“But attacks can happen to anyone. Your Highness, please allow us to take Maude to our carriage.”

She didn’t know where she found such courage to speak so fluently even before the crown prince. Perhaps it was because the situation felt completely unreal. Bronwynner Harcourt from Perth Orphanage daring to contradict His Highness the Crown Prince.

Just then, the commotion of an audience stirring came through the tightly closed theater doors. Something must have happened inside.

The prince seemed like a quick decision-maker. After looking at her briefly, he nodded firmly.

“Very well, Miss Pemberton. But I’ll send one of my attendants with you. Derek, Lady Havilland. Take good care of my cousin.”

* * *

Maude lay on the carriage seat wrapped in a shawl.

Bronwynner knelt on the carriage floor, ignoring her crumpling dress, and held the girl’s hand tightly.

“Maude, you’re all right. Try to breathe slowly and deeply.”

The cool early spring air rushed in through the wide-open carriage window. Bronwynner tucked the shawl tightly around her and wiped the beads of sweat from the girl’s forehead.

“Can you hear me……?”

The silver-gray eyes trembled anxiously. Bronwynner felt relieved because focus had returned to them, however faintly.

“You’re fine now, good girl. I’ll send you home soon.”

Crimsworth would be best, but it wasn’t appropriate to take a girl in this condition on a train. The carriage was heading to the Lovedale townhouse.

“Jeremy……”

Maude’s lips quivered.

“Do you want to see your brother?”

When Bronwynner asked, Lady Windell quickly said,

“I’ll send someone to Crimsworth as soon as we arrive.”

“Did you hear that, Maude? You’ll see your brother soon.”

Maude’s symptoms were similar to when Elise or Kaylee had been frightened, though much more severe. In particular young Kaylee, who had a sensitive temperament and vivid imagination, would wake up crying from terrible nightmares about once every two weeks.

Then Bronwynner would take the child to the window and hold her tight under the moonlight, singing until she calmed down. Maude was too grown a lady for lullabies, but……

Maude’s breathing deepened.

“Yes, that’s right, just like that.” Bronwynner brushed back the golden hair that had fallen over her forehead. “Good girl.”

Count Farraway, who had been politely averting his eyes from the scene, suddenly looked around. He rang the bell to the driver’s seat.

“Timothy. You’ve taken the wrong road. We’re heading to Whitepole.”

The driver raised his voice to answer,

“I apologize, Lord Goldenborough. The main road is terribly congested today…… Did the performance end earlier than usual?”

That couldn’t be the case. They had left the theater before the first act even ended.

“But why come to Whitepole?”

“This is the only shortcut available.”

Lady Windell closed the window, leaving only a half-inch gap. Judging by the count’s tone, Whitepole was either a high-crime area or a slum in Whittingham. Perhaps both.

“Then get us out as quickly as possible.”

The count instructed the driver.

Following those instructions, the driver increased speed. Bronwynner covered Maude with her body to prevent her from being jostled, while anxiously listening to the sounds outside the window. She reassured herself that the crown prince’s attendant was following on horseback.

While areas around the Bingham mansion or Crimsworth Court grew quiet by eight in the evening, this street seemed to be at its busiest after nine at night.

Through the gaps in the curtains, dim lights and the sound of people laughing filtered in. And cutting through that noise came the sharp sound of whistles.

‘Whistles……?’

The count frowned.

“A police raid.”

“A checkpoint……?”

“No police officer would be bold enough to stop a carriage bearing the Lovedale crest.”

Seeing her expression, he quickly reassured her.

“This is Whittingham’s worst…… entertainment district. The police occasionally conduct raids for show.”

Through the swaying curtains, she saw two police carriages overtaking theirs. Timothy’s curses could be heard all the way inside.

The whistle sounds grew louder, followed by men who appeared to be the targets of the raid beginning to loudly protest in the middle of the street.

Peeking outside out of curiosity, Bronwynner saw uniformed police officers lined up in front of a building. However, what caught her attention wasn’t the police or the disheveled gentlemen and half-n*ked women who seemed to have been enjoying themselves before being dragged out.

It was an ordinary three-story brick building that could have been found on any street.

Though it had no sign or nameplate, her eyes recognized the small emblem drawn above the entrance.

A deer-shaped design with an inverted triangular head and geometric antlers.

‘Where have I seen that before?’

Alec Bingham’s wax-like face.

The red blood flowing beneath her collapsing feet.

The glass figurine that fell from the fireplace when he crashed into it…….

The strange feeling of anxiously worrying that the figurine might break during the most terrible moment of her life resurfaced. She was certain. She clearly remembered thinking it must be expensive due to its unusual shape.

“Miss Pemberton……?”

Count Farraway called out.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

Bronwynner drew the curtain with a trembling hand.

* * *

“Lord Crimsworth. It’s time for us to leave.”

Seth said, almost pleadingly.

Jeremy looked around with sharp eyes. The gentlemen in evening dress seated at the gaming tables all looked similar due to their attire and the white masks covering half their faces. However, if he looked carefully, he thought he might be able to distinguish familiar faces.

Though it appeared to be an ordinary club on the surface, the stakes at those tables weren’t money but physical items, or ‘anything’ the winner demanded. This included everything from handing over ancestral territories to indefinitely lending one’s wife or daughter—all manner of despicable acts. Most of the casino’s customers were, of course, Lennox nobility or successful businessmen.

A place that even the Whittingham police couldn’t easily touch.

He had known about the existence of such a place in Whitepole all along. It was somewhere a young person seeking thrills and stimulation might visit out of curiosity. However, Jeremy preferred not to get involved in unsavory affairs. There was no reason for the Duke of Crimsworth to expose his vulnerabilities in a place where all guests wore masks while recognizing each other but pretending not to.

So when he demanded an entrance ticket to the Antler Club’s game room, Cameron made no attempt to hide his surprise.

⌜Has His Grace the Duke of Crimsworth finally decided to try for higher stakes?⌟

The Antler Club wasn’t as exclusive as Merryweather House, but without an introduction from an existing member, one couldn’t even discover its location. Instead, if one paid the entrance fee, status, rank, or social reputation weren’t major obstacles. This was why an army ministry captain could frequent the place.

Last month, a young captain from the army ministry had committed suicide after being severely reprimanded for negligence in managing confidential documents.

That was the official story. Her Majesty the Queen had said so. Jeremy didn’t doubt his aunt’s words, but he felt the need to verify the facts.

The captain had put his service pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The police forensic examination and autopsy results were accurate, so there was no question about that fact, but…….

There was no suicide note.

A captain working at the army ministry would have valued military honor above all else. Why wouldn’t he leave at least one note expressing his anguish or grievances? If he had been mentally overwhelmed, perhaps he lacked the energy to write a note. Indeed, the police and army officers had reached that conclusion and hastily closed the case.

But what if the motive for suicide lay elsewhere……?

Or if someone had pressured him into taking his own life?

Jeremy’s father, Troy Lovedale, had worked at the foreign ministry in his youth. He had distinguished himself during the war by excelling in intelligence operations, which made him Rosvalt’s archenemy. Because of this, people involved believed that the intruder who broke into Crimsworth ten years ago and brutally murdered the previous Duke of Lovedale in front of his young daughter was an assassin commissioned by the Rosvalt royal family.

Jeremy had inherited not only his father’s title and territory but also parts of his character.

He didn’t trust anyone rashly. Rather than being as diligent as his father, he was somewhat more crooked, but he had no dissatisfaction or doubts about his life itself and believed that he should fulfill his responsibilities in proportion to what he enjoyed. He was also destined to enter the Privy Council after marriage and serve the royal family for life.

Therefore, if the late Duchess Rosemary Harrows had been from Rosvalt and Duke Harrows was suspected of communicating with the enemy country, it was his duty to verify all related facts.

⌜That captain who committed suicide. I heard rumors that he was already a person of interest due to his bad conduct.⌟

This was also information that Cameron, who was well-versed in rumors, had tipped him off about.

The captain had frequently visited Whitepole.

Also, he hadn’t taken documents outside but had simply confused ordinary approval documents with confidential ones, handing the latter—which shouldn’t have been removed—to a high-ranking officer. It made more sense to attribute the suicide motive to massive debt or blackmail over a weakness rather than such a mistake.

‘But it would be difficult to gather information in a place like this.’

The masked men barely exchanged words. In this atmosphere, asking questions about a dead person would only arouse suspicion.

Perhaps it would be better to investigate the people around that captain…….

It was just as Jeremy nodded to Seth, signaling that they should leave.

A man dressed as a manager shouted urgently from the stairway,

“Police raid! Everyone please leave immediately.”

Then came the sharp sound of whistles from downstairs.

Like any club, Antler had game rooms, bars, dining rooms, libraries, smoking rooms, and bedrooms. However, to provide “differentiated” pleasure to its customers, it had an unusually large number of bedrooms and female employees, and the upper floor where these rooms were concentrated quickly became chaotic.

The men seated at the tables all rose at once and headed toward the opposite side of the staircase. There seemed to be an escape route prepared there. The sound of footsteps running up the stairs could be heard. Jeremy headed straight for the stairs.