III. Halls With Echoes

It was a peaceful morning disrupted when Rosalie announced that Governor Philipps wanted me to join the meeting with him, along with the other Heads of Houses. A thought weighed heavily on my mind.

Did I have to go?

"Please don't refuse this invitation. This is an opportunity to rise among the nobles and ensure your own reputation," said Rosalie.

I pondered my decision, before telling Rosalie.

* * *

The Hall of Parliament stood tall in front of us. Our arrival had preceded the expected time, making Rosalie and I prompt for the conference. Scant thoughts of the unfolding future stormed my head. Little had I known what was in store for me.

Ascending slabs climbed up, awaiting the touch of our heels.

I decided that I'd dress up in a more comfortable gown with thinner layers that still veiled my skin. The brown tanned sleeve caught up to my elbow. Brown, it often reminded me of book covers, a sense of home whenever I was out. This was plain. No bracelet on my wrist, or a glimmering gem laced around my neck.

It wasn't long until we made our way to the round table. Unlike the tables in the castle which were long rectangular ones, the tables in this hall were round. There were vacant seats, and some occupied by faces I had presumably seen.

"Good day to you wonderful ladies of House Ausleya," A gentleman tipped his sepia colored fedora hat.

The response I could muster was a smile, and a nod, and I did it as politely as I could.

"Sir Carlos Burke, fancy meeting you here. I'll have you know that I brought Lady Arabelle, my cousin." Rosalie introduced me. She transferred her gaze upon me, as if a cue to start a conversation.

Even wider than the one before, a bigger smile reached across the sides of my face. Then I sundered the touch of my lips from one another to unchain words. "I am pleased to meet you, Sir Carlos."

He grinned, then whistled at a woman beside him, who was lithely austere and composed. Though when she spoke, her tone raised dichotomy. She sounded rather delighted to have me. "Lady Deanne Lamarkshire, and I daresay you're an appealing arrival within the world of court." Her raspy timbre rang through with a lush accent.

"Heavy it is in the air is the singsong music from your lips. Why not attempt living a life of theatrics? You can begin gracing the Opera House," A voice resonated, taking our attention. Lord Jake sauntered in with open arms. "We'd support the decision to do so."

"My wonderful wife would pour out a heartfelt lullaby," Lord Francis stated with a smile in his tone.

"Oh please, flattery won't get you anywhere," Lady Deanne commented toward Lord Jake, then responded to Lady Francis. "Your wife's vocal is the epitome of symphony."

Sir Carlos cackled. "The irony." He began wheezing, his sound reduced to squeals. He banged a fist against the table, and leaned lower until he was on the floor, still erupting laughter.

So much for ettiquetes.

"Speaking of the Opera House, the manager, Desiree, says there was a break-in. One of their set costumes were stolen, and a few props," the solemn noise of a Governor hovered over.

Sir Carlos immediately fixed himself, and straightened his posture with a clear of his throat. Next to him, Lady Deanne rolled her eyes with a half-smile.

"We'll have those costumes replaced," said Lady Deanne.

Apparently, the room had been filled by the other Heads of Houses, and Governor Philipps. I sat down alongside Rosalie, who gave me a look that soothed my nerves.

Then, it came to me that I had to be wary. Wary that anyone who stood in this room could be a suspect.

Everyone took their seat.

"As all of you know, our monarch was taken away. It is unfortunate but we have to move forward with care," Governor Philipps eyed each and every one of us, then on me, remaining. "It is of paramount importance that she is handled safely during the coronation." His eyes abandoned me for once. "Another assassination will let us resort to a competition but that is an unorthodox solution."

"Unusual, indeed. But who knows what's in store for everybody?" Lady Adelaide spoke while her arms folded over her chest. There was a smile on her face. "I mean, we can talk about it."

"Let's not head for that," Lord Adrian replied, adjusting his collar.

Lady Adelaide appeared eager for a conversation about the competition. I narrowed my eyes, suddenly distrustful of her. She could have motives. Then I asked myself, why would she be distinct unless she was ruthless? No murderer would dare expose themselves suspiciously.

"The sepulture will be done later this afternoon. Queen Amice has been laid inside the casket according to Sir Quint," Governor Philipps informed everybody. "Since then, the Parliament will carefully host the coronation in hopes that the heiress is fit for the occasion."

"Sounds like a wonderful course of action," Lady Adelaide commented. "Now what happens when the heiress dies?" She noticed the people around the table giving her a look. "What? I need my curiosity filled."

Governor Philipps released a heavy sigh. "If the heiress dies, we will be holding a competition for the crown. Those who bid for the throne will have to secure votes from the Great Houses, and the representatives of the Parliament, which is, Lady Deanne, Sir Carlos, and I." He pursed his lips, tilting his head as he gazed at Lady Adelaide. "Is your curiosity filled?"

Lady Adelaide smiled, then bobbed her head.

"Some of you may have heard of the industrial imports from Southern Europe," Governor Philipps continued.

"Ah, and what was the cost for that?" Rosalie asked.

"Impressing the state leader over a cup of tea," replied the Governor.

As I deciphered his words in silence, I thought to myself... was that all?

"I'd appreciate what you all think about this," Governor Philipps peered, awaiting reactions.

"Quite impressive," Lord Jake clapped his palms. "Personally, I am certain that these imports will improve Helmburn."

Suddenly, all eyes were on me. "What about you, Lady Arabelle? Your thoughts on this?"

I parted my lips, without a word to say. I had to make up a compliment. With a smile, I responded. "I admire your leaping measures, Governor. You take extra steps to ensure that the people of Helmburn deserve quality. As Governor, you deserve a raucous celebration."

He studied me attentively. His eyes were clouded with several meanings, none that I could decode.

"Thank you, Lady Arabelle. You are a breath of fresh air around here." He shared his compliment.

* * *

I made a plan to head to the apothecary of Charlie and then, Lord Adrian and I encountered the presence of one another, like the ball. "I knew I'd see you more often," said Lord Adrian with a smile splitting his face.

"Same thing for you. Here I thought we'd only see each other in the castle," I told him.

"Well, someone like you around keeps me on my toes." His deep euphonious syllables melted into my ears, as if caressing them. He scratched the back of his head, hiding a grin.

I chuckled. Then, I asked him a question that abruptly came to mind. "What were you doing in the castle the other day?"

My sentence seemed to had caused him to snap out of a reverie. "Oh!" He was perplexed for a moment, then he gathered himself together. "I came to investigate the crime scene. So far, I discovered a piece of address in the Queen's drawer."

"A piece of address?" I asked.

"I have yet to know where this leads," Lord Adrian replied. In that time, the air between us was charged. There was a current I couldn't explain that sang through my veins. A heartbeat that thwacked in my chest the closer Lord Adrian was to me. His gaze and mine held one another, neither wanting to break apart.

"What are you trying to tell me?" Even when he didn't tell his point of view, I could see in his eyes that he needed to invite me. I pacified the thundering heart.

"Lady Arabelle, if it is alright with you... may you come with me to this address? I swear on my life, I shall protect you when something goes wrong," Lord Adrian requested politely.

"Of course."

Later, Lord Adrian and I had brought ourselves to the enigmatic address which was a humble abode peacefully residing within a glorious line of colorful houses. They were encompassed by a breathtaking landscape that sprawled toward piercing mountains. Simple yet intricate laced the outer front. Hanging pots dangled with lavender lilacs embosomed.

Invading Lord Adrian's face was a smile. "Imagine a simpler life..." He trailed off. An emotion opposite to elation pinched his tone. "But being born like this is okay too."

"These villagers may lead lives different than ours, but they find ways to remain happy," I said. That statement proved true when little children ran along with hearty giggles.

He stared into me, then he lifted his arm up to gently rap his knuckles on the door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Within half a minute, the door was opened. Behind it was a woman with creases of distress on her face. Her eyes had a glossy shine. She greeted, although she appeared anxious. "What brings you here, my Lord, and my Lady?" She fidgeted, her fingers tangling in sporadic pace.

The question that crested first was about the butler. "Is this where the butler lives... from the castle?"

"My husband?" She furrowed her eyebrows. She shrunk backwards, exposing her bulging pregnancy bump. The woman was on her journey to motherhood. "Arnold!" She called a name.

"Helen?" A response came from inside. Sunlight from beyond their door cast upon the approaching silhouette of a man. There was a clear sign of recognition from the both of us. From head to toe, he studied me before forming a greeting. "I met you on the ball, Lady?"

"Lady Arabelle."

Taking a step forward, Lord Adrian had extended an arm out for Arnold to shake. "We have a few questions to ask, if you don't mind?" He was direct, and probably didn't want to waste time, therefore I quelled myself. I allowed him to take the lead.

Arnold and his wife exchanged a long look of contemplation. They seemed to glance at us but not in a way that they'd use with their eyes. It didn't take thinking to tell that they were reluctant to agree, or disagree. There was an awkward interval of silence that Lord Adrian had to cut off. "What do you say?" He asked.

"Alright, you can ask questions," Arnold said, then sighed. He and his wife stepped to the sides to carve way for Lord Adrian and I.

We went inside to marvel at a Gothic architecture situated within the walls. It contradicted the vibrant carapace of living colors, and flowers. Arnold, and his wife, whose name had not been mentioned yet, built up a careful palisade around them. They were most aware of what brought us here.

The Queen.

I had not planned to instigate a rise of tension between the four of us, which made me look to Lord Adrian for guidance. While passages of disquietude assailed through my veins, the presence of Lord Adrian was a slight cure. I pierced a stare into him, pleading that he commence this once and for all.

His sole response was a nod, and that alone was enough to tell me that he understood what I felt. It was when he pressed his palm on my shoulder that pulled me back to taking deep breaths.

Arnold invited us over to the table where his wife had set it up. Her form was leaning forward, bent in order for her to pour the last stream of water from the ceramic pitcher, carefully secured in her grip. That manner of usage, that delicate handling denoted that the ceramic item was dear to her. In fact, it may had held sentimental value to her.

She had uncurled herself. She slipped a palm underneath the pitcher as she retreated from the room in slow footfalls. Arnold wedged himself into the scene by taking a creaking chair opposite Lord Adrian and I.

"Is this about the Queen?" The tail of his voice rose to a question. His pronunciation was rigid. Every taut syllable yelled with a firm, and controlled tone that said I don't have a part in this! "Because I swear on my life, I have nothing to do with the assassination." The more he spoke, the more his resolution crumbled to a quivering nervousness. "I'm not the killer."

"Calm down, Arnold. We haven't drawn lines yet," Lord Adrian replied. He appeared pacific in his speech, and in his movements. There wasn't a spike of scream in his voice. It was a tranquil. This must be his way of quelling Arnold.

I adjusted in my seat, shifting from an uncomfortable position to the next. I'd rather be on the floor, wide and relaxed, than cross my leg over another.

"W-well I'll answer you both. Whatever answers you seek," said Arnold.

"Arnold, I would like to know what you did that night. I give you all the time that you need to recall what happened," Lord Adrian opened the interrogation.

While he answered, I folded my arms over my chest and leaned back.

"In that night, I was making sure that guests were well entertained before I headed to the kitchen to prepare the wine." He answered. "The Queen always asks for a concentrated grape extract to put in the wine. That is why we have vials for those kinds of things." Slowly, he swiveled his head at me, hesitant to meet my eyes. "Before the preparation, a fellow castle servant showed me the receiver which was a call from my wife saying she felt another contraction."

"This was why you rushed that night?" I suddenly asked.

"Y-yes. I beg your pardon, L-lady Arabelle." He hung his head. His face creased with lines. "Please do not me arrest me, I-i have a wife, and a child to take care of..."

"You are not the suspect, at least, not yet." I told him.

Lord Adrian glanced at me with a warning look on his face. "Arnold, it will be fine. I know you are innocent."

"Thank you, my Lord..." His voice faded.

"Before we go, may I ask you to write on a piece of paper?" Lord Adrian made a strange request. What could it possibly be about?

"Of course. I'll go get a pen and paper," said Arnold before he rose up and vacated the room.

Lord Adrian turned to look at me with a sigh. "Lady Arabelle, please be more careful. We do not wish to provoke a tense situation."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to," I whispered loudly. Disappointment stretched across my face, disappointment for oneself. Myself. I had to mutter that out in my head because I didn't want to feel like a disappointment.

"It's alright, Lady Arabelle. We make mistakes, and those mistakes can help us learn and be better versions of ourselves," said Lord Adrian in his charmingly calm tone. Other than Rosalie, Lord Adrian could sing me to slumber.

Arnold came back with a fountain pen between his thumb and index finger, and a sheet of unstained paper. No pleas recrudesced from his tongue. He was silent, most presumably fixated to the ever delightful Lord Adrian, who came bearing quietude.

"All I'm asking is for you to write every letter in the alphabet," Lord Adrian instructed with a smile.

As if bewitched, and fallen victim to a spell, Arnold did as instructed. Soon, Lord Adrian retrieved a sheet of paper with the handwriting of the butler himself. "We're grateful that you have allowed a moment of your time. Until then." Lord Adrian bid adieu. Deep in me, this was an au revoir. Someday we would return declaring his guilt or innocent, those two hung in the balance.

Arnold was polite to send us out of his abode. When we eventually brought ourselves outside, there was an instant question that couldn't resist leaping out. "Why were you asking him to write the whole alphabet? What's the purpose of that?" I lifted an eyebrow at him.

Lord Adrian chuckled. "To compare penmanship from this sheet of paper," he showed with a wave, "And the writing on the address." He gently folded the paper until it was reduced to a square, then plunged it into his pocket. "The comparison serves as a base for deduction. If the penmanship in the sheet of paper reveals similar strokes, and handwriting style, we can deduce that the address was written by Arnold."

"Which leads us to a branch of theories," I presumed this as a continuation.

"Correct." He said. "But it is more important to lay a credible foundation before building a tower of theories, or connecting the puzzles."

"You do know that they may deliberately mess up their handwriting, right? How would you find similar strokes in that?" I asked.

I thought that he faltered, but he remained collected with a calm response. "It's a worthy attempt. Besides, I surmise they wouldn't do it deliberately."

As we travelled around the bend near a stream of river, I mustered a question. "What's your take on the assassination thus far?" I glanced at his thigh, where the ripped sheet of paper with Arnold's address was safely inside the pocket. "With the clues you have gathered."

"I find it rather peculiar. The assassination happened during the ball for a reason," said Lord Adrian, his face concomitantly twisting with an analytical expression. "Don't tell anyone, but I suspect it's Princess Salome who plotted the murder of her sister."

Deep inside, there was a lingering thought about the Crown Heiress. Perhaps she did slaughter the monarch to take place, and all that talk about rebellion was a cover-up. But Arnold was the primary suspect at the moment, with the evidence of a vial and the wine. Speaking of wine, I recalled that I had to pay a visit to the apothecary in hopes that a result was prepared.

"We're never sure. Anyone could have done it," I said. I did tell a fact.

Anyone could have done it. I repeated in my head.

He remarked with an arched eyebrow.

"Anyways, I must head off. There's a matter I must attend to," I said to him.

"Before you go, I would like to-" Lord Adrian's timbre reached out to shackle my feet in place. "-tell you that I am grateful for your company."

I spun around. "You are most welcome."

Then, I looked into eyes and searched for any trace of suspicion. I knew that past the looking glass, that gaze reflecting back at me, hid a crystal clear thought: I could be the killer. I could tell he was observant, hence him being hired to be detective. Or play detective. He could remember like the bright glare of day, that I entered the room with the cup of death for the Queen to sip.

Of course he remembered. He had to.

But I prayed that he doesn't draw a conclusion right away. I wanted to soak my head underwater, and scream, but merely bubbles would come out.

The assassin was a fucking runt I had to hunt down. For some reason, I felt guilty, I felt the need to clear my name.

I had to show Helmburn that I wasn't stained by blood.

* * *

Flames rose within the hearth of the fireplace because of Charlie stoking it, harboring life from his hands. Tints of orange, and red inundated the room. A torrent of heat banished the cold.

I watched my magnified shadow shading the wall, a still silhouette outlining a plethora of seeping emotions - fear, anticipation, and worry. Today I was going to discover what the wine contained. A confidential information, an extremely vital one, tumbling out of Charlie's mouth would kick-start the progress of my investigation.

"Here, have a cup of herbal tea," Charlie offered.

Without an ounce of hesitation in my bone, I leaned forward and politely accepted. My lips anticipated the collision of the rim, whereas my tongue yearned the rivulets of varying flavors.

"Thank you," I whispered gratefully.

"I have done my work as quickly as I could. Fortunately, I discovered a result," said Charlie.

"So what does the wine contain?" I asked.

"It does contain elements of grape juice, rich. But then there were strands of something venomous, and odd." His words made me eager. "The wine contains an extract of atropa belladonna."

"Atropa belladonna?"

"According to the books, it is a poisonous nightshade from the Solanaceae family," Charlie informed.

"I was right. The Queen was poisoned. There was no other way, without the blood and knives," I told him.

"What bothers me is that it is an altered form of atropa belladonna. It isn't structured the usual," He added.

"That could mean that whoever made the poison was most likely to be an alchemist like you."

"Indeed. But I have naught an idea of whoever that is," said Charlie with a sad look on his face. "I am sorry if that's the scope of my help."

"No. Don't be sorry. There's nothing to apologize for. You have done the greatest help, and I owe you a lot," I said, piercing my gaze into his. "You are an amazing alchemist."

A slight color crept across his cheeks. "Thank you," he mumbled.

I smiled at him, then rose to my feet. "To be honest with you, I didn't pay a visit just to hear what the wine contained."

"Oh?"

"How about a walk down memory lane, old friend?" I grinned.

I extended an arm out to him, in which he grabbed, his face lit up. "Alright."

Later on, we went to a forsaken bedchamber which was shrouded in dusts of abandonment. "This was his room," I recalled.

"It was. He and I made a lot of memories in here," said Charlie.

"That sounds nice. Growing up with a parent." I commented.

"I'm really sorry you didn't get to experience that," said Charlie in an apologetic tone which seemed to weigh of guilt.

"It's fine. I have Aunt Genevieve, and Rosalie," I replied, but there was a pull in my gut. I didn't ignore the precarious position I was in, on the verge to vulnerability where I was stripped off of that veil that concealed tears.

Of course I was grateful to have lived with a family. Although there were some days I wished I was able to bond with a mother, and a father, even if it was one of them, I'd take it.

"Let's not dwell on darkness. On the bright side, you got me. I'll stay right by your side, Ara," Charlie smiled.

To show my thanks, I took a step forward and pulled him into an embrace. It didn't take long until he wrapped his arms around me. "I'm lucky to have a friend like you."

"So am I."

After sundering ourselves from each other, Charlie immediately walked towards a drawer then knelt down on one knee. "Oh, I have no idea why but I felt that I had to give you this." He rummaged through the drawer, and yanked out a metal pin badge carved with letters. "It's an item my father found in the castle around the time of Queen Victoria's execution. There's a writing in here that says Passionate, My Love."

He went over to me to give the metal pin badge which I took with delicate care. I skimmed it. It was a detailed sculpting of outlines with elements that resembled a soldier in a war. In the back, it had a phrase that Charlie mentioned.

"Thank you so much, Charlie. This might be helpful," I said.

"I hope. Any item in the castle could be a possible clue."

"You're right."