The autumn sun bathed the manor in soft light, filtered through the leaves that were beginning to turn red.
The large doors of the hall opened with a gentle breeze, causing the curtains to flutter and the crystal chandeliers to tinkle softly. Each ray of light cast moving shadows on the parquet floor, while the carpets folded under the passage of air as if to greet the maid who was approaching.
Mireille, always dressed soberly but with care, walked down the central corridor – her boots remaining silent on the polished wood. The years spent on the battlefield had sculpted her stride: alert, precise.
Every movement seemed calculated, even as she moved among the manor's servants. Yet beneath this appearance of a model servant, a certain mischief persisted.
After all, she was Mimi, and Mimi had never truly lost her keen sense of observation, let alone her dark and misplaced sense of humour.
'If only the young master knew that the servant he considers a friend could easily knock him out before he even finished his glass of milk...' She thought as she watched Silas, already busy with his morning lessons.
The young nobleman, focused on his writing exercises, did not notice his maid's discreet approach.
He was far too busy frowning at the calligraphy on a parchment, muttering apologies to an imaginary teacher for every poorly written letter.
Mimi watched him for a moment, amused, then shook her head slightly.
——Poor boy... he didn't yet know that the real world doesn't apologise for poorly written letters. Nor for accidents, nor for thieves, nor for disasters... and believe me, I've dealt with disasters more than once——
As she was about to set down the breakfast tray in the study, a slight noise from the garden caught her attention. The leaves on the hedges rustled, as if something had slipped in.
Nothing too alarming, she thought at first. But it was enough to prevent her warrior instincts from being deceived by the tranquillity of the morning.
'Argh. Robbers really do have this nasty habit of always showing up at the wrong time...' she sighed inwardly.
She moved closer to the balcony and peered out discreetly.
Around the corner of a grove, a hooded figure disappeared behind the trees. The guy didn't look particularly dangerous, but the shadow he cast was enough to awaken Mimi's old reflexes of vigilance.
Her mind began to analyse the scene: points of entry, possible exits, distance from the servants, and estimated time before they would notice the intruder.
——Right. Rule number one: never underestimate a seemingly harmless maid. Including me.——
She descended the stairs like a fluid shadow, avoiding the slightest creak of wood, blending into the changing light.
Every movement was meticulously controlled: her hand brushing the polished wood of the banisters, her eyes scanning the courtyard and garden.
The breeze carried the smell of fresh bread and coffee from the kitchen, mingled with the damp earth of the garden.
The — very potential — culprit of a crime yet to be committed showed himself again, this time more daring, advancing towards the side door that led to the stables — itself opening onto the area of the garden overlooking Silas's window.
Mimi took one step, then two.
Silas, naively unaware of everything, was still at his desk, bent over his parchment.
Mireille had only a few seconds to act.
In one fluid movement, she sprang up behind the thief. The icy breath of panic was felt even before the blade grazed the air.
The man jumped, trying to turn around, but found himself frozen by Mimi's skill.
"Well, sir, this is where your thieving career ends. And I assure you, it's not just a matter of law, but of style." She murmured with a smirk.
The man tried to defend himself, stumbling over his own feet, but each clumsy movement condemned him.
Mimi dodged his gestures with cold grace, observing his reactions like a teacher examining a clumsy student. With the blade pointed at him, the maid forced him to slowly back towards the exit.
Silas, finally up from his desk, arrived in the hallway. His eyes widened when he saw the scene: Mimi, motionless, like a statue, the thief literally frozen with fear and anxiety.
"M-Mimi! What the...?" he stammered, unable to keep up with the rapid pace of events.
The maid lowered the blade slightly, issuing a silent warning — one wrong move and he would regret his curiosity. Then, with precise, calm steps, she led the man towards the steward, Alciel, who was ready to neutralise him.
Silas, his eyes still wide, could only follow her, oscillating between admiration and respectful fear.
'Just another normal day at Wrighton Manor. And to think that some people believe serving a nobleman is boring...' she thought, amused.
***
Mimi pushed the thief towards a garden shed, now that Alciel had approached, alerted by the unusual commotion coming from the stables.
The old steward, stiff as a pillar, watched the scene with an almost disconcerting calm. His grey eyes, sharp despite his age, first rested on the trembling stranger, then on Mimi, whose blade was still glinting slightly.
"Hmm... Another intruder who doesn't seem to understand that the Wrighton estate is not a playground." He commented soberly.
Mimi raised an eyebrow, amused by his consistently measured reaction. Alciel, for his part, was never surprised to see her return with an intruder under her arm, as if it were an integral part of her morning routine.
"I found him near the stables. He was looking around too intently." Mimi said in a neutral tone.
The thief tried to justify himself, stammering incoherent words about "easy work" and "just looking", but Mimi pressed the blade against his side to remind him that he hadn't been invited to speak.
"Save your breath. You'll need it when the steward starts his interrogation." She advised softly.
'...And to tell the truth, I don't envy him. Not one bit!' she thought to herself.
Alciel signalled to two estate guards who came running. They grabbed the man, almost lifting him off the ground as he still trembled.
Once he had been escorted away, Mimi finally sheathed her blade.
She turned back to Silas, who had not moved since he had watched the scene unfold, frozen like a wax statue. The young master stared at her with rare intensity, a mixture of astonishment, incomprehension and a hint of fear — which made Mimi smile inwardly.
"Mi-Mimi... do you... do you do this often?" he finally asked, his voice hesitant.
Mireille crossed her arms, striking a falsely thoughtful pose.
"Only on days when idiots think they can rob nobles in broad daylight. So... yes, relatively often." She replied with a subtly mischievous smile.
The young nobleman didn't know how to respond. He frowned slightly, as if trying to understand how his servant — the one who brought him milk every morning and reminded him of his duties — could also act like a deadly shadow.
"You didn't... hurt him?" he asked timidly.
Mimi shook her head.
"Of course not. Just scratched his pride, though. Those things are fragile."
After that, she picked up the breakfast tray left on the table as if nothing unusual had happened.
Silas watched her go, still in shock. As she passed by him, she used the corner of her elbow to tap him lightly on the head.
"You'll be late for your next class if you stand there!" she said in an almost motherly tone.
He jumped, blushed, then nodded before returning to the study room.
Mimi took a deep breath. The scent of hot coffee and polished wood reached her again, restoring tranquillity to the hallway. It was as if the thief's attack had been nothing more than a minor interruption in the mansion's routine.
Yet a small part of her remained tense.
The thief's movements were not those of a mere amateur. Too hesitant, too nervous. As if he were not acting of his own free will...
...Or as if he feared something far worse behind him.
She glanced briefly at the side door, which opened onto the still-bright garden.
'If an idiot shows up, it's often because a bigger idiot is hiding behind him... And I feel that this one was just a clumsy messenger.' She thought.
Mimi tightened the scarf around her neck slightly, a habit inherited from her years of combat.
Even a simple morning could hide many dangers... and Wrighton Manor was never as quiet as it seemed.
The maid took one last look at the garden, scanning the trees and hedges.
She did not yet know the real motive behind this so-called thief-watcher. But she knew, at least, that she had to remain ready...
...Always ready.