ESP 47

chapter 47

“Count.”

Keith stiffened at once. Dmitri’s face was unusually grave for so early in the morning.

“What is it? Did something happen…?”

“I have a request, my lord.”

For an instant, dozens of misdeeds flashed through Keith’s mind—everything he might have done wrong. The most recent was, of course, the night of the ball.

That night, he had come home late. Dmitri had been waiting up to greet him, saying, “Welcome back, my lord,” but Keith had barely responded before shutting himself away in his room.

‘Are you feeling unwell, my lord?’
‘No, just tired.’
‘Then shall I prepare your bath?’
‘I’ll do it myself. You may go.’
‘At least let me take your coat. It needs to be brushed and stored properly—’
‘I’ll handle it. Go on.’
‘Did something happen at the ball?’
‘Nothing happened. …Are you planning to stand outside my door all night?’

He shouldn’t have snapped like that, but he’d been too flustered to help himself. It wasn’t Dmitri’s fault—he had simply wanted to be alone after the lingering turmoil of escorting Briony home in his carriage.
If he’d tried to explain, Dmitri—ever the dutiful butler—would have insisted on “seeing what was wrong” in the most literal way possible. And no matter that they were both men, Keith would sooner have died than let his butler witness that sort of embarrassment.

For three days since, he had been secretly remorseful. Dmitri hadn’t seemed offended at all, but perhaps he had taken it to heart—because now, at last, he was bringing something up.

Keith watched him anxiously.
Dmitri spoke.

“…Would it be all right if I stayed on Undine Isle for a while?”

“Please—just don’t tell Briony.”

The words escaped before he could stop them. Dmitri blinked, puzzled.

“Tell Miss Briony… what, exactly?”

That reaction made Keith realize that his butler knew nothing. He leaned back, trying to disguise his fluster with a casual gesture.

“I mean—well, never mind that. Why Undine Isle?”

“It’s for personal reasons. And if I’m there, Lady Dimsdale and Miss Briony might find things more convenient.”

That was true enough—but Keith himself would be at a loss without Dmitri. Not uncomfortable, precisely… just bored. With no mistress left at Ebony Heights, Dmitri was the only one he could occasionally talk to.

Still… if Dmitri’s there, I’ll have an excuse to visit. I could say I’m checking on him…

Common sense would dictate that a servant visit his master when needed—but that thought never occurred to Keith. All he could think of was finding an excuse to see Briony again.

“Very well,” he said at last. “When will you go?”

“I’ll need to hand over my duties here to Mrs. Mursey. Tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“Finish the handover in the morning, then. You can leave in the afternoon.”

Now Dmitri looked a little suspicious.

“Why are you so eager to send me off?”

“I haven’t seen my aunt in too long. I thought I might accompany you.”

“…As you wish. Ah, and—‘The Queen’s Eye’ sent this.”

He handed over an envelope.

“I thought it might be a check for compensation, but it turned out to be the documents and evidence we submitted.”

“Put them somewhere safe—wait.” Keith rifled through the envelope and pulled out a single sheet in his own handwriting.

“Do you remember the papers I sent to Undine Isle? The ones I told you to burn? I’d almost shown them to you first, but…”

“Why are you telling me this now, as if confessing some past regret?” Dmitri said dryly.

“Because of those, you were falsely accused, weren’t you? What was that anyway? The court said it was a manuscript for some novel you’d written.”

“It wasn’t mine—I translated it.”

Dmitri took the paper and read a few lines. Slowly, understanding dawned across his composed features.

“Don’t tell me… Orlov?”

“I’d learned the language for fun as a boy, but I’d forgotten much of it. I wanted to make sure I was translating correctly, so I meant to ask you to check…”

Keith trailed off, watching his butler’s expression.
“Though… now that I think about it, it wasn’t such a good idea. It’s only brought trouble.”

Dmitri’s face grew darker and darker as he read. Keith had never pried into his butler’s past, but since Dmitri had taken an Algonquin surname and crossed the border from Orlov, there must have been reasons. Perhaps Keith had just touched on one.

“I’ve burned all the rest,” he added quickly. “I’ll burn this one too.”

But Dmitri seemed troubled not by its origin—but its contents.

“My lord, what exactly is this text supposed to be?”

“The Bloody Sea of Som La—it’s supposed to be a classic, I heard.”

“There is no Orlovian book with such a dreadful title. What’s the original name?”

Keith scribbled the Orlov words from memory. Dmitri’s face fell further still.

“The Castle Sunk Beneath the Red Sea.”

“Well, doesn’t that still have ‘Som La’ in it? Isn’t Som La the capital city of that country?”

“With a lowercase letter, it just means ‘city’ or ‘castle.’ Honestly… how could you not know that? And yet you dared attempt a translation?”

Keith winced at the scolding. “Briony already read every classic in my study. I thought I’d show her something not available here.”

Orlov, he’d heard, was a land of long nights, where people read novels to pass the endless dark. Their literature was said to be rich and refined.

At that, Dmitri’s expression softened slightly.

“The intention is admirable, my lord… but the contents written here do not appear in that book.”

They were the very sentences the inquisitor had read aloud in court:
‘Ten thousand cavalry at the northern border. After sunset, double the troops. One week’s preparation ensures success. Archers in the gorge to drive the enemy in and annihilate them.’

“It must be there,” Keith protested. “I copied it straight from the book.”

“Which passage, exactly?”

He thought hard. “…A letter from Nikol to some countess?”

“Nikolai Nikolaevich, you mean. And that’s a love letter.”

“Who writes a love letter full of military operations?”

“My point exactly. Every Orlovian knows that novel—listen.”

Dmitri cleared his throat and recited:

“Dearest Antonia Ivanovna,
The northern skies are thick again with clouds. When the sun sets, the darkness doubles, blanketing the heavens—and my heart.
It has been a week since I began gazing helplessly at the sky, waiting for word from you, and today it has come—only to pierce me like an arrow. Yet compared to the pit of despair you find yourself in, my pain is but sugar melting quietly in a teacup.”

Keith stared blankly.
“That’s… completely different. You’re making that up to tease me, aren’t you?”

“I have better things to do, my lord. If you procure the original text, I’ll personally translate it for Miss Briony.”

“But then it wouldn’t be my work,” Keith grumbled. He had wanted to do something for Briony himself.
Dmitri only shook his head.

“My lord, if I may offer advice—you already possess plenty of talents. Make use of those.”

Keith had thought about that, too—but none of his skills as a court clerk, swordsman, or frugal accountant seemed the sort of thing that could delight Briony.

“What kind of talent would that be…?”

Dmitri replied at once.
“You could start by wearing your dove-gray morning coat. I’ll prepare your things so you can leave right after lunch.”

✦ ✦ ✦

[Miss Briony,

This is Harold. When Sir Gideon Arlington’s men failed to bring you back last time, the master was furious.
And now, word has come from the Shobury Court that you filed a claim for Lady Arlington’s inheritance. The house has been in an uproar ever since.
I’m sorry, miss—I wasn’t able to defend you properly.

Fortunately, Sir Gideon will be occupied with mine repairs for the time being. It seems he won’t be able to take any immediate action against you.
No matter how angry he is, he can’t ignore a court order forever. I believe the inheritance issue will soon be settled in your favor.

I haven’t told a soul where you’re staying. I’d send your belongings, but Sir Gideon has the maids checking daily for anything missing—not even a pair of gloves can be smuggled out.

If there’s anything I can still do for you, please write again under my cousin’s name, as before.

Wishing you health and safety,
Harold Flynn]

Thinking of that letter from yesterday, Briony’s heart felt heavy. But there was no time to dwell on it—her day was far from quiet.

In the middle of afternoon tea, the sound of hooves came from outside, and suddenly Keith and Dmitri appeared.

It had been five days since she’d last seen him—since the night of the ball. Myrtle had told her he’d carried her all the way back to Dardley while she was drunk, and the thought made her cheeks warm. She vaguely remembered someone holding her steady in the carriage…

Was that Keith…? Did I do something foolish?

But his demeanor was perfectly courteous. He didn’t mention that night at all.

“By now, the Shobury Court must have issued a payment order to Sir Gideon. Have you heard anything?” he asked simply.

“Father was furious,” she replied.

“Anger won’t change the verdict. If he keeps being uncooperative, there’s always the option of forced execution. Don’t worry.”

Keith smiled—calm, reassuring.
He looked splendid today. The dove-gray morning coat complemented his gray-blue eyes, and gone was the gauntness she’d seen at the trial. He looked vibrant, alive.

Briony was about to respond when Lucinda cut in sharply.

“Keith, if you’re speaking to Briony, make sure I can hear every word.”

“I haven’t said a single improper thing, Aunt,” he protested mildly.

“It’s not what you say that matters, but how. Dmitri, add more wood to the fire, will you? It’s such a gloomy day.”

Dmitri bowed and went to the hearth. Though he had said he’d “stay at Undine Isle to assist the ladies,” Briony couldn’t shake the feeling that his thoughts were elsewhere.

As he stirred the fire, ashes and smoke rose. Lucinda coughed, and Keith hurried to open a window. When he returned, he carried two shawls in his hands.

He offered one to Briony, but Lucinda’s eyes narrowed.

“Keith, both of those are for me.”

“Doesn’t Mistress Arlington need one as well?” he asked politely.

“Of course she does. But it’s improper for you to hand it to her directly.”

She snatched both shawls, then draped the thicker one over Briony’s shoulders herself. Briony, thanking the old lady, missed the flash of envy that crossed Keith’s eyes.

“Lady Dimsdale should wear this one,” he said quietly.

“You’re the one dressed too lightly, dear. Anyway, this fireplace is useless—smoke everywhere. Dmitri, have someone bore a flue directly through the wall. I hear that’s how they do it in Orlov.”

“The walls are rather thick, my lady, but I’ll call a workman tomorrow,” Dmitri replied smoothly.

Still, Briony noticed the faint flinch that crossed his face. Whether it was the mention of the fireplace—or of Orlov—she couldn’t tell.

Lucinda sniffled. Perhaps spring was late this year, or perhaps Undine Isle’s damp air made the chill linger—but even in late March, the house felt cold. Briony worried the old lady might catch a cold.

“Lady Dimsdale, you should rest early tonight. And no more tea.”

“I suppose I shall.” Lucinda set down her cup.
“Keith, will you stay for dinner?”

“If you permit me to dine with you and Miss Briony, I’d be delighted.”

He looked at Briony as he said it, and though Lucinda would certainly keep a watchful eye, Briony couldn’t help feeling glad he’d be staying longer.

“Then stay, by all means. Dmitri, join us as well. The new cook’s quite talented.”

“Thank you, my lady, but I usually dine light,” Dmitri replied, just a beat too late.

Lucinda’s comment about the gloomy weather proved prophetic. By the time dinner came, rain was pouring down—harsh and wild for a spring storm. The old windows rattled in the wind, and Dmitri had to go around drawing heavy curtains on both floors.

“Keith,” Lucinda said worriedly, “you should stay the night. You can’t possibly ride in this weather.”

“May I?” Keith asked at once—almost too quickly, as if he’d been waiting for the invitation.

“If you don’t mind, then stay,” Lucinda replied solemnly, though her tone made Briony wonder why it should be such a grave matter for him to sleep under the same roof.

Keith only nodded silently.

Since propriety forbade them from sharing a floor, Dmitri prepared a room for his master on the third level.

After dinner, Keith excused himself—under Lucinda’s watchful gaze—and the old lady soon retired for the night as well. Despite having two male guests, the vast house felt as quiet as ever, the steady patter of rain filling the silence.

Briony couldn’t sleep.
Perhaps it was because she’d skipped her usual evening walk—or because Keith was here—or because the wind kept lashing against the windows.
At last, near midnight, she took a book from the library and shut herself in her room.