An evil spirit is haunting my mistress, and there’s a story behind how I, Nora Boyd, arrived at that conclusion.
The Bernstein Domain, in which my family resides, is a small territory off the main roads of Sauslind, easy to miss on a map and devoid of any local specialties to speak of. Nestled among picturesque wheat fields, orchards, and rivers cascading from small peaks, it comes together with the adjacent territories to form an idyllic region of rustic simplicity. The locals are quite in tune with the laid-back character of their home, and the stories I often hear of inter-territorial rivalries and tariff disputes might as well be tales from a distant land. Anyone who lives here is more likely to know the name of a calf born to the domain that year than that of any nobleman.
Despite the relaxed nature of the Bernstein Domain, we receive a steady stream of visitors throughout the year. This is because we have one of the best libraries in all of Sauslind. The book-crazy marquisate has amassed a grand collection of tomes over the generations, ranging from one-of-a-kind titles to technical texts, and from old, weathered antiques to brand new releases from foreign kingdoms.
The library is said to be full of books that any academic would die to read, and the premises are packed with scholars and researchers all year round. There are thus a large number of inns and lodgings for those academics to stay in. Merchants likewise tend to frequent the Bernstein Domain. Evidently, the new tools and improved seeds developed by the researchers make for a great business asset; some traders have made a fortune that way, so more keep coming in hopes of emulating their success. Sometimes even dignitaries from distant lands come to meet the former regional lord of the Bernstein Domain. Our humble domain subsists on the money these various visitors spend.
And so, after the latest fiasco, the kids who had been playing pranks on the lord’s daughter were given a stern talking-to by their parents—accompanied by a great big smack upside the head.
When my old friend, Dieter, recounted the story in a sulk, I righteously fumed that he’d gotten what he deserved. My mistress was a quiet, elusive sort who didn’t tend to assert herself, but she was a sweet girl. Whenever she saw us servants rubbing our chapped hands together in the winter, she’d offer us a homemade ointment.
And she’d been careful to test the salve on her manservant, Jean, of course. She seemed to have learned from her many previous failures.
“I’m serious, Nora! We really saw it.”
Dieter was talking about the terrifying ghost he’d supposedly seen shadowing milady—the otherworldly creature who had glared at him and his gang of bullies with the promise of a curse to come. Some of the kids were afraid to pee alone at night after that, but if you asked me, they’d had it coming.
A hand on my hip, I gave my old friend a look of distaste. “I remember having to escort you to the bathroom whenever you spent the night. You’re still afraid of ghosts?”
“Give me a break! That was back when I was five!” he shouted back, then went on to berate me for digging up stuff from years ago.
The boy before me was the leader of the troublemaking gang. For a ten-year-old like milady, he was on the mature side. He behaved no better than your average brat, though.
I was two years his elder, and I’d once been responsible for looking after the neighborhood children. These days, I was employed as a servant in the regional lord’s estate to help out with the household expenses.
When I prompted Dieter to get to the point, he screwed his lips into an awkward pout. “So...you should warn Her Ladyship. I wanted to tell her myself, but for some reason, I can’t get inside the library anymore.”
The few times he’d managed to get in, it hadn’t taken long for him to get tossed back out again. The word among the children was that it was the work of the ghost’s curse.
I parroted the word “ghost,” shooting Dieter an incredulous look. He seemed intent on hiding it, but I knew he’d been hovering around milady ever since he’d first picked up her ribbon. No matter how easygoing our domain was, the object of his affections was still a noblewoman. I was tempted to tell him that she was out of his league, but I kept it to myself and acquiesced to his request.
“To tell you the truth, I’ve had similar concerns. Before that manservant named Jean came along, the maids who attended milady often claimed to have seen a ghost. But Master Alfred is always hanging around her, and he’s never said anything of the sort.”
While I pondered what that might mean, Dieter meekly pressed me to do him this favor. I offered to mediate if he wanted to apologize to milady, but after some hesitation, he stubbornly declined. He probably did want to say sorry, but he felt too guilty for making her cry. He just couldn’t bring himself to face her.
Just as I was feeling a pang of fondness for the “little brother” I’d looked after for so long, he handed me even more tools. According to him, they were for exorcising evil spirits.
“We all feel bad. We know we took it too far...”
Evidently, the boys who played all those practical jokes on milady had put the set together. Their so-called token of apology was an exorcism kit...
I told him I’d save the tools for after I investigated, finished my work early (around dusk), and hurried off to the library. It was almost time for milady to come home. If the ghost had been spotted in the library, it was best to check while she was still there.
As I arrived outside the stone library, which I didn’t often visit, I found myself struck by its grandeur. Perhaps the twilight was to blame, but the huge shadow the building cast made it look almost like a gigantic monster. The age spots and ivy-covered exterior worked together to create an eerie effect, and the entrance was so dimly lit that it felt like walking into the mouth of a beast.
I shook my head furiously. I couldn’t let Dieter’s tall tales get to me.