CWMBR 107

Chapter 107

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“Who’s discussing exclusivity? This guy’s determined to ruin my career!”

“What’s wrong with being exclusive to the Wise family?”

"What's wrong with it? Thanks to your spectacular blunder this time, we've become a client they desperately want to avoid!"

Declan, who had been grumbling to Ain all the way into the mansion, changed his expression the moment he spotted Bridget.

"Ah, Madame Wise!"

"Welcome, Mr. Rogers."

Unlike when she parted with Ain earlier, Bridget's face was noticeably calmer. She led Declan into the reception room.

Tea and refreshments, prepared perfectly timed by Jane, were laid out on the table.

Declan sat down first, and just as Ain was about to sit beside him naturally,

"Ain."

Bridget called him softly.

"I've never seen a guest and a servant seated side by side to be served. I suppose upper-class culture is different?"

"Servant?"

Declan, who had sat down without a second thought, looked at Bridget, murmuring in puzzlement. Bridget stared intently at Ain and said.

"Not in our house. So leave."

Ain, who had been stiffly frozen while watching Bridget, slowly straightened his back. He twitched his lips, then reluctantly nodded. As he did, the look he shot Declan was as cold and sharp as ice.

"Talk well, and come out."

Even if he tried to force a merciful smile, the way he gritted his teeth and spat out each word with such force made him look anything but calm. Ignoring Declan, who was rolling his eyes in confusion, Ain turned away. The tension in his tightly clenched jaw was so obvious it was visible.

Regardless, Bridget slammed the parlor door shut the moment Ain left. Declan, who had been watching the situation unfold while sitting quietly with his knees together and hands neatly folded, cautiously asked Bridget, seated across from him.

"Madame, I... I hope this situation doesn't escalate to a life-threatening one?"

Though it was Bridget who had sent that man away, the look he gave him at the end made Declan suspect the fallout might land in a very dangerous place.

Bridget, who had been tilting a small teapot to fill a cup, glanced up at his words. A serene voice filled the parlor along with the subtle scent of tea.

"If that happens, I'll stop it."

"Huh?"

"He's the one who feels so terribly sorry he volunteered to be a servant. Shouldn't a servant obey his master's orders?"

Clink.

Bridget pushed the teacup toward Declan and filled her own. But Declan gaped in such astonishment he didn't even register the teacup before him.

Bridget understood his shock perfectly. For that self-important Ain Wise to volunteer as a servant seemed more impossible than the sun rising in the west.

In truth, Declan's astonishment encompassed not only Ain volunteering as a servant, but also Bridget's attitude of treating Ain as such without batting an eye. Bridget, however, had no inkling of this aspect.

She sipped her own tea calmly, waiting for Declan to come to his senses. Fortunately, Declan regained his senses before long.

"Honestly, I'd love to record all this and savor it over and over."

Declan chuckled hollowly, took another sip of tea, and straightened his posture.

"But the reason you sought me out...?"

"I want to hire Mr. Rogers."

"But you've already signed a contract for that."

"It's not just about handling the divorce."

Bridget quietly set down the cup she was holding.

"If my uncle is guilty of anything, I want to uncover it all."

"Oh."

"And I want him to pay the proper price for that guilt."

Bridget placed two death certificates on the table. Declan, who had already heard about this from Ain's office, understood the situation just by seeing the two pieces of paper. His expression turned serious.

"If my uncle was even remotely involved in my parents' deaths, I can't let this go."

Not just family, but twin brothers. Bridget desperately hoped her suspicions were mere delusion, but sadly, the Ronan she had observed for years was someone she could never trust.

"After the divorce, there will be a substantial alimony settlement. If necessary, I'll use every penny of that money as my retainer. If it means getting definitive results."

"You seem certain that Ronan Pennington is connected to the deaths of the late Pennington couple. So you want him punished for fratricide?"

"If that's the truth."

Declan fell silent for a moment. His expression was subtle as he rubbed his forehead and spoke with slight awkwardness.

"The punishment for murder is..."

"Hanging."

Declan, who had been staring at his teacup, unable to bring himself to look at Bridget and explain, looked up in surprise at her words. Bridget's expression remained as impassive as before.

"I know. And I told you I want him to pay the legal price."

Her voice flowed without a flicker of emotion, smooth as if she'd rehearsed the line dozens of times. Declan stared at her, his mouth agape, then nodded grimly.

"Understood."

"Is there anything I need to prepare?"

"We'll need evidence. I'll contact the police headquarters, of course, but it happened years ago, so I'm not sure if proper evidence remains there. If Ronan Pennington has anything, securing it is crucial."

A shadow of worry settled in Bridget's eyes, which had remained calm throughout.

The accident hadn't occurred in Glynford itself, but near an outlying rural village. She heard the village vigilantes first discovered the wrecked carriage, then officers from the nearby patrol station confirmed it and took the case. The body was identified by a doctor dispatched to the village, who made the final pronouncement of death. Thanks to a letter from Bridget found among her parents' belongings, they were able to identify her quickly and receive the telegram confirming their death. Without that, the bodies might have been left to decay in the countryside.

To find anything suspicious in that situation, one would have to start with the name of this doctor. But it happened years ago—would there be anything useful?

"Realistically... is there anything left?"

"Criminals always leave evidence behind."

Declan answered Bridget's uncertain question with a firm voice.

"Because it's both a means of maintaining their sense of complicity and a trophy."

A sense of complicity. Come to think of it, that made sense. Whatever Ronan did to her parents, he couldn't have done it alone.

At the very least, that doctor and Ronan must have been accomplices. Maybe there was someone else too.

"But as far as I know, Ronan Pennington's whereabouts are unclear."

"Yes. That's what I've heard."

"The Royal Investigators won't be able to track Ronan Pennington immediately either. They're currently searching for other crucial evidence, and all their manpower is focused on that."

Bridget sighed softly at Declan's explanation. Gilum hadn't explained it to her in such detail. Probably for security reasons.

"I see."

Her hands grew cold. Bridget, who had been biting her lip, finally seemed resolved and clenched her fist tightly.

"Then we just need to get someone who knows Uncle's whereabouts to come forward."

"Someone who might know...?"

"Donna."

Bridget lifted her eyes.

"We have to use Donna."

***

Declan hurried out of the mansion, saying he had much to do. He hastily threw on his coat, but paused at the entrance and turned back.

"You're really staying here?"

"Yes."

"………………In that state?"

Declan's gaze swept over Ain from head to toe. Having shed not only his well-tailored coat and jacket but even his vest, he now stood with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

"The lady needs a sturdy, strong-armed servant.”

Declan's expression turned sour. The shirt and trousers Ain wore were far too elegant for manual labor, and his posture was stiff and unmistakably haughty. Taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves didn't make him a servant; he was just stubbornly insisting on it.

Just look at Mrs. Ottertz’s expression standing behind him—wasn't it obvious she found Ain burdensome? Far from wanting to employ him as a servant, she seemed uncomfortable just sharing the same space, clearly at a loss.

Perhaps just taking him along would be the easiest way for everyone. That thought crossed Declan's mind as he was about to seriously persuade Ain.

"What are you doing? Move it."

Bridget, who had come out to see them off at the front door a little late after attending to something, glanced at Ain and gave an indifferent nod.

Where she pointed was the chair that had been delivered just moments ago. Still completely new, its packaging not even properly opened yet.

"To the room upstairs."

At the curt instruction, everyone watched the two with tense expressions.

Ain, his lips pressed into a straight line, grabbed the chair. As he started dragging it halfway up the stairs, Bridget warned in an uncharacteristically stern tone.

"If you break it, you take it to the workshop yourself and get it repaired."

Ain silently lifted the chair.