Evidence That Cannot Be Fabricated
The Duke’s study lay at the far left end of the second floor. Maeve had heard that the young master used the room at the far right of the same floor.
Even sharing a level, they occupied the rooms farthest from each other. The physical distance made the gulf between them almost visible. She thought as much as she climbed the stairs.
The mansion already stood on a quiet street, and with so few people inside, the atmosphere went past calm into something closer to silence. Perhaps that was why the sound of Maeve’s heels rang out with unusual force through the whole house.
“Ah, Teacher. You’ve arrived.”
The middle-aged man she had met before—his thinning hair gone mostly white—brightened at the sight of her and came forward with the younger man standing beside him. Maeve dipped her head in greeting.
“I never properly introduced myself last time. I am Hagen Graf, His Grace’s chief aide.”
“Enoch Graf.”
“Hello. I’m Maeve Evofil, the temporary tutor. Both of you were in the study the other day, weren’t you?”
The young man who had called himself Enoch nodded. His light brown hair caught the sunlight and took on a golden cast. He stepped closer, voice lifting with barely contained excitement.
“But seriously, how did you talk him into it? I was sure His Grace would never hire another tutor for the young master—”
“Enoch.”
The large, lively voice clashed so sharply with the mansion’s earlier hush that it created an entirely different atmosphere. Maeve’s eyes widened; she blinked.
“My son, as you can see, has yet to learn how to act his age and is rather frivolous. If you’ve come to see His Grace, you may go straight in, Teacher.”
“Oh, come on, Father! I was certain he’d refuse, so I didn’t even listen properly to what they were talking about!”
Enoch chattered on, words tumbling out in a rapid stream. A soft smile spread across Maeve’s face. What a lively person.
Hagen noted her expression, gave a single nod, and took his place before the study door. Two firm knocks. A low voice answered from within.
“Come in.”
The door opened with a creak of old hinges. The hand that had been busily reviewing documents stilled.
Selver sat in his chair and only half-lifted his gaze to check who stood in front of him. His eyes touched Hagen once, then moved to Maeve standing beside him.
“⋯⋯Why is the teacher already here?”
“I have something to discuss regarding the young master.”
“Have you already managed to read Aern’s mind?”
Selver narrowed his eyes at the woman.
“No. I only met him for thirty minutes today.”
A deflated laugh slipped from his lips.
“There keeps being an obstacle whenever I try to understand the young master’s thoughts.”
“An obstacle?”
“How much do you trust the wet nurse?”
A deep crease formed between Selver’s brows.
“To be frank, I believe you need to remove that person first if you want the young master’s opinions free of outside interference.”
“You’re telling me to dismiss Hilda Greta?”
“Yes.”
Maeve spoke without the slightest hesitation or doubt.
“Ha.”
As though he had just heard something absurd, the Duke swallowed a hollow laugh and his face hardened. His already sharp features turned colder still. Seeing that expression, Hagen fidgeted and cast Maeve an uneasy look.
“I have entrusted Aern to Hilda for two years, counting by the calendar.”
“Two whole years? That’s truly unfortunate.”
“I met you for the first time yesterday.”
“⋯⋯.”
“Common sense, then—whom do you think I would trust?”
Maeve tilted her head as if puzzled. She seemed to consider for a moment, then spoke with an air of stating the obvious.
“Isn’t it precisely because Your Grace does not fully trust the wet nurse that you are trying to verify things through me?”
Her voice was steady and certain as she continued, quiet but clear.
“If you trusted her, you could simply have asked her yourself without going through the trouble of bringing in a third party.”
Selver raised one eyebrow and regarded her with an unreadable gaze.
“The reason you went so far as to hire a tutor just to learn the young master’s true feelings—wasn’t it because you already harbored some suspicion that the reports the wet nurse has been submitting all this time were strange?”
Maeve rested her chin on her hand, looking upward as she laid out each point. Her unwavering green eyes met the Duke’s without flinching.
“Don’t try to back out now.”
Her tone turned resolute as she addressed him firmly.
“If you meant to doubt me, you should never have given me the task in the first place. Once you entrusted it to me, you ought not to doubt me.”
Selver waited in silence until she finished, studied her straight gaze for a moment, then spoke.
“It is true that the wet nurse is suspicious.”
Maeve blinked. She had not expected him to admit it so readily.
“Because she was recommended by the Emperor.”
Hagen, who had been listening quietly at his side, nearly shrieked as he raised his voice to stop him.
“Your Grace!”
“Enough. She’ll learn of it eventually.”
The Duke lifted a hand in a careless gesture, cutting Hagen off. Hagen opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again. Selver exhaled a short breath and tapped the desk with his fingers as he continued.
“The Emperor⋯⋯ does not particularly care for our house.”
He chose his words with care. A single misstep could make them sound like treasonous intent.
But Maeve already knew of the hostility between Emperor and Duke, so she had no difficulty recognizing how thoroughly he had softened the truth.
The Emperor she remembered had been born the late Emperor’s legitimate eldest son and had taken everything he wanted since childhood—an arrogant man. Born wanting for nothing, he possessed a difficult nature that could not bear to look upon anyone more capable than himself. That he obstructed the Duke at every turn, and would obstruct him even more severely in the future, had been all but decided the moment the Duke became a war hero.
“The Emperor once demanded that Aern enter the palace.”
Maeve said nothing, waiting for him to go on.
“Under the tired pretext of finding a companion for the Crown Prince.”
It was a method the imperial family had used since ancient times: bringing the children of powerful nobles into the palace to study alongside the Crown Prince. It created a reliable ally for the heir while simultaneously warning the great houses—we hold your successor’s life in our hands, so do not even dream of betrayal.
“I refused the palace. Yet he tirelessly sent a wet nurse instead, so there was no longer any way to refuse.”
Selver drew a deep breath, as though the mere thought made his head throb.
“That woman is suspicious. But she is someone the Emperor himself recommended. I cannot openly doubt her, nor dismiss her on some petty pretext.”
“⋯⋯I suppose not.”
“The reverse is also true. Even if news of Aern leaks to the Emperor, the wet nurse cannot harm him directly.”
Having roughly grasped the situation, Maeve nodded as if agreeing with his account. In that moment she understood why he had been so defensive.
His judgment was certainly correct: as someone sent by the Emperor, Hilda could not openly persecute Aern. The slightest misstep would cast suspicion first on the Emperor himself.
And that was precisely why they had chosen another method. If they destroyed the young master’s social reputation, the prestige of House Cardenas would naturally fall with it. Only now did Hilda’s blatant behavior make sense. She had a powerful backer.
The Duke stopped pressing his temple and lifted his gaze from the floor to meet Maeve’s eyes.
“First, tell me why you suspect the wet nurse. You yourself are equally under suspicion.”
Maeve gave a light nod. She could understand him doubting her as well.
“There are many ways to eat away at a person without laying a physical hand on them. You know this. You know the power of rumor.”
Selver leaned slightly against the table, inviting her to continue.
Maeve began to explain, calmly and in order, everything that had happened so far: how Aern was treated at the Academy, the attitudes of the wet nurse and the butler during the interview, the ways the wet nurse blocked information from reaching him while spreading malicious rumors about him.
“Even if all of that is true, it is still not enough to dismiss Hilda.”
Selver listened to the end with the same impassive expression, then answered without changing a single feature.
“Why do you think rumors are called rumors? Why do nobles destroy one another’s reputations with gossip instead of open territorial war? Because no one can tell where they began—is that not so?”
The look he turned on Maeve was cold. His tone was hard enough that it almost seemed he was rebuking her, yet he did not appear to speak from any real desire to scold.
Maeve agreed with him. Circumstantial evidence of that level could never strip away the Emperor’s protection.
“Such rumors are⋯⋯”
“Weak as evidence, and easily fabricated?”
The interrupted Duke frowned. Maeve looked into his eyes and drew up the corner of her mouth. The confidence of someone certain of her ground showed clearly.
“Then if I show you irrefutable evidence that cannot be fabricated—will you believe me then?”
“Evidence that cannot be fabricated?”
“Your Grace need only prepare three simple things. I will supply both the evidence and the justification.”
Maeve carefully set upon the Duke’s desk the cream she had bought earlier at the stall after carefully checking the ingredients list.
“Three things?”
“Tarbec oil, a witness, and hyacinth. Just those three.”
The Duke’s face was full of open bewilderment, as though he could not begin to understand what she was talking about.
“If I succeed, I become the young master’s tutor as promised, and Your Grace removes the Emperor’s inconvenient spy on the basis of an accusation from a provisional teacher who had nothing to do with any of this.”
Certain of his acceptance, Maeve smiled radiantly.