Chapter 10

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: The Casket
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As I entered the room, Marie shot up from her seat in surprise. She must have been nursing Seril this whole time, as a damp towel was still in her hand. I chided Marie in a deliberately displeased tone.

“You should have taken her to the adjoining room. Someone might get the wrong idea.”

Marie’s face went pale, her eyes widening as she cautiously watched my expression. Her ghastly complexion looked whiter than if she had applied face powder.

Feigning ignorance of her expression, I walked to a corner of the room. I opened the lid of a plain, dark brown casket and emptied all the odds and ends inside onto the floor.

The casket, large enough to comfortably fit a person, was one of the few belongings Mother and I had brought to the Vischwartz estate. Normally used as a chest for clothes, it had been passed down to my mother from her mother, and was said to have once been covered in red velvet with tassels.

It was an item my grandmother had brought with her when she married into the viscount’s family. It was a relic of the past, something they couldn't bear to part with even as they sold the very title of viscount to pay off their debts.

Perhaps for that reason, the casket, layered with the grime of ages, was thoroughly caked in filth and looked incredibly dirty, a testament to the many hands it had passed through. But Mother would sometimes gaze at this casket and weep with nostalgia for bygone days, singing mournful songs as if recalling past glories.

I couldn't understand her. I felt it would be better to sell the thing at a pawnshop for a few extra coins than to stroke it and sob.

Back then, I was always hungry. The watery soup with a few vegetables and the hard, black bread we soaked in it were never enough to fill my growing stomach.

So I wanted to sell the casket, which, though plain, possessed a certain aristocratic elegance, and buy a wider variety of food. I was sick of wearing old clothes that had been mended beyond repair. If we could trade the casket for a better life, I thought we should do so without hesitation.

Because of this, we often fought over selling it. I had no grasp of my mother's sentimentality, and she believed my hunger was something that could be endured.

Our arguments never ended in agreement. An angered Mother would imply how deeply she was hurt by calling me “a savage beast with a heart of ice.” But that was all. She was not ferocious like me.

If we hadn't come to the Vischwartz estate, this casket would surely have been turned into a handful of coins by me. As always, my mother would have been unable to win against me, eventually collapsing from exhaustion.

In any case, Mother, having luckily managed to save the casket, sought to express her love for her child through this old chest, just as her own mother had. And so, she passed it down to me. With a look full of longing, she whispered in a soft voice, “One day, you will understand its use. So, keep it safe.”

But the me of the past had no idea what use this casket could possibly have. I resented having to keep something so old and dirty in my room. So I tried to get it out of my sight. I covered it with a purple velvet cloth and shoved it in a corner, never once using it.

When Mother visited my room, she immediately recognized it as the casket, despite its form being obscured by the cloth, and let out a small sigh. She swallowed her disappointment, unable to scold the daughter who did not understand her heart.

At times like that, I would pretend to be distracted and deliberately avoid her gaze. At the same time, I thought of my mother as quite the old-fashioned person. I dismissed her as a country bumpkin who knew nothing of the latest trends.

But now, I know. I know just how useful this casket is to me. Funnily enough, I have only just realized why it was made large enough to comfortably fit a person, unlike a normal chest.

Though it was a realization that ran entirely contrary to my mother's girlish sentimentality. Still, at least I wasn't just shoving it in a corner anymore. As long as it was being used somehow, that should be enough, right?

I nudged the pile of miscellaneous items on the floor into a corner with my foot, then spoke to Marie.

“Bring her over here.”

“Seril?”

“Yes.”

Seril was larger than Marie. Compared to the slender-boned Marie, Seril had thick arms and thighs, and her back was broad like a man's. With eyes as thin as thread and an aquiline nose that hooked slightly to the right, she had a worldly air, more like a woman who had borne children than a maiden.

When Seril and Marie stood together, there was a good head's difference in height. Marie was weaker and younger than Seril. It would be impossible for Marie to bring Seril over to me by herself.

But Marie was watching me fearfully, knowing she would be in for a severe scolding if she didn't act as swiftly as a flying squirrel. So, with all her might, she put her hands under Seril’s armpits and, dragging more than half of her body across the floor, managed to inch her way toward me.

It was less than thirty paces from the center of the room to where I stood, but Marie’s face was soaked with sweat. She looked utterly exhausted.

I praised her efforts with a few short words.

“Well done. Now, put Seril in here.”

Marie’s eyes trembled with shock. She asked me in a rapid tone, as if she’d forgotten to breathe.

“You want me to put Seril in the casket?”

“Yes. You heard me correctly.”

“Good heavens! Young Miss Cisse, what on earth are you doing? How can you put an injured person inside a casket?”

“Don't worry. It’s large enough for Seril to stretch her legs out. She’ll be able to rest comfortably inside. Surely you aren't defying me now, are you?”

Despite my command, Marie hesitated badly. She seemed to be torn between her moral conscience and her fear of me.

Needing an obedient beast more than a person with a conscience, I couldn't stand the briefest delay. I grabbed Marie’s hair and growled.

“Why are you hesitating? I didn't give you time to think. It was an order. Didn't you say you would help me? If you’re hesitating because you’d rather work in the laundry, you’re free to let go. There are plenty of maids.”

The laundry was an even more grueling workplace than the kitchens. That place, smeared with lye, fermented urine, and other filth, was always hot and clamorous from the constant boiling of laundry.

Because of this, even a young and energetic maiden would become as frail as an old woman after a single day of work in the laundry. It was no wonder. They spent the entire day in the lowest part of the manor, beating, boiling, and drying mountain-high piles of laundry, leaving them so drained they had no energy left.

For maids like Marie, who had been trained to serve their superiors, it was the worst possible post, a place they could never endure.

Whether it was the fear of being sent to the laundry, Marie quickly succumbed to my threat. She gripped Seril’s shoulders, trying her best not to sob.

Grunting with effort, she struggled to put the limp, moaning Seril into the casket. Her tightly clenched lips trembled with a profound sadness.

After about ten minutes, following a desperate struggle, Marie succeeded in getting Seril’s body into the casket. She then collapsed on the spot, breathing heavily. Her sweat-drenched face was shaken with deep guilt. I embraced her and whispered softly.

“You did well. Marie, I’m so glad to have you.”

For a noblewoman who held her pristine honor as the highest virtue, dealing with a maid she had punished would have been a difficult problem to solve. That is why they took an interest in the ‘casket’—lidded, easy to conceal, and unlikely to arouse suspicion about its contents—and began to modify it.

In the past, a noblewoman told me how she used her ‘casket.’ After whipping a maid who had crept into her husband’s bedchamber, she locked her in the casket and starved her for three days. All the while, she endlessly kicked the chest and taunted the maid.

It was a simple yet sadistic form of torture. The maid, trapped in the dark chest and forced to listen to the noblewoman’s mockery for three whole days, eventually went mad. So terrified that the blacks of her eyes were barely visible, she curled her body up like an insect and trembled, even after being let out of the casket.

When people tried to drag her out of the room, she thrashed about wildly, letting out animalistic cries. At that, not only the noblewoman but also her husband declared they couldn't keep a mad person in the manor and threw her out.

‘I don’t know what happened to her after that. She might have crawled into a brothel to sell her body.’

Finishing her story, she lifted her fan to her nose and giggled. The women around her all praised her wise handling of the situation in unison. They, too, had similar experiences and considered her actions justified.

This chest, elegantly patterned with silver ornaments, was, in a sense, a legal ‘prison’ that noblewomen could personally own.

I folded a piece of cloth several times and wedged it between the casket’s lid and frame. I lowered the lid as much as possible to block out the light, while adjusting the angle to ensure there was just enough of a gap to breathe.

With that done, I dragged a table to a spot where the casket was in view and placed paper, a quill, and ink on top of it. I had made every preparation to react as quickly as possible when Seril awoke.

Next, I told Marie to prepare a blue dress and a feathered hat for me.

After changing, I planned to go to the stationer’s to buy some elegant, patterned paper. The paper I had now was too shabby for writing letters.

The blue dress, designed with several layers of ruffles, was made of silk, muslin, or some other thin cotton fabric, so it wrinkled easily. To wear it even once required painstakingly pressing each and every crease with an iron.

But it was a garment that even a deft-fingered maid found tricky, as it was easy to scorch with the iron, and soot often smudged it.

However, since it didn't require a pannier, it was light and easy to move in, so it was frequently worn not only by noble ladies but by me as well. The sash, tied loosely at the waist in a large bow, was an escape from constricting dresses.

Since it would take Marie about an hour to prepare the dress, I dismissed her and sat down in the chair. I dipped the quill deep into the ink, spread out the paper, and began to write in the most elegant script I could manage. This was the groundwork for securing the greatest asset I knew.

《To Lady Marianne de Châteauroux, mistress of the Rose Palace and the paragon for all the young ladies and noblewomen of the Empire, I humbly offer my greetings.

I am Cisse de Vischwartz, stepdaughter to Count Vischwartz, and have long admired the esteemed reputation of Lady Marianne de Châteauroux.

It would be only proper for me to visit you in person to pay my respects, but alas, I am not yet of age to be presented at court. Is this not a sorrowful state of affairs?

Therefore, unable to contain my admiration, I have sent this letter with such forwardness. I pray you will forgive my impertinence with your generous heart. (Omitted)》

Lady Marianne de Châteauroux was the Emperor’s mistress, a siren rumored to wield more power than the Empress herself. She had captivated the old Emperor with her beautiful looks and witty conversation, a fox who used her various arts of the bedchamber to keep him wrapped around her little finger.

Châteauroux, whose translucent skin and rosy cheeks were utterly lovely, was a woman who loved power and luxury, and she delighted in using her charms to their fullest to oppose the Empress.