Chapter 129
The building, charred black, was a monstrosity unto itself. Mod furrowed her brows anxiously as she looked upon the face of her young mistress, who somehow seemed not merely shocked, but utterly despairing.
The young lawyer, known only as Mr. Turner, was a familiar face even to the servant Albert, let alone Mod. And for good reason—he had been the late Lady Rosalyn’s personal lawyer. Even after her death, he had come and gone through the mansion looking for Sasha, so he was a man whose face was known to everyone in the household.
“……My lady!”
Sasha, who had been standing blankly, suddenly darted forward. Albert and Mod hurriedly followed after her.
The alley was eerily silent. Even accounting for it being a sparsely populated alley, it was so. Albert belatedly looked around, his nerves on edge. Then he locked eyes with an old woman who was poking her head out of a window as if to watch. The moment her eyes met Albert’s, the old woman hastily shut and latched the window.
Mod moved urgently, almost running, after Sasha. Before long, the completely burned-down building was right before them.
“Miss! You mustn’t go in! Please wait……!”
Mod spoke urgently before stopping. She jerked her body backward and halted just before colliding with her mistress’s small back. The young mistress stood stock still, looking up at the building with an expressionless face for quite some time.
“……It’s a relief it wasn’t a wooden building.”
Sasha muttered, breaking her long silence. Mod hesitated before cautiously standing at Sasha’s side. Then she peered into the first floor’s interior, burned beyond recognition, with a dumbfounded face.
“Miss!”
“The stairs are fine, Mod. I’m just going to check.”
Sasha climbed the stone stairs regardless of whether Mod followed. The stairs had at least maintained their shape, though even they were completely black from the ash. Upon reaching the entrance to the second floor, Mod was assaulted by a terrible stench of burning that pierced deep into her nose.
Sasha, walking ahead, pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and thrust it at Mod. Then she pressed her own handkerchief beneath her nose and surveyed the door.
The door was nearly half-destroyed, so the interior was somewhat visible. Though not as bad as the bakery on the first floor, it was a miserable sight.
Nothing intact could be seen no matter how one looked, yet Sasha stood at the entrance gazing inside for a long while with an inscrutable face. As if searching for something.
“My lady.”
Albert’s voice was heard; they had been wondering where he had gone. Sasha and Mod turned their heads simultaneously toward the sound. The servant Albert stood at the bottom of the stone stairs with the old woman from earlier.
According to the old woman’s explanation, the fire had broken out in the early morning while everyone was asleep. Fortunately, rain had poured down before the flames spread to the neighboring buildings, but even so, the building had burned down entirely.
The baker who worked on the first floor had gone somewhere that day to settle matters with the building owner, and the lawyer who had run his office on the second floor had not been seen at all since—no one knew where he had gone. Even the assistant staff from the office, who used to greet the old woman warmly every day, had not come by even once since then.
That a fire of this magnitude hadn’t been reported in the newspapers. Sasha thought this before soon letting out a hollow laugh. No, the fire had probably been reported in some small corner. But everyone would have only read the article on the front page about the fake heiress who had boldly appeared at the charity auction. Even Sasha herself had been no different.
Sasha calmly confirmed from the old woman exactly when the fire had occurred. It had been two days ago. The dawn of the day when Sasha had been preparing for that charity auction, the lawyer’s office had burned to ash.
Sasha recalled the face of Miss Lytton, who had come to the event in question with a composed expression, intending to take her away.
“……Let’s go back.”
Sasha soon led Albert and Mod out of the alley as though this was enough to resolve the question. They boarded the carriage again.
Charles raised his eyebrows quizzically upon seeing the three return with grave faces, but soon cracked his whip after confirming everyone had boarded.
Only after the carriage set off did Albert, seated beside him, open his mouth.
“About the lawyer.”
“Ah, him. Why? Surely he didn’t slight the mistress?”
“No, his whole office burned down.”
Albert turned his head from facing forward and spoke again to Charles, who thrust his chin out as if to say, “What?”
“Well, when we went to find him, the whole building was burned down, I tell you. The fortunate thing is that it happened in the middle of the night while everyone was asleep.”
“……When exactly?”
“Two days ago. Exactly two days ago.”
It was certainly a bizarre situation, but they had no information to even speculate on such conspiracies, so they fell silent. They were merely employees. If anyone knew the circumstances of the mansion well, it was the butler Jason, if anyone.
Albert thought as far as that and opened his mouth.
“But Mr. Jason doesn’t seem to know everything either, for a butler. Then again, would Mr. Theodore know?”
Albert’s shallow conjecture could not continue further. Feeling his foot being firmly stepped on, Albert quickly shut his mouth. The rear window opened, and Mod shouted for the carriage to stop.
When they stopped, it happened to be a place where stagecoaches passed by. Sasha got down from the mansion’s carriage with Mod and spoke.
“……There is a place we need to stop by on the way.”
Sasha alternated her gaze between Albert and Charles, whose faces showed confusion, and continued.
“We need to change carriages. We’re taking a stagecoach. So……”
“I’ll go with you. Albert, take the carriage back to the mansion.”
Charles naturally pressed the whip into Albert’s hand.
“Hm? Me? No, you’re the coachman.”
“You can drive a carriage too.”
……Hm? That’s true, but.
Albert held the whip with a bewildered face, watching as Charles and Mod escorted Sasha onto a stagecoach.
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The maid Mod tactfully moved to the coachman’s seat so Sasha could organize her thoughts alone. The stagecoach driver, who had inadvertently set off with Charles and Mod seated on either side of him, could not hide his absurd expression, but soon clicked his tongue after arbitrarily deciding that someone quite peculiar must be riding inside, and started the carriage.
The carriage arrived at Punch Street in the old district, near the center of the capital, not far from St. Petrium Square. It was an area where the townhouses of nobles were packed rather densely.
The carriage stopped in front of a building with a rather glossy, splendid air even among Punch Street. Hayden House. It was Caroline’s own home, where she stayed whenever she came to the capital.
Not long after the knock, a housekeeper of considerable age appeared. She alternated bewildered looks between Sasha, Charles, and Mod, but upon seeing Sasha, she quickly realized and promptly made way for them to enter. She seemed to have recognized Sasha.
“Guests at this hour? Who is it, Lana?”
A young woman’s sharp voice was heard from above the stairs near the entrance. The housekeeper Lana, having the visitor right before her, could not answer immediately and hesitated for a moment, but soon hurried footsteps were heard from above the stairs.
“……Well, who is this.”
The owner of the voice gathered her skirts and came down even faster the moment she confirmed Sasha’s party. At a glance, she even appeared greatly excited.
“It’s been a while, Miss Works.”
Sasha greeted Rachel calmly.
Rachel made a blank expression for a moment, as if dumbfounded by that smooth greeting.
“Miss Grayson, no, Mrs. Pinscher! You’ve come to see Grandmother, haven’t you? Right? You have no idea how much Grandmother has missed you!”
No one could mistake it for a welcoming tone. Mod and Charles stood behind Sasha, exchanging uncomfortable glances.
It was more than enough to feel humiliated—being openly mocked in front of the servants. However, Sasha simply said, “I see,” without any particular reaction.
Only Mod felt angry for no reason. That woman clearly knew full well from the newspapers how things stood, yet hearing her speak in such an insolent tone made even Mod furious.
“As for the mistress, I will go upstairs and inform her. Miss, you go up and resume what you were doing. You were painting, weren’t you?”
“No, how could I focus on painting when we have guests? I’ll go tell Grandmother! Lana, prepare some tea.”
Rachel replied brusquely and went back upstairs.
The housekeeper Lana examined the remaining party with a thoroughly awkward expression.
Soon Sasha spoke as if to settle matters.
“Could you show these two somewhere to wait for a moment? I will wait here for Miss Works.”
Lana readily nodded and led Mod, whose face seemed to have much to say, and Charles, whose expression was relatively composed, inside toward the kitchen.
“I’ll bring tea shortly.”
Listening to Lana’s voice fading faintly into the distance, Sasha calmly gazed at the end of the stairs.
Soon, a creaking sound of an old wooden door opening was heard from above. Then followed footsteps far slower than before.
The owner of the footsteps stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Sasha standing below.
“……The one I was looking for should be the brat grandchild.”
Caroline muttered with a cold face.
She soon clicked her tongue and jerked her chin at Sasha.
“Come this way.”