Chapter 22

"The city watch only operates within the capital. Even if I went along, it would just complicate things."

"..."

"You may not hold the count's title yourself, Senior, but you're acting in it. You have to be the one to go. And it happened inside the manor."

"...I know."

Even so, Harold couldn't bring himself to decide. Anne looked at him, frustrated, but didn't press further.

She knew what he was agonizing over.

What else. His nephews, obviously.

"..."

Harold couldn't even bring himself to sigh; he just kept dragging a dry hand down over his face.

Did he need to go down to the domain?

He did. A murder had happened inside the manor. Even if the victim hadn't been a butler who'd managed the place for decades, it was the kind of thing that demanded he go in person. He knew that.

But someone was dead. Harold himself wasn't the concern, but his young nephews? The old Bertholdt manor didn't have security like the Archibald estate, and it wasn't some rundown empty house either. If a murder could happen inside a manor like that, was the capital really safe?

If Harold went down to the domain, would the boys be safe?

But he didn't want to take them with him either.

Someone who'd been chatting warmly with him only days ago was dead. He didn't want to be the one explaining that, and he couldn't take them somewhere the killer might still be walking around brazenly.

Everything was a mess.

The truth was, nothing had gone right since his brother died. He'd never assumed his brother had given up investigating his sister-in-law's disappearance, but he hadn't imagined it would be left like this.

He didn't know where to start unraveling any of it. How much easier it would have been if his brother had left proper instructions instead of scattering reports like riddles.

Not everyone was that clever...

Knock, knock, knock.

"What is it?"

Anne responded sharply to the knock.

"I told you not to interrupt unless it was urgent."

"Excuse me, my lady. Someone is here to see you and Lord Bertholdt."

The voice through the door was calm despite Anne's tone.

Face drawn tight, Anne pressed hard at the bridge of her nose. Of course they'd only have knocked if it was urgent. Snapping at her only vented it.

"Sorry. Come in. Who's here?"

The Archibald butler had his usual composed face. His neatly groomed mustache was as tidy as ever.

And yet somehow, beneath the poise, something was off. Harold hadn't caught it in his voice through the door, but seeing him now, he could hear the roughness in his breathing.

The butler stepped into the study and moved aside.

Visitor or not, bringing someone in without waiting for the mistress's word... Anne raised her eyebrows.

How urgent was this?

"H — h — hello, m — my lords..."

A young man in a worn coat came in hesitantly behind the butler. The hem of his coat was dusty, and his eyes were hollow, as though he hadn't slept for days.

The moment his eyes met Harold's, the young man startled hard and pulled off his hat, clutching it against him.

"What brings you to the Archibald estate?"

The estate was Anne's, so it was Anne who spoke, not Harold.

But the young man kept glancing at Harold rather than Anne, trembling.

"It's all right. Say what you told me earlier."

The butler stepped in, unable to watch any longer.

The young man's eyes moved between Anne, Harold, and the butler as if he didn't know who to look at, and he swallowed hard.

"I — I work in the B — Bertholdt domain. Uh, my name is R — Ramsey..."

"The domain?"

Harold shot to his feet.

"What's happened at the domain? Has someone else been hurt, or — ?"

"What?"

"Did you catch the killer?"

"...What?"

Harold strode over to Ramsey in long, heavy steps.

As the large man closed in, the young man's fear grew. But he squeezed his eyes shut and burst out with it.

"L — Lord Bertholdt! Something t — terrible has happened in the domain!!"

Someone must have made him memorize the lines.

"The c — caretaker of the old B — Bertholdt manor, Mr. Günter B — Bleiss, has been m — murdered at the hands of a s — savage man. To ca — catch the k — killer..."

"Wait."

Harold hadn't wanted to cut the young man off mid-effort, but there was no help for it.

Thrown, Harold stared at Ramsey.

"Günter's dead?"

"...What?"

"You came up to the capital to bring that news? Someone was already sent."

"...What?"

"Yesterday, someone from the old manor..."

Harold slowly trailed off.

A certain possibility flashed through his mind. Anne must have caught the same thought — shock spread across her face.

"Did anyone else besides you come from the domain?"

"What? N — no. I saw the s — suspect's...? face, so I came up here myself."

"You saw his face?"

"Yes, uh... a man came saying he wanted to speak with Mr. Günter about a pasture contract... I — I — I showed him in."

Ramsey spoke with a look of dread, as though bracing for a torrent of scolding.

But Harold had no intention of scolding him. The one at fault wasn't this young man.

And more than that.

If the one sent up to the capital from the domain to bring news of Günter's death was the young man in front of him, then who was the man who'd shown up at Mattheus's office yesterday with the same news?

"What did he look like!"

"What?"

"The bastard who killed Günter!"

Harold grabbed the innocent young man by the collar. He barely knew what he was doing.

If, if the man who'd delivered the news yesterday...

"Uh, uhh..."

"Senior, let him breathe."

"...Sorry."

Harold came back to himself at Anne's rebuke. But he couldn't stop his teeth from grinding.

Ramsey, flinching at the vicious sound, snapped back to himself at Anne's gesture. He didn't know what it was, but he knew this was no ordinary business.

The pool of Günter's blood spreading thick across the floor still hovered in front of his eyes.

The head housemaid, who'd sent him up to the capital, had told him it wasn't his fault, that Lord Bertholdt would understand — but he wasn't going to forget the sight of all that blood any time soon.

Instead of showing the man in without thinking, he should have pressed him. If he had. If only he had...

"His height... was about this."

Ramsey raised his hand slightly higher than himself.

"Just... an ordinary look. Light brown hair. J — just a moment, Lord Bertholdt..."

Ramsey rummaged through the bag on his back.

"A drawing... we drew a picture. I didn't do it, Ms. Danian had Grant do it... apparently that's what they do in investigations. So you don't forget."

Ramsey held out a sheet of paper with a portrait sketched on it.

"He didn't seem like a bad sort... he was kind when I talked to him, so... I — I never thought he'd do a thing like that..."

Harold recognized the man in the portrait immediately.

Yesterday, no — even right before Ramsey's arrival, he'd seen that face and exchanged a few words with it.

The man who'd come up from the domain to deliver the news of Günter Bleiss's death had worn that very face.

"God. We were completely played."

Of course Anne had recognized the portrait too.

"Anne! Where is he?"

"We gave him a servant's room, but... he only just left, didn't he? Wait — did you see where he went?"

Anne pressed the butler. The butler, having seen the portrait as well, had gone stiff.

When Ramsey had said there had been a death at the old Bertholdt manor and that Lord Bertholdt needed to be told at once, he'd realized something serious had happened.

But he hadn't imagined it would unfold like this.

"I sent him down to the kitchen for a meal."

"The kitchen?"

Harold's eyes flashed.

"You said your name was Ramsey, right? Do you know this man's name, by any chance?"

Anne called out to Ramsey. Ramsey, still trembling, answered.

"He, he said he was Dustin Glenn."

"Damn it."

He hadn't even bothered hiding his name.

"He told us his name was Dane."

"What?"

"Is there anyone named Dane at the domain?"

"Uh..."

Ramsey, plainly flustered and struggling to keep up, thought as fast as he could.

"...Yes! There is. The gardener!"

Harold didn't wait — he burst out of the study.

Just as Anne had said, they'd been played. Time-wise, the man had headed for the capital the moment he'd killed Günter. This was no impulse. And going out of his way to give the gardener's name — that was planned too.

Why?

One slip and he could have been caught. Was there a reason worth the risk? Looking at Adrien Renard, who hadn't shown his face since the attempt at Lily Manor, he wasn't reckless either.

"The messenger from the Bertholdt domain..."

Harold, who'd grabbed a watchman walking the corridor to ask if he'd seen the man, fell silent.

Light brown hair, brown eyes. Neat clothes. The man had delivered the news of Günter with tears welling in his eyes, and had asked after his nephews in a soft voice.

Edgar.

Edwin.

He'd told the boys — cooped up and going stir-crazy — that they could roam freely as long as they stayed within the estate. Only that they shouldn't slip away on him again the way they had last time.

Those good boys hadn't given him any trouble.

"Where are my nephews?"

"Your nephews? They should be in their room."

Harold ran for the boys' room. Leaving the bewildered watchman behind, Anne came after him.

Please, let them be in their room.

Even that short distance had his heart pounding.

But before Harold even opened the door, he knew.

The room was terrifyingly still.

"..."

"Senior! Sen —"

The door, which hadn't been properly closed, swung open on its own.

The empty room mocked him. The books Edwin had been carrying everywhere lately were scattered on the floor, and in one warm corner of the room sat the toys Anne had given them.

The blanket the boys had brought from the Bertholdt estate lay crumpled at the end of the sofa.

"...Find them. They might be playing somewhere else."

But he knew they weren't.

The rage that had been blazing inside him went cold. Something snapped.

Uncle, Uncle! Uncle?

The boys' voices echoed.

Wide smiling faces. Two little hands stretched out, begging to be picked up. Warm, fragile heat.

Harold picked up the stuffed bear from the floor. The bear Edgar had never once let out of his arms.

---

"We don't know anything."

"Mm, I know, young master."

The man answered lightly, still smiling from ear to ear.

Worried about provoking the kidnapper for nothing, Edgar tugged at Edwin's sleeve.

He'd meant it as don't say any more — but Edwin, however he took it, reached his hand back and took Edgar's. The firm squeeze felt like it was telling him, don't worry.

"But it's not that I brought you here because I thought you knew anything, young masters."

An affectionate tone — almost teasing.

If it weren't for the dagger spinning around and around in his hand, it wouldn't have been half so chilling.

"Everything's falling into place, right on schedule."

The man whistled softly. People passed by outside the shed. A shout would carry.

But the man crouched down with a bright smile to meet Edgar and Edwin at eye level.

The same gesture as their uncle's — and nothing like it.

"Now then, little masters. You'll behave, won't you?"

The tip of the dagger grazed Edwin's neck.