Me yesterday: It's MAY WHAT, JUNE IS HOW MANY WEEKS AWAY *gets herself together to finally do the final edits*

Time is being weird and I'm a mess.

My idea was to have a flashback segment at the beginning and one at the end of each chapter for this entire arc (well, most of it, at least). Now, as I had to cut Malady again (yey), this part has no flashbacks whatsoever... Well, at least I guess (I hope?) this won't mess with my planning?

Anyway, this time I could finally start the "date" which I've been looking forward to for the longest time. Even if it was a pain to actually write in the end. I hope it's just half as interesting as I wished it to be.

This is also the chapter when I finally got tired of writing out "Mademoiselle".

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!^^

Chapter Twenty-Three:

The Countess, Malady – Part 2

"To bring order to a disordered world was the detective's job."

Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848

~Cedric~

The raindrops fell against the windows in the same tact as the headache pounded in my head.

I had never liked it when the weather was fluctuating, shifting unpredictably from sunshine to rain, from warmth to coldness, because no matter how careful you planned, how meticulous you organised everything, all your hard effort could be washed away by a sudden start of rain.

But today I welcomed the indecisive weather: When we had come to Nanteuil-la-Forêt, it had poured; yesterday, it had been a lovely clear day just like the day before. Now, the weather had returned to apocalyptic rain.

I awoke too early; Alfred would not come for another two hours. After I had retreated to my room yesterday, I had quickly fallen asleep, but my sleeplessness from the days before and the strain from the day had not made my rest particularly refreshing. I felt only a little bit better compared to yesterday.

Groaning, I kicked away my blankets before I stood up and walked to the windows. I pulled the curtains back, revealing the rain clash against the windows with such ferocity and despair as if it wanted to be let in. But no matter how hard the rain tried, only its coldness seeped through the glass. I leaned my forehead against the window, letting the chill ease my headache, and I whispered a "thank you" to the weather. Rain meant a day off; rain meant a day inside.

Rain meant that I wouldn't have to meet the Clockmaker today.

Sure, it would only be for today. I had to go as soon as the weather allowed me to. There was no reason for me to be so reluctant about meeting him. I did not know him after all. Still, there was some odd gut feeling that made me rather want to stay here in the château.

Anyway – the Clockmaker was not for today, for tomorrow or the day after maybe, but today was a free day and I could do whatever I wanted.

Breakfast went smoothly with everyone delicately sidestepping the topic of the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders as Milton had not got lost in the château this time and sat with them from the breakfast's beginning until its end. However, every time Cedric's gaze wandered into his direction, Milton's mind seemed to be either elsewhere or he was deep in conversation with Kamden. Milton might not have even noticed it if they had spoken about the murders.

Right after breakfast, Cedric excused himself and hurried to his room – or, to be precise, to a shadowed corner – before hurrying back to catch Cloudia before she reached her chambers.

The rain had not calmed since he had woken up, cementing that today was not a day to go out, and while talking with Cloudia and the others at the breakfast table and hearing the rain roaring outside, Cedric had formulated a plan in the back of his mind what to do today. A plan which involved his chessboard.

Cloudia had tried to talk him out of taking it because it was too bulky and heavy. She had been right, of course. Bringing it would be quite the nuisance – but Cedric had packed it anyway. And now he was glad that he had. It had been ages since Cedric had played chess with Cloudia, and after all this time and after yesterday's fiasco, he was very much looking forward to spending some time and play a few rounds with Cloudia. This time it just had to work out.

With the board clutched against him, Cedric ran through the château, and a few corridors before Cloudia's room he spotted her and quickened his pace in excitement. Excitement which let him forget how tired his bones were, how exhausted his mind.

"Countess!" he said with a low voice before he continued louder, "Wait!"

Cloudia stopped. "There you are again," she said when he reached her. "Didn't you excuse yourself because you had something to do five minutes ago?"

"That's right and I did what I wanted to do!" With a big grin on his face, Cedric showed her the chessboard. "I thought because the weather is so dreadful and we possibly cannot go down to Nanteuil-la-Forêt, that we could play some chess and eat biscuits."

"I will most definitely not play chess with you," Cloudia replied. "I would say yes to the biscuits though if…"

"If?"

"If I had not planned to go to Nanteuil-la-Forêt today."

"Go to… Countess, have you taken a look outside? It is pouring! You cannot possibly want to go out!"

Cloudia sighed. "I do not want to go. I have to. I would like to wrap up this murder investigation as soon as possible – especially because more people are murdered and this whole affair eats so much of our time we could spend looking for Townsend. If he didn't need the Clockmaker's help to open Her Majesty's box, I'm sure he would be long gone!" She looked at Cedric. "I would love to stay here today, but I cannot afford to take a day off now. We have already lost so much time."

Well, and here went my dream of an eventless day; yet again, another plan washed away by rain.

"If that's so, then…," said Cedric, lowering the board, "…then I will come too."

Cloudia's gaze softened, and she suddenly looked so gentle, so strangely kind and elegant that his heart made a jump. Cedric hoped that his own expression didn't give anything away, that she didn't notice it at least.

"You still look awful," Cloudia said with such sweetness in her voice it almost sounded like a compliment. "And your yearning to spend the day off is proof that you are still too tired to do anything arduous."

Cedric shook his head. "No. I'm fine. I can do this."

"How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Plenty. Enough for a day in Nanteuil-la-Forêt."

"And enough for a ride with Denis?"

A pause. "Yes."

"You hesitated."

"It's Denis, Countess! He drives like the devil's chasing him. Anyone would hesitate."

"Undertaker…" A bit of her usual sternness crept back into Cloudia's eyes. "You need to rest for tomorrow. My grand-uncle gave you a very important mission. We still don't know how the weather will be like tomorrow, but we need to be prepared. You and Jacques have to be fit when you go to the Clockmaker because I am certain that he does not live close-by. You could wander through the forest for hours – or even days.

"I know you want to help, and I appreciate your enthusiasm to assist me in my work, but right now, you will help me more by staying than by accompanying me. Finding the Clockmaker and warning him about Townsend is extremely important – and something only you can do. I need you to be rested for this mission to be a success. Do you understand, Undertaker?"

"You need me?"

Cloudia sighed, extinguishing the last bit of "Gentle Cloudia." "Yes. I dislike to say this because I am sure you will get some weird satisfaction out of it, but I do. I need you."

Cedric looked at her for a while before he sighed too and adjusted his grip on the chessboard. Its bulkiness and weight made it a pain to hold. "If you go without me, shouldn't I tell you what I found out yesterday? I still didn't get a chance to do it after all."

"Sure." Cloudia smiled.

Cedric returned it. "Well, Gustave had nothing in his pockets, so he was either mugged or just a really weird fellow who does not put anything in his pockets."

"Not everyone carries around a gazillion biscuits, Undertaker."

"I'm carrying them for two! You never bring any food to stakeouts or ever after all."

"Putting food in pockets is most often a very messy affair. You should know this. After all, you once had a banana in your coat pocket." Cloudia grimaced. "I'm still feeling bad for it."

"To my defence, you told me to eat healthier. I… I just forgot it. Anyway, the emptiness of Gustave's pockets is not the only peculiarity I detected: Gustave is quite muscular. In itself, it's not anything odd, but considering that he was killed and…," said Cedric, but he trailed off when he detected Milton walking into their direction, looking pale and confused. He must not even have noticed Cloudia and Cedric in the corridor because, when Cedric waved to him Milton flinched at the movement. For a moment, Milton stood in the hallway and blinked at Cedric before he tentatively walked towards him and Cloudia; and when Milton joined them, Cedric had to sneeze.

"Milton, how are you feeling?" Cloudia asked after glancing at Cedric. "I've been meaning to ask you at breakfast, but you were so preoccupied with Emyr, I didn't want to interrupt you. Especially considering that redirecting your focus elsewhere has always helped before."

Cedric stared at Cloudia, not comprehending what she was saying before it dawned upon him: Milton did not react well to rain. That's why he had been so absent-minded during breakfast, that's why he was looking paler than usual now. Two days ago, the rain had been lighter and Milton had already seemed very distressed. Cedric could not imagine how he must be feeling now with a fully-fledged storm outside.

"I am fine. Thank you for asking," Milton said, fumbling with his hands and looking restlessly around. "Emyr was very helpful during breakfast. I wanted to thank him afterwards. Before I could though, Miss Greene whisked him away. I cannot forget to thank him later."

"I see. But, Milton, where is Wentworth?"

"Hm? Bram is with Mr Newman."

Cloudia's eyes widened. "Wentworth has just left you alone? Now? I cannot imagine why he would do something like that. After all, he is always so concerned about you."

"Bram didn't just leave me alone. I…" Milton took a deep breath, clutching his restless hands together. "I had to convince Bram for quite a while that I would be fine on my own. I didn't mean to ruin Mr Newman's day. I can look after myself after all."

"But you got lost."

Milton blinked at Cloudia.

"Milton, your room is at the other end of the château."

Milton put a hand to his head before he placed it above his heart. "I did wonder why you and Kristopher were here…"

Cloudia looked at Cedric, and he glimpsed the concern in her eyes before it was replaced by a glow. She had an idea, and he was sure that he would not like it.

"Milton," Cloudia said. "How about you stay with the Duke? He is desperately searching for someone to play chess with. You know how to play, don't you, Milton?"

"Uhm, yes, I do…"

"Wonderful!" She turned to Cedric. "Here are all your wishes fulfilled. And don't worry: Milton is easy-care – you only need to distract him! He's absolutely harmless too. He could not hurt a fly or even a plant."

"A plant?" Cedric frowned and sneezed again. He was not getting sick, was he? It would certainly be the cherry on top of his misery. "Do you mean he has never plucked a flower? But if I remember correctly, didn't he give you…"

Not a word of it, Cedric suddenly heard Cloudia's voice in his head, startling him. He sent me a potted plant, but I wanted to put the flowers in a vase, so I had Lisa cut them. Milton can never know.

"… that wonderful potted plant for your birthday! Is taking a plant out of the earth fine for you, Milton?"

"Well… it's more favourable for me."

"Does that mean you dislike it when people cut their flowers and put them in vases?" Cedric asked with a side-glance at Cloudia who slightly narrowed his eyes at him.

"Oh no," said Milton, severely disappointing Cedric. "Potted plants are my personal preference. If others like plants in vases more, who am I to convince them to do otherwise? I won't lecture anyone about changing their preferences solely to satisfy my own tastes. Especially if it is such a harmless matter and nothing to condemn people about."

Cloudia clapped her hands together. "So it's decided: The Duke will give you some company, Milton, and you will join him for some pleasant, leisurely chess-playing. Right now, he has distracted you marvellously – you seemed more relaxed now than before! And trust me, the Duke is a pillar of distraction. Of annoyance too, yes, but a few hours will be more digestible than a year and a half. Despite everything, I am sure today will be a perfectly restful day for both of you."

"Very funny," Cedric said and sneezed, but Cloudia ignored him.

"I would join you but I promised Emyr to accompany him to Nanteuil-la-Forêt. The weather is terrible, I know, I know, but plans and promises are plans and promises and should be kept. And who knows? The rain may lift and lovely sunshine may peek out from between the clouds." She patted Milton's arm and her voice softened. "I wish you well, Milton."

"You too, Lady Cloudia," he replied, blushing mildly.

She smiled at him and Cedric before she walked away. Cedric looked after her for a moment, then turned to Milton who, yet again, seemed very uneasy.

"You do not have to keep me company if you don't want to, Kristopher," he said softly. "I would not want to be a bother. If you prefer to find someone else to play chess with, I would not be offended I assure you."

Cedric shook his head and sneezed anew. "Don't worry about being a bother, Milton. I am happy to have someone to play chess with, and I doubt I could find anyone else. I'm not very eager to play with Aurèle or any of the children – if they even know the rules. Al is preoccupied, and this would only leave me with Miss Greene… and I'm not that desperate. I only hope that you are better than the Lady," Cedric said, surprising himself. Admittedly, he had expected to be more furious, to be more annoyed at this development but…

"You have already proven that you are just as curious as I am."

Cedric studied Milton who seemed like a lost child how he stood in front of him, gazed at him, held his hand against his chest, above his heart. So vulnerable and so out-of-place. I am doing this because Cloudia told me to and because I need a chess partner, Cedric told himself.

"As you are not really in pain," Cedric said, "would it help to find a windowless room?"

Milton nodded. "A bit, yes."

"Wonderful. Do you know any windowless rooms here?"

"Unfortunately, I do not. Also…" Milton hesitated.

"Also – what?" asked Cedric and sneezed – again. This was getting a little bit out of hand.

Milton braced himself before he said, "Before… before we go and search for a place to play, I… I need to go to my room first."

"To your room? Why?"

"I… I have to change my clothes."

"You have to change your clothes? Milton, this is not a formal dinner, you–" Cedric sneezed.

"You have been sneezing for the last few minutes, Kristopher, and it is very likely that it is because of me."

"Because of you? Milton, I am not allergic to you. I don't even know if it's possible to be allergic to another person."

Milton shook his head and, judging from his expression, immediately seemed to regret it. Cedric went to hold the chessboard with one hand and took Milton's arm with the other before he toppled over. "No, it's not like that," meant Milton and gently freed himself from Cedric's grip and took a step back. "I thought that I had cleaned myself enough of the cat hair but apparently I was wrong… I don't want you to keep sneezing while we play. Especially considering that I don't know how bad your allergy is and so…"

Cedric blinked at him. "Cat hair? What cat hair? And which cat?"

"Uhm… Miss Anaïs has a cat – Miss Babette. Today, when I was on my way to the dining room for breakfast, I saw her walking around – and I noticed you and Lady Cloudia approaching. I didn't want you to get too close to the cat as you are allergic, so I grabbed her and carried her somewhere else. Miss Babette didn't like it, but fortunately, she did like my peace offering." Milton smiled.

Cedric narrowed his eyes. "As far as I know not even the Lady knows about my cat allergy – how do you know about it, Milton?"

A blush crept into Milton's face. "How I know? Uh… well…" His blush deepened and he nervously clasped his hands together as he explained, "On our first morning here, you, Miss Anaïs, and Emyr were so kind to look for me when I was late for breakfast. You sneezed quite a lot, and at first, I believed you got ill on our journey, but yesterday while I was heading to breakfast I saw Miss Babette for the very first time since we arrived and I understood: I knew that something was not quite correct with my logic regarding your sneezing as it vanished during breakfast and didn't reappear when we and Marchioness Williams were drinking in the salon. Also, Miss Anaïs mentioned a Miss Babette once which quizzed me for a while because I assumed she was a member of the staff, but I didn't know anyone by that name or heard about a servant called Miss Babette. Miss Anaïs having a cat and this cat's name being 'Miss Babette' was the key to solving this little mystery.

"Thinking back, you only sneezed every time you got close to Miss Anaïs. She must have been with her cat shortly before and got Miss Babette's hair on her clothes which caused you to sneeze. You were never sick; you are only allergic to cats." Milton smiled sheepishly, embarrassed of his own words.

Cedric stared at him. "You found out about my allergy like this? You deduced my allergy?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't call it 'deduction' – you are giving me too much credit, Kristopher. It was only a simple observation. That's all."

"Simple?"

"I am certain that everyone could have done that." He fumbled with his sleeves. "It's nothing remarkable. Nothing special."

Cedric kept staring at him for a few more seconds. "I am allergic to cats, I know that of course, but I didn't even think of the possibility that a cat could be here."

Milton smiled faintly. "Uhm… I…"

"It's fine," said Cedric. "Let's go to your room. It was on the other side of the château?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you can find the way to it?"

Milton hesitated. "Yes?"

"Oh, right." Cedric sighed. "Why did I even ask? You are here because you got lost. Let us get to the other side first. Maybe you will recognise some corridors or a bit of décor on the way. Or we will tumble into someone who can help us. Come." Adjusting his grip on the chessboard, Cedric walked to the staircase and Milton was quick to follow him. "If only we were given maps upon our arrival. Or, even better, if only this Baron – not you, I mean the obnoxious one – had hired a less manically competent architect for this death-trap of a mansion."

Milton chuckled. "Maybe."

"Not 'maybe'! 'Most definitely,' Milton! How can you even defend a building like this one?" Cedric replied. He would have waved about his hands if he had not been carrying the chessboard which seemed to get heavier by the minute.

"The château's structure may not have benefited me today," Milton said while constantly looking left and right. "But on any other day, I enjoy it a lot."

Cedric gaped at him. "You enjoy my torment? My immortal agony?"

"Of course not! I enjoy the château's complexity. There is so much to see, so much to explore…" His voice softened, and Cedric noticed a bit of the tension leave Milton's body. "It is like a little world to map out and examine. I…" He breathed out and the tension returned. "I am sorry. I have been about to ramble again."

"It is all right, Milton. We all ramble here: Cecelia, the Lady, me. Not Emyr, I have to admit. Or Alfred. Miss Greene counts if glares can be classified as conversational fragments. Well, anyway, if you feel like rambling go ahead."

"I'm sorry. I will try."

"I have noticed that you apologise an awful lot," said Cedric and glanced at Milton.

"I'm…," Milton started before he cut himself off. "It seems to be ingrained in my nature. I cannot help myself. I didn't mean to irritate you, or anyone else."

"Well, then… I hope you know at least that you don't have to apologise to such things, Milton – at least not to me."

Milton smiled at him, but something about it felt off.

With a thick silence lying over them which was only penetrated now and then by Cedric sneezing, they headed to Milton's room. If it had not been for his damned allergy, Cedric would have chattered about anything to divert Milton's thoughts from the storm outside. Now, his only objective was to get to their first destination as quickly as possible so that Milton could get rid of his cat-hair-infested clothes. Unfortunately, due to the château's structure and Milton's current state, Cedric felt like he had doubled in age when they ultimately arrived. Still, it was Milton who had fallen behind a little while ago and was now trailing after Cedric.

"Finally, we are here," sighed Cedric and opened the door to Milton's room. He turned on his heel on the doorsill, waited for Milton to catch up with him.

"Thanks, Kristopher," Milton said when he did, smiling, and slipped past Cedric into the room. "I will hurry."

"Take your time. I will just sit on some chair you have in your room and wait. I could sit forever right now," Cedric replied and wanted to follow Milton inside when Milton turned to him. "Oh, I'm sor–" Milton bit his lips. "You cannot come in to wait here. I will gladly give you a chair to wait in the corridor though."

Cedric raised an eyebrow, Cecelia's accusations a whisper at the back of his head. "Why can't I come in?"

"Oh, well…" Milton turned red. "There isn't a divider in my room."

"Then, one of us stays in the adjourning bathroom until you're done changing."

"There isn't an adjourning bathroom."

"What?"

"I have only this one room and nothing else. I didn't know that you have a bathroom too."

Aurèle had really gone and given Milton the worst possible place to stay, hadn't he?

Cedric sighed. "Very well. Give me a chair and I will wait here. And don't even think about apologising to me because of this." With an apologetic smile on his lips, Milton vanished into his room and re-emerged a few seconds later with a chair which he placed next to the door. Relieved, Cedric fell onto it, and Milton disappeared into his room yet again.

Cedric dropped the chessboard into his lap and stretched his arms. He would consider himself to be adequately fit, but carrying the board for what must have been the good part of an hour while running low on energy had nearly made his arms snap off. His joints creaked while he stretched, and right after Cedric was done, he heard Cloudia's voice in his head. He instinctively sat up straighter and grabbed his own skull pendant.

Undertaker, how are you doing?

I am currently sitting in front of Milton's room, Cedric answered.

Milton's room?

He has to get changed before we can play chess because he has cat hair all over his clothes.

Cedric could almost hear her frown at the other end. How did Milton get cat hair on his clothes? And why does he have to get changed because of that?

You didn't know too? There's an elusive cat in the château. Miss Babette, apparently. And Milton has to get changed because I am allergic to cats.

You are what? How don't I know?

As far as I know, we have never exchanged much medical information beyond "Grim Reapers can get sick like normal people and also die." I am sure you have never told me about any allergies of yours too.

There is nothing to tell in this regard: I am perfectly allergy-free.

Lucky you, Countess.

I've always been blessed. Anyway, the reason why I am messaging you is that I need you to give me another pair of false names for Kamden and Lisa as they will accompany me to Nanteuil-la-Forêt…

Cedric pondered for a while until he found two suitable names and forwarded them to Cloudia. They talked for a few minutes longer until she had to go. With his boredom returned, Cedric leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, running with his gaze over the elaborate patterns and counting the carved flowers and the nearby chandelier's glass crystals and candles.

Didn't Milton want to hurry? Why is it taking so long then…, thought Cedric and only then did he realise how much time must have passed since Milton had entered his room. Coldness quickly overtook him.

What if something had happened to Milton?

In one fluid movement, Cedric stood up, lifted the chessboard to the chair, and bolted to the door, opening it – and nearly smacking it into Milton's face. Cedric jumped back a bit. "I got worried because you were taking so long. I feared that your ghost pain had worsened or that it may have even become so severe to reawaken the heart disease you had."

Milton's eyes widened. He had exchanged his grey suit with a blue one but was still looking painfully pale. Perhaps even paler than before. "Oh, no, I was searching for this," he said and showed him his thick notebook. It was a miracle that it still hadn't burst apart because of the abundance of loose papers he had slipped into it. "I must have forgotten the time. I didn't mean to worry you, but it was very kind of you that you did." Milton smiled, and again, it did not feel right. "And don't worry: There is only my ghost pain left. I certainly won't relapse."

"Well, that's good to know."

Milton's smile brightened a fraction before he stepped into the corridor. "Are you ready to go, Kristopher?"

"Wait a second," said Cedric, walked in front of Milton, and leaned into him.

"Uh, what are you doing, Kristopher?" Milton asked, flustered.

"Checking if you are indeed cat-hair-free." After a while, Cedric stepped back again and grabbed his chessboard. "You're all clear."

"Oh, that's good," Milton replied and quickly put the chair back before he closed the door.

"If you are ready, we can go then," Cedric told him and adjusted his grip on the board.

Milton glanced at it. "You looked exhausted before – may I carry the chessboard for you?"

Cedric laughed. "Thank you for offering, Milton, but I cannot possibly make you do this. You look like you could fall apart at your seams any minute."

"No, it's fine. I…" Milton fiddled with a piece of paper sticking out of his notebook and murmured something.

"What were you saying? I couldn't hear you."

"Oh, sor–" Milton straightened and inhaled. "I tend to mumble sometimes. What I was meaning to say is that I will be fine carrying the chessboard because it will help me focus due to its weight; it would help me ground and so – only if you actually want me to carry it, of course, Kristopher," he was quick to add.

Cedric raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Milton. I've grown sick of carrying it up and down and I am a bit tired right now, so it would be nice to get it off me for a while," he replied and handed Milton the board which turned out to be more of an awkward affair than anticipated as Milton was holding his notebook and his notebook was too large to fit into any of his pockets. Ultimately, Milton put it on the ground and took the board from Cedric who then picked up the notebook.

"Thanks," they said at the same time when Cedric placed the notebook on top of the chessboard. Cedric laughed while Milton blushed; then, they started their quest to find a windowless room.

~Cloudia~

While Lisa helped me dress, the thought that I had made a mistake to leave Milton and Cedric alone haunted me. Cedric could be a little rough when he played chess – no matter if he was exhausted or not –, and I wished that, for once, he would be careful. Milton had looked to be close to a breakdown, and I hoped that the weather would turn around or Wentworth would come to his senses. After all, Cedric could not distract Milton forever.

"You seem lost in thought – what is on your mind, Lady Cloudia?" Lisa wanted to know, finalising Cloudia's put-up hairdo.

"Today is such a rainy day and…"

Lisa sighed and went to fetch Cloudia's cap. "Baron Salisbury again. I hoped that he would vanish from our lives after his embarrassing proposal – but no. Here he is again, bothering everyone. Lady Cloudia, no offence, but I am getting sick of him." She handed Cloudia the cap, and Cloudia took it with a frown on her face.

"I know that you dislike him, Lisa, but I cannot remember you hating him outright. Did something happen to worsen your opinion of him even further?"

Lisa looked away with a sigh. "This wretched Baron's butler keeps filling Al's schedule. Why does His Annoying Baroniness not interfere and tell his butler to do his job and be with him instead of with Al? Especially on a day like today?" She threw her hands into the air. "No, I'm pretty sure Baron Salisbury sent out Mr Wentworth to stick to Al like a limpet. It's a conspiracy, Lady Cloudia. They are conspiring against me! The audacity!"

Cloudia chuckled. "Are you jealous of Wentworth, Lisa?"

"If you say something like that again, I'll resign."

Cloudia smiled and shook her head. "Okay, okay. Let's talk about something else. What are you going to do today?"

"What I did yesterday," deadpanned Lisa. "Scowl and spend time with Mr Kamden."

"Oh, uhm…," Cloudia said and put on the cap. "That won't work today."

"Hm? Why not?"

"Because Kam will accompany me to Nanteuil-la-Forêt today."

"He will? We were talking earlier and he didn't mention it."

"Did you give him any opportunity to mention it?"

"True. And His Disgrace?"

"He will stay and keep Milton company because of the rain."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Of course. Of course."

"Kamden was supposed to come with me today anyway, though."

"Well, then, Lady Cloudia." Lisa straightened her skirt. "Hereby, I request to join you and Mr Kamden for today's investigation." She broke into a grin. "It has been far too long that I had my share of Watchdog fun."

"It has been three months."

"The little get-together with Cager Castello does not count. I did nothing but play a few rounds of poker and I do that every other time we have a game night at the manor."

"You don't know a single word in French."

"Wrong. I know plenty." Lisa counted them off with her fingers. "Oui, non, croissant, baguette, merci, bonjour, pute…"

"Lisa."

"Mr Kamden can sneakily translate for me. Like Al, he sometimes speaks so faintly you can barely hear him. Nobody will ever know he's whispering something in English to me. They will only wonder why he's even whispering anything into my ear in the first place, but then we are secretive, pondering sleuths, so it should fit just fine. You can also say I'm mute or whatever to explain why I don't talk. Wait. His Disgrace doesn't speak French either. How did you explain why 'the great Détective Alexandre Vidocq' doesn't say a word?"

"He's embarrassed by his voice."

"That's brilliant." Lisa grinned. "This guide you have in Nanteuil-la-Forêt – she's not obnoxious, is she?"

"To me? No. To you? Of course."

"Good I won't have to talk to her then. I think we're all settled now." Lisa crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And? Can I come? Nowadays, you only take His Disgrace with you, and I'm starving for a little thrill."

Cloudia smiled. "Of course, you can come. I need Kam to look at a few corpses for me – having you with me as a second consultant would be perfect. And you're right: It really has been far too long, Lisa. You should hurry to get changed then. Kamden and I will meet you down where the carriages are stored."

~Cedric~

"We may have to play in the corridor if this keeps up," said Cedric, frustrated after pulling on the six-hundredths doorknob to check whether the room was locked or not. He was getting sick of wandering the corridors like a lost child in the woods. Why were all the rooms locked anyway? And why in the world had they not even once run into someone who could help them out? Milton was doing fine – Cedric had bombarded him with everything that he could think of; it had been mostly complaints though – but the longer he was carrying the heavy chessboard the more certain Cedric became that Cloudia would murder him if she found out about it

"Uhm, Kristopher?" said Milton.

Cedric ran a hand through his hair. "Yes?"

"Why… why don't we simply head to the library?"

"There are windows, Milton. You know what happened two days ago."

"I do, I do. Just some areas of the library have no windows and are far enough from any to work."

Cedric turned to him. "And you're sure you will be fine then?"

"Most likely?"

"That's good enough for me. Let's go there then and I hope we'll get there in one piece and aren't damned to haunt these premises forever." Cedric took a step forward before he halted again, turned around, blinked at both sides of the corridor. "Do you know by any chance which way to go?"

Again, Milton blushed, and Cedric expected him to stammer an apology before cutting himself off and saying "No, Kristopher, I do not know how to–"

"I do… well, I would know if I took a look into my, uh, notebook…"

Had I just misheard him?

"What do you mean you need to look into your notebook to find the way?"

"Oh, well, I…" Milton's blush deepened. "Earlier, when you spoke first about the château's structure, I told you that I liked it because 'there is so much to see, so much to explore.' And, uh, I did explore it. I get easily bored and the château was and is the perfect exploration place and I often do this and I didn't think it was something I am forbidden to do and I am not finished, of course, I'm not finished because we haven't been here for long and the château is so big, but I have the general layout, and I know it's a terrible habit, so very awful and…" His gush of words turned into unintelligible mumbling which he cut off as soon as he noticed it. Milton smiled weakly.

Cedric stared at him. "This is… a weird habit to have, Milton."

"I know, I know, just…"

"Just what?"

Looking terrified, Milton recoiled, and only then did Cedric realise that he had spoken his words too harshly. "Milton, I am sorry – I didn't want to snap at you. We've been wandering around for too long in this damned château and I am feeling slightly stressed." He shook his head. "And now, I am the one apologising. Reasonably, yes, but still…"

"It is fine," said Milton, his voice so quiet Cedric barely heard him, before he knelt to put the chessboard on the ground. "I understand it. Give me a minute to find the correct way." He thumbed through his notebook, and Cedric sank to the ground beside him.

"Let me help y…," Cedric began to say before he noticed that, like Milton's paperwork, his notebook was written in code; only sketches of corridors and layouts and prominent décor to discern the way proved to Cedric that Milton had indeed been journaling the château. "Never mind."

Milton gave him a lopsided smile and continued to search for the right page. "We are a floor too high," Milton informed him and laid out a bunch of loose papers to make the sketches on them flow into each other. "So we have to go downstairs and go like this to the library," he continued and trailed his finger along the right way.

"You're not finished and didn't have much time, huh?" Cedric said, and Milton immediately reddened again.

"This is simply the general layout of the corridors and rooms and I don't know what is behind 99% of the doors, so…"

"I was only teasing."

"Oh." Milton was silent for a moment, and Cedric chuckled. "Come, let's head to the library before the day is over."

~Cloudia~

On the wagon ride to Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Cloudia came to miss Cedric; it had only been twice, still she had already become accustomed to his fairy-tale recitations on the way. Now, all that accompanied her was the irregular pit-pat of the raindrops on the roof Denis had quickly screwed on top of the wagon – and Lisa and Kamden, of course. Only now, it occurred to Cloudia that on the drive back when they had to share the space with newly purchased goods, they would have to squeeze together.

One problem at a time. First, we would have to get to the townhall and meet Yvette before tackling anything else.

Cloudia leaned back. The wood behind her was rough and cold, but her clothes were thick enough that the coldness could not reach her. Above her, the rain kept getting stronger and stronger, bombarded the wagon roof, lashed at the sides.

It was not even noon and the rain was already so terrible – would it ease even a little bit later in the day? So far, it didn't seem like it would. If only I had known! If only there was a way to predict the weather, even if only a bit, if only for a little while.

She doubted that Kamden and Lisa would notice it – the light in the wagon was too dim –, still, Cloudia made sure that their attentions were not on her before she carefully retrieved the skull pendant necklace from beneath her clothes and hid it behind her hand.

Undertaker?

Yes, Countess? came the answer almost instantaneously.

What are you doing?

Are you going to ask every hour now? Milton and I are on our way to the library. Apparently, there are windowless areas there.

Okay. I wanted to ask: How is Milton faring?

There was a pause on Cedric's side. Milton is doing well.

The rain keeps getting stronger. Take care of him. We'll see each other later, Cloudia thought and let the skull pendant vanish under her clothes again.

"We should have taken Thomas with us," yelled Lisa over the outside noise and pressed one hand to the makeshift roof when Denis turned a corner. "I hate to admit it, but his driving skills would be a blessing right now – even if it meant I would have to listen to him babbling about horse digestive tracts again. Mr Cuvier drives like an absolute madman. What did the Duponts and Beauchenes think when hiring him?"

"Well, despite his fondness of speed, he's still a very skilled driver. After all, he's driven me a couple of times now and I am still alive," Cloudia replied, her voice as raised.

Lisa snorted. "What a criterion! 'Will I die if you're my driver? No? Then, you're hired.' That's rubbish, Lady Cloudia."

"Perhaps…," Kamden started to say before he had to cut himself off and hold his mouth. The speed and the uneven ground was not doing him any favours. At least, he didn't have to vomit.

"We can only hope that Mr Kamden won't be Mr Cuvier's first kill." Lisa glared at Kamden's hair. "Or that I will be his first victim. I still need to murder whoever turned you into a blond."

"I… I did it myself," clarified Kamden after he had caught himself.

"It's unsightly, Mr Kamden. I cannot await the reversion as soon as we hit British soil."

"'As soon as' is a bit early though…"

"I don't care. I'll scrub the dye out myself if I have to."

Kamden touched his hair. "Did I dye it that badly?"

"You did a perfectly fine job, Kam," Cloudia reassured him. "Lisa is only mad because Milton is blond too."

"But isn't Mr Alfred blond too?"

"That's different," meant Lisa. "Al's hair is darker, and not that hideous gold-blond the Baron has. Al is also not conspiring against me for no reason whatsoever."

"You did step hard on his foot once," Cloudia pointed out.

"That was more than two years ago! If he's holding a grudge over something like that for such a long time, he's a lunatic."

"You called him a pervert."

Lisa shrugged, and Kamden looked from Cloudia to Lisa and back. "What are you talking about? Conspiracies? Stepping on a foot…?"

"Back when Milton and I started talking, Lisa stepped full-force onto his foot and called him a pervert. Didn't I ever tell you?" Cloudia waved about her hand. "It's not that important anyway."

"And the conspiracy?"

"Lisa's being overly dramatic because Newman is spending a lot of time with Wentworth lately."

"I'm not being overly dramatic! It would be nothing unusual if Newman befriended every butler he meets. He never befriended Sir Barrington's butler… what was his name again?" Lisa snipped with her fingers. "B… B… Benedict Something?"

"Bertram Heathcliff."

"That's him! Apathetic man. No humour. Zero personality. Easy to despise."

Kamden blinked at Lisa. "Mr Heathcliff? But he's such a nice person. And what does he have to do with Mr Alfred and Mr Wentworth's friendship?"

"Why am I even talking to you both about this topic?" groaned Lisa. "You're both entranced by the Baron's – how does the little lady say it? – faerie charms. There's no objective arguing with you."

Cloudia was about to respond when she noticed that they had come to a halt. The juddering of the wheels had been almost indiscernible with the rain and the howling wind. Cloudia, Lisa, and Kamden put on their hoods, readied their umbrellas, and crawled out of the wagon and into the storm. Their shoes sank into the mud and it was a chore to get to the front and say goodbye to Denis. Then, they had to hurry away before Denis could continue his drive so that the watery mud would not splatter onto their clothes.

The forest, usually so lovely and green, was now a mass of dark pillars rising into the grey sky, and the village to the front was impossible to see. Still, Cloudia walked confidently towards Nanteuil-la-Forêt with Kamden and Lisa right behind her. After a while, the houses, big and small, cut their silhouettes into the storm's darkness which seemed vaster and more forbidding around the village than the forest. It took a while longer until the houses' colours became faintly visible and until they were walking through a place with streets all grey and hollowed out, were heading to the townhall.

Alain Descombes, the mayor's secretary, greeted them when they entered and told them to please sit and wait until Mlle Yvette would arrive. Then, he left them alone in the entrance hall, and they sat down.

"Do you remember what I told you, Grégoire?" said Cloudia to Kamden in French. While Cloudia had been waiting for Lisa and Kamden to get ready, she had consulted Cedric for ridiculous undercover names to give them, and Cedric had come up with "Grégoire Fouille" for Kamden, now a medical and forensic expert from the Parisian police, and with "Maryse Ledoux" for Lisa, Grégoire's taciturn assistant.

"Yes… Jean," Kamden replied. "Nadia Allemand, skin stabbed with pins. Dominique Duhamel, stabbed through the heart with a knife. Gustave Beaubois, stabbed through the back with a knife."

"Stabbed, stabbed, stabbed – our strange murderer does not seem to believe in 'variation,'" Cloudia said the same moment a staff member walked through the entrance hall, his hands full of papers. He stared at her for a second before he scurried away. Lisa rolled her eyes, and Cloudia chuckled. "Well, that was something, wasn't it, Grégoire?"

Kamden nodded.

"M Gauthier!" called Yvette, hurrying downstairs to them, her neatly plaited braid whipping up and down. "Apologies for making you wait for so long. I had to assist in sorting out a few problems – it is so terrible, M Gauthier! – and the time flew by and…" She stopped at the bottom of the steps and blinked. "Where is Détective Vidocq?"

Cloudia stood up, and so did Lisa and Kamden. "Hello, Mlle Guilloux. M Vidocq is pursuing a different part of the puzzle today and has to conduct some research elsewhere – but I am not alone today." Yvette walked to them with a frown on her face, and Cloudia gestured to Kamden. "Mlle Guilloux, this is M Grégoire Fouille from the Parisian police. He is an accomplished forensic pathologist and here to take a closer look at the corpses. Grégoire, this is Mlle Yvette Guilloux, the daughter of Nanteuil-la-Forêt's mayor Mathieu Guilloux."

Kamden slightly bowed his head, and Yvette curtsied. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mlle Guilloux," he said.

"The pleasure is all mine, M Fouille."

"And this is Mlle Maryse Ledoux," continued Cloudia and nodded to Lisa. "Grégoire's assistant. She is not a fully-fledged forensic pathologist herself, but still very accomplished. Maryse is also not the most talkative person."

Lisa gave Yvette the briefest of curtsies with only a faint glare. Yvette returned her action, but with more vigour. "Very pleased to meet you, Mlle Ledoux."

Lisa didn't say anything, solely looked at Yvette with such utter boredom that made Yvette's smile tremble.

"Maryse is always like that. Please don't mind her," Cloudia said. "Now, tell me, Mlle Guilloux, how are you faring? After all, a friend of yours died yesterday."

"And the days before." Yvette turned her gaze downwards. "Everyone in the village is a friend of mine. We are all friends."

"If you are stricken by grief, you can stay. We will find someone else to guide us – or we could do it ourselves. Nanteuil-la-Forêt isn't a big place and I was at most places I wish to go today. Even in this horrible rain, I should be able to find my way everywhere."

Yvette shook her head and raised it again. Determination filled her eyes, not sadness. "I am stricken by grief, M Gauthier. But mourning will not get me anywhere – crying and lamenting all alone in my room will not help in this situation. I will still accompany you."

Cloudia tilted her head to the side. "Very well, Mlle Guilloux. Then come if you think you must. I won't try to talk you out of your decision; I will only accept it. Anyway, you mentioned a problem you were confronted with earlier? What is it?"

"There has been yet another murder," Yvette said sombrely. "This time the stranger got Marius, Gustave's younger brother."

"How interesting. How was he killed? Was Marius Beaubois stabbed as well?"

"No, his head was smashed."

This was mildly disappointing – and severely peculiar. What had made the culprit change his modus operandi like that?

"Where was Marius Beaubois' corpse found?" asked Cloudia.

"We found him in the fountain in the village square."

Cloudia folded her arms in front of her. "Outside again, and with the storm clamouring as it does, there is certainly no evidence left... Where is his corpse now?"

"With Laurent Michaux, the head of our little hospital here," Yvette answered. "The other bodies are there too. People wanted to bury them, but we stopped them, thinking you may want to take a look at them first."

"That was very good thinking on your side. Thank you," Cloudia replied, making Yvette smile. "Today, we will proceed as follows: First we will talk with Gustave and Marius Beaubois' family, then with Dominique Duhamel's. I want to speak with Mme Guilbert and her daughter as well. And with the victims' friends if possible. Afterwards, I would like to take another look at Mme Allemand's tailor shop and talk to her relatives if she still has any."

"Mme Nadia doesn't have any relatives anymore – her sister died a couple of years ago. Her housemate Mme Armelle Peletier is still alive though."

"Then we will speak with Mme Peletier before we go to the church. The tailor shop and the church are the only 'indoor' crime scenes after all; and although M Duhamel was found outside the church, we may uncover something inside. I doubt that our culprit climbed the façade with him. Then there are the staff members at the church. They might have heard or seen something of interest. Lastly, Grégoire and Maryse would like to examine the corpses."

Yvette nodded slowly. "This can be arranged. Please, if you would follow me…"

~Cedric~

Milton's makeshift map proved itself to be very handy and useful when they arrived at the library in record time. For them at least. It didn't make Cedric feel less uncomfortable though. Sure, it made sense for Milton to want to create his own map of this ridiculous building so that he would not get lost – after all, they had got lost twice today alone; he had even got lost thrice – but there was still something about this whole affair that felt weird to Cedric.

No. Milton was a friend. This place and Cecelia were only getting to me. And if Cloudia said that Milton was harmless, he was. I trusted her, trusted her judgement, but…

But she was also the person who had saved a death-row convict and made him an Aristocrat of Evil. Cloudia had saved Oscar Livingstone – the Yard Ripper with eyes marked so clearly with insanity and darkness.

Because Milton's map only showed the halls, they had to navigate the library blindly to find the perfect place. Whenever they got too close to any windows, no matter whether the curtains were drawn or not, Milton's steps slowed, his attention caught by the thunder, by the rain, by the chaos beyond the château's walls, and Cedric had to grab his arm and drag him forward. Of course, Cedric was much, much older than Milton, but "officially" they were only a year apart which made the whole babysitting scenario relatively awkward. To Cedric at least. Milton, as always, did not seem to mind.

"Voilà!" said Cedric and gestured wildly towards a seating area far away from any windows and surrounded by enough bookcases to muffle the rain's angry drumming against the glass and stone.

They sat down, took the chess pieces out of the board's drawers – Milton got the white ones, Cedric the black ones –, and started to put them on their rightful places. Rook, knight, bishop, king, queen, bishop, knight, rook, and the pawns forming a wall in front of them. When he was done, Cedric looked up to see if Milton was finished as well, but he had only placed one rook and was inspecting a pawn, twirling it in his hands.

"Milton?"

Milton's attention snapped to Cedric and he blinked at Cedric's orderly arrangement. "Oh! I was admiring the craftsmanship of the pieces and I must have got lost in thought. Give me a second, Kristopher," Milton said with an embarrassed smile. "It is such a beautiful chessboard with such lovely chess pieces," he continued and hurried to assemble the chessmen. "So well crafted, so precisely made. Where did you get it?"

Cedric stared down at the two neat rows in front of him. "Someone I knew gave it to me," he said, and although he had said his words with no undertone, no odd pronunciation, or anything like that, Milton stopped in his movement and looked at Cedric, forcing him to raise his head too. Milton was still holding the pawn from earlier and his eyes were so full of understanding and sympathy that it awoke in Cedric the urge to turn away, but he kept his gaze steady.

"I am sorry for your loss. This person must have been very dear to you," Milton said so gently that it made Cedric flinch, faintly and briefly.

"It was a very long time ago," replied Cedric, resisting to touch the chess pieces.

"And still the wound hasn't healed."

Cedric blinked at Milton whose eyes were fixed anew on the pawn figure in his hand. However, his mind seemed to be elsewhere. "There is no natural way to heal quickly from physical wounds, even more so from those inflicted on the soul. You cannot force nature, cannot force healing, and nature and the time that engulfs us have their own slow pace. Dismissing your hurt will not undo it, and while facing it will bring about pain, this pain is necessary for your healing process." Lightly, Milton set down the pawn on the board, completing his assembly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I didn't intend to upset you in any way, Kristopher," said Milton, freeing Cedric from his own trance. "I'm beside me today."

"It is okay, Milton," Cedric assured him. "And I hope you know that whenever you say 'I didn't intend to' or 'I didn't mean to,' you are apologising, and I've already told you to stop doing that."

Milton's eyes fluttered open again, the previous unbearable sympathy gone from them. He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled. "I think you are right, Kristopher."

Cedric grinned. "So… you really do know how to play chess, right?"

Milton nodded. "Yes, yes, I do. I haven't played it in years though."

"Too busy?"

"Yes, that may be part of the reason." Milton paused. "When I was younger, I used to play chess with my father," he proceeded, and a curious tingle ran over Cedric's body. "He taught me the rules. I practised with my mother and Bram whenever Papa was away. After a while, I always beat them, but I am only passable at the game. Papa was brilliant. I never won a single round against him, no matter how hard I tried, and nobody else I knew won against him too. He was practically unbeatable. We eventually stopped playing it. I think I've always associated the game with him. Without him, it didn't occur to me to start a game of my own."

"'Practically unbeatable'? Oh, now I am wishing that I got to meet your father," said Cedric, but his words only silenced Milton and didn't keep him talking as he had wanted to. Cedric nodded to the chessboard. "Anyway. Let's play. White always begins, so make your first move."

~Cloudia~

Fittingly for a family of woodcutters, the Beaubois family lived in a wooden cabin a little bit away from the rest of Nanteuil-la-Forêt and nestled in the surrounding forest. Because of the heavy rain, the walk to the cabin was difficult and slow. The only comfort was that, when they entered the forest, the trees were able to hold back the rain a bit.

Yvette led Cloudia, Kamden, and Lisa to their destination with astonishing determination and diligence.

It stroked me as odd that Mayor Guilloux – the man who had ridiculed me for wearing pants and had believed me to be Cedric's secretary instead of his partner as soon as he found out that I was a girl – had appointed his daughter, of all people, to assist the investigation. Sure, Yvette had proven her competency despite the subject matter, despite the fact that the murders and the investigation were taking a toll on her. But considering Guilloux' attitude, it would have made more sense for him to appoint a man to be our guide. Or did he think that, of all girls and women, only his daughter was competent? Or was there more to his reasoning?

The thought kept me busy until we had arrived in front of the Beaubois cabin, and Yvette went to knock.

It took a few moments until Cloudia could hear faint footsteps sounding behind the door, could hear them coming closer, but the door didn't open.

"Aurore? Fernand? Antoine? Is someone there?" Yvette yelled so that the rain would not swallow her words. "It's me! Yvette! Please let me in."

A minute later, the door finally opened, albeit only a fraction. A woman with blonde hair partially hidden beneath a bonnet peeked through the crack to ensure that it had been really Yvette who had spoken before she fully opened the door and stepped away to let them come inside.

The cabin was dimly lit by oil lamps which made the furniture throw faint shadows against the walls. They had walked right into the sparsely furnished living room with the adjourning cooking and eating area. A small staircase at the back indicated that there was a second floor where the bedrooms must be.

"Thank you for letting us in," said Yvette, and Aurore Beaubois nodded numbly. Standing right in front of her in the light, Cloudia could make out dark rings beneath her eyes.

"I suppose you have heard that we have support from the Parisian police?" Yvette continued. "In any way, let me introduce you to them: Aurore, this is M Jean Gauthier, the partner of Détective Vidocq who, unfortunately, cannot be here today." Yvette gestured to Cloudia who slightly bowed her head. "And this is M Grégoire Fouille and his assistant Mlle Maryse Ledoux," she said, and Lisa and Kamden bowed their heads as well.

Cloudia stepped forward. "And you must be Mme Aurore Beaubois. My condolences for your loss," she said, and tears glistered in Aurore's eyes.

"Thank you," she replied in a thin, shaky voice. "For the condolences and for helping to find the murderer of my boys."

"There is no need to thank us. It's our job, after all, Mme Beaubois," Cloudia replied, and a moment later, she heard faint footsteps on the stairs. She craned her head to see a boy around Jacques' age haltingly descend the stairs. Aurore must have followed Cloudia's gaze as she was now holding her arms open to the boy who walked to her and let himself be wrapped in her embrace. He looked at Cloudia with reservation and curiosity, sparking the memory of a conversation she had a long time ago.

"M Gauthier, this is my son Antoine," Aurore told her and ran her hand over the boy's unruly dark blonde hair. "My husband is at the hospital, so it's just the two of us right now… How can we help you, M Gauthier?"

"Would you be willing and capable to answer a few questions, Mme Beaubois?"

"Of… of course. Whatever helps."

"Antoine, do you think you can answer some questions for me too?" Cloudia asked Antoine who was still hugged to his mother's side.

Aurore's eyes widened. "Antoine? He's only twelve. I don't know if there's anything he could know that could help."

Cloudia smiled politely. "I will be the judge of it – and it will be Antoine's choice whether he wishes to speak to me or not. Antoine?"

Under his mother's scrutiny, Antoine slipped out of her embrace and nodded. "Yes… yes, M Gauthier."

"Thank you." Cloudia turned to Aurore. "It will only take a moment. I promise, Mme Beaubois. Will it be all right for you if Antoine and I relocate to a different room? Or would you prefer Mlle Guilloux to be present as well?"

"That… that will be all right," stammered Aurore. "Antoine? Do you want Yvette to be there when M Gauthier talks to you?

He shook his head. "I will be fine on my own, Maman."

"If you say so?"

"Then, it's decided," Cloudia said, still smiling. "Antoine and I will head upstairs while M Fouille will question you in the living room, Mme Beaubois, in the company of the Mlles Guilloux and Ledoux."

Aurore nodded tentatively and glanced at her youngest son, but Antoine was already heading to the stairs in the back. A second later, Cloudia trailed after him. The floorboards creaked under their weights, and Cloudia glimpsed at Kamden, Lisa, Yvette, and Aurore before she followed Antoine into what must be his room – or, better, the room he must have shared with his two brothers until recently.

Antoine sat down on of the three beds while Cloudia closed the door and went to sit on the bed opposite to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Well enough," he answered in a whisper and dug his fingers into the threadbare blanket.

"I see." Cloudia took a deep breath. "I hope it is all right for me to call you by your first name? I apologise for not asking earlier." Like Antoine, she whispered too, not wanting to overpower him in voice volume. Also, the walls looked thin and Cloudia had the feeling that Antoine was not completely comfortable talking to her.

"No, that's all right," he replied.

"Very well. If you don't feel comfortable answering my questions anymore, please tell me. I do not want to push you in this dire time. To lose a sibling two days in a row, it must be awful. I have a brother, and I would be devastated if anything were to happen to him. What can you tell me about your brothers?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything you can think of: How were they like? How did you three get along? Was one of them – or maybe both – involved in some kind of conflict with another villager? And so on."

Antoine levelled his eyes at his worn-out shoes. "They say that the murderer is a stranger. Someone who came to Nanteuil-la-Forêt a few days ago."

"This is a possibility," Cloudia told him and retrieved her notebook. "To make this investigation as successful as possible though, everything has to be considered. After all, we still cannot know for certain if the outsider is indeed the killer or not."

He nodded slowly. "I understand." Antoine was silent for a while before he continued, "I sometimes got along with Gustave and Marius, but I am the youngest and there are a couple of years between me and them – there is only a year between Gustave and Marius. I mean there was only a year between them… They would often tease me or prank me or ridicule me and anything like that. They were also fond of teasing me about my strength. My brothers have been tall and strong, but I am still short and weak although they have already been tall and strong at my age. At least, taller and stronger." He loosened his grip on the blanket and folded his hands in his lap, now looking up at Cloudia.

"I think Marius and Gustave got along the best when they were ridiculing me. When apart, I would often hear Marius complain about Gustave for not being responsible enough, for not focusing enough, for prioritising the wrong things… Our family has a woodcutting business; we are the primary woodcutters here." Antoine paused. "Well, we are the only woodcutters here… Nanteuil-la-Forêt is a small place.

"Anyway, Marius would often do Gustave's shifts for him and help Papa with the business because Gustave would go and do something else."

"Can you please elaborate what the 'something else' he did was? If you know?"

"He would…" Antoine squinted his eyes. "… do things with his friends. I think I overheard Marius and Gustave talking about some girls too? I may be wrong though."

"I see. Who are Gustave's friends? I may have to speak to them as well."

"Ruben Fournier is his best friend. You can talk to him. I think he knows the most?"

"Thank you. Please go on."

Antoine nodded. "And because Gustave would do other things instead of work, Papa scolded him a lot and Marius often confronted him about it. Marius didn't think Gustave deserved to inherit the business just because he was the oldest."

Cloudia quickly wrote down all he said. "Did Marius tell you that personally? That he wished Gustave would not inherit the business?"

"No, he didn't," Antoine responded. "It was clear in the way Marius acted when it came to Gustave, but I was never really sure about it until Papa and he had a fight. Apparently, Marius asked Papa to give him the business instead and ignore Gustave, and Papa became furious. He said that Gustave is still young and will outgrow his irresponsible behaviour and that Marius should not disrespect his older brother like that. They had a very loud fight, and the walls are thin so I couldn't sleep and…"

"When did they have this fight?"

"I can't remember. But I think it wasn't that long ago? Perhaps a month? You may have to ask my father about it."

Cloudia nodded. "Did Marius and Gustave ever get into a physical fight over this?"

"No, I guess not? I cannot remember a time at least. And well… Marius was more of a sneaky person and weaker than Gustave. I doubt he would ever confront him outright because he would lose in a fistfight, I think."

"Apart from the inheritance question and the shifts, was there another conflict between your brothers?"

Antoine shook his head and said, "Not that I know of. Well, nothing important at least. Sometimes they argued about things like using the others' clothes, who should take the last piece of cake… Is this important?"

"Did this happen with a high frequency?"

"Yes."

"Then, it may be. A fight is a fight after all. There's still anger; there's still frustration – such emotions can add up and can eventually lead to people snapping. Even if the last straw is something minor like stealing someone's piece of cake. If someone's patience is already stressed to its maximum, it often doesn't take much more for the bowl to boil over – and I know someone who might actually kill over a stolen cake, so it isn't such a stretch I suppose."

Antoine's head snapped up and his dark eyes shone with focus and what Cloudia would identify as clarity or realisation. "M Gauthier, do you believe Marius killed Gustave?"

"I…" Cloudia sat up straighter. She couldn't upset him now and ruin this interrogation by making him think that she theorised that one of his brothers killed his other brother. After all, for whom wouldn't it be hard to accept? "Oftentimes people let out their grievances not on what or who caused them to be frustrated in the first place, but on other people around them. If Marius became angrier and angrier due to events involving his family, he might have let out his anger and frustration on a person he knew, and this person might not…"

"Because I do," Antoine interrupted to her surprise. "I believe that Marius killed Gustave."

~Cedric~

"Amazing!" exclaimed Cedric when Milton hesitatingly knocked over Cedric's king with his bishop. "You are not that bad after all. Now I am especially sad about not having had the chance to play with your father – you won so easily against me, how would I ever be able to compete with him?" Cedric shook his head. "Anyway, the Lady will be thrilled to hear that I can indeed be defeated," he went on and picked up his fallen king and his black chess pieces scattered across the board. "It was a good game. How about a rematch to give me a chance to feel less mortified?" Cedric asked and looked up with a grin. He reached across the chessboard to get his captured pieces when he noticed that Milton had still not touched his. Instead, he was looking a bit saddened at the board.

When I saw his expression, my heart sank unwittingly. I had never seen Milton sad before; normally he was either gleefully – almost childishly – happy or anxious beyond imagination, and the sudden change unsettled me. Thinking about it, something had seemed off and wrong all day about Milton, and only now, I could put my finger on it and understand what it was: He had suddenly become so absent-minded, so cheerless. Even when he had chuckled earlier, it had been subdued; his earlier smiles had not quite reached his eyes – there had been a shadow lying over him and all he did, barely noticeable but still there.

Now, seeing Milton sad even if his sadness did not seem to be a deep-running, deep-rooted one, all the little things from earlier that I had not noticed rushed to me, hit me like a big, unexpected wave – and something ached when I saw him like that. Because his sorrow, no matter how small, felt like the sun had dimmed, and I had no idea why. All I knew was that it physically hurt to see Milton saddened.

And it almost made me pity him.

Cedric let his arm sink. "Milton, what is wrong?"

"You don't have to do this, you know," Milton said, startling him.

"Milton…"

"I know that you do not harbour any malicious intent, that you are only doing this to spare my feelings. This is incredibly considerate of you and so very, very kind, but you do not have to let me win."

"Milton, what are you talking about? I was not letting you win..."

"After every other move I made, I noticed how poor my choice had been – and I noticed that you realised it too," began Milton, his eyes clear, but appearing to look through Cedric as he rattled down: "For instance, when moving my rook would have been more beneficial, I accidentally manoeuvred my bishop just where it could be taken by your knight. I saw your eyes wander to the knight at the same time mine did – maybe even a second faster. Still, you did not touch it and moved a bishop of your own forward. You spared my pawns and sacrificed your own. You turned your rooks away from my knights, your bishops from my king. You barely utilised your queen."

Milton now focused his gaze on Cedric, and Cedric almost shivered. "I am a fool for not having noticed the mistakes I made sooner, having only noticed them after I made them. But I am not a fool for not having noticed at all," he said softly. "Again, I want to say that I am thankful for your consideration, Kristopher, to take such care of my feelings and well-being. However, I believe it would be more entertaining for both of us if you played with no boundaries. I will not be upset when I lose. Rather, I may be upset when I restrict you in any way." With a faint smile, Milton picked up Cedric's chessmen from his side and handed them to him. "I would learn more from losing against you than from unjustly winning. And maybe I will win a round on my own one day."

Cedric stared at Milton, accepting his pieces as if in trance. As soon as they touched his palms though, Cedric began to laugh. He clasped his hands around the chessmen, pressed them against his chest as he laughed. Cedric's eyes were closed, but he could picture Milton turning red in confusion and perhaps with a tint of embarrassment.

Cedric wiped a tear away when he had finally calmed down. "This was fun, Milton. And I am the fool for believing that I could trick you after you figured out my allergy on your own. But hope dies last, doesn't it?" Cedric gently put down the chess pieces. "You are right though: It will be more fun not to have to hold back anymore." He grinned at him. "Ready for a rematch? And this time I won't go easy on you, Milton."

Milton beamed. "Of course." Then, they started to rearrange the chessmen, and Cedric had to sneeze once again which resulted in a puzzled look from Milton and a dismissing hand wave from Cedric. It was most likely some dust-triggered sneeze or a completely random one, definitely not one induced by his allergy.

"I hope I didn't offend you in any way when I confronted you about letting me win," Milton said when it was his turn to open the game again.

Cedric shook his head and levelled his attention to the board, watching Milton move his first pawn. "No, it's my fault for even deciding to do it in the first place. But it made me think of something." From the corner of his eye, he could see Milton slightly tilting his head to one side while Cedric made his own first turn. "It seems to be almost eerily easy for you to read me."

Milton blushed. "Oh, I am so… I am doing this subconsciously most of the time and I know it's a bad habit and I should know better than to do this and say out loud what I'm thinking – I'm not a child after all – and it has been eleven years and I have no idea what is wrong with me today; I swear I'm usually better at containing myself and…" He sank into murmurs.

"It's okay, Milton," said Cedric and he wondered for the first time how often he would have to repeat this sentence or a variety of it in the next few hours – and how often he already had. "This has also made me re…" Cedric trailed off when something crossed his mind – an idea, a hypothesis, a realisation pushing through the tired fog of his mind.

"Milton, you've said that you need something to direct your focus on – something to 'weight you down.' That's why you proposed to carry the chessboard for me. Is the reason why you're unintentionally reading me like an open book that your subconsciousness or whatever is in a constant, desperate search to find something to concentrate on?" Cedric said, internally raising his eyebrows in surprise that he was saying this and not Cloudia or someone else.

Milton's eyes widened. "This…" – he ran a hand through his hair in astonishment – "… could be. When I think about, I've mostly been around people I cannot 'read' as you've put it, Kristopher, like my parents or the few other members of our household on rainy days. And I faintly recall that I did sometimes slip like today when I encountered anyone else... Now, there's only Bram though – and years ago, there was also Lady Cloudia a couple of times, but never for long and I've been more mortified than anything else and…" Milton looked at Cedric, his eyes both bright with clarity and darkened with apology. "I've unknowingly used you as an anchor in the worst way possible. I must have made you so very uneasy, Kristopher, with my intrusiveness."

"It's all right, Milton. You weren't doing it on purpose. Now that you know, you can work on it." Cedric grinned proudly. "How does it feel to be exposed? Didn't think I could do it, hm? Honestly, I didn't even think I could figure it out. Please tell the Lady about my genius because she won't believe me. I need a witness testimony."

Milton's eyes eased back to his usual soft expression. "I'm sure she will believe you even without me vouching for you. But if you truly need me to testify for you, I can."

"I'll memorise that." Cedric leaned back. "If I ever steal anything – I don't know, something like a chicken or so – I'll get you to defend me and you will have to tell everyone that I was knitting elsewhere and I'll swear I won't have the stolen goods on my body when you speak out for me."

Milton smiled.

"I cannot believe you've never noticed it yourself – that your 'staring through people'-mode gets out of control when it rains."

"Well, it's usually just Bram and me. And I've never been able to 'read' Bram."

"Speaking of Wentworth… I can guess you're close, but so are the Lady and Alfred, and she only ever calls him 'Newman.' So, why are you calling Wentworth 'Bram'? I've been wondering about this for a while now."

"Oh." Milton fidgeted with his right sleeve. "It's because he's family."

Cedric stared at him.

"Oh! Not like you're thinking!" Milton hastily added. "We're not blood-related."

"That's a relief. Your grandfather also being your butler… this would be very weird."

"Yes, it would. When I was very little, I did think of him as my grandfather though," replied Milton. "Bram used to be my mother's butler and he has been around my entire life. I was convinced that he was my grandfather and called him 'Grandpa' until he explained to me that he was 'only' Mama's butler. Bram likes being a butler; it's his life. Thus, he didn't like it that I called him 'Grandpa.' In his eyes, a servant should keep their distance from those they serve. But I didn't want to call him 'Wentworth' or even 'Abraham.' For me, neither fit him because he has always felt like family for me and calling him by his surname felt too distant. So, I was very happy when he allowed me to call him 'Bram.' I've never met any of my grandfathers – they died before I could – so, despite everything, Bram's the closest to a grandfather I have. I won't refer to him as such though because he doesn't like it. Apart from Elvira – my stepmother who dislikes it when I call her that – Bram is the only family I have left. Even if he is my butler first and he's only family to me."

"But Wentworth only calls you 'Master Milton,'" Cedric pointed out, feeling oddly lightweight.

Milton held his hands together and smiled. "Not always. Only when others are around." He looked down at the board. "Oh! I've forgotten to make my next move. I think we should resume the game now?"

~Cloudia~

Cloudia sat up straighter. Her head wanted to weigh out Antoine's proposition whether it was sound, possible, or logical, but she managed to stop before her mind got busy. The interrogation wasn't over. She needed a clear mind to continue. She could think his words through later when she had the time – and more information. "Why do you believe that Marius killed Gustave?" asked Cloudia with a steady, lowered voice.

"Because of his eyes," said Antoine and played with the hem of his shirt. "And because he got angry easily. Sometimes they had fights so bad I thought they would…" He looked down. "I thought they might seriously hurt each other, but they never fought physically. But I could see the look in their eyes and I think they wanted to, but didn't. Especially Marius seemed angry about this because he is weaker. Gustave knew he would win – and Marius did too."

Cloudia nodded and jotted down his words. "So you think that after all this time, Marius might have snapped and attacked Gustave?"

Antoine hesitated before he nodded too.

"Okay. Now – you share this room with your brothers?" Cloudia enquired and looked around the room which was a bit too small to contain three beds and a wardrobe.

"Yes. I do. You are sitting on Marius' bed."

"Would you say you have a good memory, Antoine?"

He blinked at her in confusion. "Yes, I guess I have? Why are you asking?"

Cloudia braced herself before she said, "Because if you believe Marius murdered Gustave, I don't think it's only because they fought and disagreed a lot. I believe you must have seen or heard anything in the night of Gustave's death to make you think that – to have made you surer about your assumption. Please correct me if I am wrong, but did you notice anything important when Gustave died in the night from the 18th to the 19th? Or when Marius died from the 19th to 20th?"

Antoine dug his hand back into the stiff fabric of his blanket and rocked back and forth. "They think I don't hear, but I do. Gustave often snuck out in the night. I have no idea where he would go though. He did sneak out on the day he died too. But not Marius. Marius did not go to bed in the first place."

"He didn't?"

"No. Only Gustave and I went to bed that night. I remember that Gustave found this amusing. After a while when he thought I was fast asleep, he left, and when I woke up in the morning, Gustave was gone, and only Marius was there."

"Did this happen often? That Marius returned home late?"

"No. I mean, rarely. Sometimes he would stay with his friends for too long and forget the time. After we found out about Gustave's death I was too afraid to ask Marius where he was that night, and last night, I heard him sneaking out too, but I could not…" Antoine quieted down.

"Very well… Now let's move to something else," announced Cloudia. "Have you heard who else was killed beside your brothers?"

"Yes… Mme Allemand and the baker's son."

"Exactly. Do you know if one of your brothers or both of them were in any way connected to Nadia Allemand and Dominique Duhamel?"

"I don't think so? I don't think they were in any way more connected to them than any of us. We know one another at least a bit. There aren't many people here," Antoine told her. "But we don't interact all the time. I barely know Dominique and Mme Allemand – Maman knows her better. And Dominique must have gone to the same school as Marius and Gustave, I guess? There's only one school, so…"

"Thank you for your cooperation, Antoine. It's greatly appreciated. I'm done on my side. Is there anything else you would wish me to know?"

He was silent for a moment, probably pondering over his own words. "M Gauthier?" Antoine finally said, his voice unusually quivering. "There…"

A knock on the door cut his sentence short, and a second later, Yvette's head peeked into the bedroom. In the weak light, her brown eyes appeared to be black.

"M Gauthier," she said, "Aurore is starting to feel uncomfortable with our presence here. Of course, she wants to aid the investigation – and she has, I ensure you and your colleagues can confirm it, diligently answered all the questions M Fouille asked her –, but you, Mlle Ledoux, and M Fouille are still strangers to her. You know the village's current stance to strangers, and Aurore lost two sons in the last days and she's quite distressed…"

"I understand," replied Cloudia and stood up. "We will retreat and move on in a minute. I will join you downstairs when I have wrapped up Antoine's questioning."

"Sure, of course. I will inform the others then." Yvette glanced one more time into the room before she headed to the stairs.

Cloudia turned around to Antoine who was still sitting on his bed, but his fingers were now digging into his trousers. "Before we part our ways for the time being, do you want to tell me what you intended to say before the interruption?"

Antoine looked out of the door and into the empty hallway. Then, he beckoned Cloudia to lean into him and whispered into her ear, "There is something wrong with the village."

~Cedric~

Cedric watched Milton ponder over his next move before he shoved his bishop gently across the board.

"I've never been able to 'read' Bram."

Out of everything Milton had told me a few turns ago, this was what had stuck with me the most, closely followed by: "Even if he is my butler first and he's only family to me." It was evident that Milton trusted Wentworth with all his heart, loved him even. And although Milton had ensured me that Wentworth did not call him "Master Milton" all the time, presumably had a nickname for him just as affectionate as Milton had for Wentworth, I could not help but think that "dearest Bram" did not share Milton's sentiment. After all, Wentworth had ditched Milton for Alfred on such a terrible storm day, knowing fully well how rain affected his protégé.

And if I recalled correctly, Milton had flinched when Wentworth had spoken to him in Dover.

Still deep in thought, Cedric skilfully captured the bishop Milton had just moved with his knight. Milton's eyes widened in awe.

Milton was definitely eccentric in various ways, but so far, he had always seemed so harmless, so innocent. When he had told me that he couldn't "read" Wentworth, I had become almost certain that it was Wentworth who was the arms smuggler, exploiting the Salisbury Company right under poor Milton's oblivious nose.

But I was only almost certain. What did Cloudia always say? Find decisive evidence and consider every possibility?

"Milton," Cedric started, and Milton stopped mid-way moving his rook to look at him. It was a bad choice, but he would learn it only when it was Cedric's turn. "Talking to you today, I've come to realise that we barely know each other."

"Oh, that's right," Milton responded. "I haven't noticed! We've spoken so freely today; it felt like we have been acquainted forever." He broke into a smile, beamed like a sun behind layers of grey clouds. "But you're right, we have only properly met on the 14th – and that was not even a week ago. And these six days we have either spent on the road or busily apart. Strictly speaking, we have met in January last year, but we have talked for… five minutes back then? Does this count? I am not sure. Oh, but then, it was similar with Lady Cloudia – and for her, the gallery did count, so the party should too, but then the exhibition opening didn't end as the party did…" Milton shook his head to free himself from his clustering thoughts. "Anyway, Kristopher, I would love to get to know you better," he said firmly and finished his move.

Cedric grinned and captured Milton's rook without even looking. "I am happy you share my interest. I would love to get to know you better too."

And hopefully, at the end of the day, I would know whether or not I had spent it with a criminal.

"Oh! I feel like an idiot for not having noticed that," said Milton as he watched how yet another of his white chessmen left the board. "You are so good, Kristopher. Do you practice often?"

"Nah. I am sometimes able to coerce the Lady to play with me, but I usually have no one to play with, so…" Cedric shrugged.

"You are so passionate about chess, Kristopher," Milton remarked and again looked terribly sorrowful. "Not having anyone you can play with must be awful. It is quite lonely not to have anyone with whom you can share your hobbies."

Cedric pricked up his ears. "Do you have any hobbies you cannot do with someone else?"

"Many. The only hobby I could share with someone else was reading."

"Ah, right. You talk about books with the Lady."

"Not only with Lady Cloudia…" Milton paused. "Well, now it's only her, and then only very seldom," he continued and moved a pawn.

"Wentworth isn't a reader?"

Milton shook his head. "No. But Bram does like it when I tell him about whatever I am reading. At least, he never expresses annoyance when I do. This makes me think: Even if you cannot share your hobbies with anyone directly, it is still a kind of sharing when you tell others about them even if they do not practice them themselves."

"Like you telling me about your secretive mapping of château corridors?" replied Cedric and captured Milton's final rook which had become exposed in his last move.

Milton smiled lopsidedly. "It's really that weird, isn't it?"

"I'm sure there are some things about me that are weird to you, so I'm not going to judge you. It's just that I cannot wrap my head around how charting houses became a regular activity for you. I mean it's justified why you're doing this here because the château is one of the most confusing places I've ever been, but anywhere else?"

"Oh, well… Like I have said before, I think houses are like little worlds: Every house is different in layout and interior like any town and country, and…" Milton raised his right hand to his heart and wrapped the other around his wrist. "… for years, my family manor was my entire world. And…" His grip around his wrist tightened, and Cedric sat bolt upright in his chair.

"Milton, are you fine?"

"Yes, of course…" Milton dropped his hands, hid them beneath the table, and smiled. "That was such a long time ago, and I have seen so much of the world outside since then."

I strained against the impulse to question him further. By chance, I seemed to have hit a nerve, but I was treading on thin ice today. Not only because I could ruin everything with one wrong question, with one wrong reply and make him distrust me.

I had the feeling that I could also bring Milton to a breakdown if I pushed him too hard.

"You look a bit pale though," Cedric pointed out. "I mean you look even paler than usual. Like a bedsheet ghost. Do you want to eat something? I always feel better when I eat." He rummaged in his pockets and retrieved a bag of bone-shaped biscuits. Cedric had stashed it into his jacket when he had been in his room for a minute to get his chessboard. The biscuits had been supposed to be a lifeline in case he and Cloudia did not find an opportunity to get to the kitchen for snacks. Also, Cedric liked the security of having something to eat on him.

He opened the bag and put it on the table between him and Milton. "Please take some if you are hungry."

Milton curiously examined the bag before he gingerly took a biscuit. "Thank you, Kristopher, this is very kind of you." He turned the biscuit in his hand. "It's such an interesting shape!" he exclaimed, then bit into the biscuit and ate all of it at a slow pace.

Cedric proudly raised his chin. "They're 'bone-shaped biscuits for humans.'"

"They taste delicious," said Milton when he had finished his biscuit. "Did you make them yourself?"

"Yes."

"Oh! This is amazing, Kristopher. 'Bone-shaped biscuits for humans,'" Milton repeated slowly and carefully. "It's a nice name. I like it."

Cedric's eyes widened. "What? Wait, Milton, say that again."

"Uhm… it's a nice name?"

"It's a nice name!" Cedric threw his hands into the air. "Please repeat this to the Lady. She hates that name and insists calling them dog biscuits, but she's wrong. They are not for dogs. They are for people."

Milton chuckled and reached for another biscuit. "I think it's lovely that you bake, Kristopher. It fits you. I guess it's a remnant from the time before you became a duke? When you were still living in the States? Please correct me if I am wrong, Kristopher."

"Yes. I did a lot of baking and stuff before I got my uncle's title and money."

"I think it's wonderful that you held onto this part of your past," said Milton with a smile so joyful it nearly looked like his normal ones. "Nobles often don't do anything themselves, so it's rather fascinating when they do. Like B… Firmin. I like studying flora and fauna myself, but I am only a novice. Watching him in his element was deeply satisfying." Milton moved a bishop. "That's why I didn't want Bram to stay with me today. We will head to Paris tomorrow and it's still unclear how long we will stay there, so I wanted to give Mr Newman as much time as possible to exchange himself with Bram. Not that I think of Mr Newman as a novice butler, of course. But I guess you can always learn from others, and they did seem to enjoy their together-time lately."

"Right. You'll leave us for a while. For how long do you estimate?" Cedric enquired.

"I'm not sure. We have run into a couple of unforeseen problems while expanding the company's reach, and I cannot say for certain how long it will take to solve them sufficiently."

"'Unforeseen problems'?"

"It's awfully embarrassing." Milton passed a hand through his hair. "Just a little security hole I oversaw."

"Which you oversaw? Surely if you have a company as big as yours you cannot be the only one to be in charge of checking things like that?"

"Usually yes, but during the expansion, Theodore Sycamore, my deputy, suddenly fell ill, and I had to undertake his duties alongside my own and…" Milton sighed. "My carelessness brought this about. If only I had known sooner… At least, Mr Theodore was able to recover well."

"Huh?" Cedric blinked at him. "I expected you to say that you made a mistake because the doubled work was too much to handle on your own, but it happened because you didn't know your second-in-command was sick? What do you mean?"

"Oh, well… Apo- I mean I should have phrased it more precisely." Milton cleared his throat. "Mr Theodore caught a terrible cold in the middle of the expansion project, and because he didn't want to be a hindrance, he didn't inform me about it and kept on working. I was in Sweden at that time and did not find out about it until later when Mr Theodore became feverish and made an uncharacteristic mistake that let me wonder and ask further about his well-being." Milton gazed downwards. "I should have done it sooner. I immediately placed him on administrative leave. You shouldn't push yourself like that when you are sick. You should rest and get better. I still cannot fathom why Mr Theodore even believed that I would be upset if he told me. I have never been upset with him."

"Or anyone," added Cedric, and Milton raised his head. "Milton, I wonder: Have you ever been upset? And I don't mean 'upset' as in 'distraught.' I mean it as in 'angry.' Have you ever been truly angry with someone? I cannot imagine you angry."

"Angry? Uh…" Milton tilted his head in thought. "I cannot remember an instance when I should have been angry with someone or at something. I don't think there has ever been any reason for me to be angry?"

"But you nearly died! Someone destroyed your family villa!" blurted it out of Cedric like a river breaking through an old dam. "Someone actively tried to kill you, Milton. How can't you be angry with Flavian Hunt and Dempsey Morton?"

Milton was silent for a moment and clutched his hands together. "This may be true," he said slowly. Cedric saw Milton's hands tremble in his grip, and dread filled him.

And there went my resolution to be careful with Milton.

"Milton."

"But Mr Hunt had his reasons to dislike me…"

"Milton."

"I did hurt him involuntarily after all and…"

"Milton," repeated Cedric anew with a little bit more emphasis and gently put his hands on Milton's – and pulled them away when Milton flinched. "I am sorry. It burst out of me. You're trying to divert your thoughts from one trauma and I am reminding you of another. It was uncalled for."

"You are tired," Milton said softly and again let his hands vanish under the table. "Things like that happen."

Cedric stared at Milton in utter disbelief and lack of comprehension, wondering and pondering how Milton could still be so very considerate of him although Cedric had reminded him of what must have been the most traumatic event of his life. "Milton?"

"Yes, Kristopher?"

Cedric scrutinised him for a moment, looked at Milton's faint smile to let him know that he was not mad at him, noticed the still prevalent shaking of his arms. "I forgot to make my turn," Cedric eventually said and reached for one of his chessmen.

~Cloudia~

The last time I had gone to the Duhamels' bakery, it had been in broad daylight with Cedric. We had followed the scent of fresh, warm cake into a paradise of baked goods, still untouched by any signs of mourning for a lost son. Back then, there had been nothing particularly odd about the baker's, about Basile Duhamel's, reaction when he had seen us. Strangers in villages as small as Nanteuil-la-Forêt were always a spectacle.

Who could have known that it was even more than that here?

Now, the walk to the bakery was bleak and dreary with shadows lurking around every corner and harsh, unforgiving rain pouring down from the sky. The storm's intensity was the same as when we had gone to the Beaubois' cabin, was the same as when we had arrived at the village. Still, when I waded through it now with Lisa and Kamden by my side and Yvette leading, the rain felt different to me.

The village felt different to me with Antoine's words echoing in my mind.

The shadows seemed darker, harder, harsher; the rain not only wild but desperate too. As if the storm was only roaring to clear the village from the malady which Antoine had said infested it. To bring back the old order and balance the malady had disturbed.

The front of the bakery was closed when they arrived. There was not even a sign on the door, only a locked entrance and an obscured window.

"Basile and Solange live upstairs," Yvette told them. "The door to their residence is on the other side of the building," she continued and guided them through a side alley into a small fenced garden area where the poor flowers were drowning in the rain.

Yvette went to knock at the door, and it took a few knocks and a few more moments until the door opened and Basile Duhamel appeared in the doorway. The rainfall and Yvette's proximity to the door and Basile made it hard for Cloudia to make out his expression properly, but he did look deeply unhappy about their presence.

"Hello, Basile," said Yvette. "Do you mind if M Gauthier, his colleagues, and I come in to question you a bit about your son? I think you have heard about M Gauthier, Détective Vidocq's associate?"

Basile glanced at Cloudia over Yvette before he gruffly said, "Very well, but don't make any ruckus. My wife is in a delicate state right now." He turned and strode back into the house and up the stairs. Yvette, Kamden, and Lisa followed him. Cloudia lingered a second longer in the deserted, sad garden until she went to join them.

The stairs upstairs were narrow and the living space above the bakery a bit smaller than Cloudia had anticipated and seeing the flat's packed state, she was glad that she had pulled down her hood and shaken out her umbrella in the entrance hall. Here, she would have definitely destroyed a carpet or a piece of furniture or two.

They had to cram into the small space, and Basile allowed Lisa and Kamden to stay behind in the kitchen while he, Cloudia, and Yvette went to the living room.

"Solange! What are you doing here?" exclaimed Basile and rushed to his wife bundled up on an armchair. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I tried, but I couldn't. I rolled back and forth and found no rest. I got so sick of lying around, Basile," Solange said and wrapped the blanket tighter around her. She looked so small and vulnerable like a scared baby bird with the blanket around her and her hair dishevelled. "Then, I heard you running downstairs and I thought you would like to join me in the living room when you return. I thought sitting down instead of lying down would be a nice change. I also thought you were checking on the shop." Solange peeked at Yvette and Cloudia. "Basile, why is Mlle Yvette here? And who is with her?"

Basile shook his head. "Love, you should not walk around without me. You're not feeling well right now."

"I know, I know. I was just so bored and lonely, Basile. I…" Solange looked at Cloudia and Yvette again. "You didn't answer my questions, Basile."

"Mlle Yvette is here because she accompanies and aids M Gauthier. M Gauthier is here because he is investigating the…" Basile sighed. "I need to talk to him for a bit. It won't take long. Please wait in the bedroom. I'll go and see you when we're finished. I promise it won't be for too long. I don't want you to feel lonely – I am right here, just the corridor down, dear."

Solange nodded slowly. "I'll wait for you in the bedroom," she said, and Basile helped her up with a weak smile and gently led her to the door. On the doorway, Solange stopped and levelled her gaze at Cloudia. "Welcome to our home, M Gauthier," she said and took a shaky breath. "I have faith in you that you can find whoever did that to my little Dominique."

"I promise you, Mme Duhamel, I will do everything I can to find the culprit," Cloudia assured Solange before Basile guided her back to the bedroom. A couple of minutes later, Basile returned. He still looked fairly grumpy, but now he looked a bit paler too.

"I hope you do not mind that we have to finish the interrogation rapidly, M Gauthier."

"Of course not. We are the ones who intruded into your home in such dire times, knowing very well what a toll the events of the last few days must have taken on you and your wife. I can only be grateful for whatever time you spare for me," Cloudia replied. "And my condolences for your loss, M Duhamel."

Basile leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Thank you, M Gauthier."

"I'm sorry for your loss too, Basile," said Yvette quietly, but Basile ignored her.

"What do you want to know, M Gauthier?"

Cloudia retrieved her notebook which had thankfully not been damaged by any rain seeping through her clothes. Wilbur was sure brilliant. "I wanted to ask if your son Dominique had any conflict with other villagers?"

"I thought the culprit was a stranger. Not one of us."

"This is only a possibility. I want to consider everything before settling on anything."

"I see." Basile turned his eyes upwards. "Dominique was always an amicable boy. He had many friends and not any enemies I know of. I cannot imagine Dominique having been in any kind of noteworthy conflict in his entire life."

"The friends you mentioned – could you give me any names?"

"Why do you want to know that?"

"I may have to question them too."

"Well, then. Gaspard Baudet and Enzo Chauveau are his best friends. They have known each other since childhood. If anyone knows anything I don't know, it's them."

"Thank you," Cloudia said and wrote down the names. "How would you describe your son beside 'amicable'?"

Basile stared at her for a moment before he said, "Dominique was always a very diligent boy. Very friendly. Very polite. Calm, studious. Intelligent. I could not have been prouder of him."

"I see. Do you know if Dominique had any connections to Nadia Allemand and Gustave and Marius Beaubois?"

He shifted his gaze from Cloudia to Yvette. "No. He did not. I know Fernand's sons, but they were one and two years younger than Dominique and they never had any real interactions with one another. They were strangers to one another as well as you can be here. To Mme Nadia too. Dominique was very uninterested in clothes – Solange would always buy them for him. Is that everything now?"

"No, not quite. Dominique's corpse was found at the church – did he have any special connection to it to clarify why he was found there exactly?" Cloudia wanted to know.

"We are devout Catholics, M Gauthier."

"Does your devotion run so deep that Dominique would have even gone to the church in the middle of the night? Maybe for some nocturnal praying?"

Basile glared at her. "No."

"Then, do you have any idea why Dominique was out in the night from the 17th to 18th June?"

"No. I don't think there was any special reason for it, at least. Dominique would often stay late out with his friends. You would have to talk to Enzo and Gaspard for any details."

"So you knew Dominique was outside the night after Mme Allemand died? The night after the first murder happened? Didn't the murder come as a shock to everyone? Surely everyone would have quickly found out about it? I cannot imagine murders being a regular occurrence in Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Such an incident must have been a popular conversational topic and made people anxious, mustn't it?"

Yvette cleared her throat. "Actually, Mme Armelle found Mme Nadia and she informed M Descombes first and not anyone else. He and my father were, therefore, able to contain the news about her murder until Dominique died. Unlike Mme Nadia, he was found in a public space – and the 18th was a Sunday too…"

"This is… remarkable," Cloudia commented. "Mme Peletier seems to be a very put-together person when she could handle the situation so cool-headedly."

"She is. Mme Nadia was more of a chaotic person, though Mme Armelle is quite 'scattered' now too." Yvette sighed.

"Are you done now?" interjected Basile.

"Almost. I have one more favour to ask, M Duhamel," said Cloudia. "I would like to take a brief look at your son's bedroom."

"What in the world do you want with his room?"

"People's rooms often reveal a lot about them. I promise I won't break or displace anything. I'm sure you would like to keep his room untouched for a while, and I give you my word to honour this wish and not disturb it." She smiled, and Basile gaped at her for a while until he sighed. "Very well. But then, I want you to leave, M Gauthier."

Like Cloudia had anticipated, Dominique's room was a shrine – untouched, unkempt since the last time he had been here to preserve the last touch of his personality, to freeze time when everything was better, simpler. Dominique's bedroom was small and there was barely any walking space between the bed, the wardrobe, and the study area with desk and chair. The bed was made, a contrast to the desk which was a place of concentrated disorder.

With Basile's and Yvette's eyes drilling into her back, Cloudia tiptoed around the room. She looked under the bed and peeked into the wardrobe in which all the clothes were pushed to one side before she went to take a look at the chaos on the desk. It was difficult not to disturb it significantly while she did so, but there was no way Cloudia could let it be.

The room was so impeccable beside the top of the desk: The wardrobe items were organised; nothing was laying on the ground or shoved under the bed. The desk drawers were tidy; it was only the top which was not. Instead, it was strewn with papers bearing sketches, designs, scribbles of idea bursts. The top of the desk was the only area in the entire room which felt used; it was all that made the room feel lived-in.

And it was filled with so much chaotic passion, it was almost nauseating.

"Are you done yet?" Basile asked when Cloudia's gaze landed on a poem – a cheesy, silly thing – whose addressee's name had been torn off, only the letters Ni were still intact.

"Yes," Cloudia said and smiled. "Thank you for your help and cooperation, M Duhamel. This was very insightful."

~Cedric~

While Cloudia always got annoyed or sometimes even outright upset when she lost to Cedric at chess, Milton's eyes shone every time he lost. At first, it had unnerved Cedric, believing him to feel joy over losing – after all, what kind of person enjoyed it to be constantly defeated? But after a few more rounds, rounds that got longer and longer and which they spent in blissful silence after their disastrous last conversation – a silence which Milton, thankfully, did not seem to mind –, Cedric began to understand: Milton's eyes didn't shine because he liked to lose; they shone because…

"You are happy that I win. You are delighted to analyse how I've won," mumbled Cedric, not realising that he was saying the words out aloud until they reached his own ears and he flinched in his stupidity.

Milton looked up and his eyes widened.

"I got you this time!" Cedric pointed at him, a giggle bubbling up. "Your eyes kept shining no matter how often you lost, and I wondered why, but I finally figured it out! You are glad for my victories and are amazed to see how I triumphed! No wonder the rounds keep getting longer: You are actually and genuinely trying to beat me." He slumped back into his chair and grinned. "I didn't think you had this in you – and don't worry this is very welcome. The analysing part is a bit weird but I appreciate your effort to beat me. I haven't had such fun games of chess in a while." Cedric shook his head. "What a delight, Milton! Maybe we should still try to find another pastime. I am not doing particularly well myself and I don't think I can play more chess right now. We cannot do the same thing all day, can we, Mil…"

Cedric cut himself off when he noticed that Milton was staring at him, looking pale and far away with a hand pressed above his heart.

It was like on the first day when Kamden, Anaïs, and I had found Milton in the library. Those few seconds after he had spotted us. Wide-eyed. Startled. And when I thought about it, if I remembered correctly, terrified?

Only this time, he didn't snap out of it immediately.

Milton slowly sank his eyes to look at his left arm and flinched. The unexpected movement made Cedric jump in his chair. "Milton? Are you all right? Remember, there is nothing to be worried about. You are not actually hurt…"

Milton closed his eyes. The fingers of the hand he pressed onto his chest dug into the fabric of his suit. Cedric stood up, circled the table to get to him. "Milton?" he said and put a hand on Milton's shoulder. Milton's eyes fluttered open. He stared at him, aghast – and tried to get away suddenly, frantically. And in this state with his mind elsewhere, he must have forgotten that he was sitting on a chair in the middle of the library because Milton fell from it, taking it with him.

"Milton!"

Cedric went to help him up, but Milton had already picked himself up and managed to sit down with his back against a bookcase. Milton's eyes were shut again, but now tears were running down his cheeks. One hand was still digging into his clothes, the other into the carpeted floor.

Cedric knelt next to Milton at the same time as Milton opened his mouth and said with a slightly shaky voice, "Today is the 20th of June, 1848. My name is Milton; my heart is still beating and I am still here." He took a slow, deep breath, and his voice gradually became steadier and steadier as he kept on speaking. "Around me are eight bookshelves. They contain hundreds of books, all detailing historic events. The Reign of Clovis. The Treaty of Verdun. The Revolution of 1789. In front of me are chairs. Two. And a table with a chessboard with thirty-two chess pieces. Twenty-four were captured and removed. Eight are still on the board. The white king is in checkmate, but not yet pushed over because Kristopher forgot. Kristopher who is with me here. Sitting to my left. Kristopher who is the only person here with me. In this library in the Château Charbonneau where I am too. Where I still am. My name is Milton. My heart is still beating and I am still here and the storm will pass."

Milton loosened the grip on his shirt, slowly let his right hand sink down and dug the fingers of this hand into the carpet too, anchored himself fully to the ground. Evenly, he breathed in and out, and Cedric was oddly relieved when Milton reopened his eyes, even if they glistered with tears. He appeared exhausted, and the only indicator that he was still a bit tense were his fingers in the carpet. A smile laid on his lips, and although it was small, it reached his eyes a bit and was filled with familiar warmth and kindness.

"I know that I shouldn't," said Milton. His voice sounded tired and weak, and suddenly, unexpectedly, Cedric's thoughts wandered to the memory of seeing Cloudia after the Witch Castle events, of seeing her so small and fragile in her chair. And so very, very tired.

"You told me that I don't have to apologise for everything," Milton went on. "But I want to apologise now: I am sorry, Kristopher. I must have made you worry."

Cedric shook his head.

Apparently, his episode was over now. Everything was like always again.

"I'm certain you didn't deliberately cause this to happen. What did happen anyway? Everything went so well after all."

Milton leaned his head against the bookcase, and only now did Cedric notice that his cheeks were still wet. "I guess maybe it went too well? I was so focused on the game and the game only – and when you started talking after a longer period of silence, I was startled out of my concentration. For a moment, I forgot where I was – something that is never good on rainy days – and all that 'ghost pain' caught up to me at once and I was overwhelmed. This hasn't happened in a long time. It hasn't been that bad in a long time." His fingers tensed. "It must have been unsettling to witness. But…" Milton's smile widened a little bit. "Thanks for staying, Kristopher. You are such a kind person, and you keep proving this to me today. You stayed with me throughout my attack. You stayed with me all day so far even though you would have rather wished to go with Lady Cloudia. And no matter what your reason for keeping me company was – if it was because Lady Cloudia asked you to and you knew it meant a lot to her, or if, maybe, it was even because you were worried about me – it was such a nice, kind act. Thank you." Milton paused. "Oh no, I've talked too much again. I hope I didn't embarrass you with all this?"

Yes. Milton was indeed better now.

"Embarrassed? I want you to repeat all you said to the Lady! She will be so mad." Cedric grinned. "Now, can you get up, Milton? Or do you need to rest a bit more?"

Milton smiled. "A little bit more will be fine." Again, he in- and exhaled, and his eyes were not focused on Cedric anymore but the bookshelves on the other side. Cedric shifted where he sat, unknowing what to do. Should he get up and collect the chess pieces to put them back into the board? Or should he stay by Milton's side in case he suddenly relapsed? In the end, Cedric kept kneeling, and after a while, Milton took one more deep breath before bracing himself to uncurl his fingers from the carpet.

Milton paused a second when his hands lay flat against the ground. Then, he slowly stood up, steadying himself on the shelves. Cedric sprang to his feet, ready to help if it was needed, but Milton managed fine. He straightened and put a hand back above his heart after wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. Cedric frowned.

"It's weird to say," Cedric said, "but I've never noticed before that you are so tall."

"Huh?"

"Well, you usually seem quite small and hunched over although I know you aren't. It's your aura, you have to know. And we have spent the last few hours sitting down, so… Anyway, you are surprisingly tall."

"Uhm, thanks, Kristopher?"

Cedric glanced at Milton one more time before he walked to the table to gather the chessmen. "I know you are still a bit disoriented, but do you, by any chance, have a watch with you? Because I have the very disheartening feeling that we have missed lunch." He craned his head to Milton while putting the pieces into their respective compartments and pocketing his now empty biscuit bag.

Milton was still holding onto the bookcase and now slightly tilted his head. "Oh. I don't have a watch, but you may be right, Kristopher."

"My internal meal clock – which thankfully didn't get damaged by the slight time discrepancy – agrees too." Cedric picked up Milton's notebook which had almost fallen when Milton did and was now lying dangerously on the table edge. The notebook was heavier than expected, and with a shrug, Cedric placed it on top of the chessboard before he turned to Milton. "I think it would be the best choice of action to hunt down something to eat now. You certainly need to eat and a cup of tea will calm you down. And if I cannot get my hands on something sweet soon, I will be the one to have a breakdown. Are you ready, Milton?"

Tentatively, Milton let go of the bookcase but didn't lower the hand pressed against his chest. "Ready as I'll ever be, Kristopher."

~Cloudia~

Unsurprisingly, the rain had not become less furious while they had been in the Duhamels' flat, but the pension was thankfully only next door. They headed to it in silence, and while nobody else seemed to mind, Lisa looked positively annoyed. It must be awful for her not to be able to understand or say anything. As if she had read her thoughts, Lisa glanced at Cloudia, and Cloudia smiled at her reassuringly – Don't worry, in the morgue you'll be able to talk.

In front of the inn, it was as always Yvette who stepped forward to knock. They waited a minute, then two before she knocked again and their waiting resumed.

"Maxime? Are you there?" Yvette shouted and kept on knocking. "Is anyone here?"

"Is there a backdoor here too?" Kamden wanted to know.

Yvette shook her head. "No. You can only access their living area through a door inside the pension. I guess nobody's home."

"A strange time to be out," Cloudia remarked and took out her watch, shielding it with her body against the rain. "It's getting late. We have spent too much time at the other places. We need to come back later then; we cannot wait for them here – especially not under these weather conditions." She pocketed her watch. "A change of plan: We'll go to the tailor shop now. Then, we will proceed to the church before we split up."

"Split up?" Kamden said, blinking at her. Lisa looked up at him, most likely wondering what his outburst was about.

"Yes. After the church, you and Maryse will go to the hospital to inspect the bodies while Mlle Guilloux and I will go to conduct the rest of the interrogations." Cloudia smiled. "And with a little bit of luck, we may be back home for dinner."

I hope you enjoyed it!^^

Hah, this chapter (the entire arc even) would be quite the field day from Milton's POV...

( "Your grandfather also being your butler… this would be very weird." *stares at Warner from the Shatter Me series by Tahereh Mafi*)

Explanations for more fake names!

Grégoire Fouille - Inspector G. Lestrade

In the BBC series his first name is "Greg", so I just chose a French variant for it. His surname "Lestrade" is already French. Lestrade-et-Thouels is the name of a village, and l'estrade means "the raised platform"/ "pedestal". It was a bit annoying to find a surname and then I thought "what's the opposite of a raised something? a pedestal?" I settled on "pit" and threw it into a dictionary and then picked "fouille" because it's apparently both "pit" and "search" and I thought it fit nicely? As it's a random word, it's very likely a super ridiculous surname though.

Maryse Ledoux - Molly Hooper

"Molly" is a diminutive of "Mary", and "Marie" is, i.a., the French way of writing that name and apparently "Maryse" is a French diminutive of "Marie"? Also, I liked the name since the Shadowhunters Chronicles (the books, not that shitty TV series).

"Hooper" is an "occupational name for someone who put the metal hoops around wooden barrels" according to Behind the Name. Well, that brought me nowhere. I can't quite remember how I got to "Ledoux". I would say it's just a joke because doux means "sweet, soft, gentle". (But then I bookmarked the Wikipedia page of someone called Claude-Nicolas Ledoux who was an architect and?)

Oh, and I have this Tumblr: tothelasthoursofmylife if you didn't know. For crying and bonus stuff.

Until next time?