Helmut remained at Ruttgard Castle for a little over three weeks.
The vassals had no reason to welcome a man who brought troublesome business, and though Theodore—face heavy with grief—hinted that no answer could be given during mourning and that Helmut ought to return, Helmut, whose virtues were boldness and brazenness, paid it no mind.
His task was not to bring back a reply about the investiture, but to uncover what he could about Lady Peril and her daughter.
Helmut himself achieved little. The vassals’ mouths were far too tight, and truthfully they seemed to know very little. All he learned was that Olivia Peril had left the castle as soon as the funeral ended and had bid farewell to almost no one.
It was Rowan, his groom who had accompanied him, who brought back information. Rowan, with his thick brown hair and green eyes, was a cheerful charmer who, within three days of arriving, had captured the gaze of every maid.
Rowan possessed a knack for making advances seem like anything but advances. Loitering where gentlemen seldom walked and finding tasks to help with, he quickly won the maids’ trust.
Helmut received his report.
"So, this maid called Mary left with her, yes?"
"They say she was the only lady’s maid. There’s nothing strange about taking only Mary. What’s strange is that Mary left later."
"Left later…."
"If the lady had gone off to convalesce, her maid would naturally have gone with her. But Mary stopped by her own home and then followed after. No one seems to have heard from Mary where they were going. Perhaps her family did."
"We can’t very well send men prying at once. The butler likely knows, but we can’t cross-examine him either."
"Yes."
"What do you think?"
"I consider it highly likely she was secluded," Rowan replied calmly.
"Olivia Peril did not consent to the marriage. With such a vast fortune at stake, the Count of Ruttgard could hardly accept that. The easiest course would be to confine her somewhere and then hold a marriage in form only."
"You or I might have done so. But Theodore Ruttgard?"
Helmut asked it with the sense that such a thing did not suit Theodore, and Rowan hesitated, unable to answer.
"And for a woman set aside somewhere, Sir Theodore’s current state is odd. He looks… unstable. Might she have fled?"
"To avoid marriage with the Count? That’s a tale out of a romance novel."
"One can become a millionaire without marrying. She may have had another man."
"I understand. That means we should dig on the Marquis Ascensio side."
"The Marquis is close-mouthed. I’ve probed him more than once; he slinks away, saying only that as executor he merely oversees the attorney’s work."
Helmut spoke, sunk in thought. In truth, this was not the important point. He was not after the Ruttgard inheritance question; he sought the identity of Olivia Peril.
If Ezekiel is right, there’s another possibility: Theodore spirited Olivia away to protect her.
That did seem more in character for Theodore. Yet for that, Theodore reacted far too plainly to any mention of Olivia.
If Olivia Peril truly were a princess, and if Theodore had hidden her for her protection, then his demeanor ought to be far more rational and composed.
Ezekiel, receiving such opinions in a long letter, coolly penned an order—to be sent to Schwaben’s network of informants.
Locate the present whereabouts of Olivia Peril.
Helmut had reported that the likelihood of her being the princess was low, but he could not reduce suspicion to zero.
In that case, better to find her. Even if she could do nothing, it was the same.
I’ll use this chance to drag out every last royalist and butcher them.
So long as the Emperor still drew breath, he himself was legitimacy embodied, and the House of Klaus—the Empress Dowager’s kin—was not yet wholly dead. Though they held their breath, the very existence of an opposing faction grated on him.
His father had said that meddling with Peril would only inflame a rash, but Ezekiel could not leave matters thus. By nature, he could not abide those who defied him.
All the more when those motes of dust loitered on the road to the throne. They must all be swept away. Olivia Peril would, without doubt, prove a useful broom.
His first report came ten days later.
Final destination: the Duchy of Laniere. Current whereabouts unknown.
They had lost the trail.
***
5. Lady Laila
A new fashion took the capital by storm four months later.
"Opera in a salon?"
"Not in earnest. A small piece, it seems—two or three performers singing a few numbers. But the heroine’s part was taken by Baron Bruno’s daughter."
"My. A lady playing at actress?"
"It wasn’t as if she wore greasepaint or stood on a public stage as a spectacle. Singing an art song or two in a salon isn’t such a shocking thing, is it?"
"Baron Bruno’s daughter sings well."
"Indeed. But the ones who took the opposite role were Sir Bülow and Sir Werner."
There was no way such talk could be anything but delicious. Both Sir Bülow and Sir Werner had proposed to Baron Bruno’s daughter. And the little opera’s plot was a light love triangle.
Many found it delightful; many found it distasteful.
"Who brought in such a vulgar amusement?"
"You know that distant kinswoman staying with the House of Andex? From the Duchy of Laniere—Lady Laila."
"‘Lady,’ indeed. For a woman who devises vulgar games."
"They say she keeps a troupe. Not work fit for a lady."
Yet whether they liked her or not, all agreed on one point.
"She is a great beauty."
"There must be a reason she has so swiftly become the talk of society."
Her black hair fell to her back like the goddess of night, and her teal eyes were said to shine like starlight. Her skin was white as snow, and the wrist that showed beneath her long sleeves was slender.
A startling beauty, possessed of great polish, with nothing wanting in her carriage. Moreover, she could devise amusements others would never think of, and set them in vogue—so it took little time for her to become society’s hottest topic.
Those who wished to meet her left calling cards in heaps in the lobby of Count Andex’s mansion; gentlemen daily filled the drawing room with billets and gifts, and ladies dyed their hair black.
Anyone who wished to enliven a social gathering longed to invite her, and even those who disliked her did not refuse her visits.
There was, of course, someone who could not tolerate it.
"How great a beauty can this ‘Lady Laila’ be, to cause such an uproar?"
Princess Roella murmured, mouth twisting. One of the maids fanned her lightly and said:
"It must be the taste of coarse men."
"Then you mean to say most men in this world have coarse taste."
Roella retorted with a sneer. The maids, smiling as if it were nothing, went on in airy tones:
"Half of those speaking of this Lady Laila have not even seen her. It’s become a kind of fad, a contest—who will possess her."
"Pay no mind to such a low woman. She may be called a lady, but who knows what she did in the Duchy of Laniere?"
"They say she is a distant relative of the Countess of Andex, but there has been little contact between them; there’s no guarantee it’s true. Who can say? There are rumors she was an actress—perhaps she is staking her life on a desperate performance now."
Such words did nothing to soothe Princess Roella’s irritation. Whatever else might be true, it was a fact that, in society at present, Lady Laila drew more eyes than Princess Roella.
So the maid with the fan produced the one word that always worked—reliably effective.
"And what does it matter what that woman’s reputation is? His Grace the Duke of Schwaben would never give even a glance to such a woman."