As soon as permission was granted, Liam Moore grinned, holding the doorknob.
“Ready for the wedding?”
“Of course.”
I lifted my head confidently and replied. He extended his elbow, and I placed my hand on it. His gaze was now fixed ahead, revealing the sharp angle of his forehead and nose. Watching him, I spoke again.
“They have to believe us.”
He looked at me briefly before turning his eyes away with a familiar, kind smile.
“It’ll be fine. You have a way of earning people’s trust.”
＊ ＊ ＊
“Miss Christine Besson.”
“You must not marry him.”
Ah. Instead of the speech I had planned in my head, the main point slipped out. Christine Besson’s face was filled with confusion and anxiety, observed by another. Quickly, I tried to correct myself.
“…Where do I start? First, we run a detective agency in London. We came here upon receiving a request to investigate.”
“A request?”
“Yes. Have you heard of Amelia… Stranden?”
“Who?” Christine asked. Then, as if realizing something was wrong, her face turned pale. She must have sensed that something was amiss.
A woman’s intuition is remarkable. Although I called her Amelia Jokins, introducing her as Amelia Stranden for this purpose worked as intended.
“She is the former wife of James Stranden. We were hired by her relatives to find out about her. They lost contact with Amelia Stranden.”
Liam Moore stepped in to explain. I continued the story.
“Mrs. Stranden had already passed away. While investigating her death, we discovered something suspicious. The financial flow surrounding this family was strange. Suddenly, there was a lot of money, but then it started dwindling after her death. It aligned perfectly with her death. We suspect that James Stranden marries, kills his wife, and embezzles her wealth. He lived comfortably after his previous wife’s death but seems to be reaching his limit now. Seeing that he’s decided to remarry.”
Christine’s face changed repeatedly as the explanation went on. For a while, she muttered that it couldn’t be true.
Her gaze shifted to the wedding dress hanging nearby, then back to me. She seemed unwilling to believe it, as if trying to forget the story.
“I can’t believe it.”
Of course. I expected her to say that.
“…Miss Besson. There are no laws in Britain regarding the property of married women right now. With your brother dead, you are the sole heir. You must realize how dangerous your situation is.”
She shook her head twice.
“He is the only one who loved me despite my background.”
Indeed, for money.
A Creole could never live as an English person. According to the white people’s eugenicist thinking, they believed Creoles had impure blood. How could they accept someone like that into British high society? They would always be outsiders, treated as foreigners even in the land from which half their blood originated.
It’s a disgusting era! They loved the money earned from exploiting colonies but despised the Creoles who brought wealth to the British Empire. It’s revolting.
So I understood why Christine Besson didn’t believe me. She wanted to trust someone kind-hearted.
‘It’s pitiful.’
Thinking that, Christine pulled the bell cord. A maid entered the room promptly, bowing her head.
“…Mary. Help me change my dress. I’d like you to leave now.”
The maid called Mary approached obediently and began helping Christine change out of her dress. Even for an indoor dress, there was a corset tightening her waist.
Liam had already stepped out, and I turned back into the room for one last attempt to persuade her. Mary was untying the strings behind her. Christine still had her gaze fixed on the wedding dress.
“Miss Besson.”
Her regretful eyes made it impossible for me to say more. Her eyes seemed to already know something, looking at the design of the dress that didn’t suit her….
“…I can’t go through with this marriage.”
And then everyone in the room felt that something was wrong, as a black stain began to spread over the corset.
As the strings loosened, the stain spread faster. I knew what it meant. There was only one kind of liquid that spread in that way on clothes.
“Damn it, Liam! Help!”
Christine doubled over in sudden pain, her face turning pale as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She gasped for breath, clutching her abdomen. Seeing her hand stained with blood, she looked at me with a face that didn’t understand what was happening, like a confused child.
I caught her as she collapsed, Mary screaming and falling to her knees. My heart pounded in my chest.
“Mary, get help, now!”
I had assumed James Stranden’s crime would happen after the wedding. So I thought preventing the marriage would keep her safe.
But James Stranden was far more ruthless than I had imagined. I couldn’t guess when he had set this up. Did he want her to die on the wedding day?
I pressed firmly on her abdomen to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t enough. Blood circulation increased, worsening the bleeding.
Damn it, damn it!
“Christine, stay with me!”
The woman in my arms was fading away.
Her skin was too cold compared to her hot blood.
Her body temperature was dropping. Christine Besson’s breaths were shallow and labored. Her head grew cold. Blood flowed like water. It was endless, like a faucet had been turned on.
My God! Death was pooling at my feet. Pressing down alone couldn’t stop the bleeding. It felt like an hourglass had been turned over. Until everything inside was drained, until she died, this bleeding would continue.
All efforts to save Christine were in vain.
I tried to grasp her life. But I couldn’t stop it from slipping through my fingers. No matter how many times someone gets stabbed in the movies and still fights back, reality is far different. I kept biting my lip. Please. Please.
Her name was no longer on the quest list. As if she had been erased. If only this were an MMORPG game. Then, I could use an overpowered healing spell to save even a dead NPC. Desperation made my mind search for useless hopes.
“Christine. Can you hear me? Don’t fall asleep. Help is on the way.”
Her eyes had lost focus. Her slightly parted lips were already turning blue. Her pale face moved as she mumbled incessantly. Her body convulsed.
“I’m cold. So cold…”
Christine, clutching my hand, kept asking. Her voice was confused.
Why is this happening to me? Am I hurt? I’m bleeding? It hurts. My stomach hurts so much. Mom. I’m so cold. Where is James, Jimmy? Brother. Brother. Where is my brother? I’m so sleepy, Jane….
Fear gripped me. I was scared. Death seemed to be speaking to me, someone who had been indifferent to the world, thinking of people as NPCs in a game.
Is this really a game? You know now, being here. Do these people feel like mere characters in a game? Does this hot blood and these dying breaths feel like data leakage to you?
While I tried to calm her and stop the bleeding, Liam Moore returned, carrying a medical bag.
“Remove her corset, Jane.”
He said as soon as he arrived. Without hesitation, I removed the corset completely. When I lifted the blood-soaked undergarment, a horrifying sight greeted me.
The wound was worse than I thought. Moreover, inside the thick fabric of the corset, a thin, long piece of metal was embedded. Yes, it looked like a rapier blade stuck in there. Shorter but unmistakably, it was a blade.