Chapter 4: Incomprehensible

The clock struck five o' clock as Petra cheerily made her way up the stairs, books in hand. Mikasa had been a pleasant student to teach, her manners and obedience were on point, just as Miss Hange had said. Her short time at Trost Castle had already turned out to be both interesting and wonderful and she had high hopes for the future ahead. Despite her positivity toward the situation she could still not shake the nervousness about meeting Kenny Ackerman's son. She was quite Mikasa was not even related - she definitely did not look nor act like an Ackerman. Kenny Ackerman was ignorant, presumptuous and chauvinistic, where Mikasa was reserved, tranquil and feminine. The only similarities she could identify were the cold, grey eyes and air of intimidation that was brought with their presence. Perhaps that was the Ackerman bloodline.

It was rather unnerving to think about, so as she turned the handle to the miniature library on the second floor, Petra shook the thought. Miss Hange was inside gazing out the window with her hands broadly fixed to her hips.

"Miss Ral," she began without turning around. "How was your first lesson?"

"It was admirable,"

"Ha-ha! Wonderful. Mr Ackerman's visits are rare, but sudden, so I try to supply everything as best I can. He complains and whines no matter what anyway."

"Is Mr Ackerman a picky man?"

"He has a gentleman's taste and a neurotic personality. You might find that the castle is faultless - Mr Ackerman does love a clean home. Ha,"

"Do you like him? Is he a very nice man?"

"Oh yes," she laughed, stifling another display of hysterical fits. "He is respected by all. I have no reason to dislike such a generous man, excluding his odd habits and remarks."

"Where does he travel to?"

"All over the world, he has seen a great deal of adventures I'd say. Most often going abroad and not returning to Trost for a number of time." Miss Hange sighed, facing away from the window so that she could look at Petra.

"Will we get along?"

"I should think so, he is not unkind per say. Although, his personality is hard to read. At times you may be confused whether he is earnest or mocking you."

"I see. I will take guard."

"Hm," Miss Hange brushed herself down, stepping toward the smaller girl. "Come, let me show you to your bedroom. It's the one next to mine!"

She put a hand to Petra's shoulders, leading her out of the library, into the corridor and across the hall until they came to the spare bedroom. Petra stepped inside merrily, admiring the white lace curtains which daylight streamed through beautifully. The bed was made to an exquisite taste and on the other wall stood a large wardrobe - though she would have no need for all that space with her lack of clothing.

"Is it to your tastes?"

"I have never seen anything like it before. I'm stunned."

"Is that good?"

"Yes, I'm so happy to be staying here. Thank you."

"You're very welcome!" Miss Hange strode over to the double bed, the large set of keys attached to her hip dangling and ringing like chimes. She scraped her tanned hands along the bed sheets, smoothing them out comfortably. Petra hesitated a moment, her semi-valiant nature edging her from inside.

"Miss Hange?" She turned to face Petra. "Would it be possible to explore the third floor?"

She froze.

Miss Hange's facial expression seemed to drop and Petra instantly regretted her question. What had she said wrong? Whatever it was, she felt quite foolish underneath the glare that the brunette was magnifying through her thick glasses. Perhaps it was something private, something belonging to the Master, but what could be so important for her to paint such an expression? It soon faded and Miss Hange's usual goofy grin was replaced, though Petra wasn't surprised at the nervous shine in her eyes.

"I-I don't believe that's a good idea,"

"Why not?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Miss Hange shuffled, looking to the corner of her eye. She looked seemingly defeated, as though there was no real reason. It could be seen as rude and nosy, she accepted. But she needn't, for Miss Hange licked her lips and huffed. "All right. Let's go."

...

The third floor was much darker than anywhere else in the house, for lack of candlelight. It reminded Petra of some of the rooms back at Hermina. The corridor stretched out in a straight line, rooms on either side locked up, assuming Miss Hange had the keys to them all safely stapled to her hip. Any sane person would walk along the boring, empty hallway and wonder to themselves, 'why in the world would I want to be here?' but for some cause Petra was bemused by the forgotten floor. Miss Hange's candle stick flickered in the darkness as she turned around.

"All right, let's go now!" Her voice came out suddenly, as though she had seen a mouse and became frightened. The entirety of their quick visit the governess kept her eyes wide, while the taller woman seemed uneasy and drawn back, even letting the governess walk ahead, which was very odd for a host to do.

"Are you feeling well? Have you seen a ghost?"

"Ha-ha, don't be silly," her voice uncertain and off-edge. "No such thing as ghosts."

"Why does nobody inhabit this floor?"

"It's just... very cold, very dark... plenty rooms on the second and first floors. There's no need for it other than storage," she began to make her way down the spiralled stairs, creaking and croaking with each step. "I think there are rats up here, also."

Before they reached half way down the dusty steps, or Petra could query any more, a sound from above could be heard, sending chills down the smaller woman's spine. She stiffened, frozen in her spot, her palm sweaty and gripped to the rusty, metal railing. As a drip of cold sweat trailed down her neck in apprehension, her mind relaxing a bit, she recognised just what that disturbing sound was.

A woman's laughter.

Throaty and deranged, but definitely a woman's. She turned slowly to face Miss Hange, who was biting her lip in aggravation, eyes squinted shut as though she were waiting impatiently for the sound to clear.

"I'm definitely not hearing things..." Petra trailed.

"Uh... no... um..."

The laugh began again.

"Miss Hange, what is that!?"

"It's one of the servants - Isabel - I should have told you sooner-"

"Told me what!?"

"She's a drunk."

"A drunk?"

"Mmhmm. I'm sorry. She won't cause you any trouble, but she does make an awful lot of noi-"

That laugh again.

"Miss Hange, that is disturbing..."

"No no no, it's not! Uh, Isabel! Isabel!" When no one answered her cries, she gave the governess a nervous laugh. "Isabel! Here!"

Shortly, there was silence that prolonged a few seconds, then came the sound of footsteps, boot clad feet on loose wooden boards. The door nearest to them opened up suddenly and Petra found herself startled, hand to heart, as the door quickly shut again, a figure stepping into view. It was difficult to see at first due to the lack of lighting, but she could make out that the figure was fairly small and girlish with the manoeuvre of an inebriated man, her red scruffy hair in two low pig tails. She raised a bushy dark eyebrow, putting her slim wrists to her hips in annoyance to being disturbed. Petra was about to question Miss Hange when she noticed the clear brown bottle in the girl's hand. Perhaps she was a drunk after all.

"Stay quiet, Isabel," Miss Hange snapped. "I'm showing the governess around... eheh..."

Isabel took a sidelong glance at Petra, her blue-green eyes sleepy and sharp. As if Petra did not matter at all, Isabel returned her sight to Miss Hange, nodding once, then stormed back to the door she had come from, slamming it behind her aggressively. They jumped simultaneously at the sound.

"Let's hurry and go down," Miss Hange gave another nervous laugh. "It's too disagreeable up here and Isabel likes her beer." She gave another push against the governess' back, the pair of them hurrying down the steps until they reached the second floor again.

"It is a shame. I could sit and dream up there for hours, it was so silent and peaceful until I heard that laughter."

"I would not go up there again if I were you. Mr Ackerman wouldn't be very happy about it either. Isabel tells him everything, you see, they're good friends."

"I understand."

Later that evening, before the sun had set, Petra began roaming the gardens and admiring the beautiful work that had been performed. The entire surroundings of Trost Castle were green gardens. Humongous trees circled the grounds, laced with colourful flowers of all kinds and bushes that sprung delicious looking underdeveloped blackberries and strawberries. Mina had told her that in the summertime they would be ripe and they could pick them for dessert.

After Miss Hange's warning and the unwelcome feeling she got from Isabel, the drunken maid, it left an awful taste in her mouth. Although she was still particularly curious about Trost's Master, it had softened the information to know he considered one of his maids a friend of all things. Especially considering she seemed to be the recluse, intoxicated maid who was rarely seen anywhere other than the third floor.

Still, her dauntless personality desired experience. Her cold feet wandering through the damp vines, her green cloak still draped over her shoulders. It was cold and she had started to wander a little too far into the greenery, the trees becoming taller and the sky commencing a light blue cast where twilight was about to fall. Some birds, however, were not meant to be caged.

"Hewie!"

Petra spun around, a low voice in the distance calling out. It was then that reality hit her and she realised it was getting quite late. Miss Hange would be getting worried and nightfall was already casting shadows. If she wandered too far she could get herself hurt, too.

"Hewie!"

That voiced called again. She stood idle for a few moments, curiosity once again taking over her bodily functions. Soon enough, a snowy German Shepherd bounced out from behind the trees, barking with pleasure. Friendly enough it seemed as it jumped into the mud, its tail wagging madly, dirt staining the white paws. The voice called out again and Petra assumed it was the owner of the dog, taking it upon herself to check its collar. As she suspected, 'Hewie' was engraved in the tag.

She stood straight, ear pricking. Now what was that? Her head turned to the same direction, a clicking sound approaching and getting louder the longer she stood there. Hooves, maybe? A light turned on in her head, realising the sudden danger. She went to take a step out of the horse's way but it was too late, the colossal black stallion bursting out of the trees so powerfully all she could do was stand there helpless. She let out an inaudible gasp.

The horse neighed at its blockage, but she was fortunate for now. The rider being doubtlessly skilled as he called out to stop, pulling on the reins at the last minute so that the horse drew back on its hind legs, making a sound of frustration.

Petra's heart accelerated at the mess before her she had caused, the horse lashing out in fear at the sudden stop. The rider made a jump to the side before the horse could throw him off itself and Petra cringed as his left ankle hit the ground and twisted painfully, cursing under his breath.

"Are you all right, sir!?" She screamed once the horse had calmed.

He hobbled toward his horse, gripping the reins and gritting his teeth, infuriated. Petra worried, biting her lip and running to his assistance, but was stopped by his hand shooing her off violently.

"Stand aside." He ordered coldly. "It's only a sprain."

She remained before him half-witted and mouth agape, the irritation on his face quite apparent. "Let me assist you to mount your horse, at the least."

Hesitating, still gripped to the reins, he cursed under his breath again, gesturing an arm for her to take. Petra delicately slung his arm over her narrow shoulders, helping him to foot the saddle and climb back on to his black beauty. He huffed, obviously a bit shaken up as well, but the way he stared down at her struck anything but vulnerability into her heart. He was certainly not a ghost, though extraordinarily pale even in the growing darkness. He seemed a wealthy man by his attire, yet her nerves were unhinging at his presence. For a while she thought she had lost her voice gazing up at this master of a man who radiated arrogance and privacy.

"Where are you residing?" He asked, a calmer voice taken over, though he still looked ready to murder someone.

"Trost Castle,"

He raised an eyebrow. "Trost Castle?"

"Yes," she nodded, a little confused at the disbelief in his tone. "I am a governess there."

"Ah." He looked away, re-gripping the reins.

Petra was about to quiz him, but he was quick to signal the stallion, riding past her and off into the darkness with Hewie happily chasing behind, a bark echoing through the trees as if to say goodbye.

Back at the castle, Petra numbly changed into the house slippers Mina had provided, thankful as her boots were soaked through and through with the mud outside. She would have to invest her first pay check into a new pair. Her hands combed through her fiery locks neatly so that they curtained her clear, plain face as it were. Though she did feel a nuisance to everyone at times she decided to shake it off to a lack of confidence in herself, and she was to ask more questions to Miss Hange at once.

As she entered the drawing room - her favourite room in the castle for all of its qualities - she admired the warm, crackling fire, grinning at the heat it let off. Her journey came to a stop a few steps from the doorway, though, as something caught her eye. Her eyes widened as it recalled something. Laying by the fire snugly on the shag rug was a familiar white furred German Shepherd.

"Hewie?" She tried in an uncertain voice.

He rose his head and gave out a bark, chocolate brown eyes staring at her with recognition. Hewie leapt towards her expectingly and she laughed while stroking his soft fur.

"Miss Ral?"

"Oh, Miss Hange," Petra gasped as she began to stand up.

"Thank goodness you're okay! You were gone for so long that you weren't here for the Master's return."

"I shall say hello right away,"

"Not right now, you won't, he's sprained his ankle and can barely walk!"

"Sprained his ankle!?"

"Yes!"

"Of course I can walk." Came a new voice, low and dispassionate.

The women turned around, surprised. Miss Hange just laughed comfortably as she brought a hand to her abdomen to suppress any snorts of maniacal laughter. Petra stared a little wide eyed. She should have guessed familiarity would strike again after Hewie's appearance, but all she could feel was embarrassment and shame. Already having met her new benefactor in the worst circumstances possible, almost killing the poor man. Fortunately he was not dead, but in fact, injured. His arm was looped over a wooden crutch, light to press any pressure on the left foot where he had skilfully fallen. Her eyes scanned him over wearily, for she was still intimidated by the atmosphere he brought and the cold stare with those same grey eyes of steel that bore right in to her soul.

He was not a lovely looking man, but not unpleasant to look at. His low brow, lack of wrinkles and emotionless expression suited well with his slack, black hair. The way his white shirt and cravat was so pristine and tidy gave reminded her of Miss Hange's words about how their Master enjoyed a cleanly home. What struck him as odd to her, other than rather mean, was his height - or lack of. He could not have been any more than an inch or two taller than her, which was very uncommon for the governess to find, having grown up as such a small case to laugh at. Nevertheless, his shoulders were much more broad in comparison and his structure as a whole dominated her own.

"You're Mr Ackerman?"

"What a perceptive mind you have, Miss Ral," he sneered, dark eyes rimmed with sleep deprivation and bitterness. He gave her a sickening look before turning on his heel (with much difficulty) and leaving the room without another word.

Petra swallowed, feeling even more stupid and guilty than she had before. However, her pride could not shake the bothersome dent it had received from his cruel tone. She looked down at her informal feet, hands knit as she avoided Miss Hange's troubled look directed at her. Miss Hange wasn't one to dwell on negativity, the smile that usually smothered that masculine face now reappearing, toothy and oblivious.

"Don't mind his contemptuous ways, Miss Ral. I did warn you!"

"That, you did, Miss Hange..."

"He couldn't be taking a disliking to you or anything, so you needn't worry," Miss Hange brightened up then, as though a memory had popped up into that scientific brain of theirs. "Other wise he wouldn't have asked me to advise you to join him for tea first thing tomorrow morning. Bright and early!"

Petra's head popped up then, a look of disbelief. "Mr Ackerman wants me to escort him to tea?" Her face contrasted with the concoction of a mood she had been thrown in to. How dare. It may have been partially her fault that he hurt his ankle - but why the foul attitude, particularly directed at her? Somehow, Miss Hange's consoling that Mr Ackerman would always speak and act in such a way left her with no peace of mind nor any comfort at heart. She had been spoken rudely to all of her life and this was her key to a beautiful, warming life. It would be deplorable to let him get away with it. Something would have to be said sooner or later.

"Yes! He wishes to discuss his niece with you,"

"Ah, yes." She smiled. How interesting should this be, but sleep would be a difficulty tonight.