about the places, and fortunately, they didn't seem like the kind of people who would take advantage of children.

They'd have to work for two weeks without pay, and the pay after that was barely pocket change, but the two were overjoyed to have gotten over that hurdle.

Thanks to that, Silmare could focus on his own investigation with peace of mind.

First, Silmare took Agnes's letter to the Calben City guard office.

With just a word that it came from the Viscount Laverose's household, he was able to see the magistrate, though the treatment wasn't particularly special.

The magistrate read the letter with a very perfunctory attitude.

"Harold Miller? He's already been imprisoned for leading the guard out without authorization."

He said this with a faint smile, as if to suggest it was no big deal.

"No one was hurt, and there don't seem to be any witnesses besides your household. Did anyone other than the people in the estate see Harold Miller break in?"

"Everyone in the Laverose estate is a witness."

"Well, they're family, aren't they? We'll look into it. In any case, since he misused the guard, Harold Miller will receive due punishment."

"Will he also be punished for breaking into the Laverose estate?"

"We'll have to investigate that."

As he spoke, his eyes kept roving over Silmare with curiosity.

It might have just been admiration, but it felt like something sticky clinging to his skin—unpleasant.

'When Agnes looked at me, it wasn't like that.'

The day he'd tracked Harold Miller and returned from Calben City—

Worried that Silmare might have been hurt, Agnes had examined him even more thoroughly than that man had.

From his face to his neck, even checking if his clothes had any tears.

Her gaze, scanning every corner, had somehow made his face tingle, and embarrassingly, the tips of his ears had turned red.

'It must have been cold outside. Your ears are red.'

'No. It wasn't cold.'

He couldn't very well say it was because her gaze embarrassed him.

And then Agnes, bare-handed without even gloves, had clasped his hand firmly.

The warm, soft, and fragile sensation enclosed in his palm.

Remembering that moment made his breath catch again, and Silmare quietly averted his gaze.

That night, Silmare sneaked into the place where Harold Miller was being held.

It was the underground prison beneath the guard office.

While Silmare hid in the shadows, a rat wandering for food acted as his eyes.

Through the blurry, dim vision, he saw Harold Miller slumped against the wall.

But something seemed off.

'Is he drunk...?'

Even leaning against the wall, he occasionally swayed.

He wanted to see more clearly, but the rat's eyesight was poor, making the shape indistinct.

"Or perhaps he's been drugged."

At the time, the treasurer had said he'd let him out once the attention died down.

Since he would be released eventually, he could just watch what state he was in and how he was handled afterward.

A week later.

Harold Miller's punishment was finally decided.

He was stripped of all his positions and exiled to a distant place on charges of misusing the guard and breaking into a private residence.

Agnes received the letter from Silmare three days later.

---

Early morning.

While tidying her bed, Agnes heard a tapping sound at the window.

A white bird was perched on the windowsill, a small letter tied to its leg.

When she opened the window, the bird fluttered its wings and landed on the table.

While she carefully untied the letter, the bird sat quietly.

Once the binding was gone, it pecked at the water placed beside the table.

It must have been thirsty after flying from far away.

"Thank you for delivering this."

When she greeted it, the bird bobbed its head as if it understood.

The letter the bird had brought was from Silmare.

Written in terribly clumsy, crooked handwriting—quite unlike the elegant and refined man.

'He probably wears that bracelet that translates his language for him.'

He might not be very familiar with human writing.

It was as hard to read as if Amy had written it, but fortunately, the message was short.

[The siblings are doing well. Harold Miller has been exiled and I am tracking him. I will return soon. Silmare.]

She was grateful for the news of her siblings, which she'd been curious about.

More than anything, she was worried about Silmare.

"I hope nothing happens to him."

How far would he have to go? Were there any dangers along the way? The short letter offered no answers, leaving her frustrated.

After letting out a long sigh, Agnes tidied up and headed to her father's room next door.

She had been cleaning her father's room lately.

She needed to bring in people to remove the dust piled in every corner and replace the curtains and bedding, but since it was the lord's room, there might be important items hidden away.

When she opened the door, the largest room in the mansion was revealed.

It looked desolate, unlike when her mother was alive.

Though Marta had been taking care of it, the room reeked of mustiness from her father staying holed up for so long without washing, drinking constantly.

Today, her father, who was usually lying down, was sitting at the table.

When Agnes entered, he looked at her with clouded eyes.

"You're up?"

Smiling softly, Agnes opened the window to let in the outside air.

It was already early May, and it was warm outside, but the shaded room was still cool.

Agnes draped a thin blanket around her father's shoulders.

He gave no response.

He could barely hold himself up and swayed occasionally.

'When did it start...?'

After their mother passed away.

Unable to contain his grief, her father had left the house one day and never returned.

It would be a lie to say she didn't resent him, but at least she understood why he'd done it.

'There wasn't a single corner of the estate that didn't bear Mother's touch.'

It was only after a full year that her father returned.

Even then, it was because he'd injured his leg and could barely walk—if not for that, who knows when he might have come back.

By then, he was already unable to communicate properly.

'How did he manage outside in this state?'

When she asked a physician, she was told that excessive drinking could cause a person to lose their senses.

He'd also fallen down a flight of stairs and been badly injured, leaving Agnes to shoulder not only her father, who could barely move, but also enormous debts.

Since she knew he wouldn't respond except when drinking, Agnes left her father alone and began organizing the bookshelves.

She set aside old items to be thrown out and put important-looking documents into a file box.

She was just finishing the bookshelves and started organizing the desk drawers when—

Crash!

A sudden loud noise made Agnes startle and look up.

Her father had fallen to the floor and was writhing in pain.

"Urgh... ugh."

"Oh my goodness, are you alright?"

As she hurried over, she noticed her father staring intently at something.

The second drawer she had just been organizing.

"What's in there?"

Agnes opened the drawer and looked inside, but there was nothing special.

Her father staggered over and partially opened the third drawer.

He tapped the handle of the first drawer with his palm and twisted it in a peculiar direction.

Creak.

The second drawer slid out as if pushed.

"What on earth..."

Hidden in the space where the second drawer had been was a wooden box.

It had a thick lock, making it difficult to force open.

"Urgh... ah..."

Her father gestured frantically, as if trying to say something.

But he pushed the drawer toward Agnes, then slipped and fell to the floor again.

"Father!"

Agnes helped him back to bed, then brought the box to him.

"Is there something important in here?"

But her father didn't answer.

As if he'd never cared about the box, he just stared blankly into the air with unfocused eyes.

Still, Agnes had a feeling that the box contained something very important.

That's why her father, barely lucid, had tried so desperately to show it to her.

Agnes secretly placed the box in the vault in the basement.

She stored the other documents and items in the desk drawer in her own room.

Her father was moved to Edmund's now-empty room, and Agnes finally sent workers into her father's room.

She planned to replace everything—from the wallpaper and carpet to the curtains and furniture.

She watched closely in case any other suspicious items were found, but there were none.

Gazing at the gradually emptying room, Agnes fell into thought.

'Will this help Father get better?'

It would be better than being buried in a room full of memories of his mother, forever longing for her.

But somehow, she felt that even if that happened, it would be sad.

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