Chapter 136
Serman’s social season generally began in early March—late February at the earliest—and ended around July, when the heat was at its fiercest. By then, the upper classes would all return to their country estates or depart for their respective resorts to escape the sweltering weather.
Before they knew it, mid-July was just around the corner, and in the blink of an eye the social season had reached its dregs. Morning calls paid at one another’s townhouses, with brief breakfast gatherings, or carriage promenades along Piel Row near the palace had long since lost their appeal. The theaters that had been preparing all manner of operas and plays were once again preparing to enter the off-season, and there were hardly any occasions to gather at times like these except for the occasional evening party.
It was the period when everyone shut themselves up in their own townhouses and prepared to leave. For that reason, this time of year was also terribly dull, without even the smallest interesting topic—no soirées, no balls, no one’s weddings. In that sense, the accusation brought by the Grayson ducal family was, for every newspaper, a topic like long-awaited rain arriving at precisely the right moment.
Instead of leaving one by one for holiday resorts or their country estates as they had last year, people remained in the capital and began making morning calls again. The topic they discussed while sitting face to face was, naturally, the fraud case that had set everyone buzzing.
Anyone who had so much as conversed with or met the woman accused of being a fraudster became the center of everyone’s attention. Wherever they went, they were bombarded with questions. Some shrugged and spoke extravagantly, adding bluster and exaggeration; others looked uncomfortable, as though even mentioning it aloud was something to be cautious about, and kept their words sparse.
Mrs. Wokes was one of them, and needless to say, she belonged to the former category.
The day after those men called officers had combed every corner of the capital, an article carrying an interview with Mrs. Wokes appeared in a certain daily paper.
She recounted in great detail the deplorable behavior that the woman calling herself Sasha Grayson had displayed at the wedding held in the county—Mrs. Wokes repeatedly emphasized that it had been a very modest ceremony to which only a few family members had been invited in the first place.
The arrogance she had shown when she not only refused but even mocked the business proposal made by Mrs. Wokes’s husband, Mr. Wokes; the shocking way she had childishly whined during the atmosphere of mourning for the late Pinscher heir, then dismissed it as though it were nothing; and the shameless way she had seemed to expect extravagance on the wedding day itself, nitpicking every single decoration.
Of course, this was the result of an independent action taken by the Wokes family, who no longer had anything to expect from the Pinschers. The very next day, as if to correct the record, a new interview appeared in a more famous weekly magazine. The person interviewed was none other than Rachel.
Miss Wokes dismissed the rumors circulating about her cousin and firmly stated that some of them were exaggerated falsehoods.
“What is certain is that my cousin—that is, Captain Isaac Pinscher, who will soon become Count Pinscher, referred to in an unceremonious and familiar manner—was utterly infatuated with that woman. Even though she behaved that way in front of not only our family but also our relatives on the day of the wedding, he was busy shielding her. He has been dull and foolish since he was a child. What I mean is that it is his nature. At the very least, he is not the sort of person who would have conspired with that woman to plot something.”
Of course, it was absolutely not a statement defending Sasha.
“You, my husband in particular, will be attacked even more harshly. My immediate concern is that they will try to make you out to be an accomplice.”
Just as Sasha had worried, a few reporters were already publishing fabricated articles claiming that Isaac had conspired with Sasha and that they had agreed to split a certain portion of the inheritance. One of them even brought up Isaac’s demotion, though he had once been an excellent soldier worthy of receiving a medal, and connected his diminished circumstances to the accusation of fraud committed jointly by the couple, as though it lent the charge legitimacy.
However, the public reaction was more lukewarm than expected. Isaac’s reputation had already been at rock bottom, but to those who knew his infamous rumors or had dealt with him directly, the image fabricated by the reporters felt unfamiliar. From the beginning, Isaac had simply been known as an ignorant, uncultured man; he did not have that sort of sly and cunning image.
With Rachel’s defense-that-was-not-a-defense also published, the arrows once again focused on Sasha alone, and Isaac appeared to be treated, in many ways consistent with his existing image, as a pitiably stupid and unfortunate man.
“This is actually better. Mr. Benson also said that the more people pay attention to the case, the better. At the very least, it means the magistrate won’t be able to dispose of it summarily at his own discretion.”
It was the day before he was to face that man called Bradshaw or whatever his name was. Isaac cautiously told Sasha, who was busy all night preparing for the trial, that he might not be able to attend on the day itself. Contrary to his expectations, Sasha did not seem particularly disappointed. Rather, she praised his judgment, saying it would be better if he did not show his face.
No, that had not been his intention at all. Isaac was about to correct her, but stopped. Sasha was already so busy she hardly knew where to turn.
As soon as he had hurriedly finished breakfast, Isaac climbed into the carriage while Sasha saw him off. She believed Isaac had temporarily set aside the matter of the confidential documents and was concentrating only on the search for the lawyer.
The reason he had not bothered to correct her was, after all, because she was a civilian. Isaac drew that line very clearly. Sharing every truth without hiding anything as partners bound by the same fate was one thing; quietly handling matters in his own world was another. At least as a soldier, Isaac judged it so.
Sasha, who had been up all night the previous night, had deep fatigue on her face. Yet when Isaac repeatedly gestured for her to go back inside, she shook her head and stubbornly insisted on seeing him off. After being so obstinate, she climbed into the carriage after him as he got in, shut the door, wrapped her arms around his neck, and embraced him. Isaac quickly lowered the curtain over the carriage window.
“……I love you.”
As though she knew they might never see each other again, she said it while rubbing her face against the nape of his neck. For a moment, his whole body stiffened at that calm confession he could never grow accustomed to no matter how many times he heard it. Then, the instant he heard her next words, Isaac pulled her away.
“If, by any chance, things go wrong……”
“Sasha.”
“……All right. I won’t speak of things that haven’t happened.”
That was the end of her farewell. Sasha kissed him once more on the cheek, then opened the door and got down from the carriage.
That had been several hours ago. Isaac looked out the window. Among the scenery flashing past, he saw several familiar buildings. Before he knew it, they had reached Lance Field. Isaac turned his steps toward the apple pie shop he usually frequented.
As he entered the alley, the smell of well-baked apple pie struck his nose. A crisp surface, the inside generously filled with preserved apples and jam, and layer upon layer of pastry that crunched along with the apples. Now, just smelling it was enough to call that taste to mind.
But Isaac walked straight past the apple pie shop and entered the alley beside it. Then he turned left again. After walking straight ahead, he came upon the inn at Lance Field.
When he went up to the third floor and knocked on a certain door, it opened as if the person inside had been waiting. He pushed his way in and saw the face of the agent who had become familiar over the past few days.
“The plans.”
As soon as Isaac stepped in and closed the door, he spoke as though making a demand. Agent Wilson silently pointed to the table by the window. On the table lay the blueprint of a certain building.
The administrative wing of the Yulich Arsenal.
Isaac sat down and, without asking, picked up the pen lying beside it and marked a location. A small X was drawn over the office of Sergeant York, who had shamelessly come to Isaac pleading to be saved, saying that if Isaac wanted to live, he had to save him too. To be precise, over the place labeled General Churston’s aide’s office.
“The infiltration route is this way. The gas lamps are dim, so it’s good for making use of the shadows. I recommend around seven in the evening. The officers and staff will have left work, and it will be when the guards change shifts.”
Wilson said as he sat down opposite Isaac.
“Do you trust Sergeant York?”
“I do not. It will be a trap.”
At Wilson’s question, Isaac answered calmly.
“So you are going in knowing it will be a trap. Admirable.”
“You say that as though I haven’t thought of a lifeline at all.”
“Oh. No. Absolutely not. ……Have you had breakfast? There’s half a pie left. Would you like some?”
It was the apple pie from earlier. Without declining, Isaac took the piece of apple pie Wilson handed him and bit into it, chewing.
“To be honest, isn’t it a gamble? Whether that report is truly the fabricated version or another lie.”
“There’s no other choice, is there? Can you think of any other immediate method?”
Isaac asked as though dumbfounded, and Wilson smiled faintly, as if to say that was not the case.
Isaac had disliked that man from the start, and he was liking him less and less.
“By the way, are you truly all right not telling your wife?”
“My wife already knows. I honestly told her everything, including what I went through during that operation. And she believed me.”
“No. Not that. I mean, does she know you’re walking into what is obviously a trap?”
Without so much as blinking, Isaac answered.
“This was never a domain to which she belongs.”
Your wife will never think that, Wilson nearly argued, but stopped. Perhaps it was because he understood Isaac’s stubbornness and convictions better than anyone. That made it all the more regrettable, but that was the only point on which he sympathized with Isaac.
“As for the lawyer’s whereabouts. Are you also investigating that servant named Theodore?”
That had been the purpose of the deal from the beginning.
Because when it came to intelligence, there was no way to catch up with them.
Wilson nodded and said,
“You need not worry about the trial. It would not be an exaggeration to say that, due to Mrs. Pinscher’s actions, every member of Serman’s upper class is paying attention to this trial. No matter how corrupt the magistrate may be, he will not be able to do as he pleases.”