Chapter 07

Inquiring


Sunridge Village was approximately an hour and a half ride from southern London.

Arthur and Cara took the first train ride from central London and acquired tickets for third-class passengers. Being early birds, they had the carriage all by themselves, along with a father and daughter seated side-by-side. Others third-class passengers were settling in and cramming altogether, finding vacant compartments before the worse part of the crowd arrived.

A few moments later, the train whistled and began its journey.

Outside, the weather was clear, with bright blue skies and twittering birds. The sleepy streets of London, now waking up, pass by them in a quick blur. The scenery of the neighborhoods switched into a wide field of verdant vegetation. The endless streets of shops and pubs were no longer, a blue-grey mountain loomed at the horizon. The train was making good speed, and as the young daughter pulled down the window, the cold breeze hit them.

Cara closed her eyes and tried to regain her vision. She felt nauseous again, making her vision hazy and unclear. One moment she would see shadows around her. The next she would see nothing. It made her uneasy, nervous even. She tried to keep her calm and stole a glance in front of her.

"What are you doing, Mister Wordsmith?"

Arthur looked up from his little notebook, then smiled at the fields outside. "It's a good change of scenery, wouldn't you agree, Miss Stanmore? I was thinking I should at least make a sketch to show my brothers when I get back."

"You never struck me as a doctor, a writer, and an artist," she teased.

"Well, a man could always find ways to pass the time," he answered sheepishly. "So this railway we are taking, it is the same tracks where they found young Robert?"

"I believe it is. This one passes Sunridge through the forest."

"I see." He went back to his notebook and made a note. "We must find this Armand Norris before anything else, right? But I was thinking of maybe asking some of the locals first. Maybe there are rumors going around the place."

She tilted her head to the side. "You are basing this case on rumors, Mister Wordsmith?"

"Not so, not so!" He flailed his hands and chuckled. "But I could only imagine that the rumors might hold some truth into it. We should give the villagers the benefit of the doubt."

"Very well." She shook her head. "You're the expert; I follow whatever you think is best."

Arthur lowered his gaze at the compliment and it fell upon the lace-embellished white blouse and maroon skirt that she wore. "New dress, Miss Stanmore? I have never seen you wear this before."

"Oh, this old thing?" She laughed, tugging at the black velvet ribbon around her waist. One of the many good things being around Arthur was that she never had to worry about herself, being both poor and all that. She found out that, unlike being with Victor Grosvenor, she did not have to worry about her dresses being old and her shoes worn-out. "I haven't worn this one for ages!"

He laughed back. "Have you? Doesn't seem like it."

"See here." She leaned forward and overturned the sleeve of her blouse. The hem was ragged, and there were small, neat threads where she had stitched it up to cover the ragged edges. "I had to fix it myself just for this occasion."

"Interesting." His dark brown eyes twinkled. He pulled out his notebook and started writing down.

"You find everything interesting, Mister Wordsmith," she noted with a laugh.

"I have to keep notes, too, you know. Anything and everything for my new novel."

"Ah, so you did continue it!"

"I am still gathering my ideas," he said and tucked the notebook in his pocket again. "I really wish I could have it published by next year."

"I think that's wonderful," she agreed, looking out the distance. The mountain loomed closer and closer, and she could see a wide river ahead on her right. She watched the countryside, and for a moment, her eyes landed on her reflection on the window. Sighing, she turned away and closed her eyes.

By nine in the morning, the train halted at the station in Sunridge Village.

Arthur and Cara found themselves in a very rural place; the roads were not even of cobblestones and gravel like in London. The dirt road extended quite far and dispersed into dozens of other minor roads. A few paces from the train station was the building for the local police station. Next to it was the first stretch of the neighborhood, comprising of clinics, book stores, and boutiques. Arthur and Cara passed by some of the merchants at the side of the road, while carts drawn by donkeys crossed the road.

"So, should we ask about the murder first?" Cara asked. Her eyes were still looking around the village, searching for anything she might find out of place.

"I suppose." Arthur scratched the back of his head, took out his notebook, and approached one of the merchants by the road. "Excuse me, good sir, but have you heard of the recent train accident around here?"

The merchant was a big-bellied hulk, with several scars running down from his right ear down to his collarbone. "Eh? An accident, ya say?"

"Right." Arthur nodded, brown locks bobbing up and down. Behind him, Cara remained staring at a distance. "About a few days ago, a young boy was ran over by a train, right here in Sunridge."

"Oh, ya mean tha' poor lad?" the merchant said. "I remember now. Poor lad, right? Ran over during the night." Then he saw the young woman standing behind Arthur. "She your girlfriend?"

Arthur flinched and glanced at Cara. "What?! Oh, no, not her! She's a friend!"

"Hm? I'd go for her if I were ya, lad." The merchant snickered while the writer paled even more. "Nice pretty eyes she got there, and lovely hair."

"T-Thank you very much for answering m-my question, sir!" Arthur shook the man's large, calloused hand and dashed back to Cara's side in a hurry. His forehead was sweating and his hands were shaking when she saw him.

"Everything all right, Mister Wordsmith?"

"We should ask for Armand Norris," he said hurriedly. With a nervous laugh, he took her by the elbow and dragged her away from the large merchant. "Asking the locals was a bad idea, you know? Ha-ha. A big man like that I have no chance of winning against."

Cara looked back and saw the merchant's toothy grin. "That man? If you cannot take him, I can," she said, a little innocent. "Not that I am looking for any fight. What has he done now?"

Why does she remind me of Earl Grey? he thought. Aloud, he said, "N-Never do you mind him, Miss Stanmore. He was of good help, but nothing more. W-Why don't we ask that old lady over there?"

He laughed his nervous laugh again and went towards the small antique shop at the corner of the street.

The old lady looked up from her sweeping and blinked at Arthur. "Any help I could do to you?"

"Good morning," he greeted. "My friend and I are from London and we're looking for someone called Armand Norris." He showed her the paper from Lord Grosvenor and pointed at the address.

"Well, I know no Armand Norris around these parts, but that address there will take you to the farthest end of the village," said the old woman. She pointed towards south, where the dense forest loomed. She glanced at Cara, then back to Arthur. "You both can take this road down south. You won't get lost."

Arthur bowed repeatedly. "Thank you so much!"

"Thank you." Cara smiled at the woman and followed the road with the writer. "I wonder what kind of character this Armand Norris is, living away from the center of the village like that."

"Hmm, a reclusive one?" he suggested. "The hermit crab kind of person? Or maybe he has some deep, dark past that he wants no one to know? Ah, he might be avoiding contact because of his involvement with the case?"

She laughed at his wild imagination. "Well, we would see soon enough."

The village was not particularly large and bustling; the road from the station to the forest wound only by a few kilometers. Towards the end of the village, the number of houses decreased, and so did the merchants and villagers. Arthur and Cara passed by a small local church at the square, and a wide field of hay crops with sheep and little lambs. By the time the road ended, the sun was high in the skies and the pair was panting and their legs sore from walking.

"I think that's the one." Arthur panted as he pointed ahead. He could see a wooden, medium-sized house with thatched roof, narrow terrace, and a short flight of steps that led to a paneled door. "I do hope Mister Norris is home."

"He'd better be," Cara whined a little, now exhausted. She stopped before the staircase, while Arthur did the talking and the knocking.

Instead, she looked around the place; there were no other houses nearby. This one was the last one in the village before the forest. She went to the left side of the house and saw logs cut down for firewood. There was a mountain of logs, along with a gleaming axe embedded against a tree stump. She rounded towards the back, her curiosity getting the better of her, and saw a small stream behind the house. There were no signs of Armand Norris out here.

Arthur followed her to the back. "I think he is not home," he said.

"Might be in the forest, hm?" She pointed to the shoreline, where muddy footprints led from the back door to the shore. "I think he might be a hunter or a woodman."

"You think so?" He searched around the place. "I am betting he is a woodman around here."

"Shall we search for him in the forest?"

"Is it safe? I mean, we are not from around here, Miss Stanmore."

She took his hand and tucked it under the crook of her elbow. "Relax, Mister Wordsmith. There's nothing in this forest that could harm us."

Sighing, Arthur nodded and let her lead them into the forest across the stream.

They hopped from one stone to another, then landed on the other side. The trees were thick, with dark trunks and sharp grey-green leaves.

"He could be anywhere around here," he murmured. Before he knew it, his companion was on her knees, with her face so close to the earth. He jumped back out of surprise. "M-M-Miss S-Stanmore?!"

"Footprints," was all she said, pointing to a vague shape on the earth. "It seems our Armand Norris is a large, heavy man and walks with an awkward gait."

"Whoa," he breathed. He sat on his haunches and stared at the ground. "You can tell that by simply looking at footprints? Incredible! I have to write this down!" Then he whipped his notebook out and made quick scribbles and sketches.

She rubbed her fingertips against the soil and looked around them. "He's not that far. Perhaps we could catch up with him. Let's go, Mister Wordsmith."

Arthur jumped back to his feet and followed behind her.

So quiet. She narrowed her violet eyes and peered between trees and behind bushes. She could hear neither twittering birds nor rustle of leaves. Upon reaching a small forest clearing, she made her companion stop. She sensed his sudden nervousness, so she beamed at him. "Wait here for me, would you?"

"Ah, y-yeah." He shut his notebook and watched her walk to his left side, towards the thick forest bush.

Cara halted before the bush, eyes boring through the thickness of it. It was amusing that the stranger did not budge from his place inside the bush, thinking himself unseen. But the shiny barrel of his rifle caught her attention.

Digging her heels to the ground, she raised her right leg to kick the barrel out of her way, and twisted sideward to reach behind the man. She forcefully dragged him out of his hiding place, pressed one blade against his throat, and pointed one blade above his heart.

"Aiming the rifle at us is a very bad move," she whispered in his ear.

"Miss Stanmore!" Arthur ran towards her, his mouth wide open. He saw the whole ordeal, from her quick, lithe movements up to her apprehension of this auburn-haired man with a thick beard. He had to write that down and make a sketch of their current position−Stanmore at the back with two knives in her hands, the man raising his palms in surrender.

"Who are you?" Cara took the irritating feeling of uneasiness on him. She gave the man a little shake.

"Me?" The man managed a rueful chuckle. "I should ask the same thing. You were circling my house like vultures looking for their prey."

Arthur blinked. "Then that must mean−!"

"Are you Armand Norris?" She shook him again.

"Aye," answered the man. "The one and only."

Suddenly, the dark look in the young woman's face vanished.

"Oh, well then!" Cara beamed as she let go of Armand and patted his shoulder. She felt much better after taking out some of her edge on him. The man turned to her and rubbed the spot where the blade had been against his throat. "Forgive me for the sudden action I took, Mister Woodman. You are the woodman here, are you not?"

"Yeah." Armand tugged down at his coat and glared at the two of them. "What do you want from me?"

"We would like to ask you a few questions," said Arthur, all friendly and professional. He had his notebook at the ready, his pen poised. "We came here with the permission of Lord Hugh Grosvenor regarding the recent death of his youngest son, Robert."

Armand seemed unfazed. He slung his rifle across his back and pointed a thumb back towards the stream. "Sounds something we can talk while in the house. Come along, fellows."

"Oh, Mister Woodman?" Cara cut him off and dropped the two knives in his hands. "I borrowed these."

"Huh? What?" Armand flinched and looked around his person, his hand patting his waist and behind his back. Then he turned back to the young woman and glared. "How d'you get them? What trick did you use?"

"What are you saying?" she countered, her voice all sweet and innocent. She went back to Arthur and clung to his arm. "It was no trick−I simply pulled them out."


The three settled back into the house. Armand Norris remained in his hunting gear, but removed his cap and set the rifle and knives aside. He received his guests in the small living room, while he went to the kitchens for some refreshments.

"I'm not big on teas like you fine English people, so I hope you don't mind these," Armand said, putting down three large tankards of dark beer. He took one and leaned back to his seat, eyeing his guests. "So what d'you young fellows want to know?"

"We are hoping you could shed some light regarding the death of Robert," said Arthur. Trying to be polite, he took his tankard and sipped, but ended up coughing and wheezing that had Cara patting his back while the woodman across him laughed boisterously. "What in the world is this?!"

"Never heard of beer, lad?" Norris sniggered. "That's the problem with you fine English dames and gents. Always tea on your mind and nothing else."

Cara sipped her beer and hummed. "You're not from around here, Mister Woodman?"

"I come from the far north of here! Beyond your English borders!"

"Scotland?" Arthur suggested.

"Aye!" Norris raised his tankard for the writer.

"So what happened that day when Robert died?" Cara asked before the man could get carried away. "Lord Grosvenor told us you saw Robert with a stranger the day before he was found dead. He also said you were present when the villagers found Robert's body naked."

Norris gulped his beer and belched. "Right, I did all those, love."

"Could you tell us more about it?" Arthur prompted, ready to scribble.

"Fine, so listen carefully." Norris leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. "The first time I saw young Grosvenor was the last time anybody saw him alive−except for the killer, of course. I was chopping woods behind the house when I saw him entering the forest with another man. Just the two of them, you know, entering the forest."

Arthur raised his hand for a question. "Did you know it was Robert when you saw him?"

"No, not at once. He comes from London, yes? One of them rich people? Some dukes or earls, I bet."

"Duke of Westminster," Cara pointed out.

"So I let them be," Norris continued his narration. "Not my place to meddle in other people's business, especially not to someone so rich. I finished my chopping and went inside the house. I never heard anything strange and saw someone coming from the forest. Nights here are darker, you see. Not much lights in the streets."

"No one came from the forest?" Arthur asked again, but his dark brown eyes were on his notebook.

"Not one soul," Norris confirmed. "The next day, I went to the station to deliver some firewood for one called Miss Bianchi−an Italian woman, very lovely." He winked playfully at Arthur, but the writer blushed and buried his nose back to his notes.

Cara laughed. "It was the same morning everyone found Robert?"

"Indeed. I arrived and found everyone by the tracks. Seems like the rich boy was ran over at first, but he never wore single clothes on him. Poor lad. He was naked from head to toe, not the same well-dressed boy I saw the night before. His parents were not there by the tracks, only the police officers and some higher-ups from the Yard who happen to be in town."

"How many from the Yard?" asked the young woman.

"Two or three, I think." Norris held up two fingers to emphasize his next explanation. "Two of them took the body in for examination. The other one was like this fellow over here−" He nodded to Arthur−"Always taking notes from the villagers."

Arthur took a deep breath and reviewed everything he had written so far. Nothing else made sense for him. "How did you come in contact with Lord Grosvenor then, when you said you don't want to meddle?"

"Ah, that." The woodman laughed and scratched his nape. "That's true; I didn't want to get involved. But the father was quite desperate and frenzied; he wanted to hear a different story from the Yard and offered good money."

"You chose the money?" Cara could not help but smile.

"Who wouldn't?" countered Norris, smirking. "But it happened; I told the father what I saw and I got my money. And now you fine people share a drink with me. Cheers?" He raised his tankard to Cara.

She laughed and clicked their drinks together.

Arthur tapped his pen on his chin. "So when did they start telling that Robert was found clothed instead of naked?"

"That's something I want to know as well," Norris said. "The next day everyone in town was just gossiping about this poor lad ran over by the train. I heard the Yard arrested the driver, who somehow confessed his guilt."

"You think Robert was murdered then?" Cara asked in a serious tone.

"I know he was." Norris's clear green eyes stared back at her. "You're a hunter, aye? You would know if someone looks off or not. And I knew something was out of place when I saw that boy's corpse."

She sighed and turned away. It was hard to imagine little Robert in his pristine white coffin.

Her eyes landed on the book on the small table next to her. The Legend of Montrose, by Sir Walter Scott. She whipped back towards the woodman and realized that he was the same man who told her the news back in Mister Klein's bookstore last week. She remembered him now−the same auburn hair and thick beard with a cocky grin.

"One more thing," Arthur said. "Could you describe to us what the man looked like? The one you saw with Robert?"

Norris stroked his beard, thoughtful. "Well, I suppose he looks one of the gents in London. You know−fancy suit, shiny shoes, and I should say quite charming and fairly easy on the eyes. I should say about your height, young man; but with blond hair."

"Did you see his face?" the writer asked.

"No, just his side and back," Norris answered, but his gaze was locked intently on Cara. "He had blond hair and good suit, that's all."


Arthur and Cara thanked Armand Norris after that. They left the wooden house as the sun was sinking behind the mountains. With a little help from Norris, the pair was able to get a ride from a neighbor with a horse and an old cart. Norris stood by the end of the dirt road, waving his hand as the young pair disappeared from his sight. Then, with a little amused chuckle, went back home to finish his beer.

The train at the station whistled, while some operators were shouting for the last round of passengers bound for London.

Cara noticed the merchant from this morning; he was still there by the side of the road. Without words for her friend, she approached the large merchant with the scars on his face. "Good evening, sir. Have you heard anything about the boy that was ran over last week?"

"Hm?" The merchant blinked down at her, and grinned. "Oh, I remember. I saw him myself."

"Could you describe what he looked like?"

"A small fry, that's for sure. Really pale and thin."

"Was he clothed when you found him?"

"Oh, yes." The merchant shrugged his big shoulders, turning his back on her to fix his merchandise.

She narrowed her eyes when he glanced at her. "Could you describe the Yard who was here when the accident took place? The one always speaking and taking notes. Do you remember what he looked like?"

The merchant shrugged again. "Not from around here. He looks like some nobleman's son, you know. All shiny hair and good smile. Some of the young ladies mooned over him for a while."

She could feel her heart pounding now. "Did he have blond hair? Did you see his eyes?"

"Blond? Oh yes." He grinned and stared at her face. He winks. "His eyes? Very pretty shade of purple, but not as pretty as yours."


Author's Notes: Coming back at you from my misadventures in the hospital! LOL. Apparently, I overfatigued myself from too much writing and sleeping so late at nights! Got meds and I had to tone down the writing for a short while. (︶︹︺) So, any writers and readers out there who like sleeping in the wee hours of the morning, take good care of yourself!

Also, sorry for the rather late update! It was my birthday on November 2nd and got wound up with some family dinner! I'm 22 years old now. Oof. So old!

*DeLacus - Aw, thank you! And thank you always for the reviews! Grey is definitely one of my favorite characters, too! He's so spontaneous and cute and AHHH! Darling Edward Midford is high in the list as well. LMAO at Charkes being the "little one" and having his grandfather lecture him. That made me imagine of a cute little boy; I bet Charles was one when he was a kid!

ERWWIIINNN! 💔 It always hurts when I remember that he's dead, how he died, and Levi's struggles during and after the death. I'm glad the author didn't give us Levi's POV on the death too much. Else my heart will break even more. Also, it seems the next chapter would be out soon! Can't believe I am actually fangirling over Eren now. My little sweet and angery child grew up to be a hunk daddy... Sorry, I got carried away... 😅

*Guest666-69 - LMAO! If I had a chance to meet Grey in real life, I'd probably die of exhaustion! This man literally has endless energy and I don't think my socially awkward introvert self can handle him more than ten minutes. And I gotta thank you for putting the image of Grey being rough in bed in my mind because I can totally see it after his little play fight with Cara. And for making me imagine Grey having mistresses (not singular, but plural form!), because why not? Grey may or may not do so, but if he ever does, he might be discreet about it. He has, after all, still an image to uphold, especially when working directly under the Queen. At this point, I don't think Grey has strong opinions over Cara yet; more like a slight interest, the same way he regarded Mey-Rin during their first meeting just because she could fight. The "strong-armed dinner date" was just his childish way of getting back to her for lying at his face. Count on him to show himself unannouced just to see her get irked and fumble around helplessly while trying to accommodate a guest. Let's be honest: Grey has always been a little shit. XD Though he does seem to be curious about the social standing, being highborn and all that. We all have our moments of curiosities, only Grey has his little way of showing.

And no worries for the long reviews! I love reading anything from anyone! Thank you for yours!