Chapter 75

Chapter 75

The next page contained something she hadn’t expected at all.

[…If I didn’t mishear, I’m certain I heard someone quietly sobbing in your room again last night, Miss Hampton. I hope you’ll forgive my forwardness, but since you were kind enough to listen to my worries and hopes, please allow me to return that kindness. Whatever troubles you may have, I would like to be a good listener for you.]

Sobbing—again? From my room?

If it had only happened once, she might’ve brushed it off as a misunderstanding. But twice—written down in a letter, no less—meant it had to be something more.

An uneasy feeling crept up her spine.

She thought back over the past two nights, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing came to mind.

The only unusual thing was the dream—the one where the young James and his mother appeared again.

But that had been happening ever since she arrived here, hadn’t it?

Each dream played out differently, their gestures or words shifting slightly, yet none of it had seemed significant.

Rose’s gaze drifted, almost of its own accord, toward the bed.

That strange dream she’d been having ever since coming to Triden Mansion…

Could it be this bed?

Among Rose’s more practiced spells was one that allowed her to read the lingering memories of objects.

When a place or thing had absorbed enough emotion or energy over time, a skilled practitioner could sometimes glimpse its memories even without casting any formal spell at all.

Rose—though currently far from her peak—had used such magic so many times in her past that she could be called an expert in it.

If this bed held the memories of James’s life, it was entirely possible she was seeing them in her sleep—unintentionally—through the form of dreams.

But that only explains the dreams… the sobbing sound is something else entirely.

Frowning, she read over Iris’s letter once more.

If Iris had heard it so clearly through the door, there was no way she herself, inside the room, wouldn’t have heard a thing.

“Ah…!”

A sudden sting shot through her right index finger—the one bearing the darkened ring.

The pain was sharp, pulsing.

But she’d already drawn protective sigils all around the room, and the barrier spell was functioning perfectly.

Could there really be danger here? In this room—the safest one in all of Triden Mansion?

Countless questions swirled chaotically in her mind, but as quickly as it had come, the pain subsided.

Still, the unease remained, prickling just beneath her skin.

Something’s not right.

Rose folded the letter again, tucking it away carefully, and stepped out of her room.

She needed another witness.

“A sobbing sound?”

“Yes. Someone said they heard it coming from my room in the middle of the night.”

“Ah… that…”

At Rose’s question, Maria’s expression twisted strangely—a smile trembling on her lips, though fear flickered unmistakably in her eyes.

“Perhaps Miss Iris misheard an owl’s cry?”

“That’s what I thought at first too, but twice? It’s hard to mistake it twice.”

“Heh heh heh… well, Miss Taylor, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Maria. You do know something, don’t you?”

Years of performing spirit séances had made Rose quick to read faces. She could tell—Maria knew something about the sobbing.

Clinging to the maid’s sleeve, Rose pleaded dramatically.

“Mariaaa, tell me. Please. If you don’t, I’ll be too scared to sleep tonight!”

“I truly, truly know nothing, Miss.”

“Really? Swear it on the heavens and the earth, the mountains and the sea? Swear it by the god Sialaph?”

Maria’s face contorted with conflict. Her lips parted, but no words came—caught between fear of lying before the gods and fear of speaking the truth.

Finally, after much hesitation and Rose’s relentless coaxing, she sighed in defeat and raised both hands.

“Haah… all right. But don’t faint when you hear it. I only worry you’ll end up hating Triden Mansion because of me…”

Maria looked around to make sure no one was near, then leaned in close and whispered to Rose’s ear.

“The truth is… something comes out in this villa.”

Comes out? What—rats?

So that’s why owls keep flying in to hunt?

“…A ghost.”

“Wh–what?”

Rose blinked, half in disbelief, half exasperation.

Ghosts? In this age—when electricity lit the streets, steel ships crossed the seas, and trains ran through mountains?

Sure, she had made a living as a necromancer—but that was all for show!

Still, she couldn’t exactly say “Ghosts don’t exist, I’ve been faking it for years” out loud.

So she swallowed the confession that rose in her throat—ta-da, every séance I’ve ever done is a scam!—and motioned for Maria to continue.

“In truth, every night, someone hears a woman crying in the study. Even the servants on night duty avoid going in alone.”

“But my room isn’t near the study.”

“That’s the strange part. At some point, the crying stopped—we thought the spirit had finally moved on—but then…”

Maria fidgeted nervously, fingers twisting her apron, clasping and unclasping.

“Now I can’t help wondering if the ghost has… moved to your room instead.”

Fantastic.

Rose dropped all pretense of poise and smacked her palm against her forehead with a loud slap.

“If it’s too unsettling, I could arrange for you to move rooms,” Maria offered hesitantly.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ve been sleeping soundly, haven’t heard a thing.”

Rose waved off the offer.

“And you know me, Maria—I’m a necromancer. If there really is a ghost, I can handle it myself, so don’t worry.”

Of course, that was wishful thinking; she hadn’t the faintest clue what was going on. But there was no need to panic or pack up just yet.

Now that she’d heard Maria’s testimony, she’d just need to gather more from the others.

She set off through the halls of Triden Mansion, speaking to every servant she could find.

“Ah! So Miss Taylor knows about it too?”

“That’s right. Once midnight passes, you can hear a woman crying in the first-floor study.”

“Mickey says he’s even seen the ghost—a tall woman’s silhouette!”

“Actually, since you arrived, Miss Taylor, the crying in the study stopped entirely. Some of us started calling you the Exorcist.”

I’m a fake necromancer, not an exorcist, Rose thought wearily. That’s overselling me a bit.

“So, none of you have ever heard crying coming from my room, right?”

“No, miss. We finish our patrols before midnight, and after that, unless we’re summoned, we stay upstairs.”

Then the only person who’d actually heard it… was Iris Brown.

After running herself ragged questioning the entire staff, all Rose had learned was that Triden Mansion—the elegant, sunlit, picturesque villa—was home to a ghost of the study.

And that, lately, the ghost had been quiet.

Apparently too quiet.

Which likely meant the “ghost” had moved—straight into her room.

Ghosts, really…

Rose snorted and climbed the stairs.

If ghosts existed—if the souls of the dead truly lingered—then no unjust death would ever go unresolved.

If that were true, I’d have found Mother and Father long ago.

She’d have called their spirits back with her own hands, listened to their nagging one last time—and even that would have made her happy.

She’d have found the culprits, uncovered every detail of their deaths, and brought those bastards to justice.

And she’d have told them she loved them.

That longing—that helpless ache of the living—was what drove people to seek out necromancy, desperate to hear a loved one’s voice again.

Rose had seen countless mourners find peace through her fake séances.

Even if she knew it was all a lie.

(Well… except for the occasional idiot who only wanted to ask where their gold was hidden.)

Either way, the mystery of the sobbing sound was no closer to being solved.

But there was one way to find out.

A simple, inelegant way—stay awake past midnight.

“Ugh… I’m not sure I can manage that.”

“Manage what, exactly?”

Rose froze mid-step. The voice had come from behind her.

It was James.

“Ah—nothing serious. I just… might need to stay up all night.”

He crossed his arms, one brow arching in silent question.

The kind of look that said, You’re going to explain this properly.