Chapter 14

The contents of the article were as follows.

According to the reporter’s own investigation, more than five people witnessed Duke Vallière escorting Inès Ancourt to her home and then leaving.  

Yet Earl Malève pointed to the Duke as the culprit. What could be the intention behind this?

“‘An unending, persistent ill-fated relationship’….”  

Gérard saw the sentence, written in bold, and let out a hollow laugh.

Hystein might now be a well-respected Duke, but in the past, he was nothing but a penniless wandering painter who had dared to touch Gérard’s precious younger sister.  

Because of that man, Rosalie’s life had been thrown into the gutter—how could Gérard possibly say anything good about him?

He had certainly spat some barbed words at Duke Vallière in the street, but had never pointed to him as a m*rder suspect. There were inaccuracies in the article.  

When Gérard had heard that Inès Ancourt had been found in an alley near the gambling den, he had simply remarked that ‘such places’ were only fit for men like Vallière.

Of course, it was his own fault for making such comments while drunk in public. Still, Gérard couldn’t help but feel wronged.

“They’re completely making things up.”  

“I was upset the whole way here. You should stay at home for a while, Gérard. Better that than being glared at wherever you go.”  

“I didn’t actually say that, so why should I? If I hide away, everyone will think it’s true.”  

“Still, just stay quiet until this weekend.”  

“…Fine. By the way, have you had dinner?”

Marquis Lamon shook his head. But he had no desire to be invited to the humble Malève family table.  

“My wife and daughter are waiting for me.”  

“Of course. Thanks for letting me know. I should get back to reading the paper myself.”

Marquis Lamon handed Gérard the newspaper, who was still rubbing his face dry, and then left.  

When no visitors came for a long while, Angela, holding Theo, appeared in the hallway, suspicious.

“What’s going on, Dear?”  

“Well…”

Gérard handed Angela the newspaper and explained the situation. After hearing everything, Angela looked up at the ceiling, worrying about Rosalie, who hadn’t left her bedroom all afternoon.

“Why is it that we’re always mentioned only for bad news? I hope this doesn’t affect the marriage talks with the Aloua family.”  

“If they cared about public opinion, they wouldn’t have considered Rosalie for marriage in the first place, right?”  

“That’s true, but she’s seemed so much brighter lately—I was relieved.”

Angela and Gérard sighed at the same time. That evening, Rosalie skipped dinner and fell into a deep sleep.

***

Because of a nameless reporter’s malicious editing, Gérard endured public blame for a week and two more days before he was finally free to go out.  

A new m*rder case had buried his scandalous words.

“This is already the third. I don’t know what’s happening to the world.”  

Rosalie lamented as she carefully read the newspaper she had recently started subscribing to again.

Three days after the article criticizing Gérard, the body of a red-haired woman surfaced in the Mila River, which runs through Rodin.  

The body’s face was so damaged that identification was difficult, so at first, no one paid much attention.  

However, in this morning’s paper, it was revealed that the woman was Countess Marti, who had disappeared after the charity auction.

“That lady was addicted to gambling, wasn’t she? But the third one?”  

Gérard shook his head and asked. Angela interjected to correct Rosalie.

“There have only been two deaths, Rosalie. But two noblewomen murdered in a week… Everyone is terrified. Thanks to that, Gérard’s article has been forgotten.”  

“Wait, Dear, look at this. Both women were found near gambling dens or were addicted to gambling—in other words, both cases are connected to the back-alley gambling dens. And…”  

“They both had red hair.”

Angela and Gérard looked at Rosalie at the same time. Having stayed home, her loosely tied hair fell over her cheek. She flinched and protested.

“The recent victims aren’t just Miss Inès and Countess Marti.”  

Rosalie looked at Angela and continued.

“Do you remember, Angela? On the day of Princess Camille’s tea party, someone said that there had been a m*rder in Rodin’s back alleys.”  

“…Right, I remember now. That was a very pretty red-haired waitress from a restaurant.”  

“…Ah.”  

“Her face was said to be horribly slashed.”

That day had been a blur for many reasons, so Rosalie hadn’t remembered the details. She bit her lip and tugged at her fallen hair.

Fiery red hair.

Inès, Countess Marti, and the unnamed waitress all had the same hair color as Rosalie. Gérard spoke anxiously.

“Rosalie, you shouldn’t go outside at all for a while.”  

“I went to the dress shop just fine yesterday. I’m supposed to go to the bookstore with Jeremy tomorrow.”  

“If you’re with Jeremy Aloua, it’s probably safe, but I still can’t relax. How about inviting him here instead?”  

“Well…”

Rosalie trailed off uncertainly. She thought Jeremy might not be interested in their townhouse, unlike the Aloua mansion, which was stacked with books.

“I’ll be going, Angela. I’ll be home early today.”

While Rosalie was still thinking, Gérard put on the jacket hanging on the coat rack. Following Marquis Lamon’s advice, Gérard, who had stayed home for more than a week, seemed unable to bear it any longer.

“Do you really have to go? Leaving only women at home—what if the murderer comes looking for us?”  

“I’ll be back early. Besides, today…”

Gérard glanced at Rosalie, then continued.

“Duke Vallière is coming to the clubhouse. With everything that’s happened, I’d rather meet him directly and clear up any misunderstandings.”  

“…Alright, but you must be home before midnight.”

Gérard and Angela exchanged a brief kiss. Rosalie closed the newspaper, got up, and started warming Theo’s baby food in place of the nanny who was on leave.

*

“It’s strange, Rosalie. Gérard still isn’t back.”

How much time had passed? Rosalie looked up from the book Jeremy had bought her in the living room. The clock’s hands were nearing midnight.

“He’s probably out drinking and having fun again.”  

“No way. Do you think something’s happened?”

Gérard wasn’t exactly the most reliable man, but he rarely broke promises to Angela. Rosalie clicked her tongue and went to fetch her shawl. The weather was chilly, as if the spring cold was returning.

She was searching for the stairs in the dark hallway when the doorbell rang and the maid came running out. The maid spoke briefly with someone outside, then called for Rosalie.

“Miss Rosalie, you have a visitor.”  

“At this late hour?”

Rosalie paused, puzzled, as she approached the entrance. The door swung open, and the silhouette of the visitor was revealed in the moonlight.

“I work at the clubhouse. Earl Malève left his wallet behind, so I’ve come to return it.”

The man’s voice was hoarse under his dark robe. Rosalie wondered—Gérard always made sure to take his wallet before leaving home.

“Please tell him to wait a moment.”

She spoke to the maid and turned away. Then the man suddenly said something that made her flinch.

“But… There are no men in this house, are there?”  

“…What do you mean?

Why would he say something like that? Had she heard wrong? Rosalie quickly turned back toward the entrance.

At that moment, a cold wind blew, and the man’s hood fell away.

“Ah, Miss…”

The maid, seeing the man’s face, began to tremble. Half of his face was hideously twisted, and he was grinning creepily.