Abigail O’Brian sighed. Her enemy seemed bent on wrapping up the Aisha incident as quickly as possible. Randolph had been kind enough to raise the issue of inadequate evidence, but Aldous Clayton nevertheless remained the prime suspect. Out of an abundance of caution, Rudy from the Folkvangr had vanished for the time being. Fortunately, neither the Security Force nor Daeg Gallus had shown any sign of realizing that the two men were one and the same. The real Aldous Clayton had died ages ago. Abigail had never even met him. She had used his identity so that Rudy could be active in public. Rosenkreuz Street was the capital’s prime entertainment district. Its residents and visitors had many connections with the underworld. Abigail had made use of those connections and doubted her actions could be traced, but it would be annoying if someone looked into it. Even if they didn’t have evidence, her name might come up in the investigation. Of course, it wouldn’t be enough to land her in jail, and she herself couldn’t care less, but if the case ended up causing trouble for her, Rudy might become reckless. She had wanted to find out the truth about Aisha’s death before that happened, but… She sighed again at her lack of progress. The chandelier above her head glittered dazzlingly. Rhythmic music was playing in the drawing room, and people were chatting amicably. This evening, she had been invited to a party hosted by a marchioness she knew. Although she had hardly slept the past few nights, she couldn’t very well skip the event. An evening party was the perfect place to gather information, and anyhow, she wanted to avoid any misguided inferences that might be drawn from her absence. “Good evening, Abigail.” Unsurprisingly, Abigail had soon grown dizzy as she circulated among the crowd and had escaped to rest on the pretense of getting a drink. That was when a tasteful voice greeted her from behind. Tasteful, perhaps, but cold and not at all to Abigail’s taste. She knew without looking who it was. “Good evening, Debbie,” she answered, turning around with a smile. Deborah Darkian frowned slightly. She was famous for hating her nickname. All the more so when the person addressing her was Abigail, with whom she was constantly quarreling. Needless to say, Abigail had done it deliberately. Of course, the only reason Deborah would have approached Abigail in the first place was to harass her. Abigail felt entitled to at least a little preemptive revenge. Predictably, Deborah curled her blood-red lips. “I hear your boy is nowhere to be found these days.” Just as she’d thought. Abigail silently cursed her. “Whatever could you be talking about? I only have one child, my adorable little girl.” Hiding her irritation, Abigail tilted her head. She was fine. Although her sharp-eyed conversation partner annoyed her, she felt relieved. Deborah didn’t seem to have any idea that Aldous Clayton was the same person as Rudy. She was simply trying to find out if the latter’s disappearance could lead to Abigail’s downfall. She was trying to shake her up because she didn’t actually know anything. If she had known, she probably would have kept quiet and waited to catch Abigail off guard. “Oh, don’t insult me by pretending innocence. I’m talking about your hound, who’s not adorable in the least.” Nevertheless, Abigail couldn’t let her guard down. Deborah Darkian was a cunning, cruel woman. “Has the boy gone and done something bad?” Sharon Spencer’s funeral was a solemn affair. Sharon, Aisha’s cousin, had divorced several years prior, and at the time of her death, she was living with her parents. The cause of death was suicide—by poison, apparently. Rumor had it she was an alcoholic and recently had grown mentally unstable, even deranged. Although she left no suicide note, she regularly took tranquilizers, so no one suspected foul play in her death. Strangely enough, she had died on the same day as Aisha Huxley. A chill ran down Connie’s back as she thought it over. Ask Sharon. She’ll know something. According to Aldous Clayton, those were Aisha’s last words. Sharon Spencer was Aisha’s cousin. The very same cousin from whom she had obtained the bottle of poison she tried to use on Cecilia. Which meant this probably wasn’t a suicide. Connie had decided to attend Sharon’s funeral to gather information. After making an offering of flowers at the church, she had headed with the other guests to the Spencer family cemetery for the burial. Sharon’s father stood beside her gravestone and cried as he spoke about her life. Connie hung toward the back of the crowd and scanned the guests for anyone who looked suspicious. As she was doing so, someone addressed her with surprise. “Connie?” She turned around. “Mylene?” It was her gossip-loving, slightly insensitive friend. “Who would ever have imagined that Sharon would die so soon?” Mylene whispered to Connie as the crowd sang a hymn. “Did you know her?” Connie whispered back. “My sister-in-law was friends with her. She’s due this month, so she asked me to come in her place. I met her a few times myself, too. What about you?” “M-me? Um, I’m here for someone else, too… Uh, anyway, do you know anything about her?” Connie asked, caught off guard. Mylene brightened. “I heard some really juicy stuff from my sister-in-law. Want to hear it?” This was better than Connie could have hoped for. She nodded enthusiastically. “It was back when Sharon was engaged…so it must have been about ten years ago. Apparently she was seeing someone other than her fiancé. I heard she was always a plain, serious person. The idea of her two-timing is unbelievable in itself, but that wasn’t the half of it. Can you guess who she was seeing?” Ten years ago. That was just around the time of the attempted poisoning. Connie looked up at Mylene, who glanced around and lowered her voice. “Simon Darkian.” Who? Connie was secretly puzzled, but Scarlett immediately drew her brows together. “…Simon? Isn’t that Deborah’s husband?” she asked. Connie gasped. Deborah. Deborah Darkian. The woman who had summoned Connie to the Starlight Room in the Grand Merillian on the pretense of an “investigation” and then brutally harassed her. “If I remember correctly,” Scarlett mused, “it was Simon who married into Deborah’s family. Having to please that woman all the time, it’s no wonder he wanted an escape.” Connie’s face tensed at the unexpected mention of Deborah. Mylene grinned. “I see you’re familiar with Deborah Darkian. She isn’t the kind of woman you want to make an enemy of. Personally, though, I love all the gossip.” Connie was trying to think of something to say when she heard a familiar sneer. “Well, well, if it isn’t Constance Grail. Have you come to cause more mayhem?” Connie moaned as the nightmarish figure of a woman with curly red hair appeared before her. “…Don’t tell me Amelia Hobbes is here.” But Mylene, a longtime fan of the reporter’s work, must not have heard her, because she tilted her head and whispered, “Who’s that?” “How striking that two women in the Spencer family should die on the same day. They must have had horrible karma.” Mylene frowned. This woman had shown up out of nowhere, and now she was mocking the dead. “I don’t know who you are, but I think that’s an awfully rude thing to say.” Amelia’s smoky-gray eyes widened in momentary surprise. She quickly regained her poise, however, and jutted out her chin. “I am Amelia Hobbes, editor of the news department at the Mayflower. And you must be a friend of Constance Grail, the troublemaker.” “What?” Mylene asked, raising her eyebrows in suspicion. “Oh, you needn’t say a word. I’ll just write an article if anything happens. Please go right ahead and raise a ruckus. And what are you up to today? Pretending you’re Scarlett again?” As usual, Connie ignored Amelia’s provocation, but Mylene did not. “It doesn’t seem right for a journalist to be throwing around speculations when they’re supposed to be following the facts,” she said in a chilling tone. “Any greenhorn can follow the facts. The important thing is how you expose them. I’ll tell you right now, I take risks in my work. Although an ignorant child like you wouldn’t know anything about that,” Amelia shot back. While Mylene was still reeling from all that, Amelia announced that she had an interview to do and marched off. Only when she was gone did Mylene recover. “What just happened?! Who does that pompous redhead think she is?! I’d like to pull those curls right out of her scalp!” “I understand completely, Mylene…!” Connie said, grabbing her friend’s hand with tearful eyes. Mylene was finally on her side. “It’s unbelievable! I never imagined Amelia Hobbes was such a horrible person…!” Instead of calming down, Mylene seemed to be getting angrier by the second. “I feel like slapping myself for looking up to someone like that! Right now, straight across the face!” “I don’t think you should do that,” Connie said, unconsciously pulling back her hand. Mylene Reese’s eyes were brimming with determination. “I’ve made up my mind, Connie!” she announced boldly. “I’m going to get a job at the Mayflower! And I’m going to make sure that idiotic redhead never holds a pen again!” That same day, the arrival of an unexpected guest had thrown the Folkvangr into a quiet furor. Normally, Audrey would have borne the brunt of the attack, but unfortunately she was out at the time. Instead, the guest was greeted by Miriam—whose pretty face and friendly personality made her popular—and thus the highest-ranking despite her youth. She smiled sweetly at the uninvited visitor. “Welcome, Lady Deborah.” The guest who gracefully took a seat in the inner room Miriam had led her to was none other than Abigail O’Brian’s sworn enemy, Deborah Darkian. “So the hound is out again today?” she asked imposingly, glancing around the room. Miriam did not reply. She simply stayed calm and continued to smile, her lips sealed. Deborah raised her eyebrows as if she found the girl’s attitude displeasing. “I feel sorry for you,” she said with a mocking smile. This was not Deborah’s first visit to the Folkvangr. Now and then, she would stop by to make a few vile comments and harass the prostitutes. If Abigail, Audrey, or Rudy was there, they would chase her off, but on this day, they all happened to be out. It was up to Miriam to protect the others. But Deborah was very skilled at worming her way into the most vulnerable part of people’s hearts. “I believe his name is Rudy or something like that, yes? And you’re in love with him? Oh, it’s obvious from watching you. He’s a good man, too. But that kind of love doesn’t pay off. A hound is only loyal to its master. Don’t you think Abigail is hateful? And cunning? Toying around with a boy like that when she’s married. Very unfaithful, wouldn’t you say?” She directed her mocking gaze at Miriam, waiting for a reply. Miriam smiled. “But didn’t you know? Hounds aren’t the only ones who swear loyalty to their masters,” she said. Deborah must not have been expecting this, because she blinked in confusion. “And today, since our dog is on a walk, won’t you play with me instead, Debbie?” Deborah scowled at this intentional use of her nickname. Serves you right, Miriam thought. True, she was interested in Rudy, just like Deborah said. Not as a family member, either—in a romantic way. All the same, ever since the day she’d reached out her hand like a ray of sunshine, Abigail had been the center of Miriam’s universe. She wouldn’t dream of betraying her. Deborah narrowed her ashen eyes and rested her chin in her palm in apparent boredom. “…Call my driver, would you? The thrill has worn off.” You’re just a whore. Deborah glared at the girl as she walked off. The nerve! You were no more than an uneducated hussy when you came here, and now you’re baring your fangs at Deborah Darkian?! She suppressed her rising outrage. She knew from experience that it was not advantageous to show one’s irritation. Abigail was hiding something. She had looked exhausted when they met at the party. Without a doubt, she was in some sort of trouble. And just around the same time, her lover, the security guard at her brothel, had vanished. It was only natural to think the two must be connected. If only she could find out how…then she might be able to drag that detestable woman through the mud. Just then, a servant announced that her carriage was ready. She stood up. A slender girl with almond eyes accompanied her out of the room. “What’s your name?” she asked. “…My name is Rebekah.” She spoke nicely, without accent or dialect. Watching her, Deborah realized she walked and moved with an elegance that seemed like more than a veneer of refinement. “…Were you by chance born to a noble family?” Deborah asked. The girl paused for a second. “…I was born into a low noble family, no different from commoners.” Deborah couldn’t help smiling at her embarrassed expression. “That must have been very difficult for you. And perhaps it still is?” Rebekah’s eyes widened slightly, and Deborah seized the opportunity. “If you’re a noble, that means you and Abigail are of the same standing, doesn’t it?” “My family can hardly be compared to a duchess’s…” “No, nobles are nobles. You must resent her.” “…It’s not Abigail’s fault that I ended up like this.” Rebekah had sounded hesitant before, but now her denial was firm. She had made a mistake. It seemed that Abigail was more popular than Deborah had realized. Then what about the boy? “How’s Rudy?” Rebekah looked at her warily. Deborah could hardly keep herself from smiling. This girl was much more transparent than Miriam. “If he is in some sort of trouble, I may be able to help him. My husband is a very important man.” The girl’s fiercely determined eyes wavered with uncertainty. “And to follow up my earlier point,” Deborah said ever so gently, as if she were speaking to a small child, “even if you don’t hold a grudge against Abigail, I’m sure you’ve felt jealous of her, haven’t you? After all, she has beside her…” Rebekah reached her breaking point and looked down. But Deborah would not let her escape. “Haven’t you ever wished he was gazing into your eyes? Not Abigail’s, but yours?” Deborah giggled, then whispered devilishly to the girl’s still-downturned face. “I’m sure he’d thank you for it. He’d notice you.” Rebekah slowly looked up. Her eyes were glossy, almost feverish. “You’ll tell me what happened, won’t you? After all, you, and you alone, can save him.” Several days had passed since Connie attended Sharon Spencer’s funeral and learned about her illicit affair with Simon Darkian. Randolph had stopped by for a visit, and the first thing out of his mouth was this: Abigail was going to be questioned as a key witness in the murder of Aisha Huxley. “Whaa…?!” Connie exclaimed incoherently, leaping from the sofa where she’d been sitting. “By now, the detectives are probably on their way to her house to arrest her.” “But why…?” This unexpected twist had the blood draining from Connie’s face. “Someone talked. The detectives found out that the Mayflower’s Aldous Clayton was going by a false name, and that in fact he was Rudy, the security guard from the Folkvangr. It was Abigail who registered the false name and hired him. Plus, it’s well-known that the security guard at the Folkvangr is Abigail’s lover, so people have started saying that she must have been the one who planned Aisha’s murder.” “But Lady Abigail has no connection at all to Aisha!” Abigail had no reason to kill her. They had probably never even crossed paths. “A week before Aisha was killed, Abigail sent a letter to Viscount Huxley. The viscount testified that Aisha had been acting strangely ever since the letter arrived. The Security Force thinks that may lead to a motive for the crime. It’s a complete misinterpretation of the facts, but it will most likely take time to correct. I was removed from the investigation because Abigail and I are related, however distantly.” Connie caught her breath. The letter to Viscount Huxley…Abigail had written that for her. “It’s my fault.” “No it’s not. It’s the fault of the people trying to entrap her,” Randolph said, swiftly dismissing her worry. “But the situation being what it is, you may end up being questioned, too.” Connie shook her head. That didn’t matter. She felt her knees buckle. Randolph assured her that, at this point, there was no evidence to prove Abigail had committed a crime. But His Excellency must know—evidence could always be fabricated. What if someone simply cooked up a plausible motive? Then what would happen to Abigail? The O’Brians’ townhouse was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The younger servants had been dismissed. The only ones left were those who had been around since before Abigail’s marriage. They had already been told what was happening. They must have been very worried about their mistress, because they had all given up their tasks to gather in the drawing room. “They’re here,” Abigail muttered as a horse whinnied in the distance. She stood up, her expression stern, and spoke to a servant standing nearby. “Send a fast horse to the O’Brian domain.” The man nodded. “You must keep Teddy there. When he finds out what’s happened to me, he will probably want to leave immediately, but this is no time for us to go down together. If he resists, tie him up with rope. The church has power in the domain, so Deborah will have a hard time interfering there. Take Lucia and leave right away. After that, do everything as we’ve arranged. The necessary documents are in the third safe. Leave the business end of things to Walter Robinson. I know I can count on Wal.” Abigail paused. “In the off chance that anything happens to me—” She looked each of the servants in the eye before continuing in a strong voice. “All of you must escape immediately to the domain.” This was not a plea. It was an order from their mistress. “Don’t worry. Whatever happens, we won’t let them touch Rosenkreuz Street or the O’Brian domain,” Abigail promised with a smile. She was grateful to Randolph for warning her in advance, at risk to his own safety. They hadn’t had much time, but at least they had been able to make arrangements to protect those two places. Most likely, Deborah was behind this. Abigail had heard about her visit to the Folkvangr several days ago. And Deborah was very good at manipulating people. “Did you hear me? That applies to you, too, Sebastian.” She had just noticed that the white-haired butler was preparing tea in a corner of the room as if nothing were amiss. “Oh, did you say something?” he asked placidly. “My hearing isn’t so good these days, you know.” Abigail blinked at him in confusion. He didn’t look upset in the least. Abigail had known Sebastian since she first married—no, even longer. He’d been there when she, Teddy, and Rudy were children, playing together to their hearts’ content. Every time she joined in pranks with the two young men, Sebastian used to scold her for being unladylike. Just like he did with Lucia now. “And my legs aren’t what they used to be. I’m afraid I won’t be able to leave the mansion for the time being. But if you’ll just allow me to say one thing,” he said, his eyes crinkling gently. “You, too, are a member of our beloved O’Brian family.” This was the cue for all the other servants to bow their heads. Abigail couldn’t help her breath catching. “If I may say something else—a lady never gives up. We will all be waiting for your safe return, right here.” Abigail felt something hot rising in her chest. “…You’re hopeless,” she finally managed to say, knowing full well her voice was shaking pitifully. The dry sound of a palm hitting a cheek filled the room. Connie shrank back at the mercilessness of it. The slender form swayed before her eyes, stunned by the force of the blow. Meanwhile, the woman who had just delivered the strike stood with her shoulders slowly heaving, as if she was trying to suppress her fury. Shortly before this, after hearing that Abigail had been arrested by the Security Force, Connie and Randolph had decided to head to the Folkvangr in hopes of coming up with a plan to help her. When they arrived at the brothel, however, they had stumbled into a warzone unfolding in the drawing room. “Where did that come from?” Rebekah yelled, glaring at her attacker as she pressed her red cheek. “Where did that come from, you ask?” came the icy reply. “I should be asking you that question. What the hell did you do?” Rebekah flinched slightly under the piercing gaze of her companion, who was usually all smiles. “Wh-why are you so mad? You really are a fool, Miriam. Abby is a duchess. They won’t punish her for something like this. It’s obvious they’ll let her go right away—” She got no further before Miriam’s eyes ignited with anger, and she shook the air with an explosive shout. “Have you forgotten how easily they executed a duchess’s daughter ten years ago?! Aisha Huxley was killed for trying to say that Scarlett Castiel was innocent! Don’t you understand what that means?!” Rebekah’s eyes widened. “You’re the fool, Rebekah! Who cares if you’ve got noble blood? Who cares if you can read? Your so-called beautiful lineage and refined literature didn’t save us! Abby did! Abby was the one who rescued us from that hell! Abby…!” Tears spilled from Miriam’s eyes. “What will we do if she dies…?!” she wailed. At that point, Rebekah finally seemed to realize what she had done. The blood drained from her face, and the atmosphere in the room grew leaden. Just then, the door banged open, and Aldous Clayton walked in. “…What happened to Abigail?” He must have overheard part of their conversation, because his voice was tense. It was likely he had not yet learned of her arrest. But while he was bound to find out eventually, no one in the room was up to the task of telling him. Abigail had been arrested in the process of trying to help Aldous. Connie, too, found herself unable to tell him the truth. Nevertheless, after looking around the room—Miriam sobbing, Rebekah pale and downcast, Connie tense—he seemed to guess what had happened. He drew in a small breath, then spun on his heels and was about to rush out of the room when Connie let out a cry and Randolph grabbed hold of his shoulder. “Where are you planning to go?” “To turn myself in.” “…Why?” Randolph asked, groaning as if his head hurt. Instead of answering, Aldous shook off the hand on his shoulder. “Wait, Aldous Clayton!” Without replying or hesitating, Aldous spun and swung out his right arm. Connie gasped at the sound of it cutting through the air, but Randolph remained impassive. He simply leaned back slightly and dodged. Aldous swore and immediately followed up with a swing from the left. This time, Randolph didn’t dodge. Diffusing the blow by stepping backward, he caught Aldous’s arm with one hand and then lunged toward him, sweeping his foot at Aldous’s legs. As Aldous stumbled, Randolph looped behind him, twisted both his hands over his head, and brought him to his knees. “Let go! I’ll kill you!” Aldous shouted, giving Randolph a murderous glare. Randolph sighed. “Cool down,” he said. But his captive showed no sign of playing nice. Twisting lithely from his kneeling position, and with his arms still in Randolph’s grasp, Aldous unleashed a roundhouse kick. Connie ran up to the two in a panic. “P-please, calm down, Mr. Aldous!” “Get back, Miss Grail!” Randolph shouted. Connie froze momentarily under his sharp gaze, but she took a deep breath and returned his with her own.
Chapter 32
21 min read