He made a face that said, “How on earth does Jane know this?” and then quickly hardened his expression, realizing his mistake. Unfortunately for him, I was someone who could catch even those fleeting moments.
Liam smiled bitterly as he watched my trained observational skills catch that brief slip. This was entirely his own doing, and it was also his misfortune.
If he didn’t want to get caught, he shouldn’t have come to me in such an unguarded state. It’s like he’s begging me to notice. In truth, he came running in out of fear. With so many secrets that he’s afraid to reveal, why did he come to me?
If anyone heard my thoughts, they might lecture, “You two need to have a serious talk,” but sometimes even the obvious is hard to achieve.
I didn’t hold back my laughter this time. I laughed hollowly.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
Liam Moore. He knew, and that’s why he didn’t want to come here.
“You weren’t planning to tell me unless I found out on my own, were you?”
He mumbled something briefly. I wasn’t going to give him a chance to make excuses. I shot back at him relentlessly.
Finally, he rubbed his forehead and sighed deeply before speaking. It was an apology. One short word.
I felt deflated. If he had kept making excuses or denying it, I might have yelled, but his straightforwardness took the wind out of my sails.
“…Did you also know that his wife was murdered?”
“I saw the obituary in the newspaper about the death of the Indian aristocrat’s daughter. I didn’t know it was murder.”
“…The killer is James Stranden.”
Liam Moore’s expression hardened. He leaned forward slightly, making eye contact. It was the look he had when he discovered a ‘case.’ The passionate eyes I remembered.
“Tell me more, in detail.”
Amelia Jokins, her background, James Stranden’s gambling, the suspicious people frequenting his mansion, the isolated wife and her murder. The woman I met. A crime that might happen again. The salvation of Christine Besson.
After unloading all this, Liam just sat there, staring at me, as if he had forgotten how to react. It seemed he was quite astonished by how much I had uncovered without his knowledge.
His gray eyes were sharp. As always, they were bright and clear. The previously pale face had regained some color and now showed some calmness. He was clearly able to think again.
“Have you been investigating this since last evening?”
“…Yes, I have.”
He pondered deeply for a moment with his forehead in his hand, then looked up.
“It would be best if we could stop the wedding. You could convey this without upsetting her, right? But we have no solid evidence, only supernatural experiences…”
Frankly, he wouldn’t believe that I met Amelia Jokins either. “What? You met a dead person? Are you out of your mind?” That’s what he would probably say. I appreciated how easily Liam believed me, but that was because he knew he was in the wrong.
Liam asked me a question.
“In this situation, do you think Christine Besson would call off the wedding just based on this? Without suspecting us?”
He was right. Christine Besson, weakened by her brother’s death, would be the type to cling to someone, not the type to storm off.
“We have to persuade her first. Maybe we’ll need to tell a white lie.”
“Then…”
I raised my index finger decisively.
“We’ll say we were hired by a distant relative of Amelia Jokins. While investigating her sudden death, we discovered that she was already married. She was healthy, never even caught a cold, but suddenly fell ill and died, coughing up blood. It was too suspicious. So we started looking into it and found James Stranden’s debts and records of shady dealings. That’s why we’re here. A large sum of money went missing. But where would that money go? Something fishy is going on.”
The story, concocted from Amelia Jokins’ testimony, was somewhat flimsy, but there were suspicious points. Even if it wasn’t concrete, it was enough to make someone wary.
Liam Moore now seemed to admire my boldness, and I felt the same. The skill to weave such a tale was quite impressive. I was half-satisfied with my own story, thinking, “As expected, the blood of Koreans, skilled in agitation and fabrication, runs through me!”
“My assistant, where did you learn such eloquence?”
I laughed heartily.
“Perhaps it’s the effect of early education?”
“I’m now in awe.”
The brilliance of early education in South Korea shines. Be proud, adults obsessed with private education. The escape route for children fleeing early education is gaming.
People trained in political games from a young age through various games end up like this. Be careful. Don’t casually beta-test unknown games thinking, “Surely, I won’t get immersed in a game.”
“If I were the bride and heard that, I’d walk out immediately.”
My thoughts were interrupted.
Bride Liam? Liam Schofield Moore in a veil?
I asked playfully.
“Really, in a dress?”
He finally relaxed and smiled.
“In a dress.”
After this not-quite-reconciliation, Liam Moore became very cooperative. He answered questions promptly and didn’t even try to think of any clever retorts. He probably realized he had crossed a line today. Indeed, he had, but seeing him reflect on his actions cooled my anger bit by bit.
He sat quietly as I planned how to ‘disrupt the wedding,’ listening intently. Even when I scratched my head and said, “Should I just shoot James Stranden?” he remained composed.
What was his reaction?
“You don’t have the experience, so shooting would require practice. Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”
Of course, what I learned about Liam Moore today (that he hid the truth from me) was just the tip of the iceberg. Liam Moore had many secrets, and undoubtedly, there were much bigger ones hidden behind his polished facade.
But for now, solving this case and preventing future victims was the most important thing. If I got swept up in personal grievances and fought, it would only frustrate me.
Whether it’s unfortunate or fortunate, it’s uncertain when I might leave this 19th-century England, so I have plenty of time to dig into Liam Moore.
So today, I won’t pry further. I am an adult who understands the virtue of silence.
Whatever he is hiding, whether it’s an apple, a fig, or a fruit dripping with sin like blood, trying to deceive me with a serpent’s tongue, or if he genuinely cares for me, I will find out someday.
＊ ＊ ＊
I woke up to a blinding light. After blinking several times, my vision returned. My body felt heavy.
I remembered falling asleep late at night, chatting in a room that wasn’t mine. I remembered Liam mumbling uncomfortably. Then I must have fallen asleep, and now it was this time.
7 a.m.
As I lay there, the light coming through the window grew stronger. The fire in the fireplace had died down, leaving only a few red embers between the blackened logs. The chill of late autumn was gradually filling the room.
Ignoring it, I got up and opened the window.
My eyes filled with the silence. I watched the morning mist cross the harvested wheat fields and spread to the mansion.
Where did it come from? I wondered briefly. Is there a lake nearby? I didn’t know. Maybe it came from an artificial reservoir.
There was a fresh smell of water and crushed grass. The day was dawning.
Ah, looking at the sun, a red mass rising and coloring the horizon, I thought.
“It’s perfect weather for a wedding!”
And to disrupt that wedding.
It took quite some time to get dressed, so I started preparing immediately.
I added more logs to the dying fire to warm the room, then took out my clothes. Normally, I’d wear several layers of petticoats and then a skirt, but today I dressed lightly in case something happened.
I secured the .45 caliber six-shot revolver, my reliable partner on my thigh. Instead of a solemn prayer, I murmured, “Please, don’t let me have to draw this gun.”
After tidying up my clothes and thoroughly pinning up my hair, I heard a knock on the door. A sharp, punctual sound.
I checked the time. 7:50 a.m. I raised my voice to answer.
“Come in.”