Chapter 50

“Hic… hngh… Ah, Mr. Elwin. I am so sorry. I… I…”

Upon finding Elwin, Selena’s weeping redoubled in its raw, sorrowful intensity. Driven by a steadfast sense of chivalry, Elwin found it intolerable to witness a vulnerable woman break down in such distress.

“Miss Selena, please. I am unharmed,” he murmured, his voice softening. “Why do you weep so bitterly? Let us have some warm tea while you compose yourself.”

At his gentle entreaty, Selena struggled to choke back her sobs, though her frame continued to shudder violently as she replied, “No… Mr. Elwin. If you knew the depth of my transgressions… you would never speak to me with such kindness.”

In her trembling hand—which had not ceased its frantic shaking—she clutched a sealed envelope. She bit her lip raw, hesitating as if suspended over an abyss, before she finally seemed to steel her resolve.

“I must confess everything,” she whispered. “There is a magistrate in town, is there not? I will take this letter to him and submit my confession.”

“That letter?” Elwin asked.

“Yes,” she said, her gaze dropping. “To you, Mr. Elwin… I cannot bear to speak the words aloud.”

Selena’s countenance was graver than he had ever seen it. The document she held was likely an indictment of another’s crimes, or perhaps a formal confession of her own. Elwin felt a sudden, cold certainty that its contents directly concerned him. If her guilt stemmed merely from passing herself off as a noblewoman, she would not be suffering under such a crushing weight of remorse.

Curiosity and apprehension parched his throat.

He considered pressing her for the truth, but the sight of her stayed his hand.

Selena’s lips had turned a sickly blue, and the vibrant color that once animated her cheeks had vanished entirely. Lacking any cruel streak, Elwin could not bring himself to interrogate her further.

“I shall depart for the town immediately,” Selena stammered. “The carriage… no, that will take too long. Should I walk? If you doubt my intentions, you may send a guard to escort me.”

She was already behaving as though she were a condemned criminal. Unwilling to send her alone, Elwin cast about for a suitable companion—someone who would not intimidate her, yet whom he could implicitly trust. His eyes fell upon Leon, who had been quietly observing the exchange from a distance.

“Mr. Leon, could I prevail upon you to accompany Miss Selena to the town?”

Leon gave a prompt, respectful nod. “If it is your wish, young master, then of course I shall.”

“Thank you. I will have the carriage readied for you both.”

Glancing at Selena, Elwin noted a flicker of relief cross her pale features at the mention of Leon’s company. He looked down at her with a heavy mixture of suspicion and profound pity.

“I remain ignorant of your misdeeds, Miss Selena,” he said quietly.

“…”

“But the fact that you choose to confess before any accusation has been made proves your bravery. Because of that, I cannot believe you are a person who would repeat such errors.”

At his gentle absolution, Selena’s tears flowed anew, spilling down her cheeks in absolute silence.

Shortly after her departure, Dale returned from the annex. His face was still drawn and pale, prompting Elwin to inquire carefully, “Did you retrieve the luggage from the hired coach?”

Though the question sounded mundane, the subtext was clear: Was Dwight truly the second son of the baron?

Dale offered a solemn nod, catching the unspoken query instantly. “I retrieved it without incident, young master. However… where is the guest who accompanied Lord Dwight?”

“Mr. Leon? An urgent matter arose, and he has escorted someone to town.”

Dale sank into a momentary silence before pressing further. “Young master, have you had an opportunity to review the ledgers I prepared?”

“I have. They are meticulously organized, Dale. You have worked tirelessly; please, take the rest of the day to recuperate.”

“Ah, no,” Dale replied quickly, preparing to set out once more despite his obvious exhaustion. “I must make a brief excursion to the town post office myself.”

Elwin’s thoughts snarled further.

From their very first meeting today, Dale had behaved with conspicuous suspicion. Was Dale intending to intercept Leon? If Dwight’s noble lineage was legitimate, what continued to trouble the loyal servant? And what was the nature of Selena’s dark secret?

There are too many missing pieces, Elwin realized, a cold dread pooling in his stomach. Where did I lose the thread of this deception?

Ominous premonitions, he knew, were rarely false.

Barely minutes after Dale’s departure, one of the footmen stationed outside Dwight’s chambers in the annex crossed the courtyard and knocked hurriedly on Elwin’s door.

“Young master, do we have permission to search Lord Dwight’s belongings? He insists we retrieve something for him.”

The footman spoke casually, but Elwin’s instincts flared. “What exactly does he require?”

“He claims to be grievously ill. He began groaning about a chronic ailment, calling repeatedly for Mr. Alfred, and then demanded his medicine. I intended to make a cursory search to appease him, but given his station, I thought it best to seek your counsel first.”

Elwin had never heard mention of any chronic illness regarding Dwight. His suspicions deepened into alarm. Was Dwight attempting to scatter the guards to facilitate an escape from the estate?

Yet, such a desperate ploy seemed nonsensical. Even if Dwight was guilty of some misconduct, he remained the heir to a barony. If he wished to depart, he had only to declare it; the household staff would never dare detain a nobleman by force.

He demanded Mr. Alfred first, and then dispatched a guard to the main house…

A sudden, horrifying realization struck Elwin like a physical blow, sending a shiver of pure ice down his spine.

He bolted from his chair.

“I must get to the annex. Where is Mr. Isaac? And Mr. Alfred?”

As he lunged down the grand staircase, a bloodcurdling shriek pierced the quiet of the estate from the gardens below.

“Aaaah! Mr. Alfred!”

At the desperate cry, Elwin broke into a sprint, the terrified household staff streaming close behind him. When they burst into the manicured gardens, the assembled servants froze, paralyzed by the horrific spectacle before them.

Dwight, Isaac, and Alfred stood near the edge of the lawn. Or rather, Alfred was barely upright. Severe, dark bruising disfigured the elderly butler’s face, his lips were split and trailing blood, and though conscious, he was entirely unable to support his own weight. He was being dragged like a carcass.

Dwight—unmistakably the author of this violence—held the frail old man in a brutal chokehold. He was retreating step by step, a small fruit knife pressed firmly against the hollow beneath Alfred’s jaw.

“Stay back, all of you!” Dwight shrieked, his voice cracking with hysteria.

The murmuring servants fell instantly silent. Isaac stood slightly ahead of him, brandishing a dagger with a nervous, desperate bravado. “You heard the lord! Keep your distance if you value the old man’s life!”

Elwin stared in utter disbelief. What possible reason could the second son of a baron have to resort to the crude, desperate tactics of a highwayman?

“Are you deaf?” Dwight screamed, his entire frame trembling with a manic, unpredictable energy. “One step closer and I carve his throat!”

The weapon in his hand was merely a small fruit knife taken from the guest chambers. It was a flimsy blade, incapable of inflicting a deep stab wound, but in his unstable, trembling grip, a sudden spasm could easily slice the old butler’s carotid artery.

The mystery of Dwight’s motives would have to wait. The primary objective was to defuse the volatile situation before blood was spilled.

As the servants carefully retreated, Elwin remained stationary, lowering his center of gravity and adopting a non-threatening posture.

“Mr. Dwight, please. Calm yourself. There is no need for such violence.”

“Shut your mouth!” Dwight roared, his eyes wild.

Though his own pulse hammered violently in his ears, Elwin took a measured, imperceptible step forward. “Whatever it is you desire, I will grant it. Only release Mr. Alfred first, and we can negotiate.”

“Do not play me for a fool! Do you think there is anything in this pathetic house that I value?”

As he spoke, Dwight shifted his grip, revealing a thick leather satchel tucked securely under his arm. Elwin’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the pouch, but Dwight’s manic shouting drowned out his thoughts.

“Move away! I said move! I want nothing but to rid myself of this wretched place!”

Retreating steadily, Dwight reached the edge of the stables near the front gate. He cast a frantic glance backward and spat at the trembling stableboy, “You! Out of the way!”

“Ah… I…”

“Get out, or I will open a spillway in his neck!”

Terrified, the stableboy scrambled aside.

Acting on what was clearly a prearranged plan, Isaac dashed into the stables and emerged leading two saddled horses. Once mounted, they would be beyond the estate’s grasp. Elwin and the guards knew they had to intervene, yet the blade resting against Alfred’s throat kept them utterly immobile.

However, the elderly butler, who had dedicated his entire life to the service of the count’s house, was made of sterner stuff.

Aroused by the frantic whinnying of the horses, Alfred seemed to regain a desperate focus. With a sudden, explosive surge of strength, the old man began to thrash violently in Dwight’s grasp.

“Ugh! Quiet, you miserable old fool!”

Dwight panicked. He hesitated to actually plunge the blade, instinctively pulling it back to avoid committing murder, yet the friction of Alfred’s wild struggles still drew a thin, crimson line across the butler’s throat. Despite the lethal peril, Alfred clawed frantically at the leather satchel clutched in Dwight’s left hand.

In that instant, Elwin realized precisely what was contained within that satchel. A wave of glacial dread washed over him as Isaac brought the horses alongside.

“My lord, take the reins—”

“Curse it all! Isaac, handle this old bastard!”

Dwight violently snatched the reins from Isaac’s hand with his left, and with his right, he brutally shoved Alfred away. The elderly butler, exhausted by his brief exertion, collapsed heavily into Isaac.

The collision threw Isaac off balance.

As they went down in a tangled heap, Isaac’s dagger slipped from his fingers and clattered across the stone path.

Every servant on the lawn recognized the opening instantly.

“Mr. Alfred!”

“Secure the blade!”

Elwin and the footmen surged forward as one. Elwin stomped on the fallen dagger, kicking it far out of reach, while the staff swarmed to protect Alfred and pin Isaac to the earth. Isaac flailed weakly, but without his weapon, he was quickly subdued.

Yet, in those precious seconds, Dwight had already vaulted into the saddle. Exhibiting a cold-blooded willingness to abandon his accomplice, he spurred the beast mercilessly.

The horse, accustomed to Dwight’s commands from their daily rides, bolted instantly. Within heartbeats, horse and rider cleared the estate gates, leaving only a billowing cloud of dust in their wake.

“No…”

Elwin stared at the rising dust, his chest heaving with a mixture of despair and mounting panic. He wanted to give chase immediately, but Alfred’s condition demanded his attention first.

The servants gently raised the battered butler. Alfred’s face was bruised and swollen, and the shallow cut on his neck bled freely, but the agony etched across his features was born of sheer desperation, reminiscent of the day they learned of the count’s passing.

“Young master… you must pursue him,” Alfred gasped, clawing weakly at Elwin’s sleeve. “What he took… it is exactly what you think…”

Elwin’s head spun with vertigo. There was no time to lose. He vaulted onto the remaining horse that Isaac had brought.

“Summon the physician and alert the local magistrate immediately!” Elwin commanded the staff, his voice ringing with absolute authority. “Bind Isaac securely until the authorities arrive, and get Mr. Alfred inside. Now!”

Without waiting for a reply, Elwin dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and charged out of the courtyard.

Following the fresh, deeply gouged hoofprints, Elwin tore down the path. Though the tracks soon vanished beneath a thick carpet of fallen autumn leaves, Elwin did not hesitate. He knew precisely where Dwight was heading.

The railway station.

Dwight’s insistence on taking frequent, unaccompanied rides had not been mere recreation; he had been scouting the escape routes.

If he reaches the station, he intends to board the train. And the train departing at this hour…

An avid enthusiast of railway logistics, Elwin memorized the local timetables. As the realization struck him, his face drained of all color.

Today was the day of the direct express to the capital.

For all of Dwight’s elaborate deceptions, his claim of traveling to the capital had been entirely true. If he managed to board that locomotive, he would escape. The next direct line would not run for another week. In the vast, teeming metropolis of the capital, a man with Dwight’s resources could vanish into the crowd forever.

I must catch him, Elwin thought, urges of desperation driving him forward as he urged his mount to its absolute limits..