Chapter 40

Chapter 40

James smiled as he tried to soothe the furious little rabbit in front of him.

“Did you really think I’d just go waltzing in the front door? When there’s a perfectly good system called the back door.”

“A back door is still a door. Reporters won’t care about that.”

“The ‘back door’ I’m talking about isn’t literally the door at the back of the house.”

She wondered if he was joking or just playing word games, but the truth became obvious less than five minutes after they left Romberton Station in the carriage.

The coach didn’t head straight for the Dautryche mansion at all; instead, it wove in circles through Romberton’s streets before stopping in front of a small, tidy three-story townhouse two blocks away from the mansion.

“So the ‘back door’ is actually a secret house…”

“You’ll get used to using this ‘door’ soon enough.”

The plaque on the house read Gerald Dorison, designed to look like the respectable but lived-in home of a genteel local family.

Even a housemaid greeted them as they arrived.

“Welcome back, sir.”

“Come on. This house has a tunnel connecting to the mansion.”

Following James downstairs, Rose’s eyes widened at the lavish underground space.

“If you’re going to do all this, I think I’d just go ‘this is me!’ and show my face everywhere.”

“Your mind would change fast if you had a journalist’s camera following you even into a café restroom.”

“Ugh…”

“I made sure your photo won’t get leaked, too.”

“Wait—journalists really followed you into the bathroom?”

“Ah, that was when I was fifteen. Such a sensitive age, too.”

“Ugh, that sounds awful.”

“Awful doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

The corridor was well lit by modern electric lamps that gleamed off pale silk wallpaper and tasteful paintings.

“What do you think? I tried to give it a bit of a gallery vibe.”

“It’s… impressive.”

How much must all this have cost? Even without knowing much about art, Rose could tell those paintings weren’t cheap.

They hadn’t walked ten minutes before reaching the corridor’s end.

“We’re here. Welcome to the Dautryche residence.”

At the top of the stairs, through an interior door, lay a bright marble-floored entry hall where familiar faces awaited, including Philip Bonard, James’s chief secretary.

“Welcome back, sir.”

Their voices rang out in perfect unison, polite and practiced. This was the center of the Andorre Kingdom’s business world. The return of James Dautryche, the embodiment of commerce itself.

“I’m Margaret, the housekeeper. Pleased to meet you, Miss.”

Despite her warm impression, the middle-aged woman’s sharp eyes missed nothing.

‘Be confident. Don’t shrink. Be elegant!’

Rose conjured up her most refined, mysterious smile, channeling her old persona of Olga Blavatsky.

“Likewise, Margaret. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Do you truly plan to unpack all these boxes yourself?”

“There are fragile items and things that could break. I feel better handling those myself. The rest… perfect. Thank you.”

Her assigned room was far bigger and more luxurious than she’d imagined. Slightly over-decorated for her taste, maybe, but astonishingly well prepared in such a short time.

At its center stood a grand canopy bed adorned with ostrich feathers. A spacious desk sat ready for work, and there was even a curtained bookcase—just as she’d asked.

‘The ostrich feather thing was supposed to be a joke…’

Off to the right was a luxurious bathroom she hadn’t specifically requested, complete with an exotic screen, antique wardrobe, and an ornate vanity.

On the left…

“Margaret. That door on the left—where does it lead?”

The housekeeper’s face flushed.

“Oh my!”

Margaret’s startled reaction gave Rose a sinking feeling.

“The master surely warned you already… that door connects directly to the master’s chambers, Miss.”

‘Again with this?’

She scowled faintly, recalling the connected doors in Linden’s Bellamonte Hotel deluxe room. Why were rich people so obsessed with knocking holes in walls? Was that how they showed off their wealth?

“I seeee. Got it.”

“Yes, well…”

An awkward silence settled between them.

“Um.”

“Actually… it wasn’t there before!”

Margaret blurted it out too quickly for Rose to cut in.

“It was added on special orders from the master himself.”

‘Not a joke, huh. Actually new construction…’

She was sorely tempted to ask how much that had cost but decided to bury that curiosity for now.

“Alright. My room’s fine now. Would you show me around the mansion?”

While Rose toured the mansion with Margaret, James was in his office tackling a mountain of paperwork.

“Sir! You’re leaving again?”

“What am I, a lump of coal? If I’m not here, the factory stops and the trains grind to a halt?”

“Oh, come on! That’s not it and you know it. What if you vanish again and don’t check in for ages? Then I’m the one—”

“Philip. You worry too much.”

James spun his fountain pen idly in one hand, teasing his chief secretary.

“If you’re so concerned… fine. I suppose one Philip would be handy to have around.”

“Excuse me?”

“How about it? Want to travel the whole country with me for a year?”

“Spare me. I’m still a newlywed.”

James laughed at his secretary’s pale, desperate expression.

“Alright, alright. You’re too good at your job. Best you stay here and keep the trains running.”

He signed the last document and glanced up.

“I’m not planning on staying in Romberton long. I have work to do with Miss Taylor.”

“You could just hurry up and marry her and go on your honeymoon.”

“Hahaha! Unfortunately, it won’t be that kind of trip.”

Seeing his boss so amused made Philip’s stomach ache with worry.

“Please, just… no surprises. Tell us in advance if you’re planning anything. So we can prepare and support you properly.”

“I appreciate the loyalty. But sorry to say, you’ll have to stay chief secretary for now. No promotion yet.”

“Forget promotion. Just pay me more. If I get promoted, the work just increases anyway.”

“Sharp as always. That’s why you’re my secretary.”

James smiled and rose from his chair.

“She agreed to help me find ‘that girl.’”

Philip’s face froze in shock.

“…You mean Miss Blavatsky—Miss Taylor? Don’t tell me you actually fell for some psychic trick about finding people?”

“I’m not buying into seances or clairvoyance. She knows the truth behind the Paper Flower.”

Philip let out a deep breath, relieved. He remembered all too well how his boss had hounded him for years to investigate that lead.

Who would believe that this tall, handsome, charming heir who owned one of the kingdom’s top companies spent his time obsessing over tracking down some girl he’d met once as a boy? Even the social parties he attended under fake names were really just excuses to dig for information.

“So that’s what this is all about. You suddenly got so fixated on Miss Taylor, I couldn’t make sense of it…”

He recalled, not fondly, the errand he’d had to run months ago at James’s order—hunting her down at her office, drafting legal documents in case of a scandal, preparing contingency plans…

“Ah! Wait a minute. What about that assault complaint? How did that get resolved?”

“Oh, that? It’s still ongoing.”

A carefree smile spread over James’s face.