Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

"It seems I was overthinking it; what I said just now was just a joke."

Hearing the calm question and seeing the kiss almost end, Melissant remained unfazed, simply changing the subject and speaking again with composure.

"Given your age, I always feel a little worried, about this and that. I worry that when you see Camilla's body and so much blood, you will be terrified and unable to muster the energy to solve the truth."

"Madam, this is our most basic professional quality."

Unmoved by the response, the blue-haired beauty lifted her skirt and sat down on the velvet bed, letting down her fingers, which were covered by black gauze, and silently took Camilla's pale hand.

It seemed as if she was reminiscing, or perhaps heartbroken.

"She was my pen pal for three years. Through letters, we shared stories and opened up our hearts to each other. Even though we were separated by an ocean, the depth of our friendship could still be conveyed through those letters that were sent by others."

"Every night under the night light, I look forward to it so much, and feel so fulfilled. But who knows that the moment we finally meet will be the moment we are separated forever?"

As if she had spoken of something deeply moving, Melissand wiped her eyes with her finger and couldn't help but shed tears.

These words alone dispelled Charlotte's previous doubts, making her realize that even if she wanted to, she shouldn't inappropriately ask questions or force Charlotte to give an explanation.

"Madam, I'm sorry to have troubled you."

"It's alright. I'm the one who disturbed you. I suppose you already have a lead, which is why you have the leisure to do things that are consensual?"

Raising her voice, Melissant's tone became more teasing, echoing the kiss she had just given him, just like any woman who was passionate about it.

“I don’t mind. On the contrary, one can never set a time limit for desire. It is not a short-term satisfaction, but rather it becomes stronger when it is resisted.”

Having finished her questioning, as if nothing had happened, the blue-haired beauty extinguished the kerosene lamp by her bedside, letting the lingering fragrance gradually fade away.

Camilla's breathing returned to calm, and even her heart stopped beating for the last time. Only a trickle of blood was still seeping out. Her dazed state of mind and incoherent speech gradually faded as the incense dissipated.

Sure enough, this strange smoke was the source of the unease among the servants and her own little sparrow. As for why she could ignore it, Charlotte preferred to attribute it to her spirituality as an extraordinary being.

At first, Melissant probably did intend to frame them, but the moment she pushed open the door and saw her offering a timely kiss, she changed her mind and revised her words.

This is an open conspiracy, but the young girl cannot directly expose it here or get to the bottom of it.

After all, they are now just employer and employee. The beautiful woman is willing to remain involved in the matter in an ordinary capacity, so Charlotte can use her detective skills to handle the situation properly instead of escalating it to a fight.

Ultimately, the girl could not be certain of Melissant's position, nor could she ascertain her extraordinary path or her social standing.

Although I'm a little annoyed, oh well, life is like a play, and the challenge is what makes opera so exciting... Since she's so willing, I'm happy to sing my duet and show off my brilliant voice.

"Just as you said, we have indeed made some discoveries."

Standing tall and poised, Charlotte approached Melissant without offering any explanation, instead turning her gaze toward Ms. Camilla.

She was a woman full of mature charm, with slender eyebrows like willow branches, a straight and upturned nose, her skin so white it was almost pale, her red so red it was mottled, layer upon layer, truly as beautiful as a night-blooming cereus, a unique beauty built up by death.

Her gaze moved downwards, following the light golden hair to the thin lace-trimmed nightgown. She saw that the deep front of the robe was wide open, revealing snow-white, smooth skin and two soft breasts.

It's very big.

A few gold and diamond ornaments, earrings, rings and necklaces—luxurious and ostentatious yet not vulgar, exuding the air of a nobleman. Even the dagger piercing his chest is adorned with agate, showcasing his wealth.

This was based on outward appearances that could be observed, but what truly caught the girl's attention was the serene and peaceful look on his face, as if he were facing death peacefully, as if he had anticipated it.

"Ms. Melissant, did this dagger belong to Mrs. Camilla from the beginning?"

"Yes, the servants can attest to that, and she mentioned it in her letters to me as well."

With her gaze unwavering, Melissant looked at Charlotte quietly, her eyes brimming with emotion, as if admiring some rare treasure.

"So, if Mrs. Camilla dies, who will inherit her wealth, including her shares in the West Coast Railroad?"

"According to custom, when a nobleman's parent dies, the inheritance is passed on to the offspring. However, Camilla and Sir Chaplin did not have any children, so the distribution follows the same repatriation method. If there is no external interference, these shares will eventually be collected by the government and re-auctioned on the stock exchange market."

The responses had not yet faded.

"In her recent letters to you, has Mrs. Camilla expressed any irreconcilable frustrations or anxieties?"

"It seems there are some. She's been complaining a lot lately, saying that those so-called gentlemen are chasing after her like dwarf dogs that she can't shake off. Of course, rather than complaining, it might be more like showing off, and she might even enjoy it."

Upon hearing this, Charlotte let out a short sigh, as if lamenting the interruption of the clue.

With her slender eyebrows furrowed, she lowered her waist and sat on the same side of the bed as the blue-haired beauty, reaching out her fingertips to grasp the delicate hand wrapped in black gauze.

Without rushing to explain, the girl gently stroked the former's knuckles, as if to comfort a victim out of concern for the case.

Just as Melissant had created a scenario to pressure her, Charlotte was also taking advantage of her connections to legitimately gain some small benefits from her.

"Madam, I'm sorry, but from your perspective, I'm afraid it's difficult for me to give a satisfactory answer and identify the murderer."

"After all, a knife doesn't kill people; only people can kill. A person might swing a blade out of love or hatred, but someone who advocates murder can only do so out of pure evil motives."

She emphasized the word "pure" in particular, and while speaking, the girl's gaze never left the beautiful woman's eyes, as if she were questioning her directly.

"what do you mean?"

Her expression remained unchanged, as if she truly knew nothing about it. Melissand pressed her for an answer.

"Mrs. Camilla should have committed suicide. Judging from the bleeding from her wounds, she died within the last four hours. And during this time in the early morning, apart from the servants pushing the door open, no one entered or left the room."

"From your and the servants' accounts, and from the arrangement of this bedroom, I can roughly deduce Mrs. Camilla's lifestyle. Although she is keen on dressing up and, as a lady, has a little vanity, she is restrained in her actions and always maintains the dignity of a lady. She should not have made any deep-seated enemies."

How could I not understand the trick of scattering bait in the fishpond, subtly approaching each fish that bites while maintaining a distance?

"Disputes over money are not worth discussing under the law. As for random home invasions and murders, it would be absurd to say that the servants' eyes and ears were all blind and deaf at the same time."

Charlotte's explanation, word by word, is grounded in existing clues and follows common sense, making it the most evidence-based answer. However—

“Miss Watson, I didn’t hire you to get this clichéd truth, this commonplace statement that anyone can make. How could Camilla possibly commit suicide? She was laughing and joking with me yesterday, so what reason would she have to end her life?”

"Incompetent, useless. Is this all the detectives at Singer's Detective Agency are capable of? Can they only use such ridiculous words to cover up the truth?"

Her dark golden eyes narrowed slightly, and Melissant burst into tears, her voice choked with sobs, sounding utterly sorrowful and heartbreaking. Hearing this, the servants outside all pushed open the door and entered, staring intently at Charlotte and her group.

That was a questioning of the preface, a denial of the answer, and also a particularly ironic coercion.

Seeing this, Charlotte remained calm and indifferent. She understood the beauty's purpose even more thoroughly: the combination of clues made it difficult to point to any possibility other than suicide, but when the employer was unwilling to acknowledge it, the commission would only gradually sink into a vortex, forcing her to admit to an alternative murder.

Even if one admits it, a reasonable explanation must be given, and at this point it almost becomes a dead end, unless there is a hidden force that can trace back to the source and confirm the explanation given.

In fact, Camilla's departed spirit does have some strange aspects. Whether it was self-imposed or murdered, whether it was out of hatred or by choice, it would always leave ripples and be tinged with emotion. But the former spirit only has an almost distorted calm.

If they were in the know, they could speak freely about the strange occurrences, but they are just ordinary people now, employees and employers. To reveal the possibility of murder is almost to clarify their own involvement with the extraordinary, and the ability of spiritual vision is not something that can be obtained through any means.

So, Ms. Melissand, are you so curious that you want to peel back a beautiful black flower?

Okay, then I will do as you wish.

She thought this to herself, but on the surface, her eyelashes trembled slightly, her lips tightened, and she said with a firm yet unwavering expression:

"Even renowned detectives are just ordinary people, not omniscient sages. They cannot reason without any evidence; otherwise, they will only go astray."

"The methods of crime are ultimately puzzles devised by humankind... As long as we rack our brains, we can always arrive at a logical answer."

She sat up straight, face to face, nose to nose, confronting all those eyes and ears, the clamor and noise. Charlotte did not flinch, but spoke with a cold tone, like a just and impartial knight.

“Madam, if you wish to obtain such a truth, then I can naturally confuse the strange and the mysterious to explain this and fill in the gaps, just like a real murderer.”

“Of course I can pin the blame on anyone, for example, you, or you, or even, Mr. Philson, Sir Bathory, if you are willing to listen to these lies.”

Holding her cane horizontally, the girl pointed at the crowd of people who were watching her. Whenever she called out a name, her voice would pause, and the servants around her would involuntarily take a step back. In the end, they all lowered their eyes and fell silent, forced to retreat by her imposing presence.

Charlotte glanced around with satisfaction, then laid her cane flat, pinning it back to the ground with a dull thud.

The muffled thud drowned out the panicked, suppressed, or fearful gazes of others. Under the threat of guilt, everyone tacitly remained silent, in perfect unison.

The candlelight flickered and swayed, highlighting the beautiful blue-haired woman's exquisite features and slender eyes.

A soft breath escaped from Anzhu's lips as she spoke:

"So, Miss Watson, do you still maintain your answer of suicide?"

No, I won't insist, because—

Without making a sound, Charlotte plucked a delicate flower from the winter rose bush by the window and gently tucked its broken stem into Mélisande's blue hair.

Flowers, a beautiful woman, a poisonous Christmas crape myrtle, a charmingly wicked beauty—the two complement each other perfectly. I imagine Ms. Melissand would be quite pleased with the poisonous flower I picked for her, and with the adornment I made for her.

“I don’t care, whether it’s them, Singh, or them.”

Her gaze swept over the two little sparrows and the many servants. The silver-haired girl leaned down and whispered a damp breath into Melissant's ear.

At this moment, just like at that time, it was a whisper that only the two of them could hear.

"If you love listening to me so much, then pin the blame on that damned fool, Sir Bathory."

He picked up his suitcase, flicked his sleeve, and stroked the wicked woman's blue hair, drawing her surprised gaze. Charlotte immediately dodged away fearfully, taking light steps like a butterfly, and led the two little birds away.

Since you insist on exposing my mask now and on challenging me to a duel, then I—

Let's go now!

Completely changing his previous domineering demeanor, the dashing silver-haired knight turned and dashed out the door the moment he was out of sight.

ran away.

With a few neighs fading into the distance, the horse's hooves trampled through the muddy grass, sinking into the numerous potholes.

Melissant stood by the window, gazing through the hazy white curtain of swirling snowflakes at the departing carriage, and at Charlotte as she walked further and further away.

Only after it had completely disappeared from sight did the blue-haired beauty remove the poisonous winter rose, and then gently stroke her earlobe, which still bore traces of water, and the faint teeth marks.

A barely perceptible red mark spread out.

For so many years, this girl, like a hedgehog, has been pricked and hurt, yet she has become so bold as to actually—

He bit her ear.

Chapter 71 The Passing of Sunlight (4.5k)

"Aren't you going to ask me why I left so abruptly?"

In the quiet, deserted carriage, Charlotte exhaled softly and suddenly spoke.

The sound echoed quietly in the closed carriage, like pearls gently clattering, or like rain and snow falling on the eaves, dripping into a beaded curtain.

By this time, they had left the central area and were on their way back. It was too dark, the road was uneven, and the sun was blocked by long, heavy clouds. The streets were desolate, with few people around. A few leaves covered with snow drifted down and landed on the window.

It was midday, and the thin coachmen, wearing raincoats, stood guard in front of their respective carriages, patiently waiting for each passenger who couldn't stand the noise of the rain and snow. Charlotte could endure the rain and snow. Although the continuous snow had lasted for several days, it was sometimes heavy and sometimes light, with occasional wind and thunder, which the young girl found very novel. Along with the novelty, she naturally became more tolerant of the changing weather.

The voices were distant yet the people were near; only their breaths lingered in each other's ears.

As the girl, holding the two little birds' hands, left the mansion and avoided the poisonous roses, Winnie was still unable to break free from the initial kiss. She curled up in the corner of the carriage, hesitating for a long time, but did not dare to kiss Charlotte. Instead, she lowered her body and leaned towards Charlotte.

"Watson, the carriage is too expensive. Why don't we walk back..."

In the midday sun, the little bird's cheeks were slightly red.

Silly girl, I'm not short of money. I can treat you. At least, in the world of ordinary people, nearly a hundred pounds is enough to squander for a lifetime.

He thought so to himself, but how could Charlotte possibly say that?

It wasn't that she couldn't understand the little bird's meaning; she just found it amusing. She knew that if she responded like that, she would definitely see Winnie pouting, looking aggrieved and ashamed.

That must be so cute, the girl thought.

But if he kissed her first, further provoking her would make him seem tactless and impolite.

She is a person who values ​​propriety. She has finally climbed up from the bottom of society. If she were to be treated like a scalpel, she would feel that her efforts were not worthwhile.

So she patted the bird's head, ruffling its chestnut hair into a messy, yet endearing, tuft.

“My dear girls, Mr. Singh is waiting for our news. He’s probably as anxious as an ant on a hot plate right now.”

Charlotte smiled faintly and asked again, as if to shift the blame onto the old detective.

Aren't you curious about my question from before?

"Miss Watson always has a reasonable reason. A silly girl like me doesn't need to go..."

Snowflakes drifted like dust along the hundred-mile-long street. Through the window, one could see a silver-haired girl raising her fingers to her pale pink lips.

"Shhh."

Recalling the peck just now, the little bird immediately covered its mouth, not daring to utter another word.

She could stop herself from speaking, but the light in her eyes was uncontrollable. She looked at Charlotte, at the teacher who had always taught and guided her.

“Winnie, I’ve said before that one’s background doesn’t determine everything about a person. You have talent and ambition, so I’m good to you, I like you, and I’m willing to be patient with you.”

She tilted her head back, letting her hair fall over hers. The carriage wasn't big to begin with, and now they were practically pressed together. Charlotte wrapped her arms around the little bird's waist and whispered softly beside her face:

"So don't let me down, and don't let yourself regret it later."