A Guide to Raising a Villainess Chapter 90: Private conversation

To be honest, Roger Dickens’ behavior today did seem a little... strange to .

I tried to figure out what exactly caused to feel that way. Was it his strange words about blood? Or the mont when he stood at the easel, srized, adding red strokes to the canvas with an almost reverent tremor?

These thoughts kept bothering , even though I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting. Maybe I’m just too impressionable, and the excitent from our last eting still hasn’t completely worn off.

After all, Roger has always been a person who devoted himself entirely to whatever he was involved in. Perhaps the sa thing had happened with his creative work this ti.

Besides, he said he was still suffering from headaches. Perhaps that was the reason for his unusual behavior — fatigue and loss of concentration. Yes, that must be it.

I sighed heavily, leaning back in the carriage seat.

There was no point in tornting myself with guesses. After all, I am not a doctor, and certainly not a close friend of his, to delve into his personal affairs. Strange as it may seem, none of this should matter much to .

Let him just rest a little, and maybe everything will be fine by the next class.

I sighed again, deciding not to give in to dark thoughts. Today, with all its unusual events, had ended earlier than expected, which ant I had so free ti.

And perhaps it was worth spending it on sothing more productive than useless musings.

"To the city," I said to the coachman, looking out the window.

He nodded, and the wheels of the carriage creaked softly on the pavent.

The road to the center did not take long.

The day was clear, the air was cool but fresh — after the stuffiness of the estate, it felt especially pleasant. The city streets were bustling: ladies in wide-brimd hats strolled leisurely along the sidewalks, shopkeepers displayed their wares in shop windows, and the sll of freshly baked bread and coffee wafted from the nearest café.

I asked the coachman to stop near the shopping arcade and got out of the carriage.

I wasn’t planning on doing any serious shopping today — I just wanted to visit a few stores to buy the essentials.

Nevertheless, imrsed in this familiar, peaceful rhythm of city life, I involuntarily felt the anxiety that had settled in after eting Roger gradually dissipate.

The shop windows sparkled in the sunlight, the tinkling of bells on the doors, the sll of perfu and fresh paper — it all had a calming effect.

I bought so stationery, a few books, and a new notebook, then popped into a fabric store, where I couldn’t resist choosing a piece of soft lilac silk — not because I needed it, but simply because I really liked the color.

This silk could make beautiful new curtains for the living room. The old ones were long overdue for replacent, and now I even enjoyed thinking about how the room would be refreshed when this soft lilac shade filled it with warmth and light.

I didn’t buy very much, but the process gave unexpected pleasure.

When I finally left the last store, it seed like an eternity had passed, although in reality it was no more than an hour.

I pressed my purchases to my chest and headed back to where my carriage was waiting. The air had grown a little cooler, the streets had thinned out — the few passersby hurried about their business, and from afar ca the ringing of bells announcing the evening service.

And then...

Suddenly, a dark figure appeared in front of .

I stopped, not believing my eyes for a mont. It was the sa man in the long black cloak I had seen last ti!

A chill ran down my spine.

Before I could react, the stranger ca too close and suddenly grabbed my arm.

"Hey!" I exclaid, stunned and indignant. "What do you think you’re doing?!"

His fingers were cold and strong, like steel hoops, and I instinctively tried to break free.

"Let go!" I jerked, but his grip did not loosen.

"Lady Weinstein," he said hoarsely. "Please... you must co with ."

"I’m not going anywhere!" I snapped, trying to break free again.

I looked around, hoping soone would notice, but the street was almost empty. No city guards, no passersby ready to intervene — it was as if the whole world had turned its back on in an instant. Even the mbers of the Order of the Shadow, who seed to be following everywhere, had vanished.

"When you really need them, they’re nowhere to be found," I thought bitterly.

anwhile, the man continued to pull away insistently, his movents confident and calculated, as if all this was happening according to a preditated plan.

"Let go of imdiately!" I continued to shout, but no one listened to .

We turned into a narrow alley where the houses stood so close together that almost no light could penetrate between them. The air here was cold and slled of dampness and dust.

And then I saw it — a dark carriage standing at the end of the alley.

Its black, polished body reflected rare glints of light, but the windows were covered with thick fabric that did not let a single ray through.

My companion let go of my hand, and I automatically rubbed my wrist, where I could still feel the pressure of his fingers.

"Lady," he said hoarsely, bowing slightly, "go in there. My master is already waiting for you."

"What?" I took a step back, looking at him with obvious irritation and fear. "What master?!"

There was no answer. The man just stretched out his hand, pointing to the carriage. There was sothing insistent in his posture and at the sa ti... strangely respectful, as if he himself was afraid of whoever was waiting for inside.

I swallowed nervously. Everything inside resisted — my heart was beating faster, my fingers were trembling, and my mind was desperately telling to just turn around and leave. But...

Apparently, I had no choice anyway.

I just sighed heavily.

Without saying a word, the man simply opened the carriage door and bowed his head slightly, letting in.

I stepped onto the footboard, and the canopy behind imdiately closed, enveloping in semi-darkness.

And then I noticed him.

Soone was sitting in the opposite seat, shrouded in shadow. The figure was small. A hood concealed the face, but when the stranger spoke, I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Lady Weinstein," the voice was unexpectedly soft. "I am so glad we finally get to et."

I froze.

A child?

The voice really did sound like it belonged to a child, but there was an unnatural confidence in it that was foreign to his age. I felt uneasy.

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, even though my chest was trembling with tension. "And why did you want to see ?"

He bowed his head slightly, and a pale face flashed from under his hood. A faint smile touched his lips — almost affectionate, but there was sothing disturbing about it.

"The thing is, I really needed to talk to you," he said.

I narrowed my eyes.

"And for that, your servant practically kidnapped in the middle of the street?" I tried to speak calmly, but my voice trembled involuntarily. "If you really wanted to talk, couldn’t you have done it in a more civilized manner?"

The boy smiled slightly after my remark.

For a mont, it seed to that I had heard this voice sowhere before. The intonation and the smile were like an echo of sothing long forgotten, surfacing from the depths of my mory.

"But where? Where could I have heard it before?" Thoughts raced through my head, but the answer eluded .

anwhile, my mysterious interlocutor continued in the sa calm tone:

"Yes, I’m sorry, it really was my fault. But..." He paused for a second, and his voice lowered to a whisper. "I had no other choice."

I frowned even more.

"What are you talking about?" I asked warily, feeling an unpleasant, almost physical sense of anxiety rising in my chest.

The boy paused for a mont. It beca very quiet inside the carriage — so quiet that I could hear my own breathing, uneven and slightly rapid.

"You see... I really had to hurry. Before she watches us."

"What?" I frowned, feeling a chill run down my spine. "What are you talking about? Who is she?"

In response, the boy raised his head slightly, and I caught a faint movent of his lips in the dim light.

"Can’t you hear it?" he said with a slight, almost mysterious intonation.

I didn’t imdiately understand what he ant.

"The ga music isn’t playing right now," he continued in the sa strangely soft voice, "but as soon as it does..." He leaned a little closer, and I heard him almost right next to my ear, "it will an that she will hear every word we say."

For a few seconds, I just sat there, unable to respond.

It was as if ti had frozen for a mont between the beats of my heart.

Ga music?

The boy’s words echoed in my head, and I involuntarily felt a chill run down my spine.

No. No, I definitely didn’t hear that wrong.

"What... what did you just say?" My voice trembled, and I barely recognized it myself.