To The Traitor in My Bed - Chapter 53
Chapter 27. Nothing Comes Without Sacrifice
It was difficult for Deirdre to maintain a calm expression. The deceased wasn’t a Sulav, but an Antwerpian. If Perpetua had heard from Frederick, she would have known that fact.
However, they didn’t know that. Lies flowed easily from Deirdre’s mouth.
“The Sulav went out hunting or fishing, but couldn’t make it back to Wigmore and froze to death. They still follow that barbaric Luska tradition, you know? So, when they didn’t want to hold a funeral in the winter, Lord Rochepolie and I felt sorry for them and buried the body. Rochepolie people are generous to their neighbors.”
Perpetua silently listened to the answer, which meant her lie was appropriate. The military police were searching for someone for some suspicious reason, and if it was the deceased, Deirdre first needed to confirm the identity of the poor woman.
Deirdre took a deep breath, hoping her pounding heart wouldn’t be heard by the military police.
One of the military police confirmed,
“Did you say Sulav, Lady Rochepolie?”
At that moment, she could have denied it, but even if her lie was uncovered, there would at least be a chance to claim it was a mistake. She nodded.
“Yes, that’s right.”
The military police exchanged a glance. The Countess had said so, so they probably wouldn’t immediately dig up the grave to confirm. If they trusted her words, they wouldn’t even go to the funeral director for cross-verification. Hopefully.
“Alright, understood. Apologies for the intrusion. Goodbye.”
As the military police turned to leave, she quickly asked.
“Can you tell me the name of the missing person?”
The military police looked uncomfortable. Still, Deirdre didn’t back down.
“If you tell me the name, I’ll contact the military police as soon as I hear anything. Despite what you may think, I have many acquaintances in Rochepolie, Landyke, and Swinton.”
She coaxed the military police, casting a subtle glance at the one who admired her.
Noble cooperation with the military police was always welcome. The military police seemed to have made up their minds.
“…It’s Lady Heather Glenwell.”
Deirdre inhaled sharply.
There was only one noble family in the kingdom with the name Glenwell.
That meant the deceased woman was the daughter of the Count and Countess who had been arrested in Holborn just yesterday.
* * *
[Frederick,
I know who the owner of the ruby ring is, so there’s no need to search for it anymore.
But is there any way to prove that Count Holborn is innocent?
I’ll be going to Swinton soon.
I’ll discuss the details when we meet.
Deirdre.]
The letter seemed hastily written, with no affectionate greeting. For someone unfamiliar with the context, the meaning of it wouldn’t have been clear.
Perhaps, unconsciously, his wife had anticipated the letter being subject to the military police’s censorship.
Frederick carefully folded the letter and placed it in the letterbox. The ivory box, custom-made by his father-in-law, had its interior lined with gold and its exterior lavishly adorned with pearls. He had kept every letter his wife had sent him in this box, never discarding a single one.
Deirdre only wrote to her husband for practical purposes, so there was still plenty of space left in the box. He gazed at the empty space with a sense of longing.
“Hartley.”
At his call, Sir Mark Hartley entered the study. Hartley had just returned early this morning from Besford. He mentioned that the Count’s daughters, whom Frederick had sent there, were doing well. The sleep-deprived Baronet, looking pale and worn, had a groggy expression.
“How did things go with Viscountess Danley?”
“I sent her to Jane’s house for now.”
Hartley’s sister, Jane, lived on the outskirts of Swinton, caring for her hearing-impaired mother. Jane was a fervent supporter of the parliamentary faction. Frederick hadn’t wanted to involve Hartley’s family, but given the urgency of the situation, there was no choice.
“Depending on the situation, send the Viscountess to Besford as well.”
Eleanor Danley, Viscountess Danley, the eldest daughter of Count Glenwell, had been successfully smuggled out of Swinton by Hartley as he received Frederick’s message, fulfilling Count Glenwell’s request to save his daughters.
But it was still too early to feel relieved. Frederick suppressed his fatigue.
“Has Cottenham continued with that nonsense about Count Glenwell hiding Darnell?”
“He’s still saying that they hid Darnell and helped him escape. They’re even claiming that Darnell was lost because of it. The absurdity of it all is almost an art form.”
Hartley spat out.
Indeed, the skill with which they fabricated charges was astonishing. With logic like that, what noble in Antwerp could escape the military police? There was no need for evidence that Glenwell had hidden Darnell. Once they claimed the Count had destroyed the evidence, it was as good as confirmed.
Glenwell had neither the connections nor the wealth to stand up to the King’s will. This was likely part of the King’s plan, to make an example of a powerless noble.
After all, this all started to cover up Heather Glenwell’s death, so the charges didn’t matter.
Christian’s methods had been the same since he ascended the throne over ten years ago. Frederick was tired of it. Even Christian’s most beloved hunting dogs were treated the same way.
‘I should have shot Cottenham on the spot.’
If Hartley found out that he had fired at the military police, he’d probably fall backward in shock, so Frederick kept that to himself.
Hartley cautiously asked,
“You’ve ensured Lord Holborn’s silence, haven’t you?”
“Would he be thinking of calling my name if the lives of his daughters depended on me? The Count won’t speak a word.”
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