“I will not!” she protested, stepping around so she was in front of the thrashing Aldous. “Listen to me, Mr. Aldous!” However fiery he might be, he was apparently unwilling to keep struggling in front of Connie. Nevertheless, he gave her a restless, irritated stare. She understood his sentiment. But… “If you go now, you’ll be playing straight into Deborah’s hands! Why do you think Lady Abby went without a fight?! It was for your sake, and for everyone else here! If you ignore that and rush out only to be caught, you won’t be helping her at all!” Aldous had no response to that. “Then what do you suggest I do…?!” he croaked, devastated. “We’re trying to figure that out!” Connie shouted, projecting her voice. “Right now! All together! We don’t have a second to spare! How can you waste time by fighting?!” She must have looked desperate as she hovered over him, because he blinked in confusion, then mumbled guiltily, “I’m sorry.” Sensing that the gloomy mood had lightened somewhat, Connie let the tension drain from her shoulders. Just then, she heard a commotion coming from the hallway. “No, stay out!” A large man with the rough-hewn face of a pirate barged past the prostitutes guarding the door. The man surveyed the room with narrowed eyes, his shoulders squared imposingly. “Walter Robinson?” Scarlett asked in surprise, jogging Connie’s memory. Walter Robinson, king of the shipping business. Yes—the man standing in front of them was one of the top merchants in the capital. Neil Bronson had introduced them. When Walter noticed Aldous Clayton there, hands held behind his back, his terrible face contorted even more. He strode right toward him. Before Connie or anyone else could stop him, he had punched Aldous in the face. The prostitutes screamed. “Damn it, man!” he growled. “How did you let this happen under your watch? Why—why is Abby gone…!” Connie blinked in shock, staring back and forth between Aldous and the intruder. True, when she met Walter Robinson, he’d told her that Abigail was one of his best customers, but… “I didn’t let Abby leave my ship just so she could end up like this!” What was he talking about? Aldous pressed a bag of ice to his cheek, grimaced slightly, and spat out a bloody lump of phlegm. “Shit, that hurts. Someone as strong as you should hold back a little,” he moaned. Walter glanced at his victim, then sat down innocently on the sofa. When she was still a teenager, Abigail O’Brian, he explained, once took a trip around the world by ship. Connie had heard the story from Abigail herself. As it happened, the owner of the ship was Walter Robinson, who was at the time a newly minted merchant. Walter and Abigail were more than merchant and customer—they were old friends. “Back then, my ship was so small, it could hold only a few passengers. The notion of a nobleman’s daughter hitching a ride on a ship like that sounds like a bad joke, doesn’t it? But she paid me well, so I let her come and turned a blind eye to her mangy hound, too. I was planning to kick her off the second she complained. As it turned out, she didn’t shed a tear. To the contrary, before I knew it, she was bossing me around about how to do business and jumping in on my negotiations with foreign countries. Her quick wit saved me more than once. She was my goddess, and I even proposed to her.” “Of course, she didn’t take you seriously,” Aldous cut in. “Shut up, brat,” Walter spat back, turning on him with a monstrous expression. Then he sighed and wiped the scowl from his face. “Anyway, I understand the situation. It’s worse than I expected. On top of that, we have no plan to turn it around.” He was absolutely right. Since no one could contradict him, quiet filled the room. Walter’s strong voice again broke the silence. “I’m going to break her out of jail and send her off on a ship. As soon as we’re at sea, everything will be set. All I have to do is take her to some kingdom that has no diplomatic relations with Adelbide.” Randolph frowned. “…There are too many risks. I can’t agree to it.” “Are you saying I should sit by and watch in silence while she’s sentenced? You must be kidding. If we use force, we’ll have a good chance of winning… Of course, she’ll never be able to return to Adelbide.” “What would you do with your company?” “Not to brag, but I’ve got a lot of good people. They’ll be able to get by without me. Abby’s the only reason I settled down in this kingdom to start with. I would happily give up my last penny to save her.” Aldous nodded in agreement. As Walter’s plan seemed about to move forward, Connie spoke up on reflex. “Wh-what about little Lucia?” she blurted out. “And Duke Theodore…!” “They can join her once things calm down.” “But…” That wouldn’t be a real solution. As Connie hesitated over what to say, Walter lowered his eyebrows in concern. “I don’t think this is an ideal plan myself. I know what you’re thinking. But tell me—do you have any other ideas?” “Um…” “I thought so. I’m not trying to pick on you, but please don’t interrupt.” Connie sighed, slumping against the wall as the others went ahead with their planning. “Oh, don’t make that depressing face,” Scarlett said, looking down at her with crossed arms. “…But I don’t think Abby wants to be broken out of jail,” Connie said. Knowing Abigail, she wouldn’t want others to put themselves at risk for her sake. On the other hand, Connie understood very well the urge Walter and the others felt to rescue her. More than anything, Connie was angry at herself for being so helpless. As she bit her lip in frustration, Scarlett shrugged. “Leave those hotheaded men to themselves. We have our own way of doing things, don’t we?” she said. “But how…?” If they had no idea who had really killed Aisha, how were they supposed to find evidence to prove Aldous’s and Abby’s innocence? “Now, now, just who do you think I am?” came the lighthearted voice from above. Connie jerked her head up. “You have an idea?!” “Before I tell you, don’t you have something to say to me?” she asked, curling her lips triumphantly. “Help me, Scarlett…!” Connie pleaded. Connie couldn’t be sure if it was because her words were unexpected, or because she looked so idiotically desperate saying them, but Scarlett widened her amethyst eyes in surprise. Then she broke into a smile. “Oh well, it can’t be helped. I suppose I will assist you,” she announced. “Since Abigail is a noble, her sentence will be determined in the Starlight Room of the Grand Merillian. And since there currently is no definite evidence against her, it wouldn’t surprise me if some people realize how weak the case is for her as the mastermind. There’s a chance she’ll be acquitted. To avoid that possibility, her enemies are sure to install someone they can manipulate as judge.” “Then we’d better find the real culprit, and fast—” Connie said in a panic. “Idiot,” Scarlett interrupted. “The reason you never get anywhere is because you’re so hung up on truth and evidence and all that silly honesty nonsense. Weren’t they the ones who behaved rudely to start with?” “…Huh?” “Listen. Any judge they select is bound to be a shady character. So…all we need to do is find the judge’s weakness and threaten him into delivering an innocent verdict.” Connie was speechless for a second. “Threaten him?” she echoed. Was she imagining things, or had the conversation just turned a little unsavory? “Yes. A rude greeting for rude people. It’s the correct thing for a lady to do,” Scarlett said, puffing her chest out before smiling proudly, as if to ask, What do you think about that? Several days passed before they learned the schedule and the name of the judge presiding over Abigail’s trial. Randolph slipped away from work to stop by the Grail residence, dressed in his military uniform and accompanied by Kyle Hughes, which was unusual. “The judge is Kalvin Campbell, the earl. Members of the Campbell family have been active in judicial circles for generations,” Randolph explained. “Their domain is not particularly productive, but they run a number of orphanages and hospitals which seem to bring in a fair amount of money. The family has two sons and one daughter.” “Excuse me,” Kyle said, raising his hand. “Additional facts. The bloke divorced and remarried a girl his daughter’s age. If that weren’t off-putting enough, rumor has it he won’t leave the maids alone and has so many bastard kids, he can’t count them on one hand. He may be smart, but he’s a typical decadent noble who likes his nightlife and his women.” Scarlett nodded knowingly. “Sounds like there are plenty of skeletons in his closet. That makes our job easy.” Connie gave her a questioning look. She sighed. “What I mean is, so long as we set an appealing trap, that idiot Kalvin Campbell is bound to stumble straight into it,” Scarlett said, as if she were giving a lesson to a dull student. She smiled, obviously pleased with her evil scheme. “And I know just the trap to set.” “You want me to host the Earl John Doe Ball?” Viscount Hamsworth asked, his round belly shaking in disbelief. “No matter how much money I make, I’ve never been more than a guest, so I assumed the privilege was reserved for high nobles.” Hamsworth’s eyes glittered with excitement as he sat in the neighborhood church. He was right. Only high-ranking nobles with a long lineage—Deborah Darkian topping the list—were allowed to oversee the questionable gatherings. For this occasion, Randolph was allowing Connie to use his family connection to Duke Richelieu. Incidentally, when Connie brought the idea up with His Excellency the Grim Reaper, he had let out a long sigh and said, “Please don’t do anything reckless.” “I assume this comes with a price?” asked the viscount, who appeared very excited about the chance to host. He was practically panting as he leaned toward Connie. She leaned away from him. “I’d like you to invite K-Kalvin Campbell,” she said. He blinked. “Really, is that all?” He seemed surprised. “Hey you, if Kalvin doesn’t show up, we’ll do more than slap you across the face,” Scarlett said, fixing an icy gaze on the viscount. Hamsworth showed no reaction. Abigail had said the viscount could see spirits, like Lucia, but as far as Connie could see, he showed no sign of it today. It must be a rumor after all. “Knowing the viscount, all I have to say is that if I invite some pretty girls, he’ll come running. But just to be sure, why don’t I line up some high-class prostitutes and throw a wild party? People will be less suspicious if I do something newsworthy. No one’s ever invited prostitutes to the Earl John Doe Ball before, so I’ll have bragging rights. By the way, do you know any elegant goddesses up to the task of entertaining nobles?” Scarlett sighed with exasperation. “The only thing you’ve ever excelled at is thinking up low-class party ideas,” she said. Not to say he heard her words, but the viscount curled his lips in profound amusement. “A party?” As soon as Connie had related her conversation with the viscount to Miriam, the latter made up her mind. “I’ll go.” She didn’t seem at all hesitant. “You want me to snag the man named Campbell, right?” she asked, looking very serious. If Miriam, the flower of the Folkvangr, was part of the plan, then the ball was sure to be every bit as newsworthy as Hamsworth hoped. Earl Campbell, the rumored playboy, was sure to show an interest as well. Connie gave a firm nod. But Rebekah must have been listening in on their conversation, because she broke in sharply. “…You’re taking off work without asking? That’s against our contract. Audrey will charge you an arm and a leg for that. She might even suspend you,” she said sternly. Connie was surprised to hear that, but Miriam didn’t bat an eyelash. “You don’t need to tell me that,” she said coolly. “And what of it?” Today, however, Rebekah did not flinch. “I’ll go,” she said, fixing a repentant gaze on Miriam. “…I know what I did was stupid. You might not believe me at this point, but I never meant to get Abby in trouble. I was just acting like a foolish, selfish child. Give me a chance to make it up. I’ll do whatever it takes to save Abby.” But despite her desperate plea, Miriam seemed unmoved. “You don’t have what it takes. After all, you’ve never once outearned me.” Rebekah bit her lip. “So…,” Miriam continued, a little more gently. “What if we went together?” Rebekah’s almond eyes widened. Miriam shook her head, frowning. “I’m going to be honest. I still haven’t forgiven you for what you did. But I must admit—I’ll be in trouble if Campbell turns out to like flat-chested women,” she announced with resignation, sticking out her bountiful chest. It was the day of the Earl John Doe Ball. Among the more sharp-eared, the event was already a topic of conversation. Viscount Hamsworth informed Connie with great pleasure that Kalvin Campbell was, of course, included on the guest list. When she arrived at the Folkvangr to pick up Miriam and Rebekah, she found a line of beautiful prostitutes waiting for her inside. “What’s going on?” she asked, confused. One of the women, slightly older than the others, stepped forward. “We heard about the situation. Please do your best for Abby.” She lowered her head. The other women followed her lead. “Oh, um, please, you don’t have to bow to me…!” Connie said, trying to stop them. They shook their heads in unison. “We appreciate what you’re doing. And we’re sorry. We’d all very much like to go, but we can’t leave the Folkvangr empty. We’re sure Miriam and Rebekah will do a wonderful job. Go now. Before Audrey finds out what you’re up to.” Rebekah and Miriam, both wearing broad-brimmed hats, stepped forward and stood one on each side of Connie. “Good luck!” “We’re counting on you!” “I hope it goes well!” the other women called after them as they prepared to depart. Just then, a hoarse voice called out from the entryway. “Who is doing what?” The excitement abruptly subsided to a hush. Audrey narrowed her eyes and strode briskly inside. She gazed around at the group of prostitutes. When she reached the elaborately dressed pair beside Connie, she raised her eyebrows slightly. “You mean to tell me that Miriam and Rebekah are the only flowers to be offered up at this funeral? If that is the best we can do, I’m afraid the good name of the Folkvangr will suffer.” Miriam couldn’t let that go unanswered. “Abby isn’t dead yet. I think you’re a bit young to be going senile, old lady!” “Miriam. You may look like you wouldn’t hurt a fly, but you’re as willful as ever. Just like I was in my younger days. Laura, pull down the shutters.” Laura was the woman who had spoken to Connie first. She glanced suspiciously at Audrey. “Don’t you get it? I’m closing the establishment.” The women exchanged confused glances. Audrey pulled a letter from her bosom. “Do you know what this is? I whipped this old body into shape and rode all the way out to the country to fetch this from Theodo—I mean, Duke O’Brian. It’s a bond that states until Abigail returns, I am the rightful owner of this brothel. And that means what I say goes, and no backtalk.” She gazed slowly around the room. “Your job today is to cultivate some new customers. You will be working at the old Montrose residence. I hear there will be a grand party there tonight. So hurry up and get dressed. All of you!” The old Montrose residence—the longtime site of the Earl John Doe Ball. In other words, she was telling the entire staff to take part in the ball to rescue Abigail. There was a moment of silence, then a chorus of delighted voices. Miriam and Rebekah stood in shock while the other women swung into action with sparkling eyes. “Audrey, may I use the powdered pearl makeup?” “What about the coral lipstick?” “I want to wear the moonlight silk dress!” Although her arms were crossed sternly, the older woman generously approved all their requests. “Tonight is special. Use whatever you want,” she said. Then she added, loudly enough for Connie to hear, “Honestly, I couldn’t care less what happens to that tomboy Abigail. But making a move on that busybody is the same as picking a fight with me. I’m a mild, merciful, generous woman, but if someone slaps me, I’m not going to turn the other cheek.” She snorted disdainfully. “Listen up, my beautiful girls. You are a chaste and prudent lot, so I would like to give you a bit of advice.” The manager of the Folkvangr fixed her employees with the same stern expression she used to scold rowdy customers causing trouble in the pleasure district. “If those idiots want a fight, they deserve no mercy. I want you to use all your wiles and charms to strip them of everything they have. Don’t leave them a single breadcrumb.” Kalvin Campbell felt his agitation rising. A particularly ugly, nouveau riche viscount was hosting the Earl John Doe Ball and had invited prostitutes from the Folkvangr. This sensational story had made the rounds of society in a flash. Despite the event’s fast-approaching date, everyone who was anyone had probed their connections, trying to secure an invitation. All of them were captives to vulgar entertainment—no matter how much they furrowed their brows and put on a prim and proper face. Kalvin was no different. He had called the barber specially for the event, put on a custom-made mask, and applied cologne liberally. He might be past forty, but he felt confident in his good looks. For some reason, though, the gorgeously blooming flowers gracing the hall of the old Montrose residence seemed interested in every man except Kalvin. It was immediately obvious which ones were the prostitutes. They were not guests but rather entertainment arranged by the viscount. For that reason, they did not wear masks. Their beautiful faces were on full display. Kalvin glared bitterly at the other men, so satisfied with themselves. He hadn’t arrived late. He had had plenty of opportunity to lavish attention on the flowers. But they had not chosen him. This hurt his pride severely. Suddenly, a buzz ran through the room. A lady with the alluring body of an enchantress and the innocent face of an angel had arrived. It was Miriam—greatest treasure of the Folkvangr, the Rose Fairy. She was both bewitching and delicate, and Kalvin felt himself stumbling toward her like a bee to honey. “Lady,” he said. Miriam turned to him and smiled as joyfully as if she were greeting an old lover. Despite his age, his heart fluttered at her favorable response. He took a step forward. Just then, a plump arm encircled her waist, followed by a boorish announcement. “Excuse me. This is my date.” The man’s mask was virtually meaningless. It was Hamsworth, host of the evening’s festivities. Kalvin hesitated. He might be poorer than Hamsworth, but he was certainly of higher standing. Normally, even if he was talking to a priest, he would have had an easy time making the man apologize for his rudeness. But this was the Earl John Doe Ball. Here, showing off one’s social standing was the real discourtesy, and it would make him the object of ridicule. He’d lost out to a man who was clearly uglier and of lower standing than him, and he could hear the sounds of mocking laughter from the other guests. Kalvin ground his teeth and silently retreated. It was humiliating. Frustrating, vexing, and humiliating. He could hardly bear to look at the ballroom. He tossed back drinks recklessly. As he was standing around in irritation, he felt someone bump into him. He clicked his tongue loudly. It was a woman with black hair. She flinched. “I-I’m so sorry.” The face that looked up at him in fear wore no mask. In other words, she was a prostitute. And not a bad-looking one at that. Tears gathered in her eyes as a hint of distress overcame her features. Kalvin felt his anger melting away. He took the woman’s hand and spoke to her in a soothing voice. “Oh dear, this will not do. Your face is like a beautiful moon hidden behind dark clouds. It can’t only be because we bumped into each other, can it? Has something sad happened?” The black-haired beauty shook her head. “This is not the right place for such a story…” “Perhaps I can become the wind that blows away the clouds.” He drew his brows together in a show of deep concern. The woman hesitated, then spoke. “You may know that my employer has been detained.” She must be talking about Abigail O’Brian. He didn’t just know her; he was the one who would determine her fate. That was right. But unfortunately, that verdict had already been decided. Poor Abigail O’Brian would never see the light of day again. “My name is Rebekah. I was raised in a lower noble family, but we fell on hard times and I took up this line of work. When I think about becoming destitute again, I feel so afraid, I simply can’t stand it.” “Perhaps I can do something to help you.” Rebekah’s face jerked up. Kalvin gave a satisfied nod. “I have money, if that’s what you need. I can’t think of anything better to spend it on than a beautiful woman like you.” He was proposing monetary support—in other words, to become her patron. The woman before him was not as alluring as Miriam, but she was still more than worthy of his admiration. Just as he was thinking of how pleased she must be by his proposal, she sighed as if she had lost hope completely. “The truth is, Viscount Hamsworth made exactly the same offer.” “What?” The insult he had received from Hamsworth earlier flitted across his mind. After that, there was no way he could stand by in this situation. “How much did he offer?” The figure Rebekah named for a month of support would allow a commoner to live a life of ease and enjoyment for an entire year. Nouveau riche pig, Kalvin thought, clicking his tongue in irritation. “…I’ll double it,” he said decisively. Rebekah’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong?” he asked. She seemed to be thinking about something. Then she furrowed her brows and leaned in close to him. “…I couldn’t possibly accept such a generous offer from someone I’ve never even met,” she whispered into his ear. Ah, so she was asking him to reveal his identity. She seemed awfully prudent for a whore. “I’m Kalvin. Kalvin Campbell.” “The earl?” She gasped theatrically. He surmised that she was shocked to discover his position was higher than Hamsworth’s. Kalvin’s pent-up anger subsided. Yet for some reason, the woman still appeared glum. “But I’ve heard that the lord of the Campbell domain is very frugal, as are his subjects. I wouldn’t wish to burden you. Perhaps the viscount’s offer is more…” He had assumed she would jump at his offer once she knew he was a high-ranked noble, but it seemed she had quite the education, as expected of the capital’s most high-class brothel. Her pointed mention of the “frugal” nature of the Campbell domain, which was indeed far from wealthy, suggested that she knew all about his financial situation. Having evidently given up on Kalvin, Rebekah said she really must be going, then she straightened up and turned away. The room beyond her was filled with men either chatting happily or dancing cheek to cheek with the prostitutes. Out of the corner of his eye, Kalvin glimpsed Miriam and the pig smiling warmly at one another. Blood rushed to Kalvin’s head. His pride would not allow him to lose out to Hamsworth a second time. “I—I have the money! I really do!” Rebekah stopped and slowly turned back toward him. Tilting her head and narrowing her almond eyes, she asked, “…And how is that?” The colorfully dressed women spun around and around the entrance hall. Who would guess the delicate creatures were in reality carnivorous flowers waiting to devour their prey? Wearing her jet-black mask, Connie gazed down on the scene from the second-floor balcony. It seemed that Rebekah had already skillfully nabbed the earl. Just as she was letting out a sigh of relief, however, Scarlett tilted her head in confusion. “What’s Kimberly Smith doing here?” Her slender white finger was pointing to the balcony directly across from them. Connie glanced up casually, then made a sound like a strangled goose. Although the woman’s face was covered, her plump form was swathed in a pink dress and a pink mask. Connie knew only one person with such an utterly incomprehensible fashion sense. She must be the lady’s committee representative of that citizen’s group—the Violet Association, if she remembered right. She had once subjected Connie to quite a tongue-lashing. “What in the world could a person who hates nobles so much be doing at this party? …Although, she does seem to be enjoying herself,” Scarlett noted. Criticizing the privileged class in public while skimming the cream off their lifestyle in private. I suppose such people do exist, Connie thought. Whatever she was up to, Connie didn’t want to cross her path. Turning in the opposite direction, she spotted two women coming toward her from the other side of the hallway. One was tall with a large build and blond hair, while the other—who seemed to be warning her companion about something—was slender with silver hair and eyes. Connie found that particular combination of features very familiar. Although they were wearing masks, she was certain they were the tourists she had met on the main street, San and Eularia. But what were they doing here…? San must have felt Connie’s eyes on her, because just as she was about to pass by, she stopped and turned toward her, then tilted her head in thought. After a moment, she seemed to realize that the girl in the black mask was the same young woman who had given them directions several days earlier. “What a coincidence!” San said cheerfully, removing her mask. “We heard there was a suspicious ball going on tonight, and to tell you the truth, I’m wild about suspicious things these days.” Well, that’s unsettling. Connie’s cheek twitched as she took a step back. “But enough about that,” the woman went on. “Thank you for your kindness the other day! It was a huge help. The Holy Grail girl, wasn’t it?” “What?” Did she just say the Holy Grail? Eularia sighed in exasperation. “San, you really are hopeless. You must mean Miss Grail.” She turned to Connie. “I’m sorry. The name Grail seems to have reminded her of the Old Farish story about the Holy Grail.” “Exactly! It’s not a very common name over there,” San said with an easygoing smile. Connie blinked. “Are you from Faris?” “We are,” San answered, placing her hand on her chest and bowing politely. Then, with a flowing gesture, she took Connie’s hand. “Um?” Connie said, confused. Ignoring her, San kissed her fingertips. “Umm?” “May I have this dance, my lady?” “…Ummm?” San grinned, satisfied with Connie’s flustered reaction. She seemed like the playful type. After Connie politely turned down the invitation, San stepped back so readily, Connie almost felt disappointed. The visitors from Faris then turned and took their leave. Scarlett watched pair walk off, her arms crossed. “…There’s more to them than meets the eye, I think. No ordinary tourist would be able to attend this party. Who in the world could have invited them? And judging by their behavior, I’m certain they’re nobles.” Connie nodded in agreement. The two women moved and spoke with impressive refinement. That was certainly true of the delicate Eularia, but even San, who at first glance seemed rougher—and did indeed behave a little sloppily—spoke and moved with great elegance. If it was true that they had come from Faris, then they were probably Farish nobles. Faris. Connie unconsciously frowned. According to Lily’s letter, the aim of the Holy Grail of Eris was the invasion of Adelbide by Faris. Did that make those women their enemies? Or— “Miss Connie?” Connie turned around in surprise. A familiar figure was standing beside her, her hand resting gently on her cheek. “Laura!” Partly because of her age, Laura was treated a bit like an older sister or spokeswoman by the other prostitutes. She flipped her hair alluringly to one side and flashed a gorgeous smile. “Rebekah has the information,” she whispered. The “information” Laura related was somewhat unexpected. “…Black money?” “Yes. You said Campbell had debts, didn’t you?” Connie nodded. One of Kalvin Campbell’s favorite pastimes was gambling, and he was being hounded to repay his resulting debts. She had gotten this information from Randolph and passed it on to the prostitutes before they arrived at the ball. The Campbell domain wasn’t rich to start with, and the earl, at his wit’s end, had begun to sell off hospitals and orphanages long owned by his family to help pay what he owed. “But he claimed to have money to give Rebekah. When she pressed him on it, he said he’d been filching money from one of the institutions he oversees.” “Dear me,” Scarlett broke in with a smile. “His lips are so loose, they seem liable to fall right off his face. I’ll bet he’s got a few screws loose upstairs, too.” Connie was skeptical. “But wouldn’t he be found out right away…?” Everyone had to report their income to the government. A sudden increase would surely raise questions about its source. When she said as much to Laura, the older woman smiled casually. “Oh, but you can launder it. For example, you could inflate your invoices here and there, or fabricate some business with a company that doesn’t exist. But it seems Campbell wasn’t able to do anything that audacious. He simply made use of an existing citizens’ group.” “A citizens’ group…?” “Yes. Have you ever heard of the Violet Association? Apparently, a friend of his does the accounting for their youth committee. He transferred loads of money under the heading of ‘Donations.’ A clear-cut crime, isn’t it?” “The Violet Association…” Connie thought of the woman in pink, Kimberly Smith. Scarlett snorted. “It’s time we had a little talk with that woman, Connie.” The blindingly bright mass of pink glared at Connie. “And who are you?” Both her dress and the mask covering the upper portion of her face were the same revolting shade. She was quite a contrast to Connie in her jet mask and high-necked mourning dress. Connie hesitated for a moment. “I am the viscount’s daughter, C,” she finally said with a curtsy. Kimberly narrowed her eyes. “Well, well,” she said, having most likely recognized her from the hint. “Did you need something?” Although her smile was welcoming, the eyes behind her mask were a different story. They were filled instead with a cold, probing light. Wanting to avoid a long conversation, Connie decided to get straight to the point. “What is your relationship to Kalvin Campbell?” “The earl? He is a marvelous man, despite being a noble. He approves of our activities.” “And who’s the one enjoying herself so much at the nobles’ party?” Scarlett asked, sounding fed up. Excellent point, Connie thought to herself. Her face must have revealed her thoughts, because Kimberly added sheepishly, “…The earl said this would be a good opportunity for me to learn more about the behavior of nobles and brought me as his guest. He’s so thoughtful about things like that.” Connie couldn’t help frowning. “Is he also thoughtful about donations?” she asked. “No need to glower at me,” Kimberly said, looking confused. “Donating money isn’t a crime, is it?” “Not as long as the money was obtained legally.” “…What are you talking about?” “I heard someone is cooking the books.” Kimberly’s suspicious expression betrayed no hint of recognition. “Cooking the books?” She looked genuinely puzzled. Connie blinked. According to Laura, Kalvin Campbell’s friend was on the youth committee. Kimberly had said she represented the ladies’ committee, so maybe she really didn’t have anything to do with this. “…Did the earl say that?” Kimberly’s expression had hardened noticeably. She glanced toward the entrance hall. “I do believe…the purpose of tonight’s ball is to save Abigail O’Brian.” Connie froze. Perhaps because she was so obviously upset, Kimberly laughed, her stout body shaking all over with mirth. “I never dreamed there was a rat in our midst. The blunder may have been in the youth committee, but it’s still a disgrace. The nerve of that man, using a poor citizens’ organization to hide his crimes! I’ve been taken for a fool.” “Huh?” Connie interjected, confused. She was met with more laughter before the woman continued. “But you did come up with an interesting plan. Instead of playing fair and relying on the weight of the law, you’ve chosen to fight fire with fire. Quite a scheme for someone so sincere! Don’t worry, that’s a compliment. After all, your approach is much faster and surer than arranging a jailbreak.” Having grown suddenly loquacious, Kimberly stepped deliberately toward Connie and whispered in her ear. “You meant to free Abigail by threatening him, didn’t you?” Connie gulped, but her interrogator continued. “Not a bad plan at all, I must admit. But I don’t think you’re quite up to the task. Kalvin is an idiotic fool, but he’s very good at wicked deeds. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. And you, from what I can tell, seem to be awful at wickedness,” she announced with a laugh. It seemed she wasn’t the bad-tempered middle-aged housewife Connie had taken her for after all. “As they say, dressmaking should be left to the tailors. I happen to be an expert in this kind of thing, and I have an inkling who the traitor is. I’ll settle things for you. We can’t allow the O’Brians to be overthrown now. And certainly not to the Darkians’ advantage. Not after ten years of chipping away at their strength. It’s a nice opportunity for us as well.” Connie stared at her, mouth agape. “You don’t believe me? Then I’ll give you a hint,” she whispered in a singsong voice. “What color are violets?” Connie stood staring at a violet sprouting by the side of the road. Its magenta petals fluttered in the breeze. In Adelbide, these flowers were also called “purples.” Their color was affected by geography, and so the shade varied slightly from kingdom to kingdom, but here they were all magenta. They were the first thing that came to mind at the mention of purple. A brilliant reddish hue, somewhat different from the amethyst of Scarlett’s eyes. And it was also a symbol of royalty. What color are violets? What could she have meant? No matter how much Connie pondered the question, she couldn’t come up with an answer. But the fierce look in Kimberly’s eyes had been enough to convince her to leave Kalvin Campbell in her hands. Scarlett did not oppose this, though from time to time she seemed to be contemplating something. Incidentally, the violets in neighboring Faris had a bluer hue more in line with their name. That shade of purple had been the color of the royal family in the days of the Faris Empire, and in that land where bloodlines were intensely valued, violet eyes (or something very close) were said to be indispensable for succeeding to the throne even today. Connie sighed. She felt like she would start shaking if she didn’t keep distracting herself with unrelated trains of thought. Several hours had already passed since Abigail’s trial began. Randolph was attending the proceedings in the Starlight Room of the Grand Merillian. He had promised to stop by the house afterward, but she had been too nervous to stand around doing nothing and finally left in a rush for the palace. Now she was standing in front of the building, waiting for the verdict to be delivered. “I wonder if it’ll turn out all right,” she said to Scarlett. “That depends on Kimberly Smith.” “I wonder…!” Connie was growing more and more worried. What if Kimberly had been putting on an act? What if she was in on the earl’s scheme? If Abigail was found guilty, they would be forced to implement the jailbreak Walter and Aldous had cooked up. According to the women at the brothel, the two men were moving steadily ahead with preparations. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” Scarlett said, unable to watch Connie torment herself any longer. “After all, I think that woman…” But before she could finish her thought, an unexpected voice called Connie’s name. “Miss Grail?” It was Randolph. Connie instantly took off running. “Your Excellency!” She rushed to the front gate and grabbed both of his hands. “Wh-what happened? What was the verdict?!” Randolph Ulster’s habitual blank face showed no change in response to his fiancée’s desperate pleas. “Abigail was acquitted due to lack of evidence. Although the judge looked as if he’d received a death sentence.” Connie took in the words slowly. Acquitted due to lack of evidence. In other words— “I’m so glad!!!!” Abigail was free. Connie let out a long sigh of relief, and tears blurred her vision. The tension drained from every corner of her body. She felt as if she was going to crumble to the ground then and there. Just as she was about to topple over, however, a strong arm encircled her waist and pulled her close. “Are you all right?” He was so close. Unexpectedly, she found herself in a kind of embrace. Her body tensed. He was so close. So very close. She was so close to his body. That manly face of his was right there when she looked up. The cerulean eyes staring down at her made her feel jittery. As she might expect for a military man, every bit of him was muscular. It was like he was embracing her—no, he was just helping her keep her balance. A Good Samaritan’s clutch was completely different from a lover’s caress. Get a grip, Constance Grail! She felt her face growing hot. Randolph gave her a puzzled look. “Your face is flushed. Do you have a fever—” His angular finger stretched toward her face. “Oh no, noo!” she shrieked. “No, I’m fine!” Later, a very suitable suspect was apprehended, and the night after admitting to Aisha’s murder, he committed suicide. Aldous Clayton’s name was cleared, and Marcella, once again the editor of the Mayflower, was given back the position she had previously resigned from. And Amelia Hobbes, who had started the whole ruckus, was fired.
Chapter 33
33 min read