Scene 6

It took a great deal of Charlotte's acting skills to contain her surprise upon reading the morning paper. "My God...another one," she whispered astonished.

Alcott glanced at his wife over his cup of tea. "This one appears to be a suicide, though," he told her calmly.

"Oh, please, Alcott, you should know better," she replied as she folded the paper and put it aside. "To be honest, I am quite scared. Kingsyard Theatre is just across the street from The Phoenix, is it not? I feel that it's getting too close."

Alcott couldn't help but chuckle lightly and took Charlotte's hand, "My dear Charlotte, you must have no fear and no worries. Eglantine and I will take good care of you, I promise." His voice was so gentle and his smile so sweet that her cheeks flushed with a warmth she had considered long forgotten. "Let us go now," he continued, "Henry will take you to the theater."

They stood up at the same time and the faithful Eglantine followed them to the hall. Alcott helped his wife into her coat then put his on, along with his hat, grabbed his cane and took Charlotte to the carriage.

"I will be late tonight. Dine without me and sleep early. You need to rest more."

"Oh, but Alcott…," she began her protest.

"Fret not, my dear, I will come to have lunch with you."

Her face immediately lit up and her arms circled his torso, as she was shorter than him. He cupped her face, kissing her with such a passion that it was difficult for him to break apart. However, he knew he had to and, thinking of the other night, he smiled, completely confident in himself and her affection for him.

"'Till lunch, my dear!" he waved her off and turned to Eglantine. "Now, let us do our business, shall we?" Eglantine bowed and left, coming back in an automobile. Alcott got in and the maid drove away while her master was casually whistling.

Charlotte wished she could somehow get in touch with Sebastian, to not only let him know that Eglantine was no longer following her around, but also to give him the powder she had found in Alcott's secret drawer. There had just been another murder and she would not want to delay the process of solving this hideous mystery.

She sighed deeply as she stood in front of the mirror. Her chamber was so silent that her ears buzzed. She did not realize that she had clenched her fingers on the edge of the dressing table.

Her expression was so fierce but at the same time, so blank, that her big eyes appeared to be gazing beyond the mirror, into some odd nothingness, where she hoped to find someone she could rely on, someone who could support her and all her lies.

A crazy thought invaded her mind, an image of Sebastian smirking slyly as he always did.

Suddenly, her eyes began to hurt, her head began to ache and her knees began to shake. She shut her eyes tightly but it did not relieve the pain. Her brain was fuzzy, filled with names of the deceased celebrities and scraps from the newspaper articles, with worry and doubt and fear, with faces, all sorts. She was a strong woman, she had to be. She had to withstand it all.

But why? For what purpose? For whose sake?

Unable to find a satisfying answer to these questions, her overloaded brain simply shut down, causing her to lose consciousness for a short while and collapse. Fortunately, a strong arm grasped her frail body before she fell down and placed her tenderly on the bed. The much too familiar scent ignited Charlotte's senses, bringing her back from the void into which she had drowned.

"Sebastian…," she muttered slowly. Her small hand reached out to his face. He took it with utmost care and put it on his cheek.

"Yes, my lady?" He spoke so softly that she would not have believed it was him, had she not seen his scarlet orbs, as cunning as she remembered them.

"Why are you here?" She attempted to sit up but she could only manage to rest on her elbow.

"I have found out that your unusual maid was off your tail and came to see what you discovered last night. But I see that you are in no condition to discuss such matters. I shall be back later."

He bowed with his hand on his chest and turned around. "Wait!" Charlotte called with such despair that it disturbed even the ever-collected butler. "Wait, please. Don't go, not just yet." She rolled out of bed with a thud.

Sebastian picked her up carefully but she clung to him in such a manner that he just could not let go of her. Unexpectedly, she started to sob in his arms, quiet, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. To say that he was taken aback would be an understatement. His eyes widened as he sat on the floor with a crying Charlotte glued to him, like a lost, starving kitten.

He had known her for while but never witnessed such displays of her weakness. Charlotte had always been composed, which was probably the main reason for her breaking down like that. She was psychologically tormented and there was no cure to treat such ailments.

She did not have a demon to give her strength, like his master did or like Alcott did. She was alone, entirely alone, and he was the only who would reach out a hand to her every once in a while.

Then a strange thought occurred to him: he should do it more often. It wasn't like it would be a fully selfless act. Recalling that teasing kiss and the night of passion they had shared some weeks ago, Sebastian smirked to himself and responded to the awkward hug. Charlotte relaxed instantly, as if she had melted into his arms.

The sobs turned into heavy breathing and the tears stopped flowing. After a couple of minutes, she was back to her normal state of mind and reluctantly pulled away from the demonic butler. She didn't dare to look up at first but Sebastian grabbed her chin and brought her face closer to his.

He caught her lips in an ardent kiss, sending flames throughout her whole being. "This is to keep you going for the rest of the day," said he, "Now, if there is anything you would like to tell me, please do so." He helped her up and resumed his imperturbable attitude.

Charlotte straightened out her dress and cleared her throat before reaching into her corset to take out the envelope with the brown powder. "Here," she handed it to Sebastian, "I found it in Alcott's secret drawer last night. There was more of it, though, along with part of a ticket to Sarah's Schneider's last concert."

Sebastian opened the envelope and sniffed its contents. "It appears to be opium," he stated.

Charlotte avoided his gaze. After reading the newspaper, she had hoped it to be anything but opium.

"However, I cannot be certain just from this," he added to comfort her. "I will let you know for sure later today."

She smiled bitterly, acknowledging his attempt to console her. "Also, there is something else, although these are just my personal opinions about the victims."

Sebastian smiled, "An artist's impression of another artist is often the right one. Go ahead."

She told him about Julian Kane, Rebecca Cushing, Sarah Schneider and James Johnson, all the while gathering her thoughts on Harold Crewe. "Lastly, this man from the Kingsyard Theater. I just read the paper this morning. It is true that he had some bad habits but I know nothing certain. I once saw him at a party, shortly after I was ridiculed in one of James Johnson's shows."

Sebastian flinched unnoticeably.

"I remember he came to me and shook my hand, congratulating me. He said, and I quote, 'Very well done, Lady Aethelburg'. Alcott later told me that being ridiculed by Johnson was considered by some a sign of popularity. I will find out more today from my colleagues. Make sure to come tonight. Alcott will be late," she added on a suggestive tone.

"Is that so?" he muttered slyly, "Well then, see you again tonight." He walked to the window and hopped out, vanishing into thin air.

Charlotte finally allowed herself to exhale properly, falling on the nearby chair.

"So, what do you have on Luke Linnett?" Ciel asked his butler as he was sipping his tea.

"I'm glad you asked," Sebastian replied, "I have discovered something very interesting."

"What is that?" Ciel glanced curiously at Sebastian, who seemed to have something up his sleeve.

"Apparently, Luke Linnett has worked with the previous Earl Phantomhive."

Ciel's eye doubled in size. He had expected anything but that.

"He's quite well known among thugs of all sorts. He also possesses valuable information which is bothering some of London's most prominent nobles. However, he knows the weight of gold and could, in this respect, be called a businessman."

"How come we haven't noticed him sooner?" Ciel wondered aloud.

"He has worked with the Earl Aethelburg before which is why Lady Aethelburg has approached him."

"Lottie knows Luke?"

Sebastian nodded, "She has seen him once, while you father was still alive, around the same time when she was…recruited. Yesterday, Earl Aethelburg invited him to The Phoenix to discuss some delicate matters and Lady Aethelburg then took him out to dinner."

"Why?"

Sebastian smiled smugly, "She hired him to find a connection between the murders but I personally believe that she just wanted to set him on her husband's trail."

"Did she succeed?" A tinge of worry seemed to linger in the boy's voice.

"Yes, I think so. Young Master, may I know what your concern for Lady Aethelburg is?" Sebastian inquired with hidden interest.

Ciel looked out the large window, as he held his ring up to his face. "I have known her for a while now, ever since she was just a struggling lady, fresh out of the circus, before she became that man's wife."

He paused. "I was still a child back then but I can clearly remember that watching her performances together…" He paused again, clenching his fists. "Anyway," he turned around, hands at his back, "she was dragged into this but she has no reason to be a part of it. Unlike me."

Sebastian kept smiling, "Then should I look out for her safety?"

"That's what Alcott's demon maid is for. He cares about his wife but that's not the issue here. Humans are weak. Alcott too would not have been what he is now, had it not been for that maid."

"Then I suppose you should be more supportive of Lady Aethelburg," Sebastian suggested with a smirk.

Ciel laughed, "I couldn't even if I wanted to. I'm still a child in her eyes." He snorted with a superior air, as if saying: 'ignorant woman, she has no idea how great I actually am'.

Sebastian remained quiet but his irises were smoldering, fired up by an unknown desire.

Alcott did come to have lunch with his beloved wife but only for a brief while. Charlotte pretended to be upset, although she didn't quite mind. Alcott's quick departure gave her more time for herself. She could sit alone and enjoy her tea without worrying that she might say something unnecessary.

With a sigh, Charlotte leaned back in her seat and looked out the window at the hustle of London, at the carriages relentlessly going to and fro, at the people wandering the streets, each with a different purpose but with the same thing in mind: survival.

Her eyes lingered on a woman who sat down on the pavement, holding a baby to her chest. A man came out from a bakery behind the woman, holding a small piece of bread. He sat down, too, and shared the bread with his wife.

Across the street, there was another couple. But these two were well-dressed and walked arm in arm, with sweet smiles adorning their faces.

Charlotte didn't know what was it that made her cringe but she herself was taken aback by the grimace reflected in the window. She left the restaurant with bitter thoughts and headed straight for the theater. She couldn't wait to get into her costume and begin rehearsing. It was the only time when she could truly be herself.

The night seemed to be darker than usual. Or was it just her imagination? Charlotte lay on her bed, awaiting Sebastian's arrival while staring at the ceiling. There was no moon and the stars were scarce. Probably covered by fog. An awful thing, this fog of the English. Charlotte had always dreaded it.

She had left the window open, although she knew it wasn't necessary. It only showed how eager she was to see him. However, she was still startled when he popped at her side out of nowhere.

"You're more silent than a cat," she whispered as she sat up.

He only smiled. "What do you have for me?"

Charlotte rubbed her eyes sleepily, "Well, rumor has it that Mr. Crewe was indeed an opium addict. Which gets me thinking about Julian Kane and his Turk friends. By the way," she paused, then asked with a straight face: "Was that really opium in Alcott's drawer?"

Sebastian looked at Charlotte for a moment. Although they had been associated for quite some time now, there were times when he could not read her mind.

This was one of those times.

"Yes," he answered. "It was opium. I am certain now."

"I see," Charlotte said bleakly. "Any idea how he might have come by it?"

"I do not, my lady. But he is Mafia, perhaps…"

She was evidently considering it. "Do you think my husband is addicted to opium?"

What she had actually wanted to ask was whether Sebastian thought that Alcott had any connection to the murders.

Sebastian's voice was steady as he answered her. "Have you noticed any strange odors around him? Restlessness? Weakness? Trembling?"

She shook her head at each symptom. "You sound like a doctor," she said with a feeble smile.

He smiled back. "I am only one hell of a butler."

"You always say that," Charlotte shot back. "What does it mean?"

"Only what it means."

"I don't understand."

"I wouldn't expect you to." He smiled, more widely this time, and she noticed for the first time that he had fang-like teeth. "But first I must extend my congratulations."

"For what exactly?"

"You seduced Earl Aethelburg successfully."

She stared. "Did you think that I would not?"

Suddenly he was close enough to whisper in her ear, "I'm only a bit jealous—I thought that you only used your techniques on me."

And she couldn't stop the smile that curved on her lips as he held her close. Curiously enough, he was not that warm.

"You're cold," she realized, pulling away from him. "Just how did you get here?"

"I walked," he replied.

"In this weather?" She eyed him. He was wearing nothing but his butler's uniform. "Let me fetch you a coat."

"Thank you, my lady, but I am not cold, and I cannot stay long. I only came to invite you to come with me to-morrow."

"Wh…Where to?" she stuttered.

"Chinatown. We have a contact there who is an expert on opium."

"Will Ciel be there?"

"Unfortunately, my Master is ill."

"Ill!" she exclaimed, forgetting about everything else. "Ciel is ill! Sebastian, why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"You seemed otherwise preoccupied," Sebastian said with a smirk.

She blushed hotly.

"But he will be all right. The doctor has recommended rest, and he has the entire Phantomhive household to nurse him, plus a couple who aren't part of the household but will be useful. They're under strict—" and here the butler's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, "—strict orders not to make him worse. For my part, Master has told me to investigate Chinatown with you. Will you be available?"

She nodded. Tomorrow was one of her rare days off—Alcott had given her one.

"'Till tomorrow then." He walked to her door, but paused. "Has Luke Linnett contacted you yet?"

"No."

"Very well then, but I hope we would hear of him soon."

The next morning, the journalist in question rose from his bed, still bleary-eyed. He detested waking up early, but it was necessary if he wanted to catch his contact.

Harold Crewe was the latest in the string of theatre actor deaths, and Luke was definitely sure that there was something more on how he died. To everyone it was an opium addiction gone wrong.

He just wasn't sure how he knew. He had been investigating the deaths since the Countess had given him the job, but the links were only sketchy. None of the actors or actresses had been well-liked in the society, and they all had the opportunity to dabble in something dangerous. It was entirely possible that a person had the same grudge against them—perhaps something to do with opium? Julian Kane was definitely a smuggler.

And this Crewe death…

There was another link that he found curious. They all died within different days of the week.

Julian Kane died on a Monday, Rebecca on a Tuesday. Sarah died on Wednesday, and James Johnson on Thursday. They didn't die one after the other, of course, but Luke noted it.

Harold Crewe…there was no mention of his time of death in the newspapers, but Luke knew of a person who could tell him.

He took a cab to Paddington station and walked a few streets before he came to a small clinic with a brass nameplate: Dr. Matthew Linnett. Luke smiled, shook his head, and rang the bell.

It was his sister-in-law who opened the door for him. "Luke! We haven't had your company in a long time. Come in! Matt's just opened his practice."

"Thank you," he said. "Where are the kids?"

"Out playing."

"I see," Luke said, but only got as far as that before Matthew came out of a room and spotted him.

"Luke!" Matthew cried out. "You actually got up before noon. This must be important."

Luke scowled, but Matt only laughed. He turned to his wife and said, "Please leave us alone for a few moments."

"Of course. Tea?"

"No, I won't be long," Luke said quietly.

Matt led him to his tiny clinic, where he fixed his youngest brother with a sharp gaze. Matt had light brown hair and brown eyes, older than Luke by five years, but aside from these differences they looked much alike.

"Well?"

"I wanted to ask you about Harold Crewe," Luke said immediately.

"Why?"

"Newspaper."

"Everything you need to know is in the papers. And you're a bit late if you think you can publish anything new."

Going to Matt for information about his patients was a bit like trying to get a priest to confess someone else's sins. Luke sighed. "I mean something not mentioned in the papers. I know you must be the one who declared him dead, you're the nearest doctor around Paddington."

They sat in silence for a while, waiting for the first one to crack.

"It won't be published," Luke said finally. "When and how did he die?"

Matt shook his head. "Luke, you're not playing detective again, are you?"

"Only if I get to the bottom of it."

"There is no bottom." Matt rose and took a small packet from his drawer. "Stay away from the case, Lou."

Luke accepted the packet and opened it. It was about a teaspoon's worth of brown grains, some lighter in color, some darker. The darker ones were stained with…

"Blood?" Luke breathed.

Matt nodded grimly. "Someone forced opium down his nose. A large amount apparently. I found that after the examination. He died last Friday night."

Luke narrowed his eyes. There was the week-link right there. "Murder?"

"Is not a new thing in this world." Matt finished. "We may never know the reason why."

Luke stood up, the packet still in his hand. The blood of Harold Crewe had coagulated the opium grains. "We can try," he said quietly, then left.