Chapter 27
At Anne’s signal, André stepped forward.
“It’s an honor to meet you, my lord. Though I didn’t expect to be invited under these circumstances. I’m André Chang. With the reputation of being the most renowned designer in the West, I swear on my name that I have never once designed a dress for Lady Victoria Clayde.”
“You’re saying you’re a fashion designer?”
Patrick had met André a few times when he visited the estate throughout the year, so he greeted him accordingly.
“Yes. I’m not sure who you’ve been meeting, but I am André Chang. Chang.”
Hannibal bit his lip in frustration and ordered his steward, Jack, to go fetch May. Then he pointed at the jewelry box and asked:
“What proof is there that these jewels are fake?”
Of course he wouldn’t believe it right away.
“I had them appraised by three separate experts. If you still have doubts, you can call in your own appraiser.”
Anne held out the appraisal documents she received from the jeweler. While Hannibal read through them, André quietly added:
“They’re obviously fakes. No proper jeweler would design a set like this. Especially not for a debutante—they always match the jewelry to the outfit. No reputable jeweler would recommend such a heavy necklace and tiara for a sixteen-year-old girl unless he was a swindler trying to make a killing off the gems.”
The jewelry and dress shops were located just around the corner from one another. Since they had a mutually beneficial relationship, they knew each other well.
Hearing André’s remarks, Hannibal’s brow furrowed deeply.
“Young lady, how did you meet this jeweler?”
Despite the now-threatening tone, Anne wanted to solidify the credibility of their claims, so she had Victoria confirm the story.
“That scumbag said he knew a top-notch jeweler and offered to handle everything. May! That liar said he was trustworthy!”
He clearly deceived a clueless sixteen-year-old girl, trying to bedazzle her with oversized jewelry.
And the fact that both the lord and his attendants had been so easily fooled—how careless.
Anne had to bite her lips to keep from scoffing. Hannibal caught the hint of contempt in her expression and frowned even more.
“Patrick, bring the ledgers.”
“Yes, sir!”
At the command, Patrick hurried out, and Anne watched his retreating back. Was he flustered? Shocked?
Hannibal’s eyes turned sharp as he stared at Anne.
“What? Do you suspect him too?”
“No, I do not.”
She glanced down at the scattered jewelry box, silently blaming Hannibal.
“Maybe you’re right. Seems there’s no one we can trust.”
Hannibal muttered darkly. Before long, Jack returned—alone.
“The head maid May left to send mail this afternoon and hasn’t come back yet.”
“When did she leave?”
“After lunch, they say…”
It was already well past tea time—more than enough time for her to return.
Thud. Hannibal slammed his fist on the desk.
“Send out a search party. Bring her back.”
She had clearly run away.
“We’ll interrogate her once we’ve caught her. Go on.”
“Yes, sir.”
Anne and the others bowed and exited the count’s office.
“Thank you for coming with me. Monsieur André, if you don’t mind, would you like to join us for some tea?”
Anne couldn’t just send him off empty-handed—it was only polite. Besides, it was a good chance to observe Victoria’s social skills, so Anne accompanied them to the drawing room and planned to stay until dinner.
She served them tea and refreshments, then stepped back a few paces to observe quietly. Both Victoria and André repeatedly urged her to sit with them, but she declined.
“Is catching Head Maid May the only thing we should worry about? What do you think, Anne?”
The two of them, sipping their tea, turned their bodies toward Anne, as if waiting for her opinion. Embarrassed to be the center of attention, Anne wiped her hands on her apron and answered.
“We also need to catch the scam artist. They clearly know how to make clothes. With that level of skill, where should we start looking?”
Hearing this, André closely examined Victoria’s dress—the stitching, material, design, and overall style.
“Looks like someone who learned in a workshop. Sloppy work suggests they’re either an apprentice or a newly opened… Ah! When was the young lady’s debutante ball?”
His eyes narrowed as if something clicked. Anne answered on Victoria’s behalf.
“Five years ago.”
Clap! André snapped his fingers and his eyes widened dramatically.
“Perfect timing. Sam Robert. Used to make doll dresses and children’s clothes. No real skill, just a big mouth, and had a terrible reputation. I heard he hit it big in business five years ago—not design. Quit his shop but came to brag to our guild about how much money he made. He had a white streak in his eyebrow—ring a bell?”
Victoria jerked forward as if she were ready to go hunt him down right then and there.
“He still lives in Teganes?”
“Yes, he returned recently after traveling.”
André’s confident explanation prompted Anne to comment:
“It’s almost as if he came back just in time for the young lady’s birthday.”
“That’s right. I usually had the dress made a month or two in advance.”
Another scam attempt. If May had still been around, they probably would’ve fallen for it again.
“Oh my gosh, this is crazy. Who makes a party dress in just two months?! It usually takes at least six! For popular designers like me, it often takes over a year, seriously~.”
“Let’s go catch that scammer ourselves. What do you think?”
While André acted smug, Victoria’s eyes lit up at the idea of catching the culprit herself.
“It’s difficult on our own. But if we inform the young count, he’ll take action right away.”
“But I want to catch him myself. I’ll talk to my brother.”
Victoria stood up.
“Do I have to stick around? I have a dress fitting scheduled tomorrow, and I’m really busy. I only came here because I was so angry earlier.”
André looked at Anne with an awkward expression.
“No, it’s fine. As long as you give us accurate information, we’ll handle the rest.”
He provided them with the scammer’s name, age, current residence, favorite taverns, and even close acquaintances before finally taking his leave.
While Victoria went to see Hannibal, Anne escorted André to the carriage.
“Monsieur André.”
“Miss Anne. Thanks to you, I had quite the exciting day. If you visit my boutique next time—”
“There won’t be a next time. I’d like to order a party dress.”
“…Pardon?”
It was a rather presumptuous request. Anne normally wouldn’t dare, but this wasn’t an opportunity she could let slip.
“The young lady’s birthday is in July, but she still doesn’t have a dress, Monsieur André.”
“…You want me to make it?”
A birthday party—Victoria Clayde’s, no less. Choosing and sourcing the fabric alone would take time.
Reading André’s hesitation, Anne added:
“I think it would mean much more for Lady Victoria to wear a real André Chang design—especially after learning she’s been wearing fakes this whole time.”
The idea that someone had been impersonating him made André’s frown deepen.
“No one should be misled about the name André Chang. But don’t forget—next time, give me at least six months’ notice.”
He winked playfully, and Anne smiled back.
She waved goodbye as she saw him off to his carriage.
Anne felt like the day had gone on forever as she made her way back to her room to change into casual clothes.
The atmosphere in the staff lodging was chaotic after May’s disappearance. The maids murmured anxiously in the lobby.
“Did the head maid really run away?”
“I heard they’ve blocked off the gates of Teganes. She won’t get far. Sylvia’s still here.”
“What are we going to—”
As soon as Anne walked in, the maids fell silent.
Anne didn’t believe the rest of them were entirely innocent either.
She had already reported everything to the young count. He would handle it.
For now, she needed to do her part properly.
“Who made sure Matilda had lunch?”
Recalling May’s veiled threats, Anne asked one of the maids.
“Head Maid May said she’d take care of it herself. We didn’t check.”
The maids quickly scattered.
Anne knew there was no way May had properly taken care of it. Her heart pounded with worry.
What if Matilda had skipped lunch because of her?
Frantically, Anne gathered food and rushed to Matilda’s room.
“Sis, I’m sorry I’m late—!”
She threw open the door, only to find the bed empty and the covers pulled back.
Hannibal Clayde was reviewing the ledger that Patrick had brought.
Flip. Flip. With each page turned, the air grew heavier.
“The handwriting’s different on every ledger. This one—you didn’t write it?”
“No, I left the household accounting entirely to Head Maid May.”
“Since when?”
“Five years ago.”
Patrick, the ever-graceful and composed butler, now stood trembling before Hannibal—his hands clasped, body shivering like a leaf.
Was it shock from the sudden disaster? Or guilt from being exposed?
Hannibal’s eyes sharpened even further.
“You really didn’t know?”
“I… I—”
