#37.
To Miss Cordelia Gray
Are you alive?
Morning of the third day of Fruit month, Archie Albert.
P.S.: You know? This has now become a code between us.
* * *
To Prince Archie Albert William
Of course. I’m alive.
7:30.
-Cordelia Gray
P.S.: Every code has a precise meaning. I’m curious if the meaning I understand and what you meant to say are the same. Please explain further.
* * *
To my friend Coco, who loves precision,
Well, “Are you alive?” is a phrase that condenses a rather long and complicated emotion into five characters.
If I were to elaborate…
‘It’s only been a day since your letter stopped. I know I should wait a little longer, but it’s excruciating to endure this one day. Don’t you feel sorry for me, who thinks of you all day? If you had even thought of me half as much, you would have sent hundreds of letters by now. But still, I don’t send first because I don’t want to pressure you by urging you. So please, reply to me. If there’s no reply within 10 minutes, I’ll assume you’re dead and move on. It’d be easier on my heart. No, I can’t let it end like that. I’ll just ask first: Cordelia, are you alive?’
…And that’s how I reduced all those words into the last five characters. What do you think, do we share the same meaning? May I interpret your response, “I’m alive,” as your understanding and acceptance of all these feelings?
Fourth day of Fruit month, July 31st.
-With love, obsession, and a little bit of longing, Archie Albert.
P.S.: When exactly does your July end? It’s time to pick the blueberries, you know.
* * *
To Prince Archie
So the fruit of Fruit month was blueberries. I imagined apples, persimmons, or pears hanging abundantly on the trees, thinking how quickly your summer seems to end. Thank you for telling me that your summer will be adorned with the task of picking blueberries, which must be growing delicately in Windsor Town. Thanks to that, I can now draw a more detailed picture of the monastery. Since you asked, I’ll answer: my July has exactly one day left. It’s a shame to see summer fading away like this.
P.S.: Thank you for explaining the precise meaning of “Are you alive?” I almost misunderstood. I just thought it meant, “I have so much to say, but I’d feel a bit prideful if I start first, so you write me first. Hurry up and ask me what’s going on.”
* * *
To Cordelia,
Ah, that’s correct too. Please ask quickly. Ask what happened.
I’ve even prepared a gift for you.
P.S.: Let’s drop the word “pride.” If I had any, would I be begging for attention by asking about your life or death? You’d be laughing, stuffing blueberries into Liam’s pretty mouth right now.
* * *
To Prince Archie,
Seeing your neat handwriting fly more than ever before, it seems you’re in a great mood today. You also seem to have a lot to say.
Alright, as you wish, I’ll ask.
What happened that, before even a day passed, you sent such an excited letter asking if I was alive?
7:30 in the evening.
-Cordelia Gray, who unlike someone like Mark, knows how to ask first.
P.S.: There won’t be any stuffing blueberries into Liam’s mouth. He’s been quite busy and anxious lately. It seems receiving the manuscript from writer Anne Selene is quite a difficult task. Perhaps he needs to go to Windsor Town. (By the way, do you think Princess Edwina is still alive? How about asking Flynn?)
* * *
To Cordelia, who is more interested in blueberries than my jealousy and obsession,
Something happened today that might pique your interest as much as the blueberries.
Lady Josephine visited the Lethe Monastery today.
My sister, Cecilia, also happened to be there to solve the broken barrier problem, making the monastery busier than ever.
Already overwhelmed with guests, and she shows up on a day like this—Cecilia couldn’t be more pleased, of course. But as the second prince of Windsor Town, responsible for maintaining courtesy, I politely inquired after her.
“Why are you here?”
Cecilia, true to her nature of answering with fists before words, responded accordingly.
As I was being beaten by Cecilia—unable to fight back due to my still battered shoulder—I heard the sound of Lady Josephine’s arrival. Truly, even her arrival time seemed to come to my rescue.
However, upon stepping out of her carriage, Lady Josephine bypassed both me and Flynn and instead warmly greeted Cecilia.
“Cecilia..? Princess Cecilia! It’s really you!”
“Lady Josephine, it’s been a while.”
And Cecilia’s expression! She greeted so politely. My sister, who so readily talked down to dukes and other high lords, greeted her this humbly.
“Do you know Lady Josephine?”
When I asked that, Cecilia erased the welcoming expression from her face and returned to her usual curt demeanor, answering:
“Do you think there’s anything you know that I don’t?”
“Well, I only met her recently at Daphne’s wedding. But I don’t understand why you greeted her so warmly. Have you met her before?”
I vaguely remembered hearing that the Yelling family had established a marriage connection with the Bonaparte family and sent a younger sister there, but Lady Josephine was never a frequent visitor to the palace.
For me, Lady Josephine’s name and the fact that Daphne had such an aunt were all fuzzy memories, so it was quite surprising to see Cecilia greet her with such enthusiasm. However, Cecilia merely shook her head without any detailed explanation.
“That’s why I call you a pathetic fool.”
“What now?”
“What do you even know? How’s your shoulder?”
With that, Cecilia unnecessarily pressed hard on my shoulder.
As our lively reunion began to devolve into a scene of insults and violence directed at me, it was Lady Josephine who kindly explained the relationship between Cecilia and herself.
“Prince Archibald, Princess Cecilia and I have known each other for a long time. Back when Princess Edwina and Queen Adelaide were just Anne and Adele, my friends.”
Cordelia, did you read that properly?
Yes, Lady Josephine indeed referred to them as ‘Anne’ and ‘Adele.’
“Anne?”
“Yes, Prince Archibald. You’re well aware of the sorrow that comes with the long names of the Windsor royalty. Princess Edwina always favored the shortest of her names, ‘Anne.’”
“You must have been very close to address her that way.”
“We used to call each other by those names when no one was watching. It was a carefree time. After those days passed, when it was no longer appropriate to use those names, I met Princess Cecilia.”
“I must not have been born yet.”
“You were still in Queen Adelaide’s womb. Even then, Princess Cecilia was a splendid young lady. I still vividly remember her scowling in front of us, complaining about how uncomfortable her dress was. She hasn’t changed a bit.”
“Did I really do that?”
Cecilia, acting as if she could indeed experience embarrassment, played along.
“Cecilia in a dress? I can hardly believe it.”
As I said that and shook my head, it nearly provoked another violent outburst between siblings that might have painted the monastery red. Lady Josephine, who seemed unfazed by Cecilia’s violent tendencies, merely smiled slightly at the sight of her drawn blade, while Flynn, standing nearby, chuckled in amusement.
Thanks to their laughter, the atmosphere lightened somewhat.
Lady Josephine, as if reminiscing about the past, continued to speak while gazing into the distance.
“Yes, Princess Cecilia. Do you remember that time? Anne… I mean, Princess Edwina told you, ‘Forget your father, leave your mother behind, and whether the child to be born is a boy or a girl, you will be king. I can see it in your eyes.’”
By then, Cecilia seemed tired of pretending to be shy and nodded shamelessly.
“Yes, I remember.”
Lady Josephine smiled again, and with just that small smile, I could tell she was a kind person, and I could imagine how radiant her beauty must have been in her youth. She spent a long time reminiscing with Cecilia, who eagerly nodded along to everything despite her age at the time.
Now that I think about it, something feels odd.
Our mother and father married after Princess Edwina disappeared in search of Sir Arthur Gillen. Cecilia wasn’t born until about a year after that.
So, it would have been impossible for Princess Edwina to meet a five-year-old Cecilia and say those things to her. Perhaps Lady Josephine was mistaken about something. My sister, however, was mature enough to play along.
But yesterday, I didn’t think much of it. The conversation flowed so naturally.
Flynn and I quietly followed behind them, listening to Lady Josephine as she recounted how Princess Edwina had met young Cecilia and recognized the ambition in her, predicting that she would one day be queen.
As the conversation deepened, the smell of freshly baked bread began to waft from the other side of the monastery.
Being a place that valued frugality, there weren’t many opportunities to enjoy a hearty meat dish, but thanks to a bountiful harvest in the nearby village, we had an abundance of molasses and ground grains. The monastery’s backyard was filled with thriving beets, and with the nearby spring providing easy access to honey, we had all the ingredients needed to make deliciously sweet and fragrant bread.
It was our Noel who came forward, carrying an armful of round buns.
Lady Josephine seemed charmed by the sight of the little girl carrying a mountain of bread and watched her intently.
“Child, what is your name?”
“Noel.”
“Noel? Who gave you such a name?”
“The prince. I arrived here on Christmas, so they called me Noel.”
Lady Josephine reached out her dry hand to ruffle Noel’s messy hair as she said,
“A winter child. My own child also disappeared in winter. She was a girl with black eyes and black hair, just like you. She would be much older than you by now, but looking at you, it feels like I’ve met her again.”
There was something melancholic in her voice, so Cecilia and I didn’t add anything and simply watched the scene. Even little Noel, sensing something strange, remained silent, allowing Lady Josephine to stroke her hair as much as she wanted.
Had it not been for the book you gave me, I might have just sat there in silence. But now, I know. Though we cannot share in another’s sorrow, sometimes sharing bread can help a little.
“Please have some bread, ma’am. It’s best when eaten warm.”
As I said this, Flynn quickly added,
“That’s right, ma’am. I saw earlier that Noel accidentally poured too much sugar into it.”
“…Pardon?”
Noel quickly interrupted from the side.
“I mean, the more sugar, the better it tastes!”
It was then that I heard Lady Josephine laugh aloud for the first time.
“Alright, alright, child. Let’s see just how delicious it is, then.”
And so, we sat under the shade of a tree in the front yard of the monastery, tearing apart the bread as the cool summer breeze blew around us. Though the bread was a bit tough, the more we chewed, the fluffier it became, and here and there it was irresistibly sweet, thanks to our dear Noel.
The maid who had accompanied Lady Josephine looked alarmed and said,
“Ma’am, you shouldn’t eat so much all at once. You’ve skipped nearly every meal, and suddenly having bread like this…”
It was easy to see why she was concerned—Lady Josephine’s frail appearance made it clear that she wasn’t in the best of health. However, Lady Josephine waved her hand dismissively with a smile.
“It’s alright. Today, I think I can eat.”
And she did—three whole pieces, which made Noel and the monks proud.
Noel, eager to bake more, dashed off toward the oven despite our attempts to stop her. Cecilia, stuffing a couple more pieces of bread into her mouth, walked off to check on the monastery’s barrier. That left Flynn and me alone with Lady Josephine, diligently finishing the remaining bread.
As the bread on the table disappeared and the tea in our cups grew lukewarm, Lady Josephine began to share her story, almost as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.
“Of the people who returned from Reutlingen, there are barely any left alive. You could count them on one hand, even including Tilbert the scribe and myself.”
“At least you seem to be in good health now, ma’am. That’s fortunate.”
Flynn said that, though we all knew it was just a polite remark. Anyone could tell she wasn’t in good condition.
“For the past 20 years since I returned to Windsor, my life has been filled with trials. I know well that my face bears the marks of that struggle. My attempt to find solace in marriage failed miserably, and thanks to the divorce law passed by the late king, my husband easily discarded me. The only hope I had left was the child in my womb…”
“What happened to your child, ma’am?”
I was grateful that Flynn asked that question. Lady Josephine seemed like she wanted to continue her story, but I didn’t have the courage to ask.
“My mother said it was only right for my husband to take the child. My father insisted I give the child up first, as if I had stolen someone else’s child.”
“That’s outrageous.”
Flynn added, his voice filled with anger. I, lacking the courage, merely listened in silence.
“I fled back to my family estate, hiding my pregnancy. I intended to keep the child hidden. But neither my parents nor my brother would have ever allowed that.”
“So, what did you do?”
“I locked myself in a room. After giving birth, I couldn’t bear to let the child leave my side for even a moment. I didn’t bathe or comb my hair. But I knew it was only a matter of time before they came to take my child away, and that someone like my husband would raise my baby instead. The thought terrified me.”
Lady Josephine’s hand, which held the teacup, began to tremble. Seeing that, Cordelia, you too would have shed tears like Flynn. Without even saying much, it was easy to guess what she feared and what kind of person her husband had been.
“So, what did you do?”
At last, I was able to ask the question with genuine concern, without worrying that it might come across as morbid curiosity. Lady Josephine answered.
“Edwina took the child.”
“What?”
Both Flynn and I, stunned, repeated in unison. Lady Josephine gave a bitter smile.
“It’s true. Ah, Duke Florian, that’s why I was so overjoyed when I met you. A mother who had lost her child shouldn’t speak or smile to anyone for the rest of her life, I thought. But when I saw you, I mistook you for Edwina, and I smiled brightly, welcoming you.”
I suddenly recalled the moment at Daphne’s wedding when Lady Josephine had looked at Flynn with wide eyes and asked, “Edwina?”
“So, you’re saying Princess Edwina… um, my mother… took your child? I… I didn’t know.”
Flynn stammered, confused.
“Yes, it seems so.”
“So, my mother… um… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”
Flynn, struggling to find the right words, eventually apologized. Lady Josephine shook her head.
“Duke Florian, there’s no need for you to apologize. I’m simply telling an old story. I trusted Anne. She was a trustworthy friend, the queen of us all. She assured me firmly that it was better for her to take the child than for that man to raise it. She promised to raise the child as the brightest, most talkative little one and to return them to me one day.”
“So you entrusted your child to Princess Edwina?”
Flynn asked, as if seeking a resolution.
“I was on the verge of madness at the thought of losing my child to my husband. Anne’s arrival felt like destiny after so long.”
“So, you entrusted your child and haven’t found them since.”
“Yes, that’s the entirety of my memory. I’ve lived all these years believing that my child grew up to be someone around your age.”
Lady Josephine spoke those words and shed tears. Her last statement struck me as odd, and I had to ask before comforting her grief.
“When you say that’s your memory, what do you mean?”
“I lived for so long believing that. Muttering to myself that Edwina would return my child someday. It wasn’t until a few years ago that my mother sighed and said, ‘That child died. There was no such thing.’”
Suddenly, all the stories I had heard became entangled. Flynn, sitting across from me, wore a similarly confused expression.
“Perhaps everything I saw was a hallucination. Perhaps, as my mother and brother said, I had gone mad. I don’t even know when it started.”
Whether it was true that Princess Edwina had taken the child or that the child had died and Lady Josephine had seen an illusion—either way, it was a terrible story.
Cecilia had returned at some point and was listening to the conversation as if in a trance.
But neither she nor I could say a word. We were foolish siblings. No lessons in royal education or training for clergy ever taught us how to comfort someone so deeply immersed in sorrow.
At that moment, Noel came running toward us, shouting.
“Here’s more bread, ma’am! Freshly baked! I made it myself.”
The bread Noel brought was so misshapen that it looked like it had come from the backside of Sherlock’s rear—definitely not the most appetizing sight. But what could I do when Noel, smiling so brightly, handed it over? I quickly took one and began to eat.
Flynn stared at the bread before saying,
“Noel, this looks…”
“Like horse dung.”
Cecilia finished what Flynn couldn’t bring himself to say. Lady Josephine burst out laughing. Her laughter grew louder and louder until eventually, she was in tears, and we all ended up eating the horse-dung-shaped bread together.
Much later, after the laughter had subsided, Lady Josephine spoke again.
“So, do you really want to hear more from a madwoman like me?”
Flynn shook his head.
“No, ma’am. You are not mad.”
“Then how do you explain it? Did my mother, father, and brother all lie to me at once?”
“I don’t know about that. But there is one thing I do know, ma’am. You loved your child dearly. You tried to find the best for them. Whether it happened in a dream or in reality, handing your child over to Princess Edwina must have been an unimaginably difficult decision. But your love and longing for your child—those were real. That’s the only truth I can be sure of.”
Lady Josephine quietly listened to Flynn’s words and nodded.
“Yes, even if my child is gone, even if I can never see them again, I still love them.”
“Yes, I understand, ma’am.”
“It’s just… what’s really hard is that sometimes, when I see a little one like Noel, I can’t help but cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it’s my child, even though I know it’s not.”
Lady Josephine glanced at Noel as she spoke.
Then, she addressed her.
“Child, you seem so happy here, but if you ever want to wear a dress someday…”
Our stubborn Noel quickly shook her head.
“I don’t want to wear one.”
“Then, if you ever want to eat something as delicious as cake or the finest bread—”
“We have plenty of those here.”
Flynn nudged Noel playfully, but Noel remained unfazed, glaring back at the lady. Lady Josephine, smiling warmly at Noel, said,
“Alright, child. Then, would it be okay if I visited from time to time? Would you be alright with that?”
“Of course! I’ll bake you more bread when you come.”
Lady Josephine smiled broadly.
Though the conversation had been filled with tears, that final smile brightened my mood as well.
As Lady Josephine was leaving, Flynn ran after the carriage. When it finally stopped, I saw Flynn whisper something through the carriage window. From a distance, I noticed the lady nodding in response.
I asked what Flynn had said, and he replied without hesitation.
“I asked her to write a letter.”
“A letter?”
“To Edwina’s daughter.”
“To you? Does she know you’re a woman?”
“Of course, Archie. Everyone knew from the start—except you.”
Flynn gave me a mischievous grin, one you’d certainly recognize.
That’s what happened yesterday. This afternoon, a long letter arrived from Lady Josephine, delivered by her messenger.
Flynn read it first, then handed it to me. And she said,
‘Now, send it to Cordelia.’
My enigmatic friend Coco,
I remain lost, unable to unravel the mysteries you’ve led me into.
But I have figured out one thing—when you asked me to gather the eight monks last time, the person you were looking for wasn’t anyone else. It was Flynn.
Was it Flynn who sent those playful letters, too?
What did she say to you?
And why did she seem to know everything, even before she received the book you sent?
What secret do you and Flynn share?
* * *
To my kind friend, Prince Archie,
It’s well past midnight now, as I’ve been absorbed in reading your long and warm letter.
As for Florian, I must admit, I’m confused about her as well.
However, just as your sharp instincts first suspected, it’s certain she has many secrets.
So, let’s simply observe, shall we? Let’s see what she’s up to.
I’m starting to feel sure now that if we follow Flynn’s lead, you and I might actually meet someday.
Even in this case, Flynn has given us plenty of helpful hints, hasn’t she? Nothing too major, but still useful.
By the way, Archie, I have one question for you.
Do you really think Lady Josephine’s child died long ago, as her family claimed?
Did Lady Josephine seem like someone living in a delusion, unaware that her child had passed?
Was the Princess Edwina she saw truly a figment of her imagination?
This isn’t the “low curiosity” you mentioned, I swear.
Since I’ve never had a child, I don’t fully understand Lady Josephine’s sorrow. But reading your letter made me feel both sad and wistful at times. I can’t help but think that maybe what Lady Josephine believed was actually the truth. And yet, if it’s the truth, what then? I feel both regret and a sense of helplessness at the thought.
Anyway, I’m truly glad that Lady Josephine and Noel crossed paths.
Life often throws enormous trials at us. Sometimes, just getting through each day feels like a monumental effort. But what I really love about living is that sometimes we meet someone who helps fill the gaps left by what we’ve lost.
Like the benefactor who wrote me letters when my mother disappeared.
Or Juliet, who chats with me when my heart aches because of you.
Or that sugary loaf of bread that fills the gaping hole in my heart as wide as the Empire’s vast lands.
I hope Noel and Lady Josephine continue to be that for each other.
July 31st, dawn.
With love and the scent of bread,
Your Coco.
P.S.: If you make me wait for Lady Josephine’s letter, I won’t let it slide.
Postscript to the Readers:
Dear Readers,
Once I finished writing and read through it, it only took about five minutes. I hope those five minutes felt like a small, comforting loaf of bread that replaced any trials life threw at you today.
I’ll be back tomorrow or the day after with the story of Edwina, as told by Lady Josephine.
In the middle of Fruit month.
Apologies for the frequent delays and the increasing length of these updates.
P.S.: Thank you to Sen98 and navice for your generous support coupons.
P.S.2: My deepest gratitude to those of you who continue to read and leave kind comments, favorites, and recommendations, even in this sweltering Fruitmonth.
—
<– Princess Edwina and Sir Arthur Gillen –>
Serial Update (1/2)
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