Try Begging Novel - Chapter 1

A kind maid, a cunning spy, a heartbreaking first love, the daughter of a sworn enemy she yearned to kill.
And a fugitive who vanished, carrying his child.
She had countless names.

The moment the kitchen door swung open, a rush of diverse food scents and hot steam enveloped her. The maids, too busy preparing lunch, didn’t even have the leisure to turn and see who had entered.
There was no need to look back.
The person who stepped into the noisy kitchen, filled with the sounds of chopping knives and sizzling oil, was just an ordinary maid.
Her black maid’s uniform brushed her knees, her white apron was spotless, and her modest brown hair completed the picture. Such an appearance was as common in the Winston estate as crystal chandeliers.
The maid took a wooden tray, a soup plate, and a spoon from the dish cabinet. She then moved to the pantry, where colorful canned goods were lined up, and picked up a white loaf of bread and two boiled eggs from a basket. It was then that someone finally spoke to her.
“Is that guest in the annex still here?”
Mrs. Appleby, the head cook, clicked her tongue as she pulled a freshly baked meat pie from the oven. The young maid, as always, feigned a sullen expression, pouting her lower lip slightly.
“Indeed. But I hope they’ll be gone today.”
“Tsk, tsk, Sally, you truly suffer.”
Mrs. Appleby placed the meat pie on the large table in the center of the kitchen and extended her empty hand to the maid, who was called Sally.
“Give it here.”
Receiving the empty soup bowl, Mrs. Appleby opened a large pot by the stove and filled it with lukewarm, watery soup, placing it on Sally’s tray. All that floated in the bowl were crumbled scraps of ingredients.
“To handle such a difficult task alone, without Ethel, and without complaint.”
Ethel was a middle-aged maid who, until a month ago, had been in charge of the ‘secret room’ in the annex basement with Sally. Now, she was likely on a ship bound for the New World, dreaming of a sudden fortune with her gambler husband.
All the employees of the Winston estate felt pity for Sally, who had been left to handle such a disgusting and unsettling job alone. Yet, no one ever offered to help. Sally, in turn, felt a sense of relief.
“Speak well to Mrs. Belmore. Either have her hire another person or increase your weekly wage.”
“I suppose I should.”
But Sally would never go to the head maid with such a request.
Holding the tray, Sally exited through a side door on the west side of the mansion. A gravel path stretched between neatly trimmed green lawns.
Soon, the annex, which had seemed small, grew close enough for the sharp barbed wire atop its fence to be clearly visible.
In the full bloom of spring, with cherry blossom petals fluttering, the annex alone exuded the gloomy aura of winter. And rightly so. With screams constantly echoing from its basement, it was nothing short of a haunted house.
As she saw the soldiers guarding the annex’s main gate, Sally moistened her dry lips and pulled the corners of her mouth into a tight smile.
“Hello, Martin.”
“Hello, Sally.”
The soldier, whom she saw every day, opened the iron gate immediately without asking anything. So, he wasn’t the one who made her lips so dry with tension.
Sally walked slowly towards the annex entrance, glancing around the front yard. Captain Winston’s car, the master of this estate, was not there. It meant he hadn’t returned from the barracks yet.
Good.
She went straight into the cool building and descended to the basement. Following the left corridor, as she was accustomed, she reached the iron door in the middle of the hallway. The soldier guarding it opened the door as soon as he saw Sally.
The strict security was threefold. This meant there was one more group to evade.
Turning the corner to the right, she saw two soldiers sitting on chairs, chatting.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Sally.”
Opposite the soldiers, a rough, pitch-black iron door was tightly locked. It exuded an aura completely detached from the luxurious annex of the mansion.
“Have you two had your meal?”
Sally approached the soldiers, her eyes curving into a wide smile.
“No, the rations haven’t arrived yet…”
A private, with a name tag reading ‘Fred Smith’ on his chest, answered, cautiously glancing at the corporal sitting next to him.
“They’ll bring it from the main building soon.”
At a time when they were surely hungry, the mention of food, coupled with the scent of soup, was a bait no one could resist.
“What’s on the menu today, Sally?”
“Meat pie. The moment I opened the kitchen door, the savory aroma was so strong, it made my mouth water.”
The corporal’s hazy eyes suddenly gleamed.
“Ah… if we go late again, won’t there be none left?”
The private, still boyish, subtly dropped a hint while watching the corporal’s reaction. Then, he immediately cast a knowing look at Sally. His gaze was like a puppy demanding praise, but she pretended not to notice, only looking at the corporal’s face.
“Damn it… I’m sick of consommé soup…”
An ignorant person would say that a man who was tired of gourmet food didn’t know his place or how to be grateful.
But when a robust young man was given soup with only chicken meatballs and a few vegetable pieces for lunch, complaints were inevitable.
The practice of generously providing expensive meals to ordinary soldiers, not just officers, actually stemmed from Mrs. Winston’s vanity and disdain, so there was no reason to be grateful.
“It seemed like they didn’t bake many… You should hurry to the dining hall before it’s too late. I’ll lock the door.”
Sally shifted the tray to one hand and pulled a black key from her pocket, causing the corporal to look troubled.
“The Captain said not to let Sally in alone…”
His voice trailed off, hinting that he could be swayed with a slight push. Sally smiled, raising an eyebrow as if it were nothing.
“It’s fine. That guest doesn’t seem violent, does he? I’ll just leave the tray and collect the laundry, then come right out. Greg is outside, too.”
She gestured towards the soldier who would be guarding the iron door around the corner. Only then did the corporal reluctantly rise.
“Smith, let’s go.”
As the two men turned the corner and disappeared, Sally unlocked the heavy iron door. Creak, the door shrieked sharply as it swung inwards. A metallic, bloody smell wafted out from the two-span gap.
Sally, her lips dry again, reached her hand into the dark room. Her fingers immediately found the switch.
Click. Four wall lamps flickered on simultaneously, but the room didn’t get much brighter. This was because the walls, floor, and even the ceiling were all black.
As the lights came on, the middle-aged man, huddled on a narrow bed against one wall, flinched. Sally quickly entered the ‘secret room’ and closed the door.
“Uncle, it’s me.”
The ‘guest of the secret room,’ who had been stiff all over, let out a long sigh and relaxed. His eyes were still too dazzled to see Sally’s face, but he must have heard her voice clearly.
The man’s appearance was terrible. She had seen countless times how vibrant faces withered like corpses the moment they stepped into this room.
But when that face belonged to a village uncle she had known since childhood, her heart ached even more.
“I brought your meal.”
Sally walked to a small table at the foot of the bed. In the meantime, the man tried to sit up but couldn’t even manage half, letting out a pained groan.
She placed the tray on the table and quickly approached the man. As she helped him into the chair in front of the table, she didn’t utter any perfunctory words like “Are you okay?”
Having experienced it many times, she now knew.
Cheap comfort like “Are you okay?” could be a trigger for someone enduring terrible torture with only a thread of sanity and strength left.
Silently, she handed him a spoon and began peeling a boiled egg. The man’s fingernails had all been pulled out, so he couldn’t even do the simple task of peeling an egg.
“Was there anything unusual last night? I was called to a party at the main building yesterday evening…”
“Nothing, cough, cough.”
As the man began to cough, Sally poured water from the kettle on the table into a cup and offered it to him.
Still, he was lucky. He was allowed one meal and water a day. Sometimes, they wouldn’t even give him water, let alone food.
His cough subsided after he moistened his dry throat. Before he could pick up the spoon again, Sally quickly pulled a small medicine bottle from her pocket.
“Drink this first.”
It was a painkiller containing morphine. As the man opened his mouth as if he had been waiting, Sally dripped a dropperful of the painkiller into his mouth.
She hid the medicine bottle back in her pocket and finished peeling the egg for him. Meanwhile, she continued to talk to the man, who was busy wolfing down his soup. She had no time to wait until he finished his meal, as she needed to end the conversation quickly and leave before anyone came.
“You didn’t say anything, did you?”
“…”
The man stopped his spoon and looked up. His eyes were filled with intense contempt.
This, too, happened every time.
Sally’s question would hardly be welcome to a colleague who had been suffering torture for days. Was she interrogating him? Was she monitoring him? Such misconceptions could easily arise.
But she couldn’t help it. If any information had leaked, she needed to know as quickly as possible to react. Otherwise, not only his life but the lives of others could be in danger.
“You know you have to tell me honestly, right?”
“…No.”
The man glared at Sally for a long time, then lowered his head to the soup bowl and spat out his answer. His tone was as if he were spitting.
“I think they’ll move you today. I’ll send someone as soon as I find out where. So, please, don’t open your mouth and just endure a little longer. You know, the rescue team doesn’t know what failure is…”
It was as she was pouring out her final plea.