IV.

She slowly sank into a big black leather arm-chair up in the study, finally taking a rest after the long tiring journey. Her gaze was locked on something behind the large French windows that framed the picture of the approaching autumn. The landscape was painted in grayish, subdued hues; vague outlines of faraway hills hardly visible through the chilly mist, though it was about noon already. How typically English. Small flecks of gold and orange peeking through the mist hinted the first many coloured leaves of fall, though most of the trees were green still. The flowers already one by one abandoned their bright colors, preparing for the long cold winter. A few coloured dots still sprinkled over the hills, but their numbers lessened every day or hour even. The sky didn't help either; it had been a moody grey for days now, not about to release the unshed rain it had held for a while, resulting in a grayish white sky like an empty sketchbook.

This monochrome picture happened to match the image of her inner world at least. The sun wouldn't have warmed her if it had shone at last, and snow, oh well, she wouldn't have felt much of its cold. Her senses didn't really register the outside world anymore – they had been stomped on until they simply stopped functioning. She was a withering orchid, frost-bitten during what should have been the brightest days of her life – and she didn't even feel it.

So there she sat motionlessly behind her expensive gleaming solid beechen desk and read one of the piles of papers in front of her without really seeing anything. They were all connected with the accounting affairs of the Griffin Texture Company and terribly important: financial reports, some information about the import and export of materials and so on. A quick look through the papers was all she could make herself do at this time to kill some time. Going through the documents in a slapdash sort of way, she was vaguely pleased - everything seemed fine. No losses for the past three months, and some unexpected profits. Good.

She put the papers aside and took a look around the room. The study wasn't very spacious, but it was filled with everything needed and decorated nicely enough, though not exactly her personal taste. It had been decorated in a typically overdone baroque style by her late mother: thick carpet with floral motives on the floor, a huge bookcase filled to the brink with dusty (though probably valuable) old books covered one of the walls; various paintings of ladies in enormous baroque dresses in lively, sugary colours covered on most of the vertical space still left bare. There was even enough space for a small, oak tea table and two arm-chairs, one of which was currently occupied by her.

A well known feeling of darkness and cold suddenly disturbed her, and she shivered involuntarily.

"There is no need to knock on the door and you know it. Come in!" she said loudly and in a quite unladylike manner.

The door opened slowly though without a sound, which was quite a feat in a house as old as this one. He entered the room elegantly carrying a small salver in his right hand.

"Your tea, my lady." he said. He put the salver on the desk and poured some of the hot liquid in a small flowery porcelain cup. She thoughtlessly picked the cup up and took a sip, an absent look on her face. He continued: "There's a letter for you. It came in just few moments ago." And presented the letter to her on the salver like a dish, and she recognized the seal pressed into the red wax immediately.

"That was a bit faster than expected" she muttered under her breath.

She started reading carefully, actually paying attention to what she read for the first time this rather lifeless morning. He interestedly observed her as her glassy eyes flicked over the lines. Once again no emotion appeared on her pale face – she looked as expressionlessly and emptily beautiful as always.

"The count is ready to receive us this evening." she said as she folded the letter into a smaller size. "9 o'clock. I have to admit – count De Ville has his ways. I thought I would receive this letter later." She took another sip from the tea and unconsciously stared at the yellow paper with the red seal.

"Pardon me, my lady, but are you sure you can actually trust this man?" he asked.

Her icy, empty gaze moved from the letter and looked straight into his reddish eyes. He felt that she was surprised by his simple question, maybe trying to find a hidden trap behind it. That amused him, and he found himself smiling slightly patronizingly before he continued:

"You said it yourself – the nobles always hide their true identity behind a mask. Can you truly be sure of the count's honesty?"

She was silent for a moment, then she answered with her calm, but at the same time cold voice:

"There's no such thing as sureness. There always will be a probability of untruth, concealed behind beautiful words. That's why the small seed of doubt always grows in the human's heart. That's why you're the only one I can trust, because you're the only one, that would never lie to me – you have no gain if you do, am I not right?"

He smiled his serene, but at the same time cunning smile:

"Am always at your service, my lady – to the very end" he said and bowed and. Her face stayed emotionless to this act of loyalty.

"Go now and make the necessary preparations for tonight" she ordered.

"As you wish, my Mistress" answered he and still smiling, quietly left the room.

The carriage stopped in front of the solid staircase, made of white stone. The door opened and a man, dressed in black topcoat and white gloves, hopped gallantly on the ground. He turned back, tenderly took the hand of a woman and helped her to get off the carriage. She was wearing an elegant olive dress, made of the finest velvet, and a matching ribbon with a dark-green rose. Her black hair was put up in a bun, decorated with emerald hairpins.

As they were going up the stairs, the doors at the end of the staircase opened. Soft candle light illuminated the faces of the arrivals. The old maid bowed and greeted them:

"Welcome to the De Ville mansion, Duchess Griffin! The count is waiting for you. Follow me, please!"

The De Ville mansion was one of the oldest in London. It seemed that the years had spared the unique style, in which it was built and decorated – it was a strange mixture between Baroque, Rococo and Renaissance. The solid building was built at the end of the 17th century. The façade was richly decorated with various flower ornaments.

They passed the entrance and the main hall. The floor was covered with variegated carpets, all of them hand-made. The ceiling pictured clear blue sky - only some small white fluffy clouds were to be seen in the edges. The marvelous crystal pendants reflected the light of hundred candles as if the sun itself was in the room. Many of the pictures on the walls recreated scenes of the daily life of the nobles.

Marble staircase was leading to the second floor of the house. As they climbed up, the maid turned right and took the corridor to the West Wing.

"This way, please" she said and quickened her step.

Though it didn't seemed to be, the corridor was quite long. The stone floor was covered with thick red carpet. Countless paintings of the members of the house De Ville hanged on the walls, which created the strange feeling, of being constantly watched. The maid stopped in front of a large painting of a man and his hunting dog. He was wearing a general's uniform, with lots of medals on it. Around his waist he had his sword and in his right hand he was holding a rifle. On the right side of the painting there was a cooper candelabra. The maid pulled one of the candles and triggered a secret mechanism, which opened a door behind the painting. The maid bowed and then quickly disappeared down the corridor.

Eileen and Michael stepped through the secret door. The premise wasn't very spacious and it's decoration wasn't as spectacular as the decoration in the main hall. The floor was made of wood; no carpet covered it. No paintings hanged on the walls. There was a large table placed in the middle of the room, surrounded by fourteen chairs. Some other chairs were arranged near one of the walls, maybe for other guests.

They were enveloped by the curls of smoke from the cigarettes, slightly illuminated by the light of the candles. The very air in the room was filled with the heavy aroma of the tobacco. Eileen looked around. As her eyes got used to the gloaming in the room she could see many silhouettes, observing her and her servant. The Underworld Society of the Aristocrats: a secret organization, occupied with the dark affairs of the nobles.

"Ah, my dear Duchess! Welcome, welcome!" a friendly voice said. It was the count. He came to Eileen, bowed and kissed her hand. "I'm glad you've come! It's pleasure to have you with us. But why are you standing there, my lady, come and join us."

He led the Duchess and the butler to the poker table, placed in the middle of the room. As she sat, Eileen saw some familiar faces and some completely new ones. Probably they were from the upper middle class, who just married the daughter of a declining landlord to claim their family's title. Her glass was immediately filled with the finest wine from the count's vault. She greeted everyone.

"I can't believe that a member of the Griffin family would attend such a meeting." an old man on Eileen's left said.

"Things change, Baron Clifford." she answered with a slight smile.

Baron Clifford was a very selfish and insolent man, who never had respect for women. For him they were just beautiful jewels in the man's crown.

"It seems that the great house of Griffin haс found merit in our little society." He said arrogantly.

"Aren't you here for the same purpose?" asked Eileen. Her voice was cold and her empty, but icy glare stared at the baron, pinning him to his chair. His face turned red, but he couldn't say a word to the young woman beside him.

"Now, now…" started count De Ville, trying to prevent the upcoming conflict. "Duchess would you like to join our little poker game?"

"Of course, she answered."

The count gave her two cards and chips to start. The game began. The first four rounds passed quickly, without very reasonable conversations. Eileen played her cards well and remained at the showdown against Count Vladimir Ivanovitch, representative of the Russian aristocrats, working at the Russian embassy in London.

"So…Duchess Griffin, what brings you here?" he asked. "We are about to show our cards, and we all eager to hear the reason for your visit this evening. Is your visit anyhow related to the Griffin Texture Company?"

"A personal request brought me here tonight." answered she simply, as she received her last card. "Your bet, count?"

"A personal request, you say" said count Ivanovitch. There was a tang of curiosity in his words. "That sounds interesting. What kind of personal request this could it be... Excuse us for our curiosity, Duchess, but it's a rarity to see you in public. I bet everything, of course. Do you accept?"

"I'd rather not say." answered the Duchess. "I accept the bet."

"It seems that you won't reveal your cards till the very end, my lady." smiled the count. "Now then…Showdown"

The count flipped his final card. It was the Heart's King

"It seems that I have Straight in Hearts, Duchess" said the Ivanovitch. "The game is over."

"Not until I turn my final card, Count." She flipped the card and smiled cunningly. An Ace in Spade. "Royal Flush in Spade, dear count. After all the win is mine."

"It seemed, you've played your cards exceptionally well, my lady."

"Well not always the good cards help for the win, Count. I have to confess, I had an ace up my sleeve." said she laughing. Michael observed from behind, smiling slightly.

"Charming as always." He bowed and kissed her hand. "It was an honor to play with you, Duchess Griffin."

Later the same evening count De Ville and the Duchess sat in two arm-chairs in one of the corners in the room.

"I think it's time to continue our conversation from that evening, dear Count." said Eileen. She couldn't hide her annoyance in her voice.

"Oh, it seems that you didn't enjoy our little gathering this evening, my lady." said the count with a serene smile on his face.

"There's no need to pretend, Count De Ville. You know very well that I'm not quite fond of social activities. So, please, let's go straight to the question. What do you know about the murder of my sister?" she asked calmly, but at the same time there was a slight tang of anger in her voice. Her glassy eyes were set on the count, demanding to reveal her everything he knows. Small bread of sweat came up his forehead. He couldn't resist that gaze of hers – it was empty, but some how enchanting.

"Alright, then." said he. "I'll tell you everything, I know, though it's not much." He paused for few seconds then continued: "After your sister's death, I questioned some of my…friends from our little society, if they, by any chance of course, knew something about the matter. The results from my private research are that no one from the Underworld of London is connected with the murder from one year ago."

"But it doesn't mean, that it wasn't organized by someone, who has bonds with your secret society." interrupted Michael. De Ville looked at the young butler and watched him for few seconds. Then he turned again to the Duchess – she had that persistent look.

"Well, well, well, Duchess. It seems that you have one very clever servant as well."

"After all I have to be worthy to be the butler of the Griffin family." said Michael, bowed slightly and smiled his serene smile.

"Very good thinking, young man." continued the Count. "Your butler has right, Lady Eileen. I have some suspicions, that someone, involved with the Underworld Society, is related with the murder of your sister."

"Do you suspect a certain someone" asked the Duchess. Again her voice was calm, but in her eyes flashed a spark – the spark of hope.

"Unfortunately, no." said the Count, shaking his head. "But I have this" he handed a play card to the Duchess – the Jack of Spades. "You see, we have our ways to get information and to…remove the obstacles in our way. For that purpose we need the services of …"

"Professional assassins…I presume" said the Duchess, staring at the card

"That is correct. Though we never get to speak with them, we communicate through another person. This card will lead you to him."

"You don't know his name?" asked the Duchess mistrustfully.

"Of course I do, but you see I have a reputation. And I'm sure, you can resolve this little puzzle."

Eileen gazed at the count for a while, as she was judging is he telling the truth.

"Thank you for your help count. And now if you excuse me, I shall take my leave."

"That would be the wisest, Duchess. Please, let me escort you to your carriage."

It was quiet, starry night. The moon was already high in the clear sky, as the Duchess got on the carriage.

"Have a save journey, dear Duchess" said the count and kissed her hand. "And for your father's sake be careful – the risk you're taking now is greater than ever."

Lady Eileen looked straight into his eyes.

"I'm well aware of that, count. And I'm ready to pay the price for my self-confidence." said she categorically. "But thank you for your help and advices. I wish you good night."

"Good night, my lady." And the carriage drove away.

The count stared at the road for a while, thinking about the enchanting gaze of the Duchess – these glassy eyes, which desired nothing but the truth. No doubt – that was the little girl from the painting back at the Griffin's mansion, but at the same time the young woman was just a resemblance of this black-haired child. She looked more like a withering flower, frost-bitten during what should have been the brightest days of her life.

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