Chapter 13:
Serial Murder of Noblewomen (1)
“Even gentlemen like us need a little indulgence now and then.”
It seemed he had forgotten they were outside, drunk as he was. Marquis Ramon shrugged, trying to cover his friend’s slip.
In truth, both he and Gerard—despite being devoted husbands now—had once been addicted to cheap gambling dens in their reckless youth. Back when Gerard’s family hadn’t yet fallen into ruin.
“But… you don’t mean to say you suspect the duke, do you?”
Ramon froze slightly, imagining the places filled with the stench of cheap tobacco, strong liquor, and half-dressed women.
Gerard, startled by his own careless remark, shook his head quickly.
“What are you talking about? Weren’t you the one who said Duke Valliere was the last person seen with Ines Ankur?”
“Well… I only heard it from my wife…”
“Wait— is that true? That Miss Ines Ankur spent late hours with Duke Valliere?”
A young man passing by suddenly cut into their conversation, face flushed with excitement as he pulled out a notebook and pen—clearly a reporter.
“How would we know that? Come on, Ramon—we should go. Our wives will scold us at this rate.”
“Y-yes. You there—don’t go spreading nonsense!”
Not wanting to get dragged into trouble, Gerard hurriedly pushed Ramon along. Only after they were far away did they part ways for home—where, of course, their wives were already awake and furious.
“Have you lost your mind, Gerard? Go to your clubhouse if you must, but be back before dawn!”
“I-I’m sorry… Ramon and I got caught up playing billiards…”
“No excuses! Ugh, you reek of alcohol. Go wash yourself immediately.”
Angela, standing at the doorway in a gray shawl, clicked her tongue and pointed upstairs. Gerard, shoulders slumped, said nothing and climbed up.
“Billiards, huh? Did you at least win anything?”
At that moment, Rosalie came down the stairs, smiling playfully.
Ah—thank goodness.
Gerard felt relieved. She seemed to be in a good mood. It appeared she hadn’t run into Duke Valliere after all.
“Enough to treat my dear sister and beloved wife to afternoon tea at a hotel lounge.”
“What? Really?”
Rosalie’s eyes lit up at the mention of sweets and tea. Even Angela, who had been simmering with anger, peeked over with interest.
What kind of noble couldn’t even afford such small pleasures?
Suppressing his bitterness, Gerard puffed out his chest and took out his wallet.
“A full 100 eura. Go enjoy yourselves.”
“You can’t exactly ‘fully enjoy’ with just 100 eura.”
Angela snatched the money with perfect timing and scoffed. Gerard pretended to cry, but failed to regain her attention.
Soon, Angela linked arms with Rosalie, smiling brightly.
“What do you think, Rosalie? Shall we go right now?”
“I’d love to. I also need to return the dress we rented yesterday.”
“Perfect. Get ready—we’ll meet at the entrance in an hour.”
Watching the two women head upstairs with light steps, Gerard smiled faintly and rubbed beneath his nose.
Then, as the alcohol caught up with him again, he climbed the stairs, rubbing his heavy eyelids—
unaware of what would unfold later that day.
After stopping by the boutique, Angela and I arrived at the hotel lounge near the station—and immediately sensed something was off.
The place, usually bustling with noblewomen, was unusually quiet.
“Did something happen? Isn’t this still the most popular spot for tea?”
We ordered a tea set with strawberry tart and looked around. Last year, this place had required reservations—it had been that crowded.
“Strange… even the waiters have been looking at us oddly.”
“Don’t tell me they found a cockroach in the food or something.”
“Oh, how awful. Don’t say that before we eat—it ruins the appetite.”
We lowered our voices, joking—until a server approached with a trolley. We straightened in our seats.
A beautifully patterned teapot was placed before us.
“Excuse me, ladies. I didn’t mean to overhear, but I couldn’t help hearing your conversation.”
“Yes? What is it?”
My eyes drifted to the three-tier tray—gold-dusted strawberry tarts, fruit sandwiches, and chocolate-studded cookies.
Wearing white gloves, the server spoke awkwardly:
“Our lounge maintains strict hygiene standards. There is absolutely no chance of insects appearing.”
“…I’m sorry, we must have been too loud. We were just wondering why it’s so quiet today.”
Heat rose to my face. If the lounge had been as crowded as usual, no one would have overheard.
“It’s likely due to the article in this morning’s paper. Though I assume you already know.”
Angela and I exchanged silent looks.
It had been years since we last subscribed to a newspaper.
After the article about Histein becoming Duke Valliere, Gerard had canceled it outright—most articles afterward were filled with rumors and slander about us.
“…You don’t know?”
The server stopped mid-pour, eyes wide.
Something was very wrong.
“Miss Ines Ankur… you must know her. She was found this morning—in a dreadful state. She didn’t survive.”
“…Ines? The one who serves Princess Camille?”
I covered my mouth in shock.
Just last night, she had held my hand and smiled…
Could it be someone else?
No—my body turned cold.
“It seems she had recently been involved with Duke Valliere. Such a tragic thing… how could this…”
“Ugh—”
Suddenly, nausea rose in my throat. Dizzy, I turned away.
“We should leave. Could you pack the untouched desserts?”
Angela stood up immediately.
The server hesitated, then packed the tray into a box with the hotel’s logo.
We paid quickly and left.
“Are you alright, Rosalie?”
“…No.”
Inside the carriage, I clutched my head.
Someone alive just yesterday was now dead.
And we—alone—hadn’t even known.
And worse—
Histein had been with her at the opera.
What had happened after that?
That evening—
While dinner was being prepared, a loud knock shook the front door.
Gerard, who had only just woken up, went to answer it himself.
“Who on earth—”
“Gerard Malev! This is serious—your name is in the headlines!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look for yourself! ‘Count Malev suspects Duke Valliere in the death of Ines Ankur!’”
“What nonsense is this? I never said anything like that!”
Still unwashed, Gerard rubbed his rough face as Ramon shoved the newspaper toward him.
“That young man this morning—the reporter! It must be him! Dragging you into this tragedy…”
“Not me—Rosalie is the real target! Isn’t it obvious? Those bastards—why won’t they let the past die?”
Gerard’s bloodshot eyes scanned the article rapidly.
