Chapter 195

 

Iona, sensing something ominous, turned to look at the firmly closed front door.

 

From a distance, the hurried sound of footsteps was drawing closer.

 

Soon enough, someone burst through the door, gasping for air as they looked at the guest.

 

It was Carmen, the wife of Viscount Ida.

 

Carmen bit her lip as though holding back a surge of emotions.

 

“Your Grace...”

 

In a trembling voice, Carmen muttered those words awkwardly before suddenly throwing herself into Iona’s arms.

 

Her clumsy, desperate movements showed no sign of grace, but Iona deliberately let a few moments pass without stopping her.

 

“My husband, my husband... Oh, dear God!”

 

Carmen began to sob uncontrollably, clinging to Iona.

 

For a brief moment, Leroy’s gaze flicked toward them, his eyes meeting Iona’s.

 

Iona glanced down at Carmen without a word.

 

The maids who had followed Carmen outside tried to calm her, horrified by the scene, but Carmen paid no heed.

 

It was as if her grief had drowned out everything else around her.

 

Iona gently patted Carmen’s back and spoke softly.

 

“Please, calm yourself and tell me what happened, Viscountess.”

 

“This must be a nightmare. It has to be a dream. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?”

 

Carmen’s words tumbled out in Bardemese, quick and disjointed, leaving Iona with a confused expression.

 

Even the maid who usually translated Carmen’s words was silent, overwhelmed by the moment.

 

Only Carmen’s heart-wrenching sobs filled the space.

 

“Viscountess, I need you to tell me what happened so I can help you,” Iona said, her voice firm.

 

At last, Carmen’s sobs began to subside, as if she had regained a shred of composure.

 

She raised her head unsteadily, her tear-soaked eyelashes trembling as though convulsing.

 

Her pale face looked as if she might faint at any moment.

 

The staff who had stepped outside to send the guests away or assist the baroness watched with pity in their eyes.

 

“My husband is dead.”

 

Carmen announced her husband’s death in unusually clear Imperial, her voice shaking with certainty.

 

Viscount Ida had been murdered by his own son, Dieter.

 

Under the influence of the drug, Dieter had failed to recognize his father, who had entered his room, and committed a tragic mistake.

 

“There was a loud noise this morning,” Carmen said, her voice quivering.

 

Despite being bundled up in two blankets and clutching a hot-water bottle tightly to her chest, she still seemed freezing.

 

Fixating her gaze on the coffee table, she continued speaking rapidly.

 

“At first, I thought he had gone to scold Dieter. No, that must’ve been his intention. Dieter didn’t show up for breakfast today... He was probably furious because today was the day you, Your Grace, were to visit, and there were things he wanted to address with Dieter beforehand.”

 

Her rambling speech ignored any consideration for her listener.

 

Even the maid, who usually translated her words with diligence, didn’t have the chance to interject, leaving her explanation dry and overly concise.

 

“No one dared to enter the room to stop them. Only Dieter could’ve calmed him down, but…”

 

“...”

 

“But it took so long—nearly until lunch…”

 

Carmen’s voice trailed off as she swallowed back a sob.

 

Iona leaned back into the large single-seater chair, feigning a deep sigh of sorrow.

 

She had chosen this chair over a wider one since Leroy wasn’t by her side to join her.

 

The baroness, paralyzed by fear, was in no state to take any action, while Leroy, accustomed to taking responsibility, had gone to investigate the room after receiving a brief explanation of the incident.

 

Iona, though familiar with such tragedies in her own way, stayed behind to comfort the grieving baroness.

 

“It couldn’t have been intentional. Dieter respected his father…”

 

Carmen seemed to be struggling more than anyone to rationalize the situation for herself.

 

Iona’s voice remained calm as she responded in agreement.

 

“Of course, Viscountess. I know Dieter as well.”

 

“If he had even a shred of sanity left, he would never have done such a thing.”

 

“Can you tell me more about Dieter’s condition? Was he truly unable to recognize anyone?”

 

“Oh, when people rushed in, they found him sound asleep, completely unaware of the world... next to my husband’s lifeless body. The servants have locked him in the cellar for now, but... oh, oh no…”

 

Carmen dissolved into sobs once more, her grief filling the room as Iona silently contemplated the gravity of the tragedy.

 

Carmen, as though unable to speak further, broke into tears again.

 

The maid, who had already gone through several handkerchiefs, hurried over once more to wipe her mistress’s face.

 

Only after a long pause did Carmen, her breathing steadied, look at Iona with hollow eyes.

 

“Your Grace, you must know about Dieter spending time with bad company and indulging in terrible habits.”

 

Iona allowed herself a small, self-deprecating chuckle, thinking that the situation had taken an amusing turn.

 

“Yes,” Iona admitted smoothly. “I even considered informing the Viscount about it to help fix those habits.”

 

With a sigh that feigned deep regret, Iona added, “But you stopped me, didn’t you, Viscountess?”

 

The maids of the baron’s household, who were listening in on the conversation, reflexively shot disapproving glances at Iona, as though to say that such a remark was unnecessary in this moment.

 

Of course, no maid would dare show such impudence to a noble openly; the sympathy they felt for their mistress quickly faded.

 

Meanwhile, Carmen, recovering slightly from the shock, sniffled and answered, “I thought Dieter was only smoking hashish. It’s common enough in port towns that I didn’t see it as a serious problem. If I’d known he was using something more dangerous, I would never have let it slide.”

 

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” Iona agreed, maintaining her air of polite disapproval.

 

“Still, it might have been better to approach the situation more cautiously. As you know, bad habits like these don’t leave much room for moderation. There’s a saying in Bardem about such things, isn’t there?”

 

Iona, her pronunciation crisp and deliberate, recited the foreign phrase as though delivering a declaration.

 

“You must have summoned me here because there’s something you want to discuss in private, Viscountess. Shall we get to the point?”

 

Both Carmen and her maid, who had been translating for her, turned their attention to Iona, startled by her suggestion.

 

Iona leaned back into the sofa with a satisfied expression, as though achieving her aim with that alone.

 

The silence that followed did not last long; the performance had to continue.

 

Carmen, visibly flustered, spoke up. “You speak Bardemese?”

 

“I’ve studied it before. I wouldn’t say I’m fluent, though.”

 

Carmen scrutinized Iona with cautious eyes, though her examination was brief, likely due to the presence of others.

 

“…It’s quite comforting to have someone I can confide in. If you wouldn’t mind, could you and your husband stay the night at the manor? After such a frightful event, it would put my mind at ease to have you here.”

 

Iona readily agreed.

 

The moment Iona gave her consent, Carmen dismissed her maids under the pretext of preparing the guest room. It was evident she wanted Iona to do the same with her own attendants, but Iona deliberately ignored her expectation.

 

In any case, only Yulia remained by Iona’s side, making the number of attendants between them equal.

 

Sipping her tea, Iona glanced at the two women across from her.

 

Carmen appeared conflicted, as if mentally revisiting every word she had spoken in Iona’s presence. In contrast, her maid, Amaia, stood behind her with an impassive face, showing no visible reaction.

 

Not that it mattered; this wasn’t a situation where the maid could outshine her mistress.

 

‘To be fair, they’ve been careful enough so far that I haven’t picked up on much directly from them.’

 

Any information Iona had obtained had come from other investigations. There was no need to worry about nonexistent slips of the tongue.

 

But now, with an unexpected move that revealed a card before its time, Iona had gained the psychological upper hand in this exchange.

 

It wasn’t a bad start.

 

She had played along with their performance faithfully until now; it was time to uncover the truth.

 

“…Why don’t you tell me what it is you want, Viscountess?”

 

Carmen, unaware of what Iona truly sought, predictably took the bait and began to speak.

--- End Of The Chapter ----

 

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