The Intertwined Fates of the Servant and the Baron

After dinner, the hosts went to the conservatory for tea.

The decor of the conservatory was quite luxurious. The walls were adorned with new wallpaper, a soft purple fabric dotted with small yellow velvet flowers. 

The chairs varied in size and shape, placed around the room at random. There were long benches, petite armchairs, round ottomans, and small stools. A black grand piano sat by the window, and a tall bookshelf stood nearby. The guests sat in small groups, the women quietly chatting while fanning themselves, and the men talking loudly, complaining about politics with evident frustration. 

The butler nodded at me, and I followed him out of the small drawing room. There was no longer a need for too many of us in there. 

"You did well tonight," the butler said approvingly. 

"You're too kind," I replied. 

"Since Claudius broke his leg, you'll be taking his place for now. If you do well, I'll recommend you to the master for promotion to senior footman. Work hard," he said, patting my shoulder. 

I was a little surprised, not having expected this. 

As we walked, the butler grumbled, "I need to find a new junior footman to take your current position. It's hard to find good servants in the countryside, and they need proper training." 

I followed him down the empty corridor. 

"What do you think of the baron?" he asked suddenly. 

I looked at the old butler, his wrinkled face showing a hint of unease. "I'm not talking about the master. It's just... you know, I'm curious what you think. After all, the baron might become the new master of Mormont Estate." 

"I only met him for the first time today, so I can't say for sure... but haven't you known him for a long time?" I asked. 

"No, actually," the butler said. "Though our family has served the Bruce family for generations, it's my first time meeting young Master Oscar. You know, his late father didn't get along well with our viscount. If he agrees to marry a lady, there won't be any problems. I'm just worried he won't." 

"Don't worry too much. The baron looks like a respectable gentleman. He will understand the viscount's situation and things will go smoothly," I said. 

"Let's hope so. And don't mention this conversation to anyone," the butler said. 

"Of course, sir," I replied, bowing. 

"Get some rest. We'll know the outcome by tomorrow," he added.

The next day, after serving the masters their breakfast, Anne quietly told me, "Eve, the lady's maid, said the baron refused the proposal to marry a lady. He even mentioned that he's leaving the estate tomorrow. The lady of the house is furious." 

I remained silent for a while and continued my work. After breakfast, I sat quietly in the servants' quarters, waiting for what was to come. 

The fire in the hearth crackled and spat sparks, filling the room with warmth. 

Two maids sat nearby, quietly chatting while embroidering. 

Thick frost had formed on the windows, and outside, the sky was gloomy as if a heavy snowstorm was about to descend. 

I lost track of time when suddenly the housekeeper, Selena, rushed in and ordered the two maids, "Quick! Prepare the braziers!" 

I stood up immediately and asked, "What happened?" 

The housekeeper's face was pale. She hesitated, clearly conflicted, before finally speaking in a flustered voice, "Something terrible has happened! What are we going to do?" 

"Calm down and tell me what's wrong." 

"How can I be calm? That man—he's brought a terrible disease from who knows where! He'll kill us all, for heaven's sake!" 

"Are you talking about the baron who just arrived yesterday?" 

"Who else? This morning, he didn't get out of bed, said he was feeling ill, running a fever. The doctor came and said it was just a bit of a fever. But before noon, his face broke out in red pustules, all over his face! It's horrible! It's smallpox!" 

"Has the doctor been back? Did he confirm it's smallpox?" 

"The doctor refused to come back after hearing it might be smallpox. The master and the guests have locked themselves in their rooms, terrified. The master ordered me to burn, throw away, or bury everything the baron touched yesterday." 

"It's not confirmed yet. Don't panic." 

"Not confirmed? One of his two servants is already ill with the same symptoms! If it's not smallpox, then what else could it be?" Selena paced nervously. "The master, for the sake of appearances, wants me to find someone to care for him. It's madness! He should be sent away!" 

"Who's taking care of him now?" 

"No one wants to go near him, not even his healthy servant. He's threatening to quit." 

"I'll do it." 

"What did you say?" 

"I said I'll take care of him." 

"Are you mad? If it's smallpox, you'll catch it! It could kill you! There are other junior footmen. Let Simon go instead." This time around, Selena and I got along well, unlike in my past life. She wanted Simon to take my place. 

"It's fine. I'll be okay. I don't think it's smallpox." 

Eventually, I convinced Selena. 

Carrying a tray, I walked alone into the baron's room. 

The room was dim, with heavy crimson curtains drawn over the windows. 

On the large bed, under dark blue blankets, lay the baron, his face flushed, breathing heavily. His face was covered in red rashes, and he seemed to be sleeping uneasily. 

I set the tray on the bedside table. It held a bowl of cool water. 

I touched his forehead—it was burning hot. My movement woke him. He looked at me for a moment, frowning. "Who are you? Why are you in my room? Where's my servant?" 

His voice was hoarse and weak, as if speaking those few words had exhausted him. 

"Your servant has fallen ill, my lord. I will be taking care of you for the time being." I bowed, one hand in front, the other behind me. 

The room was silent. The fire in the hearth had long since burned out, and the room was cold. 

He gasped a few times, shivering. "I'm so cold," he murmured. 

"I'll light the fire." I went to the hearth and rekindled it. I wasn't very skilled, so the room filled with smoke for a while. By the time I returned to his bedside, he had fallen back asleep. 

I took out a cloth, dampened it with cold water, and carefully placed it on the baron's forehead. 

There was a stool next to the bed. I sat down, trying to make as little noise as possible. 

The room grew warmer as the fire blazed, and I spent the afternoon by his side, regularly changing the cloth on his forehead. 

As dusk approached and the room dimmed, the flickering firelight illuminated his face. I watched him for a while, lost in thought. 

Suddenly, the man on the bed woke up. He struggled to sit up but immediately began to retch violently. Having eaten nothing, he only vomited bile. The bedclothes and his nightshirt were soon covered in vomit. 

I helped him change out of his soiled clothes and replaced the bed linens. 

Afterward, he seemed better and sat in the armchair, asking me, "What illness do I have? Why hasn't a doctor come to see me?" 

"There's a snowstorm outside, my lord. The roads are impassable," I lied. 

"What's wrong with my face?" he asked, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. He touched the red bumps on his skin. 

Suddenly, he widened his eyes, his breath quickening, and he demanded, "Tell me! What's this? What illness do I have? Where's my servant? Where's the doctor? Bring the doctor here!" 

His eyes were bloodshot with fear. 

"It's nothing serious, my lord. Please don't panic." 

He pulled open his nightshirt, revealing more red bumps on his chest. His lips trembled as he whispered, "Is this smallpox?" 

"No, my lord." 

"No? Then tell me what it is! Call the doctor! Bring the doctor here!" he shouted, then began coughing violently. 

I patted his back, helping him catch his breath. When he finally calmed down, I said, "The doctor will come once the weather improves." 

"Once the weather improves? You're lying. They've abandoned me. They're leaving me to die. Am I going to die? Am I?" He grabbed my hand, his face pale with terror. 

"No, my lord. You'll be fine. I'll take care of you." 

He leaned back in the armchair, studying me for a moment before suddenly asking, "What's your name?" 

"Owen. Owen Eric," I replied.