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maknaesdancersrappers · 4 years ago

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Devoted 2.

part 10

Overall warning/s: kinkier smut (eg. voyeurism, exhibitionism, etc.) character death, dark themes

Chapter warning/s: vulgar language, violence

Just how devoted is Jaehyun to you?

prev: part 9

wc: 6.3k

You, your mom, Jaehyun’s mom, Yebin, and Minkyung had arrived at the resort a little past noon and were immediately served lunch as the resort staff brought your bags to the room. After eating and resting for a bit, Jaehyun’s mom led everyone to where the wedding venue could be and visualized it for them.

The pathway to the recreational garden had butterfly bushes on each side that lead to a spacious circular area that could fit just enough for your target wedding entourage. There was a gorgeous fountain offset from the center of the area that had beautiful, healthy, large kois swimming about in the basin and a metal fence that had Chinese honeysuckles creeping through the bars that separated the area from the beach.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Jaehyun’s mom turned to you, eyes sparking and hopeful. A resort staff brings over a tray of champagne for everyone and leaves after everyone has their own glass.

“It’s beautiful, definitely.” You looked up at the looming cherry blossom trees over the fountain, imagining what it would look like when spring comes with the petals filling each basin and flowing down with the water. “But I feel like there’s something missing.”

Minkyung took pictures for you on your phone to send to Jaehyun and for his mom to use as reference for planning. “What’s the color scheme again?”

“Pink and gray.” You answer, although a bit unsure if you wanted to push through with it. “Unless it’s too pink? With the cherry blossoms and all?”

“It depends on the shade of pink you want.” Jaehyun’s mom interjects, “I suggest something a bit deeper… like watermelon.”

“Wouldn’t that be red already?” Yebin curiously speaks up, already finished with her drink, hanging it haphazardly by the flute’s foot between her fingers.

“No, not literally watermelon red.” You explain, “It’s a darker shade of pink. Ah, I wish I had my paint swatches.”

She waves her other hand, “No, no, it’s okay. Just don’t make me wear anything short as a bridesmaid.”

“Isn’t the trend to use infinity dresses for bridesmaid gowns? That was my plan.” You walked over to her and linked your arm with hers. The sea breeze was cool despite the afternoon sun; it was a perfect day to lounge by the pool or wade in the shallow waters of the beach. You leaned your head on Yebin’s shoulder and sighed, “I don’t think I want to get married here. It’s a nice venue, maybe for a reception, but not the ceremony.”

“Then let’s go to my aunt’s place! I haven’t even been there, but knowing her, it’ll be gorgeous.” Yebin leans back on you, “She’s a landscaper.”

The private property was completely walled off with 2-story cement walls with vines creeping up from the ground. From the metal gates up to the parking space in front of the house were tall pine trees and the road leading up to the majestic water fountain surrounded by rose bushes was gray gravel. There was a woman that stood just where the gravel stopped and was replaced by ceramic tiles; she had salt and pepper pixie cut hair and wore high waist trousers with a simple tank top. Something about her screamed ‘boss bitch’ and you’re not doubting she’s related to Yebin.

“Eunyong!” Jaehyun’s mom greets once the car comes to a stop, throwing her hands up as the woman approaches her. They kiss their cheeks and hug each other, “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, honey, you know this is nothing. Who is she? Who’s the lucky girl marrying your son?”

Jaehyun’s mom holds her hand out to you and you bashfully greet her, “Hello. I’m [Y/N].”

“To be marrying Jung Jaehyun and having his mom plan the wedding?” She takes your hands and smiles fondly at you, “You’re a lucky girl. You must be so happy.”

“I still can’t believe it myself.” You admit, “Thank you, again, for lending your property.”

“Anything for the Jungs. Oh, Yebin! What a small world, you’re friends with [Y/N]?”

Yebin gives her aunt a kiss on the cheek, “We were roommates all our college life with Minkyung.” She gestures to her, who bows her head in greeting.

“My! I think I’ve seen you in a fashion show in Europe, my dear.”

Minkyung blushes, “Well, I am a model.”

After you introduce your mom and a few more pleasantries, Eunyeong gives you a tour of her property. She first led everyone to the 3-story mansion and explained that it had 15 ensuite bedrooms, 4 extra bedrooms, and the first floor was mostly an open living area with a luxurious kitchen and pantry to the right and an olympic sized pool, with half under the building and the other half exposed under the sun. She then walked through the marbled floors, guiding everyone to the garden. Like the resort, there were hedges that separated the grass from the sandy beach. Tall trees, among them were cherry blossoms, were lined along the walls and varieties of bushes and shrubs grew beneath them.

“This area is a blank canvas for you, [Y/N].” Eunyeong puts a hand on your shoulder, gesturing to the wide space of grass in front of them. “Tell me what the color scheme is and I’ll have the perfect flowers ordered so they’ll be ready by the wedding.”

“Pink and gray, but I’m still on the fence about it.”

“Don’t worry, dear, I’ll take care of it. I have a few ideas already.” Jaehyun’s mom assures you, opening the iPad she had and taking a picture of the landscape. “And if you’re still unsure, then it’s fine. We have months to go.”

A ringtone erupts from behind you and Minkyung exclaims, “Oh, [Y/N]! Jaehyun is calling!”

You had almost forgotten she had your phone, thanking her as she hands you the phone and you take a few steps away from them to answer the call. “Babe?”

“Hi, baby. Just thought I’d check up on you.”

“I’m alright. I was going to send you pictures so you can help me decide but,” You paused; staring at the open garden. Eunyong was right, it was like a blank canvas. You weren’t able to visualize it awhile ago, but now that you’re hearing Jaehyun’s voice, your mind just paints the picture in your head and it almost makes you tear up, “I think this is where I want to marry you.”

“Is it that beautiful?” There was that specific teasing tone in his voice that you would have rolled your eyes at, but instead you let yourself chuckle, eyes still fixated forward; taking notice of the waves past the green hedges.

“It’s perfect.”

After meeting with Eunyong and having a meal there, they return back to the resort where the mothers spent most of their day at the spa, while the quote-unquote younger generation lounged by the pool to get a tan. Yebin and Minkyung tried to plan a bachelorette party, but you turned them down, not wanting one at all. They all met up again for dinner, enjoying the 5-course meal by the window that opened up to the beach. Minkyung and Yebin fill the silence with stories from their work; Minkyung shares some runway mishaps and minor wardrobe malfunctions she’s had and Yebin tells them about the business ventures she’s been tackling. When it came to you, you expressed your concerns about starting your own company, adding the fact it stemmed from Jaehyun’s wishes for you to stay at home instead. You couldn’t help but catch the disappointed and worried look on his mother’s face before she covered it up by drinking her glass of wine.

When they all retreat into their suite, Jaehyun’s mom opted to head out to the balcony and sit out there. You hadn’t paid much attention to it, going to your room to get ready for bed, but when you’ve done your nightly routine and talked a bit with Jaehyun on the phone, you stared up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. You slipped out of your room, thinking Jaehyun’s mom must have gone to bed, until you were proven wrong as you see her still seated outside holding herself from the cold, night air. Grabbing a spare blanket from the cabinets, you walked over to her and put it over her shoulders.

“Mrs. Jung, you’ll get sick.” You quietly said, taking a seat on the adjacent chair.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re marrying my son. You can call me mom or mother now.” She softly chuckles, “And I hadn’t realized that I’ve been out here for too long. I just remembered something, that’s all.”

“If you’d like, you could talk about it to me.” You offered, folding your hands over your lap, “I’ve learned the hard way that it’s not best to go to sleep with a heavy heart.”

“It’s nothing, dear, you don’t have to worry.” She looks over to the dark abyss of the night sea, unable to see the waves crashing into the shore despite hearing them clear as day. Every now and then an owl hoots somewhere in the trees. She looks back at you with a smile, eyes tired from the day’s activities, “How about you, dear? It seems like you can’t sleep either.”

You wanted to tell her everything; from what Jaehyun had done in college to the current issue at hand. This woman is going to be your in-law, yet she’d been acting like your second mother since you’ve met her. A part of you always feared she’d be wicked and mean towards you, but all those thoughts were thrown out the window once you got to know her more.

“I…” You started off, and her perfect brow just lifted up ever so slightly, “I know about Jaehyun’s disorder; the BPD.”

In an instant, there was shock in her eyes as if she had heard you wrong, but then it morphed into something similar to fear. “Oh. H-how did…?”

So you told her everything you could in the steadiest voice you can muster; from the incident in college, to the therapy sessions, to the threats against you, you told her everything and it amazes you that you were able to admit it without crying. You’re not going to lie; telling someone else felt relieving, especially since it’s someone who knows Jaehyun — literally raised him. You only stopped when you noticed her eyes tearing up and you internally panicked.

“You know about my son’s condition?” Her lips quivered, brows finally burrowed and a hand flies over her mouth to contain her sob.

“M-mother…” You stuttered, holding your hands out to her. “I— no matter what happens, I’m not going to tell anyone else about it, I promise—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” She quietly cries, “All these years, I’ve feared my son won’t be able to find someone to love and understand him. [Y/N], you’re godsent. You know what goes through his head… he’s shown you what he could do… yet you stayed? You still want to marry him?”

This makes you tear up, somewhat understanding the fear of a mother for their child. “I’ve thought about it for so long honestly, but no matter what excuses I come up with, I can’t imagine a future without him.”

She cries a little harder, hiding her face into her palms. You move to sit beside her, putting an arm around her and hugging her gently. After a while, you pull away and she looks at you with a smile. “Thank you for loving my son.”

“Thank you for giving birth to him.”

This makes both of you laugh as she pulls you into a hug, “[Y/N], sweetheart, if ever his BPD acts up, if he ever scares you again, please come to me, okay?”

You replied with a promise, hugging back and feeling your eyes stinging at the sudden weight being lifted over your chest.

“Now,” She says, pulling away and holding onto your shoulders, “Tell me more about these threats. I can’t believe Jaehyun wouldn’t tell us about it.”

“He probably thinks he has it under control and I trust him. We don’t want any of you to worry.”

“That’s nonsense! We’re your parents, we’re always worried about you.” She scolds, “But knowing Jaehyun, he probably has done the most he can do. I’m sure this issue will be resolved soon… and I’m sorry for the things Jaehyun has done in the past. I wish I could say I would have done something to stop him, but his father—”

She stops mid-sentence, lashes fluttering as she realizes the words that were about to come out of her mouth. She inhales deeply, “You’re marrying into the family. You have the right to know. Most of the Jungs have BPD; it’s horrible that it’s genetic, but with proper therapy it would mean nothing.”

You licked your lips, already knowing this fact. “So… Jaehyun’s father…”

“His father and I were arranged to be married. It made sense because our parents were business partners so we didn’t have any qualms on it, his father was quite handsome — I’d have to admit that Jaehyun is practically the carbon copy of him now. But then eventually, I learned that his father had personally requested to have us arranged. When I confronted him about it, he chalked it up to him liking me but being shy around me. He first showed me his true colors when he demanded me to quit my work; I’m an event planner, I travel all around the country for my work if needed and he didn’t like that. He accused me of cheating and such, which were all false of course, but he just couldn’t believe it. He started getting angry, very vocal, never laid a hand on me though, but I still got scared. It was when we found out that I was pregnant with Jaehyun that he finally told me everything about him, how he was scared he’d inherit it. That was the first time I’ve seen him so vulnerable and raw. It was then I decided to obey him and quit my job.”

“I thought you left your job to take care of Jaehyun.”

“No,” She sighs, “I left my job because his father told me to.”

“I’m sorry, baby.”

You smiled, although your brows were furrowed. It was Monday morning and you were preparing lunch since Kyungwon was coming over to work things out for Yuta’s apartment. Jaehyun was supposed to arrive later that evening until you received a call from him and put him on speaker.

“Jaehyun, it’s fine. I understand. Work is work. Do what you have to do.” But you have to admit you’re a little disappointed his trip had to be extended for a few more days since he had to go to China to meet up with Sicheng.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to. Just stay safe, okay?” You silently hissed when you accidentally touched the metal knob of the pot lid. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Tell Kyungwon I said hi.”

“Okay. Bye, baby.” You glanced over to your phone and waited for him to drop the call before checking the penne pasta you’ve been boiling. Kyungwon had originally told you to come to the office, but you insisted she came over instead and she had no qualms about it. You’ve already laid out your laptop and papers on half of the dining table so you two could get things done quickly.

She arrives a little past twelve since she came from the office and right off the bat, you could tell something was off with her. She was still her bubbly self, but something wasn’t right. You couldn’t question her about it because she commented about being hungry and it would be rude to keep your guest waiting for food.

“Oh my god! So you’ve chosen a wedding location already? Ah! [Y/N], I’m so excited for you!” She squeals, vibrating in her seat so hard that the pasta she’s stabbed through her fork has fallen back onto the plate. “And a spring wedding? Gosh! It’s going to be beautiful.”

“Enough about me, Kyung. How about you? What’s been going on back at the office? Are the old employees back?”

“Yes. Ugh! Somehow they got it into their heads that they’re so great because they got rehired by the company.” She scowls, rolling her eyes and shoving pasta into her mouth. “But aside from that, it's the same old, same old. Oh! Eunbi from finance is pregnant with her rebound.”

“Rebound? She broke up with her boyfriend?”

Kyungwon shakes her head with a smug look on her face, “No, honey, her boyfriend dumped her last month.”

“Oh my god, is the rebound going to take responsibility?”

“It looks like it. She’s a lot happier — and good for her! Her ex was rude whenever he got invited to any of our hangouts.”

You nod your head, picking up your glass of water, “So how about you? Have you gotten laid yet?”

She uncharacteristically falls silent, eyebrows shooting up to her forehead as she avoids your gaze momentarily until she snaps it back to meet your stare. In one breath, she says: “Okay, don’t be mad but I slept with Yuta.”

You pushed your chair back, trying to hold yourself back from spitting the water you had just drank. After forcefully swallowing, you breathed in deeply and looked back at Kyungwon, who now covered her blushing face with her hands. “Whoa.”

“You said it was okay!”

“I’m not scolding you!”

She threw herself back on the seat and whined, “I’ve kept this secret for so long since I can’t blab about it back in the office. Oh, [Y/N], he’s a fucking god.”

You pursed your lips, “I don’t think I need to know the details about my client’s sex life.”

“Okay, but he’s a fucking god.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “It’s either that’s true or you’ve been out of the game for too long.”

“Please. None of my exes can compare to what that man did to me.” Her dreamy smile slowly falls, “But we made it strictly physical and he seems pretty closed off, too.”

“Wait, it wasn’t just a one night stand?”

She flicks her hair off her shoulder and clicks her tongue, “I guess he’s lonely, too.”

“But good for you, Kyungwon. At least you’re getting laid.”

“Why do you sound like you’re not getting laid? You’re getting married to a Greek god.”

“It’s not that.” You laughed, “Did it sound like that? It’s just because he’s overseas at the moment and I’m feeling lonely.”

Kyungwon snorts, side-eyeing you as she takes a drink from her glass. “Honey, don’t tell me you solely depend on Jaehyun to get off.”

“I—” You feel your face heat up. Come to think of it, you haven’t masturbated in a while. You’ve touched yourself, but those were in front of him and he’d never let you come undone with your fingers alone. “Well, no, I don’t. I can do it on my own, but it’s just not gratifying.”

“Is it bad that I’m curious what he’s like in bed?”

“Only if you try to find out.”

“God, no, of course not.” She recoils, “Just one of the many curiosities I have that I won’t act on. This thing with Yuta is a weekly thing, you know. Unless he calls me.”

You finish your meal, “You’re a booty call.”

“I’d do anything for that dick.”

“Hey, he’s our client, remember. Don’t get hypnotized by the dick.”

“Oh, [Y/N], if you only knew.” She lets out a dreamy sigh and you laugh, throwing your napkin at her.

“I don’t plan to. Get your head out of his pants, we have to work on his apartment.”

After putting away your dishes, you and Kyungwon began to work; making final checks for orders and deliveries, browsing for more design pieces, and the likes. It took longer than you two expected, extending up two hours than what you had originally planned. You finally decided to stop when you spy from the corner of your eye Kyungwon stifling a yawn, uploading all your work onto the shared drive between the three of you before stretching your arms upwards.

“Are you hungry?”

“Please tell me you have some good ol’ ramen in your pantry.”

You scoffed, “Of course, I do. I’ll go make some right now.”

You have the ramen cooked and ready for consumption in no time; each of you had a full bowl with a few side dishes you were able to put together while the water boiled. Instead of work, you and Kyungwon talked about your new house; told her about the materials you wanted, your plans for each room, the layout, and she even offered her own insight that you considered.

“4 bedrooms on the second floor?”

“Well, 3 bedrooms and the nursery. The fourth room will be turned to a walk-in closet for me and Jaehyun to share.”

“Oh my god, that would be a dream to design!”

You purse your lips, “Well, the two extra rooms are for our future kids. I’m sure they’ll want to renovate as they grow older. Would you like to work on their rooms when the time comes?”

She fakes a gasp, covering her mouth, “I would be honored! But gosh, when’s this happening? In 20 years?”

Both of you laugh as you finish your noodles. Kyungwon offered to do the dishes, but you refused, and fortunately, she received a call from a different client that forced her to leave. She thanked you for the day and you walked to the door, where both of you were surprised to see Hyunwoo about to ring the bell.

“Good evening, ma’am. These came in for you.” He smiles, holding out the flowers and teddy bear.

“Oh, thank you.” You glanced at Kyungwon, showing your confusion at the situation.

“I’m totally not jealous that your fiance sent you apology gifts for not coming home today.” She shrugs her shoulders, feeling the teddy bear’s ear between her fingertips. “But I’m oddly really happy for you. See you soon, [Y/N].”

You kiss her cheek and wave her goodbye, “See you, Kyungwon.”

After they leave, you heaved a sigh and inspected the gifts. Red roses, like always, and a pretty hefty teddy bear. You thought it was odd, but Jaehyun has his cheesy moments, excusing the teddy bear as a stand in for himself so you won’t get lonely until he gets home. You walk back to the dining table to put the gifts down and pick up your phone, dialling his number to thank him, but the call wouldn’t connect. He’s either on the plane already or he doesn’t have a signal. Instead, you put the flowers in a vase and placed it on the dining table as a centerpiece.

Before having a late dinner of some scrambled eggs and spam, you worked on both the interior of the mansion and looking for a wedding gown inspo. Sooyeon told you to prepare what you had in mind for a wedding gown and she’ll hook you up with any of the top wedding dress designers in the industry. You’re torn between empire and A-line dresses, liking both fits on your body but couldn’t decide which is better for the theme. You also didn’t know if you wanted lace or tulle, what type of neckline, the accents, etc. All the dresses looked so good and you already know not to bring it up to Jaehyun because he’ll make some bullshit excuse to buy all of them. Although you don’t mind having different dresses; like changing into something more simple for the reception. You were also concerned about what shoes to wear since it’s a garden wedding, you wouldn’t be able to wear heels that you would have preferred.

You have a shower before heading to bed, taking your time in lathering your body with lavender-scented body wash to help you relax. After breezing through your nighttime routine, you walked out to the bed while tugging your hair loose from the haphazardly tied bun you put in. Seeing the empty bed reminded you of the teddy bear you had received earlier and you quickly went out of the room to grab it on the dining table to retrieve it. You weren’t really going to sleep with it, but you’d like to put it on the accent chair you had on the opposite side of the room.

Your phone rings just as you were about to put on some lotion and you smile to yourself seeing Jaehyun’s name. You put him on loudspeaker, “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, baby.” His voice drawls, “Sorry I couldn’t pick up earlier. I was on the plane and I couldn’t get to you when I landed because Sicheng and his friends took me to a bar.”

“Jaehyun, baby, are you drunk right now?”

“No, baby, just a little tipsy. Did you get my little gift? Toss the old flowers out.”

“You didn’t have to, but thanks.” You hummed, unscrewing the cap of your favorite body butter tin. “Where are you now?”

“Don’t worry, I’m already at my hotel room. I wanted to hear your voice before I go to sleep.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” He pauses on the other side of the line and you hear what sounded like him getting into bed, “Were you about to go to sleep, too?”

“Yeah, I’m just putting lotion on.”

A long, low moan echoes from your phone and you halt your movements. A tipsy, lonely Jaehyun could only mean one thing.

“Baby, can we video call?”

The next two days were uneventful; you visited the mansion to oversee the renovations being done and was pleased to see it going smoothly as it was exactly as you envisioned it. Other than that, you also spent a lot of time going through IKEA and other home decor stores, picking out possible pieces you’d purchase. It’s still a stressful thought to think you have an entire mansion to design AND you get to live in it. Whenever you had clients for projects like these, you always mused to yourself how you would like it if you were the one living in the said space but now that the time has come, you’re overwhelmed.

Just as you got home, you get a call from Jaehyun.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hey. I just got home.” You closed the door and locked it, while kicking your shoes off.

“Oh, good. Could you do me a favor? There’s an important file on my computer that I forgot to upload to the drive. Do you mind sending it to Sicheng using my email?”

“Sure, which file is it?”

As Jaehyun explains the file to you, you made your way to his office and flipped the light switch on. Plopping yourself down on his chair, you powered up his computer and waited for it to start. Meanwhile, you two updated each other of your days and plans for tomorrow.

“Okay, I found the file. What’s Sicheng’s email?” You typed in the address after Jaehyun dictates and clicked send. “Done! Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Jaehyun chuckles, whispering into the phone, “You can be ready in bed when I come home on Friday.”

“Alright, sir.” You purred, leaning back on his chair. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. See you on Friday.”

After hanging up, you reach for the mouse to turn the computer off until your eyes gloss over the name ‘Jeong Yoonoh’ as one of the names listed in Jaehyun’s mailboxes. You remember seeing it a few weeks ago and it completely left your mind, but now you’re curious about it. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth; it’s wrong to snoop around Jaehyun’s email like this, but you give into temptation anyway.

A relieved and incredulous sigh leaves you when you spot the prominent subject and sender, even letting out a little chuckle when you see the dates of the emails. This was Jaehyun’s burner email for porn sites back when he was in high school. You wanted to tease him about it so badly, but then you had to tell him that you were snooping around in his computer. Other emails looked like spam that came with signing up for the porn sites so you didn’t pay much attention since most of them involved viagra, online dating, and the likes. You were about to click out to hide evidence of your snooping around until you read the sender’s name: Detective Go Hyunmo of Gangnam P.I. Agency. You thought it was odd, but maybe it was spam like the rest, unless this email got caught accessing porn sites. It didn’t have a subject so you couldn’t really tell, but you still didn't open it and closed the computer after clicking out of the browser. As you switched the lights off and closed Jaehyun’s office door behind you, you can’t help but feel like you’ve heard Gangnam P.I. Agency before.

Jaehyun comes home today and you feel like a child waiting for their parents who’d been away for too long. He said he’ll be dropping some documents at the office and will be home after lunch. As he requested two days ago, you were going to be ready in bed for him when he returns and that means a tedious DIY spa session after you had breakfast. Once you were showered, exfoliated, and moisturized, you put on the new lingerie set you bought yesterday; a black sheer bra that had crocheted flowers and matching crotchless panties that had a string of pearls that ran right over your slit. It felt incredibly embarrassing when you tried it on, especially when the pearls move along your clit every time you moved.

“Honey, I’m home!” You hear outside the room just before the door closes. You booked out of the walk-in closet and ran, as quietly as you can, back into the bedroom, sparing a glance down the hallway to make sure Jaehyun doesn’t catch you. You ungracefully flung yourself to the bed, scrambling to find a position to present yourself to him, but you accidentally elbowed your phone off and it makes a loud thud on the floor.

“[Y/N]?”

Cussing under your breath, you stretch your arm out to grab your phone to put on the nightstand but then you hear a long whistle that makes you drop it again. You whipped your attention to Jaehyun, who now stood at the door frame with the first few buttons of his dress shirt already undone, and you smiled, “Welcome home?”

“Wow.” He drawls, dragging his eyes down your body, “When I said be ready for me, you really took it a step further. Is that new?”

“I got it yesterday.” You leaned back on your arms, folding your legs a little, “It’s a little more special than the others.”

“How so?” He takes slow steps towards you, tossing his blazer off.

Peeling your legs apart, you spread them out for him to see just what you were talking. You feel heat rising to your cheeks as Jaehyun’s eyes stared at your pearls and his tongue just darted out of his lips. An easy smile grows on his face, walking up to the bed and running a hand over your inner thigh.

“Damn, I didn’t know pearls looked good on you.” He runs a finger over the shiny beads, “But nothing can compare to my favorite pearl.”

Pushing the pearls aside, he presses your clit with his thumb and your hips instinctively buck upwards to meet his touch. He keeps his thumb on your clit while he runs two fingers between your pussy in a languid manner.

“You look so good, baby.” Jaehyun leans down to kiss the spot above your navel. “I hope you’re ready for me.”

“Always.”

He pulls away to remove his belt and as he does so, his eyes flutter to the other side of the room and he cocks his head, “You bought a teddy bear? Were you that lonely when I was gone?”

“What?” You sit up, glancing at the stuffed toy, “You got me that. It came with the roses.”

Jaehyun looks back at you, face completely stoic, before stepping away to walk over to the item in question.

“Jaehyun?”

He picks the toy up and inspects it, turning it over a few times until he squints at the bear’s beady eyes. A low growl escapes him as he closes his fist around the toy’s head and rips it away from the body, the distinct sound of thread snapping and cloth ripping filling the silence of the room.

“Jaehyun, what the fuck?” You scoot over the edge of the bed, ready to stop him until he swiftly turns back to you. His expression sends shivers down your spine; you’ve seen that look before and you can’t believe you’re seeing it again.

“I never gave you this fucking bear, [Y/N].” He hurls the decapitated head to the side with so much force that the cotton filled toy makes a resounding thud against the wall. He forces his hand inside the bear’s head and takes out a small black cube. “There’s a fucking camera in it’s head. Who handed these to you?”

“H-Hyunwoo did… Wait, Jaehyun, can we—”

He slams the camera onto the floor, breaking it into pieces, before storming out the bedroom. You were frozen from flinching at his outburst that it took you awhile to collect yourself, scrambling off the bed to grab his discarded blazer and running out after him.

“Jae, wait!” You yelled, slipping his jacket on and clutching it close over your chest.

“Hyunwoo, did the flowers I had delivered here last Monday come with a teddy bear?” Jaehyun was on his phone, pacing by the couch. “It came separately? Which came first? The flowers? Fucking— go find out who delivered them and report back to me ASAP.”

He ends the call and angrily throws his cellphone to the floor, rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

“Baby…” You silently gulped, approaching him cautiously; you don’t know what to say, however, completely at a loss for words at the revelation. “What’s happening?”

Jaehyun still doesn’t look at you when he tears his hand away and puts them to his hips, glaring down at wilting begonias. In a split second, he grabs the pot and hurls it across the room; shards of clay, dirt, leaves, and petals exploding against the wall. You gasped, instinctively hugging yourself to block off any debris in case it reached you.

“Jaehyun, what the fuck?!”

“I didn’t give you that damn plant and I didn’t give you that fucking bear either!” He yelled, nose flaring and veins popping out of his neck. “I don’t know who the fuck this shithead is, but I’m going find and kill him.”

He starts walking to the front door with wide steps, fixing the belt he had previously undone.

“Jaehyun, wait!” Your chest clenches in panic, “Jaehyun!”

When he was a few more paces away from the door, you gave one last scream of his name; you’re sure your neighbors heard you and are a phone call away from the police if they also heard the things Jaehyun had thrown around. He looks back at you, still visibly infuriated at the situation, but his expression softens into concern when he sees your face.

You don’t know when you started crying, but you were suddenly aware of it when a few tears dropped onto your hand that still clutched onto his blazer. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t the one who gave the begonias?”

“I—I didn’t want you to panic…” He licks his lips, fully turning his body to face you.

“A-and now… and now w-we just found out that I was being… being secretly recorded for—for d-days,” Your vision starts to blur as fresh tears spring from your eyes, “And you’re just going to leave — again?”

He looks absolutely crushed to see you like this, “Y-you’re right. I’m sorry — no, okay, I won’t leave, come here.”

He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tight and repeatedly kissing the top of your head while you hide your face in his chest to sob.

“What do they want with me?”

“No, I don’t think they’re after you, baby.” Jaehyun whispers, still kissing your hair while running his hand down your back to console you. “I think they’re after me.”

This doesn’t make you feel any better. You cry a little harder, body shaking in his hold as you looped your arms around his waist. Jaehyun’s enemies are your enemies, if he truly had any. This should have been common knowledge to you already. It’s no secret how important you are to him and it only makes sense that they’ll pick on you to get to him. You’ve already handled the demon in his mind; you’ve learned to accept it. Dealing with someone — an actual human being — from Jaehyun’s world is wading through murky waters. You’re either the target or the bait, and it’s upsetting to think that whichever you’re treated as, someone’s going to get hurt. No, there’s this horrible gut feeling, a nagging voice in the back of your head, that just tells you that chances are…

Someone’s going to die.

a/n: it’s a little shorter again, but we’re getting closer and closer to the climax and aaaaaah the trailer drop!!!!! like always, please please please let me know what you guys think here

next: part 11

~ buy me a peach? why?

#nct smut #nct scenarios #jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenarios #devoted au

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tothelasthoursofmylife · 3 years ago

Text

“To bring order to a disordered world was the detective’s job.”

Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848

~Cedric~

The bed looked untouched; it was arranged exactly like Cedric’s when he had arrived. There was nothing on the desk, nothing on the bedside cabinet. Nothing hung on the clothes hooks, and there was no suitcase in sight. There were no move-marks from the nearby armchair on the carpet; no slight body-mark in the pillow.

When Cedric had stepped over the threshold, coldness had washed over him even before he had taken a closer look at the orderliness of the room. The room was significantly colder than the corridors, and the fireplace inside it did not look like it had been used recently although it had been fairly cold lately.

At least, there was really neither an adjourning room nor a divider.

“Duke Kristopher?” said Anaïs, and Cedric flinched when she spoke to him. “Is something wrong?” she asked and walked from the desk to him. Before she reached him, Milton hurried forward and wrapped an arm around her. Surprised, Anaïs blinked at him. “I will handle this,” Milton said, his voice strangely breathless, and gently pushed her back to Gérard and Arnaud. Then, he went to Cedric and closed the door.

“Are you all right, Kristopher?” Milton wanted to know. His voice still sounded a bit shaky, and he dug his fingers into his palm. “Do you want to sit down? Lie down?”

Cedric looked at him in bewilderment. “I’m okay.”

Milton nodded absentmindedly and walked to his bed and knelt in front of it. He reached under it and – to Cedric’s slight relief – pulled out a suitcase. He retrieved a smaller case from it before he put the suitcase back. With a heavy strait, Milton headed to the desk and sat down. Cedric went to join the others, and Arnaud put the birdcage clock on the table.

Milton took a deep breath, then unlocked the case with an odd key to reveal numerous tools. They were perfectly polished and neatly arranged, and Cedric did not recognise most of them. He could only make out some screwdrivers, a hammer, and a little saw, but there were many, many more, and he could only wonder how they could all fit into such a small space. From his jacket pockets, Milton took a pair of white gloves which he put on before he started to inspect the clock. Milton was focused in a way Cedric had never seen before. The nervous energy that constantly flowed through him seemed gone, and he sat there perfectly still and calm while he scrutinised the broken clock. The children must have noticed Milton’s strange calmness too as they silently spectated him work as if they did not dare to interrupt him.

While everyone’s attention was on the birdcage clock, Cedric sneakily stepped back to glimpse into the wardrobe and the drawers of the bedside table which were all empty. When he went back to the others, Milton had already opened the cage and taken out the bird. Now, he turned the cage around to open the casing and look inside. He took a good look at the cogs and wires before he went to work. It was wondrous to see him work so meticulously. With quick, swift movements Milton alternated between various tools which he used on the clock. Although Cedric was undoubtedly interested in this process, he could not help himself but drift away now and then.

Not that he could make out much anyway: Cedric saw Milton doing things, but, for the life of him, he did not know what he was doing. While blissfully ignorant spectating was a lovely thing in many cases, it certainly wasn’t when one was halfway to dreamland. Cedric snoozed off for a few minutes at most and when he jolted awake again, Milton had moved on from the inner workings of the clock and was now putting back the bird. With a few more skilled movements, it was done, and Milton closed the cage. He waited a moment, and everyone held their breaths.

Then, Milton turned on the birdcage clock.

And metallic sing-song filled the air.

The bird, now perched on a top again, moved its beak and head and sang its melody which sounded only a little bit off to be true birdsong; and the clockhands had been set in motion too. The children jumped around happily, and Cedric could only stare at the now again intact clock, entranced by its uncanny song and in disbelief about what Milton had accomplished.

“That’s amazing! How can you do that, Baron Milton?” asked Anaïs.

“A lot of practice and…” Milton began, his eyes glowing as they had in the corridor, but then he interrupted himself and the glow vanished. He and Cloudia displayed the same enthusiasm for what they loved; only Cloudia’s was persistent while Milton’s was always cut short. “I was a very bored child,” Milton continued and packed his utensils in his case and locked it. “And you do not have to call me ‘Baron’ or ‘Lord,’ Miss Anaïs.”

Anaïs put her hands on her hips. It was a funny gesture on someone so small and young. “Only if you stop calling me ‘Miss Anaïs.’”

“Of course,” he replied, and she beamed. “Is it simply Milton then or may I call you something else too? Am I allowed to give you a nickname?”

Arnaud blinked at her, seemingly horrified at the request and familiarity, but didn’t say anything.

“I allow you to give me one,” Milton told her, and Anaïs jumped up and down. “Thanks! It has to be something cute…” She weighted her head left and right. “How about ‘Millie’?”

Milton tensed a little bit. “Could… could you please pick another nickname?”

“Why?” asked Anaïs.

“It…” Milton fumbled with his toolbox. “It’s only that my father used to call me that.”

“‘Used to,’” she repeated before it dawned on her and she put her hands over her mouth. “I apologise. I didn’t want to…”

“It is all right,” he assured her. “How could you have known?” Milton stood up and took the case from the desk. Milton returned his toolbox to his suitcase and then looked at Anaïs who still seemed uneasy. “All is fine, Anaïs. I could never be upset with you.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He smiled. “You may pick any other nickname.”

Anaïs returned his smile. “I’ll think of one!”

Milton’s smile widened a little before he turned to the singing clock, and as soon as his gaze fell on it, the shine from before reappeared in his eyes. “I still cannot believe it,” he said dreamily to no one in particular. For a moment, Cedric wondered if he should interrupt Milton to spare him any potential embarrassment that might grow from his absentminded monologue, but he decided against it. After all, Milton usually did a fine job cutting himself off – and Cedric wanted to see if Milton’s enthusiasm could hold firm.

Milton picked up the birdcage clock and turned it in his hands. “Automata,” he said. “A fascinating subject that has kept humankind busy since ancient times. How could they not? Artificially created life – or, at least, life-like entities. Clockwork birds have been reportedly designed since the Hellenistic Period, but then there’s the legend of King Solomon’s throne and its mechanical animals which is, of course, dated much earlier. Even if it may only be a story, it is still a testament to people’s continuous fascination with automata.

“And then we have this lovely piece,” Milton continued and turned to Cedric with the clock in his hands. “Born 1721. Died 1790. Pierre Jaquet-Droz. His ancestors were from the Brandt-dit-Grieurin, Sandoz, and Robert families of clockmakers, and this made him pursue this craft, this art, as well – and we can only be blessed that he did as he is one of the, maybe even the, best creators of automata of all time. His first singing birdcage came out in 1780 and featured a miniature pipe organ; each pipe was for a different note. He and his partner later exchanged the pipe organ with a chamber whose size was altered by the movement of a piston.

“While Jaquet-Droz’s career is astonishing, it was fuelled by tragedy: He lost both his wife and daughter in short succession and, in his sadness, fully dedicated himself to his work.” Milton placed the clock back on his desk but did not let go just now. “Still, although he became internationally famous after he created six magnificent pendulum clocks for the Spanish king and his court and went on to present his crafts to various other kings and queens and even the Chinese emperor, he did not neglect his only living child, his son Henri-Louis. Instead, they worked together, and Jaquet-Droz made him the director of his workshop in London. Jean-Frédéric Leschot, Jaquet-Droz’s partner, was also his adoptive son. It was a family business that flourished despite its tragic history.

“But their success did not last forever. Towards the end of Jaquet-Droz’s life, they lost their partners in China and London. Their business started to show losses, and Jaquet-Droz moved to Biel where he died. A year later, his son Henri-Louis and his daughter-in-law died on a journey. Leschot, now all alone, worked hard to keep the business afloat, but the revolution and Napoleon’s Continental System led to the eventual ruin of Jaquet-Droz & Leschot.”

“Out of your system, hm?” said Cedric and leaned against the desk. The sudden flush of wakefulness was beginning to wane, and he could feel his eyelids getting heavy.

Milton abruptly let go of the clock as if it had stung him and craned his head to Cedric. “I rambled again, didn’t I?”

“You did, but it’s fine. How are you?”

“I am…,” Milton began and tilted his head a bit. “I am feeling better than before. The… the repair was quite…” He fiddled with the hem of his right sleeve. “… refreshing.”

“If it’s such an intricately made clock,” said Cedric, “it is even more impressive that you could fix it.”

Milton let his hands fall to his sides. “There was not much wrong with it. A few sprung-out gears, loose bolts… I suppose the owner does not maintain the clock enough. Fixing it was nothing.”

Cedric yawned. “Still, it was quite amazing. You must have practice in this.”

“As I said, I was a very bored child.”

“I was bored at times too,” Cedric replied with a shrug. “Still, I never went to try my hand on fixing clocks. You were even so focused and calm. I barely recognised you. You must be quite fascinated by clocks.”

Milton looked at him. Even if Cedric had been fully awake, he would not have been able to read them. “It is not the clocks. Not just them. Or just automata. I appreciate their composition, their machinery, but I would say I am fascinated more by the reason why they were invented.”

Cedric wanted to respond something, but then Anaïs walked to them and said, “Milton? If you can repair things, can you build some too? I am asking because, if you are feeling better after fixing the birdcage clock, I think you should continue spending your time doing something like that until the rain stops. Arnaud, Gérard, and I can help too if you want.”

Milton blinked at her and then smiled softly. “This is a good suggestion, Anaïs. How about we create a chain-reaction machine? Then, you can all help me with it. And, I suppose, it will be more fun and interesting for you than the repair of a clock. I have to bring Kristopher to his room first though.”

“Oh, no,” replied Cedric. “I still feel sleepy, but I also feel more secure on my feet than before. I can go to my room on my own. You only need to tell me how to get there.”

“Kristopher, are you sure? You…”

“I am. You are not in the best state yourself, and I think it would be better for you if you stayed in your own room instead of wandering through the château. If you get an attack again, it would be better it happened here instead of anywhere else.”

Milton wanted to fight against his words but restrained himself and only said, “Very well, Kristopher.” He was about to turn around and reach for his notebook when Arnaud came forward.

“If you do not mind, Duke Kristopher,” he said, “I would offer to bring you to your room. I do not feel comfortable letting you go on your own, and I know the château’s layout very well. I also fear that, if you are told the way to your chamber, you may forget your given instructions in your exhaustion and get lost.”

Cedric blinked at the little boy. It was a bit weird to get help from a nine-year-old, but did he really have another choice? It was either Arnaud or Anaïs after all who could guide him through the building. Perhaps even Gérard could, though that would stretch the absurdity too much. “That would be good. Thanks, Arnaud,” Cedric replied, and Arnaud bowed his head in response.

***

~Cloudia~

There is still so much left to do, Cloudia thought while she and Yvette walked through the shadowy village to the inn once again. She hoped that Maxime and Violaine had returned so that she had not taken the effort to go to the pension in this weather twice in vain. She hoped Lisa and Kamden would find something interesting while inspecting the corpses. She hoped that whatever she could learn from the Guilberts or the bodies would be enough to find out who the culprit was.

Still, there was so much left to do. For example, she had to speak to the victims’ friends.

This case. Part of me wanted to end it here and now. Run to the mayor and tell him that he was on his own, then turn the village upside down to find out anything about Townsend, find the Queen’s box, and return home after spending time with my relatives and a brief round of leisurely exploring France.

But this was not to be. I was too deep into this now, and another part of me did not want to abandon the villagers to their murderer. Especially considering that such a development might prove to be difficult to hide from Milton, even if he was leaving for Paris tomorrow. After all, he would return in a few days and might catch sight of the aftermath of the hypothetical chaos that could be unleashed in Nanteuil-la-Forêt.

Also, I did not want to give up now. Giving up was like losing, and I did not like to lose.

Cloudia straightened against the rain for the last few metres of their way, for the rest of their investigation.

A hot bath. A change of clothes. A meal.

The storm was making me impatient, tried to fray my thoughts. I needed to calm down, sit down, make myself comfortable and think everything through at the château. On my own or with Cedric if he could be bothered.

I could do it like this. I would be able to do it like this.

At the pension, Yvette knocked against the door, and they waited for a few moments until the door was thankfully opened by Maxime.

“Yvette, M Gauthier,” he said, his gaze darting between them. “What are you doing outside in this weather? Come in.” Maxime ushered them inside and closed the door.

“We would not have come here again if you had been here before,” Cloudia told him, pulling down her hood. It had been wonderful to have been able to dry herself at the church, but now she was as wet as before again.

Only a few more hours.

Maxime turned to her. “Hm?”

“We have been here before,” Cloudia informed him. “Hours ago. Where were you, M Guilbert, when it’s pouring outside and a murderer is going around? Even if they have only been acting at night so far, we can never know when our killer will change patterns.” Again, she added in her head.

“Maybe we should sit down and talk?” suggested Maxime. He walked ahead to the inn’s community room, and Yvette and Cloudia followed him. There, they were greeted by a woman who smiled awkwardly at them and shifted nervously on the sofa.

“Violaine,” said Maxime. “That’s M Gauthier, one of the men I’ve told you about.”

His wife nodded at his words, and Cloudia smiled at her. “Good afternoon, Mme Guilbert. I am glad that you are here too, and I want to apologise in advance for potentially ruining your furniture.” She spread her arms, water dripping from them as if she was a fountain. “The weather has not been particularly kind lately.”

“Yes, it hasn’t, but don’t worry about the furniture, M Gauthier,” Violaine replied. “Please just sit.”

Cloudia sat down on an armchair. “I shouldn’t worry? I thought you would be very upset. Not only as the wife of this tavern’s owner but also as its housekeeper who meticulously makes sure that all the rooms look immaculate.”

“Well,” Violaine said and touched a lock of her brown hair that had sprung free of her up-do. “The state of the furniture is only a subsidiary matter in our current situation, isn’t it?”

Cloudia smiled. “Yes, of course, it is. Mme Guilbert, I’ve already told your husband about this, but Mlle Guilloux and I were here earlier today alongside two of my colleagues who are currently investigating elsewhere. We knocked and knocked and waited a considerable period, but you were not present. Considering that the village is in a state of emergency with a murderer going around and Mother Nature herself trying to destroy this place with this heavy rain, could you tell me where you and your husband were, Mme Guilbert?”

“Where we were earlier?” Violaine repeated and then clutched and unclutched her hands.

“My apologies, M Gauthier,” Maxime interjected, “but my wife may not be suitable to answer any questions right now. She is easily unnerved and, as you said, a killer is going around.”

“Chamomile tea,” Cloudia said, and Maxime blinked at her, perplexed. “If you have correctly guessed that your wife is anxious right now, M Guilbert,” she explained, “why not bring her a cup of chamomile tea or do something else to ease her nerves? After all, you guided us here, fully knowing that she would be here and the reason I am here – fully knowing that your wife is nervous and uneasy. Why not help her a bit? Chamomile has relaxing properties, and so has peppermint if you have no chamomile tea at hand.” She smiled at him, and, for a fraction of a second, Maxime narrowed his eyes at her before he wordlessly left for the kitchen.

“How kind of him,” Cloudia said hollowly. “I wonder if he knows how to use a kettle.” She looked at Violaine. “At any rate, Mme Guilbert, I do not want to unnecessarily distress you or anyone, so I’ll ask you: Are you comfortable with answering some of my questions? Please be honest.”

Violaine tensed immediately and looked from Cloudia to Yvette and back, glanced briefly to the door through which her husband had left. “I…,” she began, “I think I can answer some questions.”

Cloudia smiled at her and wrapped her arms around herself. She was cold from the rain, so she was not certain if it was true or not, but the room itself seemed unusually cold too. “Thanks. Let us wait a moment until M Guilbert returns with the tea. I also want to address that it is very considerate of you to agree to help. We need as many to help out, need to find out as much as possible to bring this to an end. Cooperation is key, especially when it is about a murderer roaming around. They have been predominately targeting young people too – and if I remember correctly, you have a daughter around the age of the latest victims. What was her name? Marie-Claire? How is she?”

Violaine’s eyes widened. “Marie-Claire? Oh, she… she is doing well.”

“That is good to hear. I assume she is at home? You don’t live at the inn as well, right?”

“Oh, she…” Violaine trailed off and curled her loose lock of hair around her finger.

“They do not live here,” Yvette came to her rescue. “They live down the street in a little house and come every morning to the inn for work. Marie-Claire is someone who prefers to spend her time inside; you have to practically drag her outside.” She chuckled.

“I see,” said Cloudia. “How far is the kitchen from here?”

“It is down the corridor, why?” Yvette replied.

She raised her shoulders a bit. “I wondered when M Guilbert will join us again. While he is still absent, Mme Guilbert, may you tell me where you were earlier today? Were you with your daughter?”

“Yes,” Violaine answered. “Maxime and I were with her all day.”

Cloudia smiled. “I see. Spending time together with your family is good. As you have said that you were with her ‘all day,’ can I assume that you currently have no guests at the inn?”

Hesitatingly, Violaine shook her head. “No, we do not. We… we rarely get any guests at all. The stranger was the first in a while.”

“Must be terrible business,” Cloudia remarked, “having a pension in a place such as Nanteuil-la-Forêt. When it is not pouring, the village is beautiful enough, but it is certainly not in the best of locations.”

“We are working on advertising Nanteuil-la-Forêt,” Yvette said. “My father and M Descombes want to give Nanteuil-la-Forêt more presence and prominence as they want to share our cosy place with others. Soon, the inn will flourish because many will come here.”

“How very nice,” Cloudia replied. She pricked up her ears, but she could still not hear it. How curious. “Then, Vidocq and I should hurry to wrap up this case so that the inn’s flourishing will indeed happen ‘soon,’” she proceeded. “Though I suppose that a place that has once harboured a vicious murderer may become an attraction even without a pretty village around it.” She smiled at Yvette, and Yvette replied with a crooked, uneasy smile.

“Now, Mme Guilbert,” Cloudia began, “did you know any of the victims better? Mme Allemand, Dominique Duhamel, Gustave and Marius Beaubois?”

“I…” Violaine’s grip on her lock tightened. Cloudia almost feared that she would rip it out. “I knew Dominique, Gustave, and Marius. Marie-Claire went to school with them, but they were not very close.”

“I see. And the boys amongst one another? Were they close?”

“No,” said Violaine before she backtracked. “Yes. You must know how boys are at that age: often quarrelling and arguing, but still being close. It is a little hard to tell whether they are friends or not because of that. However, they were friendly.”

“Thank you for the information,” Cloudia said at the same time as Maxime returned with a cup of tea which he handed to his wife with a slightly breathless “Here, my dear.” Cloudia glanced at the floor and then smiled at Maxime. “Welcome back, M Guilbert. You have left us waiting for quite some time.”

***

~Cedric~

A few corridors into their little journey to his room, Cedric realised that Arnaud was not very talkative. He had associated noise with the boy; now, he understood that it was only attached to him in the form of Anaïs who would always talk and laugh. Cedric would not have minded this aspect on any other day, but right now, he needed anything to help him stay awake or he feared he would fall asleep here and now.

“Arnaud,” Cedric began. “What do you think about Anaïs calling Milton a faerie? I know Jacques does not like it, and I’m curious what you think of it. I think of it as childishly charming.”

“That is how Anaïs is,” Arnaud said. “She is very fond of associating people with something – as you have found out at her picnic.”

“Yes, she is,” Cedric replied. “Only she is especially insistent about the whole faerie affair.”

“Anaïs is also very fond of faeries. She loves reading about them and telling everyone about them. As Papa is an expert when it comes to birds, Anaïs loves to talk to him about faeries as they are, like birds, flying entities. They also sometimes explore forests.”

“In search of faeries?”

Arnaud nodded. “Anaïs, at least. Papa ‘helps.’”

“I see,” Cedric said and yawned. With difficulty, he dragged himself to his room with Arnaud’s guidance. At his blessed bedroom door, Cedric said goodbye to Arnaud and then walked straight to his bed.

A quick nap before Cloudia returned. I wanted to reach at least some level of rest until she came back so that we could talk. I also wanted to catch some sleep before dinner or I feared I might miss it like I had missed lunch.

With a tired half-smile on his face, Cedric took off his jacket and threw it on the closest chair, freed his hair from the band, and kicked off his shoes on the way to the bed. He was about to jump into it when he heard someone say, “How unsightly, Not-Kristopher.”

Cedric flinched and every fibre of his body sighed.

Could one not find rest in this damn château?

He rubbed his eyes. “Dammit, Cecelia, what are you doing here?”

Cecelia leaned back on the armchair she had made herself at home on. “Waiting for you, obviously.”

“But couldn’t you have waited a bit longer?”

“Don’t worry, Not-Kristopher. The servants have informed me about your sleepiness. Thus, I have brought you a gift.” She gestured to the little table in front of her which bore a tea service.

Cedric laughed hoarsely. “I’m not drinking anything you offer ever again,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. “A butler brewed the coffee. It’s to help you stay awake.”

He scrutinised the pot. “I don’t believe you. Now, leave.”

“You are being dramatic.”

“So would you be if you had been nearly killed by some unknown substance. Now, go.”

“Not-Kristopher, sit down.”

“I will laydown and you can go.”

Cecelia sighed and then poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip without taking her eyes off Cedric. “See? I’m perfectly fine,” she said when she sat the cup down again. “There is only one pot. You will drink from it too. Its contents are fine. Now, stop being difficult and drink your coffee and sit down.”

Cedric ran a hand over his face, defeated, and then poured himself a cup and sat with it down on his bed. He sank into the soft blanket, and his heart tightened with longing to simply curl himself up in it and drift into dreams. Instead, he glared at Cecelia and took a deep gulp.

And started coughing.

“What isthat?” Cedric said, grimacing at the evil dark tincture in his cup.

“Coffee.”

“I hadcoffee. That’s not coffee. What’s this?”

Cecelia rolled her eyes. “It is coffee, Not-Kristopher. There are different kinds of tea. Did you think there wouldn’t be different kinds of coffee too?”

He scowled at his cup. “It’s vile and bitter. The coffee I had was a little bitter too, but not like this. I thought drinks have to be drinkable.”

“The French like their coffee harsh and bitter,” she said with an elegant shrug. “And you cannot deny it did not wake you up thoroughly.”

Cedric opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it again. She was right. Even if the coffee itself might not have kicked in yet, its taste had certainly shaken off part of his sleepiness. He put his cup on the little table. “I don’t like anything that tastes bitter.”

“I realised.”

“That includes you.”

Cecelia laughed. “Oh, don’t make me repeat that to Cloudia.”

Cedric glared at her, and she smiled at him. “Now,” she said, “tell me: How was your day with Milton?”

***

~Cloudia~

Cloudia and Yvette said their goodbyes to Maxime and Violaine and headed back out into the rain and to the hospital. It had been an interesting conversation, and Cloudia could not wait to go over and discuss it with Cedric.

And write down everything in a fresh, new notebook. After Maxime’s arrival, I had taken out my notebook and learned that it had not survived the rain although I had safely put it in my pocket.

A new notebook, a night to myself. Normally, my memory was good enough that I did not really need to write everything down, but I liked to have everything structured and laid out in front of me. Also, good memory or not, one could not recall all at once, and writing everything down helped to draw everything out of one’s mind.

Considering the amount of input I had received in the last few days, it might be quite beneficial to write it all down.

And considering that I felt a little frayed – the dread of one of those episodes was always at the back of my mind – writing down everything when I still remembered it all would be for the best.

Yvette informed Cloudia that it was a relatively long way from the guesthouse to the hospital. Hearing of a distance was wildly different from experiencing it though. A “short ten-minute walk” could feel like an eternity when it went up a hill, the path was uneven, or the sky had spontaneously decided to empty its water storage for several weeks in a single day. If it was not a ten-minute walk, but a thirty-five-minute one with similarly awful conditions, one could not help but wonder which deity they had upset to have to suffer like that.

Just the hospital left. It was just the hospital left, I told myself all the way to it.

When Cloudia and Yvette finally arrived at the hospital, a nurse led them to a waiting room after greetings and introductions. There, Vivienne, the nurse, told them to sit down and wait while she would go to get the head doctor. Cloudia thanked her and sat down.

I was athletic. I trained whenever I could, but today’s ordeal was unnecessarily exhausting.

But it was just the corpses left now. At least for today, only the corpses were left. Then, it was time to–

Cloudia sat up straighter when another nurse hurried into the room, an angry man following her and demanding to speak to Laurent Michaux, the head doctor. The nurse began to say “I am sorry, but I cannot help you. I have already said that he has…” when Cloudia stood up and went to take hold of the man’s arm before he could grab the nurse’s.

“I am sorry for interfering,” Cloudia said to the man. He had looked stunned the moment she had taken his hand, but his surprise was slowly eaten away by his anger yet again. The nurse took a few steps back. “However, it seems that this situation is getting out of hand. Monsieur, may I ask you what you are doing? Yelling in a hospital and running after this nurse?”

The man narrowed his eyes at her. “And you are?” he said. He tried to get out of her grip, but Cloudia held on tight. He was considerably taller than her and seemed strongly built, so it was quite a strain to keep her grip on him, but she wouldn’t let go just yet. “Wait. I’ve never seen you before: You are one of those people from Paris, aren’t you?” the man continued and his tone became even angrier.

“Exactly. I am Jean Gauthier, Détective Alexandre Vidocq’s assistant,” Cloudia replied, holding her gaze steady when she looked at him. “And who are you?”

“Fernand!” exclaimed Yvette and walked to them with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Yvette, what are you doing here?” the man asked.

“I am guiding M Gauthier through the village.” She turned to Cloudia. “My apologies. This is Fernand Beaubois, the father of Gustave and Marius. Could you perhaps let go of him?”

“Of course, I can,” Cloudia replied and glared at Fernand. “He has to promise not to do anything though.”

Fernand glared back at her. “Fine,” he growled. “I promise.”

Smiling at him, Cloudia let go. “Much obliged,” she said and then looked at the nurse who was standing frozen a few steps away from her. “Are you all right?”

The nurse nodded.

“Would you like to sit still? You look a little pale.”

“No, it’s fine. I need to be elsewhere now anyway.”

“I see. What is your name?”

The nurse blinked at her. “Uhm, Corrine.”

“Corrine, do you have a few minutes to spare or are you in a hurry? I want to ask you something, but it is fine if you have no time.”

“One question will be all right.”

Cloudia smiled at her. “Thanks, Corrine. Could you please tell me why M Beaubois has been running after you?”

Corrine glanced briefly at Fernand. “M Beaubois wants to speak to M Michaux about his sons. I was strictly instructed to send him and anyone else away as M Michaux does not want anyone to tamper with the bodies. It was decided that nobody could access or retrieve the bodies until the murderer is apprehended. I don’t have the power to undo that decision, and the doctor is busy right now. I have told M Beaubois this, but he does not want to hear and keeps enquiring.”

“‘Tampering’?” Fernand’s face turned red. “I only want to see my sons. I cannot understand why I’m forbidden from seeing them.”

“M Beaubois, as I said, I am sorry, but M Michaux has prohibited it specifically,” said Corinne with a halting voice. “No one is to see the bodies except for the doctor himself and the investigators until the murderer is caught.”

How interesting.

Cloudia smiled. She had been smiling so much all day; she hoped her face would not hurt tomorrow. “Thank you, Corinne. I will handle this from here on. We have impeded you enough.”

It seemed as if Corinne wanted to protest but then decided against it. She just bowed and said her thanks before she left the room. As soon as she was gone, Cloudia turned to Fernand who still looked highly displeased. “M Beaubois, I am sorry. It must be terrible for you not to be able to see your sons now. However, I cannot condone that you are directing your anger towards innocent people. I hope today will be an isolated case,” Cloudia said firmly. “At any rate, I am here because I sent two of my colleagues to the hospital earlier to inspect the bodies. Of course, this will not be the same, but I will promise to tell you about the conditions of your sons’ bodies – and make sure that the investigation will be wrapped up as soon as possible so that you can see them yourself before the funeral.”

Fernand continued to glare at her, and Cloudia fought back the urge to sigh and tell him that, if he neither wanted help nor reassurance, he could leave and stop wasting anyone’s time and pestering people. She was not patient enough for such things. Still, she forced herself to soften her voice and repeated, “I promise to ensure that Détective Vidocq will quickly wrap up the case. Also,” Cloudia sternly looked at him, “I was at your house earlier, M Beaubois, and met your wife and son. I know that you are hurting because of your loss. I promise to take care of the dead; I urge you to take care of the living.”

Fernand held her gaze for a while before his shoulders sacked. There was still fight left in him, but it had mostly cooled now. “You better catch the killer soon,” he said and then turned and left.

“M Gauthier, Yvette?” said Vivienne when she returned a few minutes later. “I will now lead you to the deadhouse – the doctor has said that he will meet you there.”

***

~Cedric~

“How should it have been? It was a normal day. We played some chess. Ate some sandwiches. That’s it,” Cedric said dryly, and Cecelia raised an eyebrow.

“Not-Kristopher, do you need more coffee? Because your mind still seems to be fogged from sleepiness – or are you deliberately answering my question in such an obviously avoidant way?”

“I have told you all we did today,” he replied. “Did you really expect thorough replies when you broke into my room and are now preventing me from sleeping?”

Cecelia chuckled. “You sure are prickly today, Not-Kristopher,” she said and broke into an impish grin. “Of course, I expected thorough replies because you know exactly that they are the only way to ever get me to leave. I also did not break into your room. A break-in is a forced entry, but your door was never locked and I, thankfully, did not have to resort to using force.” Cecelia took a sip of her coffee. “Please indulge me, Not-Kristopher, what did you and our dear Baron Salisbury do today?”

Cedric sighed. “We played chess and ate lunch I prepared because we missed the actual lunch.”

“I wondered where you two were.”

“You had lunch with the others? I thought you preferred to eat alone in your room.”

“And I do, but every once in a while, you should be polite and eat alongside your gracious hosts. Anyway, it must have been a veryengaging game for you to get so caught up.” Cecelia smiled. “Did you have any engaging conversations as well?”

“If you want to know if we talked – of course, we did. And I did learn a few more things about Milton. I just don’t think they will interest you much. It was nothing particularly substantial. However, what I can say after spending time with Milton today is that I doubt that he could be capable of something like arms smuggling. He’s overflowing with anxiety and can barely hold himself together. If he truly were a weapons smuggler, he would have surrendered himself to the authorities a long time ago.”

“Still, there is the rumour,” Cecelia replied.

“Yes. While I think that Milton is not involved in any smuggling himself, I do believe someone is using his company under his nose to engage in illicit activity.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Who do you believe to be the actual weapons smuggler, Not-Kristopher?”

“Wentworth,” Cedric said, and while he felt confident when he said it aloud, his confidence vanished when Cecelia started to laugh.

“Enough of the joking. Tell me, who do you believe to be the actual weapons smuggler if not Milton?”

“It… it was not a joke,” he replied, now feeling quite silly and foolish. No, I don’t have to be, he thought right afterwards. It makes sense that Wentworth is the culprit. I cannot allow Cecelia to talk me out of it; I only have to explain my logic to her.

“Wentworth? Don’t be absurd. It’s not him.”

“Are you saying this because you did not consider this possibility yourself? You only gave me notes on Milton; you only focus on Milton. Everyone does. Who would ever focus on the butler? That’s how Wentworth could do it – even if it was at the expense of Milton who is supposed to be his beloved protégé. You made no effort to look into Wentworth or consider him as a legitimate suspect, Cecelia, and now you–”

Cecelia glared at Cedric, effectively cutting him off. “Making false claims on my persona? On my abilities? Of course, I researched Abraham Wentworth, Not-Kristopher, who do you believe me to be? Only because I did not tell you about my findings regarding this part of my research does not mean I did not do it.”

“You did?” said Cedric, slightly taken aback. “Then why didn’t you inform me about this?”

“I did not inform you as I did not think it would be necessary, Not-Kristopher. We are, after all, focusing on Baron Salisbury, not on his butler. That’s what I’ve told you. I wanted you to focus on what is of importance. If I wanted you to keep an eye on Wentworth too, I would have given you two files, one for each.”

“But if you looked into Wentworth, you surely must have found anything that could explain everything – that incriminates him because I am sure his background is as sparsely documented as Milton’s and–”

“And why do you think that, Not-Kristopher?” Cecelia interrupted him.

“Because he has always been at Milton’s side, and Milton’s life is like ‘Swiss cheese’ as you said.”

“Of course, there’s a large gap between when Wentworth moved with Milton’s family to Milton’s mysterious birthplace until they went to London. Rather unfortunately for your speculative daydreams, the rest of Wentworth’s life is as well-documented as anyone else’s.”

Cedric blinked at her, and Cecelia sighed. “What do you want, you pathetic fool? Proof? A summary?” she said, and he slowly nodded.

“God, I cannot believe Cloudia has still not thrown you into a ditch,” she proceeded and poured herself a new cup of coffee.

“Abraham Wentworth was born in Cadgwith, Cornwall to Asher Wentworth, a fisher, and his wife Leah. They were not bathing in money, but they had enough to feed their family of six. Wentworth was the second oldest amongst four children; he had an older and a younger brother and a younger sister. His family was quite liked where they lived and their business provided food to the nearby gentry. This eventually allowed Wentworth to be schooled to be a butler in the household of Lord Helmer Carrington for whom he worked until he was hired by Milton’s grandmother in 1811.

“I hope you remember that Milton’s mother Kordelia was adopted after she had lost her entire family in a shipwreck of which she was the sole survivor? Her adopted mother was a certain Idella Scarborough who was quite the character.

“She had been adopted too, was a rich heiress, and quite the traveller and an acquaintance to many – amongst others, to Lord Carrington. When she took in Milton’s mother, Miss Scarborough – who was never married and, as I heard, very much refused to be wed – looked around for servants to hire. She did not have any herself as she thought they were only a hindrance in her nomadic lifestyle, but she changed her mind after becoming a mother as she certainly needed a bit of assistance to take care of her new daughter while scouring through Great Britain. At times, Miss Scarborough would even leave Kordelia and her little household in a rented house in Britain while she ventured to the continent. You can only wonder why she adopted Milton’s mother in the first place. After all, Miss Scarborough evidently had never planned to settle down and having a traumatised child and a few new servants did not quite agree to her chosen lifestyle… Surely, she needed an heir, but the timing seems to have been inconvenient… Anyway, enough of this; I am diverting.

“Miss Scarborough talked to Lord Carrington about searching for staff, and he warmly referred Wentworth to her. Wentworth was hired to take care of Kordelia Bloomfield – apparently, she took her adoptive mother’s surname for a while, but did not use it when she moved to London. Miss Scarborough also employed a maid and companion for Kordelia.

“The little household around Miss Scarborough – she, Kordelia, Wentworth, the maid, and a family friend – travelled through the kingdom until 1819. The longest they stayed at a place together was a month. When Miss Scarborough decided to cross the Channel, the others would stay at the same place for a considerably longer time. After eight years of constant travelling, Kordelia got tired of it and asked her mother if it was possible for her and the others to settle down somewhere while her mother would indulge in her travels on her own. Miss Scarborough accepted Kordelia’s request, and Kordelia went to live at her mysterious choice of settlement. There are reports that her mother visited her as often as she could – Kordelia was only fifteen at that time after all – but there is nothing on where Miss Scarborough went, where Kordelia chose to live. And this absolutely ridiculous circumstance leaves us with a gap of eighteen years.”

“A very large, very suspicious gap,” chimed in Cedric.

“Definitely, but not exactly something that would incriminate Wentworth now, eleven years after he re-emerged into common society with his household. There are no documents on Wentworth having been spotted anywhere else in those missing eighteen years, so I would presume he had simply been staying there, taking care of Kordelia Bloomfield’s household day in, day out. Still, this is obviously an eyebrow-raising topic and needs to be examined further. Unlike Milton, however, that’s the only gap in Wentworth’s timeline. After the death of his mistress, of Milton’s mother, in 1838 Wentworth was regularly seen running errands alone or accompanying Leland,” Cecelia said, counting the differences between Milton’s and Wentworth’s stories on her hand. “Milton was only seen twice in the same year. In 1841, Milton travelled overseas and did not take Wentworth or anyone else with him – he went alone. Again, Wentworth’s schedule is perfectly documented in contrast…”

“Wait – Milton went away alone?” Cedric cut her off, earning a glare from Cecelia. “He alwaystakes Wentworth with him, why not then?”

“That’s the mystery, Not-Kristopher, for God’s sake,” she snapped. “And how often do I have to tell you that you should not interrupt me!” She took a deep breath to calm herself down before she continued, “After Neal Salisbury’s death, Milton went missing from the public eye again; Wentworth was still seen in the city. When Milton engaged more in society, his butler was at his side, loyal and true as a shadow. When Milton was in Cardiff around the time of his uncle’s death, Wentworth was with him. He accompanied him to his travels afterwards – to Germany, to France, to Sweden… all the way to China and Korea and back. He was with him when Leland died. He was with him when he got involved with Cloudia. He was with him when he travelled again. He is with him now. Whenever Milton is in public or away, Wentworth is by his side; and when Milton is unseen, Wentworth is observed running errands for his young master. Wentworth’s file is airtight except for the eighteen-year gap. The rest of Milton’s gaps aren’t Wentworth’s too. He did not use them to his benefit to hide his criminal schemes if you believed that, Not-Kristopher.”

“But that does not mean he isn’t doing any criminal scheming; it only means that he didn’t hide it with that,” Cedric pointed out, and Cecelia rolled her eyes and took another sip of her coffee.

“You’re hopeless, Not-Kristopher, and I wish I brought something stronger to drink to get through this,” she said. “If you are so adamant about Abraham Wentworth being the true arms dealer, why don’t you explain his motives to me? After all, this business would harm the Salisbury Company – and it almost did. The Salisbury Company, the pride and joy of Milton’s family; his dear protégé’s company. Why should he purposefully try to exploit and hurt it? What is he gaining from it?”

“Maybe he doesn’t care for the Salisbury Company and Milton? Maybe he intends to ruin Milton and run off to have a better life elsewhere with all the money he accumulated on the side with his smuggling business?”

“You’re wrong: Wentworth does care for Lord Milton.”

“No, you are wrong. Milton flinched when Wentworth spoke to him in Dover. Wentworth left him alone when Milton was not feeling well. Does this sound like he cares to you? And since when are you a sentimental person?”

Cecelia put down her cup. “I am not sure if you know that, Not-Kristopher, but Milton needs his butler to function. In the time he was involved with Cloudia, she and I came to understand that Wentworth is his safety net. He is independent in any other manner, but emotionally he isn’t. This isn’t surprising considering that Wentworth is the only constant he has ever had. Everyone else either died over the years – his parents, his sister, his uncle, his cousin – or left; his mother’s lady companion and the family friend left his household in 1841.”

“This only proves how much Milton needs him. How much he loves Wentworth, not the other way around.”

“Cloudia grew fairly close to Lord Milton in the months they spent together,�� said Cecelia, ignoring his interjection, and Cedric flinched a bit. He hoped that Cecelia hadn’t seen it, but she tilted her head and smiled. “She hasn’t told you yet, has she? I suppose she will soon, so be patient. And don’t contemplate to ask me. I have neither the time nor desire to inform you about those months. Also, Cloudia would be very mad at me if I did tell you, and I am already walking on thin ice with her considering that I researched Baron Salisbury and his butler.”

Cecelia leaned back. “At any rate, Cloudia grew quite close to Milton – not that she would ever admit this; their relationship has always been a little odd and complicated. And at some point, Milton told her that when he let go of his mother’s lady’s companion and his family friend left his household, he also talked to Wentworth about his retirement. Apparently, Wentworth was quite insistent that he would not retire anytime soon despite his advanced age.”

“Of course, he does not want to retire,” Cedric replied. “If he did, he would lose access to the Salisbury Company, and his illicit business would be harder to undertake.”

“Once you got your teeth into something, you really won’t let go of it, will you?” Cecelia sighed. “Cloudia did not go into detail as she may not know the full extent of Wentworth and Milton’s relationship, but from what I’ve heard, Wentworth very much cares for the Baron.”

“Milton said that while he views Wentworth as his family, Wentworth does not return this sentiment.”

“He’s a butler, is he not? I suppose he would want to keep a certain distance between himself and his master because his occupation requires him to do so. Just because he says that he does not think of Milton as family does not mean that this is the case. What you say is not necessarily the same as what you do and actually think and believe. Cloudia certainly believes that Wentworth cares a lot for Lord Milton.”

“And what about Dover? What about Wentworth’s neglect of Milton today?”

Cecelia rolled her eyes and poured herself another cup of coffee. “We are talking about Cloudia who has observed them for months and a few isolated cases that happened in the span of a few days. What may give us the best data to work with? You also care for Cloudia, don’t you? Do youget along with her all the time? Lord Milton and his butler are still human. Maybe saccharine Milton would never be upset with Wentworth, but Wentworth may have the capacity to be ‘harsh’ to a certain extend – and they have known each other since Milton’s birth. There isa certain familiarity and closeness between them; that cannot be denied. Also, have you asked why Wentworth was not with Milton today?”

“Wentworth wanted to spend time with Alfred and…” Cedric began before he stopped himself when the memory flowed back.

“Bram didn’t just leave me alone. I… I had to convince Bram for quite a while that I would be fine on my own. I didn’t mean to ruin Mr Newman’s day. I can look after myself after all.”

“Milton sent Wentworth away to be with Alfred because he knows they get along well and he did not want to hinder them from spending time together,” Cedric said ultimately.

“See? Milton ordered Wentworth to leave him alone – and a butler can only fight that much against his master’s wishes,” Cecelia said. “And in Dover… did the Baron flinch because his butler spoke to him or because someone said anything to him at all?”

Cedric blinked at her. “What?”

“In what state was Milton back then? Did he flinch because of Wentworth’s words or because of something else?”

“He flinched when Wentworth called him.”

“And?”

“Wentworth said Milton’s name when… when Milton was staring at Alfred,” Cedric replied haltingly, slowly drawing out each word as it dawned on him.

I had often seen Milton flinch like that. Every time he was deep in thought or very focused on something, and someone – anyone – interrupted him, he would flinch.

I had been the cause of this plenty of times.

Cecelia looked at her fingernails as she spoke. “Have you understood? Milton flinched not because Wentworth was the one who spoke and addressed him but because someone pulled him out of his thoughts.” She looked up. “And now, please answer this question for me:

“What is with you and your insistence to prove Milton’s innocence in this still very hypothetical matter that he may be an arms smuggler? Have you become so smitten with him in this short time? Or are you simply trying to convince everyone and yourself that you don’t hate and aren’t jealous of Milton for the petty fact that he was ‘there first,’ whatever this entails?”

“I am not jealous of Milton. I don’t hate him either.”

“Do you like him then?”

Cedric was silent, and Cecelia laughed. “Not-Kristopher, how idiotically amusing you are. What does it do for you to lie to yourself? No wonder why your hair is all grey. I never lie to myself as I believe it to be a matter too pointlessly exhausting. And look at me: As youthful as ever.” She leaned back. “So?”

“I barely know Milton,” Cedric said matter-of-factly. “I neither hate him nor am I particularly fond of him.”

“And still?”

“And still… There’s no ‘and still,’ Cecelia.”

“And still you were almost about to tell.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No, you are being ridiculous,” replied Cecelia, raising her voice ever-so-slightly. “From all I know and from all I have heard, I believe that there must have been at least one instance today when you thought that there is something off about Milton. Am I right?”

Cedric stiffened a bit. Agitated by his stubbornness, Cecelia did not seem to notice as she energetically carried on. “I know you’re a fraud,” she said, “but I assume you have not lived under a rock until last year, have you? So, is there not something about Milton that strikes you as fundamentally odd?”

Cedric blinked at her. “I haven’t lived under a rock, but what do you mean? ‘Fundamentally odd’?”

She sighed. “A young man, well-bred, titled, extremely wealthy, and if I dare admit, rather easy on the eyes – do you understand it now?” Cecelia asked and when Cedric stared blankly at her, she sighed anew. “In his social class, people his age with such good attributes usually cannot save themselves from possible suitors – or are already married. I would even dare to say that if you ever glimpsed at Milton Salisbury’s bank statement, you would drop those trousers faster than humanly possible. Still, Milton is a bachelor, and there are only very few who even consider trying to win him over. In part, this has something to do with his constant travels, but then, don’t you think he should have still found someone by now? Maybe even in a different country? I believe Milton is like Blanche Ingram.”

“Blanche Ingram?” asked Cedric, and Cecelia rolled her eyes in frustration. “You cannot tell me I am the only one Cloudia is telling detailed plot summaries of novels to. I refuse to believe this.”

“Well, sometimes my brain automatically turns itself off while she rambles. I try to listen, but it’s an old habit and I haven’t managed to outgrow it yet…”

“What a wonderful suitor you are, Not-Kristopher. Cloudia should consider herself fortunate,” Cecelia deadpanned. “Anyway, what I want to say is that Blanche Ingram from Jane Eyre is beautiful, quite talented, and comes from a good family. All this should make her very desirable to everyone. However, like Milton, she is in her mid-twenties and still unmarried. For a woman, this is even more eyebrow-raising than for a man as women of the gentry usually marry in their early twenties or, in some cases, their late teens which means that she has surpassed the ‘usual’ age of marriage by a few years. The question is: Why does nobody want to marry Blanche Ingram despite her apparently good qualities? Because she’s a haughty person: beautiful on the outside, rotten on the inside with skin quivering in rot and on the edge of breaking up and falling apart. The kind of apple you would not even throw to the pigs. Beyond disgusting.”

“And you think Milton is like that… an apple rotten on the inside?”

“Maybe not as dramatically as Blanche, but I suppose there’s still rot inside him too. What kind of rot do you think it is? Blanche’s rot is her arrogance, her haughtiness, her ill-treatment of those below her in social status. I am aware Blanche does not know that Mr Rochester is in love with Jane Eyre by the time he faux-courts her. Still, imagine ‘indirectly’ insulting the governess of the ward of the man you are pursuing and that right in front of him? Reminiscing with your family how you maltreated your own governesses?” Cecelia shook her head. “Now, I am sounding like Cloudia, going on and on about books and fictional characters. What I am intending to say, and I am putting this as plainly and clearly as I can so that evenyou will understand it: There must be something about Milton Salisbury that is driving people away which is especially interesting as, from my observation, people are often strangely drawn to him as well. This is, of course, not always the case as can be seen from me and Cloudia’s maid Lisa Greene.”

Cedric yawned. He knew he should take another sip of the coffee, but every fibre of his being protested against it. “You are not particularly companionable people though.”

Cecelia raised an eyebrow. “Would you describe Cloudiaas a ‘particularly companionable person’?”

“No, but she’s not as openly hostile towards people as you and Miss Greene are. Or, well, in your case your hostility is packed up twenty times and wrapped to seem to be a gift.”

She smiled. “How nicely put, Not-Kristopher. Maybe your true calling is to be a writer of fiction. I believe Cloudia would very much welcome the career change.”

Cedric scowled at her, and Cecelia continued, “Maybe what draws others to him also keeps others away. However, I don’t think this characteristic of his is the one we are looking for. After all, this particular adverse effect does not seem to occur very frequently and, if it does, is more ‘severe’ if I can put it this way. Whatever drives others away from him must be something else. It may be more like a ‘feeling’ someone has in regards to Lord Milton rather than anything he does and says considering his personality.”

“Like some kind of ‘sinister gut feeling’ whenever he is around?” suggested Cedric.

Cecelia smiled. “Exactly. Have you felt something like that, Not-Kristopher?”

“I cannot say I have.”

She shrugged. “Very well.” Cecelia stood up, and relief made his heart jump.

I could sleep. I could have my peace. I could rest before Cloudia returned. I could rest to have the energy to talk to her for hours and hours, maybe even through the entire night. I-

“I will leave you now,” said Cecelia and those five words were an even more beautiful sound than the birdcage clock’s song to Cedric. She walked to the door, and he was ready to let himself drop onto his bed and promptly fall asleep as soon as the door fell into its lock behind her when she turned to him once more, a sly smile on her lips.

“This question has left me wondering for quite some time now, and I want to give it to you to ponder over as well,” Cecelia said.

“Have you never wondered why Lord Milton’s in love with our Cloudia?”

***

~Cloudia~

Hector hurried towards Cloudia, Yvette, and Vivienne as soon as he spotted them. “M Gauthier, Mlles Guilloux and Gaumont!” he greeted them with a wide smile. He was so happy and enthusiastic; one could almost forget that corpses were stored in the next room. Vivienne had told Cloudia that they did not have a separate deadhouse; they only refurbished a basement room to function as one some years back. They still called it a “deadhouse” though.

“I am glad you’ve finally arrived,” continued Hector.

“I am sorry to have left you and the others waiting for so long, Officier Monteil,” Cloudia returned. “Our conversation with M and Mme Guilbert took quite some time, and the way from there to here is long – and even longer in this horrible weather.”

Hector nodded a little excessively. “Indeed, indeed.”

A moment passed in which nobody said anything, though Hector kept smiling.

“Officier Monteil,” Cloudia asked slowly, “won’t you lead us into the deadhouse?”

“The deadhouse?” He looked to the door. “Oh. Oh, no. I cannot. I am prohibited from entering. I am standing here so that I am not a hindrance while they are working inside. M Fouille and Mlle Ledoux even told M Michaux to leave. However, he waits outside with me for a while, goes into the deadhouse to speak to your colleagues, M Gauthier, then comes back out, goes back in... I am not quite sure why. Every time, I try to stop him from entering, but he ignores me and goes inside anyway. M Michaux just entered the deadhouse again, so I would say that they will send him out any moment now. Mlle Ledoux in particular does not seem to enjoy being watched while she works.”

“That’s how she is,” Cloudia replied. “However, she does not mind when I see her work, so I would say that I can enter safely. If there is nothing else, I would like to go into the deadhouse to talk to my colleagues.” She stepped past Hector and barely touched the doorknob when he said, “The door is fairly heavy and a bit tricky to open. Not that I doubt that you can open it; it is just difficult and I want to warn you before you start to wonder. Perhaps, it would be better to wait until M Michaux is sent outside again…”

“Thank you, Officier Monteil, but I think I will be able to handle opening a door – no matter how heavy it is,” Cloudia said. She turned the knob and before she could push or pull the door – she assumed it was a “pull,” though could not be sure – the door opened and a man with greying hair came out… and flinched back when he noticed Cloudia.

“Not much was needed and then Mlle Ledoux could not oppose my presence in the deadhouse anymore,” Laurent Michaux said, glaring over his shoulder and into the room. Then, he cleared his throat and turned back to Cloudia and the others. “Vivienne, you are dismissed,” he said. “Please go and help out Corinne.”

Vivienne bowed her head and left without a word. Laurent cleared his throat again and held out his hand to Cloudia. “Laurent Michaux, pleased to meet you.”

Cloudia took his hand and shook it. “Jean Gauthier, likewise.” They let go of each other, and she proceeded to say, “I apologise if my colleagues have been troubling you too much.”

Laurent’s expression soured. “Not too much.” He narrowed his eyes and looked sideways to the deadhouse and closed the door to it.

Oh dear.

“M Michaux, may I briefly ask you a few questions?” Cloudia said.

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” she said and then proceeded to ask him about his relationship to the victims, to Nadia, Dominique, Gustave, and Marius. Laurent told her that he knew Nadia better than the others, but still barely knew her at all. He spent most of his time in the hospital or at home, wanting to spend the time he was not working away from people. As Laurent was one of the three physicians in the village, he was always pestered by everyone and, over the years, he had developed quite a distaste towards people. It did not affect his work; it only made him not spend any time with his fellow Nanteuillats. His house was even a bit farther away from the rest of the buildings to guarantee that he saw as few people as possible when he was home. Thus, Laurent had not been anywhere close to the crime scenes when the murders happened, though this circumstance did not provide him with an alibi that could protect him.

“I have one more question,” Cloudia said. “M Michaux, have you examined the corpses yourself? I know Grégoire and Maryse are currently examining them, but I want to know what you’ve learned before I talk to them about their findings.”

“I don’t have anything to say to that,” Laurent replied, and Cloudia looked at him in bewilderment. “I am not being uncooperative, M Gauthier. I did not examine the corpses myself at all.”

“Pardon?”

“Ever since I started working here as a doctor, I was never confronted with a murder case,” he explained. “Neither were the other two doctors. I asked them both, and both told me ‘Laurent, I am sorry, but I have no idea how to handle this.’ I stored the corpses and made sure they stayed in good condition which is not easy. Now, I am telling you what I have been told: M Gauthier, I have no idea how to handle this. Preserving the bodies was all I could do – Mlle Guilloux said I should keep them safe; it may be important for the investigation, she said. So I did. I cannot do anything else. Therefore, I cannot tell you about anything concerning the bodies, M Gauthier. I swear I did not tamper with the corpses in any way though.”

Cloudia nodded. “I see. Thank you for your efforts, M Michaux. They are much appreciated. Now, pardon me as I have just remembered that I wanted to ask you yet another question: I can see that the door is rather thick. Are the walls of the entire deadhouse built as thickly?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, they are. To contain any putrid smells. People also wanted to keep as much distance from the dead as possible. No one lying in a hospital wants to be constantly reminded that they may potentially die and end up in the deadhouse.”

“I see. I assume this also means that nobody can hear you gag or something like that?”

“Indeed. Nothing can penetrate these walls: no smells, no sound. That’s why always at least two people have to be here in case of an emergency. One has to remain close to the exit to get out quickly and call for help. It is quite tedious, and we are working to install some sort of bell system.”

“Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know. I know that you dislike it when you are told to leave your own workplace but may you please leave me and my colleagues alone? We have to discuss some matters of utmost importance and confidentiality,” said Cloudia.

“Of course,” Laurent begrudgingly replied. “I will wait for you upstairs if you need me.”

“Thanks. We will not take long.”

The doctor bowed his head to her. As soon as he was walking upstairs, Cloudia turned to Yvette and Hector. “This, of course, also applies to you. I am sorry, but you cannot go inside with me.”

They nodded, and Cloudia gave them an appreciative smile before she entered the deadhouse – a cold, grey, windowless room which was well-lit by multiple lamps – and closed the door behind her. Hector had not exaggerated: The door wasextraordinarily heavy.

“We can talk,” Cloudia said in English. “The walls are thick enough that nobody will hear us.”

“Oh, finally,” Lisa exclaimed. “I was going mad being moved around like a brainless game piece, not knowing what anyone is talking about, and not being able to say a single word. And then we were always with this girl – Yvette.” She grimaced. “I have no idea what she said all day, but she sounds insufferable.”

“Maybe when we are back in England or have some time left here after everything is wrapped up, you should learn French,” suggested Cloudia.

Lisa huffed. “Of what use is it to me then? The mission will be over; it’s unlikely that we’ll return to France. And it’s not like I am one of those fine ladies who may need to know French to find a husband, accumulating and listing ‘good traits and skills’ as if they are applying to a job, or to be able to continue gossiping even in the presence of lowly maids.”

“Oh, dear,” said Cloudia. “Kam, would you agree with me that Lisa’s grouchier than usual today?”

“I am not grouchier than usual.” Lisa turned to Kamden. “Mr Kamden, if you take her side, I’ll shave your head and make a broom out of your hair.”

Kamden looked between them. “I… I will not comment on the level of Miss Lisa’s grouchiness. However… learning French may be useful for you, Miss Lisa. You can never know enough. Mr Newman could help you practice.”

“You could listen in on the secret gossip of the young ladies you think are irritating,” Cloudia pointed out. “Imagine their faces if you reveal that you actually understood everything they said.”

Lisa crossed her arms in front of her. “Hm. This does sound intriguing. Let’s see.”

Cloudia clapped her hands together. “That’s good. Now, what did you find out?”

“Some things,” Lisa said. “Yvette is not the only nuisance. That man Lawrence…”

“Laurent.”

“…whatever his name is, is also tremendously annoying. Mr Kamden tells him to please go and wait outside, we want to do the examinations in private, and he keeps coming in! You have barely touched a corpse, he comes in, starts to chatter – don’t ask me what could be so urgent and important – and I stand here,” Lisa pointed next to a table with a body laid out on it, “or there,” she pointed to another table, “and can only think ‘If I could talk to him, I would cuss him straight to his own grave.’ Another reason why I should perhaps learn French. Mr Kamden has the most difficulty to get him out again – you know how soft he is – and I can only seethe and glare in silence. A pain. I don’t care what that doctor’s name is. He’s a pain. I’m calling him that – Pain.”

“‘Pain’ is bread in French,” Cloudia told her.

“That fits too. If we chop him up, we’ll likely find pieces of bread wedged between his cerebral lobes. Assembling the pieces might even give us a whole loaf.”

“A whole loaf?”

“A whole loaf! This village is infested with the most idiotic people.” Lisa gritted her teeth. “And then there’s this moronic police officer or whatever he is.”

“Hector Monteil.”

“He is so stupid, he’s wholly undeserving of any name. He got lost multiple times from the church to the hospital. We lost so much time because he has a worse sense of orientation than a headless chicken! And then when we finally arrived, he let Pain enter the deadhouse every two minutes! How can you be so spineless as a police officer? If someone says to maybe take care that someone does not enter a room – and Mr Kamden politely told him that after I could urge him to do so in the short window between us being all alone and Pain barging in again – you make sure that person does not enter the room!” Lisa pinched her nose. “If he was in charge of protecting someone, his protégé would die within minutes because he would let the killer into the room – maybe give them a little gift basket too.”

“Miss… Miss Liiisa,” Kamden said. “Do you want to sit down…?”

“Nice of you to ask, Mr Kamden, but I cannot simply sit down in Lady Cloudia’s presence.”

“You have my permission to sit,” Cloudia said.

“Well then,” Lisa replied and threw herself on the deadhouse’s singular chair.

Kamden took a deep breath. “Cloudie, what Miss Lisa was trying to say was that we did our best but were unable to do much due to outside factors.”

Lisa huffed and crossed her arms in front of her. “Don’t be so kind to those idiots, Mr Kamden. They hindered us at our work. It is a miracle that we managed to do a full external examination for all four bodies.”

Cloudia pressed her lips together. “That’s definitely not ideal.” She glanced at a clock and sighed. “And it’s too late to continue now.”

“It is not that late, Cloudie,” Kamden meant, but she shook her head. “No. Today is an awful day. You must be tired. I do not want to force you to do the internal examination now too. Also, if you do it while you are exhausted, you are more likely to make any mistakes which I’m sure you don’t want. This is not ideal at all and things can change overnight, but whether we like it or not you will have to continue tomorrow. The results of the external examination are better than nothing.” Cloudia leaned against the door. “Now, Kam, tell me, what did you find out? Then, we can finally head back and have dinner.”

Kamden grabbed his notes and walked to the table with Nadia’s body on it. “Nadia Allemand. 61 years old. Killed in the night from the 16th to the 17th of June. She was found by Mme Armelle Peletier in her tailor’s shop. As you can see, Cloudie, Mme Allemand wore only her nightgown when she was killed. Her bed was untouched, so it can be assumed that she was killed shortly after she changed clothes. Mme Allemand possibly heard noises downstairs and went to look for their source. I doubt the culprit changed her clothes; neither her wardrobe was in disarray nor could we find any marks that indicate this happened.” With his pencil, he pointed to the numerous pins that still protruded from Nadia’s corpse, though many had already been carefully removed and placed in bags. “Her nightgown exposes large parts of skin. Every exposed part has been meticulously punctured with pins. Miss Lisa found the same pins in a tea box at the tailor’s shop, meaning that the culprit knew Mme Allemand and used her own property against her. However, the pins were not the cause of her death.”

“It would be odd if they were,” Lisa continued. “They are quite thin and have not been stabbed very deeply into Mme Allemand’s skin. It’s a bit like acupuncture: There are so many pins in her skin and it makes for a horrifying image, but she did not die of that. I checked the needles and can say that they aren’t laced with poison.

“There’s nothing special about her nightgown; it’s some old rag-type thing, too often washed, too long in use. This is surprising considering that Mme Allemand used to be a seamstress. I guess, she was simply fond of it. Thomas is also weirdly attached to his especially stinky pieces of clothing that won’t ever lose their horse stench no matter how often I wash them.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, apart from the hundreds of little puncture holes, Mr Kamden and I found only one more outward blemish on her body.” Lisa touched the back of her head. “The backside of her head shows clear signs of blunt force trauma. Fractures in skulls aren’t as ‘flashy’ as hundreds of needles, I suppose, so it was overlooked. Mme Allemand was likely hit in the back with something and died. Then, the killer spent an ungodly amount of time putting metal-toothpicks into her skin for whatever reason. Maybe they wanted to distract from the head injury, no idea.”

Kamden moved to the next body and pointed with the pencil at it. “Dominique Duhamel. 19 years old. Killed in the night from the 17thto the 18th. He was found by the clergy when they went to the church to prepare for Sunday Mass. He was hanging from the church’s roof and a knife pierced his heart.” He pointed to the “empty” wound. “We removed and bagged the knife. The knife seems to be perfectly ordinary.”

“Imagine if the culprit had used a knife with their initials on it. We would only need everyone’s name and the case would be wrapped up in no time,” Lisa said. “We might have caught Townsend by now and be on our way home. Who knows?”

Cloudia sighed. “If only things were that easy,” she said and immediately remembered Cedric’s frequent suggestions to use “his method:” “Don’t be like that, Countess. You know that my method is much easier and faster. We can spend the time we save getting something to eat.” She knew that “his way” was indeed easier and faster; only, she did not want to become too reliant on such methods and use Cedric’s “short-cut.” As long as a case was not virtually unsolvable through regular means or she had not completely lost patience with an investigation, Cloudia had no desire to use it. While this investigation was wearing her nerves thin, it had not snapped them yet.

Maybe that would happen one day; maybe it would not. I hoped it would not. I very much wanted to avoid seeing Cedric’s triumphant face and hearing his snappish remark.

“Kam, please continue,” Cloudia said.

“Of course.” Kamden looked at Dominique’s body. “He was hanged on his neck, though he was not strangled to death. He was already dead by the time he was hanged. His neck didn’t break and uhm…” He looked at his notes. “M Duhamel was stabbed in his heart twice. The first stab killed him. Miss Lisa guesses that the murderer removed the knife when carrying his body to the roof as it may have been inconvenient to carry it with a knife protruding from it.”

“‘May’? Mr Kamden, I want to see you carrying a corpse with a knife lodged in its chest without any problems,” Lisa interjected.

“I wouldn’t be able to carry M Duhamel’s body though,” Kamden said. “Obviously, the culprit has to be strong as he was able to hang M Duhamel from the church’s roof. According to M l’Abbé, no contraption to get the body to the roof has been used after all. Also, Dominique Duhamel is quite muscular; it would not have been easy to carry him at all. We have no idea where he was actually killed before he was brought to the church.”

“Someone stabbed M Duhamel in the heart,” said Lisa. “Then, that someone brought him to the church, hanged him and stabbed him anew. It is curious that the culprit stabbed him again.”

“Indeed,” Cloudia replied. “I would say that it has some significance; maybe not the fact that he was stabbed twice, but that he was stabbed in the heart. It’s interesting that he was stabbed cleanly through the heart – and that the murderer made the effort to bring him to the church. Are there any other injuries? Any signs of a struggle?”

Kamden shook his head. “Nothing. I can’t say yet if he was drugged or not, but I would assume he was. It would be strange if he had stood still while someone stabbed him in the heart.” He moved to the next table. “Let’s continue with Gustave Beaubois. 18 years old. Killed in the night from the 18th to the 19th. He was found by Marc Cazal in the woods. He was lying on the ground, and, unlike M Duhamel, he was stabbed in the back. The kitchen knife that was used to kill him still protruded from his back. We bagged the knife too, and it is, again, a regular knife. M Gustave was lying on his stomach, but his head was turned to look up. His eyes were still open when he was found. Again, there were no signs of a fight. It is likely that he was also drugged before he was stabbed. His pockets have been emptied. Because he is the woodcutter’s son and helps his father a lot, I think, M Gustave is very fit and muscular.”

“If there had been a fight,” Lisa added, “he could have easily subdued his attacker. So, he musthave been drugged. However, there are no signs that Gustave Beaubois was carried to the woods. The culprit must have given him the drugs then and there, though why would he have taken something from someone he potentially did not know at all? It’s weird, but then the living residents of this place are all horribly dumb. I guess, he was as much of an idiot and took something a stranger gave him. In the forest, no less.”

“Or it was not a stranger,” suggested Cloudia. “The killer knew where Mme Allemand stored her pins. The killer could easily give Gustave something to drug him. If the stab to the heart and the church have some deeper personal significance, the killer may have known Dominique too. I do not want to completely disregard the ‘the murderer is the stranger’-hypothesis just now, but it seems more probable that the culprit is one of the villagers. Furthermore, the stranger was seen by multiple people – he does seem to exist. The question is: Where is he?”

Kamden nodded. “I would also say that one of the villagers is the true culprit.”

“And everyone is blaming the stranger because it’s always easier to blame the stranger,” said Lisa.

“Exactly.” Kamden walked to the fourth and final table. “Marius Beaubois. 17 years old. Killed in the night from the 19thto the 20th. He was found in the fountain on the village square by someone on their way to work. His entire body was submerged in the water. His skin is shrivelled because of this and his clothes are completely wet. It rained heavily that whole night, but he is not wearing a jacket or a cloak. There was also not an umbrella found at the crime scene. The rain made it impossible to check for any marks that indicate that he was carried to the fountain or that he fought against his assailant. Thus, unlike with the others, it is harder to discern whether M Marius knew his killer or not.

“M Marius did not drown. His head was smashed.” Kamden nonchalantly circled with his pencil over the damaged head. “He was both hit in the back and the front with possibly a hammer or something similar.”

“It looks like someone tried to pry open his scalp with a hammer and brute force,” commented Lisa. “As if the murderer saw Marius Beaubois and thought ‘oh, canned food.’ Only the culprit did not manage to open him up properly and then threw him in the fountain out of frustration.”

Kamden looked at her, horrified, and she shrugged. He blinked at her and then cleared his throat and looked through his notes. “I think that is all for now. We’ll have to look further into everything tomorrow.”

***

~Cedric~

“Have you never wondered why Lord Milton’s in love with our Cloudia?”

If I had not seen her eyes and knew better, I could make an excellent case detailing why Cecelia Williams was a demon – maybe even the devil. It would be a case so convincing that everyone would hunt her down, and I would finally be at peace.

Cedric rolled around on his bed, trying to shake away the question and rattle his restless mind into silence.

What had I even done to her? Nothing. Nothing at all. I was her “ally,” and she still did this to me. Heavens, how would Cecelia behave if I had done something to her? If I were her enemy?

If she ever found whoever killed her husband Michael, I would not want to know what she would do to that person.

Cedric turned and turned around. He rolled over his bed countless times, even changed his position from correctly to sideways to upside-down and all the way back. The bed must look like a warzone.

He kept his eyes firmly closed while he tried to find a comfortable sleeping position and shut out his thoughts. Unfortunately, Cedric was quite unsuccessful in either as Cecelia’s damn question had taken root in his mind: “Have you never wondered why Lord Milton’s in love with our Cloudia?”

He turned on his back and sighed. The question was haunting him, but he had refused to give it an answer.

Until now.

Lying in his bed for what must have been hours and being unable to find any sleep while a very persistent question asked by a demon lady knocked against the walls of his mind had drained the last bit of energy and strength Cedric had. His willpower had been filed off, and when the question knocked again, he answered in his mind: “How could he not.”

My sleepless, restless, haunted mind kept threading this string of thoughts into a cursed blanket that laid heavily over me.

I had no idea how they had met, how they had interacted and been at each other’s side, but if Milton had spent such a long time with Cloudia, he should have collected plenty of reasons to fall in love with her. How could he not have fallen in love with every bit of her being then?

The light in her eyes when she rambled about anything she was passionate about. The mischievous shine in her eyes when she had a witty remark on the top of her tongue. The triumphant smile whenever she solved a case. Her smiling face, her thinking face, her annoyed face when I teased and teased her…

Her sternness, her stubbornness, her eagerness to succeed and win. Her determination to take on all challenges. The calmness that appeared on her face whenever she was reading and which made her look so youthful – made her look as young as she actually was. Her softened expressions when she read a sad part, a lovely part, a funny part.

Her glares and scowls and strained patience… The brief moment of disdain that laid itself over her face whenever she had to eat olives – or any other bitter or overly salty food.

Her hand in mine. Her warmth against me.

The warmth that filled my body whenever she laughed at a silly joke or made one herself.

And her laugh. Her laugh, her laugh… Carved in my memory was the meadow in Wales, the sunshine, the bright blue sky… and her laugh that filled the air, rang in my ears and heart and which had been more beautiful than any song I had ever heard.

It was one of those memories I liked to dust off and replay on bleak, grey days when I had worked long, tiring hours, and her and my work had kept us apart and busy for too long.

If he had heard this laugh once too, what other reason could he even need to be in love with her?

“God, what am I thinking?” Cedric mumbled into his pillow. “What’s the matter with me,” he said and rolled around again, trying to shake off these thoughts, shake off these thoughts which had not arrived with Cecelia’s words. They had been infesting his mind for weeks and weeks and months and months. They had come one day in silence and never left again, no matter what Cedric did.

These thoughts had been there all this time, but he had managed to hide them away temporarily –only for Cecelia to drag them out again with her damn, damn question.

Cedric rolled around again, though his movement was a little too wild this time and he fell with a shriek. He opened his eyes, saw himself tangled in blankets and stared up at the ceiling.

If I did not know better, I would be certain that Cecelia was a demon.

“I am not,” said Cedric to himself as he struggled to sit up in this tangled mess he had made, “in love with the Countess.”

“I am not,” said Cedric as he pulled himself up and sat down on his bed, “in love with the Countess.”

He let himself fall back. “I am not in love with the Countess,” he said a moment before he sat up quickly, his heart pounding vehemently in his chest, because Newman came to his room to tell him that Cloudia and the others had returned and were currently taking baths.

***

~Cloudia~

Relief overcame Cloudia as soon as she walked over the threshold and into the château. It felt as if she had been away for a year or more, as if she had travelled far and long and finally returned home after spending a long time on the road and living through countless adventures. Only, she had been in the village down the road for less than a day. Cloudia wondered how intense the feeling of return would be when she came back to Phantomhive Manor after actually having travelled far and long with many hours on the road and adventures on the way.

One step after another.

First a bath. Then Cedric. Then catch the murderer. Then Townsend.

Then return home.

But, first, it was time for my bath…

“What is this mess?” Lisa asked. She pulled down her hood and stared at the weird “apparatus” that took up most of the entrance hall and even went up to the main staircase’s first landing. It was made out of all sorts of things, and Cloudia had no idea where to look as there was so much to see. So many unrelated objects – cutlery, books, wheels, toys, a service wagon, etc. – had come together to create this Frankenstein-construct, but for what purpose?

“That’s not a mess!” said a very upset voice. A second later, Anaïs walked into the entrance hall, carrying a few boxes of playing cards. Gérard followed her like a duckling.

“Miss Lisa,” Anaïs continued when she stood in front of them. “This is a chain-reaction machine Arnaud, Gérard, and I have been creating with Milton’s help.” With a bright smile on her face, she gestured to the machine. “Oh! And welcome back, of course,” Anaïs quickly added and curtsied to them.

“Thank you, Anaïs,” said Cloudia as servants came to help her, Kamden, and Lisa out of their wet cloaks and wrapped them in dry blankets. They wanted to usher them to their respective rooms to take a hot bath and change clothes, but Cloudia told the servants to prepare the baths and that they would go to their rooms in a little while on their own. With nods, they left, and Cloudia, Lisa, Kamden, Anaïs, and Gérard were alone in the entrance hall.

“With this now over…” Cloudia said and wrapped the blanket tighter around her. She yearned for this bath, but her curiosity prevented her from rushing to her room just now. “…could you tell me more about this chain-reaction machine as you have called it, Anaïs?”

Anaïs nodded enthusiastically. “After lunch, Arnaud, Gérard, and I explored the château. We have been here so often, but its unique shape allows you to discover new things, no matter how well you think you may know the place. So, we found this one room and a beautiful clock was in it. All gold, shaped like a cage – it even had a bird inside! And the bird sings!” She sighed. “It’s sopretty, Claudette! But then we made a mistake and the clock was damaged. The bird fell off and the clock stopped working… We panicked and walked around in the château and eventually met Duke Kristopher and Milton. Milton recognised the clock and said it is a Jaquet-Droz and very expensive and important. We panicked even more and then he said he could perhaps repair the clock! We went to his room, and it was like magic, actual magichow he fixed the clock, Claudette! I shudder only thinking about it. Afterwards, Duke Kristopher went back to his room because he was sleepy. We returned the clock to its original place and then gathered all kinds of objects to build a chain-reaction machine. As you know, Milton can’t be left alone now, so I suggested that we could build something together if he can do such things, and he said we could make a chain-reaction machine. And it’s been so fun to put everything together! Milton is amazing. He thought of most, but we helped too, of course. We are almost done! He and Arnaud should return soon with the last few bits and then we can see if the machine works. I know you are wet and tired, but it will not take long, I suppose, until they come back.” Anaïs looked at Cloudia with big eyes.

Cloudia blinked at her cousin, trying to make sense of her words. Milton had fixed a broken birdcage clock that could sing? A Jaquet-Droz even? She had heard of the Jaquet-Droz and Leschot clocks and while she did not know much about them, she knew that they were definitely not simple to build or repair. And then, Milton had also planned out this convoluted monster-machine that had taken over the entrance hall and wound up the stairs?

“Yes, I will wait a while to see the machine in motion,” Cloudia eventually said. “But Milton and Arnaud better be quick.”

Anaïs smiled at her and then turned to Kamden and Lisa. “And what about you two?”

Kamden glanced at the machine. “I think… I think I’ll wait and see the demonstration.”

“Lady Anaïs,” said Lisa, “excuse me, but I will not stay. I am wet and cold to my bones, so I must decline.”

“I understand. Warm yourself up well, Miss Lisa,” Anaïs replied, and Lisa bowed her head at her words. She was about to leave when Newman and Wentworth entered the entrance hall.

Immediately, Lisa stopped in her tracks and huffed at Newman’s sight. “There you are,” she said. “I have started to wonder whether you were eaten by this unnecessarily confusing building.”

A soft blush crept into Newman’s cheeks. “I profusely apologise, Lisa. I have been busy all day. Still, I should have worked harder to wish you a good morning earlier at least.”

“How dramatic you are being, Al,” said Lisa as if she had not complained about his busyness and absence this very morning and said that she had begun to believe that he was eaten by the château a moment ago. “It’s fine.”

“Let me make it up for you later,” Newman replied with a smile and then turned to look at Cloudia and Kamden as well. “Welcome back, Lady Cloudia, Mr Emyr,” he said with a bow. “I suppose preparations for your baths are being undertaken at this moment?”

Cloudia nodded. “Indeed, though Emyr and I are waiting until Milton and Arnaud arrive so that we can watch the chain-reaction machine’s demonstration.”

“I see,” Newman replied, and right on cue, Milton and Arnaud entered the entrance hall. They halted at everyone’s sight.

“Lady Cloudia, Emyr, Miss Greene,” said Milton, looking rather surprised to see them. “Welcome back. I did not expect to see you here. Or you, Mr Newman and Bram.”

“Everyone has been waiting for you, Milton,” Cloudia told him. “We are very much looking forward to seeing you demonstrate the machine you put together with Anaïs, Arnaud, and Gérard.”

Milton’s eyes widened. “You have been waiting to see this machine work although you are wet and cold?”

Kamden nodded. “Yes.”

Milton blushed and looked down at the final piece in his hands, a small toy wagon. “Then, we should not leave you waiting any longer.” He was about to set out to make his finishing touches on the machine when Wentworth said, “A moment, please, Master Milton.”

Milton turned to his butler who walked to him, held his arm, and put a hand on his cheek to crane his head to inspect him. “Mor,” Wentworth said softly. Cloudia had heard this voice of his many times before; still, it always surprised her anew. “We have been separated all day – how have you been?” the old butler continued. “Did you get lost?”

Milton leaned a bit into his touch. “Almost,” he answered faintly. Their conversation, despite being held in the presence of others, felt so private, Cloudia was nearly embarrassed for listening to it. “But Kristopher was there for me, and then Anaïs, Arnaud, and Gérard. It was all right. I am all right – I am as well as the circumstances allow me to be, Bram.”

Wentworth let go of Milton’s arm and cheek, and Cloudia could have sworn to have seen a smile on the butler’s face for a split second. “That is good to hear, Master Milton.”

Cloudia tore her eyes from the scene – and noticed Lisa next to her grimacing at them which made her chuckle. Lisa had always disliked seeing Milton and Wentworth displaying their closeness.

Some things never changed.

“Ah, the chain-reaction machine,” Milton exclaimed, “but first before I forget it.”

He swiftly took hold of Kamden’s hand, and Kamden blinked at him, clearly taken aback by the sudden touch. “I know this is several hours late,” said Milton with a smile on his face. “Still, I wanted to thank you for helping me during breakfast.”

Kamden blushed and promptly looked away. “Youu… Yooou’re we-welcome, Milton.”

Milton’s smile brightened a little and then an embarrassed blush crept into his cheeks and he let go of Kamden’s hand. “I am so sorry, Emyr. I got carried away. I didn’t mean to take your hand like that.”

“No-no, it… it is aaall right,” Kamden replied, still keeping his gaze diverted from Milton.

Milton smiled awkwardly at him and then looked at Anaïs. “Anaïs, do you have the card games?”

“Yes, I do!” Happily, she handed them to Milton. “Thanks,” he said and then hurried upstairs to do… something. Cloudia could not tell what he was doing from where she was standing, though he seemed deep in concentration as he set the pieces in place.

“Anaïs, Arnaud, Gérard,” Milton said after a little while. “May you come up here please to set the machine in motion?”

The children looked at one another for a moment before they bolted upstairs with surprising care not to destroy the precarious apparatus. When they arrived by Milton’s side, he turned to speak to those downstairs, a shy smile on his lips, “It has been a while since I last created a chain-reaction machine, but as this one has been a group effort – and Anaïs, Arnaud, and Gérard did so well for this being their first one – I would say that it will be a success. I hope you will enjoy the demonstration.” He nodded to the children who together pushed the wagon forward to set the machine in motion.

The wagon collided with a row of playing stones that fell down one by one. Like dominos, they fell – and so did the rest of the machine. One part fell into the other, drove into the other, circled and catapulted and pirouetted and rolled into the next. One by one, the separate parts and objects handed the energy the children had put into the machine with their push to the next in line. This inanimate relay race continued down the stairs, circled and zig-zagged over the entrance hall’s floor. It was fascinating to watch the objects interact, and all their interactions cumulated into a set of domino stones falling against a doll that had held down a wound-up music box. The doll tumbled down, the pressure was taken from the music box – and its song echoed through the hall.

Excitedly, Anaïs and Gérard and even calm Arnaud jumped up and down when the music box’s melody rang out. “It worked! It worked!” they chanted and hugged one another.

Cloudia started to clap and the others joined her, even Lisa who had said that she would leave but who had been intently watching the machine in action. The children hugged a taken-aback Milton. He turned red in all this joy and the praise he and the children received from those downstairs. It was a lovely sight, and it had been a triumphant, satisfying moment when the box had begun to sing. Still, a bad feeling had overcome Cloudia when the machine had reached its end. She was glad no one noticed how stiff her clapping was.

***

~Cedric~

Cedric thanked Newman for the information, and when Newman asked him what had happened to his bed and offered to tidy up everything, he declined the offer and said he would fix it himself. He forced himself to smile to seem normal and not distressed from his mind infestation and sleep deprivation. Then, Newman left, and the first thing Cedric did afterwards was to rub his eyes and stand up. He swayed a little, but quickly recovered and went to the little desk where Cecelia’s evil coffee still was.

Cedric had planned to sleep a bit before Cloudia’s return so that he would be energised enough again to be able to talk to her at length. Only he had been unable to catch any sleep, and the coffee had helped him earlier. It would have to help him now too. Cedric braced himself before he poured himself another cup and drank it like it was bitter medicine.

It was worse than before. Earlier, it had at least been hot and fresh, now it was cold, and every fibre of his being protested as Cedric forced the cup down.

If this didn’t work now…

Grimacing, Cedric put the cup down. It was as vile as before, and the coffee’s bitter taste stuck to his mouth and throat in the worst way possible. He then walked to his bathroom and splashed cold water into his face – however, he had forgotten to remove his glasses first. Cedric cursed and took them off. His vision blurred, and he kept his face close to the furniture to see anything at all. It must have looked comical how he was hunched over, dripping to the ground and onto objects, carefully moving from the sink to the shelves to find tissues. Normally, Cedric would have wiped his glasses on his clothes, but that would wet them, and he neither wanted to look even more dishevelled than he already did when he met Cloudia nor was he pretending that he would have enough energy to change.

If someone entered my room now…

After an agonising while, Cedric finally found some tissues and dried his glasses. He put them back on, walked back to the sink, took them off to wash his face again and dry himself off, and then put his glasses back on. He felt like a fool with every action he took, but it couldn’t be helped. Cedric rubbed his eyes and squinted at his reflection.

He looked awful. Maybe, before he had washed his face, he had looked worse, but he had forgotten to look into the mirror beforehand. At any rate, he looked pale and exhausted and had dark rings under his eyes. Cedric knocked against his head to set his tired brain in motion to think of good excuses and come-backs for later when Cloudia would remark on his appearance. At least, while he could not fix his face, he could fix his hair which had turned into a bird’s nest.

Cedric leaned against the sink – he wanted to sit down but knew very well that he would be unable to stand up again if he did – and stared at his reflection while he brushed and brushed his hair. The length was a hassle. Hard to wash, hard to brush, hard to maintain. Still, Cedric could not imagine ever cutting off more than just the tips again.

When he had brushed out all knots, Cedric bound his hair to a ponytail and then stood for a moment in his bathroom. The coffee’s bitter taste still clung to him, and the cold water had minimally helped to wake him up.

Maybe I should move around a bit. Wake up my body, get my blood pumping. I had no idea how many minutes ago Newman had come to tell me that Cloudia, Kamden, and Lisa had returned from Nanteuil-la-Forêt, though I discerned that enough time must have passed that Cloudia would now be in her room.

I guessed she would want to talk. She always did even if I were to say nothing at all, not that I had ever sat quietly and listened; she liked to have someone to whom she could talk about her cases. Talking to yourself too often was, after all, maybe not the healthiest in the long run.

Still, I didn’t think that Cloudia would come to seek me out. She would want me to come to her. After all, I had, theoretically, the opportunity to rest and catch up on some sleep, and she had been wandering around Nanteuil-la-Forêt all day in terrible weather and must now be awfully exhausted. Cloudia couldn’t know that I had delayed my rest and that Cecelia had come to ruin my day and sleep.

Of course, I could tell her that “yes, I know that you are expecting me to come to you, but Cecelia was being a nuisance and did not let me sleep, so could you come to me instead?” But I didn’t want to sound whiny, and moving would likely help me to shake away some of my sleepiness. And I needed to be, I wanted to be awake when I talked to Cloudia. I had, after all, much to say to her too.

Cedric clapped his cheeks a bit and then coerced his protesting body to leave the room and get to Cloudia’s. At least, it was not far.

***

~Cloudia~

Cloudia sighed in relief when she slipped into the warm bath. She had known that she needed this for hours, but she had not known how much she needed this until she was doused in water.

My body warmed up and relaxed, soaked in bubbly, scented water. The water soothed my muscles, untangled my thoughts that laid in my mind as a ball of string. The strings came loose, snippets of today rattled my mind: the carriage ride, the rain, Yvette, Antoine, the tailor’s shop, the bakery, the church, Nicolette and Marcel, Hector, Armelle, the rain, the rain…

I could stay in the bath forever. Let my skin shrivel for warmth and relaxation, for comfort and peace.

At least, I wanted to stay until I could sort all I learned today and the days before. Bring the pieces together bit by bit like the chain-reaction machine, laying the pieces out one by one in my head before I wrote them down. Laying them out until they clicked into place and I reached a conclusion.

But it was only a small part of me that wanted to remain here. To think this through all by myself. A small piece that was still the lonely girl of the past that had no one to talk to, no one to listen to her words.

I had one now.

With yet another sigh, Cloudia emerged from the water. Her body was refilled with energy. She could do anything – sprint over fields, climb mountains, swim across seas – but for now, it was enough to get dressed and cross a few corridors.

And the thought excited her more than anything else she could do now.

***

~Cedric~

It was such a short way to Cloudia’s room, but Cedric’s tired bones made him feel every step, every movement, every minute and second. It was not a long way; still, he felt like he had been wandering for hours like an adventurer crossing forests, deserts, glaciers in the hope to find anything at all that was not a tree, a dune, a sheet of ice.

Cedric had seen enough carpets, enough lamps and portraits and vases of flowers, had wandered enough corridors that looked the same.

His destination was so close, yet so far. And so he trudged through monotony until finally, finally he arrived.

***

~Cloudia~

Quickly, Cloudia put on layer after layer of undergarments before she stepped into a yellow dress. It was not a colour she usually wore and would pick herself. Cecelia had chosen the dress, telling her that yellow complemented blue and that she was young and should bring more colour and change to her wardrobe. Cloudia had accepted the gift with a raised eyebrow. After all, she very much doubted that even though blue and yellow were complements, the dress would look flattering on her – and Cecelia who had not worn anything but black for nearly seven years had made this remark. On a whim, Cloudia had agreed to pack the dress when Lisa and she had been laughing over it during travel preparations. And she had only chosen to wear it now because, after all that rain, she could not bear to wear anything blue or dark.

Now, wearing it for the first time and looking at herself in a full-length mirror, Cloudia had to admit that Cecelia had chosen well: She looked brighter, looked like she was glowing, and the yellow of the dress went exceptionally well with the blue of her eyes and hair. Baffled, Cloudia gazed at herself from all sides. If Cecelia saw her in this dress, she would never talk about anything else again.

Let her talk. I did not care. At least not now.

Cloudia tore her gaze from her reflection and then went to leave her room. Talking to Cedric about cases had become a normalcy in the past months; he would expect that she wanted to talk about the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders now. Expecting this, Cedric often came to her, but Cloudia would seek him out just as often. She could wait a while until he appeared on his own. However, she doubted this would happen today: Even if Cedric had been able to sleep for a few hours, he would still be tired. Newman would have informed him of her return by now, and this and the expectancy that she wanted to talk made her sure that Cedric was awake now – awake and waiting as he, while he was ready to talk and listen, would not want to go to her room in his current state.

It was her turn to visit him.

Cloudia pushed open the door and walked down the corridors to his room. It was, thankfully, not very far.

***

~Cedric~

The carpet looked the same in all passages. No matter the wing nor the floor, the carpet was a rich burgundy hemmed with gold and lightly threaded with other shades of dark red. Every step Cedric took was heavy as if his shoes were made of lead. The corridor did not seem to end, and he grew sick of the carpet.

And then a dash of yellow entered his sight. The colour clashed horribly with the carpet but still brought a smile to Cedric’s lips.

***

~Cloudia~

Energised by the bath, Cloudia wanted to dash through the halls, gather her skirts and run, but she held herself back and covered the distance between her and Cedric’s room in long, fast steps instead. The corridors’ colours blurred a little, ran into one another – the burgundy of the carpet, the beige of the walls, the gold of the frames and the light emitted by the lamps –, partially because of her speed, partially because Cloudia did not pay much attention to them.

Gracefully hurrying through the halls, it did not take long until Cloudia spotted a dark figure. He moved slowly and did not mix with the other colours. A steady, separate spectre – and she smiled upon seeing him.

***

~Cedric~

Cedric wanted to rush to her, wrap his arms around her, whirl her around. Only, his body betrayed him, and while he made the first step after they both had halted for a moment when they had spotted each other, it was her who reached him first.

He wanted to tip forward, fall forward and into her arms, but he caught himself and stood upright.

“Undertaker,” Cloudia said, and his heart stopped for a second when she took his hand and smiled at him, shining so brightly from inside and from outside in this yellow dress… “Undertaker, come, let’s go.”

***

~Cloudia~

Cedric’s body temperature was slightly too low. It was something she always noted whenever she touched him. Colder than the living, warmer than the dead. Cloudia wondered if it was a trait he shared with the other Grim Reapers or one that was all his own. She tightened her grip on his hand and did not let go until they were inside her room and she had placed Cedric in an armchair. As soon as she let go of him, he fell back into the chair like a puppet whose strings were cut. He looked pale and had dark rings under his eyes. The few hours of sleep she guessed he had definitely hadn’t been enough. Cedric certainly needed to get back to bed after their conversation and dinner.

Cloudia clenched and unclenched her hand. Apparently, it was now her hand’s turn to be cold. She sat down on a sofa opposite Cedric and when she was done arranging her skirts and brushing her hands over them, she looked up and saw him grinning like an idiot at her.

“You are grinning like an idiot at me,” Cloudia said, and his smile widened.

“I must be an idiot,” Cedric replied, and she was stunned by his sudden introspection. “Because I missed you all day, Countess. You were gone for a day, not even a day, but it feels like years have passed since we’ve last seen each other.”

Cloudia chuckled, and he continued, “Who would have thought that, at the end of the day, you are the most normal person here.”

“Beside you?”

“Beside me, of course.”

“I would not exactly describe you as ‘normal’ in any way, Undertaker.”

“Me neither, but this is a madhouse! A madhouse! No matter how weird you are, you become the most normal person as soon as you enter a madhouse. The competition is too hard.”

“Even for you?”

“Even for me.”

Cedric smiled at her, and she smiled at him. There were a million things she could have said now, so many possibilities that were ready to be spoken out – and out of them all, Cloudia chose a question she wanted to ask, but not one that rang true now. “How was your day, Undertaker? Did you play chess with Milton like you planned to?”

Cedric sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I was able to play chess with Milton. He was fairly good, but I still beat him every time. Except once.”

Cloudia’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “I lost on purpose! He is doing so badly today; I didn’t want to be too hard on him. I let him win the first round we played, but Milton noticed it and told me to play normally. I did not think that he would notice. But then – I told you that, remember? – he somehow correctly guessed that I’m allergic to cats. Milton is as strange as he is nice. Anyway, we also ate together and then he fixed some pretty birdcage clock Anaïs, Gérard, and Arnaud accidentally damaged.”

“Anaïs told me about it,” Cloudia said. “Earlier in the entrance hall. They were building a chain-reaction machine there, and we arrived just in time for it to be completed and watch the demonstration.” She let her gaze drift through the room, let her eyes jump from shelves to books to lamps to paintings.

“You look worried. Are you all right?” Cedric asked, and she looked back at him. “I am. There is just so much on my mind right now, as you know,” Cloudia replied. She took a deep breath. “I… I didn’t know that Milton could build such things.”

“You didn’t?”

She shook her head. “I would say that I know him fairly well, but I did not know about this until today. Just like I didn’t know that you were allergic to cats until today.”

“It never came up. We’ve never run into a cat together, and I could start to sneeze like I’m a step away from my second death and tell you, ‘Countess, I have a confession to make: I am allergic to cats.’ You were my cat-repellent until now, Countess.” Cedric shifted in his seat. “You can know people for years – friends, family, colleagues, etc. – and never know all they are. Some things simply do not come up in conversations. You can know people for decades and still discover new aspects of them. It happens.”

“You’re right. It’s only…” Cloudia sighed and brushed non-existent dust from her dress. “I doubt this will become an issue. I do not want to sound overly arrogant, but if I didn’t know, what are the chances many others do? Milton’s quite isolated after all. Still, I cannot wonder: How many do know about this and how good he is?”

Cedric blinked at her and then his eyes widened when he understood what she meant. “The box.”

Cloudia nodded. “The box. It was the first thing that came to my mind when I saw the chain-reaction machine work. I’m not sure if you’ve seen it, but it’s not a simple construction at all. And the Jaquet-Droz clock – I have heard of those clocks! They aren’t easy to create or fix either. I have no idea if this means that Milton can open the Queen’s box. It doesn’t even matter if he can or not. If Townsend could not find the Clockmaker and learned that Milton might also be able to open it, he would definitely force him to try.”

Cedric took a deep breath. “I would say you are worrying too much about this, Countess. As you have said, it is highly unlikely anyone knows beside those who are here in the château…” He suddenly stopped talking and all colour vanished from his face.

“Undertaker?” Cloudia said and stood up to walk to him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, but...” He looked at her. “Countess, I’ve been in cahoots with a demon.”

“Excuse me?”

“You see, Countess, two days ago, Cecelia gave me some papers on Milton. She said that you forbade her to research him, but she still did it because she didn’t want to go on the same ship as him unless she knew all about him. Only she could not find out everything because Milton’s extraordinarily secretive and large parts of his history are widely unknown. That’s not all: Cecelia has also heard of a weird rumour that Milton’s smuggling weapons with his trading company! Those rumours surfaced one day. Interestingly, before they could blow up and be everywhere, they vanished overnight. Cecelia caught them in time though and as the situation is so odd, she is, of course, especially suspicious. Rumours don’t have to mean anything, but the fact that they disappeared that fast means that someone wanted to get rid of them. Of course, this could have been done to protect the Salisbury Company’s reputation, though it’s unclear if this was the case or if there’s not another reason…

“Anyway, Cecelia is immensely suspicious when it comes to Milton. The rumour is bad enough, but then there is also his hidden history. It’s easy for her to find out everything about anyone else; only, she cannot find out many things about Milton. It annoys her. It also annoys her that he learns his employees’ names and gives them gifts and amazing pay and benefits. Cecelia thinks that it is only a ‘good persona’ and that he is, in fact, a terrible person. As Cecelia is Cecelia, she does not want to take the rumours at face value and told me about them so that I can spend time with Milton for her and find out if he seems like the kind of person who would viciously smuggle weapons.

“I think that everything about this is silly. I swear I only spent time with Milton because I wanted to spend time with Milton and because there was no one else I could spend the day with – not because Cecelia made me do it. Only, of course, her wicked words were always at the back of my head while we talked and played and cooked and you know. And I spent the entire day with Milton! It was interesting. He’s very odd, but under no circumstance, I would say that Milton is an arms smuggler. This doesn’t fit at all. And then I thought: If Milton is not the smuggler but his company is, in fact, involved in illicit activities and that’s how the rumour came to be, who else could be the smuggler? Milton is so careful and observant. However, he mentioned that he is good at ‘reading’ people – except for Wentworth. Thus, I thought: Wentworth is so close to Milton, and Milton can’t ‘read’ him, so it would be fairly easy for Wentworth to exploit Milton and use his company for his illicit activities. I told Cecelia how I believe Wentworth to be the actual weapons smuggler and she laughed in my face – she actually laughed at me! – because she thinks my hypothesis is beyond outlandish.

“And now, you have talked about Milton and his hobby of fixing and building objects and machines and whatnot and who could know of it: Wentworth knows of it! He literally watched him grow up and changed his garments when he was an infant! He knows of Milton’s aptitude and is apparently a dangerous smuggler that does not seem to genuinely care for Milton: Who says that he wouldn’thand Milton over to Townsend?” Cedric clapped his hands to his cheeks. “Countess! Milton is here because something went wrong with his company! What if Wentworth made sure something would go wrong and Milton had to go to France of all places to fix the problem? Like that, he brings Milton to Townsend without him knowing! Perhaps, Wentworth is already in cahoots with Townsend like I am in cahoots with the demon Cecelia. What if Townsend is not here but in Paris and Wentworth will give Milton to him when they go there? What if…”

“Undertaker,” Cloudia said, holding up her hands to emphasise that he should stop. “How much sleep did you get today?”

“I am not sleepy. No worries, Countess. Where was I again? Oh right… What if…”

“Undertaker.” She walked to him and looked down at him, narrowing her eyes. “How much sleep did you get? Did you take a nap before I arrived or not?”

Cedric sank deeper into the armchair’s cushions. “I tried but I could not. But I am awake, Countess. I drank the horrible coffee Cecelia gave me. I put my face in ice-cold water and all.”

For a moment, Cloudia was surprised that he had done all this and wondered what reason he could have had. Then, she sat down on the armrest and said softly, “Undertaker, you are talking nonsense. You always do. Right now, it is especially nonsensical. Wentworth and Milton hold each other very dearly. They would never do anything to each other. And don’t listen to that rumour: Milton would never do anything like that. Maybe someone else has been secretly using Salisbury Trading to smuggle weapons, but I assure you that it was neither Milton himself nor Wentworth.” Cloudia chuckled to herself. “What else has your exhausted brain cooked up, Undertaker? That Milton is the murderer terrorising Nanteuil-la-Forêt?”

Cedric slipped a bit down from the chair, and Cloudia stared blankly at him. “You cannot be serious.”

I had been looking forward to this – and he came with that? Seriously?

“Countess, I know it sounds a bit outlandish, but hear me out,” Cedric honestly continued and sat up properly again, and Cloudia was too poleaxed to interrupt him just now. “You remember what Maxime said? The stranger is a tall man – Milton is a tall man! The stranger likes to vanish – Milton likes to vanish! Maxime said the stranger has a ‘nice’ eye colour – Milton has nice hazel eyes! The stranger hid his hair beneath a hat – Milton has very noticeable gold-blond hair! And you found blond hair on the stranger’s bed! Today I was in Milton’s room because he had to get some tools to fix the birdcage clock. You know how odd it is that the stranger’s room is completely untouched as if no one was there? It’s the same thing with Milton’s room! Nothing looks like he ever even touched it. There are no signs of anything. I had the same feeling I had when I entered the stranger’s room when I entered Milton’s.

“I’ve not told you about this because I didn’t have the chance until now, but last night, I went to the kitchen to get some biscuits for our night talk which did not work out. I saw Milton on my way there. I turned invisible and followed him. I wanted to see where he was going because it was so late, you know? What could he possibly want to do at such a late hour? I followed him, and when I noticed that he was also going to the kitchen, I waited until he was inside, turned visible again, and went in too. I wanted to greet him and say ‘oh, what a coincidence to find you here, Milton!’ – only Milton was nowhere to be seen when I entered the kitchen! I entered it a minute after him! Maybe there was even less time between his and my entering. He couldn’t have left. Still, he managed to disappear in this minute. I was in the kitchen for about five to ten minutes and he never reappeared. What if there is some sort of secret passage in the kitchen that leads outside? What if Milton has been leaving the château via this passage to get to Nanteuil-la-Forêt and murder people? He does not seem at all like a person who would ever kill someone, but you can never know! Someone can be the nicest person around and still have a basement full of skeletons.”

While Cedric had been talking, a laugh had built up in Cloudia – a laugh that now burst out of her in full force. She doubled over with laughter and it took her several minutes and multiple attempts to calm herself down enough that she could say anything.

“Dear Undertaker,” Cloudia said, smiling. The laughter still lingered in her and it was hard to say anything without accidentally reigniting the ember. “I appreciate your efforts and that you went out of your way to make deductions to bring this case forward. However, you are disregarding one very crucial aspect: The stranger came to Nanteuil-la-Forêt and the murders started a day before we even arrived here. How could Milton have committed the first murder when he was still on his way like we were? He could have only done it if he were like you and capable of transporting himself instantly to another place. And I know for a fact that Milton cannot possibly be like you.”

She brought her face close to Cedric’s and noticed him sinking into his backrest a bit and sucking in his breath. “After all, as you’ve told me, all Grim Reapers have eyes like you, and I’ve seen yours enough to be able to say that Milton certainly doesn’t share that trait with you.”

Still smiling, Cloudia backed away, and Cedric breathed out again. Did he forget to brush his teeth and did not want her to know or why was he doing this? “Undertaker, you are too sleep-deprived to think properly.”

“I am not,” he protested.

“You can barely keep your eyes open as we speak. Go to sleep.”

“No, we had this already!” Cedric sat up straighter and then fell back again, his body too tired to hold him up.

“You don’t have to push yourself like that. If the rain stops tomorrow, you’ll have to wander to the Clockmaker, have you forgotten?”

“I do not care about the Clockmaker!” Cedric exclaimed. “I do not care about this case, about this mission. I am only here for…” He trailed off and looked away.

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you are here for, Undertaker, it is no reason to die a second time because you didn’t want to go to bed.” She brushed over his face, and he tensed for a second but there was not enough strength in him anymore and he immediately relaxed again. Cloudia rested her hand in his hair, and Cedric’s eyes fell closed.

It was astonishing how feathery and soft his hair was, considering how rarely he washed it. It was so silky and pleasant to touch; one could almost forget to wash their hand afterwards.

“You should go to sleep now, Undertaker. You are completely exhausted. We can always talk later.”

“No, Countess,” Cedric mumbled and opened his eyes again. “Perhaps I can’t talk much anymore, but I can listen. I can listen.” To her surprise, he took her hand. “Just tell me anything. I’ll lend you my ear for anything. I don’t want to sleep now. I can’t sleep now. I…” He yawned. “I’ve waited for you to come back all day…”

Cloudia’s eyes widened and she suddenly pulled back her hand from his head, and Cedric’s head rolled back and fell hard against the backrest. He groaned, and she put a hand over her mouth. “Why are you always hurting me… Countess…”

“This time I didn’t mean to do this,” Cloudia said and stood up. Surprised by her own action, she had forgotten that they were still holding hands. Thus, when she abruptly stood up, Cedric was first pulled forward and then let go and his head collided just as hard against the armrest. He groaned and mumbled something into the armrest Cloudia could not make out.

What was wrong with me?

“Let me get you something to cool your head. You’ve hit it twice now,” Cloudia said and hurried to the bathroom. She grabbed a towel and ran it under cold water. Cloudia turned off the tap and briefly looked up, catching a glimpse of her flushed face, before she hurried back to the main room.

“Undertaker,” Cloudia said, “this will be cold now; beware.” She was about to put the cold, wet towel on Cedric’s head when she noticed that he had fallen asleep.

Cloudia sighed and smiled at him. Then, she put the towel in the washbasin and called Newman to carry Cedric to his room.

***

Her stomach made highly unladylike sounds while Cloudia walked to the dining hall, and she was quite relieved that no one was with her to hear them, even if it was a little boring to walk alone. She sighed. It couldn’t be helped though.

To entertain herself and drown out her stomach’s noises, she mumbled a poem to herself: Thy soul shall find itself alone/’Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone –/Not one, of all the crowd, to pry/Into thine hour of secrecy:/Be silent in that solitude/Which is not loneliness – for then…

“‘The spirits of the dead who stood/In life before thee are again/In death around thee,’” Cloudia heard a voice behind her and startled. She halted and turned to see Milton behind her who was looking absentmindedly ahead. “‘And their will/Shall then overshadow thee: be still,’” he finished the stanza and then blinked – and turned red when he saw her.

“Ah, Lady Cloudia,” Milton struggled to say. “I am sorry. That must have been so weird… I’m so sorry. I… I heard you start and I recognised the poem and I couldn’t help myself and continued half-consciously – I had not heard it in a while and…” He craned his head to the empty corridor behind him and swallowed. “After the kitchen… Anaïs forgot to get something for Gérard, but Arnaud had to go to his father, and she could not leave Gérard with me and could not leave me alone. I assured her that it would be fine; I said I was fine enough to walk a bit alone, and she left after I convinced her, but said she would be quick and would catch up with me in no time. She’s still not here, and I feel very guilty relying on a little girl. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have. I thought… I thought…” Milton scratched at the hem of his sleeve, a nervous movement that Cloudia had not seen before and which made her eyes widen in concern.

“I thought it would go well because I did fairly well while we assembled and disassembled the machine and then went to... Then, she left… she left, she ran away, and I…” His eyes became distant, and Cloudia stepped forward and gently took his hand. It was an instinctive action – how many times had she seen him like this? how many times had she helped him through this? – and what little awkwardness she might feel now, taking his hand again after all this time, was drowned out by focusing on the situation at hand.

“Milton,” Cloudia said softly, “what do you need me to do?”

Milton looked at her, though it seemed more as if he was looking through her, his wide eyes looking, searching for something, someone else. Cloudia had never doubted the story of his weak heart and childhood illness, but she had always wondered if there was not more to it than he was comfortable to share; it just seemed so much like he was stuck in a nightmare.

Cloudia slightly squeezed Milton’s hand, and it seemed to help. His face twitched a little, and he closed his eyes, breathing a bit raggedly. “I… I…” Milton pressed out. “There is too much, too much… I cannot recall how it goes on.”

She smiled. “It is fine, Milton. I do. I do. ‘For the night – tho’ clear -- shall frown –/And the stars shall look not down, /From their high thrones in the Heaven,” Cloudia said and wished to have chosen a more pleasant, less heavy poem than one titled “Spirits of the Dead.” “‘With light like Hope to mortals given –/But their red orbs, without beam, /To thy weariness shall seem/As a burning and a fever/Which would cling to thee for ever.’”

“‘Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish –,’” Milton continued slowly, eyes still closed, his hand loose in her tight grip. “‘Now are visions ne'er to vanish –/ From thy spirit shall they pass/No more – like dew-drop from the grass.’”

Milton opened his eyes again and the odd far-away expression was gone from them. A little smile appeared on his lips, the kind that made it seem as if he was half-dreaming, half-awake, and Cloudia was rather relieved to see it. “Lady Cloudia, you’re here,” he said as he always did.

“I am,” she responded. “Tell me, what do you need now?”

“I want to sit down,” Milton said after some time of consideration. Without letting go of his hand, Cloudia carefully helped him to sit on the floor and lean against the wall. She sat down opposite from him, and their entwined hands hung between them as if he would float away and disappear if she were to let go.

Maybe that’s what would happen – that Milton would float away like a balloon into the sky or like a buoy out to the sea.

Milton and Cloudia sat like this in silence for a few minutes. He breathed in and out evenly to calm himself down, and she scrutinised him. Seeing Milton like this reminded her how ridiculous Cedric’s words from earlier were. Still, thinking about them again, Cloudia remembered something. The thought had lingered in the back of her mind since Lille, only she had been unable to grasp it until now. She had heard the name “Quentin Nichols” before; she was sure of it now.

In 1843, he had killed one of his co-workers. Quentin had managed to escape, and Scotland Yard had been searching for him since.

However, Cloudia could not imagine Milton hiring anyone without doing a background check first. Quentin’s crime had been in the newspapers for some time. It wasn’t an unknown case. Perhaps the Quentin Nichols she had met in Lille was not the same as the one she had heard of? That was possible. Milton surely would not employ a wanted criminal, and Quentin’s full name was “Quentin Thibault-Nichols.” The Quentin from the papers didn’t have a hyphenated surname. The Quentin from Lille might have been born a “Thibault-Nichols” or one part of it might come from his wife. As “Thibault” preceded “Nichols,” it was more likely that “Thibault” was Quentin’s birth surname.

Cedric’s absurd theories had really got to me.

“Lady Cloudia,” Milton said eventually. He still looked like he had seen a ghost, but some colour was slowly returning to his face. “I am sorry for making you see and do this again.”

“It is all right, Milton. You cannot help it,” Cloudia replied.

He smiled weakly at her, and at once, they let go of each other. Cloudia held her breath for a moment, but Milton stayed where he was.

What a silly thought, Cloudia.

Milton dug his hands into the carpet as if he too was thinking about floating away. “Thanks, Lady Cloudia.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I may need another moment.”

“Take your time. It’s fine.”

He leaned his head against the wall, and she heard him count to himself from thirty downwards. When Milton was done, he let go of the carpet and rose to his feet. As soon as they were both standing again, Cloudia heard a screeching sound behind her. Someone was running and had momentarily lost balance. She craned her head to see Anaïs hurrying towards them.

“Milton,” she said when she reached them, “was everything all right?”

Cloudia looked at Milton, and Milton avoided her eyes and replied, “Yes. Everything was all right.”

Anaïs beamed. “That’s good. You’re getting good! I feared something might have happened while I was away. And hello, Claudette! I am so happy. Now, we can go to dinner together.” She trotted ahead, and Milton and Cloudia readily followed her.

“Where did you leave your brother, Anaïs?” asked Cloudia.

“We walked into Maman on our way! He wanted to stay with her which was better anyway.”

“You ran into your mother?” Milton said. “Anaïs, you did not have to find me then.”

“Of course, I had to! I promised I would come to find you. You never break promises!” Anaïs replied energetically. “And I could not risk an incident and lose you back to the faerie realm.”

Milton smiled. “Of course. I’m sorry for saying that. Thank you, Anaïs.”

She returned his smile and then started to chatter about helping out a bit in the kitchen with Milton and the others – they had brewed some tea –, getting the item they forgot, and running into Amélie. Cloudia listened intently to what she had to say but kept glancing over to Milton. He looked fine; he thankfully looked fine. Under normal circumstances, he would have long left such a rain-heavy place, and Cloudia felt bad again to have dragged him here.

I only hoped Paris would have nicer weather.

They had almost reached the dining hall when Cloudia saw Milton putting a hand over his chest. A cold calm rushed over her, and she was about to ask if he was fine… and then, he smiled. Cloudia looked at him in bewilderment.

“It has stopped,” Milton answered her unspoken question. “The rain has stopped.”

***

Except for Cedric and the Marquis, everyone was at the dinner table today. Even Cecelia had come and was now conversing with Sylviane about something Cloudia could not catch. Jacques and Anaïs were arguing again. Aurèle was grimly eating his food, and she spotted him glaring at Milton now and then. She had to talk to him about his, to her, unreasonable dislike of Milton later. Arnaud was helping Gérard, though the little boy could eat remarkably competently for his age. On the other end of the table, Amélie was talking to her husband and brother. A few moments ago, the constellations of the conversations had been different: Anaïs had talked to her and Kamden, Jacques had asked Milton something, and Arnaud had spoken to Aurèle. Now, the exchanges and interlocutors had shuffled and Cloudia had no one to talk to. She did not mind much. This would change soon again after all, and like that, she could properly savour the delicious soup that was part of the entrée.

Cedric would be over the moon if he had it. He would swoon and then say something along the lines of “If the appetiser is this good, how would the dessert be?”

A few times, Cloudia glanced over at Kamden and Milton who were talking. They got along rather well, and Kamden seemed slightly livelier than usual when he spoke to Milton. Since the rain had stopped, Milton was looking and doing well again. He still seemed a bit shaken up, but he was almost back to normal.

By the time the main course replaced the appetiser and tea was served with the meal, Cloudia was telling an interested Anselme about her experiences during the last Season and the bit she had to endure this Season before she had been thankfully sent away by the Queen to France – not that she mentioned the latter part, of course.

It never stopped being strange to engage in such ordinary conversations in such normal settings after having looked for a murderer and inspected corpses hours before.

Halfway through the main dish, Amélie addressed Milton: “Lord Milton, I heard that you will leave us tomorrow.”

Milton halted in his movement with the sudden addressing and put down his cutlery. “Indeed, I will leave you tomorrow, Baronne, though it will not be for long. A few days, a week at most.”

“I see. For business, I heard?”

He nodded. “Yes. I have to do some business-related duties in Paris.”

“Paris?” Amélie repeated, and an odd silence fell over the other adults. “You may not have heard of this, Lord Milton, but the atmosphere in France and especially in Paris has been considerably tense in the last months. Lately, a great number of people are heading to Paris to find work. I am sure that this will not end well considering the current situation. Lord Milton, I advise you, if you haveto go, to wrap up your business quickly and return here.”

“Thank you for your piece of advice, Baronne,” replied Milton with the trained calmness he reserved for social events such as this one. “I will take care. I will do my best to complete my work there as fast as possible then.”

Amélie smiled. “You are welcome, Lord Milton.”

***

After dinner, Cloudia instinctively headed to Cedric’s room. Only halfway there did she realise that he was sleeping and that she should not disturb him. She hovered for a while in the corridor, not knowing where to go. Suddenly, Cloudia remembered that she had wanted to speak to Aurèle, and now he was elsewhere and she scolded herself for forgetting. At least, she didn’t want to talk to him about anything urgent.

Eventually, she decided to just walk. Cloudia hoped she would think of something to do while she was moving around – and that her legs would not lead her to Cedric nevertheless. Also, she had barely been in the château since her arrival; she still had so much to see and explore.

And now, I sounded like Milton. I wondered how he was doing right now. The rain had stopped before dinner, but it had bothered him all day long. It must have been awfully tiring; not that he would ever admit it.

Cloudia wandered a while through the labyrinthine château before she grew bored. The building was immensely beautiful and filled with objects that could make her talk and talk for hours – but without having anyone to talk to, it was not enjoyable at all. She had already spent years of her life talking to herself. She was not very eager to repeat the experience. Sighing, Cloudia gathered her skirts and headed downstairs. She had no idea where those stairs would lead her but they would eventually bring her to the ground floor of which she had a fairly good grasp. From there, she could go to her room, wrapping up this tiresome day even though her blood was still boiling with the desire for more. Cloudia’s entire day had been filled with the investigation; she wanted to do something for herself. The bath had re-energised her, but since dinner, she felt even more vitalised.

With nothing else to do, I supposed I would have to satisfy this want by simply reading a book. First, I would have to navigate my way through this maze though. Next time, I should ask Lisa for the Maid’s Manifesto.

Lisa.

With an idea overcoming her, Cloudia stopped on the stairs. Of course, she had been with Lisa all day long, but apart from the deadhouse and the drives to and from Nanteuil-la-Forêt, they hadn’t had an opportunity to talk. And she had barely spoken with Newman all day too. Smiling, Cloudia bolted down the stairs to the next landing and sought out the next best servant to ask which way she had to take to get to the servants’ quarters. The servant told her how to get there, she thanked him, and then excitedly went off her way.

Cloudia was almost there – only the corridor down and then through a hidden stairway – when she noticed familiar footsteps behind her. For almost a year, those footsteps had followed hers, and she would forever recognise them: His ghostly steps which came along with a soft metallic clack. She had always wondered why, but never asked.

And then, they were sometimes so ghostly I could not hear them at all. That had been the case when I encountered him before dinner.

Her smile widened a bit as Cloudia turned around to face Milton. “I had thought of you a little while ago – and now you are here as if I managed to manifest you, albeit a little slowly.”

A small, sheepish smile appeared on Milton’s lips. “I…” He took a deep breath. “It’s good to see that you are still so lively.”

Cloudia looked at him in bewilderment. “Why shouldn’t I be lively? Because my powers of manifestation are weak and lacking?”

“Oh, well.” He looked at his sleeves and fumbled with them. “I suppose my mind is still a bit muddled from today. I did not mean to blurt it out. I… Anyway, I said this because you have been so busy lately, and you also seem deep in thought whenever I see you.”

She chuckled. “I suppose my mind is still muddled from today because I should have figured that you noticed. Don’t you always notice?”

“Not always.”

Cloudia looked at him and then shook her head before she realised with a pang that, for the first time in years, they were actually all alone again. Earlier, it had been an emergency, and Milton had barely been with her in that hallway mentally. There had been much else to focus on besides the awkwardness between them. Now, the rain had cleared and they were both well and conscious and all alone again.

The last time had been on the day of the failed proposal, and Cloudia felt awkward thinking about it. Everything had become weird and fallen apart after that day. Although they had resumed their talks via letters a few months afterwards, it had never been the same again. Their written words were always laced with a certain stiltedness, one worse than the one when their little acquaintanceship or whatever one could call it had begun. Cloudia had never known how to describe their relationship.

With the others around, it had been so easy. She could have nearly forgotten that anything had ever happened at all. Now, being alone with Milton, the distance between them was palpable again. He stood only a few steps away from her, but he could have been kilometres away. Cloudia had never been a natural when it came to understanding people. She did not have the talent to look at someone and understand, see every bit of them and realise what might be hidden. She had had to acquire this skill through hard work and training, and although she was good at it now, the skill failed her every now and then.

It did not fail her now. Cloudia had intentionally not paid it any attention before, but there was always a bit of hurt in his eyes whenever they talked. He was still friendly to her, still smiled at her, had still helped her with this trip. Cloudia had been shocked and annoyed when Milton had behaved as if nothing had occurred the day his villa blew up – a month after the proposal. She also had not expected him to write to her months later.

It had seemed as if Milton had been doing well after the failed proposal, as if he had got over it well. Accepting that he was not, that he had not, made her realise with a heavy heart that they had yet another thing in common: For one and a half years, they had pushed the memory of the proposal away and pretended that all was fine although the event still clung heavily to them. It was easier like that. Even now while acknowledging everything, Cloudia’s first instinct was to push it all away. It was a bad habit, yes, but it had been a long day. A very long day. This was her hard-earned time off. She had a murderer to catch and a thief to find. She had no time and strength to deal with the remnants of the past.

Maybe one day, she would. But not now. Not now.

“Where were you heading to?” Cloudia asked, smiling as if nothing had been. “You are quite a bit away from your room. Did you get lost again?”

“I didn’t,” Milton replied. “I wanted to go see Bram.”

She blinked at him. “In the servants’ quarters?”

He nodded. “In the servants’ quarters.”

“Isn’t it funny how I planned to go to France at the same time you planned to?” she said. “And how now, again, I am going to the servants’ quarters at the same time as you are?”

Milton chuckled. “It is indeed quite funny,” he said and walked towards her. “I guess you know the way?”

“Yes, a footman told me. Do you?”

“Yes. I…” He hesitated. “I have been charting the château.”

“Huh?”

“Did I never tell you?”

“No, never,” Cloudia told him.

Cedric’s words came to my mind: “You can know people for decades and still discover new aspects of them. It happens.” And now I had found out two new things about Milton in a single day.

Milton smiled bashfully. “I like to create maps for buildings, make my very own blueprints. It’s an old habit of mine, and I know it is strange but…”

“There is so much to see, so much to explore even in a building?” Cloudia continued, smiling.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes.”

“You are becoming predictable, Milton.” She put her hands on her waist, content that she got at least that. “Also, when I said that I was thinking of you – and unwittingly conjured you by doing so – I thought about this exact thing.”

Milton closed his eyes. “‘There is so much to see, so much to explore. Roads to travel, people to meet, mysteries to unravel.’ Right, I said that to you.” He reopened his eyes, and they began to walk, side by side, down the corridor and to the hidden stairway without any of them having to indicate to do so.

“Mysteries,” said Cloudia; the word alone brought excitement with it, and she hoped she did not sound too eager as she continued. Not that Milton had ever seemed to care for that. “Have you found any on your most recent travels? Where have you been last again? Sweden?”

“Yes,” Milton replied, paused, then added: “Yes, I’ve been to Sweden last. I’m not sure about mysteries though. There has been the occasional misplaced document, but that’s not really a mystery, isn’t it? And while this is also not a mystery – after all, I know how this came to be – there is this mistake I have to fix and for which I have to go to Paris. Maybe you could call it a bit of a mystery still… the Paris part at least. I need to go there to find something out; however, I don’t quite know what will await me there. I cannot measure the extent of what I will learn there and…” He fidgeted with his right sleeve. “I mean I knowmore or less what will await me. It’s just the details, you know? Perhaps it’s more of a ‘surprise’ than a ‘mystery’ though. I am not sure.”

Despite our commonalities and Milton’s odd little habits, he was still so amusingly ordinary. My mystery was a serial murder in the nearby village. His, a company-intern mishap.

“Let’s call it a mystery,” declared Cloudia as they descended the narrow stairs together. He let her go first and followed her. “It sounds better like that. And it’s not quite a ‘surprise’ if you know that you will find something out, isn’t it? Only the content of the information will be a surprise, but that’s essentially what a mystery is anyway.”

“You’re right,” Milton said. “Of course, it cannot be a surprise when I am expecting it.”

“Your mind is still really quite muddled. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “It has been a long rainy day. I should be completely normal again by tomorrow.”

Cloudia threw a glance over her shoulder at him. The light was so dim here that he looked quite ghostly. “Speaking of today… how was spending time with the Duke?”

“It was lovely,” Milton replied. “Kristopher is so kind to have kept me company despite being unwell himself. I’m glad that he could finally find some sleep. I hope he will sleep well and sound. Kristopher was very patient with me all day, and he defeated me in every round of chess we played. He is really talented.”

“He sure is,” said Cloudia, remembering the countless days they had spent playing chess together and how Cedric had beat her in every single round without fail. He would always tease her for being so bad at the game. She was not even that bad; he was simply very, very good.

“Kristopher surprised me quite a lot of times today,” Milton continued. “Not that I believe that he was incapable of any of the kinds of prowess he showed today, of course. I simply have not met anyone with such chess skills in a very long time. Or anyone at all who, I suppose, correctly guessed that when it rains and my senses act up, I anchor myself by focusing on all kinds of details – often details concerning people. I have never thought about this myself before. It’s usually just Bram and me on rainy days after all.”

Cloudia halted on the stairs and turned around to him. “Oh, he did that?”

Milton stopped too, and she noticed that he had been walking a few stairs behind her to keep his distance. “It was a remarkable observation. Kristopher did not believe that you would believe him, so I wanted to let you know.”

“He did not make you say so?”

“No. He…” Milton paused. “He did say I should be the one to tell you, but what I am saying is not a fabrication. Kristopher cares a lot about what you think of him.”

“The Duke? Caring for what I think of him?” Cloudia laughed. “I assure you, Milton, that this is not the case at all. He does not care for anyone’s opinion of him or he would not walk around the way he does. He cares for mine the least of all. If he truly did, would he do me such a disservice with the way he dresses and carries himself? And have you ever seen him dance? It’s like watching a chicken hobble about.”

Cloudia felt Milton’s eyes scrutinising her. As if he was searching for something specific. Then, he smiled.

“Is something?” she asked, and he shook his head. “No. It is just that…” His gaze softened. “I’m just glad for you.”

Cloudia blinked at him, then turned and continued to descend the stairs. “Milton, the storm had gone on for very long today. Your mind is still all scrambled. Are you really fine?”

“Yes,” Milton replied, sounding a bit merrier than before. She heard him following her. “I am perfectly fine now.”

They walked for a while in silence, but the silence soon became stifling. The stairs seemed unbearably endless, and Cloudia felt herself suffocating under the stillness and her overflowing energy. “Milton,” she said to break the silence open and be able to breathe again, “the clock you’ve repaired – do you think you can show it to me before your departure? I am interested to see this birdcage clock of tales. I have heard of Jaquet-Droz clocks but never seen one in real-life.”

“I can show it to you on the way back from the servants’ quarters if it has not become too late by then,” Milton replied. “I have to head out so early tomorrow; I doubt I will find the time then. Though I will return in a few days or a week at most anyway. Thinking of it… maybe, if it does not work out later, it may be better if one of the children showed it to you.”

“I can wait if it does not work out. I want you to show it to me so that you can tell me what you fixed and how.”

“Eh,” blurted it out of Milton, and Cloudia smiled to herself. “I, uh,” he stammered. “You are interested in this?”

“Yes, I am. Very much so. I have never been very adept at creating or repairing anything, so I am quite fascinated whenever someone can. I am actually a little bit mad that you have never mentioned this talent of yours before, Milton.”

“It’s… it’s not a talent. It’s just… something to pass time with. A little hobby. I am not even very good at it.”

“Let me be the judge of this,” Cloudia said. “How many know of this ‘little hobby’ of yours anyway?”

“Not many. Before today, only my family knew. Now, everyone here knows too,” Milton told her the very instant Cloudia reached the end of the staircase and arrived in front of the door that would open up to the servants’ quarters. She waited until Milton was caught up with her before she put her hand on the doorknob.

“Lady Cloudia,” Milton said then, and she stopped her action and looked at him. “I will not ask for specifications regarding the matter that is keeping you busy,” he continued. “All I want to say is that, if you require my help, I would be happy to offer my assistance in any way. And if it is a mystery you are busying yourself with and at which you are stuck… at times, it is best to take a short break and think of anything else, do anything else. Sometimes thinking too intensely is the problem: It often blocks your mind. Letting your mind wander to different places, you may be able to think of possibilities you have not considered before.”

Cloudia’s gaze softened. “Thank you, Milton. Let’s see if whatever chaos my servants will hand me behind those doors will ease me up,” she said and opened the door. They stepped into a hallway with multiple doors left and right that led to the servants’ personal rooms. Newman had told her before that Lisa’s, Wentworth’s, and his rooms were those closest to the door and that there was a community room at the end of the corridor. Cloudia knocked on Lisa’s and Newman’s rooms and Milton on Wentworth’s. When they got no response, they walked to the community room.

“… to Nanteuil-la-Forêt today,” said Lisa when they entered. She was sitting at a table with Wentworth and Newman, some biscuits and sandwiches spread out before them. There was a pot of tea on the table and everyone had a cup in front of them. “And I tell you: Denis Cuvier attempted to kill us – what other reason could he have to race into the village with such speed? Gallop there if you want, but don’t drive a wagon like that, least of all one with people in it. Mr Emyr was rather green throughout the entire rides.”

“Telling everyone about our adventure in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, aren’t you?” Cloudia said, and everyone turned to her and Milton. From the corner of her eye, she could see Milton’s gaze wandering to Newman before he discreetly looked away.

“Our disgustingly wet misadventure, Lady Cloudia,” Lisa replied and shuddered. “I took a bath and still feel cold. I’ll be counting the sponges I waste trying to scrub off the moistness that seemed to have sunk into my very flesh and bones.”

Newman stood up and bowed to Cloudia and Milton as a greeting before he turned to Lisa. “Shall I fetch you a jacket if you are still so cold, Lisa?”

She patted his hand. “That would be nice if you can be bothered, Al. Maybe a blanket would be even better.”

“I can always be bothered for you, Lisa,” Newman said with a small smile. “I will go and get a blanket from your room at once.” He looked at Milton and Cloudia. “If you may excuse me for a moment.” Cloudia nodded, and Newman left the community room.

Lisa grinned at Cloudia. “I see you are wearing the yellow dress.”

“Yes. I surprised myself by picking it today,” Cloudia replied and looked down at herself. “I didn’t expect Cecelia to be at dinner for once, so she has seen me in it. Until now, she wasn’t able to say anything to me about it, but the time will definitely come…”

Lisa chuckled. “It had to come to this. You don’t look as silly as we imagined you would though, Lady Cloudia.”

“That surprised me too.”

“You do indeed look very lovely, Lady Cloudia,” Milton said and immediately blushed and looked away. Lisa rolled her eyes.

“Thank you, Milton,” Cloudia responded. Then, Wentworth stepped to them and bowed to Cloudia before he asked, “Master Milton, are you all right?”

Milton took a deep breath to compose himself and then smiled at his butler. “You asked that earlier already, Bram. When Lady Cloudia, Miss Greene, and Emyr returned, and we all met in the entrance hall.”

“The rain didn’t stop until shortly before dinnertime. A lot could have changed between the chain-reaction machine’s demonstration and dinner. Between dinner and now.”

“I promise that it did not,” Milton replied, and Cloudia was surprised that he lied to Wentworth like that. Though perhaps he didn’t want to disclose what had happened before dinner to Lisa?

“What I told you before still holds true,” he went on. “Kristopher and the children helped me, and I have been doing well because of that. And since the rain stopped, I have been even better.”

“Albeit your mind is still a bit muddled,” added Cloudia, and he looked at her. “Indeed.”

“I am glad, Master Milton. It was a strong storm today,” Wentworth said. “Even with the support you received, I was worried. Forgive me if I am overstepping my boundaries, but my duty is, first and foremost, to ensure your well-being, Master Milton. Next time, I will not leave your side; today was an exception I do not want to make a rule.”

“I’m sorry to have worried you, Bram. I…” Milton fumbled with his sleeves. “I should not have asked for that.”

“It is also my duty to worry about you all the time, Master Milton. You do not have to apologise for something that cannot be helped,” Wentworth replied, and Cloudia could see Lisa grimacing in the background again.

“I have returned,” Newman announced as he stepped into the community room, a blanket in his hands. “I apologise for having kept you waiting.” He walked to Lisa and gently draped the blanket around her.

“Thank you,” she said, and his cheeks roused a bit. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, Lisa said to Cloudia, “Not that I oppose your presence, but why have you come here, Lady Cloudia?”

“To see how you and Newman are doing, and what you are doing,” Cloudia replied and sat down at the table where Lisa was sitting. “And to talk to you for a while.”

“Is His Grace still asleep?”

“Very much, but I might have come here anyway.”

Lisa scoffed. “Very well, Lady Cloudia. Do you maybe want to play something then? To pass the time and have something else to do while we talk?”

“Why not?”

“Great,” said Lisa and took out a deck of cards from beneath the blanket. She was always carrying playing cards with her, eagerly awaiting the first available moment to take them out and make someone cry.

“Milton,” Cloudia said and turned to him. “Would you like to play too?”

Milton blinked at her, taken aback by her offer. “Oh. Sure. Thank you,” he responded and sat down – keeping a chair between them free.

“How about we play poker?” suggested Lisa while she shuffled the cards. A mischievous light shone in her eyes.

“Still taking every opportunity to practise, aren’t you?” teased Cloudia, and Lisa scowled at her.

“One day I will return there and be victorious.”

“Return where?” Milton asked, puzzled.

“Earlier this year, Lisa lost to someone in poker,” Cloudia said and earned a dirty glance from her maid. “Apparently, I am forbidden to say more on this matter. Anyway, she taught me how to play poker afterwards so that she had more people to play with. Lisa already taught the servants at the manor as they regularly arrange game nights.”

“That sounds interesting,” replied Milton. “Miss Greene, I wish you the best of luck that you will win against that person one day.”

Lisa nodded at his words and kept shuffling the cards. “Lord Milton, have you heard of poker?”

“I have, actually.”

“And can you play it too?”

“Yes,” said Milton, and Lisa was surprised by his answer – and so was Cloudia. After all, poker was still very unknown in Europe.

“Of course,” Cloudia said when the realisation hit her. “You have told me you travelled often to the States.”

“Do you want to play poker with us then, Lord Milton?” Lisa asked with a little sly smile on her face. “I can guarantee that this will not be a pleasant game to play as a newcomer, and it may be better if you found something else to do.”

“Every game is not a particularly pleasant one if you play with Lisa,” Cloudia interjected. “She is quite passionate and competitive when it comes to games.” At her words, Lisa’s little smile became a wicked grin.

Milton smiled sheepishly. “I do, in fact, know how to play poker,” he told them and worried at the hems of his sleeves. “However, I have not had an opportunity to play poker for quite a few years. Or to play any card game, to be frank. Playing cards is common at social gatherings of a more familiar nature, but as you know, I do not really attend such gatherings or any at all as I have been on the road for the last year and…” He cleared his throat. “I want to say that I do know how to play poker but I may be a bit rusty.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, it is good that you know, but I hope you don’t expect us to play kindly for your sake, Baron.”

“Oh, I would not want that,” Milton replied. “I think that no game can be enjoyed if the participants do not give their fullest. I will try my very best. I simply wanted to inform you that I’m not very good even at my best.”

Lisa shrugged. “Well, not that you would have had a chance if you were any good,” she said, and he chuckled.

“Wentworth, do you also know how to play poker?” Cloudia enquired.

“I do, Lady Cloudia,” the old butler replied.

“Then, do you want to join us?”

“I am thankful for the invitation, but I will have to decline. I have only played the game once myself and have mostly watched others play. I do not want to slow the game down and would rather spectate.”

Cloudia nodded. “I see. Feel free to watch then, Wentworth.”

“But you’ll have you watch from a place where Lord Milton can’t see you but I can,” interjected Lisa. “I do not want to outright accuse anyone of cheating – not before we have even begun playing at least – but I want to make sure that it does not happen at all.”

“I can do this if it eases your nerves, Miss Greene,” said Wentworth.

“Thank you.” Lisa smiled at Cloudia. “See? Manners.” Then, Lisa craned her head to Newman who was still standing behind her as if he was her butler and not Cloudia’s. “Al, you’ll play too, won’t you?”

He bowed his head. “As always, Lisa.”

She smirked at his words, and Newman sat down next to her.

“If I am recalling correctly,” said Wentworth, “chips are needed for this game.”

“Yes, of course,” Lisa replied. “I put a bag of them on my nightstand. Could you fetch it, Mr Wentworth?”

“Of course. I will hurry.” Surefooted and quick for someone his age, Wentworth left the community room.

“I’m glad that you play too, Mr Newman,” blurted it out of Milton whose eyes lingered a bit too long on Newman yet again. Cloudia frowned. She would have been a fool if she had not noticed Milton staring at Newman back in Dover, but she thought that, by now, the initial surprise would have waned. Apparently, it had not. At least, Milton was seemingly trying to suppress his staring.

“As it is said,” Milton continued, fidgeting with his hands, “‘the more the merrier.’ How well can you play poker, Mr Newman?”

Lisa chuckled and distributed the cards. “Trying to find out if you will have any chance at all, Lord Milton?”

“Not at all, Miss Greene. I only wanted to ask,” Milton replied. “I do not care whether I win or lose as long as the game will entertain everyone.”

Lisa rolled her eyes which Milton, fortunately, didn’t see as his own eyes were fixed on Newman who answered him, “I am not as proficient as Lisa, though she assures me that I still play fairly well.”

“Definitely better than Thomas,” said Lisa. “Which isn’t that hard, but still.”

At this moment, Wentworth returned with the bag of chips which he handed to Lisa before he went to sit at a nearby table, a bit away but still close enough to spectate. Quickly, Lisa distributed the chips and then smiled. “Let’s begin.”

***

They had not agreed to bet actual money. Lisa had never asked, and Cloudia thought that she might not have wanted to be overly brash, though she was still very brash, to Milton even if he likely would not have minded playing for money. Still, Lisa grinned like she was doubling and tripling her monthly wages with every won round and envisioning retiring early. Although Lisa was triumphant in every round, they had great fun playing the game. Milton had said that he might be rusty as he had not played poker in years, but he was a surprisingly good bluff. He was almost as good as Lisa. However, here and there, his façade would crumble: His mouth would twitch, his eyes would betray the truth… Cloudia caught it twice.

I wondered whether this was normal or a product of the fact that Milton had not fully recovered from today’s “phantom pains.”

Lisa was better at that and relentlessly played everyone to the ground. It was past midnight when everyone decided that it had become too late for another round.

“That was fun,” said Milton with a smile on his face and stood up. “Thanks for letting me play.”

“You are such a strange one, Baron,” Lisa replied and closed the bag with the chips. She did not have to do much collecting as the chips had naturally wandered to her anyway. Newman, on the other hand, had to walk around the tables to collect all the cups and the empty teapot.

“All smiles although you have not won a single round this evening,” Lisa said.

“It is only a game. I don’t particularly care if I lose or fail.”

Lisa huffed. “Well, once or twice you were fairly close to winning.” “I was?”

“Yes. It was quite a surprise – you are not half as bad as I thought you would be.” Lisa grimaced at her own words, and Cloudia chuckled at Lisa’s anguished appraisal. Then, Cloudia stood up too.

“The evening ended as expected,” she said. “Nevertheless, that were some good games. I’ll head to bed now. Tomorrow will be a long day again.” Cloudia looked at Milton. “And didn’t you say you will leave very early in the morning?”

He nodded. “Yes, I will.”

“All the more reason to return to our rooms now. You need to be well-rested for tomorrow’s gruelling carriage ride to Creil.”

“That would be good,” replied Milton and fumbled with his sleeves. “Good night, Miss Greene, Mr Newman, Bram.”

Everyone returned the “good night” and Cloudia gave her own before she and Milton left the community room and walked down the corridor and back to the château’s main area.

Unlike when they had gone to the servants’ quarters, they were silent now as they ascended the stairs. This time, Cloudia was too tired to perceive the silence as suffocating or awkward and attempt to pierce it. Upstairs, they walked around until they found a servant still wandering the halls to ask for directions and then headed to a forking the maid had referred them to. According to her, they could go to their respective wings and rooms from there.

“Until here and not farther,” Cloudia said when they arrived at the forking and halted. “Well, at least, not together.”

Milton smiled at her. “Good night, Lady Cloudia. I suppose we will not see each other tomorrow, so I guess this is also goodbye for a little while.”

“Seems like it. I wish you well in Paris, Milton. Don’t forget that you will have to show me that clock upon your return, and good night.”

His smile brightened. It was like sunshine after a long grey day. “Thank you. I will not forget this, and I wish you all the best for your mystery. Speaking of mysteries… we haven’t finished the poem earlier: ‘The breeze – the breath of God – is still –/And the mist upon the hill/Shadowy – shadowy – yet unbroken, /Is a symbol and a token –/How it hangs upon the trees, /A mystery of mysteries!’”

***

I could not sleep.

I had not looked at the clock since I had laid down, but I was sure that it had been about two or three hours since I had said goodbye to Milton at the forking. I had tossed and turned in a desperate attempt to find some sleep. I needed to be rested for the day. However, the energy and restlessness that filled my body did not allow me to sleep.

I needed answers, I wanted answers.

This needed to be over.

I had told Yvette to barricade everyone inside for the night, to huddle them together, to keep them safe. But that had not worked before.

One slip-up would mean another dead body. Another web of strings I had to investigate.

Lives and time were running through my fingers, and I was sick of it.

Cloudia kicked away the blanket and stood up from her bed. She had to go back to Nanteuil-la-Forêt. The murderer had made the worst mistake to come here, and she was dead-set to show this to them.

A stakeout was something I had not done yet.

It was time to wait and watch from the front row.

It was time to catch the culprit red-handed.

Cloudia went to her wardrobe and pulled out some clothes she could wear as “M Gauthier.” When she was done changing into them, she let her skull pendant necklace vanish beneath her shirt. She had not taken it off before going to bed. She never did as it soothed her mind to have someone on close-call in case of an emergency. Cloudia only ever removed it when she bathed, but still kept it close to her then.

Of course, this only worked if Cedric wore his necklace all the time too. And I had no idea if he did.

Afterwards, Cloudia took off her blue Phantomhive ring which she also never removed before bedtime and went to her jewellery chest. She wanted to wear it on her finger all the time, but could only ever do it when she was at home or exclusively around family. Nobody knew that the ring was in her possession – it was, after all, “Earl Phantomhive’s.” Not that this mattered now, of course. After all, Cloudia would go to Nanteuil-la-Forêt as Gauthier, and it would be rather eyebrow-raising if a simple detective’s assistant wore such a fine piece of jewellery.

Cloudia opened the chest but did not put the ring inside. She did not like to leave it behind, and in cases she could not wear it openly, she wore it on a chain around her neck. Behind her clothes, it would be concealed for all; only she would feel the ring’s comfort against her skin.

She rummaged in the jewellery chest until she found the chain and then slipped the ring on it. Just as Cloudia had finished putting on the chain, she spotted something in the chest. Smiling, she took it out and inspected it.

The four-leaved clover necklace Cedric had given her for her seventeenth birthday was a piece for which she rarely found an occasion to wear. It was too simple to wear at balls and gatherings, and Cloudia generally disliked wearing two neck-pieces at once. She only, begrudgingly, did an exception for the Phantomhive ring. The clover necklace had no place next to the skull pendant one.

However, Cloudia sometimes put the clover necklace in her pocket if she had any. Skull pendant around her neck, ring on her finger, clover in her pocket – it was a bit like a spell. But then, the clover necklace was supposed to be a good luck charm on its own anyway.

Cloudia pocketed the necklace, grabbed her cloak, and left the room.

She had gone down to the stalls often enough to know the way herself, and she went there with quick, silent strides. Denis should be fast asleep now, and a wagon would be too bothersome to bring to Nanteuil-la-Forêt anyway. A horse would do; Cloudia would tie it to a tree before going to the village.

Cloudia pushed open the door to the outside and was relieved to see the sky dark and clear above her. No rain clouds. She had seen enough of them already.

She hurried to the stalls. There, while she was looking around, trying to find a suitable horse to borrow, a voice said behind her: “Cloudie?”

Surprised to hear it here and at this hour too, Cloudia turned around and saw Kamden standing at the doorsill to the stalls. The moonlight left him as a shadowed silhouette – except for his hair which shimmered a bit under the light. Lisa was right: Kamden just looked odd with blond hair.

“Kam, what are you doing here?” Cloudia wanted to know.

“I had the weird feeling that you would be here,” he said, and she smiled. “Cloudie, have you slept at all?”

There was no use lying to Kamden. “No. I have tried for hours, but could not. I am too restless to sleep.”

Kamden nodded. “Then let me accompany you. We can take a wagon then: I can drive, and you can take a nap until we arrive.”

There was no use fighting back either. Especially not when it was already so late and time was tight. “Okay,” Cloudia said. “Let’s go to Nanteuil-la-Forêt.”

***

~Cedric~

Cedric was woken up by Jacques and as soon as he saw his face, he groaned.

“Your Grace,” said Jacques while Cedric sat up and glimpsed at the clock – six in the morning, brilliant. “It is a clear day today. It is time to visit the Clockmaker.”

***

Somewhere, United Kingdom – May 1843

~Cloudia~

They had guided her into a room where she could wait while they released him. Cloudia had not expected much of this process – in fact, she had barely thought about how exactly Oscar’s actual release would go – but having now waited for over an hour, she admitted to herself that she had hoped that someone would have simply opened his cell’s door right after she was done talking to him. Right then and there. If they had done that, Cloudia could have been on the road home now. Instead, she was waiting in potentially the least shabby room the wardens could find for her, twisting and turning her father’s sketchbook in her lap.

I hoped they had at least informed Clifford that it was taking so long. I would not want him to worry whether or not the Yard Ripper had killed me on the spot after being released or not. But then, I supposed, the wardens would certainly tell him that.

Cloudia drummed her fingers on the sketchbook and looked at the clock whose hands seemed to move painfully slow. Sighing, she flipped open the book. Since she had found it in a secret passage in Phantomhive Manor three years ago, Cloudia had looked through it a million times and every time, it gave her a warm, comforting feeling. She loved the soft brushstrokes, the precise lines made with pencil and coal. Nobody had ever told her about this hobby of her father’s, and looking at his drawings made her feel closer to him than she ever had before. It was a solace Cloudia sought out whenever the days were especially bleak or she was hit with yet another wave of loneliness, though this had been happening less and less frequently since she met Kamden.

Cloudia thumbed over the landscape drawings and went to the one that had brought her to this place. She had stared at this portrait of Oscar Livingstone for three years and wondered who and where he was. Now, she looked at it and wondered how much he had changed since Simon Phantomhive had immortalised him on paper.

Not that I even knew how exactly Oscar had looked back then. The portrait was uncoloured, a quick sketch in black coal. His hair was drawn black in it because of that, but maybe it was not that dark at all. His eyes had not been filled in, so, I thought, they must be of a light colour. Blue or green? Maybe grey?

Cloudia closed the sketchbook. Soon, she would find out. She only hoped this “soon” would not break the word’s definition. Cloudia leaned her head back, looked up at the tattered ceiling, and kicked her legs back and forth. A year ago, her feet had hovered above the floor when she sat properly on a chair. Now, her feet reached the ground, and when she kicked her legs, her feet scraped the floor – click-clack like a pendulum.

Had so much time passed that I had become my own clock?

Then, the door opened, and someone entered. Cloudia had thought at least one of the wardens would be with him, but, apparently, they had only escorted him to the door and allowed him to enter the waiting room on his own. He was truly her problem now.

“They took their time arranging the final steps of my release,” said Oscar, “but here I am now.”

With a pounding heart, Cloudia tore her gaze from the crumbling ceiling and sat up properly on her chair. Her imagination of him was replaced by reality, and she hoped she did not stare as she scrutinised him.

Oscar Livingstone towered over her in the truest sense of the word as he was fairly tall and broadly built. He seemed robust and steadfast although he was not well-nourished: His cheeks were sunken and his skin taut. If he had not been so broad, his clothes would have hung on him like laundry on a washing line. He was only forty-four, but his black hair had largely faded to grey, and it hung long and wild over his shoulders. Oscar’s beard was also long and unkempt. Despite the wardens’ efforts to shield her eyes from the other patients in the asylum, Cloudia had been able to glimpse at some of them. Unlike Oscar, their heads had been shaven. She wondered if he had resisted when they tried to shave him, or if the staff had been too frightened of him to ever try.

But it was not the fact that Oscar looked like he had not spent the last six years of his life in an asylum but hidden away from the world in a forest that surprised and fascinated Cloudia. It was his eyes which were a beautiful light blue and which, despite the last few years, were still sharp and shone with life. They also provided such a stark contrast to his hollow body.

Looking at the rest of him, she might not have stared, but she feared that she was staring at his beautiful blue eyes now. Cloudia blinked, shook herself out of her amazement, and wrinkled up her nose when her focus was broken and her senses were not directed to one thing anymore.

“You need a bath,” Cloudia said.

#I'M FINALLY DOOONE #watchdog of the queen #main chapters #fanfiction #kuroshitsuji #cloudia phantomhive #undertaker

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