I knocked on the door, but there was no response.
Hmm... maybe she just did not hear me?
I knocked again. A few seconds passed — and again silence. Not a rustle, not a voice.
Finally, no longer waiting, I carefully took the handle and, trying not to make it creak, opened the door slightly.
"Lady Irene, I am coming in."
Nevertheless, the moment I crossed the threshold of the room, something immediately flew at me.
"You...!" came an indignant voice from the depths of the room. "Who allowed you to enter?!"
Irene stood in the middle of the room — disheveled, flushed, looking as if she might actually explode with anger at any moment. Her little fists were trembling, and her eyes were shooting lightning.
I, rather deftly, dodged the flying object and caught it in midair. It turned out to be a cute pink rabbit. A soft toy with long ears and an embroidered smile. Ah, how adorable! For a second, I even forgot that I had just been nearly hit with it.
"My lady, I knocked, but you did not answer. So I thought you might not have heard me..."
Irene snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Is that not obvious?" she snapped. "If I do not answer, it means I do not want to see you!"
"Ah, I see... I apologize. I have not been working in the house of nobles for very long and am not yet familiar with all the rules of etiquette. I will be more careful next time."
"If you understand, then leave!" she stamped her foot. "Right now!"
"Ahem..." I cleared my throat, still admiring the adorable toy in my hands, even absently stroking its soft ears. "Well, since I am already here anyway, why not spare me a little of your precious time?"
Irene grew even angrier. Her already pink face turned crimson.
"You...!" she pointed at me with a finger trembling with anger. "Do you have any shame?!"
"I sincerely apologize, my lady."
"Get out!" she screamed. "I said get out!"
I cleared my throat again, this time more expressively, and asked a question that I hoped would make her think:
"Do you mean for me to leave the room... or to leave this house altogether?"
As soon as I casually uttered this phrase, Irene’s expression immediately froze. Her finger, which a moment ago had been pointing at the door, stopped in midair. Her eyes widened.
"I can certainly leave," I continued, not looking away. "But in that case... I am afraid there will be no one left to treat Her Grace. And then her condition will worsen again. Is that what you want, my lady?"
The rage that had been boiling inside her a moment ago froze, as if doused with cold water. Irene clenched her fists so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
"You... Are you blackmailing me right now?"
"Me? Blackmail you? By no means, my lady! I am merely sharing with you the possible consequences of certain decisions, so that you might make a balanced, mature choice..."
Phew.
I had to say it after all.
To be honest, I did not want to blackmail Irene like this... But what else could I do when I had no other leverage over her?
So in the end, I still had to use this trick — dirty, but effective.
And, as expected, it worked.
As soon as I softly but quite clearly hinted at my possible dismissal and the consequences associated with it, the girl’s fervor noticeably subsided. She lowered her eyes, bit her lip, and fell silent. Of course, she still did not like my presence here, but she had no choice but to grit her teeth and accept it.
After that, silence fell. And I took this as a kind of tacit consent to my presence in this room.
I smiled softly and, without waiting for an invitation, moved a little deeper into the room to find a place to make myself comfortable.
"Ah, my lady, if you do not mind, I will sit on your bed. Just on the very edge."
"How dare you sit on my bed?!" Irene immediately flared up.
"I am sorry, but there is no other suitable furniture in the room. You would not make a guest stand the whole time, would you? That would be quite inhospitable."
Irene opened her mouth, clearly about to object... but said nothing.
And despite her indignant gaze, I calmly sat down on the edge of the bed.
Irene’s room turned out to be exactly as I had expected: soft pastel shades, delicate pink curtains, light wallpaper with floral patterns. On the shelves — neat rows of books and several porcelain dolls, arranged with almost perfect precision. And yes... this room was just as cute and tidy as its little mistress!
As soon as I settled onto the bed, the already familiar black cat, Lemur, jumped onto my lap. He confidently curled up into a ball, as if taking his rightful place, and purred contentedly, clearly having no intention of going anywhere.
Irene, seeing this, was instantly taken aback with indignation.
"Do not touch my cat!"
"My lady, but he came to me on his own," I calmly stroked Lemur’s smooth, glossy fur, and he purred even louder, closing his green eyes with pleasure. "What can I do about that?"
I gently scratched him behind the ear, and the cat immediately arched his back, offering his head under my palm. It seemed that, unlike his mistress, he was far more favorably disposed toward me.
Irene, watching this scene, was literally boiling with indignation.
"Lemur," she commanded sharply in a tone that brooked no argument, "leave her immediately! Come to me! Now!"
But the cat merely twitched an ear at his name and did not even think of obeying the order.
The girl looked at him as if he had betrayed her in the most shameless way.
"Lady Irene," I said, drawing out the words, "you have a very lovely room. It suits you. Just as neat and beautiful!"
In response, her expression only grew darker. It seemed she took the compliment more as a mockery.
Irene herself continued to stand, not coming closer, burning me with her gaze. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her chin held high — her whole posture was the embodiment of stubborn dignity.
"Well?" she snapped. "Say why you came, and leave! I have no time for idle chatter."
Not dwelling on the girl’s rude tone, I continued to calmly stroke the cat and said:
"First of all, I would like to ask you to apologize to Mrs. Farris."
"What?" Irene even repeated, as if she could not believe her ears. "Why should I apologize to her?"
"You hurt her and were rude to her. In such a case, apologizing is only natural."
Irene snorted in displeasure and stamped her little foot.
"I am not going to apologize to some servant! And do not tell me what to do!"
"But what does her status have to do with it? If you have hurt someone, does that not require an apology, regardless of who is in front of you?"
The girl looked at me as if I had suddenly started speaking a completely unfamiliar language.
"You... what nonsense are you spouting?"
"These are just the norms of ordinary decent behavior."
"Norms of decency?" Irene curled her lips. "What rubbish! Why should I apologize to a servant who works for my family and is obliged to follow my orders? That is her job, for which she is paid!"
I frowned slightly.
To be honest, the idea that was lodged in Irene’s head did not sit well with me...
But at the same time, it was quite understandable. Despite her outward cuteness, Irene was a child from a noble family where, essentially, no one had properly raised her. No one had explained to her that respect is not a privilege but a norm. That servants are not pieces of furniture. And that kindness is not answered with arrogance.
And given the current position of House Regwerd, things became even more complicated. Perhaps the girl was simply trying to hold onto the only thing she had left — the feeling of status. The idea that she was still a "noble lady," not a child from a family now regarded with contempt.
Oh well...
Despite everything, everything can be taught.
Including things like this.
"My lady, do you mean that an employer has the right to treat their employees disrespectfully and even insult them?"
Irene first looked puzzled — as if I had asked a question whose answer was obvious to any child from a noble family. And then her face flushed.
"O-of course... That is the essence of different social status! I am a noble lady, and she is just a commoner! That is how the world is structured."
"But, my lady, Her Grace was also a commoner before. And yet you treat her with respect. So what is the difference?"
As soon as I mentioned Kayla — the very older sister whom Irene idolized — she first looked surprised, then became truly angry.
"You..." her voice trembled. "How dare you speak about my sister like that?!"
"But is it not true? Before coming to this house, Her Grace was indeed a commoner. You cannot deny that, can you?"