Chapter 45
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Chapter 45
I collapsed at the Oslo Estate's Ball and suffered from fever for two days straight. Though autumn was upon us, as September gave way to October, cold air and thick fog began to settle over the land. People called the sudden fever that struck during this brief transitional period the sickness brought by fog, or the cold given by ghosts.
"Aunt Elicia visited while you were asleep. When she heard that her darling Charlotte had collapsed, she initially thought you had finally learned how to faint into a gentleman's arms."
Lydia Augusta smiled softly as she wiped my forehead with a cloth.
"But when she learned it was truly a fever, she was quite worried. This is a bouquet she left behind. She said the wind had thoughtfully selected only the prettiest blossoms to break, and she boasted that she obtained such a beautiful bouquet from the forest without any effort."
Lydia Augusta handed me a white anemone blossom. The last time I walked through the forest behind the Augusta Estate with Leopold, we could only see half-opened buds. Now, seeing the anemones in full bloom, I exhaled softly.
As my fever gradually subsided but my strength remained depleted, not only the maids including Collin and Sydney, but my family members as well took turns keeping vigil at my bedside morning and evening.
'That must be why Leopold's Residence hasn't appeared.'
I tried to stay awake and wait for Leopold just in case, but soon, before the sun had even fully set, I succumbed to the medicine's effects and closed my eyes. Last night, I felt his touch and breath brush against my cheek as I drifted in and out of sleep, but it was likely just a dream or a fever-induced illusion.
Katie, who was keeping watch over my bed alongside Bianca, asked a question.
"By the way, how did you end up collapsing, Charlotte? Was your bodice laced too tightly? Or did Philip Oslo say something that made your heart flutter?"
(*Bodice: the upper part of a woman's dress that emphasizes the waist and accentuates the female silhouette, chest, and shoulder line. A major garment widely used from before the mid-nineteenth century corset era through and beyond it.)
Bianca then answered in my stead, tidying up the ball of yarn that Katie had scattered about.
"Whatever the reason, things are definitely going well between you and Philip Oslo, aren't they? It was Oslo who brought you here after you collapsed. He seemed quite urgent about it—I think Oslo genuinely cares about you."
Bianca clearly hoped that I would marry the wealthy Philip Oslo, thereby easing her own burden as the next in line to be married.
"People are saying that the two of you were definitely trying to spend time as lovers in that dark Gallery... Katie, stop touching the yarn. If it gets tangled, Collin will have to sort it out again later."
Just as Bianca said, the sight of Philip cradling my collapsed form was perfect fodder for society gossip. While Harrison went to fetch a physician, Philip carefully tended to me, cradling me on his lap. Those who witnessed this spread rumors that Charlotte and Philip would surely become engaged soon.
Four days had passed since the day I collapsed. As I gradually regained my strength, I now easily finished a bowl of cabbage soup while resting in bed. Helena, whose turn it was to nurse me today, pulled out a letter that had arrived for me.
"While you were ill, several letters arrived. Your Aunt Elicia, who looked after Jane, the pastor, and Brentwood's gossip trio—you know them, don't you? They all inquired after you, Charlotte... No, Charlotte. Let me read them to you. How about another bowl of soup?"
Before Helena could finish speaking, the maid Collin presented Charlotte with a second bowl of soup. Helena narrowed her eyes and began reading the letter from her aunt in the countryside.
"...Charlotte, I was truly sorry to hear you've fallen gravely ill with a fever. I sought out a Gypsy woman I know well to inquire about a cure for your condition. According to her, since it's early October, you must have caught a fever from a ghost. She recommended either chewing willow branches or drinking hot ginger tea. Of course, if the illness doesn't improve even after that, we'll need to perform a séance to find the ghost that gave you the fever...."
Helena rolled her eyes as she finished reading that part.
"Good heavens. So it was your aunt who introduced Jane to séances. Isn't it obvious that chewing willow branches relieves headaches and fever? It's even mentioned in medical texts. And ginger tea is something people drink when they catch a cold or have an upset stomach."
Helena, pragmatic to the core, had no faith in such superstitions as ghosts and séances.
"And calling the fever you caught a gift from a ghost—isn't that rather amusing?"
Charlotte let Helena's grumbling wash over her as she gazed down at the half-empty soup bowl. Whether or not the fever came from a ghost, the pain that had pierced her heart for the past four days—that certainly came from a ghost she knew all too well.
"Charlotte, I know you hold compassion for my circumstances. I know you enjoy the time we spend together. But...."
Even as she lay ill, Charlotte had been turning over and over in her mind what Leopold had said in the Gallery.
"...The clearer the boundary of death between us becomes, the more I fear you will suffer...."
Unfortunately, every word Leopold had spoken was true. It was a truth she knew well, a familiar reality he need not have spelled out so carefully. After nights spent whispering tenderly with Leopold, when she faced the lonely dawn alone without him, such thoughts and fears often crept into her mind. The sorrow of his absence during the day only deepened her dread that his spirit might vanish silently tonight.
'I'm afraid too, Your Highness.'
The greater the melancholy of daylight without him, the more Charlotte's fear grew—the fear that his soul might disappear without a word tonight.
'Yet my heart turns toward you nonetheless.'
Charlotte stirred her soup quietly with her spoon, lost in thought. Then Helena spoke in a slightly raised voice.
"And now the next letter. Oh, Charlotte. This one is from Armand Rochefort. Let me see...."
Helena waved the purple envelope as she spoke.
"I'll read that one!"
Charlotte set her spoon down on the plate with a sharp clink. A purple letter from Armand—it surely contained news about Leopold's whereabouts.
To Charlotte,
I started in surprise upon reading the opening line of Armand's letter—so different from his usual correspondence.
'To Charlotte? Not Miss Aurora?'
An ominous premonition settled over me as I continued reading.
...I heard you had fallen ill with fever. I wished to share good news to lift your spirits, yet instead I find myself bearing the opposite. Last week, you sent me a comprehensive letter summarizing all the information you had gleaned from Philip Oslo, along with a request to investigate the newly discovered porters and a nobleman named Harrison....
I remembered it well. That day when I had dozed off at the secretary's desk in the Drawing Room, I had condensed the information I learned from Philip and sent it to Armand. Moreover, since the official Search Party could not investigate Harrison without concrete evidence, I had privately asked Armand to investigate the connection between Harrison and the porters on my behalf.
...Upon reading that letter, I recalled the recent burglaries at London estates that I had heard about. Their method was cunning—they would visit estates whose original owners no longer resided there but had let them to traveling nobles, posing as porters sent by the original owner to retrieve artworks left behind. A familiar tale, is it not? This led me to suspect that the porters who appeared at Leopold's Residence might not be genuine porters at all, but rather thieves employing this very scheme.
I mobilized my connections in London to track down the burglars who had previously used such methods. And I was able to obtain information about the porters who had visited Leopold's Residence.
Two days ago—the morning after you collapsed at the Oslo Family Ball—I went to the place where they lived, but....
My trembling eyes searched for the next sentence in the letter.
...all four porters were already dead.
"No, this cannot be!"
I let out a faint cry. Helena looked at me in alarm, but I had no time for explanations—I hurriedly turned to the next page of the letter.
...When I arrived, the Search Party led by Philip Oslo was already there. It seems the Search Party has become more capable of late—surely thanks to Philip Oslo. Of course, I discovered them only moments after they did, so we were equally tardy....
I had found it strange that four porters lived under one roof, but it turned out they were actually an elderly man named Homang and his three sons. They had originally worked as genuine porters, but apparently began robbing unoccupied estates some time ago. Homang's wife and daughter were unaware of their involvement in the thefts. The day before the Search Party arrived, when they brought lunch to the warehouse where the men were working, they discovered all four of them stabbed deeply and lying dead.
According to the townspeople, though their circumstances were dire, Homang and his sons were not men capable of harming others. Of course, where can one find someone who appears incapable of such things? Even those who commit the most heinous crimes sometimes appear utterly gentle....
I closed the letter, breathing heavily. The remainder contained only Armand's promise to investigate Harrison further and news of Prince Frederick's impending visit to London—information I already possessed.
"Charlotte, are you well? What on earth was in that letter...."
Helena asked me with concern. The color that had gradually returned to my face as I sipped my soup drained away once more, leaving me pale as parchment.
But I could only shake my head, lost in my own thoughts, unable to offer any response.
'If it was the day before Armand and Philip's search party arrived.... The porters were killed on the day of the Oslo Duchy's Ball, or perhaps right before the Ball itself. The very day I met Harrison and caught that ominous scent!'
Charlotte instinctively believed the smell of blood she had detected at the Ball and the men's cries she heard just before losing consciousness were connected to the porters' deaths.
'Which means the person who hired the porters is the culprit behind Leopold's disappearance, and when the search party began closing in, they eliminated the porters to cover their tracks.'
Charlotte's eyes widened. Murder. The disappearance of a neighboring kingdom's prince was certainly a grave matter, but now with the deaths of four people, Leopold's disappearance had become unmistakably a dangerous affair.
'But I believe—no, I am certain—that His Highness is still alive somewhere.'
Even if the light of life was gradually dimming as he had said, the mysterious force connecting her to Leopold assured her that he still lived. And perhaps that very enigmatic power was why she had caught that ominous scent the moment she saw Harrison, and why she heard what might have been the porters' screams as phantom voices in her mind.
'Just as His Highness hears my voice and opens his eyes in the darkness.... Now I must trust this unknown power given to me, trust my instincts.'
Charlotte clutched Armand's letter, biting her pale lips as she made her resolve.
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Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org
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