12.
Melanie’s lips parted as if to answer, yet she fell silent with a bewildered expression.
“I’m not saying the spirit of thrift is wrong.
Who would deny that frugality is a virtue?”
“……”
“But I will not see people worn down and discarded like expendable supplies just to save a handful of coins.”
Handled as they were now, the servants would do nothing but rack up ailments and be forced into early retirement.
What else could that be but treating them as disposable?
Her mouth set in a hard line, Melanie remained silent, her gaze conflicted.
Then, at last, she murmured,
“…You’re right.
People are not disposable.”
Was it possible my words had reached her?
Her brown eyes had taken on a clarity, as though she had suddenly realized something.
“If you understood what I meant, then place an order tomorrow for the supplies we need.
And I want you to hire more maids.”
“We’ve already replaced the two who were dismissed not long ago.
Do you mean to bring in even more staff?”
A faint smile touched Nina’s lips.
The way Melanie responded had changed.
No longer pushing back, she was confirming her orders.
That was the head maid’s true role—to support her mistress.
“Even taking those two into account, more hands are necessary.
The workload and hours these maids endure are suffocating.”
Cleaning alone was grueling enough,
fireplaces, stairways, floors, windows, baths, and more.
Yet on top of their own duties, they were constantly saddled with tasks from other departments.
It was hardly unusual for their day to begin at five in the morning and not end until midnight.
A few more staff, and they might finally be able to sleep through the night.
“…Understood.
I’ll see to it that your instructions are carried out by tomorrow.”
Thankfully, Melanie offered no further resistance and withdrew.
“Hoo…”
She had braced herself for a bitter clash while trying to win Melanie over.
Instead, the woman had yielded with surprising ease.
Nina let out a long breath of relief.
“Milady, here’s some water.”
Standing by the door, Marsha had come closer and now offered her a glass.
“Thank you.”
The first goal had been achieved,
to reclaim control over the household, and to lay the groundwork for restoring her reputation within these walls.
But if she wanted the results to show more quickly, she would need to add a little push.
After resting for a moment, Nina rose from her seat and threw open the door to the dressing room.
“Marsha.”
“Yes, milady?”
The lavish closet brimmed with luxurious gowns.
Nina gazed at it with a wistful look—the very place that once consoled her hollow heart.
“…Let’s sell a few dresses.”
“Which ones shall we put out first?”
Marsha’s eyes lit up with eagerness as she stepped forward.
The endless task of tending to this overstuffed closet had always fallen to her.
The more it was pared down, the easier her life became.
“Let’s start with a few that are out of fashion.”
Dresses were never cheap.
Especially Nina’s, which in modern terms would fetch anywhere from several thousand to tens of thousands of dollars apiece.
Who had made it, what fabric was used, which jewels were sewn on, what pattern of lace was layered—
all these factors determined the price of a gown, and the difference could be staggering.
“Let’s start small.
Pick out five.”
Perhaps she had been waiting for this moment all along.
Marsha promptly chose five outdated dresses without hesitation.
“These alone should fetch the price of four or five cows.”
“Really?
That’s more than I expected.”
“More than you expected?
Milady paid nearly ten times that when you bought them.
It’s only because they’re out of fashion now.
Such a shame…”
Marsha muttered about how wasteful it was as she gathered up the gowns, some of which had never even been worn.
“But milady,” she asked, curious,
“Yes?”
“Why are you selling your dresses all of a sudden?”
Nina smiled at her expectant look.
“To buy clothes.”
Not mine—our servants’.
***
After finishing his afternoon duties, Ash stood by the window,
gazing out at the darkening sky.
“May I come in for a moment?”
He had only just set down his work to catch his breath when Jeffrey’s voice reached him.
“Enter.”
Ash spoke as Jeffrey slipped inside, carefully closing the door behind him.
“What is it?”
“As you instructed, I’ve been watching the madam’s surroundings, but there isn’t the slightest sign that her movements have leaked.”
“Not a single lead?”
“No, sir.
Difficult as it may be to believe… it seems her request for a divorce truly stems from a change of heart.”
“……”
“With respect, people’s hearts can change in an instant.
Given what she has endured, it would hardly be strange if her feelings had shifted.”
“I see.”
Ash acknowledged this with a calm expression, prompting Jeffrey to hesitate before speaking again.
“…If you wish, I can look into it again.”
Of course Ash found it difficult to believe a report that absolved his wife—after all, suspicion had long been his default stance.
But he shook his head.
“No.
That won’t be necessary.”
If Jeffrey’s inquiries had yielded nothing, then either she had hidden it with absolute thoroughness… or there was truly nothing to uncover.
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
After bowing with practiced courtesy, Jeffrey departed the study, leaving Ash once more before the window.
Whatever schemes she might be plotting, it would change nothing-in a year, the divorce would go through.
His ashen-gray eyes sank into stillness as he waited for that day to come.
***
Excluding gardeners and general laborers,
household staff such as maids and footmen were typically issued a total of four uniforms,
two for spring and summer, and two for autumn and winter.
Parlor maids and footmen were the only exceptions, receiving extra sets since they served as the household’s public face and were more frequently seen by outsiders.
Beyond that, no one else was given special treatment.
The Bayern household was no different, though one advantage it held over others was that its uniforms were stylish and elegant
—so much so that job seekers often admired those fortunate enough to wear them.
But in truth, what difference did that make?
In a world without washing machines, being forced to rotate between just two uniforms per season was nothing short of a living hell.
“…Milady, I’m back!”
Marsha returned from her errand with a bright smile.
“How did it go?”
“I had everything sent to the dressmaker in town.
They said they can deliver the first batch within ten days at the latest.”
Aprons, dresses, and caps for the maids.
Shirts, trousers, and coats for the footmen.
On top of that, livery for the coachmen and additional uniforms for the parlor footmen.
She had worried that producing several dozen uniforms at once might take far too long, but the promise of a swift turnaround was a relief.
“What about the uniforms for the butler and the head maid?”
“I asked them to deliver those as soon as they’re finished.
And here’s the change.”
Marsha chuckled as she handed over a heavy pouch.
It was the leftover money after reselling the gowns to the dressmaker and paying the deposit for the uniforms.
“You really worked hard.
This is a little allowance from me to you.”
Nina drew out a sum nearly equal to three months’ wages from the pouch and pressed it into Marsha’s hand as a reward.
“Goodness…!
Now I understand why I’m so glad to be milady’s personal maid…”
Yes, stay by my side just like that.
Someday, I’ll see to it that you’re truly spoiled.
Nina’s smile at Marsha’s teary joy faded after a moment.
“…But today is the day, isn’t it?”
“Yes… it is.”
Remembering her past sins, Nina let out a bitter smile.
At last, the day had come.
The day she would set free those who had fallen victim to her usury.
“I should take a look at the safe.”
Nina opened the safe hidden deep within her dressing room.
Inside lay piles of coins, promissory notes, and ledgers of loan-sharking—an appalling sight.
They paid diligently, yet the interest alone exceeded the principal… is this even real?
The rates had been merciless and vicious, designed not for profit but for subjugation.
To put it in perspective, a debt of two million could miraculously swell to forty million in just half a year.
…The principal was already cleared long ago.
And yet the debtors were still paying interest upon interest, all while helping her stalk and harass others.
Though she herself had orchestrated it, the sheer cruelty of it made her shake her head.
“Milady, they’re here.”
Still seated before the safe, counting coins for some time, Nina quickly tucked away the promissory notes and purse before stepping out.
In the drawing room waited a group of middle-aged men, their faces haggard and dark with anxiety.
“Milady, we beg your pardon, but could you not grant us leniency just this once?
My parents are ill, and I had no choice but to spend on their medicine…”
“Milady, p-please, grant me a few more days of grace.
I have money coming in soon—I swear I’ll pay you then!”
They were people shackled to debts incurred without their consent, exploited like slaves.
In her previous life, Nina had scoffed at their pleas and turned her back on them that very day.
“If you have no money, then you’d better at least have some worth.
And yet here you are, filing one useless report after another, only to beg for mercy.
Are the poor always this shameless?”
She would throw such hysterics to her heart’s content and then, with false magnanimity, deign to forgive them just once—making a show of her so-called benevolence.
Back then, she had felt no guilt, no shame.
Her eyes were fixed solely on the goal of shackling her husband-she had no room to look back at the suffering of others.
“If you grant me a few more days, I swear I’ll bring you something useful…!”
When one man nearly dropped to his knees, Nina, her feelings tangled with regret and unease, spoke at last.
“…Enough.
Calm yourselves.”
Charles, that was his name, wasn’t it?
He tended horses and did odd jobs in the stables, assisting the coachman.
Now and then he would report on the duke’s whereabouts, but truth be told, it was of no use.
His “intelligence” amounted to little more than the obvious-the duke attending faction meetings or banquets—matters anyone could learn without the slightest effort.
The same went for the others,
their reports were all the same, utterly worthless.
But that wasn’t the real issue.
They were one of the very reasons her grandfather had fallen from power.
Indeed—the final blow that had sealed his downfall.