The Slaughterer of Beautiful Birds
Relatives coming to spend the summer at Arvis. Social gatherings. The insurance matter for the trade ship due to sail next month.
Seated deep in the carriage, Matthias gazed out the window while Hessen carefully reported on the family’s pending affairs. Matthias signaled that he was listening with brief replies or a slight nod of his head. Business matters fell under the company directors, and household affairs under the two mistresses of the house, yet the final authority always rested with the Duke of Herhardt. And Matthias had occupied that seat since the year he turned twelve.
By the time they turned onto the plane-tree avenue that led to the estate, Hessen’s report had come to an end.
Matthias tilted his head slightly and watched the familiar scenery. Tall trees lined both sides of the approach, their branches meeting overhead like clasped hands to form an arch. Fragmented sunlight filtering through the rustling leaves embroidered the road in beautiful patterns.
Once past that avenue and into the estate proper, the white manor with its deep-blue roof revealed itself in full. At the entrance stood his mother and grandmother, upright and composed, waiting to welcome the master of the house. While Matthias was still straightening the already immaculate knot of his tie, the carriage came to a halt and the door opened.
“Welcome home, Matthias.”
The Dowager Duchess of the house, Katarina von Herhardt, greeted her grandson with a bright smile. Matthias bowed his head to receive her kiss. Standing a step behind her, Elyse von Herhardt took a somewhat cooler approach.
“You’ve grown taller again in so short a time.”
She welcomed her son with a light embrace and a smile. Her dark hair, so like her son’s, gleamed in the early-summer sunlight.
Matthias answered with a matching smile. The greetings he exchanged with the servants lined up in perfect formation were much the same. Refined manners and precisely measured courtesy flowed as naturally as water. In such moments the line between boy and man became meaningless. He was simply the Duke of Herhardt—the perfect master of this house.
Standing between his grandmother and mother, Matthias led the way across the lobby hall. Before ascending the stairs he lifted his gaze for a moment; the enormous chandelier, lit even at midday, entered his view. Beyond it, high overhead, the Herhardt family crest adorned the distant ceiling.
He was a Herhardt.
That name was another word for cold intellect, elegant dignity, and a detached nature.
As the Duke of Herhardt, Matthias had never once felt dissatisfaction or doubt about his life. He understood perfectly the form of existence he was meant to live, and he accepted it willingly. It was as natural as breathing—and as easy as breathing, too.
Matthias lowered his eyes again and climbed the stairs with long strides.
Only when the master’s family had entered the manor did the servants finally release the breaths they had been holding.
For days Arvis had been in an uproar preparing to receive the Duke of Herhardt. On the day the master returned, everything had to be perfect—and that included the servants who were part of the house itself. Even the lowest footmen, to whom the Duke would never spare a glance, were obliged to keep their appearance immaculate. The uninvited guest of Arvis, Leila Lewellin, was no exception.
“Has His Grace already gone inside? Already?”
Standing at the very end of the line, Leila whispered in a voice edged with disappointment. The hem of the white dress Bill had bought for her fluttered with the child’s movements.
“You’ll see plenty of the Duke of Herhardt in the forest. You can ask permission then.”
Bill Remmer tossed out the curt reply and started walking ahead. Leila nearly ran to keep up with him.
“Does His Grace like the forest too?”
“Something like that. He likes hunting.”
“Hunting? In the forest?”
Leila’s eyes went round. Bill snorted and looked down at the child.
“That forest is this family’s hunting ground, so of course he does.”
“Then… does he hunt birds as well?”
“The Duke probably likes hunting birds best of all.”
At Bill’s casual remark, Leila’s face drained of color and she stopped walking. Realizing a beat too late why, Bill coughed awkwardly.
He considered soothing her with a convenient lie, but the Duke of Herhardt would appear in the hunting grounds within a few days anyway. There was no point in reassuring the child only to give her a greater shock later.
“You’ll be amazed when you see the Duke shoot. Young as he is, he’s an excellent marksman.”
Bill muttered on simply because he felt he ought to say something. By the time he realized the words were worse than silence, Leila already looked ready to cry.
“Why does he hunt birds? Even without hunting there must be so much food in a fine house like that.”
“To noble gentlemen, hunting is amusement. Birds are the most interesting targets of all, and also…”
Bill, speaking earnestly, realized his mistake once more. But the words were already out. Leila blinked her large eyes, face stricken with shock.
Why, of all things, does she have to love those damned birds so much!
Bill nearly shouted in frustration. He could not understand why he had to explain all this in detail and watch the face of such a tiny child. In the end, though, he said nothing more. One more word and she would cry, and he did not want to see that. A crying child—he detested the sight.
After some hesitation Bill simply resumed walking, escaping the awkwardness. The child, shoulders slumped, followed behind him with lifeless steps. The Leila Lewellin who had been so delighted with her new clothes was nowhere to be found. She had looked rather charming darting about in high spirits, too.
“I hope His Grace comes to hate hunting.”
After a long silence the child spoke carefully.
“Maybe that could happen, don’t you think?”
Leila looked up at Bill with eyes full of earnest hope. Bill only scratched the back of his neck again and could say nothing.
Leila thought that perhaps her prayer had been answered after all.
A full week after his return, the Duke still had not visited the hunting grounds. With so many guests thronging the manor, it was understandable.
Every day noisy gatherings were held, yet the forest remained quiet. In the meantime summer deepened a little further. Eggs the mother bird had tended so carefully hatched into chicks, and wild roses that had been only buds burst into full bloom. Leila walked the summer forest, observing those small changes with quiet joy.
“Don’t go too far, Leila!”
Bill shouted after the child’s retreating back as she set out from the cabin in high spirits once more.
“Yes! I’ll only go as far as the river! See you later, Uncle!”
Leila turned and waved both hands high above her head. The old leather bag slung over her shoulder bounced along with her skipping steps.
First she checked the tree that held the great-tit nest that had hatched only recently. The still-featherless chicks waited for their mother, who had gone to find food. Climbing down in a hurry, Leila took a small notebook from her bag and recorded the appearance of the baby birds she had seen that day. She even added clumsy little drawings.
Lately Leila had been putting everything she saw in the forest into her notebook. This estate was more beautiful than any place she had ever stayed. So she wanted to remember it all. When the day came that she had to leave here too, she would open the notebook and look. Thinking that way made the sadness grow lighter.
Walking the path that led to the riverbank, Leila diligently recorded the forest. She slipped a few pretty petals between the pages and ate wild raspberries growing by the wayside. By the time she reached the dazzlingly glittering riverside, the sun stood high overhead.
Leila climbed the great tree that stood at the boundary between forest and river. Its long, sturdy branches were as comfortable as a chair; it was her favorite tree. The faint sound of hoofbeats approaching from the distance began just as she opened her notebook.
Leila hastily stuffed the notebook deep into her bag. In that short time the sound of the galloping horse drew nearer. Frightened, she hugged the trunk and held her breath.
Before long a horse with sleek dark-brown coat appeared, carrying a man on its back. Of all places, he reined in directly beneath the tree where Leila was perched. The way he dismounted was light and fluid.
She knew she ought to climb down, yet the strange man was already leaning against the tree below. While she fretted over what words she should use to ask his pardon, the man removed his hat. At the same moment Leila’s bag bumped against a branch with a soft thud.
What happened next remained hazy in her memory.
The man turned reflexively and looked up, and Leila saw him. Between black hair fallen across his forehead, blue eyes like transparent glass beads. The thought had barely formed when he was already leveling a gun at her. The long barrel’s menacing gleam stabbed into Leila’s dazed eyes.
Leila froze solid, simply clinging tighter to the tree. Her whole body was trembling. The man watched her quietly for a moment, then let out a slow breath and lowered the hunting rifle he had aimed.
“What are you?”
A low voice slipped from between slightly crooked lips.
“…I’m Leila.”
Leila managed to squeeze out the words, her voice thick with unshed tears. Golden hair fluttered in the breeze blowing up from the river.
“What?”
His eyes narrowed further. Leila hugged the tree so hard her fingertips hurt.
“Leila. Leila Lewellin.”
“Uncle! Uncle Bill! Uncle!”
Leila’s voice, calling for Bill Remmer until she nearly choked, rang out across the clearing.
Sitting in front of the shed sharpening a tool, Bill turned his head in bewilderment. Leila came tearing toward him, face flushed scarlet.
“What’s the matter?”
“There’s a person in the forest! A tall man!”
Even out of breath she poured the words out in a rush.
“So you ran into the Duke out hunting.”
Bill answered as if it were nothing and picked up the next tool.
“His hair was black and his eyes were bright blue, and his voice was just like a water bird’s feather.”
“That’s the Duke of Herhardt, all right.”
Bill laughed heartily. Leila stood rooted to the spot for a long while, still panting.
For some time that beautiful and terrifying man had simply stared at her, then turned away without a word. As he remounted, two more men who seemed to be companions appeared. Joining them, the man moved deeper into the forest and disappeared. Once they were no longer in sight, Leila scrambled down the tree in a panic and fled all the way back to this cabin.
“Then His Grace…”
Just as Leila was about to speak further, a cold gunshot cracked through the quiet of the forest—bang.
Leila startled and whipped her head toward the sound. From the far side of the woods, startled birds rose all at once into the sky. Among them one bird, limp and lifeless, vanished between the trees.
Several more shots followed. Bill set down his work and rose to his feet. Leila stood frozen, staring blankly toward the far forest.
“Leila.”
Bill laid a quiet hand on the trembling child’s shoulder. Only after a long while did Leila lift her head. In that moment Bill unconsciously held his breath.
The child was crying.
The slaughterer of beautiful birds.
That was how Leila decided to name the Duke of Herhardt. Of course it was only her own private opinion.
Everyone on this estate—even Bill Remmer—praised him as the perfect nobleman. With his outstanding qualities and dignity as an heir, and his restrained, elegant bearing as well, people seemed to cherish and love Matthias von Herhardt, Duke of Herhardt, with all their hearts.
But not Leila.
After the day he went hunting, the mother great tit vanished. The fragile chicks that had lost their mother all died as well. Countless other birds disappeared besides.
Why did the Duke hunt only small, beautiful birds instead of the large ones that would grace a table?
After watching and pondering for an entire month, Leila thought she finally understood the reason.
To him, birds were living targets.
The smaller they were, the more difficult and interesting, and so he simply shot those amusing targets. He did not even glance at the game he had hit. He simply left them where they fell and turned away. On the days he went hunting, Leila had to find many birds lying bloodied and cold, and bury them.
Bang—.
From far away another gunshot rang out.