Alec Bingham’s main income came from illegal clubs in Whitepole. The man repeatedly won or lost big at gambling. Such places were also involved in prostitution, fencing stolen goods, fraud, human trafficking, and even espionage, so no one knew which of these the deceased might have been involved in during his lifetime. What was certain was that a mere baron’s eldest son couldn’t have bought such a nice vacation home just by rolling around the money he got from his father.

Next, Inspector Curson went to the theater to meet “Tristan Autumn,” the owner of the vacation home, but failed on the first day. Undeterred, he decided to investigate the Antler Club in Whitepole, which Bingham had frequented.

The god of investigation did not abandon this young inspector.

On the day he went to the club with the cooperation of Whittingham Station, Tristan Autumn was murdered right in the middle of the Whittingham Opera House stage during a play. Word came that the actor had also been suffering from enormous gambling debts. Considering Tristan’s financial state over the past few weeks, he couldn’t possibly have had the means to buy a vacation home in Bathgate.

‘Could this be a coincidence……?’

Curson thought.

Alec Bingham and the actor were connected through the vacation home transaction, and both had handled large sums of money in gambling, so it was natural to assume that Tristan Autumn also frequented the Antler Club. Perhaps Bingham had wagered the vacation home. At the Antler’s gaming tables, everything imaginable changed hands as stakes.

As it happened, the Whittingham police were cracking down on the club. It’s fundamentally impossible to eradicate illegal businesses in Whitepole, which are connected to larger criminal organizations. Inspector Curson gained nothing beyond his suspicion that the two murdered young men were involved with gambling debts or other unsavory matters in that world.

In any case, he had to return to Bathgate for now. However, there were no trains departing from Whittingham on Monday morning, and to get to Bathgate, he had to go to Crimsworth, an hour away by train, and catch an express train.

So he had to spend both time and money, but it might have been worth it.

“Miss Bronwynner Pemberton of the Viscount Pemberton family of Goldenborough!”

As he headed toward the platform after buying a newspaper at the stand, a blonde girl shouted this and crashed into him with her whole body.

The inspector was startled.

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss. Are you hurt?”

His profuse apologies, even removing his hat, weren’t so much because he was truly sorry but because of the name “Bronwynner” that had jolted his ears.

Bronwynner isn’t a very rare name, but it happened to be the name Curson was looking for. Moreover, if the owner of that name had fiery red hair hidden under a bonnet and deep olive-colored eyes, it was worth noting. The woman was beautiful enough to make one turn around after passing her on the street. She seemed uncomfortable with his gaze, but this was something the policeman was quite used to.

The person who had bumped into him was clearly a noblewoman, and an expensive one at that, perfectly dressed like a doll. The red-haired woman was part of the girl’s party, dressed similarly. In other words, it wasn’t attire a mere nanny who had fled without even receiving her wages would wear.

But that hair color and those eyes…….

The woman Curson was looking for had the surname Harcourt. The name the girl had mentioned was “Bronwynner Pemberton.”

‘The Viscount Pemberton family of Goldenborough.’

Could this also be a coincidence?

Bronwynner Harcourt was born in Goldenborough.

Perhaps for some reason, parents in that region had competed to name their red-haired daughters “Bronwynner” during a certain period. When a novel becomes hugely popular, girls born that year might all end up with names like “Briony” or “Edith.”

But surely not all those red-headed Bronwynners would take trains to Crimsworth.

It was well worth investigating.

Boris Curson stared blankly in the direction “Miss Pemberton” had gone.

* * *

“From now on, please act with more discretion, Miss Pemberton. Don’t forget that your actions affect not only your own reputation but also the honor of the Lovedale family.”

Marchioness Francine Whitman said.

Bronwynner lowered her eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She had been so tense getting out of the carriage that her steps felt heavy, yet the meeting with the headmistress ended with disappointing simplicity. In a dry and cold tone, Francine declared that “the unfortunate incident last Friday” would be overlooked just this once. According to the teachers’ meeting, it had happened because she was a new student who didn’t know the school rules well.

Naturally, there was no mention of any disciplinary action for Devon, Annie, Jemima, or the other girls who had gathered in the atelier that night. They probably hadn’t even been called in separately.

Still, Bronwynner didn’t object.

As Francine said, she now had only one chance left, and Devon’s group would never apologize first.

She just wondered how the Duke of Lovedale had persuaded the headmistress, who had seemed so adamant on Friday. That man could probably do anything if he set his mind to it, but she couldn’t easily imagine him begging someone else.

If he had done so with Francine, it was entirely because of Bronwynner. She felt sorry and ashamed of that fact.

⌜Well done.⌟

She tried not to recall the light in those gentle gray eyes when he said that, or the smile he had held on his lips.

She hadn’t done anything well, and he had probably just been intrigued to see a woman acting like a wild foal after only seeing reserved ladies like Countess Windell or Devon Whitman.

Even on her way up to her room, she took each step carefully. From now on, she intended to be careful even with each breath she exhaled.

“Miss Pemberton.”

The dormitory supervisor appeared at the top of the stairs.

“I’ve heard you were having difficulty adjusting, so we’ve decided to move your room.”

“My room? Where to…?”

“There’s one vacant room. Miss Pemberton will use that room.”

It would have been nice if they had given her that room from the beginning.

Perhaps they needed someone to serve Devon, so new students were initially assigned to that person’s room. Bronwynner didn’t want to concern herself with Devon’s affairs anymore.

The new room was at the far end of the corridor.

The moment she opened the door, Bronwynner’s eyes widened.

A bouquet of tulips so enormous she couldn’t hold it with one arm lay on the bed. Thanks to the snow-white tulips and the cream-colored ribbon decorating the bouquet, the room looked even brighter. The flowers were fresh and fragrant as if just cut from a greenhouse.

With her heart unknowingly racing, she picked up the card hidden among the flowers. Her fingertips trembled as she opened the envelope.

‘Could it be……’

She recalled Jeremy sitting in the hall since morning, with seemingly nothing to do. Crimsworth Court had a splendid glass greenhouse. Surely they would grow such tulips in that greenhouse…….

She took a deep breath before reading the card.

[Were you surprised? How happy are you? I think roses or lilies are too ordinary. More special flowers suit you, Miss Pemberton. If you’re pleased, please be sure to write me a letter.

Your eternal friend, Maude Lovedale]

Bronwynner smiled.

She was certainly happy. How could she not be? When had she prepared all this……? Even until just before boarding the train, Maude had given no indication.

For a while, she buried her face in the flowers, suppressing her embarrassing feelings of momentary excitement.

Out of consideration for students returning from spending the weekend at home, there were no classes on Monday morning. In the afternoon, there was a music class, and Bronwynner had chosen singing as her subject.

In the music room, she saw several faces she had encountered in the atelier on Friday night. Devon and Annie weren’t there, but Jemima sat in the front row, and when she entered, Jemima predictably pretended not to see her. It was so obvious that it clearly showed she was actually conscious of her.

Moreover, others who had previously politely ignored her also took notice of Bronwynner’s entrance. But unlike Jemima, they weren’t hostile. It felt more like they were now showing the interest and welcome they should have shown the new student last week.

“Miss Pemberton, I hear singing is your specialty?”

During class, the music teacher called on her.

“Would you sing for your peers?”

“Gladly.”

Bronwynner politely answered and stood up.

Today’s lesson featured an old folk song from Lennox. Though it was a simple piece, the key was to convey a wistful emotion while singing. Bronwynner felt confident in expressing such feelings.

For instance, the disappointment that the flower sender wasn’t who she had hoped for. Or the regret for her own foolish heart that couldn’t simply be happy about Maude’s innocent kindness.

Her voice had an appealing quality, and this time her accompaniment was perfect.

When the song ended, her peers’ faces—except for Jemima Laurel—showed genuine admiration. The lingering resonance of the mournful melody and clear voice made the air in the room feel softer.

Then someone applauded.

Everyone’s attention turned in that direction.

The person who applauded was Lady Celestine Harrows.

“The lyrics are truly moving.”

Celestine commented with her characteristically serene smile.

Strictly speaking, it was praise for the song itself rather than Bronwynner’s singing, but it still meant she found it moving. Bronwynner felt simply dazed. Moreover, Celestine hadn’t addressed her informally.

“……Thank you.”

Only then did others follow Celestine’s lead and give brief applause. Only Jemima stubbornly kept her hands on her knees.

‘Could it be that rumors have already spread……?’

Even so, those who had gathered in the atelier wouldn’t have spoken well of Bronwynner. Also, if there was an invisible line dividing Devon’s faction and Celestine’s faction among her peers, it didn’t seem likely that the incident would have reached Celestine’s ears so quickly.

It was only at tea time that Bronwynner could understand the whole situation.

The etiquette teacher, Miss Herman, also greeted her with a cold face. As she was wondering whether she should apologize for last week’s incident before sitting at the same tea table, Celestine approached. With her aqua-colored dress fluttering, matching her teal eyes.

Then she asked the etiquette teacher,

“Miss Herman, may I take Miss Pemberton to my table?”

“Please do, Lady Celestine. Thank you.”

Miss Herman turned to Bronwynner and said gruffly.

“Miss Pemberton, be sure to watch and learn from Lady Celestine.”

Bronwynner understood the situation.

So she had been marked as a “person of concern” and was now receiving special help from Celestine Harrows, the model of ladylike behavior. The reason it wasn’t Devon was probably because Devon herself had refused.

This was actually fortunate for Bronwynner.

She wasn’t sure if being labeled a problem student despite being bullied and not even receiving an apology could be considered fortunate, but this gave her an opportunity to observe Celestine up close.

She answered politely again.

“I understand.”

* * *