The Countess's Body Has Disappeared - Chapter 27

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 27
‘Have I been found out?’
Having hidden from the start, there would be no excuse if discovered now. Arcan waited in that position for a moment, then quieted his hammering heart and slowly extended his face into view.
Davion, his suspicion apparently satisfied, had already turned his back again.
“What about this, then? Something to wear around the ankle.”
“If I may, the chain should be longer. I’d like to move freely about the room.”
“Hmm. Let me think for a moment.”
……A person like a house cat?
A deep crease formed between Arcan’s brows as he replayed the conversation. Moments later, his face grew even darker as something jarring caught his attention.
The source of that discomfort became clear soon enough.
He’d heard the man’s wife was dead, and yet a wedding ring gleamed on Davion’s left ring finger.
He’d been told she was a former maid……. However ruthlessly the Duke’s widow wielded her influence, Arcan found it unlikely that a man who’d loved a woman enough to marry across such social divides would become engaged to someone new a mere three months after losing her.
‘If that’s the case, then that ring must match the one of his deceased wife…….’
But Arcan’s reasoning reached its limit there.
Davion, turning the restraint over and examining it from different angles, eventually wore a satisfied smile.
“Excellent. And I’d like to purchase a shotgun as well. Would that be possible?”
“A shotgun? For hunting?”
“Yes. Oh, and I’d prefer a short barrel. Twenty inches would be about right.”
“Then this ought to satisfy you most.”
Taking the shotgun and restraint the old man offered, Davion set down a cigarette case containing a check.
Though countless questions crossed his mind, Arcan could do nothing but watch as Davion left the shop with a long, confident stride.
Davion placed the items in the back seat and drove the car straight out of the alley.
Upon returning to the manor, the first thing he did was check that the cat and Ruby were well.
Ruby lay deeply asleep inside a birdcage wrapped in black cloth. The cat, having been batting at dust motes drifting through the sunlight that poured through the window frame, spotted Davion and let out a soft mew.
Davion had deliberately refrained from giving the cat a name. That would be Cecilia’s task. When she returned, she would give that white cat the most fitting name imaginable.
In the crystal vase by the window, the flowers Esmeralda had gifted bloomed in full splendor.
A few days ago, to welcome spring, he had changed the bed sheets and comforter to a warm ivory color. He planned to place an easel for painting and a piano in the room so that Cecilia would not grow bored during her stay.
At least this room was entirely her domain. It mattered not what she did or what animals she kept.
So long as she did not leave again.
Davion removed Cecilia’s ring from the dog tags it hung upon and set it on the nightstand. Beside it gleamed a brown glass bottle that had once held the medicine she’d drunk, catching the sunlight.
He loaded the newly purchased shotgun, placed it beneath the bed, laid out the restraint on the table, and then settled into the armchair, rummaging through his inner pocket.
A single cigarette remained in the rectangular case.
“…….”
After a long silence spent staring at the cigarette, Davion unhesitatingly threw the entire case into the trash.
He drew in a deep breath of fresh air. After surveying the room once more, he interlaced his hands across his abdomen. And then, with peaceful eyes closed, he smiled.
Ah.
All preparations were complete.
1-7. Climax
Performance tickets for “Foreigners Beneath the Sun” are enclosed for the Earl of Winterhall, Davion Shisseldown.
The envelope contains two tickets in total.
I thought perhaps your adjutant might accompany you to the performance as well.
I hope to see you on the day of the performance.
Wishing you a day filled with good fortune.
– Esmeralda R. Renée
* * *
Davion fastened the buttons of his shirt as he entered his study.
Having exercised for the first time in ages, he felt as refreshed as if he’d splashed cold water on himself. On the steel tray atop his desk, letters that had arrived that morning were stacked neatly like a tower—evidence that Liam had been by.
Before reviewing the correspondence, Davion opened the study windows wide to clear away the stale tobacco smell that had accumulated in every corner.
The field, turned green, brimmed with the fresh vitality of spring. Thanks to a cloudless, crystalline sky, he could even see the small cottage where Cecilia had lived in the distance. Though it appeared no larger than a speck, to Davion’s eyes it seemed vivid, as if within arm’s reach.
He dried his damp hair with a towel as he drew the tray toward him.
A rich musk scent emanated from the letter Esmeralda had sent.
But before he could even examine the contents, Davion’s expression soured—a striking contrast to his refined appearance, as Esmeralda proved to be the owner of truly atrocious handwriting.
Only after reading it three times over did he finally grasp the gist of it.
As the letter indicated, the envelope contained two tickets. Since the recently widowed Davion appearing alone at the theater would invite certain attention, Esmeralda had made her own considerate gesture.
Sitting quietly to watch a performance had never truly been to Davion’s taste. Yet with his mother’s expectations to consider, and having been formally invited, he could hardly decline at this late hour.
‘Should I at least look up the plot before I go?’
As he narrowed his eyes and examined the tickets, a telephone rang loudly behind him.
Liam was away attending to external matters. When Davion answered the call and introduced himself, a familiar middle-aged woman’s voice came through the receiver.
―Esmeralda had been in contact. She’d apparently visited the manor.
It was so very Blake to jump straight to business.
“I came to pay my respects and didn’t stay long. The sort of thing Mother was hoping for certainly didn’t happen.”
―I’m not sure what you think I was hoping for.
She laughed as though she knew perfectly well but was pretending otherwise. Davion wedged the phone between his neck and shoulder, then waited for the conversation to continue while methodically checking the stack of letters on the tray before him.
―By the way, Mrs. Meryl asked after you. Would it be alright if I told her the article was false? If you still haven’t found whoever spread the rumor…
“It doesn’t matter—I was planning to attend Lady Esmeralda’s performance anyway. She sent two tickets and asked that Liam come along.”
―Don’t you dare go empty-handed. Since she sent tickets, you should show some courtesy.
“I’ll be thirty tomorrow, Mother. You needn’t concern yourself with every little thing…”
―I really do like her.
For a moment, his hand stilled as he turned through the letters.
“…….”
A hot lump caught in Davion’s throat. He set down the letter and readjusted his grip on the receiver.
His dark eyes, which had been fixed on the cottage in the field in troubled contemplation, suddenly gleamed with resolve.
“Mother. If Cecilia—whom we believed to be dead—were alive somewhere, would you take her back?”
As expected, silence fell on the other end of the line.
After a long pause, Blake exhaled a sigh so heavy it seemed the earth itself might collapse beneath it. He could well imagine what she was thinking.
―My dear, how can someone who is already dead return to life?
He hadn’t really expected otherwise.
Had Liam been beside him, Davion would have been unable to sit still—his expression was now drawn and haggard. Yet it seemed the concern lingered despite itself, for Blake’s voice softened considerably.
―Very well. If you’re truly struggling, why not seek counsel? I’ll inquire for a capable physician and have him sent to the estate shortly.
“No physician, however renowned, can treat my condition.”
―Do you think your mother doesn’t understand your heart? The grief of losing a spouse doesn’t fade quickly—that’s only natural. But you can overcome it through effort. I know, because I’ve been through it.
“You don’t know. You never loved Father, did you? That’s why you didn’t try to stop him when he ran away with the servant girl.”
The story of the melancholic duke was an old and tender wound in this household. When Davion finally touched it, Blake said no more in his defense.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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