Chapter 5 – The Maid and the Young Lady
The abandoned youngest daughter.
The lady who wanders through the mansion.
The noble who is treated worse than a servant.
Everett knew her position better than anyone else.
And she also knew who would come to her now that Gemma had left her alone.
Frederick Montegue. You took advantage of my weakness, she thought.
If she could, she would have erased their first meeting completely.
But unfortunately, when she returned to this time, Everett and Frederick had already met.
Still—it didn’t matter. The foolish Everett who had once been deceived was long dead.
A bitter smile formed on her lips.
Why am I shaking like this?
Was it fear? Or anticipation?
Just thinking about seeing Frederick and Hedia again made her heart pound loudly.
The sound of her heartbeat soon blended with footsteps coming down the hall.
Then, the door opened.
“Yaaawn~ My lady, it’s time to get up.”
A maid entered, stretching and yawning. But when she saw Everett sitting quietly at her desk, she jumped back in surprise.
“Ah! You scared me to death! Why are you sitting there like that so early in the morning?”
The maid—her name was Joanne—was Everett’s personal maid. She frowned, annoyed, and dropped the washbasin she was holding onto the old desk with a clatter. Then, from her apron, she pulled out a piece of bread and tossed it toward Everett. The bread hit Everett’s face directly and fell to the floor.
Joanne’s expression relaxed.
“I heard Miss Gemma left, right? What a shame. Guess all your lucky days are over. Looks like you’ll have to see me more often now.”
She chuckled as her eyes roamed up and down Everett’s body. It was a mocking laugh that said, There’s no one left to protect you now.
Everett looked down at the so-called “wash water.” It was dirty, murky water that Joanne had clearly already used to wash her own face.
“Joanne…” Everett said quietly.
“You’d better be nice to me, my lady,” Joanne said with a sly smile.
For nearly five years, Joanne had been her maid—and had taken great pleasure in tormenting her. She found twisted joy in bullying a noblewoman of pure blood despite being a mere servant.
What kind of maid gave her lady moldy bread and dirty water?
Even when Joanne insulted her or threw tantrums, Everett never said a word. And the only one who had ever stood by her—Gemma—had fallen sick because of Joanne too.
Everett’s eyes cooled as she finished recalling the past.
“What are you staring at? Hurry up and wash. I’m busy,” Joanne snapped.
She was more arrogant than ever now that Gemma was gone.
Everett’s tone, however, remained calm.
“Joanne. Bring me some scissors.”
“Scissors? What for?” Joanne frowned.
“I want to trim my hair.”
Everett touched her long red hair that reached almost to her knees.
“You always say my hair is annoying. I think I’ll make it shorter. Or should I go get them myself?”
The mention of her leaving made Joanne sigh. Then, a sly grin crept across her face.
“Fine. If you go out looking like that, I’ll get blamed. I’ll bring them.”
She stomped out, slamming the door behind her, and soon came back with a pair of scissors.
“If you’re cutting your hair, I can do it for you.”
“No. I’ll do it myself.”
“Hmph, suit yourself.” Joanne shoved the scissors toward her.
The blades were rusty and dull.
If Everett used them, her hair would snag and rip painfully.
“If you can’t manage alone, tell me,” Joanne smirked. “I’ll help you.”
Everett could see the intention clearly—Joanne had deliberately brought a useless tool to make her suffer. But Everett’s expression didn’t change. She simply whispered,
“Joanne, shall I give you a chance?”
“What?” Joanne blinked. “What did you just say?”
“Never mind. I decided I don’t want to live with you anymore.”
“What? Well, the feeling’s mutual.”
“Good. Then you made your choice.”
Before Joanne could scoff, Everett suddenly opened the scissors wide and began cutting her hair. The dull blades didn’t slice cleanly, so she tore at the strands with her hands. Long locks of crimson hair fell like drops of blood on the floor.
“What are you doing?!” Joanne screamed, lunging toward her—but it was too late. Everett’s once-long hair now barely brushed her shoulders.
“You’re crazy! Are you out of your mind?” Joanne yelled.
Everett punched her in the face. Joanne screamed and fell back, clutching her cheek.
Everett looked down at her coldly.
“You’re the one who should be screaming. Not me.”
“M-My lady, what are you doing?!”
Everett slapped her other cheek.
“There. Now both sides match. People won’t question it.”
“You’re insane! You’ll regret this—”
“I’m the lady of this house. Probably not,” Everett said softly. “After all, here, rank matters more than law.”
With a faint smile, she took the scissors—and stabbed them into her own thigh.
The metal tore through skin and muscle easily. Warm blood spilled over her hands.
Joanne shrieked.
“What—what are you doing?!”
“Be quiet. Or do you want to be hit again?”
When Everett raised the bloodstained scissors, Joanne clamped her mouth shut.
“What kind of maid doesn’t even stop her lady’s bleeding?” Everett murmured.
She pressed her bloody hand into Joanne’s palm, staining her with red, then placed the scissors in her hand.
Joanne stared in horror at her blood-covered hands, trembling.
“W-Why… why are you doing this?”
“Hold it tight,” Everett said calmly.
Even without knowing every law of this country, Everett knew one thing well—
In this rotten world, rank meant everything.
Even a despised lady was still above a maid.
Joanne couldn’t openly torture her—so she had done it subtly, bit by bit.
“Well, Joanne,” Everett whispered, “don’t feel too wronged about what happens next. I just gave you one small wound for every insult you ever gave me.”
“W-What do you mean…”
For the first time, Joanne truly looked at Everett’s eyes—and realized how frightening they were. The lifeless eyes she once mocked now glowed with chilling calm.
Then Everett suddenly screamed and collapsed to the floor.
“KYAAAAAH!”
Joanne froze, blinking rapidly.
Everett had never raised her voice like that before—never once.
“My lady!” Joanne cried, rushing to her—but it was too late.
“What’s going on here!” a sharp voice shouted.
Everett lifted her tear-streaked face.
“M-Mr. Butler…” she sobbed.
Joanne’s face turned pale.
It was the chief butler of the Fellum family—one of the few who had never taken part in tormenting her.
Everett smiled faintly for just a moment, then hid it again. Her short hair was wet with tears and clung to her face.
The butler’s expression hardened instantly.
“Your hair… my lady…”
“Butler…” Everett whispered weakly.
The butler’s gaze swept the attic. The scene spoke for itself—
Joanne, holding blood-stained scissors…
Everett, bleeding and crying on the floor.
“My lady, you’re hurt!” he cried.
He hurried over, pressing his handkerchief against her bleeding thigh. She let out a soft groan of pain.
“Joanne, did you do this to her?” he barked.
He already knew Joanne’s reputation for bullying the neglected lady, but not like this. His eyes blazed with anger.
“N-No! I didn’t! She—she did it herself!” Joanne stammered, shaking.
“She asked for the scissors and cut her own hair and leg!”
“Herself?” the butler repeated, frowning in disbelief. He turned to Everett.
Everett’s voice was quiet but steady.
“Butler, I’m not insane.”
“Of course not. So it was Joanne?” he asked.
“She told me to wash my face with dirty water. When I refused, she said I smelled bad and cut my hair,” Everett said weakly.
“Dirty water?”
“If you check that bowl, you’ll see,” Everett pointed.
Joanne crawled forward desperately. “N-No! That’s just the water she already used—it looks dirty because of that!”
But the butler didn’t even look at it.
“This time, Joanne, you’ve gone too far.”
His voice was cold with certainty.
“Y-You don’t believe me?!” Joanne cried.
“I’ve known for a long time that you’ve been giving her dirty water,” he said.
He’d heard her brag about it more than once. “Foolish girl. If you were going to be cruel, you should’ve at least hidden it better.”
That was the end of his patience.
“B-Butler! Please! It’s not true! She did this herself!” Joanne grabbed his arm desperately.
“Lady Charlotte will hear of this. She will not forgive it,” he said flatly, shaking her off.
“Please! Believe me!” she screamed.
The butler ignored her, lifting Everett carefully in his arms. Her frail body felt light as paper. As he turned toward the door, they saw a crowd gathered outside, whispering.
“Tie Joanne to the tree,” he ordered.
“W-Wait! I’m innocent! I’m innocent!” she cried, thrashing.
“The master will decide your punishment,” he said coldly.
“My lady, let’s take you to another room.”
Everett nodded weakly from his back.
“Mr. Butler!!” Joanne screamed after them—but not once did she beg Everett for forgiveness.
She only pleaded with the butler—someone of her own lowly station.
