Chapter 85 …
“Ah, now that I think of it, Emily.”
Clop, clop.
Amid the sound of hooves, Helena suddenly looked up and spoke as if passing by.
“Have you checked Sir James Moriarty’s letters? The butler said he left them on your desk.”
“…Uh, yes, I have.”
Helena noticed the discomfort on my face, nodded in understanding, and quickly fell silent.
There were more than just one or two letters from James Moriarty.
At first, telegrams had arrived in quick succession:
[Handling matters in Edinburgh. Please contact me, James Moriarty.]
[Departing from Edinburgh in three days. Urgent reply requested, James Moriarty.]
[Departing from Edinburgh in one day. Immediate reply requested, your Moriarty.]
He sent them almost daily, and when there was no response to the telegrams, Moriarty resorted to sending letters:
[To my beloved Emily,
How is the weather in Devon?
Of all places, you’re taking me to a dreary place like Dartmoor under the pretense of leisure.
Henry Langham’s sense of judgment is truly astonishing.
(omitted)
P.S.
Actually, I’m writing this letter thanks to George MacMurrin’s suggestion.
He said, “Isn’t writing a letter the best way to express love to a woman?” I want to see if that’s really true.
I look forward to seeing you soon.
With sincerity and love, James]
…George MacMurrin, surprisingly a romantic, it seems.
In any case, letters written in this manner totaled ten.
‘I don’t know how he would react if he learned my “not-so-secret” secret.’
The last letter, the one that arrived yesterday, I hadn’t even had a chance to read yet.
To be honest, James’ persistent affection was a little overwhelming.
There wasn’t exactly anything between us to warrant such blind courtship, but…
‘Considering his upbringing, it’s not entirely incomprehensible.’
Perhaps it was the loss of his parents at a young age.
At first, he was extremely cautious, fur bristling, but once he judged someone trustworthy, someone he could give his heart to…
‘The high walls he had built crumble, and he loves that person blindly.’
Perhaps that was why.
Whenever I thought of James, a bittersweet ache rose in my chest, and I couldn’t stop my mind from turning to him.
‘It’s probably because…’
That version of James reminded me of my own past self.
In my late teens, emotionally unstable, I had treated everyone outside a small circle as my enemy.
“Emily, you can always rely on me.”
It was Randolph who had nonchalantly scaled the high wall I had fortified with plastered thorn bushes.
At first, I had been wary of him…
“Randy, how are you able to stay so calm even in such situations?”
In front of him, who taught me what “perfect trust” was, my mental barriers crumbled in an instant.
Once I opened my heart, the emotions I had kept hidden poured out like a torrent.
People around me said I had “completely fallen for Randolph,” but it was more than that.
“Like a child for whom their mother is the entire world, I felt utterly blind devotion.”
Randolph not only accepted my feelings without hesitation but returned them even more.
“Emi, you don’t know.”
“My purpose in this world… is you.”
“If you aren’t here, there’s no reason for me to exist.”
Indeed.
Looking back, Randolph’s affection for me was not only blind but almost unconditional.
When I was alone with him, I could finally be “my true self,” free from the labels this suffocating society had imposed.
“…Randolph.”
My husband and perfect confidant.
As those feelings resurfaced, I couldn’t help but recall the memory I had forced myself to suppress: how my husband, Randolph Carter, had died.
Nine years ago.
The sky that day was unusually gray.
Seeing the gloomy landscape outside the window, Helena muttered,
“The temperature has dropped sharply.”
She called the maid to stoke the fire and instructed that winter preparations should begin.
“Emily.”
“…Hm?”
I, distracted by the view outside, absentmindedly turned to her.
Helena cautiously suggested,
“Emily, how about staying for a while at my villa in Richmond instead of here?”
“Thank you for the offer, Helena, but I’m comfortable here.”
“Then I suppose there’s no choice.”
But Helena surely knew.
I couldn’t leave this shabby little newlywed home because I was waiting for Randolph to return.
‘It had been… three months since he went missing.’
In the early days, almost losing my mind, it was Helena who kept me from completely falling apart.
“Emi, it seems I can’t leave things as they are. I’ll stay by your side for a while.”
Since then, she had practically lived in my home, supporting me emotionally and mentally.
“How about a walk before it gets too cold?”
As she said this, Helena approached and gently patted my back.
“Sure, that sounds nice.”
I leaned into her warmth, intoxicated by her touch, when suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
“Madam, a visitor has arrived.”
“A visitor? Who?”
I asked nervously, startled that someone had come after a long absence.
Thump, thump—before permission was granted, hurried footsteps ascended to the second floor.
“Oh dear, I clearly told them to wait…”
Bang!
Before the maid could finish, the door swung open.
“Emily!”
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a refined face and striking red hair, it was August Dulles, Randolph’s close friend and editor.
Next to him stood a man in a police uniform.
“…August?”
August Dulles looked pale as if he had seen a ghost.
Before I could comprehend, the man next to him stepped forward.
“Good day, Mrs. Carter. I am Officer Harvey of the London Metropolitan Police.”
“Ah, hello. But… why are you here?”
Why had August come with the police?
A sense of foreboding rang alarms in my mind, and my mouth went dry.
“I regret to inform you, madam, but your husband’s body has been found.”
“…What?”
What did he just say?
In stunned silence, the officer continued, matter-of-factly:
“Your confirmation as the next of kin is required. Please accompany us to the scene.”
“Officer, I think it would be too shocking for Emily—Mrs. Carter—to see it herself…”
As August tried to intervene, Helena stepped forward.
“Yes, she needs time to prepare herself mentally.”
Officer Harvey shook his head.
“The next of kin must confirm immediately. And Mrs. Carter is Randolph Carter’s only family.”
Randolph’s body…
It can’t be.
I grabbed the officer’s arm like a madwoman.
“That’s impossible!”
“Madam, please let go of this…”
“I—I’ll see for myself. It must be some mistake. Randy… he couldn’t have…”
I couldn’t accept that he was dead.
Helena and August supported me, preventing me from collapsing entirely.
“I’ll come with you, Emily.”
“I’ll accompany you as well.”
Without these two, I would have already become a victim of madness.
Officer Harvey spoke bitterly:
“…I understand how shocking this is. I’ll guide you three to the scene immediately.”
And so, I came face-to-face with Randolph’s body.
Randolph’s body was found in an old cabin.
A remote, untouched forest.
Only traces left by wild animals or hunters were around.
Even so, a police line had been set up, marking it as a crime scene.
The officer guided us inside.
“This way.”
Upon entering the cabin, a strange odor hit us.
A cramped space, barely fitting six people.
The only light came through a small window, illuminating a large altar.
On it lay an assortment of strange objects:
Fragments resembling animal bones, small figurines of unknown forms, rosaries threaded with skull-shaped beads, and other bizarre items.
At the center was a massive, thick book.
Looking back now, it was probably a grimoire, but at the time, I knew nothing of such things.
“What on earth is that…”
“Let’s go check for yourself.”
My chest sank.
As I stepped closer to the altar, the anxiety rising in my chest made my heart pound, but there was no turning back.
And finally, the moment I realized its nature:
“…My God.”
I collapsed to the floor, my body drained of strength.
Questions raced through my mind.
‘This can’t be real.’
‘Am I dreaming?’
‘Why… why here… like this…’
The shock was so immense I couldn’t even moan.
Slowly, I reached out my hand, feeling something cold, hard, and lifeless.
…A body long devoid of life.
“Randy…”
In front of the massive altar, kneeling as if in prayer,
Randolph lay dead, uninjured, with a peaceful expression.
