Chapter 15

MacQuaid.

The name echoed in his head, like a bell's ring persisting long after it had stopped. Where had he heard that name before?

In the following days, Noah tried his best to recall, even as he helped Elizabeth prepare for her trip to Wales. She said she would stay there for three weeks, and while Noah wasn't worried for her safety, a part of him was apprehensive.

MacQuaid. He was certain that he recognized the name—that he should recognize the name. But in all his years of being in the service of his nation, he had heard a hundred family names. He couldn't possibly keep track of each and every one of them.

And yet this name… He knew with certainty that he should remember it.

The day arrived. Evans returned to pick up Elizabeth, and their reunion was filled with love and joy. Seeing the happiness on Elizabeth's face made Noah quench the uneasiness he felt, forcing him to smile as she embraced him and her sisters tightly before joining Evans in the car.

Only when they had finally disappeared from his view did he return to the manor, his footsteps heavy. He heard something that Evans said earlier, something about his family's business, but he wasn't close enough to hear it properly.

"Warspite," he asked, glancing at her. "What was that Evans was saying about his company earlier?"

"Hm?" She looked up. "Oh, he was just telling Elizabeth about the shipping company that he manages with his brother."

"A shipping company?" There were a lot of shipping companies in England, but somehow that information struck a familiar chord in his memory.

"Yes. Passed down from his great grandfather, I believe."

When Warspite left, he glanced at the stairs that led to the attic, hesitating. Could it be…?

Pushing his hesitation aside, Noah ascended. It had to be a coincidence—he hoped it was a coincidence—but he had to be certain.

The MacQuaids. A shipping company. An investigation that went nowhere and took two lives.

He reached the attic door and grabbed the knob, then paused. If he opened that box, there would be no turning back. He would have to see it through to the end.

Inhaling deeply, he entered the attic. They cleaned it last year, and now it looked a proper storage room than a nest for rats and spiders. They moved some of the boxes into the shed, but many were still stored away here.

He strode past them until he reached the wall at the far end. Kneeling on one knee, he ran his fingers along the aging floorboards, searching for that minuscule gap.

When he found it, Noah pulled. It didn't budge. He searched the nearest boxes, found a thin but sturdy piece of cardboard, and slid it into the gap. Years of accumulated dusts had formed a crust, but after some prodding, he finally pried the wooden panel away with a grunt, revealing a cavity inside the floor.

And nestled within was a white shoebox.

Setting the cardboard down, Noah placed the shoebox next to him and opened the lid. It was filled to the brim with newspaper clippings, notebooks, several maps, and a letter.

He took out the letter and read its contents, ignoring the tightness in his heart.

Dear Noah,

I'm sorry for leaving so early. I've received a call from a friend of mine, who got information for the case I'm investigating.

I know I promised to take you and Isabel on a cruise trip, but I need to do this. I need to find out what's happening. I need to save those kids.

If I don't come home in two weeks, that means I've failed. Do not look for me. Protect our daughter and forget everything I've told you.

Lots of love

Monica

Noah drew a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes as he lowered the letter in his shaking hand. It still hurt even after all these years. She never came back.

Sometimes he wondered where he made a mistake. Perhaps if he had stopped her from pursuing this mad case, Monica would still be with him. Or if he had been Devonport's commander back then, and not the mere captain of a frigate, he could have used all of his power and influence to help her.

With a heavy sigh, he searched the shoebox's contents. Monica was secretive. She never told him much about her assignments, and she would often disappear for days, even weeks, only to return either with a triumphant smile or a weary sigh.

It often led to arguments. But thinking back on those moments, they argued because both of them were in love; he with her, she with her mission for truth and justice. Her duty.

A duty that took her away from him. And took their daughter as well.

He grabbed one of her journals, skimming through page after page of hastily scribbled notes: names, dates, addresses, her thoughts. There were even pictures, all taken from her cherished camera. For a journalist, Monica behaved more like a sleuth, what with all the information she constantly recorded.

These were older assignments. Noah read another journal, but it only contained random scribblings. Monica often did that whenever she was drunk.

Closing it with a sigh, Noah stared at the shoebox. His wife always carried at least one notebook containing her current assignment. It wouldn't be here at all, but that didn't mean she hadn't left something behind.

His eyes drifted to the newspaper clippings. Without thought, he grabbed one and read it.

Oil Tanker Lost at Sea; Survivors Unlikely

Frowning, he went to read another clipping. Cargo Ship Hijacked; Crew Found Dead. The next two weren't sea tragedies. School Bus Missing; 17 Girls Onboard. Two Shipping Companies Sank; Tempest Shipping Stocks Rises.

Noah paused and continued reading.

Keller & Klaus has finally filed for bankruptcy after struggling for 4 years. The famous shipping company, once known for possessing one of the biggest fleets of 12 cargo ships in England, lost the Marie Klaus and its cargo just last month from a deadly storm in the Atlantic, resulting in a loss of $134 million and 23 lives. Keller & Klaus has been plagued by misfortunes since 5 years ago, when they lost five of their cargo vessels in a span of seven months.

But Keller & Klaus isn't the only company declaring financial loss. Atlantic Seas, a rival, has also filed for bankruptcy after losing a legal war with the burgeoning Tempest Shipping. Jonathan MacQuaid, the young and talented CEO, ensured clients that—

It seemed as if he had been doused by a bucket of freezing water. Noah read it again to be certain, but there was no mistaking the name.

MacQuaid.

He grabbed the shoebox and dumped the contents on the floor, arranging them like pieces of a puzzle. There were other newspaper clippings, so much so that he was surprised they could fit inside at all. Many of them had some news regarding Tempest Shipping, but there were also accidents at sea, and even piracy.

Noah stared at them, trying to connect the dots and threads in his mind.

Why was Monica investigating the MacQuaids?

###

Elizabeth smelled the salt in the air even before she heard the crashing waves.

It was a six-hour drive from Hampshire to Conwy, and another thirty minutes from Colwyn Bay to a small settlement along the northern coasts. It was a collection of one-story townhouses surrounding the town centre, where a clinic, a chapel, and a general store provided the basic needs of the populace.

"You and your brother live here?" Elizabeth asked, glancing around. It was a quiet town, and the people seemed pleasant.

"Close enough," Evans said.

Adjusting her position on the seat, Elizabeth watched the houses blur past them. The road was paved and well-maintained. To her left, she saw fishermen and dockworkers unloading hauls and cargo onto the pier, where several boats were moored. Mostly fishing boats, but there was also a white yacht gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Elizabeth switched her gaze ahead. In the distance, a stone castle rose proudly on a tall hill, encircled by a thick hedgerow, and surrounded by sheer limestone cliffs on both sides. Wounding from the base of the hill was a smaller road leading to the beach, where another pier, larger and more accommodating, was cradled on the sandy shores.

The road led to the castle gates.

"Evans?" Elizabeth looked at him. The road led to the castle, but he was still driving.

He smiled. "I'll explain later."

So Elizabeth waited, watching as the towers loomed closer and closer. Now that she could see it clearly, she realized it was larger than she initially thought. The keep was almost five times the width of the Dallimore manor and just as tall. There were four towers of varying height, with the tallest facing north.

Two guards flanked the gate, who swung it inward as Evans drove on, entering a vast lawn of grass and flowers. Elizabeth swiveled her head to the sides, taking in the sight. It was a garden, and a vast one, filled with flowers of every hue. A fountain gurgled merrily in the centre, the water spewing forth from the horns of a rearing hind.

In front of it stood a tall man, smiling broadly. The resemblance to Evans was uncanny, and Elizabeth would have sworn she was looking at a possible twin of her lover. But there were differences. The man's face was narrower, almost like a well-honed knife, and his salt-pepper hair reached to his shoulders.

On either side of him was a line of… maids. Young girls and women waiting patiently, their gazes fixed on the ground, hands folded demurely on their white skirts and aprons.

"Don't mind the uniforms," Evans said with a tight smile. "I told you my brother has strange hobbies."

"Evans, who are you really?"

There was a long pause. By the fountain, Jonathan was frowning in confusion, tapping his foot. After a minute, Evans finally spoke.

"The MacQuaids were immigrants. I told you my Pops was half Irish, right? My family wasn't originally from Wales, either. We settled in England during the 1850s. My great-grandfather was a businessman, and he founded a shipping company.

"During World War II, our business was in shambles. My grandfather fought on D-Day. He was just a sergeant, but when his company lost both of their captain and lieutenant, he led everyone until Germany's surrender with only a few casualties. That earned him quite a fortune, which he used to buy this castle and revive the business."

"The owner must have sold it for cheap," Elizabeth said. She didn't think a soldier, even a veteran, could afford a castle.

Evans chuckled. "The owner died during the war, and his family was in desperate need of money. My grandfather was just lucky, I guess. Since then, we've been here."

"And your company thrived."

"Yes. My grandfather passed it down to my father, who then passed it on to Jonathan."

Elizabeth fell silent. It was a lot to take in, but now she understood what Macy meant. The MacQuaids were indeed influential. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "You dislike me the first time we've met. I thought knowing about my status would make you dislike me even more."

"Of course not." Elizabeth's lips curved upward. "Well, maybe a little."

They laughed together. When their mirth subsided, Evans kissed the back of her hand. "Now, I believe we've kept my brother waiting for too long."

###

"And here I thought you two would spend the entire day inside the car. I was about to tell Beatrice and the others to fetch a table and have lunch in the open."

Jonathan MacQuaid was smirking the entire time, arms crossed over his chest as Evans led Elizabeth toward him. Now that she could inspect him closer, Elizabeth noticed a thin scar running from his right cheek to his lower jaw.

It gave him a menacing yet handsome visage.

"We were just talking," Evans said. Jonathan snorted.

"You mean smooching." His gaze drifted to Elizabeth, and he approached her. "You must be Elizabeth. My little brother told me so much about you." He smiled, stretching the scar on his face. "Welcome to the MacQuaid estate. It's my pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Jonathan," Elizabeth said, holding out her hand.

Jonathan stared at it. "Please. Just call me John." With a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, he took her fingers gently, twisted them so that the back of her hand faced the sky, and pressed his lips on her knuckles.

Elizabeth stiffened. She glanced at Evans, ignoring the tingling sensation crawling up her spine, but he was already prying his brother's fingers and lips away from her hand.

"Thank you for making my girlfriend feel very uncomfortable in your first meeting," he said cheerfully, though his smile was as cold as the arctic wind.

Elizabeth shivered. Rarely did she see Evans with that expression. Even Jonathan was now backing away, hands up in a placating manner.

"All right," he chuckled, "I'm not touching your girlfriend. Understood." He glanced at the maids. "Beatrice. Can you and the others get their luggages?"

A tall red-haired woman stepped forward and bowed. "Of course, Master Jonathan."

"Have you eaten yet?" Jonathan asked Evans and Elizabeth while some of the maids opened the car and took out their bags and luggages. "We've prepared food. I know it's late, but…"

Despite her unease, Elizabeth managed a smile, placing a hand on Evans's arm. "We'd love to. We haven't eaten anything on the way here."

As they entered the keep, Elizabeth couldn't help but marvel at its grandeur. The great hall alone took a quarter of it, the vaulted ceiling as high as the Dallimore manor itself. Suits of armor guarded the oak doors and corridors, paintings dominated the walls, and a grand staircase with golden balustrades rose upward before branching on either side, leading to the second floor balcony.

"They will take your luggages to your room," Jonathan told Elizabeth as several maids hauled her and Evans's suitcases and bags up the stairs. He swept an arm around the vast chamber, smiling broadly. "Well, what do you think? I know it's quite empty, but we only use this for parties. It's the west wing that you have to see."

"The west wing?" Elizabeth asked.

"John's mini museum and private art gallery," Evans said. His brother grinned.

"I'm a proud artist and collector of various objects from the past."

Lunch was served in the dining hall. The long stone table, which Jonathan alleged to belong from a lord who served alongside the fabled Knights of the Round Table, was filled with a variety of English and Welsh dishes.

Throughout the meal, Elizabeth contented herself with eating and listening while Evans and his brother bantered and discussed various topics. Sometimes, they would include her on the conversation, but Elizabeth mostly kept to herself, studying Jonathan at the head of the table.

The maids were ever-present, hovering in the background but always within earshot. Beatrice kept close to Jonathan all the time, filling his glass whenever it was drained, removing the silver plates once they were empty. She did it all without a word, her expression neutral, her movements practiced and perfect. But she couldn't be more than 19.

"Do you like the food?" Jonathan asked her.

Elizabeth drew her gaze away from Beatrice. She smiled. "Yes. They're all delicious."

He chuckled. "Well, you have to thank Beatrice and Anastasia for that. They make some of the best Welsh cuisine in Wales. Their Chinese isn't half-bad, either. Right, Beatrice?"

She bowed. "Indeed, Master Jonathan."

"I would love to try your Chinese dishes sometimes," Elizabeth said, taking a sip of tea. "Where are you from, by the way?"

"I'm from—" The maid paused, hesitating. She glanced at Jonathan, who smiled.

"Newport," he said. "Your mother is British, but you and here migrated here in Wales after your Scottish father died. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Master Jonathan," she murmured, almost too soft for Elizabeth to hear if not for her inhuman senses.

She studied Beatrice again. The young woman didn't look British, but perhaps her Scottish blood was just dominant.

After their lunch, Evans excused himself to rest. Elizabeth wasn't tired yet, so she accepted Jonathan's offer to show her the west wing while Evans stayed in his room.

It covered a vast portion of the castle. Jonathan explained that it was once the living quarters for soldiers during sieges, but the previous owners of the castle had since turned it into a storage space until the MacQuaids came along.

"Most of these were gifts from our clients," Jonathan explained as he gestured at the souvenirs in his private museum: African statues and totems, Asian dolls and jewelry, even several European medieval weapons.

It was the model ship encased in a glass display that caught Elizabeth's attention. She was familiar with sailing ships on account of British's history, and this was one she would recognize anywhere.

"A client who's fond of pirate ships gave that to me," Jonathan said. "I heard the wood was taken directly from the actual Queen Anne's Revenge's hull."

"Without any decay?" Technology may have advanced far enough, but Elizabeth didn't think it could preserve wood dating back nearly 300 hundred years ago. The model ship looked too pristine and new for that.

Jonathan shrugged. "Who truly knows? Perhaps it's the truth, or perhaps my client was simply lying so I won't throw it away."

She looked at him. "You'd throw it away if they have lied?"

"I'd throw something I find useless. Otherwise, why should I bother keeping it?"

Elizabeth's brow creased. She didn't like how that sounded, even if it was practical. Sentimental it may be, but she wouldn't forsake something, or someone, just because they weren't useful.

Jonathan continued, and she followed, though her initial curiosity was diminished. She listened without understanding the words, her eyes wandering around. Jonathan drawled on and on about the origins of his collections, and he didn't seem to mind that she had lost interest.

When they stepped inside the art gallery, however, Elizabeth was once again intrigued. Large portraits dominated every wall, some as tall as a man. The subjects varied—most were family pictures, but there were also animals, cities and nature scenery, even flowers.

The artworks further ahead held a common theme: the sea. There were paintings with a white yacht riding the waves, a battleship that looked suspiciously like Warspite firing her cannons, an aircraft carrier launching a squadron of fighter planes.

"You do love ships," Elizabeth mused. Jonathan chuckled.

"I see them as a work of art. I painted some of these myself, including that portrait of the Yorktown during the battle of Midway. It's amazing how they shaped history, one way or another."

"Do you have a favorite?"

"Oh, yes. Here, let me show you." There was a sudden glimmer in his eyes as he guided her to another portrait farther down the room. They passed three more paintings, each one depicting different types of warships, until they stopped.

"Although you may find this one… particularly strange. But please, don't be afraid."

Elizabeth frowned. "Why would I…?" The words did in her throat.

It was a raging sea in the middle of a violent storm. Black clouds formed a cathedral in the sky, huge and foreboding. White lightning flashed and scattered, like thin fingers reaching for their victims. The churning waves rose like a wall, frozen in the middle of rolling over a yacht.

Beneath the waters, Elizabeth saw her: a woman's face, her eyes shining with hunger, her golden horns—a hind's horns—illuminating the darkness brought by the depths of the ocean… No, not the ocean. Unless Elizabeth's eyes were deceiving her, those were tentacles writhing around her, obscuring the woman's body from sight.

And just behind the woman was the spectral glow of a sailing ship.

"I named it the Golden Hind," Jonathan said in a low voice, his hand resting on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Magnificent, isn't she? I couldn't get the ship right the first time, of course, so I just finished the rest before I went back to it."

"The painting is magnificent," Elizabeth said, trying to keep her voice steady. His hand being on her shoulder was uncomfortable enough, but the painting unnerved her even more. "So why is there a woman's face in there? And, uh, an octopus?"

"Ah, that." Jonathan smiled, but he wasn't looking at her, his eyes fixated on the painting—the woman in the painting. "Well, the octopus is my… manifestations of my fear of the sea, I suppose. As for the woman… Did Evans ever tell you how our parents died?"

"No."

"It happened almost 15 years ago. They died at sea." His gaze grew distant, not unlike Evans's that night during Noah's birthday. "We were sailing on our yacht by the North Atlantic. It was supposed to be a pleasure cruise. Three weeks around the United Kingdom.

"The first week was uneventful. But by the ninth day, a storm swept in. Mum wanted to sail back to Ireland, but Pops was confident that the storm would pass and that there was nothing to worry about."

"He was wrong," Elizabeth said softly. Jonathan nodded.

"He was never a good navigator, much less a sailor. Before we knew it, our yacht was being tossed like a flotsam in the sea." His voice hitched. "Mum was thrown overboard when a wave crashed onto us. Pops tried searching for her, but it was futile. He joined her when the next wave struck.

"I was only 12 then. Evans was half my age. We were both terrified. Our parents were dead, the yacht was groaning from the storm, and there was nothing but a furious ocean surrounding us. I hid my brother in a cabinet with some food and water, hoping that if the worse happened, he could at least survive."

Elizabeth shivered. She tried to imagine what it felt like for Evans, hiding in the dark, listening to the crashing of the waves while his brother did everything he could to save them, not knowing if they would even survive. It would be traumatic for a child.

"What happened then?" she asked.

Jonathan was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, it was soft and held a dreamy-like tone. "Do know the story of sirens?"

"From Greek mythology. They lure sailors with their voices, then eat them."

"Indeed. And I believe it has some truth to it. I was trying to use the radio for help when I saw a woman standing on the water. A beautiful woman."

Jonathan looked at her, and Elizabeth could have sworn there was madness swirling in those hazel eyes. "The same woman whose visage I replicated in this painting."

He's mad, Elizabeth thought. Or rather, she wanted to believe that Evans's brother was severely traumatized by the incident that his mind had broken, making him believe things that were most likely hallucinations.

If only she wasn't a former warship herself.

"You don't believe me." He sounded disappointed, though his sigh made Elizabeth think that this wasn't the first time he had told this to someone.

Shrugging off his hand as gently as she could, she took a step back. "Well, there are cases when people, especially children, would see strange things during extreme situations. Perhaps that's what happened to you."

He shook his head. "I'm not mad, if that's what you are implying. I know what I saw. I know it happened because I heard her voice, and when I regained my senses, my brother was next to me on a wooden boat, grounded along the shores of southern Ireland."

"Ah." Elizabeth swallowed, and took another step, widening the distance between them. "Then what, uh, did she say?"

"She sang like the sirens in those stories. It was a lullaby."

"A lullaby. Of course."

"I want to see her again." Jonathan was almost speaking to himself now, staring at the painting with longing. "To thank her for saving me."

"I'm sure she would love that," Elizabeth said cheerfully, slowly backing away. Jonathan didn't seem to be paying attention to her anymore. "Now if I may ex—"

"Liz? John?"

She whirled around as soon as Evans's voice reached her ears, her shoulders sagging in relief. As he appeared at the end of the hall, she hurried toward him.

"I've been looking for you," he said, then glanced at his brother who watched them silently. "John? Are you all right?"

Jonathan smiled and nodded. "I was just showing Elizabeth my paintings." He gestured at the Golden Hind.

"Oh."

"Your brother makes some of the most wonderful paintings I've ever seen." She sent him a pleading look. Take me away from him!

Thankfully, Evans understood. He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. "I'm getting hungry again. How about we grab some snack from the kitchen before we take a look at the rest of the castle?"

"Gladly!" was Elizabeth's swift reply. Evans chuckled again, and after excusing himself from Jonathan, he took her hand and led her out of the gallery in silence.

Once they were out of Jonathan's sight, Evans spoke. "He told you something weird, didn't he?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it weird."

"Crazy, then."

She grimaced and nodded. "Was he always like that?"

Evans sighed as they returned to the great hall. "Ever since our parents died. I told you, didn't I? My brother had never been whole since that incident."

Elizabeth bit her lower lip. She didn't want to ask this of Evans, but Jonathan's story was too bizarre for her not to investigate. "Do you remember anything from the storm?"

He snorted. "Aside from wetting myself and sobbing? No. I doubt I would, and neither do I want to."

She didn't press him after that. It was a wound that shouldn't be prodded, and she wouldn't hurt him by being persistent over something that may just be Jonathan's hallucinations.

After all, the Golden Hind wasn't a World War II warship. It was unlikely she would be reborn as well.

…Right?

###

For the rest of the day, she toured the castle with Evans. The indoor swimming pool was definitely her favorite, especially after Evans murmured to her ear that he wanted to see her in a swimsuit, but she also enjoyed the massive garden with its four gazebos and duck pond. She could see herself and Evans just lying on the grass at night, staring at the stars while snuggling against each other.

By dinner, Jonathan was back to his usual self, without any trace of his strange behavior earlier. He was smiling and laughing as he talked with Evans, and he looked just like a normal elder brother would.

During a lull in their conversation, he asked Elizabeth, "I heard that your older brother is an admiral. Is that true?"

"A rear-admiral," Elizabeth answered. "He's Devonport's base commander."

"Interesting." He took a sip of his wine. "That means he's working for the First Sea Lord, isn't he?" He smiled. "I've had the honor of meeting Sir Lucius Bailey twice so far. The last one was two years ago during a business conference, I think. How is he?"

Elizabeth hesitated, searching Jonathan's face for any hint of his motives behind such a peculiar question. The Admiralty was suspicious of her and her kind's identities, but Jonathan seemed sincere enough, even if he wasn't exactly right in the head.

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "Noah doesn't often talk about the finer details of his work. I believe he had a meeting with the Navy Board three months ago, but he didn't say anything about the First Sea Lord."

"Ah." Jonathan nodded, and went back to his food without pressing her on the matter.

After dinner, Elizabeth excused herself from the table. Though she possessed stamina four times that of a human, it had been a long day and she wanted to rest.

Evans kissed her good night before she left. One of the maids, a cheerful brown-haired girl of about 17 named Alina, guided Elizabeth to her room. At night, the castle's corridors were dark and eerie. Their footsteps echoed its empty vastness, and while Elizabeth wasn't superstitious, she found herself glancing over her shoulder every few minutes.

"How many people lives here?" she asked aloud. It wasn't meant for anyone in particular, but Alina still looked at her.

"Hmm? Oh, not a lot. Aside from Master Jonathan and Master Evans, there's just me and the other maids, and a few guards. 25 people, more or less."

Guards. Elizabeth had seen some of them while touring the castle. They mostly kept to the grounds and the walls, armed with assault rifles. Evans said they were there as protection.

They passed a corridor identical to the others crisscrossing the expansive first floor. The labyrinthine area was confusing enough, and Elizabeth was certain that she would have been completely lost without someone to help her navigate it.

She was just about to follow Alina into the corridor that led to the great hall when she heard the distant pounding.

Elizabeth paused, listening with a frown. "Is there construction going on here?"

Alina stopped, looking at her in confusion. "Pardon?"

"I heard some pounding."

"Pounding?" The maid cocked her head to listen for a moment, then shook it. "I don't hear anything, ma'am. And I'm certain there's nothing being repaired in the castle at the moment."

"Ah." Elizabeth could have sworn she had heard something; her hearing was too sharp for her to have mistaken it.

But Alina didn't seem to believe her. Elizabeth chuckled. "I'm sorry. I must be really exhausted."

"All the more reason for you to rest, then."

As Alina turned away, however, Elizabeth glanced behind her toward a dark corridor. She had passed it earlier, but Jonathan told her it just led to the cellar.

Elizabeth was certain that the pounding came from there.

###

Staying in the MacQuaid estate was a luxury that Elizabeth didn't expect to experience in her life, even if this was just a vacation.

Her morning began with Alina waking her up for breakfast, when Elizabeth would take a bath in her private bath room—an extravagant chamber with a tub large enough for four people—assisted by three maids, including Alina.

Elizabeth resisted at first; she didn't want to be a bother so early in the morning, and she wasn't used to being served, especially not by three maids. But Alina said that Evans had made it imperative, and there was little else Elizabeth could do other than to allow herself to be pampered.

It wasn't a bad thing, if she was going to be honest. One of the maids, mostly Alina, followed her wherever, catering to her whims and needs. And while it was uncomfortable for the first few days, Elizabeth eventually grew used to it.

The first week went by, and it was a truly magical week. Evans took her to a lot of places for sightseeing, both within and around Wales. If they weren't cuddling in the lawn or indulging in the delicious meals prepared by Beatrice and Anastasia, they were either sailing, para-gliding, or just driving around the city.

Elizabeth saw little of Jonathan during those days. Clients had been hounding him for updates on their shipments, or so Evans said, and the older MacQuaid was pressed to accommodate all enquiries while dealing with the issues his company faced daily.

The topic about the woman in the painting was never discussed again, but the sound Elizabeth had heard on the first night of her stay still bothered her. Once, when no one was looking, she tried to investigate that corridor. But all she found was a locked door that refused to budge. She considered using her full strength to pry it open, but thought of the consequences and decided to let it be until she found the right opportunity.

On her second week, she rang home to check on Noah and the others. The conversation with Elisa was short, but Elizabeth was glad that everything was doing well.

One night during dinner, ten days after Elizabeth's arrival, Jonathan made an announcement.

"We will be having a party!" he said with a broad smile. Alina clapped enthusiastically, and Evans had a startled look on his face, but it was Beatrice's reaction that Elizabeth found curious.

She was trembling.

"Our guests will be arriving next week," Jonathan continued. "And since we have lots of spare rooms, I thought it would be best if we let some of them stay here." He looked at Evans. "Are you and Liz all right with that?"

Evans shrugged. "You are the lord of the castle. It's always your call."

"A lord without a title," Jonathan chuckled.

"What's this party for?" Elizabeth asked, spearing a slice of salmon with her silver fork.

"It's for our loyal clients," Jonathan said. "We invite them so everyone can socialize and form connections. It's our way of giving thanks while also promoting everyone's businesses to each other."

"Everyone's required to wear a suit or a dress," Evans murmured to her with amusement in his eyes.

Elizabeth smiled, glad that she had brought her white dress. Still, she would probably go shopping just in case.

"Ah, Beatrice. Can you grab that platter of potatoes and bring it here for me?"

"Certainly, Master Jonathan."

She brought the platter to Jonathan. As she was retracting her hand, Jonathan smiled and gently squeezed it.

"Thank you, Beatrice."

Evans was not looking, his gaze fixed on his plate, but Elizabeth didn't miss the way Beatrice flinched before stepping back, her head bowed.

###

The next day, the preparations started.

Elizabeth made sure to stay away from everyone's way, especially the maids. The castle was suddenly alive with activity—a far cry from the usual emptiness she was used to during the past week.

Evans was assisting Jonathan, sorting out guest lists, enquiring about the various catering services and hotels around Colwyn Bay, and choosing which rooms could be lent. Most of the guests would be arriving by land, but there were some who would come from the sea on their private yachts.

She and Evans rarely saw each other during the day, but Elizabeth didn't mind. The library was cozy enough and filled with so many books that she wouldn't suffer from boredom just staying inside it.

On the 12th day of her arrival here, a yacht arrived.

Elizabeth watched from the castle as Jonathan greeted the guests personally on the docks. She was too far to hear their conversation, but her enhanced eyesight allowed her to glimpse the faces, even if they were quite blurry.

There were probably a dozen of them, all burly men save for the apparent leader who shook hands with Jonathan. Elizabeth tilted her head curiosly. Jonathan had surrounded himself with more guards than usual, and the guests themselves were armed as well. She knew precautions were necessary, but this seemed too much.

Troubled, she waited until they arrived. Evans invited her to meet them, and she didn't refuse. It would be nice to see more of her boyfriend's family's business dealings, a way for her to learn from observing others.

A lunch was prepared at the great hall. Wearing a casual polka-dotted white blouse with a red skirt, Elizabeth descended the staircase, one arm hooked with Evans's. The conversation had already started, and she could hear Jonathan's chuckling mixing with the melodious timbre of his client's voice.

Jonathan glanced up at the sound of her and Evans's footsteps. "Ah, here they are. Meet my brother, Evans—"

A French stood up. Tall, white-haired, handsome. But his lips were frozen in a permanent scowl, and his dark eyes seemed to roam over Elizabeth's body. Elizabeth gave Evans a brief glance.

He was not smiling.

"—And his girlfriend, Elizabeth," Jonathan finished. The French immediately turned away.

"Je pensais qu'elle était l'une d'entre elles," he said.

Elizabeth smiled. "Dont l'un, Monsieur?"

There was silence for a moment as both men's gazes were drawn back to her. Jonathan quirked an eyebrow at Evans. "I didn't know she speaks French."

"You never asked," his brother said.

The French bowed. "Forgive me for my presumptions, Mademoiselle. I am Blanc, a merchant."

"And an excellent business partner," Jonathan said.

Elizabeth dipped her chin. "Apologies accepted, Mr. Blanc."

They were soon seated around the table. As the two resumed eating, Elizabeth's gaze drifted to the men scattered around the room. Six belonged to Jonathan's retinue, and six more from Blanc. Both groups were unarmed, both were staring warily at each other like dogs.

She took a bite of roast lamb and listened quietly to the conversation. Jonathan and Blanc were now speaking in French, seemingly forgetting that she could understand them.

"The Mistress wants the shipment by next week," Blanc was saying, soft but tinged with impatience. "Any more delays and we will have to cut off our deal with you."

"It was only delayed once. Our cargo ships weren't built to cross storms," Jonathan said.

Blanc scoffed. "One delay was enough. If you miss the deadline—"

"I won't," Jonathan vowed. "But if I send that shipment, will I finally have a meeting with her?"

"That depends on the quality of the goods."

"Rest assured, they are fresh and ripe. You could even try one yourself tonight."

Blanc grunted, but said nothing. As silence descended once more on the table, Elizabeth concentrated on her food. She glanced at Evans. He didn't join the conversation, and he refused to look up from his plate, simply nodding and responding briefly whenever Jonathan addressed him.

When lunch was finished and Jonathan and Blanc moved to the office to discuss their deal, she dragged Evans to a quiet corner and asked, "Be honest. Is there something I should know?"

Evans didn't meet her gaze. Elizabeth waited, but when a minute passed and he still didn't reply, she sighed. "All right. If you don't want to tell me—"

"It's not that I don't want to tell you," he said, finally looking at her. "I just can't because… I don't know."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

He nodded. "I'm not privy to some of his transactions. He won't even tell me how many clients we have."

"But you are helping him manage the company."

"Only on the surface. John lets me handle new clients, but he never tells me where we are getting them or even how we are getting them."

She stared at him with absolute incredulity. His eyes were sincere enough, which made this even more confusing and suspicious. There was something off putting about the way Jonathan and Blanc talked earlier.

"Are you worried?" Evans asked, touching her elbow gently.

"I just found that man… unnerving." Especially with the way he looked at her.

Evans grunted. "I wanted to punch him, honestly. But I didn't want to humiliate Jonathan."

Not to mention the guards. Elizabeth was confident she could defend herself and Evans if the need arose, but that would mean revealing her true identity. She couldn't let that happen, both for her family and friends' sake and Evans's as well.

"Promise me you'll be careful around your brother's clients," she murmured wrapping her arms around him. "Especially that French."

With a smile, Evans pressed her lips on her forehead.

###

That night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, Elizabeth slipped out of her room and dialed the Dallimore estate's number.

There were only two phones in the castle. One was in Jonathan's office, while the other was in the kitchen, a few doors away from the maids' quarters. There was a chance Elizabeth would be caught if someone enters, but she was willing to risk it.

As she waited for someone to pick up from the other line, she strained her ears to listen for any footsteps. It was almost 10 PM, so the maids should be asleep.

"Dallimore Estate," a sleepy voice, Warspite's, said. "Who's ringing?"

"Edith," Elizabeth whispered, her eyes fixed on the door that led to the dining hall as she crouched low behind a table.

"Sister? Why are you cal—"

"Listen, I don't have time. I need you to send a message to Noah. Tell him if he could find anything about—"

"Jonathan MacQuaid and Tempest Shipping?" Warspite interrupted. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.

"You know something?"

"Yes. Noah has been investigating him and the company since you left."

"Investigating?" She couldn't help her voice rising a bit. "What do you mean? And why didn't Elisa told me when I rang last week?"

"Because Noah told her not to." There was hesitation in Warspite's voice. "His wife was a journalist, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, she was investigating Tempest Shipping before she went missing."

The floor beneath Elizabeth seemed to tilt. She grabbed the kitchen counter for support. That locked door. That sound she had heard on her first night here.

"Sister?" Warspite asked worriedly.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. She had to focus. "I'm all right. What has Noah found so far?"

"Nothing conclusive yet, but he believes that Tempest Shipping is involved with piracy."

Blanc. Elizabeth cursed silently in her mind. Of course, that was it. The goods he and Jonathan were talking about were probably stolen, to be sold at a high price in the black market.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance. Elizabeth whipped her head to the door, eyes wide. "Someone's coming. Listen, I'll see what I can find here. I don't trust Evans's brother."

"What do you mean?"

The footsteps were getting closer. Two minutes, perhaps less. "I'll explain when I get back. Tell Noah and Elisa not to worry about me. I love you all."

"But—"

Elizabeth put the receiver back on the cradle and stepped back just as the door opened.

Cliffhanger! XD

So let's talk about this chapter for a bit.

I did say hints of Azur Lane lore in the previous chapter, right? But more than that, we are finally getting answers to the plot points established in the first few chapters. And we are transitioning into a more serious tone.

A fair warning: the next 3-5 chapters will be quite dark and wrill deal with some heavy themes. I will update the tags as I post these chapters, so there will probably be mild spoilers.

Anyway, we are almost done! Only 10 chapters to go before we hit the sequel.

As always, thank you for the support!

Translation:

Je pensais qu'elle était l'une d'entre elles - I thought she was one of them

Dont l'un, Monsieur? - One of whom, sir?