Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 122

122. Crime Investigation

Clothing serves functions beyond merely protecting the body. For great nobles, clothing isn’t just about protection but also about displaying status, realizing personal identity, and fulfilling aesthetic desires.

Choosing even the color of undergarments carefully, being sensitive to the smallest wrinkles, and finding even a single stray thread intolerable—such was Richard Spencer’s usual attitude toward attire.

However, for once, Richard Spencer was wrapped entirely in clothing chosen solely to “protect the body” and sprawled lazily. Having been caught in his natural state by Grace, he was now more focused than ever on covering himself up.

Grace had screamed, slammed the door shut, and stormed out. Richard, left standing there with no time to cover himself, threw himself onto the bed. He was utterly mortified.

Now, he could finally understand why humanity’s ancestors had covered themselves with leaves out of shame after eating the forbidden fruit. But would mere leaves even suffice? Perhaps their shame had a different source than his.

Silently mourning humanity’s ancestors, Richard Spencer allowed himself a faint, self-satisfied smile. Evolution is, after all, a trait of the species.

“Young Earl.”

Sebastian waved his hand in front of Richard’s face, interrupting his nonsensical thoughts. Richard, who had been grinning foolishly, snapped out of it.

“What?”

He replied, stuffing his ridiculous musings back into the depths of his mind. If it were me, it would have to be at least the size of a lotus leaf…

“The coachman Lady Montague mentioned has disappeared.”

“You couldn’t catch him?”

“Considering how conspicuously you reunited with Lady Montague in front of everyone, it’s not surprising the coachman might have noticed and slipped away. Didn’t I repeatedly ask you to tone it down?”

Sebastian grumbled. Although soldiers had stormed the harbor’s administrative office immediately, they couldn’t find any trace of the coachman Grace had described.

Boarding the ship wouldn’t have taken long, and he probably noticed the commotion outside on his way out. Realizing something was amiss, he likely fled quickly.

If he were an ordinary coachman, he wouldn’t have been able to evade pursuit so skillfully. He was either experienced in escape or native to the area. His Midwestern accent suggested the latter might be true.

“Where is Viscount Lovelace?”

“Ah, about that…”

Sebastian recalled the pitiful and horrifying scene inside the carriage and felt a shiver run down his spine. If they had been even a little later, the Viscount might not have survived.

There’s a saying: Hate the sin, not the sinner. This time, though, Sebastian couldn’t help but feel pity for the sinner. Thinking about the reality Viscount Lovelace would face upon waking only deepened his pity.

Grace Montague was a peculiar combination of dullness, intelligence, and terror. Sebastian remembered the combination he had come up with based on the information Richard had given him before he met Grace: “Flying + horned + horse.” She was indeed as unpredictable as a rugby ball. The idea of someone being both dull and intelligent was strange enough, but being dull and terrifying was even stranger.

The Spencer family was destined to have an extraordinary lady. After all, Grace was capable of turning a lion into a cat.

Sebastian tried to erase the unpleasant scene from his mind as he carefully chose his words.

“The Viscount’s condition isn’t great, so he’s receiving treatment first.”

Richard had intended to summon Viscount Lovelace immediately for interrogation. Considering the Viscount had likely been confined to the carriage the entire time, it was hard to imagine what could have injured him.

“Worse than my broken leg?”

Richard glanced at his bandaged leg as he asked. Sebastian subtly covered his midsection with both hands, mumbling internally that the comparison was hardly fair. He couldn’t help the sting of sympathy he felt.

“In any case, I’ll ensure he talks once he recovers.”

Although Sebastian had already heard the full story from Grace, he judged it unwise to explain the details to Richard just yet. If Richard were to learn what the viscount had tried to do to Grace, he might forget about the investigation entirely and start demanding the Viscount’s head on the spot.

“But there was something strange.”

Sebastian opened his mouth again, recalling the records he’d reviewed at the harbor’s administrative office.

“According to the boarding documents left by the coachman, Viscount Lovelace and Grace Montague’s real names were listed.”

“……”

“In cases like this, wouldn’t it be normal to use aliases when abducting someone and fleeing?”

“That would make sense.”

“So, perhaps…”

“You’re suggesting Grace might have died aboard the ship.”

“Precisely. Leaving their real names and disappearing aboard the ship would make it easy to declare them dead.”

At Sebastian’s words, Richard clenched and unclenched his fists. It was a stroke of luck they arrived before the ship departed. Once aboard, it would have been over.

Still, questions remained. Despite the evident planning, this escape attempt felt oddly amateurish. Whoever was behind it seemed inexperienced with such schemes.

Kidnappings should be brief and efficient. Leaving too many traces does no good—except for the pursuers, of course.

If it had been Richard himself, he would have dealt with the servant in the carriage right in front of the Duke’s residence. There was no need to leave behind unnecessary witnesses. After the abduction, he would have taken Grace to a nearby secured building rather than embarking on a long journey from the start.

Doing such a long journey immediately after a kidnapping was sheer folly. A more effective plan would have been to confine her somewhere inconspicuous first, then negotiate—or eliminate her…

Richard abruptly shook his head to dispel the thoughts and asked another question.

“Was there anything unusual about the carriage Grace was in?”

“It was just an ordinary carriage. The body was made of cheap wood, and there were no distinct markings to indicate ownership.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Under the driver’s seat, we found a bag of personal belongings. It contained nothing significant—just some clothes, socks, toiletries, and items necessary for camping.”

“Bring me that bag.”

Sebastian presented the bag to Richard. Though nothing in it seemed to reveal the coachman’s identity, sometimes letting someone examine it personally was more effective than saying a hundred times that there was nothing.

Richard meticulously inspected the items, pulling them out one by one. His expression was unusually serious as he scrutinized the mundane belongings, pinching them between his fingers as if examining evidence.

Sebastian, watching him silently, let a few drops of milk fall into his tea.

“Sebastian, wait a moment.”

Just as Sebastian was about to lift his teaspoon, Richard called out to him, tilting his chin slightly to reveal a faint dimple.

“Don’t stir it—swirl it gently.”

He demands all sorts of things…

Someday, if Sebastian ever wrote a spy novel or crime investigation story, he’d include that irritating line as dialogue. Perhaps the protagonist would be a spy acting under the orders of the benevolent Queen Anne. His designated number could be the lucky number 7.

Sebastian allowed his imagination to wander briefly before returning to reality, swirling the tea like a glass of wine before setting it before Richard Spencer.

“The matches have barely been used. The seal hasn’t been broken for long, either.”

“Pardon?”

“This was likely purchased just before the journey began, don’t you think?”

“I suppose that could be the case.”

Why matches all of a sudden? Clearly, Ingrint’s future as a global hub for espionage and crime thrillers was secure. Even a budding detective or spy could deduce as much from this scenario.

“The matchbox bears the name of a store.”

“……”

“It’s from a shop in Bath.”

“……”

Surely not…

Sebastian held his tongue, suppressing the urge to utter something profane.

“Earlier, Grace mentioned that the coachman had a Midwestern accent.”

“……”

“And the location where Grace and Viscount Lovelace boarded the carriage was in Lydon, wasn’t it?”

“Young Master…”

“Yet these barely-used matches were purchased in Bath.”

The final words of Richard Spencer spread through the room like warm breath. His heart, which had wavered at the very last moment, had turned a blind eye to the Countess of Spencer’s residence in Bath. Instead, he had suspected Queen Anne, the Duke of Devonshire, the Marquess of Winchester, and the Duke of Charlotte in Gallia, avoiding the scandal within his own family.

“It could be a coincidence.”

Sebastian’s voice wavered as he spoke, unable to meet Richard’s gaze. But in truth, his thoughts aligned with Richard’s.

In hindsight, no one had a clearer motive to orchestrate such a plot than the Countess Spencer. Among those with the resources and capacity for such an operation, she alone harbored this level of animosity toward the Young Earl.

Moreover, the unnecessarily convoluted nature of the plan bore her hallmark. The Duke of Devonshire or the Duke of Charlotte would have resolved the matter directly and decisively. The Marquess of Winchester, on the other hand, would have been far more meticulous.

The Countess Spencer, however, always managed to overcomplicate matters, leaving herself vulnerable to failure. She had tried countless times to bring down Richard Spencer but had never succeeded because of these weaknesses. No one exploited those flaws better than Mary Montague.

Now Richard Spencer had grown capable of stepping perfectly into Mary Montague’s shoes. The thought filled Sebastian with a mix of pride and melancholy. He averted his gaze as he noticed Richard biting his lip.

“Continue tracking the coachman. He might have boarded a ship, so send people to Aire.”

“Yes…”

“Once Grace is ready, we’ll return to Lydon. Or perhaps Bath would be better.”

Sebastian had hoped for a day or two of rest before departure but couldn’t argue. He grew anxious over the logistics of arranging a carriage.

“Then I’ll step out to make the preparations.”

“…”

Receiving no response from the Young Earl, Sebastian didn’t wait. Rubbing his strained eyes, he exited the room.

Left alone, Richard pulled a match from the box and struck it. The pale green glow of his eyes reflected the flickering flame, their depths shimmering with unspoken resolve.

Some people make wishes upon the light of a match. Others, however, let that tiny flame burn away the last remnants of something they couldn’t bring themselves to abandon.