As roses keep following me, I reach the address written on the piece of paper. Beyond the iron gate, there is a four-story Georgian townhouse of weathered sandstone; it's Cavendish's residence. I spot someone standing alone on the balcony. He isn't drinking, nor speaking with anyone—just silently watching the horizon. He clearly isn't a servant: he wears several rings, and servants are meant to appear 'clean'. Yet he isn't dressed like an aristocrat either; no formal tails or embroidered waistcoat. I sense a square shape bulging from his pocket—doesn't seem a wallet, more likely a small notebook. He must be the detective Victoria told me about.
I need to enter, and I don't see anyone nearby; I need to gain his attention.
"Detective!" I say while waving my arm. It doesn't seem to work. I sigh—I won't scream more than I already did, so... A few moments later, a small rock flies directly in front of his eyes, forcing him to exit from his spacing-out state; when he does, I repeat my previous action and he finally notices me.
"Kid! What are you do—" "I'm Nathae Hanover. I need to enter." He freezes for a moment—probably because he realized he was scolding royalty. Not that I care about formalities. I mean, sure, they taught me a lot about how to act, how to speak, how to properly refer to people and... I genuinely think it serves no real purpose. It saves me time and energy not applying formalities more than what's necessary. It's not like people can really tell me much about it regardless—admittedly, I might abuse my social status a bit for this. Anyway, he apologizes and goes to call someone.
Eventually, a valet reaches the gate and, after several attempts to find the right key, he opens it for me. Seems like he is new. He bows and speaks,"I'm terribly sorry, Lady Nathae, but... have you business in this area? There was a murder, so..." He stops briefly. "But of course, you are welcome!" "I'm aware of the murder. I'm here because Victoria told me to help." He seems speechless—either because he didn't expect me to be here for this purpose or because I informally referred to Victoria. Likely both.
"Please come in then..." "Thanks." I walk through the garden. It's immaculately kept: there is a marble fountain in the centre, and the flowers around are perfectly symmetrical. I can smell the aroma of lavenders, peonies, and digitalis—the latter being slightly weaker than the rest. I also make a mental note that digitalis contain poison.
We reach the entrance and, as expected, I see some people gathered here: the detective, two maids, a butler, two police officers, Duchess Selene Montclair, Lady Honoria Ashcombe, and Lord Percival Ashcombe. I never met them, but I know their names. And of course, the valet who walked with me just now. After several introductions and greetings, the valet explains to them why I'm here. I can sense strong surprise from everyone, but not all let it show. "Is everyone here?" The valet replies, "Lady Nathae, yes—everyone who was at yesterday's house party is currently here." Oh, so it happened during a meeting of some sort? I see. "Good. Is it possible to see the corpse?" The two maids look at each other. Then one replies "This way, Lady. Please follow us."
As I walk with them, I notice they have similar traits—their noses and hands have a similar shape. There's a good chance they are sisters. One keeps herself better. They both have beautiful hair, styled the same way. I think they help each other with that every morning. The difference, though, can be seen in their nails. One bites hers—she clearly doesn't do it in front of people, but her nails clearly speak. This one is also a bit taller... If I had to guess, I would say she is the older one, and she bites her nails out of stress—maybe because the younger one recently joined her at the job and is inexperienced, so the older one has to cover up her mistakes. I can't say for sure, though.
"Lady... Lord Cavendish is beyond this door," says the younger sister as she searches for the key in her pockets. She takes out the same ring with all the keys attached that the valet had, and like he did before, it takes her some time to find the right one. But before she can, the older one interrupts and unlocks the door herself. "How many keys of this room are there?" "Each servant has one. There's also Lord Cavendish's, it's inside the room on the desk." "Inside? Did someone move it?" "Not that I'm aware. The last person who had it was Lord Cavendish." "Did he lock himself inside?" "From what I can tell, yes. The window was locked from inside too... But of course, every servant could have unlocked the door." ...It means that if the servants aren't involved in the homicide, it might result in a perfect closed room. For some reason, it gives me goosebumps. "But... If you permit, I can assure you the servants haven't done anything. We were all occupied with the dinner for the house party." "I see. So just to be clear—no one aside from Cavendish, you two, the valet who walked me in, and the butler could open this, right?" "Yes, Lady. I can assure you no one else who was present could open this door." "Wait, sister... The valet couldn't open this." "Don't tell me... You forgot to give him the key." "I'm sorry..."
I replay the memory of when he was opening the gate for me—yeah, he didn't have that key. "He seemed to have your same ring of keys, though." The older sister looks at me after calming down a bit. "Lady, since it's Lord Cavendish's bedroom—his personal space—we can open it only if it's an emergency. And therefore, we don't give it to newcomers. My sister is an exception, though." She turns to her. "She has been here for a year, so she was given the key, but she works like a newcomer!" Her sister lowers her gaze out of shame, but she wasn't scolding her because she was angry. She just wants her to be better at her job. The tone of her voice didn't come out with anger—it would have been louder. Also, angry people tend to make shorter sentences.
Anyhow, I decide to look inside the room. The corpse doesn't have bruises or cuts—I should check to make sure, though. I also see he vomited on the floor before dying, and there is a glass with wine. "I wanna be alone." The sisters don't reply right away, but the younger one is looking at the older as if to say, 'Can we?' So I decide to look at them. "You really should." The younger has a stronger reaction—she has a degree of fear now. The older too—she doesn't let it show, but it's obvious. She is supposed to say something at this point, but she is still thinking on how to act. 'Should I really let an outsider alone with the corpse of my Lord? It would be somewhat disrespectful. But she is royalty—I can't reject her requests.' This usually happens when you have to obey two different people and they give you contradictory orders. And when it happens, that person generally picks the highest authority over the two... "I really apologize, Lady Nathae, we can't let you stay alone. Not even the detective and the officers were alone with the corpse. Please understand our position." ...And here you have your exception. "It's fine. I shouldn't have asked in the first place." "No, please, there is no need, Lady." She bows.
I walk inside the room. I can see he vomited more than once—one on the floor and one on the bed. "Do you mind if I touch the corpse?" "Please, I'll do it for you, Lady." It's the older one again. I ask her to show me specific parts of the body to check if there are wounds of any kind—it appears not. "It's a guess, but... By any chance, did the detective say he died by natural cause?" "That's correct, Lady Nathae." "He isn't completely wrong—I mean, there are no wounds and the room was locked. You also told me you servants were busy with the party, meaning this would be a closed-room murder."
She looks at me doubtfully. Of course, she understands what a closed-room murder is, but she might not understand where I'm going with this. "Assuming you servants actually stayed downstairs the whole time, and the door and window were both locked... then no human, except for him, could enter or exit the room." "Lady Nathae... Does it mean... he actually died from natural causes?" "He died from heart attack." "I understand... Thank you for confirming... We'll inform the detective that you agree with his version." "No. He died by heart attack, sure—but it was induced." "...Induced?" "It's since I entered that... Alongside wine and vomit, I smell digitalis."