Camilla regarded the two figures standing there with gentle smiles—no, the two ghosts—silently for a moment.

[What is it?]

[Do you have something to say to us?]

At her look, the chef-ghost Ferrol and the butler-ghost Derrin tilted their heads. Did we do something wrong?

“Tell me now.”

[Tell you...?]

[What should we tell you?]

“What is it you want from me?”

Over more than twenty years living alongside ghosts, she had learned one thing:

No spirit drifting through the world helps the living without a reason.

Especially not for a stranger.

Why should these two be any different?

“I’m going to need both of your help from now on.”

Hoping to change her image with nothing more than bringing flowers to the study and cooking once would be dreaming too big.

“So say it plainly. What do you want?”

She was ready to grant most things within reason. They were the ones who could show her ways to stave off death—what couldn’t she do in return?

[...]

[...]

At her words, Ferrol and Derrin looked at each other—then burst into hearty laughter together.

[I want only one thing.]

“What is it?”

[Cooking.]

“...Cooking?”

Camilla’s expression turned awkward.

Cooking? Did he want a memorial service with dishes she made by hand? Was that even a custom here?

I’m not exactly gifted in the kitchen, you know.

Even that dish in the kitchen earlier hadn’t been hers. Ferrol’s hands had overlapped her own, possessing them to cook in her stead.

[My last wish was to cook again. There is no happiness like someone eating what I make with real pleasure.]

But Ferrol’s reply was nothing like she expected.

“Your wish... is to cook?”

So he wanted to cook through her, personally? What kind of wish was that?

Seeing her bafflement, Ferrol chuckled softly.

[Thank you.]

“......”

[For letting me cook again.]

He had thought he would never touch a tool again. Never present a dish made with his own hands.

This felt like a dream: to stand before the flame once more.

Even if they were Camilla’s hands, grasping the knife again—taking the pot in hand—filled him with joy.

“I see...”

Camilla nodded, a bit grudgingly.

He said himself he wanted nothing else; digging around for strings attached would be foolish.

Still, to someone who had never received help for free, letting it go at that left an itch.

[It is the same for me.]

Derrin, caught by her gaze, smiled faintly too.

[It made me happy to bring mist-flowers back to the master’s study.]

...What? That makes you happy?

[It is a great happiness to aid the household with the knowledge I have. Thank you.]

Watching the two ghosts thank her left Camilla a little nonplussed.

These ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) people...

So they lingered in this world because they still had a longing to bring others joy.

In all her days, she had met some strange, softhearted fools.

Well, it works for me.

In short, neither wanted anything in particular.

Camilla placed her hands together politely and bowed to Ferrol and Derrin.

“I’ll be counting on you both.”

Who knew what the future held, but for now she was accepting help without payment. She could certainly offer courtesy in return.

[...]

[...]

At the unexpected salute, Ferrol and Derrin’s eyes widened with surprise—then warm smiles returned to their lips.

****

“C-can you make this as well?”

Chef Jellard stared wide-eyed at the dish Camilla had finished.

That red sherbet. The wine-based dessert had been another of his late master’s specialties.

After the final garnish, Camilla turned and fixed him with a steady look.

“......”

“......”

Sliiide.

After a brief exchange of glances, Jellard’s straightened knees bent again on their own.

Only when his gaze had lowered did Camilla speak.

“You don’t know this recipe either?”

“I—I do.”

Only... when he made it, it never came out with that clear, lovely color.

He had been watching for more than ten days now, and each time Camilla’s skill had astonished him. Every dish was one Ferrol favored in his lifetime.

Don’t tell me...

Inevitably, suspicion arose.

Did the master leave behind a separate recipe book?

Had Lady Camilla found it?

No, no!

He shook the thought off at once.

This wasn’t something solved by knowing a recipe. That level of craft never came from reading a book.

And look at that, too!

The way she found tools and ingredients around the kitchen—swift, unerring—as if she had worked here for decades.

“Um... Lady Camilla, the portion left here, may I...?”

“Eat it.”

“Yes!”

At her leave, Jellard hurried a spoonful of the remaining wine sherbet to his mouth.

As I thought!

His eyes trembled without rest.

Why? What was it?

He was using the same recipe—so why didn’t his version ever taste like this?

“Is it good?”

“N-not bad.”

Even now, he clung to a shred of pride, dodging the truth.

Camilla tapped the back of her neck with her fingers.

Sliiide.

His briefly raised gaze dropped again.

“My lady.”

At the doorway, the butler Rube entered.

Seeing Jellard, once again standing with knees slightly bent before Camilla, Rube suppressed a smile.

“Is it ready?”

“Yes.”

Camilla pointed to the wine sherbet set aside.

In a small glass, a round scoop of red sherbet was crowned with a tiny mint leaf.

“Today as well—please.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Rube bowed lightly and gathered the glasses.

Truly unexpected.

Lifting the tray, he glanced at Camilla.

Why has she changed so suddenly?

He had never disliked her—but he had never liked her either.

He knew well how she had grown increasingly isolated in the household, but felt no need to help.

Offering a hand to someone who did nothing for herself was the thing he despised most.

So he had simply watched.

And yet...

Lately, Camilla was different.

The incident when the maids’ tampered dish nearly reached the duke’s lips—was that really a coincidence?

He didn’t know the reason, but he found her fascinating now.

Even this.

She had reduced foul-tempered, self-centered Jellard to that.

The way the chef kept stealing glances at Camilla while sneaking bites of sherbet—astonishing.

“Are they holding a meeting at this hour? It’ll be midnight soon. Aren’t they sleepy?”

Camilla’s voice reached Rube’s ear.

“Or did something happen?”

Today’s sherbet wasn’t the usual two portions. Multiple trays were stacked with glasses.

Because the household retainers were gathered in the council room. A meeting called on short notice.

“I’m not sure.”

Rube smiled at her question.

It was the Duke of Sorpel himself who had decided to push the meeting—one that should have been held in the day—into this hour, when Camilla delivered refreshments.

Perhaps the reason was...

“Then I’ll be off.”

He bowed and slipped out quietly.

A few maids followed with trays of sherbet.

“By chance... to get that color, how—”

“Want to know?”

“Yes!”

“Then do something pretty.”

“L-like this?”

“...Take your hands off your cheeks. And don’t do that baby-talk.”

Hearing the exchange behind him, Rube fought down a laugh.

****

“H-holding a meeting at this hour—how novel.”

“Q-quite so, ha ha!”

“I’ve been sleeping poorly of late; perhaps this is for the best.”

Awkward smiles, awkward chatter filled the council room.

Why at this hour?

Didn’t he say daytime was too busy?

And I heard nothing pressing came up today...

No one understood why the duke had put off a daytime meeting, only to hold it now, near midnight.

There was nothing urgent; it could have waited until tomorrow. Why?

Of course, none of them would voice their doubts—or their displeasure—to the Duke of Sorpel.

And yet...

Why does he keep looking at the clock?

All had noticed the duke glancing now and then at the timepiece on the wall.

It wasn’t as if he had another appointment.

Knock, knock!

The door opened, and the butler Rube entered with several maids.

Each carried a long tray.

“Your Grace, Lady Camilla has sent refreshments again today.”

“Hm. Bring them here.”

The duke nodded lightly.

Then, as if to preface something of great importance—so all should listen closely—he asked in a carrying voice:

“Did Camilla make them herself today as well?”

“Yes, Your Grace. The lady prepared the dessert personally—and enough for your guests, too.”

At the exchange, the retainers’ eyes went round. Who made what?

“Good heavens...”

“She can make things like this?”

Those who had eyed the sherbet warily upon hearing Camilla’s name took a spoonful—and promptly voiced genuine admiration.