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The Portrait

Part 24

"Something smells awfully good." Treize held his step in the door to the kitchen to soak in the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies. He had stopped at the market on his way home from school, to pick up a couple of things he had noticed on the grocery list.

Milliardo was just pulling a baking sheet from the oven while a second batch was already cooling on a rack by the window.

Approaching the younger man from behind, the professor leaned over his shoulder and placed a kiss onto his cheek. "Those look absolutely scrumptious," he remarked with a look at the little round cookies on the sheet. "I didn't realize you can bake, as well."

"Neither did I," Milliardo admitted with a smirk. "But Alexander got me this really old but rather simple recipe…"

"May I try one?"

"Yes, but take one from the cooling rack, unless you want to burn your tongue."

"I'd prefer not to." The tawny haired man studied the batch for a few moments then picked a cookie with a generous amount of sugar crystals on top. He put it into his mouth and chewed it while Milliardo waited with bated breath for his judgment.

Treize closed his eyes in delight. The cookie was sweet, but not too sweet with just a touch of spiciness. He could taste a little ginger and cinnamon and a lot of honey. It took him right back to his childhood. "Absolutely delicious," he declared. "I hadn't tasted these in years."

The blond gave him a questioning look.

"My mother used to make them all the time when I grew up. It's an old family recipe; even older than I had thought, it seems. Apparently his dog and the painting of the Khushrenada summer house were not the only things Alexander took with him when he left home," Treize explained as his eyes searched for another sugar loaded cookie, but when he reached out to snatch it Milliardo slapped his fingers.

"No more. Those are for later this afternoon when old man Harold is coming over. So, keep your hands off them." The young man waved spatula threateningly.

"Alright, alright, no need to get violent." The professor laughed. "When is Mister Harold going to be here?"

"His grandson is going to drop him off before hockey practice, around 4:30, he said and…" Milliardo trailed off and raised his hand to cover a yawn. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

Treize gave him a sympathetic look. "You're still having trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah, I think I'll feel better after I turn in my last paper tomorrow and finish those last two finals."

"Why don't you go try to take a nap now? It's still more than two hours before Mister Harold will be here," the older man suggested.

"But I still have to clean up this mess." Milliardo looked around the kitchen.

"Don't worry about it; we will take care of it. Won't we Alexander?"

"But…"

"No buts." His voice leaving no room for arguments, Treize untied Milliardo's apron and slipped it over the young man's head. "Go to bed!"

"Alright," the blond finally agreed. "Wake me at 4 if I'm not down by then." He left the kitchen but not without turning one more time at the door. "Alexander, I'm putting you in charge. Make sure he doesn't eat any more of those cookies."

###

"That should do it," Treize looked around the now sparkling clean kitchen. "Thanks for your help, Alexander."

I hope Milliardo is getting some rest. The professor thought as he headed upstairs. Maybe I should check on him.

He slowly and carefully opened the door to the master bedroom. Milliardo lay sprawled across the wide bed, seemingly sound asleep. The black and white throw he had been using as a blanket, had slipped away. Afraid to wake the young man Treize fought the urge to pick it up and cover him again. Instead he quietly closed the door and tiptoed away.

Flicking on the overhead light as he walked into the study, the professor headed straight for the large desk under the window. A small business card on top of the stack of the police reports had the sheriff's private cell phone number scrabbled on the back. Treize reached for the phone and dialed the number. Moments later someone picked up on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Sheriff, its Treize Khushrenada."

"Ah, yes. How are you?"

"Doing well, thanks. How about yourself?"

"I'm fine, too. What can I do for you, Mister Khushrenada?"

"Actually, I have a question. A good friend of mine, who I served with, works now as an investigator for the military's intelligence service. I talked to him the other day and he would be willing to have a look at what little evidence is left from my great-grandfather's case. He has access to the best forensic resources in the country. Would that be alright with you? He would of course go through official channels and make sure the chain of evidence isn't broken."

"In that case I don't see a problem." Bonaparte replied. "I just don't see what he is hoping to find from an old letter and a single cufflink."

"Never know, right," Treize replied. "Also I read in the report that the police found a smear of blood at the bottom of the stairs and another one by the back door leading into the garden. You wouldn't know if they took any samples of those, would you?"

"I highly doubt it. Aside from the fact that it was probably too small of an amount of blood, there was very little they could have done with it back then. Even blood typing was still in its infancy."

"Yes, you are probably right," the professor sighed. "It would have been nice thought to have it today. Do you have any idea how those blood smears were explained, though? I mean, Alexander never made it downstairs."

"If I remember right it was assumed that the dog stepped into the blood upstairs or sniffed his bleeding master and left those marks on his way outside. The patrol man did, if I remember correctly note that he observed what appeared to be dried blood in the dogs fur."

"Which let to that unconfirmed rumor that the duke had been attacked and killed by his own dog, I assume. But it doesn't explain how Peritas got outside in the first place. There was no 'doggy door'."

"Yes, that's a good question."

"Anyway, I have already taken enough of your time. I'll have my friend contact you as soon as possible about that letter and the cufflink."

"Very well, I'll let my secretary know to expect his call."

###

"Is Duke Khushrenada in?"

"Indeed, the duke just returned home." The butler replied stiffly as he stepped aside to let Octavian/ Milliardo step into the entry. "Please wait here, while I announce you."

"Thank you, Albert." Octavian pulled off his white gloves as he looked around. A vase with fresh roses sat on the little commode to his right. Alexander always made it a point to cut a bouquet after he returned from sea.

"Who is it, Albert?" The duke's voice came from upstairs even before the butler reached the first landing.

"It's Mister Peacecraft, Sir. Would you like me to show him to the drawing room?"

"No, bring him upstairs. We will sit in my study."

Octavian nodded at the servant. "Thank you Albert, I can find the way myself."

A few moments later he walked into the study. "Alexander!"

The other man returned the greeting with a curt nod. "Octavian."

Although,they always kept a certain formality unless they were in private; Alexander seemed a little more reserved than usual. Peritas on the other hand seemed more than happy to see the young man. The large dog jumped up from his blanket by the fireplace to greet him, his long tail sweeping the ground in excitement.

"Please have a seat. Should I have Albert bring us something to drink; tea perhaps?"

"No thank you, I'm fine." Octavian replied as he settled down in one of the green and gold chairs. "Father told me this morning that he saw you in church on Sunday. Since when have you been in town?"

"Since Friday."

"I had no idea. Why didn't you come by?"

"But I did," Alexander replied, as he too took a seat. "I went to your house on Saturday. When I arrived there your carriage just pulled out, and one of your servants told me that you and your betrothed had just went for a drive."

Octavian swallowed.

"When were you planning on telling me, Octavian?" the duke asked sharply. "After your wedding? Or wait, perhaps you explained it all in a letter, but in got lost in the post?"

"I didn't." the younger man admitted. "I wanted to tell you person to person…" he stared down into his lap. "I thought you'd deserve at least that much."

"Fine, here we are person to person. So tell me, what happened? What happened to all those plans we had made, to our future together, to our promises to be together for the rest of our lives?"

"I'm sorry, Alexander. I truly am." Octavian's voice was barely above a whisper. Finally he looked up. "Father is dying."

"Excuse me…?" Alexander looked surprised and shocked.

"His doctor told him last month. He probably doesn't have more than a year, and of course he is trying to bring his affairs in order now."

"Which includes marrying off his oldest son," the duke concluded.

"I'm sorry," Octavian repeated. "I know this isn't how I… how we had planned the future, but someone will have to take over the business and take care of my mother and my sisters after Father is gone…"

"No, I should be the one apologizing." Alexander's expression softened. "This must be difficult enough to deal with, without me barking at you."

Octavian's eyes lit up slightly. "You are not angry then? I was so worried how you might react, so worried of loosing you."

"Angry?' the older man echoed, "...of course not. I could never be angry at you. Although, I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed and a not to mention a little jealous. I had hoped that it would be you and I spending the rest of our lives together. Giving you up to someone else won't be easy."

"But you don't have to. Nothing has to change between us. You see, Constance knows, and she understands."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I told her, about me, about us…"

"You did what?"

#

"He did what?" Treize's surprised expression nearly mirrored that of his great-grandfather when Milliardo told him about his newest dream vision a short time later.

"He had told his future wife about his relationship with Alexander and that he had no intention of ending it," the young man confirmed. "You see, from what I've gathered, the Peacecraft and Fletcher family had been socializing since long before their children were born. Constance and Octavian grew up together and apparently have been each other's confidants for a long time."

"So, she agreed to marry him knowing he didn't actually love her?"

"That wasn't that uncommon back then, was it?"

"I guess not."

"The marriage benefitted both families. Fletcher was the senior partner in one of the largest law firms. He probably wouldn't have agreed to marry his only daughter to Octavian if he hadn't seen the potential in Peacecraft Industries."

"So it was a business decision." Treize remarked.

"All the way around, apparently," Milliardo confirmed. "It seems that Constance was anything but your typical 19 century woman. She had no desire to become a dutiful housewife and mother sitting patiently at home while her husband went out to visit gentlemen clubs with his male associates. A while ago I found some old documents somewhere according to which she actually went on to a woman's college after she got married; at least for a few years until she became pregnant with my grandfather."

"So, the two of them 'conspire' to get married for their parent's sake and for outside appearance, but plan to keep living their own separate lives in private," the professor concluded in a mixture of surprise and amazement.

"Sounds like Constance was Octavian's Noin." Milliardo smirked.

"Come again?" Treize gave the young man a puzzled look.

Milliardo chuckled quietly. "A while back Wufei told me about reincarnation and stuff. He said that perhaps the reason why I'm connected to Alexander and why I also seem to be able to tap into Octavian's memories is because his soul was reborn in me. At the same time he also explained that souls in general will surround themselves with other souls they have knows from a prior life. From what I learned Constance seems very much like my friend Noin," he explained.

"The young woman you took to your sister's debutant ball?"

The blond nodded. "We grew up together. She was my best friend, the person I feel like I can talk to about everything; very much like Constance and Octavian. "

"Would you marry her to please your parents?" Treize asked.

"Hmm… I'm not sure if I would go that far, but if I had to marry a woman; Noin would probably be my first choice."

"Really?! Does she know about us?"

"Of course. Like I said, I tell her everything."

Treize gave the other man a long look. "Everything?" he asked.

Luckily at that very moment the door bell rang, saving Milliardo from having to answer that question. "Oh, that must be old man Harold."

###

"Yes, this definitely brings back memories." The old man looked around as he stepped into the house he hadn't set foot into for nearly a century, and a soft smile formed on his lips. "The look may have changed, but it still feels the same. You know, I almost expect him to come walking down these stairs, dressed in one of his elegant afternoon suits, a fresh rose in his coat's lapel and his walking stick in hand."

Treize laughed quietly. "I can almost see it myself."

"He took his cane upstairs?" Milliardo asked, slightly surprised. Somehow he had always assumed people had left them in the entry with their shoes and umbrellas.

"Yes," Mr. Harold confirmed. "Master Alexander used to walk with the slightest of limps, barely noticeable really, from a childhood injury I believe."

"That's right. I have heard that he had a riding accident in his early teens where he broke his hip." The professor nodded.

"Climbing the stairs seemed to trouble him somewhat," the old man continued. "So he used the cane to steady himself. He would leave it right up at the top landing, propped against that old big clock that was standing in the upstairs hall. I think that was the only reason why he kept that clock. He never really liked it; it was too noise he said."

"Shall we go into the living room?" Treize suggested.

"I think that walking stick is still up in the attic," Milliardo remarked as he followed the two of them. He had already turned on the coffee maker. "It's made of some dark wood with a silver handle and a couple of silver bands holding it in place."

"No actually," the old man shook his head. "Master Alexander's cane was dark ebony wood with a lion's head on top carved out of ivory, that had two red eyes; rubies I believe he said they were. From what he told me it was a present from some rich Indian nobleman whose daughter was escorted by Master Alexander's ship as she traveled to America. But I'm not sure if that story is true or just something he made up for my entertainment. He often told the most amazing stories about his journeys."

"It sounds like he really liked you." Milliardo remarked as they settled down in the couch and armchairs around the little coffee table.

Treize on the other hand had grown rather quiet, his expression thoughtful. "Say Mister Harold, that walking stick you described. The lion's muzzle was open, it's fangs exposed as so he was growling at something."

"Yes, yes that's right. That and those red eyes that seemed to glow, it was kind of scary looking to me as a little boy, if you know what I mean."

"That's the cane from the catalogue." The professor gave Milliardo a look as though the young man was supposed to know what he was talking about.

"What catalogue?"

"The art catalogue, remember? About two weeks ago when I told you I was still trying to find a birthday present for my mother, something like a painting or so. The next day you left the catalogue on the table for me."

"…Ah, yes, now I remember. I think the coffee is done. Could you give me a hand please? If you would excuse us for just a moment, Mister Harold." Milliardo grabbed the sleeve of Treize's shirt, nearly dragging him out of the room and out of the old man's earshot. "I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about," he finally admitted.

"You mean you didn't leave that catalogue on the table? It was opened to the page with the lion- headed cane. I thought you were trying to be funny. Well, if you didn't do it…"

"Alexander?! But where did he get the catalogue to begin with."

"It probably came in the mail. I had called a couple of auction houses and asked them to send me theirs."

"He is trying to tell us something, isn't he?"

"Perhaps, but let's worry about that later. Right now we have a guest waiting for us." Treize reminded him.

"Ah, right. Take the cookies. I'll be right there with the coffee."

#

"Even these cookies bring back old memories. Only back then I had far less trouble eating them," the old man laughed as he dunked another one of the little round spheres into his coffee cup.

"I'm glad you like them. Alexander said they were your favorite..." The moment the words had escaped his mouth Milliardo realized what he had said and he grinned sheepishly. "I found his old cookbook and he had put a note next to the recipe: 'William's favorites'. I assume that he was referring to you." The young man lied and it seemed to make sense to their guest.

"Yes, I remember Mary-Anne baking them on special occasions for him… and me."

"Say, Mister Harold…" Treize changed the subject. "I realize it's been a long time, but you wouldn't happen to know why Alexander fired his butler, would you."

"Not officially of course. But from what I've gathered Mister Elward might have taken a few liberties Master Alexander didn't appreciate."

"Like what?"

"I think he might have invited friends into the house when the duke was at sea. My mother would usually clean the entire house the day after Master Alexander left. But Elward would ask her to come in again the day before he returned. I think he might also have helping himself to content of the liquor cabinet. At least that's what they were arguing about that day after the duke returned unexpectedly."

"I see," Treize nodded. "Well, that would be a good reason for me to fire an employee. I can only imagine Elward wasn't too happy."

"Probably not. It was a great job, considering how little time Master Alexander actually spent at home. But then, he said he had planned on leaving anyway. His brother had just recently died and his sister in law needed help with the family farm. Somehow I have a hard time imagining him as a farmer, though. You are still trying to find out how Master Alexander died, don't you? I wish I could help you more."

"But you already have helped a lot," the professor assured the old man. "Thank you so much. Your insight painted a whole new picture of my great grandfather and the life he lived."

"My pleasure."

###

"I still don't understand what Alexander's cane would be doing in an auction." Milliardo mused as he and the professor drove home. The two of them had dropped off the old man at his house and gone out for dinner afterwards.

"If it indeed is his." Treize remarked with a quick side gaze at the younger man.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's assume Alexander's story about escorting that Indian princess across the ocean is true, I can imagine that her grateful father would not only have presented him with a gift, but probably all high ranking officers or at least the Captain as well."

"Yeah I guess that makes sense." Milliardo nodded as they pulled up in front of their house. "I wonder who was selling it. Do you remember where what happened to that catalogue?"

"It probably was thrown out and into recycling. I called the auction house earlier and asked them to send us another copy. I also asked for the name of the person who owned that cane, but they don't give out personal information. Even in the catalogue each seller only is referred to by a number."

"Interesting."

As Treize climbed out of the car he noticed the flickering lights in the window to the living room and sighed. "Is he watching that mystery show thing again?"

"Probably. It's Tuesday, after 8 o'clock."

"I really was hoping to just sit and relax tonight. Why doesn't he just watch it upstairs in the attic, after all he does have his own TV now."

"But the Mystery Theater shows only on cable, he doesn't get the channel in the attic." Milliardo explained. "Maybe we can just watch it together. It's only an hour. We could play some poker afterward."

"Absolutely not." Treize shook his head.

The younger man laughed. "You still think he was cheating last night? Or are you just mad because you kept losing to your great-grandfather… your dead great-grandfather not to mention," he teased.

"Let's just say, if he wanted to take a look at our hands he could do so without us ever knowing."

"Alright, then let's play Yahtzee instead." Milliardo suggested.

"Fine. I have no problem with that."

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T.B.C.

Author's Note: