Miss Charlotte’s Case Journal - Chapter 2

“But I’m scared of blood!”

Charlotte shouted and slammed her head back down on the desk. She felt so miserable she could cry. Just the sight of blood made her hands tremble and her vision blur, so how could they expect her to perform an autopsy? The humiliating memories of fainting countless times and being carried to the infirmary during her trainee days came rushing back, making her face twist in distress.

“Hmm, Charlotte, still….”

“So, are you saying you don’t want to do it?”

Someone cut off Eugene’s attempt at comforting her. It was Amilla, the director of the morgue, speaking in a cold voice. Charlotte shakily got to her feet and shook her head.

“Director, I just….”

“Every employee here performs autopsies. No exceptions. We’re always short on people, and the work never ends. Someone like you, who fusses over being scared of blood, should’ve been cut during your probation. Do you know why I kept you as a full-time employee anyway?”

“….”

“Because you’re from a famous family? Because I was afraid of pressure from above?”

“Come on, Director, that’s enough. It’s not like Charlotte said she won’t do it. She’s just complaining because it’s hard….”

Eugene tried to defend her, but fell silent when the director shot him a sharp glare. She shoved a stack of papers into his arms and jerked her chin toward the door. With extra work suddenly piled on him, Eugene gave Charlotte a sympathetic look before deciding he pitied his own sleepless self more, and quietly left the room.

“I accepted you because you showed me you could handle it. You said you’d endure it no matter what, even if you vomited or fainted. I believed in that determination you showed when you shouted in front of me.”

The director looked at Charlotte, whose face had turned red.

“Everyone’s been covering your assigned autopsies out of concern for you. Even I’ve avoided giving you those tasks when possible. It’s not because I want to make things hard for you. But this time, it can’t be helped. No matter how much the world’s changed, a noble is still a noble. Who’d want to step into a fight between whales when we’re all just weak little shrimp? If someone has to step into that fight, it should at least be another whale.”

Charlotte nodded at the director’s words. Though her tone was cold, Charlotte knew she genuinely cared for her staff. The director gave her shoulder a couple of light pats before leaving the room.

***

There’s no choice. I have to do it. This is my job. I’m a proud citizen of the Essenharn Empire….

Charlotte muttered inwardly like a mantra. But no matter how she tried, her pounding heart wouldn’t calm. At this rate, she might not be able to start the autopsy today. Then the body would begin to decay, she’d get scolded for it, and the Turobe family would bombard them with complaints….

As that dreadful future flashed before her eyes, Charlotte shook her head violently to chase the thought away. She took a deep breath and clenched her fists. Just as she reached for the door to the autopsy room, a small voice called from behind her.

“…Charlotte?”

When she turned around, a woman in a black dress with her face covered by a veil was standing there. The woman slowly rose from her seat and spoke again, carefully.

“You’re Charlotte, right?”

“Um… I’m sorry, ma’am, but do I know you?” Charlotte frowned awkwardly.

The woman lifted her veil slightly to reveal her face. She was pale, as if she might collapse at any moment. Beneath the black veil, her red hair shimmered faintly in the light.

“Lucy?”

Charlotte stepped forward in surprise, raising her voice. The woman gave a faint smile in greeting.

“Hello. It’s been a while.”

Though she said it had been a long time, her tone was calm, as if they had only met yesterday. When Lucy lowered her hand, the veil fell again over her face.

“Lucy Hamilton! It’s been forever!”

Overcome with joy, Charlotte threw her arms around her. Lucy let out a small groan and returned the embrace. She was far thinner than Charlotte remembered. Why’s she so skinny? She’d always been slender, but not this much.

While Charlotte tilted her head slightly, Lucy slipped from her arms with a quiet laugh. The veil fluttered softly, brushing against her cheek. Finding it bothersome, Lucy glanced around briefly, then pushed it back over her head.

“I never imagined I’d see you here. I heard you were working, but still….”

Charlotte smiled sheepishly. “That’s what everyone says.”

She didn’t offer further explanation. Indeed, for a noblewoman to hold a job at all was highly unusual. No matter how much the times had changed, working for a living was still considered something for the lower class, and even more so for a woman.

Just holding a job was scandalous enough, but working at a morgue was nothing short of shocking. Charlotte thought of her reputation in society, which had already sunk to the bottom. A bitter sigh escaped her.

If anyone else had said such a thing, she might have snapped back sarcastically. But she knew Lucy meant no malice, only genuine admiration. Lucy had always been that way. She never judged what she didn’t understand; she simply respected it.

“When we were at the academy, we were inseparable… remember? During summer break, I stayed at your estate, and during winter break, you stayed at mine.”

“That’s right, we did.”

“After we lost touch, I always wondered how you were doing….”

“So did I, Lucy.”

Lucy spoke kindly, but Charlotte felt a strange awkwardness and fell silent. A quiet stillness settled between them. Charlotte fidgeted with her fingers, not knowing what to say next, and the absurdity of the situation made her want to laugh. Back then, even if they went silent for hours, it had never felt awkward like this….

“What brings you here?”

At Charlotte’s attempt to shift the topic, Lucy’s face stiffened slightly.

“Ah, I….”

She hesitated and trailed off. Drawing her veil back down, Lucy gave a faint, self-deprecating smile.

“Just look at my clothes, Charlotte….”

Only then did Charlotte realize that Lucy was wearing mourning attire.

“Oh no, Lucy, don’t tell me Baron Turobe….”

“He’s my husband.”

Charlotte pressed her lips together, at a loss for words. Her vision blurred for a moment. Through the thin veil, she could see Lucy’s face contorting.

“…I was against having an autopsy done, honestly. He was always such a timid man… terrified of getting hurt. But still….”

But Baron Turobe’s parents and siblings had insisted on an autopsy. Charlotte already knew that.

“I’ll be counting on you, Charlotte.”

Charlotte barely managed to nod. Lucy sank weakly back into her chair. She looked so pitiful that Charlotte felt her chest tighten. With a deep sigh, Charlotte opened the door to the autopsy room. As she glanced back, she saw through the narrowing gap that Lucy was fiddling with her veil. Beneath it, her lips twisted faintly into an unreadable shape.

The moment the door closed, a thought suddenly drifted through Charlotte’s mind.

‘Why did I lose contact with Lucy?’

***

The autopsy didn’t go smoothly, as expected. Over the course of two hours and twenty minutes, Charlotte dry-heaved twenty-three times, screamed fourteen times, dropped the scalpel seventeen times, and fainted once before being revived with cold water. By the time she stepped out of the autopsy room, she was nearly half-conscious.

Charlotte staggered to wash up and returned to her office. Lucy was gone, perhaps tired of waiting; she had left. Maybe she’d come again tomorrow. Sitting down, Charlotte absentmindedly thought about Lucy, then shook her head and picked up her pen.

At the top of the paper, she wrote in large letters: Autopsy Report.

Charlotte bit her lip for a moment. Her thoughts were a tangled mess. The hand holding her pen trembled slightly.

The first person to discover Baron Turobe’s body had been a maid. According to her statement, when she entered the master’s room to clean as usual, she found him lying face down on the bed. Thinking he had merely overslept after drinking heavily the night before, she quietly closed the door and left.

Until late afternoon, the baron didn’t leave his room. Around that time, his wife—Lucy, who had gone out early that morning to watch a play—returned home and looked for him. The maid hurried to his chamber to wake him, but by then, the baron’s body had already turned cold.

There had been vomit around his mouth, so at first glance, it could have been assumed he had drunk beyond his limit, become intoxicated, and choked to death as food refluxed while he slept.

“Haa….”

However, the autopsy revealed that the baron’s airway was clear. Instead, something from his stomach reacted to silver—a clear sign of arsenic poisoning.

Charlotte’s fingers tapped nervously on the desk. Who could have poisoned him? Who stood to gain the most from his death?

Unconsciously, Charlotte’s gaze dropped to the paper. The name written there made her flinch. Lucy. Lucy Hamil—no, Lucy Turobe, the baron’s wife.

By law, when a husband dies, all of his wealth and title pass to his wife. The Baroness of Turobe was now a young, beautiful, and immensely wealthy widow. If she remarried, both the title and the fortune would become her new husband’s. Since she had no children, suitors would surely line up for her hand. Anyone who married her would live a life of luxury and ease.

If the baroness was the culprit, she would’ve had countless chances to poison him. She could’ve slipped it into his drink, mixed it with water while he slept off his drunkenness, or simply poured it straight into his mouth as he lay there.

Did she truly poison her husband?