“Are you still pretending to be dead?” Abigail’s hand was about to slap her face. She knew this woman was indeed sick, but she couldn’t swallow her anger. The situation was caused by her, and it would inevitably be vented on her.
The young gardener Charles appeared at the basement door. “Uncle Sean asked her to help with the flowerbed… You know, there’s a big banquet at the mansion in a few days, and we need a lot of potted plants.”
Abigail’s hand stopped. “Fine, better than letting her die here.” Looking at her condition, she couldn’t do much work anyway. Rather than wasting time here, it was better to pass her off to someone else. This yellow-skinned woman was definitely an ominous figure; letting her work in the flowerbed would mean that if the general asked again, she could wash her hands of it.
Charles helped Nhanyi into the flower garden and seated her in a wicker chair. He brought her water and medicine, saying, “Here, take this medicine. You have a fever.”
“I’m sorry, Charles, I can’t help you…” she said weakly, almost unable to speak.
“No, you don’t have to do anything, just rest well.” Charles pressed her back into the chair and covered her with an old wool blanket.
“Thank you…” Nhanyi was immensely grateful for Charles’s kindness, but she had nothing to repay him with, only a faint smile as she watched him begin his work.
For the past few days, she had been able to stay in the flower garden, ostensibly working, but in reality, recuperating. Under Charles’s care, her health gradually improved, and she couldn’t help but marvel at her own tenacity. When she felt strong enough to move around, she was reluctant to just sit idly, determined to help him with small tasks.
She got up from the wicker chair and walked a few laps around the vast flower garden. Behind the garden was a specially built small greenhouse, housing various potted plants. Although it was winter, many fragrant flowers were still blooming here. She decided to help him by weeding the potted plants in the greenhouse.
She squatted down and began to work. Suddenly, her dark eyes brightened as she discovered many small white flowers in little clay pots in the corner of the greenhouse. She suddenly remembered her own home—the pot of small flowers outside the half-window of her basement.
These flowers could bloom in the sunlight during the day but could not withstand the cold of winter at night, so that pot of flowers must have been placed on the windowsill in the morning and brought back inside at night.
It turned out that the person who placed that pot of flowers for her every day was him—Charles. Nhanyi smiled, her heart filled with a tender feeling. It was those pure white flowers that had given her hope for life during her most despairing times…
These days had been somewhat difficult; although working all day was tiring, she had learned a lot and gradually adapted to the tasks—how to keep the rooms free of dust, how to sweep out the debris from the floor cracks, how to wash various fabrics and stains, how to make his shoes shine and his uniform neat… Now her task was to clean the study.
The tall bookshelves were densely packed with books, some of which had gathered dust since they weren’t frequently handled. Abigail ordered her to clean every corner and dust each book. This command was clearly a bit unreasonable, but Abigail gave her a week to specifically do this task, indicating it was not merely to torment her.
She started cleaning from the top, standing on a stool to take down all the books from the highest shelf. These were all scripts lying flat. She opened a book with a blue cover.
She continued to flip through the book, finding several pages of sheet music at the back. The familiar little notes danced before her eyes, seemingly forming a series of flowing melodies. Unable to resist the temptation, she jumped down from the stool and gently approached the grand piano covered in red velvet.
Just a small piece, and without pressing the pedal, the sound shouldn’t be too loud; perhaps no one would hear, she thought, somewhat self-deceivingly.
He returned home early that day, only to retrieve a document that was confidential and had to be picked up by him personally. As he passed the study, he inadvertently heard the piano music coming from inside. He paused on the stairs, leaning to the side, but after hearing just a small section of the piece, he strode up the stairs.
