Chapter 35

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 35

Chapter Title: Lost Child

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Erna passed Tara Square just after five o'clock. She had pulled the wide brim of her bonnet low over her face and draped a large hooded cloak over it.

Staggering up to the fountain, Erna set her trunk on the railing and caught her breath for a moment. The wind and rain were so fierce she could barely stand upright. It was the kind of weather that left you winded after just a short walk, chills running through your body.

Just a little longer.

She muttered it over and over, as if convincing herself, then gripped the trunk again and plunged back into the downpour. Her umbrella, with one rib already snapped, offered little protection, but she couldn't bear to abandon her last shred of shelter.

Reaching the empty stagecoach stop, Erna anxiously scanned the road. Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long before a carriage appeared.

"You're just like your useless mother—even down to giving everyone the creeps."

Her father's face flashed in her mind amid the cold landscape, the contemptuous words he'd hurled at her before leaving the wrecked bedroom.

"I don't know how spoiled those old men raised you, but remember this: in this house, you pay dearly for your mistakes."

Tsking down at Erna, collapsed and trembling like a broken doll, he had turned and walked away without a care. Beyond the open door stood the viscountess, there to wrangle the servants.

She had gazed down at Erna with eyes as icy as Viscount Hardy's, let out a weary sigh laced with exhaustion, and turned away. Only then could Lisa rush to Erna's side.

It was strange.

Lisa sobbed heartbreakingly, but Erna, the one who'd been beaten, didn't feel particularly aggrieved or in pain. "It's okay. Everything ends tomorrow anyway." It seemed the effect of that mantra she'd repeated endlessly.

Erna meekly let Lisa tend her wounds. She swallowed the medicine Lisa brought, went to bed like a good girl, and ate every meal delivered to her room, chewing thoroughly. She had to build her strength somehow if she wanted to escape safely. She didn't want to think about anything else.

As the sound of hoofbeats grew nearer, Erna pulled the brim of her bonnet even lower to hide her face. The carriage, which would normally be packed, was nearly empty.

Erna curled up small in the farthest corner seat. The carriage lingered a few more minutes, but no other passengers boarded.

Erna never once lifted her deeply bowed head until the carriage pulled into the square before the central station.

"What in the world is going on?"

Pavel found the conductor in the passage between cars and asked anxiously. The train had come to an abrupt halt and hadn't budged for over ten minutes.

"I'm sorry. I was just about to announce it to the passengers."

The conductor cleared his throat with a heavy sigh.

"A landslide from the heavy rain has blocked the tracks. It'll take some time to clear."

"How long of a delay?"

Pavel checked the time, furrows deepening between his brows.

"Hard to say. They're working as fast as they can, but at the moment..."

The conductor trailed off evasively, bowed politely, and hurried down the aisle. His voice announcing the landslide echoed through the cars, mingling chaotically with the rain battering the windows.

Pavel paced the corridor anxiously before returning to his compartment. The middle-aged couple across from him read their books with resigned expressions. Through the window, he could see workers starting to clear rocks and dirt with carts, but the relentless downpour made progress agonizingly slow.

"Give it up, young sir. This stretch is prone to landslides— it'll be at least half a day."

The wife smiled at Pavel's fidgeting and spoke up.

"We're heading to the dining car for supper. Care to join? Waiting like this, you'll miss the meal."

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

Pavel replied, unable to hide his unease.

Once the couple left for the dining car, Pavel was alone in the six-person compartment. The silence amplified his gnawing anxiety. He'd taken a train that arrived an hour early to be safe, and now this. It was maddening.

Pavel watched the sluggish work with a sense of helplessness. Even after the couple returned from supper, the train showed no sign of moving.

"See? Told you it'd take a while."

The wife's words snapped Pavel out of his daze. He checked his watch again with a start—it was already the promised time with Erna.

"Something important?"

The wife asked, concern creasing her face at his despair.

"Yes."

Pavel answered, his dry lips parting. That's when he suddenly recalled her saying she traveled this route often.

"Madam, is there a village nearby?"

"Looking for a place to stay? It won't be delayed overnight."

"No, not that... "

Pavel peered out the rain-streaked window with troubled eyes. Erna was surely already at the meeting spot by now. She had never once broken a promise.

"Any village with a stagecoach to Schwerin would do. Or somewhere to rent a horse."

Pavel faced the couple with resolve.

"Is there one close by?"

There it ended.

The mantra he'd clung to lost its power.

The grand duke had won again today. It was the expected outcome, so reactions were muted.

If you're going to lose, better to Biern Dynister.

The saying had become a kind of maxim in this club card room. Losing to an unbeatable opponent was more honorable than kneeling to mediocrity.

"Huh, leaving already?"

Peter's eyes widened as Biern rose from the card table. Things were just getting interesting, and this wasn't like him—especially on a lucky night.

"Stay longer?"

"What, want to lose more money?"

Biern grinned, pointing at Peter's dwindling chips.

A few curses mixed with jokes and laughter passed between them as Biern straightened his clothes and donned his jacket. Stepping out of the smoke-filled card room, his vision cleared sharply.

Erna.

The name he'd forgotten resurfaced casually, perhaps because of it. Success or failure—it was about time for her gamble to resolve.

"To the station."

Biern impulsively ordered the coachman opening the door. He knew it was reckless curiosity but didn't care much. The coachman seemed less convinced.

"Schwerin station? The one where the train stops?"

The coachman asked, startled as if told to drive to hell.

"You're not planning to take the train, are you, Your Highness? I've never heard of such a schedule..."

"No. Just pass by the front and head to the palace. That's all."

Biern explained as if it were the most natural route, then climbed in. The coachman still looked dubious but obeyed without further questions.

As the horses set off, the rain grew louder. Biern idly watched the city's lights streak past the wet window.

All he knew of Erna Hardy's midnight flight was that it was tonight, destination Burford. No details on time, companion, or method—rushing to the station blindly would be futile. But an hour wasted en route wasn't so precious. He'd be home far earlier than usual anyway, which Mrs. Fitz would approve as a wholesome day.

Erna.

He whispered the name that had taken society by storm lately.

Erna. Erna Hardy.

The image of the girl he'd last seen a week ago resurfaced as the grand station came into view through the rainy streets.

She had the eyes of a lost child. Deeply confused, not knowing where she was or where to go—having forgotten even how to cry.

Those eyes pleaded for nothing, just blankly vacant, yet they left him with the shabby feeling of having shaken off a desperate child's grasp.

The question nagged him at times, but he never found a satisfying answer. Not now either. Perhaps the lack of one was what irritated him, he mused just as the carriage halted before Schwerin station square.

The train station on this deep, stormy night was deserted and eerie, as expected. Even if she'd truly fled her father, no sane woman would wander like a vagrant this late. She'd have taken an earlier train or found shelter somewhere in the city.

Biern chuckled away his fruitless curiosity. He'd just resolved to order departure when he spotted a lone figure trudging weakly from the far end of the square.

Withdrawing his hand from the carriage wall, Biern narrowed his eyes at the approaching pedestrian. A small, slender woman. One hand clutched a travel trunk, the other a tattered, broken umbrella. She staggered as if about to fall but pressed on stubbornly.

As the raindrops trickling down the window grew annoying, the woman reached the clock tower in the square's center and lifted her head. Too far to make out her face clearly, but Biern distinctly saw long brown hair spilling from under her cloak hood. Her silhouette, posture, aura—all strangely familiar.

No way.

Biern dismissed the absurd hunch and checked the time. Well past eleven. No self-respecting lady would be out wandering fearlessly at this hour—let alone in such weather, in that state.

But no matter how many times he looked, Biern could draw only one conclusion.

"...Erna."

The quietly whispered name seeped into the spaces between the rain tapping the carriage.