he investigator could stop me and pursued Rue.
The investigator, who was sitting in a daze, finally came to his senses and followed us.
“Hey, wait! Who are you? This is not a place that outsiders can enter recklessly.
Get out now!”
His back, dressed in a neat shirt and a dark-gray vest, shook slowly in front of my eyes.
Wearing a straw-hat on top of a classy suit.
The noticeable imbalance seemed to further support Rue’s brilliance.
A young man who suddenly popped out of nowhere stopped the investigator who was on our steps urgently.
Calm down for now.
You don’t have to be angry.
The work of investigating is done now.
It’s no longer within our hands.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“If I could have your ears for a moment…”
Their whispers were clearly audible to my ears.
“Baron Fedegail has dropped the charges.”
“A letter of withdrawal of complaint has just arrived through his secretary.
Isn’t it sort of funny? People are so impatient these days, if we don’t catch the person instantly, they make a fuss…”
“That’s not a problem.
Daisy Fager’s identity check is separate from the incident – it was ordered from higher authorities.”
The scuffle between the two men only grew longer.
I walked out of the police station pretending I didn’t hear them .
The warm spring sunset poured down, blessing the freedom I’d gained after half-a-day.
‘The higher authorities are watching me.’
Power to keep the police at bay and extract military intelligence secretly.
Few people own both.
‘The boss must be an aristocrat.’
The aristocrat I do not know is interested in me, and the police investigator wasn’t sure of my identity.
This meant that I wasn’t investigated because I was a Queen Island survivor, rather, the fact that I was one was only information gained while I was already being investigated.
The other party is someone who got to know me after I got a job at the Weatherwoods.
When all of this information is put together, there can only be one person I can deduce to be the ‘higher authority’ that the investigator mentioned.
The guy who keeps sending assassins to the Weatherwoods.
He’s trying to kill me now.
As expected, the most plausible one is him.
Rue was suspicious at first, but if it were Rue, he would torture me directly and hear the truth.
That would be the easier way.
But if the client is an aristocrat, then the suspects can be narrowed down.
I, who was lost in thought, raised my head suddenly to the turret heard right in front of my nose.
There was a dirty wagon parked in front of the police station.
It was a cart used to move fertiliser from farms.
Rue, who got on the wagon and sat on the straw, directed me with his head.
Surprisingly, the assassin-butler was the one who was driving the wagon.
It was funny to see him gently lower his hat in politeness and pretend to be only acquainted with me.
Are you a horseman now? He really does play in all sorts of directions.
A passing little child suddenly exclaimed.
“Wow! It’s a country wagon! Dirty!”
“Don’t go near it.
You’lll get sick.”
I jumped up on the wagon before the attention of the people around me increased.
As I leaned my back at an angle, Rue held out the paper bag he was holding in his arms.
“Why didn’t you just kill him? Then you wouldn’t have bothered me with my work.”
Such deadly irritation.
I buried my head quietly in the paper bag to admit my mistake.
Quality potatoes and carrots came into view with a fresh smell of soil.
I didn’t see these this morning.
Did he go out of town to get these crops?
As I gently raised my head, I saw Rue’s face with his eyes closed.
“What about the head maid?”
“Our precious boss let us leave work early.
I heard she had a place to stop by, she’s busy too.”
I was convinced as I stared at Rue’s angelically beautiful face.
You used your hands.
Baron Fedegaill would not have dropped the charges without him, nor would Rue have brought me back in time in person otherwise.
But what did he do?
“If you continue looking at me like that, you’ll burn a hole in my face.”
I asked cautiously, ignoring his blunt nonsense.
“The baron, did you kill him?”
The eyelids opened and the golden eyes were revealed.
I looked into his eyes and whispered,
“Is there something on my face?”
“You shouldn’t say that anywhere, Miss Daisy.
It’s a perfect way to be misunderstood.”
Rue smiled with his back to the carriage.
“At times like this, when you’re helped, you could say things like, ‘I will not forget what happened today until I die,’ or say, ‘I will be your slave as a token of thanks,’ or ‘Let me lick your feet, my lord.’”
Do you really think I’d say that?
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