Time Is Of The Essence
~O~
"Why does anyone commit murder?" he asked in a low voice.
I blinked. "How should I know?"
"Three reasons," Christopher said. He held up one finger. "Love." Another finger. "Revenge." And finally, a third finger. "Profit..."
-Meg Cabot, Runaway-
~O~
Charlotte changed into her pale pink nightdress and sat on her bed brushing and twisting her long blonde hair into a braid while Mey-Rin tiptoed warily around the room and slipped under her covers. Charlotte let her mind run lazily over the events of the night. She found it so funny that a medical professional like Mr. Doyle hadn't picked up on Lord Siemens's wound, although to be fair he was an optometrist, and not a general practitioner. Still, it should have been a basic observation.
The puppet finished tying back her hair, and pulled her covers over herself. She willed the clockwork mechanisms keeping her up and awake to wind down, and fell asleep to the crashing of the storm outside her window.
She then awoke about an hour or so later to the sound of someone knocking at the bedroom door. Hedonistic laziness demanded that she ignore the visitor, but curiousity roused her to waking. Who could be knocking on their door so late at night? Maybe the killer? She wanted to see.
The knocking came again, slightly more impatient this time. From the bed beside hers came a quiet grunt as Mey-Rin began to shift and stir. "Hmm? Ugh, who is it...?" She muttered groggily, sitting up in bed and pawing at her bedside table for her glasses.
Charlotte giggled softly, "It's the door. Apparently someone wants to see one of us so late at night, and can't wait until morning. Now who could it be?" She hummed thoughtfully.
Mey-Rin froze, and the hand with her glasses began to tremble. "Y-You don't think-!"
"I don't know who it could be, but there is a killer on the loose," Charlotte shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just saying, don't be in so much of a hurry to open to open the door to strangers at night."
The knocking continued, harder this time. Charlotte heaved a graceful sigh, and slipped out of her bed. She found her slippers on the floor, and her robe hanging on the door, and padded over to the locked door. "Sorry for the wait…"
Instead of a killer – to her mild disappointment – the late visitor was revealed to just be Sebastian glaring down at her, and holding a large birdcage with an owl perched inside. It hooted softly, and Charlotte was immediately riveted by the soft white feathers.
"Sorry about the hour," Sebastian apologised, shifting the cage to the arm further away from Charlotte. "I hope you'll forgive me for disturbing you both in such a manner."
"S-S-S-S-Sebastian!?" Mey-Rin squeaked, her face flaming bright red. "W-W-What is it at this time of the night? Y-You c-couldn't be sneaking in for you-know-wha-!"
Sebastian cut her off quickly before her panicked squealing could rouse the whole household, or before she gave herself some sort of aneurysm. "There is something I'd like for you to do first thing in the morning," he told them.
"First thing in the morning?" Mey-Rin calmed down and asked.
Sebastian stepped a little further into the room, and passed the birdcage over Charlotte and into Mey-Rin's surprised arms. "Please release this bird at dawn," he instructed her. "There is an important letter wrapped around its leg."
"A letter, you say?" The redhead repeated inquisitively, looking between Sebastian and the bird with an expression of bemusement. "For who?"
"It's better that you don't know," Sebastian replied shortly. "However, I'm sure there'll be a time when it will come in handy. Do it immediately at dawn, do I make myself clear?" Mey-Rin nodded silently, while Charlotte rolled her eyes and mouthed French insults behind his back. "Well then, I will excuse myself. I'm sorry about the late hour. From now on however," he glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the two women, "you shouldn't open your bedroom door so freely at this time of night, especially without first identifying who it is. You are ladies after all."
Charlotte spat a French expletive after him, and slammed the door shut before his back was turned. She flounced back to her bed, huffing angrily, although she soon distracted herself with the beautiful snowy owl while Mey-Rin was having that delayed aneurysm.
She didn't bother going back to sleep after that. It was fortunate that Sebastian had come when he had, otherwise she would have slept right through the fun part. Once Mey-Rin had fallen back asleep, Charlotte slipped into the vent in their room and spider-crawled through the mazelike manor until she reached the wine cellar.
The sound of someone snoring loudly echoed off the stone walls, and her nose prickled with the potent scent of newly poured wine. Siemens lay on the ground, clutching a half-empty bottle of wine to his chest. Charlotte repressed her amused snicker, getting put in the wine cellar must have been the best thing to happen to him all day. Yet, how unspeakably rude to sample what hasn't yet been offered to you.
The door of the cellar swung open, and someone walked inside the room, their footsteps quiet on the stone floor. Charlotte rotated her neck a little to see who it was, and only had to catch a glimpse of the snow white hair for her to put a face to the killer.
Charles Grey stared with cold disgust at the sleeping drunkard. The night hadn't gone at all like he'd wanted. He'd planned to draw this out a little longer, drag that brat of an earl down a few pegs before killing the butler, but he'd underestimated the Phantomhive and he'd been forced to improvise.
He kicked Siemens' foot, and he spluttered awake, sloshing wine on the ground. "Huh? Oh…oh! Earl Grey!" He slurred, waking up a little more. "It looks like things went well! Was everyone surprised? Ha, when I woke up there was so much wine around me, I decided to drink a little in celebration!" He prepared to take another sip straight from the bottle, and then he felt the rapier stab through his chest right where the false bloodstain was.
"Shut that fat mouth," Grey muttered, twisting the blade and pushing it further. He looked on with detached eyes as Siemens coughed up blood. "You're just obnoxious scum, do you really think you dim-witted Germans could possibly catch up to Britain? Heh, you're about ten years too early."
Siemens body slid off his sword with a slick crunch. Grey grabbed the cloth and tossed it back over him. That was when he heard it: a giggle.
Grey froze as the high-pitched laughter spiralled around him. The stone walls echoed the sound, and shock muddled his senses, so that he couldn't be certain of where the noise was coming from. "Who the hell is here?" He snarled, tightening his grip on his sword. "Show yourself!"
As soon as he said that, the laughter disappeared, and he heard rustling getting further and further away. His eyes snapped to the vents in disbelief. No one could fit through those vents! Not even Ciel, the smallest person in the building, and that was impossible because the earl was chained up!
Grey wrestled with himself for a moment, and then spat a curse. Whoever it was, he would find them and dispose of them.
Charlotte dragged herself out of the vent, still cackling quietly to herself. My oh my, what a surprising twist! To think that Charles Grey, the Queen's esteemed butler was the one behind Siemens' fake-then-not-so-fake death. She wondered if Ciel or Sebastian knew, and then decided that it didn't matter. Whether they did or did not, she was almost certain that they wouldn't tell her, but there was nothing stopping her from finding out for herself. Death was the family business after all.
Smiling to herself, Charlotte played with the owl until well into the morning, until the first strains of dawn's light began to stream in through the windows. Mey-Rin was still slumbering away, so Charlotte pushed open the little window of the room, and released the catch on the cage. The owl fluffed its feathers once more, and screeched quietly, looking put out with the idea of flying through the rain.
"I understand your pain," Charlotte murmured as she stroked the feathers and let the owl nip playfully at her fingers, "but for the sake of the plot."
Giving one more look of discontent to the falling rain, the owl finally took off, spreading its large wings and soaring high into the stormy sky until it disappeared beyond the trees and clouds. Once her task was complete Charlotte bathed and dressed, and then left the room for Lord Siemens's.
The inside of the manor was peacefully quiet, the only sounds being the raindrops splashing against the walls and roof. The hallways and unused rooms were dim and cold from the rain and the early hour. Through the windows Charlotte caught weak glimpses of the sun rising between the pink-tinged grey clouds. Dust had collected on the sills, and while it was her duty to clean them, Charlotte had the distinct feeling that Sebastian wouldn't be able to scold her.
A few minutes later the doll stared silently at the dead body of the butler lying in a pool of his own blood. His neck was twisted to the side and she could see the shrunken pupils and the blood-covered mouth. There was a cold poker sticking out of his chest.
She almost burst out laughing again, but managed to stifle it in case she woke someone up. "My, my, my, isn't this interesting? A dead demon!" She walked over and stood at his side. She dropped gracefully to her knees, keeping her clothes free of his blood. "You know, my papa always told me you had red blood like humans, but I never believed him. Guess we learn something new every day!"
She tapped his nose with her pointer finger, smiled, and then began to scream.
The sudden shrill shriek woke almost everyone in the house at once, and they immediately came running to see what was wrong. "What the hell happened?" Bard yelled, running into the room. "Charlotte, what-? My god…"
Mey-Rin choked on her own scream. Tears began to run down her cheeks. Deciding that she'd screamed enough, Charlotte pretended to collapse from shock and exhaustion, and was caught gallantly by Ran-Mao.
Murmurs of horror and sobs of pain filled the small bedroom. "Wh-What do we tell the young master?" Mey-Rin bawled.
Her question never received an answer, and seeing as it was a mostly rhetorical question it likely never would have, as a moment later Ciel appeared in the doorway of the room. His dark blue eyes were wide with disbelief, and he was shaking.
"Sebastian...?" His voice sounded soft and hollow. He staggered forward slowly, like he was in a trance, and then jerked when Mey-Rin grabbed his arm to stop him getting any closer. He swung his free arm at her, smacking her away. "Let go of me!"
"Young master..."
The sound of his small feet pressing into the blood-soaked carpet was quiet but audible in the thick silence. "Sebastian, stop fooling around," Ciel murmured in that quiet voice. "Sleeping on the floor doesn't look all that comfortable to me. Exactly how long were you planning to be asleep?" When the butler did not respond, he suddenly stepped on Sebastian's chest and yanked the poker out. "I said get up. Wake up! That's an order! Wake up this instant!"
Charlotte watched the dramatics from the sidelines, internally applauding Ciel's talent for the theatrical arts. With everyone's eyes on the spectacle or pointed down, she felt free enough to let her gaze wander over to Charles Grey who was the only one who looked calm and unaffected.
He folded his arms over his chest and stepped forward, breaking the silence that had fallen over everyone else. "If we leave him here he'll start to rot. It'd probably be better if we moved him."
Bard agreed, and Mey-Rin restrained Ciel while Arthur stepped forward to begin a quick autopsy. Charlotte ran her fingers through her hair and glanced at Lau when he hummed softly to himself. "Oh my," he murmured. "It would have been impossible for the confined earl to have committed this murder, right?" He smiled, and Charlotte felt an odd flare of kinship with the Chinese man. "Things just got interesting…"
Arthur lifted Sebastian's head up to examine it from all sides. "Aside from the poker, there are also signs of trauma in the head," he noted, feeling around the area with firm but gentle fingers. "He must have been hit from behind while collecting the ashes."
"Either that," Grey said, "or they just kept attacking without checking to see if he was already dead. Two hits would be more likely to kill him than just one."
"Still, it is strange," the author spoke thoughtfully, "even though he didn't die from the blow to the back of his head, why did the killer go out of his way to stab him from the front?"
"It does make more sense to attack from the same angle a second time," Bard nodded in agreement. "Unless you're fast enough."
"Or unless there were multiple culprits," the doctor proposed. His suggestion filled the room with a fresh burst of fear. "For example," he continued, "one of them could come up in front of him and distract him, while the other attacked from behind. Then the one in front could finish up the job by stabbing him."
"Two murderers?" Charles repeated quietly. He rubbed his chin as he recalled the high-pitched laughter that had filled the cellar during the night. "Interesting."
Lau shrugged carelessly. "Well, no matter how it happened, it's certain that this killer didn't feel any mercy or hesitation. To have killed even that butler, the culprit must be extremely…"
"Stop it already!" Finny shouted, hugging Ciel tightly to his chest. "Why are you having this conversation in front of the young master? Please think of his feelings!"
"Finny!" Mey-Rin shouted, cutting him off, though he made a somewhat good point. She bowed. "Please excuse him!"
Bard and Finny, prompted by Grey's earlier suggestion, decided to move Sebastian's body to the basement with Siemens. Any more discussions would have to take place over a very late breakfast, which would put everyone into a better mood and help them think of what to do.
Tanaka was appointed butler in Sebastian's place, a position he had once held under the previous Phantomhive patriarch, and he quickly herded the servants to their duties. Charlotte grimaced as she dusted the windowsills, but couldn't help liking the wrinkled, grandfatherly old butler just a little. He'd never looked frightened when she rotated her head or removed her limbs.
Brunch was a very tense affair for most of the guests. On one side of the table sat Irene, Grimsby and Woodley eying everyone else with suspicion and fear. On the other sat Lau, Ran-Mao and Charles Grey, smiling and tucking into the quiche and sausages heartily. Arthur sat at one end of the table and simply stared round with a sad expression while picking at his food.
"This smells good~!" Grey cheered, spearing a sausage and some of the quiche with his fork. "I'm really hungry since I didn't get to eat this morning~!"
"Wait a minute," Arthur said suddenly, "that seat…"
The seat beside Irene was empty though there was food in front of it. Someone was missing from the party of guests. "How strange," Irene said, "we're all here, aren't we?Did the chef miscount?"
"The chef was Sebastian," Ciel replied curtly, "and he never makes...made mistakes..."
No one responded for a second, and then Irene gasped in realization. "Oh! Mr. Phelps!"
It said quite a lot about what sort of man Phelps was that no one had noticed his absence at all. "He must be having quite a lie-in," Woodley laughed, though his joke fell a bit flat.
Arthur's chair scraped against the floor as he got to his feet. "Still, would you all mind if we went to check?"
The tense atmosphere that had begun to dissipate returned once again. Charles glanced down at his half-eaten quiche with disappointment, and then decided to bring it along with him. This was so annoying, especially since he was certain that the spineless Phelps was probably hiding in his room trying to avoid the rest of them. Unless he was the second killer or something. The thought was laughable.
They reached the door to Ciel's bedroom – Phelps had been terrified by Siemens death and refused to remain next to him – and Arthur banged on it. "Mr. Phelps! Mr. Phelps are you in there?" There was no response from the other side of the door. "It's locked. Earl, where is the key?"
"I don't know," Ciel replied with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Sebastian took care of the key to my room. No one knows where he kept it except for him. Since he's dead now, even I don't know where it is."
"Then we'll need to break the door down, right?" Grey spoke around the fork in his mouth. With the hand not holding his plate he pulled his sword from it's scabbard and slashed the door to pieces.
After two murders, Charlotte thought, one would think that people would stop screaming over more. However since Irene had screamed and clutched Grimsby, she was obliged to at least feign a bout of dizziness at the sight of Mr. Phelps's dead body.
Mr. Phelps had died in a manner that was entirely different from the others. There were no signs of a struggle, and no visible signs of trauma or bleeding. The carpet by his face was soaked in saliva. His fingers were clutching the carpet, as though he had been trying to crawl to the door, so he hadn't had proper use of his legs. These were all textbook signs of poisoning, and Charlotte knew one or two things about poison. After all, her best friend worked with snakes for a living.
A brief examination found two small puncture wounds on his neck, side by side and refusing to scab over. "Like he was stabbed by something," he said. "It might be from a needle that was used to inject the poison."
Irene shuddered. "A bite mark in the neck," she whispered. "It sounds just like Carmilla."
"By Carmilla, do you mean Le Fanu's The Vampire Carmilla?" Ciel asked.
"Or it might be a snake," Charlotte suggested, both amused and annoyed by Irene. Honestly the woman was about as helpful as a broken scalpel.
Heads turned to look at her, as this was the first thing she'd said all morning after her screaming fit. "What makes you say that?" Charles narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously.
Charlotte batted her long lashes at him innocently. "It just seemed far more likely than a fictional, bloodsucking creature of the night."
"She's right! Don't be ridiculous!" Woodley snapped. "You can't say that sort of occult, unscientific nonsense in the 19th century!"
"2:38 a.m." They turned to face Arthur who was kneeling by the bed and holding a clock in his hands. It was the small alarm clock that Ciel kept by his bedside. The face was cracked, and the hands had stopped moving. "It probably fell down when he was writhing in pain, putting his time of death at around 2:38 in the morning, just a few hours after Lord Siemens was killed."