#bonus chapters

June 25, 1848

The way to the château was long and marked by bickering and complaining, as Williams could not keep her frustrations at the situation to herself or restrain herself from placing all the blame on Weaselton (where it belonged, of course; anyone could have figured out that she is not a person for an undertaking like this one, and should have remained in Paris instead).

If I had been allowed and been given an address, I could have made the journey on my own. This might have been preferable for all involved parties. Weaselton could have gone to meet the Marquis at another time; from what I gathered, he could have honoured that invitation a few days afterwards too. It was only crucial that I exited the Williams Paris townhouse as soon as possible after all.

At least, sleep eventually befell Williams (despite her announcement, she did not sleep "with one eye" open), and the carriage quieted.

The farther away we got from Paris, the more I wondered [smudged]

I could only [smudged]

Was [smudged]

No, it was good that we left when we did. My mind was simply without rest, as always. There was no need to worry about all that was left behind in Paris, as everything was secured. The main – the only – cause of concern and restive thoughts should merely be that man, Nicodemus Townsend. Nevertheless, it proved greatly difficult not to think about [smudged] for once.

We arrived at the château tired but in one piece, against the odds.

Entry thrown into a fire three days later.

----

June 26, 1848

The moment I learned of the box's theft and the culprit's name, I began my research on Nicodemus Townsend: 31 years old. The eldest child and son of a former governess, Maria Smith, and a factory technician, John Townsend. Named "Nicodemus" after the biblical figure because of his family's religious devotion and the fact that he was born on August 3, one of the biblical Nicodemus' days of observance. The oldest of six, though the youngest passed away in infancy. His upbringing and regular church-goings likely contributed to his charisma. He failed to become a clergyman, however. Thus, he decided to use his skills for other purposes – until he, at last, turned to Chartism.

Despite Townsend's ability to bewitch people, he is, by all accounts, a thoroughly unremarkable person. He learned of the box's existence and location from a traitor, but this traitor (whose name the Queen did not impart to Mylady, and who was already discovered and hanged by the time of her briefing) had no involvement in the actual theft of the box beyond providing some simple information. I am most certain that a man of Townsend's low calibre could never have masterminded a plan to steal the box, even with the little but essential knowledge he received from the traitor.

The box could not have possibly been kept so unsafely. I find the existence of this "traitor" hard to believe as well. Given the importance of the box, its location should have never become known to a third party in the first place.

Either the Queen has been infuriatingly careless with her handling of the box, or something else is going on.

Or I might simply be worrying too much, and a very trusted companion of the Queen truly did resort to selling state secrets, and Townsend really did happen to attract the right people to conduct the heist of the century.

I was given the clear to interrogate Townsend and the other man, a fellow named Ben Webb. Webb is of no concern or remark, a simple goon of no personal worth.

I spent a couple of hours with Townsend, attempting to extract any piece of useful information out of him while Weaselton stood sentinel. (Townsend and Webb might be criminals and soon to be hanged from the gallows; still, Weaselton felt great discomfort in leaving them alone with me, lest I treated them too harshly. Bless his heart.) I have come to the conclusion that my assessment of him was correct: He is as unremarkable as I knew him to be. He could not have accomplished this theft through sheer strategic prowess. Townsend has either been blessed with the greatest of luck, or the Queen has been extraordinarily lax about the box's security.

I do not think it is either of those two possibilities.

I do not like this situation at all. Most of all considering [smudged]

[smudged]

But to what end? If this is a kind of charade, what purpose does it have?

Of course, I could be wrong still. I need more information. I cannot act on a hunch alone, especially not with what is at stake.

I have failed to consider another possibility. How careless of me. How unlike me to have my mind clouded by worry.

Of course, there could have been another: One person to plan and manipulate. One person to eclipse the other and take the blame.

Townsend seemed very sure of himself to have orchestrated this situation all on his own. I wish I could have another moment with him, to press him further about this new hypothesis. Unfortunately, Weaselton has gone to the Marquis, and I am disallowed from seeking out Townsend and Webb on my own. Williams has been buzzing around me too, thinking I would not notice.

I cannot explain myself to these two. I need to find another opportunity.

If there has indeed been a puppeteer, they have to be located at once.

I could not remain in my room and began to wander the halls of the château. A lifetime of learning to suppress my restlessness had become void in the face of the possibility that [smudged]

Tranquillity always came so easily to Trudy and has always eluded me.

She would have known what to do.

I only had to pass a few more hours here. Weaselton wanted to depart as soon as possible, right after his meeting with the Marquis.

The Marquis never called upon me. I suppose he had got what he wanted and had no need to see me too.

[smudged]

I met the Marquis' other grandchildren, the little ones, or, rather, they met me. The girl discovered me in the library while I was searching for Paradise Lost (it would not have been the same if it had been in French, but simply holding a copy of it was a comfort in itself, and I knew it by heart anyway; alas, this library proved to be unworthy and lacked it).

I should have brought my own copy with me, or purchased an expendable one for the journey.

Miss Anaïs Dupont – my little [smudged] would have been about her age, only a little older, if she had lived past infancy. And her character reminded me of [smudged]. It was still a joy to spend the hours until it was time to leave with her and the boys, even if this activity did not distract my mind in the slightest. On the contrary, it made me think more of my children than I already do.

It has become so late. I write this entry in an inn in Dunkirk. I convinced Weaselton to stay the night and head across the Channel tomorrow morning.

I did not want to cross it today, of all days.

[smudged]

Everyone is fast asleep. Only I am awake.

I cannot sleep now. Not [smudged]

A bookshop close by had no copy of Paradise Lost, and I had to make do with Comus.

It is not the same, naturally, and I must admit that I could never warm myself towards this masque.

I bought it nevertheless, to pass the time.

"What hath night to do with sleep?"

[smudged], my sunshine.

For a moment, the world was perfect. Vincent was fast asleep and could not bombard Diedrich with a morbid topic he had recently studied. The sun was shining, the sky free of clouds, and the temperature pleasant; the London Season really took place during England’s best weather period. And they were on the way to the townhouse. Silence, good weather, an evening off – everything was perfect.

Like a fool, Diedrich lulled himself into a false sense of security. Still, nothing was ever perfect in the vicinity of Vincent Phantomhive, and reality crashed down on him when he realised that the hansom cab hadn’t moved a centimetre in the last ten minutes.

Swearing under his breath, Diedrich slightly opened the carriage door and asked the driver what was going on. He had no idea; he only knew that something was obstructing the traffic. With an annoyed sigh, Diedrich sank back in his seat. Fifteen minutes later, the cab was still perfectly immobile. Cab and carriage drivers as well as annoyed passengers and curious passersby investigated the origin of the odd blockage and passed it along by word of mouth. By the time the reason reached Diedrich, it had turned into a mess:

Diedrich had to hear and accept many ridiculous things in his life ever since he had met Vincent Phantomhive. Still, under no circumstance, would he ever believe that the world’s largest family of ducks had been waddling across the street when the ground suddenly gave away underneath them, and that people were now frantically trying to rescue the poor and highly uncooperative little creatures – even if it meant bringing a good portion of London’s traffic to a standstill.

When there was no improvement nearly an hour later, Diedrich dropped his head in his hands and inhaled deeply. Then, he reached out and tipped on Vincent’s shoulder. “Phantomhive, time to wake up.”

But Vincent didn’t.

Diedrich shook him, snipped against his head, and loudly clapped his hands together in front of his face. Nothing worked, and coldness ran up Diedrich’s spine. Numbly, he checked Vincent’s pulse – and sighed in relief when he felt his heartbeat.

But that relief lasted only a moment. No matter how exhausted Vincent must have been, he would have woken up or at least stirred a little when Diedrich had shaken him. Something was wrong, and Diedrich wracked his brain until one theory manifested itself in his mind: Vincent had drunk Undertaker’s tea! What if Undertaker had put anything in it? The mortician would never do anything to jeopardise Vincent’s life and health, but it would not be beyond him to give Vincent a sleeping tincture to annoy Diedrich.

Especially if three cakes and a plate of biscuits had to be delivered safely.

Diedrich pinched his nose and slowly counted from ten downwards. Zehn, neun, acht… Perhaps Undertaker had even trained that duck family to wreak havoc in London today?

When he had calmed down a bit, Diedrich gave Vincent one more shake, but he still did not react. Cursing Undertaker, Diedrich climbed out of the carriage before he lifted Vincent out and carried him on piggyback. When Vincent slept secured on his back – he was lighter than Diedrich had expected – Diedrich grabbed two boxes with each hand. His drill sergeant would be very proud of him if he could see him now.

Then, fuelled by annoyance and irritation, Diedrich set out to walk to the Phantomhive townhouse.

***

Thankfully, Tanaka, as the only sensible member of the Phantomhive household, had noticed the commotion that had taken over a good portion of London. Wanting to make sure that his master was not the cause of it, he had set out to investigate. Diedrich met him halfway to the townhouse and was very glad to be rid of some of the boxes. They must have looked odd to any passer-by as they carried dubious-looking boxes (of course, Undertaker had to place the cakes and biscuits in the weirdest boxes he could find and wrap them in see-through cloths; he could as well have stored them in urns) and a seemingly dead man through the city. The only reason they didn’t receive more attention was that everyone was captivated by the ducks. (Diedrich couldn’t believe they actually existed, though there weren’t as many as reported.)

When they finally reached the townhouse, Tanaka put the cakes and biscuits in the kitchen while Diedrich carried Vincent upstairs and threw him on his bed. Not even that woke him up. Whatever Undertaker had given him was insanely potent.

Diedrich wanted to collapse into an armchair and doze off right here and now but knew that it would not be comfortable. With the last bit of his strength, he dragged himself to his room and fell into his own bed – and into sound, dreamless sleep.

***

When he woke up the next morning, it felt as if he had only blinked. Diedrich was thoroughly confused when he checked the clock and it read that it was almost nine o’clock in the morning. At least, although his body had not recognised the time shift, it had rested surprisingly well. Diedrich felt great, though it did not lift his mood.

I cannot believe Undertaker did that to me, Diedrich thought while he got dressed. He wondered if Vincent was already up or not and was torn between wanting him to be asleep (peaceful breakfast) or awake (to make sure Vincent had not died during the night). In the end, Diedrich decided that both options would be fine and then headed downstairs.

Halfway to the dining hall, he spotted Vincent sluggishly making his way there too. Because Vincent was farther down the staircase, Diedrich quickened his pace a bit to catch up with him.

“Good morning, Dee,” said Vincent and yawned.

“Good morning,” Diedrich returned. “How come you are still sleepy when you have slept for about fourteen hours?”

“Did I really sleep that long?”

“Yes. And one hour of it you spent in the hansom cab – and another on my back.”

“Like a koala?”

“Like the world’s heaviest and most insufferable koala.”

“Breaking records while asleep, what an accomplishment, don’t you think?”

Diedrich glared at him. “I had to carry you back to the townhouse because you fell asleep in the cab and the traffic was stopped by a family of ducks! And I didn’t only have to carry you but the boxes of cakes and biscuits as well! You’re lucky that Tanaka came to look for us. Otherwise, I might have left you at the side of the street.”

“I did wonder how I ended up in my bed,” Vincent said absentmindedly.

Diedrich looked at him and asked slowly, “Have you always been such a heavy sleeper, Phantomhive?”

“No. I was just very, very exhausted,” Vincent returned in a tone Diedrich could not place but one that made him furrow his brows, nonetheless. “We moved around quite a bit yesterday, and I didn’t get much sleep the night before. Did you sleep well, Dee?”

“Yes, but –”

“That’s good!” Vincent interrupted him and pushed open the door to the dining room.

Although what Vincent had said sounded plausible, Diedrich didn’t believe he was right; no matter how exhausted, nobody would have fallen asleep that deeply. The whole situation made Diedrich uneasy, and with the words “I think Undertaker drugged you, Phantomhive” on his tongue, he hurried after Vincent. They did not get the chance to escape into the air though because Diedrich swallowed them as soon as he stepped into the dining hall and realised that they were not alone.

Her sheer appearance always disarmed him, ever since Diedrich had first met her during the cricket tournament’s celebrations in his first year at Weston College. Even then, despite her age, she had radiated authority, and her piercing gaze had only intensified as she had grown older. Now, although Francis Midford was casually sipping tea while sitting at the breakfast table, Diedrich felt the need to stand up a little straighter. Tanaka stood next to Francis (they must have been catching up beforehand), and Diedrich could have sworn his eyes glinted in amusement when he noticed Diedrich adjusting his posture.

“Franny!” Vincent exclaimed and hurried to his sister. “What a surprise!”

Seeing them side by side never ceased to baffle Diedrich. He hadn’t believed Vincent – who was, after all, a known liar – that eve of the tournament when he had told him that Francis was his sister. Diedrich could hardly believe it now, having known them for years and seen the dozens of childhood pictures Vincent liked to hold under his nose. (They were carefully curated and seldom showed their parents.) After all, the Phantomhive siblings were as different as day and night. Now, Vincent – having somehow managed to discard his sleepiness in his sister’s presence – was smiling and beaming while Francis put down her cup and glared at him.

“Why should it be a surprise? You are holding my cakes hostage, and I had to come to their rescue,” Francis replied and nodded to the chocolate cake in front of her; about a third of it was already gone. Diedrich supposed that the other cakes and biscuits were still in their boxes, ready to be transported to the Midford townhouse later.

“I’m surprised because you should rest after all – rest at home,” said Vincent. His words earned him another glare.

“I still have time until I’m put into confinement. And, at any rate, I’m not injured and can walk fine.” Francis placed a hand on her belly; the bump was barely discernible beneath her clothes. “I’m not the one who couldn’t wait though.”

“Deepest apologies to you and my little nephew or niece then,” said Vincent and bowed his head before he took place next to Francis. “Dee and I were very busy yesterday, and I didn’t get the opportunity to visit you.”

“I hope what kept you busy wasn’t the duck incident.” Francis raised an eyebrow at her brother. “That wasn’t your doing, was it?”

Vincent laughed. “No. I would have never subjected a family of ducks to such suffering.”

“I know that. I simply thought they might have put the traffic on a standstill because they were chasing after you. After all, you can be rather unlucky with animals at times. Recall Carrot…”

Vincent stiffened, and Diedrich asked, “Carrot?”

“We won’t explain Carrot,” said Vincent and Francis in never-before-heard perfect unison. It rather unsettled Diedrich.

“Well…” Diedrich said and cleared his throat. “At any rate, Phantomhive wasn’t even…” he began but Vincent cut him off by saying, “I wasn’t even on foot when the incident happened. Dee and I were in a carriage, on the way back from Undertaker’s.” With a flourish, Vincent pointed to Diedrich. “Fran, I hope you remember Diedrich? He was so kind to come all the way from Germany to visit.”

Diedrich crossed his arms in front of his chest and scowled at Vincent. “I haven’t come to England to visit you, Phantomhive. I accompanied my superior to an important meeting, and you found out and sent for me.”

“I see,” said Francis and mustered Diedrich. He stood up even straighter. “Good morning, Diedrich. It’s been a long while. If you have time before you need to return, Alexis would love to have you over.”

“I will try to make it work.”

Francis nodded and turned back to her brother. “Because you called Diedrich, I assume you are currently investigating a Watchdog case?”

Vincent gestured something to Diedrich. It took him an embarrassingly long time to realise that he was the only fool still standing (with exception of Tanaka, of course, who had to stand as a butler) and that Vincent was signalling him to join them at the table. Diedrich did, his nerves taut. Vincent smiled amusedly at him. Diedrich scowled at him and picked up a cup.

“You are right, Franny,” said Vincent then. “We’ve been investigating the curious disappearance of a duke’s daughter, Lady Henriette Woolahan. She has most likely run off with her lover.”

“I know that Duke Woolahan is in the House of Lords but since when does Watchdog business include running after lovesick fools?” asked Francis. Diedrich nearly choked on his tea. “Is everything all right, Diedrich?” she enquired.

“Yes,” he pressed out when he was out of danger. “I simply said the same thing a few days ago when Phantomhive told me about the mission.”

Vincent nodded. “An amusing repetition. ‘Since now, apparently.’ I can do it too, see?”

“If it was a simple elopement, surely Scotland Yard would have been able to handle it too?” Francis said. “Or is there something more sinister going on?”

“Very possible, though we cannot be sure yet,” Vincent told her, putting a cube of sugar into his tea and stirring it. “I suppose I and not the Met was tasked with locating Lady Henriette because her father being a prominent politician makes the matter more delicate than usual, and because Scotland Yard seems to have its hands full at the moment. They are currently looking for numerous people and have not come far with their investigations. Entrusting them with yet another missing person’s case would be, frankly, silly. Unless the Woolahans never want to see their daughter again, which is a possibility; you know how Old Harriet is, Franny.”

Francis nodded. “Mother said she’s always been that way.”

“This makes me wonder if Old Harriet is actually a twin or a triplet, maybe even a quadruplet – what a sensation! Only she ate all her siblings in the womb like sand tiger sharks do.”

Maybe it would have been better if Phantomhive had slept longer, thought Diedrich. “What a macabre thing to say in front of an expecting woman,” he said as nothing else he had in mind was passable enough to be voiced in polite company.

“Why? Franny told me all about adelphophagy when we were children,” replied Vincent. “When our parents took us to Paris in 1861, they found out that an aquarium would open in the Jardin zoologique at the Bois de Boulogne during our stay and promptly changed some of our plans to take us there. Fran was enthralled by the wet beasts and read every book she could find about them and read them aloud to us too, mostly to me because that is how it is when you have a sibling.”

Francis rolled her eyes. “As if you weren’t fascinated by the sea life too! You were simply too lazy to read yourself.” She looked at Diedrich. “He was an insufferable ten-year-old.”

“He is an insufferable twenty-year-old too,” Diedrich replied.

Vincent shrugged. “I’m simply consistent.

“Now, Franny, how receptive to grisly crimes are you today? I would love to hear your thoughts on this case, first partner.”

Francis chuckled. “Sure. I have nothing better to do anyway. But could I have some more tea first?”

With a bow, Tanaka refilled her cup. Vincent clapped his hands together, his blue eyes shining. “Brilliant. Franny, Lady Henriette vanished from her parental home five days ago, on the night from the 30th to 31st July. Her disappearance was first noticed in the morning of Monday the 31st: Her maid came to wake her and found Henriette’s room empty and her bed in too pristine a state for anyone to have slept in it in the recent past – and her mistress was not known to make her own bed. The hysterical maid, of course, alerted the Duke and Duchess who, in turn, called upon the help of Scotland Yard. The Met was to investigate the matter discreetly. They could not find out much before Henriette’s disappearance reached the ears of Her Majesty; someone must not have been discreet at all for this to have happened, but I digress.

“At any rate, the Met could only confirm that no one had broken into the Woolahan townhouse and kidnapped Henriette under great force before the case was ripped out of Randy’s claws and given into my hands. Henriette, thus, seems to have left on her own volition.

“All this – the alert, Scotland Yard’s investigation, and the case’s reassignment – happened on the same day which was endlessly amusing to me, less so to Randy, I suppose. The case’s silly nature could not even dampen my amusement as I wrote to Diedrich right after I received the Queen’s letter. Can you imagine, Fran, that Diedrich was in London for four days already when I sent him that letter, and he never came to see me or his only other friend in the world Alexis?”

“I have more friends, Phantomhive,” Diedrich interjected gruffly.

“I know your grandmother loves you, but that’s hardly relevant right now. Please greet her for me the next time you see her though and tell her that she can call me over for afternoon tea again at any time.”

“Wait – what? When did you meet my Oma, Phan-”

“Diedrich finally visited me the following day,” Vincent continued as if the last minute hadn’t happened. “After some persuasion, Dee agreed to help me out…

Diedrich turned to Francis. “He kept dunking his scones for far too long into his tea. He even dipped a sandwich into it.”

Francis sighed. “I might currently not be in the position to scold people over their eating habits, but…” She raised an eyebrow at her brother. “… I am with child and can be excused, and you aren’t, Vincent.”

“I just like my scones extra soft,” protested Vincent.

“And your sandwiches soaked?”

“And my sandwiches soaked. I can eat one like that right now to prove it to you…” Vincent reached for a cheese sandwich on the table. Instinctively, Diedrich slapped his hand away and pushed the plate away from him.

“Those are my sandwiches,” Vincent pointed out.

“No reason to maltreat them.”

Francis put her face in her hands. “Thank you. Now, I want to eat a soaked sandwich or two.”

Vincent burst into laughter. “Sorry, Franny, but my little niece or nephew seems to have fantastic taste already.” He grinned at Diedrich. “Hand over the plate, Dee. You wouldn’t want to deny an expecting woman her food, would you?”

Diedrich narrowed his eyes at him. “I hate you,” he hissed to Vincent as he passed Francis the plate of sandwiches. Having his eyes fixed on Vincent meant Diedrich didn’t have to watch Francis drown a perfectly fine sandwich; hearing it was torture enough already.

“Germans have such a fascinating way of proclaiming their affections for someone,” said Vincent.

“I can’t stand you.”

Vincent nodded. “Just like I was saying.

“Anyway, where was I again? Ah, right. After Diedrich agreed to help out, he very kindly spoke to Old Harriet so that I could interrogate the Woolahan staff in peace. From them, I could learn that Lady Henriette has become infatuated with someone. A maid – not the one who came to wake her mistress on that fateful morning but someone else – found Lady Henriette’s diary hidden under a pillow and learned that she has a mysterious beau who is a medical student. Because Henriette did not wish to make the matter easy for everyone, she did not write her beloved’s name a million times all over her diary’s pages as many people in love do. I’m sure Alexis must have written your name like a spell all over his notes after you beat him in that tournament, Fran.”

To Diedrich’s absolute astonishment, the tips of Francis’ ears turned ever the slightest bit red. “His secretary was very confused by the… additional notes he left on his documents, yes,” Francis imparted.

“As if I couldn’t like him more,” Vincent said with a nod. “Henriette, unfortunately, did not do that. Thus, her servants decided to christen her secret love ‘Maurice Enace.’”

“Menace? What a silly nickname,” said Francis while she stirred her tea with a sandwich. Diedrich did his best not to look her way – and to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged.

“Right? After we went to the Woolahan townhouse, Dee and I visited Randy at Scotland Yard. He still hates us, Fran. I’ve been sending him a basket of fruit cakes every week for two months now, and he still hates us, can you believe that?”

“Did you bake them yourself, Vincent?”

Vincent paused. “Yes, but I’m using the recipe from Mother’s recipe book.”

“Which is Father’s German fruit cake recipe. German fruit cake is more of a bread than a cake, and you put cinnamon in it – Lord Randall is allergic to cinnamon.”

“He is?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Vincent shook his head. “You can never truly know someone, huh?”

“Wait, Phantomhive can bake?” Diedrich enquired, puzzled.

“I wouldn’t phrase the question that way,” said Francis with a smile. “Rather, my brother knows how to combine ingredients, mix them up, and place the mixture into an oven.”

Vincent crossed his arms together. “My fruit cakes are all wonderful individuals.”

“Burned, over-sweetened, misshapen individuals with far too many candied citrus peels and too few currants, certainly.”

“I don’t think Randall took even a single bite out of these abominations,” said Diedrich. His face had become paler and paler with every word Francis had uttered regarding her brother’s baking “skills.” How could someone mess up a Stollen in such a horrid manner? But then we’re talking about Phantomhive, Diedrich suffixed in his mind.

“The man is still alive, so it is a given,” added Francis.

“I’ll include a strongly worded card the next time I send him a batch,” Vincent said with a nod. “One without cinnamon, of course.”

“The cinnamon’s not the only problem,” Diedrich remarked, but Vincent continued without paying him any mind. “Where were we again? Oh, right. Scotland Yard. When we were there, Randy’s men were a bit too easily persuaded into giving up information to people they’d never seen before. We just had to tell them we were brand-new plainclothes detectives, and they readily spilt everything. Makes you wonder if the Met has a staff problem and is currently accepting applications from anyone, but I’m digressing again.

“The chatty detectives of the Met told us that they’re currently investigating a string of serial murders. For the last couple of months, someone has been killing working-class and poor people. So far, they have murdered sixteen, and the only connecting factor between them is their low social status and the fact that their corpses could not be procured so far. When we went to Undertaker’s yesterday, I enquired whether they had ended up at his place or another funeral parlour, but he confirmed that they hadn’t. Lady Henriette also hasn’t found her way to a funeral parlour yet.”

“Why are you telling her this?” asked Diedrich and coated a scone with cream before he put strawberry jam on top. The proper way of eating these, he thought. “That case is not part of our case.”

Vincent smiled and looked at his sister, who tilted her head slightly as she returned the gaze. “Ah, I see,” Francis eventually said, making Diedrich blink in puzzlement.

“What do you mean?” he wanted to know, but Vincent waved his hand about and said, “You’ll understand eventually, Dee. You’re only an honorary brother as my fag after all; you will catch on.

“After our little visit to Scotland Yard, Dee and I went to a garden party hosted by the Bainsbridges. As you know, Rochelle is a friend of Henriette’s. Kitty was very helpful in getting us last-minute invites for that party. He’s sending his regards by the way, Franny. He also wanted me to pass on that he intends to write to you and arrange a visit.”

“Kit can come over anytime,” said Francis and held her cup out for Tanaka to refill it. “The further along I get, the less happy anyone gets that I go out or do anything besides lying or sitting down. It gets tremendously boring, and I haven’t seen Kit in a while, too.”

“The scheduling is mostly for him, I suppose. Little Kit’s very busy all the time after all.”

“Lady Francis, you know him?” Diedrich asked.

“Of course, she knows my fag. She knows you too, after all,” Vincent said before he rapidly continued, “Now, the garden party was absolutely exhausting to attend. Still, we found out that Lady Henriette’s friends are not very troubled about her sudden absence. Naturally, they were told a cover story, but they were not even sad she wasn’t with them. Merely Sophia Vanderbilt seemed intrigued by the fact that her friend had up and left without a word, as it is very unlike her. Beatrice Lawrence, however, only cried that her fiancé Oliver Breckenridge could not attend the party due to an illness…”

“… and Rochelle Bainsbridge only cared about throwing herself at Phantomhive,” continued Diedrich with a slight chuckle. “It was amusing to watch.”

“Oh, Rochelle.” Francis rolled her eyes. “She always asks about you, Vincent, whenever we happen to be at the same social function. It’s always very annoying.”

“Wait, you knew that she has her eyes out for me and never told me?”

“I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t until two days ago. I’m certain I’ve never even met her before too.”

Francis shrugged. “She might have seen you from afar once, and that is all it took. Or she heard about your wealth, title, and bachelorhood and decided you were good prey.”

“Or she’s a serial killer who knows I’m the Queen’s Watchdog, and now she wants to get close to me to stab me.”

“How are you two related again?” Diedrich said.

“When we were little, Vincent used to suggest that one of us – most likely he – was a changeling,” replied Francis matter-of-factly. “If faeries existed, this could be a good hypothesis, but they do not. As our mother would say, ‘there is nothing supernatural in the world.’”

“I still wonder if the true, human Vincent is just as happy with his faerie family as I am with you,” mused Vincent. His words made Diedrich shudder in a way he never had before; it was as if the bones in his body, no, even his very soul, were shaking too.

“For everyone’s sake, I hope there are no two Vincent Phantomhives,” Diedrich said at last.

“There is no need to conjure nightmares from this scenario,” meant Francis and then bit into one of her freshly soaked sandwiches. Diedrich felt nauseous.

“Come to think of it, Fran, as you seem more familiar with Henriette’s group of friends than I am,” said Vincent, “do you have any interesting insights regarding them?”

“I know that Sophia Vanderbilt likes gossip the most out of them,” Francis replied. “That’s why her friend’s sudden disappearance has piqued her interest. For that reason, and because they are close friends, I would also say that her observation that this situation – leaving without informing anyone – is completely out of character for Lady Henriette is a correct one. I also know that Beatrice Lawrence and Oliver Breckenridge are about to enter a marriage that will surprise them both, but not for good reasons.”

“Why?” asked Diedrich.

“Dee, you’re sounding like a nosy Nancy yourself right now,” remarked Vincent, amused. He leaned a bit closer to Francis. “But, really, why?”

“Beatrice is the heir to her uncle’s dukedom. Upon his passing, she will inherit a great title and great social standing; however, because of her uncle’s foolishness, she will not inherit any money,” explained Francis. “Her uncle is an impoverished nobleman because he has been and still is living well beyond his means. From what I have heard, Beatrice genuinely believes that Oliver is in love with her, but her mother has been pushing the couple together because the Breckenridge family may be untitled but is wealthy, and Oliver has his eyes on Beatrice because of her future title and the prestige that comes with it. Beatrice’s mother has also been hiding her brother’s financial ineptitude from the public; thus, not many know about it.”

“What a mess,” said Diedrich.

“Indeed.”

“That’s pretty tame,” remarked Vincent and plucked a strawberry from the fruit bowl. “Last Season, Lady Cassiopeia Trent and Lord Ezekiel Damyon wanted to wed, and their parents were vehemently against it, but did not want to give a clear explanation. Magnolia Royceston eventually managed to make their parents talk and found out that they opposed the marriage because they feared Cassiopeia and Ezekiel might be half-siblings. It’s not uncommon for noblemen and -women to do as they like after producing an heir and a spare after all, and the Lady Trent and the Baron Damyon apparently liked to frequent…”

“What stories you tell in the presence of a lady,” Diedrich scolded and interrupted Vincent with a red face.

“We were just talking about murder, multiple ones even,” Vincent reminded him and threw the strawberry at him. “If you are embarrassed, please say so instead of dragging my sister into your scolding.”

Diedrich narrowed his eyes at Vincent and caught the strawberry, but not without his face turning a slightly deeper shade of red. “You…”

In that moment, there was a soft knock on the door right before it flew open. Alexis Leon Midford strode into the room, perfectly combed and without a wrinkle or blemish on his clothes; still, he seemed rather dishevelled to Diedrich. This only changed the moment he laid eyes on his wife. He crossed the distance between them with surprising speed and wrapped his arms around her. “Dear, I’ve been looking for you!”

“Didn’t I leave a message that I would come here?” returned Francis with a smile on her face.

“Yes, but you only said you would pick up your cakes and biscuits, so I thought you would only be gone for a short while. It’s been hours.”

“I might have arrived too early. Vincent hadn’t even risen yet.”

“I don’t like this phrasing,” mumbled Diedrich.

“I’m sorry. I simply missed you,” Alexis said and loosened the embrace, but took hold of his wife’s hand. Diedrich felt thoroughly embarrassed seeing the loving, unguarded gaze that Alexis bestowed upon Francis and looked slightly away. “It was a horrendous three days.”

“I missed you too, dear,” Francis replied softly. “But we are not alone in this room.”

“Yeah, Dee, Tanaka, and I are also here,” said Vincent, his face propped on his hand and a wide smile plastered on his face.

At once, Alexis tore his gaze from his wife’s face and looked up, blinking as if he had only just noticed that he and Francis were indeed not the sole people in the dining room. “Vincent, Weizsäcker, Tanaka, good morning,” Alexis said, bowing his head. “I apologise for not greeting you immediately.”

“No offence taken, but please only kiss my sister when I’m not around,” replied Vincent, and Francis glared at him. “And we’re not at Weston anymore. You can call Diedrich by his given name, though I’m sure he prefers ‘Dee.’”

“I do not,” countered Diedrich.

“He loves it when I call him that.”

“I do not.”

“I am so glad you two get along so well,” Alexis said with such a serene expression on his face that Diedrich did not have the heart to tell him that no, they were not getting along at all, and that Diedrich was tricked and threatened into this position. While he knew that Francis was very dissimilar to her brother, he still could not fathom why Alexis willingly married Vincent’s sister. Not even a catastrophe of the highest order would be able to force Diedrich to accept becoming family with Vincent.

Francis patted her husband’s hand. “Alexis, dear, didn’t you want to borrow a few books from Vincent? Now that you are here, it is the perfect opportunity for you to get them.”

“Ah, right! Yes, I wanted to,” said Alexis.

“Right, I remember that…” Vincent said and jumped to his feet. “Come along, brother. I’ll get you what you’re looking for.”

With a few long strides, Vincent left the dining room. Alexis pressed a brief kiss on his wife’s head before he followed Vincent. Tanaka swiftly transferred the remnants of the breakfast table and the rest of Francis’ cake to a serving cart before he, too, exited the room.

It took Diedrich a moment to realise that he was now all alone with Francis. He didn’t quite know how it was possible, but he straightened his back even further.

“Diedrich,” Francis suddenly began, “how is my brother doing?”

Diedrich blinked at her, startled by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, whether Vincent has been behaving even more ridiculously than usual.”

He mentally went through Vincent’s doings over the last few days – the stupid bet with Tanaka, dunking cucumber sandwiches in tea, blabbering something about an “Invi” (Diedrich was still uncertain if Vincent had spoken the truth then or not), hurrying them through the city to check every medical school – before he ultimately replied, “Not more than usual, no.”

“Are you sure? Vincent always unravels for about a month after the fact.”

Diedrich frowned. “‘For about a month after the fact’?” he asked right before his mind connected the dots: It was August 4 today. Vincent had told him that he started going through all the Dickens’ books and novellas in order about three weeks ago – he had been going through his mother’s Dickens collection ever since the fifth anniversary of her death on July 13.

His realisation must have been written all over his face because Francis only nodded. “Maybe you missed the worst of it. It has been almost a month already after all.”

“I didn’t even realise,” said Diedrich slowly. “I’ve been too focused on not trying to strangle him. No offence.”

“I’m his sister. You are justified.”

“And you?” Diedrich asked carefully. “How are you doing, Lady Francis?”

Francis looked at him for a moment before she said, “Better and worse. Better than Vincent in some respects; worse than him in others.” She laid a hand on her belly. “Please let me know if his behaviour shifts too much into the nonsensical, would you?”

Diedrich had no idea how he should be able to identify when Vincent crossed the line between “regular idiocy” and “frightening, unhealthy lunacy,” but he nodded and promised that he would, nonetheless. He could not reject any of Francis’ requests, especially not one like that.

The door swung open again a moment later. “All baked goods and books are packed and loaded up in the carriage,” Vincent announced as he entered the room. He walked straight to his sister and held out a hand to her. “I had to beat Alexis in kitsune-ken so that he would wait by the carriage, and I could be the one to pick you up and get you there.”

Francis took her brother’s hand and gave him a look. “Did you even explain the rules to him beforehand?”

“Of course.”

“Vincent.”

“I might have spoken very quickly, but he got the gist,” said Vincent and helped Francis to her feet.

“You could have just asked.”

“Under normal circumstances? Sure. After you two lovebirds hadn’t seen each other for three days because Alexis was away? No. I had to beat him three times in kitsune-ken until he relented. If we don’t hurry up, he might drive the carriage through the wall to get you, and I don’t have time for renovations right now.”

Francis sighed, but Diedrich could see the small smile on her lips.

“Though maybe I could change some of the tapestries – what do you think, Fran?” continued Vincent and hooked his arm through Francis’. He kept on rattling on about tapestry colours and patterns and whatnot as he led her out of the room and the townhouse. Diedrich followed the Phantomhive siblings with a heartbeat’s pause.

He and Vincent (his hair was now combed back; Diedrich had wondered when his sister would do that) waved Francis and Alexis goodbye and remained at the gate for a few more minutes after the carriage had left their sight. Then, Vincent clapped his hands together and said, “Now, it’s time to get back to work, Dee.”

***

Ten minutes later, Diedrich and Vincent (now in his regular hairstyle again) were sitting in the world's smallest hansom cab to get to Hyde Park Corner. They hadn’t been able to go through all the relevant medical schools yesterday, of course, and had to continue their search today. Diedrich did not look forward to it, but the sooner they resumed their investigation, the sooner they finished it too, and he was looking forward to that with great eagerness.

Like yesterday, Vincent and Diedrich invaded the closest cafeteria, hopped casually and quietly between the tables, kept their ears perked up for anything of importance, and ate a lot of food. St George’s Hospital Medical School ultimately did not give them any leads, no matter how much Vincent insisted that “every kind of conversation contains overt and covert useful information.” Diedrich had to disagree. Sometimes, conversations held no value at all, and you left a place with nothing but a stomach full of porridge and sandwiches and a head full of someone else’s idle talk about horse races and how Anthony Mallory stumbled and fell into a bucket filled with blood eels.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Vincent meant when they sat in yet another hansom cab to get to yet another medical school. At least, this cab wasn’t as tiny as the last one. “You just learned enough about horse races to speak about them without pause for twenty minutes. How is newly gained knowledge not useful?”

“It’s not useful when I didn’t want to have it in the first place,” Diedrich replied, regretting to have ever told Vincent about his meagre “findings.” “I do not care about horses.”

“I really want you to repeat that sentence to Her Majesty’s horsekeeper,” said Vincent with a chuckle. “I can already hear his response, ‘How could someone be so heartless as not to care for these gallant creatures?’ And then he would pat his beloved equine and get chewed on in return.”

Diedrich stared at him. “I can’t tell if you’re joking, but I hope you are.”

“I really don’t. Old John’s… a bit particular.”

Diedrich pinched the bridge of his nose. “For you to say that… You Englishmen are all ridiculous.”

“I think he’s a Scotsman, actually.”

“You Britons, then.”

Vincent nodded. “Now, you’ve thrown us all into the same unfavourable pot. Oh! We’re there.”

The cab halted, and they climbed out of it. In front of them rose the splotchy old building of St Bartholomew’s Hospital, and students and staff hushed over the campus like busy ants. None of them paid them much attention – Diedrich and Vincent were the perfect age to be legitimate students of this facility after all –, and they could make their way to the cafeteria with ease. There, they began their regular spiel: Each of them grabbed a tray, loaded it up with food, and then dispersed into the crowd, keeping their heads down and their minds and ears alert.

Diedrich dug into his shepherd’s pie (one that was surprisingly delicious despite having been prepared for a cafeteria) and listened to a group of students tease one of their friends about his fiancée. After a while, Diedrich got up and sat down at another table. Here, some people discussed the latest news regarding their anatomy class (they would get to dissect a body earlier than they had anticipated, and this both excited and frightened them), and others conversed about going boating tomorrow if the weather stayed as lovely as it was today. The shepherd’s pie was switched with pastries, one table with another, one useless – yes, useless – conversation with another. At some point, Diedrich spotted a blond, flashy man on the other side of the room who looked somewhat familiar, but his head was smoking with too many useless facts, and his stomach was too full of soup (he might have overdone it with six helpings of tomato soup) to remember who this particular ridiculous Briton was again. That man, even from afar, irritated him enough for Diedrich to accidentally sit down beside Vincent the next time he changed tables.

“Oh, Dee!” Vincent greeted him cheerfully. “Did the German military give you the power of mind-reading?”

Diedrich stared blankly at Vincent, wondering whether this counted as “more ridiculous than usual” or not. Before he could come to a conclusion, Vincent continued to speak: “I wanted to seek you out just now, but you sought me out first,” he explained. “From your expression, I suppose, if you gained mind-reading powers, they are only working subconsciously for now.”

“I don’t even want to know why you believe this to be possible,” replied Diedrich, and Vincent lifted his shoulders a little, “but if you wanted to come to me, does that mean we are done here?”

“If you sound a bit more excited, you might lose your citizenship,” Vincent said and got up. “But don’t worry, I know how to extinguish your excitement at once: We have one more medical school left. Let’s go.”

They finished their “cafeteria investigation” at the London Hospital Medical College. Diedrich had never chewed on sandwiches with such little enthusiasm before as in that place. Vincent’s words from earlier had truly done what he said they would and more.

A few hours later, Diedrich climbed sick and tired of medical school horror stories (“John Clarkson chopped off his finger!” “Benedict Woodlark fainted when they cut open a body and maggots crawled out!”) and random chit-chat (why was the weather such a popular conversational topic? he never understood this) into the hansom cab that would take him and Vincent back to the Phantomhive townhouse. Unlike Diedrich, Vincent seemed to be in the best mood and whistled to himself as if they hadn’t just wasted hours of their lives doing a completely asinine task. This way of conducting the investigation could have never borne fruit; why the hell had they even done it that way? Which idiots thought this could ever work?

“Why the long face, Dee?” Vincent enquired.

Diedrich shot him a dark look. “I should rather ask you why you aren’t making a long face!”

“Why should I mimic you?”

“Because today was a complete waste! We accomplished nothing!”

“Oh, did we?”

“I swear to God if you say ‘Every kind of conversation contains overt and covert useful information’ again…”

“You just did that yourself, Dee.”

Diedrich dropped his face in his hands. “You make me sick.”

“I do? Not the twenty-five bowls of soup, the fifty-two sandwiches, the six croissants, the nine helpings of shepherd’s pie…”

Diedrich looked up. “Did you honestly spend your time counting what I’ve been eating at all cafeterias?”

Vincent shrugged. “Little exercise for the mind on the side.”

“On the side?”

“I was obviously doing my main task – listening to the conversations around me – too.” Vincent tilted his head. “Why are you making that face now?”

“What face?”

“The one that looks like ‘I don’t believe you one bit, Vincent,’ of course.”

“First, I would never call you by your given name. Second, you are spot on: I don’t believe you,” said Diedrich. “There is no way you could have managed to simultaneously keep your focus on me and other people’s talks. You couldn’t even have been able to see me at times because we weren’t even seated close to each other!”

Vincent propped his chin on his hand and gazed out of the window. “It’s not that difficult,” he replied. “Whenever we travelled somewhere as a family, Francis and I would grow easily bored. Father suggested one day that we could count all the cows or something that passed by while we played a game. We did terribly at first, but we eventually got better at this. It trained our focus and attention very well. Because of Mother, Francis and I also did ‘glimpse into a room and then tell me how many red shirts there were or so’ a lot.”

“That still doesn’t sound true,” Diedrich insisted. “I’ll ask your sister to verify your words the next time I see her.”

“Believe what you want,” Vincent said with a wave of his hand. “Just like you’re choosing to believe that we haven’t accomplished anything today.”

“It’s the perfect truth that we…” Diedrich glimpsed out of the window and then tensed. “Wait, that’s not the way to your townhouse.”

Vincent grinned. “Took you long enough to notice.”

“But it’s not the way to Undertaker’s either.”

“Of course.”

“Where on earth are you taking me?! No, wait, I don’t need to know.” Diedrich placed a hand on the door handle. “I’ll just jump and walk back to the townhouse, no, to my hotel room.”

“First of all,” Vincent said calmly, “you don’t have a hotel room anymore. I cancelled the booking…”

“What?!”

“Second, do you honestly want to jump out of a driving carriage in your current state? I wasn’t even finished with listing all the food you’ve intaken. You would either start vomiting on a scale this city has never seen before or explode on impact with the ground.”

“I highly doubt I would explode.”

“And the first possibility?”

Diedrich wordlessly crossed his arms in front of his chest. Vincent smiled. “And don’t worry…” began Vincent.

“As if those words could console anyone coming out of your mouth.”

“… we are simply visiting an acquaintance.”

“An acquaintance? Who?”

“The Breckenridges.”

Diedrich rubbed his face. “Why should we go to the Breckenridges?”

“Because Oliver Breckenridge’s name came up when we were at St Bart’s, and…”

Diedrich’s ears perked up, and blood rushed into his face. “St Bart’s?”

“It’s short for St Bartholomew’s Hospital, Deeee…”

Vincent trailed off, elongating the nickname, when Diedrich jumped from his seat to Vincent’s, grabbing him by the collar and shaking the entire carriage in the process. The driver yelled something, but Diedrich could not grasp the words. Anger pumped through his body, veiling the world beyond him and Vincent in rushing. “You’ve found actual useful information while we were at St Bartholomew’s Hospital, and you still dragged me to the London Hospital Medical College?!” Diedrich exclaimed and shook Vincent by his collar before he abruptly let go. “But, of course, you did,” he continued, exasperated, and buried his face in his hands.

“Finding something at one place doesn’t mean that it’s the only place where we could and would have found anything at all,” Vincent said calmly. “All places had to be checked. I thought you figured that out yourself.”

Diedrich glared at him and then sank back into his seat. “You could have still said something.”

“Well, I did say the day wasn’t a waste, but someone kept insisting otherwise…”

“Well, someone is basically the ‘Boy Who Cried Wolf.’”

“I knew they would write stories about me one day.”

Diedrich sighed. “Now, could you please tell me what exactly you’ve heard about Oliver Breckenridge at St Bartholomew’s?”

“Of course,” Vincent said. The lack of joking refusal or roundabout talking took Diedrich aback. “Apparently, Oliver’s a medical student, and he’s been sick since Monday.” Right after finishing his sentence, Vincent looked at Diedrich.

“That’s… that’s it?” Diedrich enquired, puzzled.

Vincent just kept gazing at him with a neutral expression on his face and without speaking a word in response.

“That’s what you’ve learned at St Bartholomew’s Hospital? Nothing else?”

Vincent still didn’t say a word.

“I cannot believe we’re going to his house because of this.”

Still silence.

“‘I’ve heard his name before, and he’s a medical student!’ is barely a reason at all. Just admit it, Phantomhive, you cannot figure out what’s going on, and you’re grasping at straws…”

Silence.

“And now you want to visit some sick person you’ve never even met before!”

Vincent blinked at Diedrich wordlessly.

“Why are you not saying a wor-” Diedrich frowned. “Something’s wrong.” He narrowed his eyes and stared back at Vincent before realisation fell like scales from his eyes.

“Monday!” Diedrich exclaimed. “Oliver Breckenridge’s sister said her brother got suddenly sick on Wednesday!”

Vincent smiled and then deflated on his seat, sliding half off it and placing his hand dramatically on his forehead. “That took you so embarrassingly long, Dee.”

“I didn’t play weird attention training games when I was a child,” Diedrich countered.

“So, now you’re choosing to believe that?”

Diedrich scowled.

“Very well,” Vincent said and sat up normally again. “We should arrive soon. Let’s see what Miss Anna Breckenridge has to say about her weird little lie, hm?”

***

The carriage driver mumbled something about “rough, troublesome customers” while Vincent paid him with a smile on his face. He drove off with a huff, and Diedrich watched the driver for a moment, wishing that it was him. Unfortunately, he was not and had to let himself be dragged – albeit with great internal reluctance – by Vincent to the townhouse of the Breckenridge family.

It was a polished building in the heart of the city. Right before they had got out of the cab, Diedrich had asked how they could justify an unannounced visit, particularly when the head of the house was sick and his unmarried sister presumably without a chaperone in their home. Vincent had merely waved his concern away and told him not to worry, which made Diedrich worry a great lot. His worry doubled as they walked up the stairs to the entrance. It tripled when Vincent knocked.

It took a few minutes until a maid opened the door. Her eyes widened in surprise before she hastily curtsied. “Good afternoon,” she said. “I was unaware that we were expecting guests. May I ask for your names?”

Vincent smiled brightly. Diedrich could see the maid blush and did his best not to roll his eyes. “How unpleasant,” Vincent began, “our calling card must have got lost in the post! The English postal service is usually so diligent and dependable; I wonder what happened? Could you please announce to your master that Earl Vincent Phantomhive and…” He gestured to Diedrich. “… Diedrich von Weizsäcker have arrived and kindly ask whether we could be received nonetheless?”

“Oh, uh… yes, of course!” the maid pressed out, her eyes fixed on Vincent and the brilliant smile he had kept plastered on his face. “I…” She looked around, chewed on her bottom lip in thought. “I suppose you can wait in the parlour while I speak to Miss Anna.”

The maid stepped away from the entryway and gestured for Vincent and Diedrich to come in. They complied with a slight bow of their heads, and she closed the door behind them.

“Please follow me,” the maid said and guided them through the building. Diedrich let his gaze wander through the corridors, glimpsing into rooms whenever a door stood ajar. The Woolahan townhouse had been tidy but cramped and tacky; Diedrich had felt slightly claustrophobic being inside it. The Breckenridge townhouse, on the other hand, was absolutely spotless. With great awe and fascination, Diedrich mustered its interior. Everything was perfectly balanced: There wasn’t too much décor, too many pieces of furniture that were shoved into any nook and cranny, that covered every centimetre of the walls and cluttered the gangways. At the same time, the corridors and rooms weren’t too empty either, but were clad in tasteful tapestries and paintings. Most miraculously, however, was the fact that everything shone. Actually shone. Diedrich felt bad knowing that he must be tracking some dirt into this wonderfully clean abode simply by walking through it.

Vincent scrutinised their surroundings as well, but did not seem captivated by the townhouse’s spotless state. Instead, he slightly furrowed his eyebrows for a brief moment before he summoned a smile again and said, “Miss Maid… Oh, that will not do! May you tell me your name?”

The maid blushed again. “It’s Mary, sir.”

“Mary,” Vincent said, and she sucked in the air. “You said you need to speak to ‘Miss Anna’ regarding Diedrich’s and mine presence, and it made me wonder… Is Mr Oliver Breckenridge not at home?”

“Oh, Master Oliver…” Mary looked around with reddening cheeks and fumbled with her sleeves. “Master Oliver’s currently indisposed. Did you want to speak to him specifically?”

“No, not at all,” replied Vincent. “How long has Breckenridge been indisposed?”

“For a few days.”

“Would you mind passing on that I wish him a speedy recovery and that I hope to visit properly when he is well again?”

“I’m afraid; I won’t be able to do that,” said Mary and led them into the drawing room. Like the rest of the house, it was immaculate.

“Oh, may I enquire for the reason?” Vincent asked as he and Diedrich sat down on a perfectly plush sofa. Diedrich was much inclined to melt into its cushions; of course, he did not.

“Mr Clyde has been caring for Master Oliver,” Mary imparted. “Master Oliver hasn’t left his room in days.” She sighed and put a hand to her cheek. “Poor, poor Master Oliver, to have come down with such a terrible cold!”

“Who is this ‘Mr Clyde,’ and would it be possible for you to relay the message to him so that he could pass it on to Breckenridge?”

Mary chewed on the bottom of her lip again. “Mr Clyde’s the footman, and I suppose I could. He is currently out of the house though; he’s running an errand for Miss Anna, but I will give him your message when he returns later today.” She paused. “If you may excuse me, Mylords, I will go and speak to Miss Anna now.”

With a curtsy, Mary hurried out of the parlour. Her steps echoed through the entire house.

“You’re lucky an easily impressed maid opened the door,” Diedrich remarked. “I’m certain anyone else would have sent us away at the entryway.”

“I’m a lucky one, aren’t I?” replied Vincent absentmindedly. He sat straight-backed next to Diedrich, his head tilted slightly upward. Diedrich followed Vincent’s gaze but found nothing of great note at the end; there was merely the painted ceiling and the small chandelier.

“Do you hear this?” Vincent asked then, to Diedrich’s surprise. Diedrich strained to listen but could not hear anything besides the opening and closing of a door, hushed talking, and two sets of footsteps. Both of them belonged to women in heeled shoes; one seemed to walk away from the parlour and the other towards it.

“What…” Diedrich started, though he could not finish his question as Anna Breckenridge entered the room a moment later. Immediately, Diedrich and Vincent rose to their feet to greet her.

“Lord Phantomhive, Mr von Weizsäcker,” Anna said, a pointedly neutral but polite expression on her face. “My maid informed me that you attempted to send me a card announcing your visit and that it got lost in the post. You did not tell the reason why you are honouring me with your visit though. I must also apologise for being unable to host you properly due to this postal mishap; all I can offer you now are tea and biscuits.”

Vincent lifted a hand. “Miss Breckenridge, there is no need to bother. We should be apologising to you for not delivering the note twofold to ensure its definite delivery. Now, we are intruding on you during such a hard time.” He put a hand on his chest and turned his eyes downwards. “We are very sorry.”

Diedrich glanced at him, trying his best not to look irritated. What are you blabbering about? Diedrich thought. It did not help that Anna’s expression faltered and folded into a frown at Vincent’s words. “A hard time? If you mean my brother, I assure you, he is only ailed by a cold and will be fine before the end of the week. Oliver merely has a penchant for drama.”

“I wish him a quick recovery, but we have not come because of him,” Vincent said. Diedrich could hear hurried footsteps in the distance; the source seemed to be coming closer. “I apologise for approaching you despite the fact that you have tried to conceal this matter to the best of your capabilities, Miss Breckenridge.”

Diedrich watched Anna and saw her shoulders tense up ever so slightly. Before Vincent could explain himself, Mary entered the room again, holding a large bouquet and a basket full of fruits and treats from what Diedrich could tell at first glance.

“Lord Phantomhive,” Mary said breathlessly and with great surprise in her voice. “A package for you has been delivered here…”

Anna let her gaze travel between Mary and Vincent, blinking. “I don’t understand…?”

Diedrich itched to glare at Vincent; unfortunately, he could not, lest he accidentally ruined whatever charade Vincent was currently performing.

“These are not for me…” Vincent started and took the bouquet from Mary. “They are for you, Miss Breckenridge,” he continued and held out the flowers to Anna whose composure had now fully disintegrated. She stared at the white chamomile and the pink tulips.

“I have faith that your aunt will return to good health as well,” Vincent added.

Anna’s head snapped up. Adopting a slight sheepishness in his voice and demeanour, Vincent said, “It seems to be a secret, but when I learned that your aunt Amelda was horribly sick, I could not help myself but feel awfully stricken that I had been unable to express my well wishes at the Bainsbridges’ garden party.” His gaze softened. “It must be so difficult, having lost your parents and eldest brother only last year and now having to live with the fear of losing your aunt too. It is a fear I can greatly sympathise with: I lost my parents when I was young and, thus, hope every day that my sister and her family will always be in great health and live a long and prosperous life.”

Diedrich shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Anna mustered Vincent with wide eyes. “Thank you, Mylord,” she pressed out slowly. “I did not expect this.”

“Certainly! The note got lost in the post after all.” Vincent smiled slightly and then bowed his head. “Rest assured, Miss Breckenridge, I will not tell anyone else about your aunt’s precarious health. We will not impose on you any longer and take our leave now, if you may excuse us, Miss Breckenridge.”

***

“Okay,” said Diedrich when the hansom cab began to rattle down the streets. “What was that all about now? Why do you know all that about the Breckenridges?”

“The death of Anna and Oliver’s parents as well as the eldest son Daniel was a great, shocking piece of news last year,” Vincent told him. “It’s surprising that you missed it, Dee. News about the accident was everywhere. And I know about Amelda Breckenridge’s condition from Kit: He mentioned it in passing when we talked about the garden party and the invitations. Kitty sometimes learns the most curious things by accident.”

“Very well,” Diedrich said slowly. “And how did you organise the bouquet and the gift basket? When even?”

“I asked one of the many cab drivers who drove us around the city today – specifically the one that brought us from St Bart’s to the London Hospital Medical College – to please be so kind and get me a bouquet of pink tulips and chamomile as well as a very lovely gift basket of his own choosing and send them to the Breckenridge townhouse, to be delivered at a specific time. I gave him the money for the items and paid him extra, and the driver proved himself to be an honourable man of his word for not simply running away with all my money.” Vincent sighed. “You were right there, Dee. I spoke with the man at length because all these instructions cannot be contained in twenty words or fewer, unfortunately. Were you daydreaming?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I was very preoccupied with trying not to vomit on the sidewalk,” Diedrich returned. “And how on earth could you have known that the basket and the flowers had to be delivered at that specific time?”

“Perfect time management is one of the things you have to learn when Francis is your sister,” Vincent explained. “Not that I always utilise that skill as it is awfully tiresome and not needed all the time, but I did acquire it, and it came in very handy today, did it not?”

“Lady Francis succeeded in teaching you that at least, though I’m certain she would have appreciated it too if you had learned to comb your hair properly.”

Vincent shrugged. “Nobody can have everything.”

Diedrich leaned back. “Despite all your efforts, we couldn’t learn much about Oliver Breckenridge though.”

Vincent lifted an eyebrow. “I could not have possibly gone and outright interrogated Anna Breckenridge about her brother or her odd little lie without raising any suspicions.”

“I’m sure you raised plenty of suspicions anyway.”

“Not any more than I usually do,” replied Vincent. “I could gather plenty at least.”

Diedrich stared at him. “Plenty? We didn’t learn anything from this visit that we didn’t know beforehand!”

Vincent shook his head. “Dee, Dee… You disappoint me so. Franny succeeded in teaching me something, but I fear I might be unable to teach you anything ever.”

Diedrich glared at him.

“But then, you’ve only been my fag for a year, most of which you spent leisurely in Germany…”

“I was – and still am – undergoing military training!”

“… so, perhaps, I shouldn’t be too hard on you,” said Vincent. “Mother always said to get yourself a faithful German dog…”

“I’m not a goddamn dog!”

Vincent grinned. “Then why did you feel addressed before I could even finish my sentence?”

Diedrich narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.”

“And here you go again with your strange German way of expressing your affection,” noted Vincent. “What I wanted to tell you is that Mother used to say that faithful German dogs are greatly beneficial, but neither she nor Father ever bought Franny and me a dog, no matter how often we would beg and how many biscuits and milk we would leave out for Christmas. We once put out a grand feast of biscuits – and don’t make that expression, Dee; Tanaka helped us make them, or, rather, he made them all, and we decorated them – and still did not get a dog.

“As I still want one though to appease my childhood heart, I have been reading a few books on how to keep dogs well. From them, I know that miracles do not happen overnight: You cannot send your dog back to Germany and then wonder why it didn’t learn anything you wanted upon its return. You need to train it yourself.”

“You needed to read how many books to figure that out?”

“That being said,” Vincent continued unperturbed. “I have to run a little errand now.” Like magic, the carriage perfectly halted when he finished his sentence. “The cab will bring you back to the townhouse though, as I will run this errand on my own.”

Vincent opened the door and hopped out of the carriage. “This gives you plenty of time to think over the case and give me your educated deduction – not your guess! – tomorrow. I will give you a single clue to help you because I failed to train you properly so far: Our culprit’s rather old-fashioned.” He smiled brightly at Diedrich. “You can do it, dear German dog.”