Garden of May

The lawyer heaved a sigh, followed by a crackle of static. Vanessa pulled the receiver away from her ear for a second, only to snatch it back desperately.

—Do you have any idea how many lawyers in this world share an office?

“But relationships that exchange letters of recommendation are rare. It was on Mr. Heather’s recommendation that you were hired as our family’s advisor. Am I mistaken?”

—…How on earth did you find that… No, it doesn’t matter. It’s not as if it’s some great secret. In any case, I have nothing more to say regarding him.

“According to the information I’ve found…”

—Lady Vanessa.

The lawyer’s voice, cutting Vanessa off, was laced with exhaustion. It was the tone of a man barely maintaining his patience, and only because she was his employer’s niece.

—You seem to have your own urgent reasons, so I will be frank. We were introduced by chance and shared an office for a little over six months. That is all. I barely even exchanged any private conversation with him.

“You haven’t seen him since?”

—I swear to God. Is that answer enough for you?

“Then just one last thing.”

Vanessa quickly continued, her fingers uncoiling the twisted telephone cord.

“I confirmed that three lawyers were registered to that office at the time: you, Mr. Heather, and one other. I heard he was our family’s lawyer first. But the person who gave me the information said his records were expunged by request. Apparently, five years after legal dismissal…”

—Does the Count know you are investigating such things?

“Not yet, he doesn’t.”

Vanessa ignored the sharp sting of her conscience. The lawyer’s words sounded like an interrogation, asking how she could suspect her own flesh and blood in such a terrible way—even if that wasn’t his actual intent.

“I know I’m making an unreasonable request. But couldn’t you just accept that this matter is important enough to me that I must do this?”

The lawyer was silent for a very long time. So long that if not for the occasional sound of breathing, Vanessa would have thought he’d already hung up.

Vanessa anxiously clutched the gold locket around her neck. The appraisal results from the jeweler had arrived that morning. The locket was solid gold, and given the state of the metalwork, the probability of it being a replica was extremely low.

It was almost certainly an item that wealthy gentry, or even nobility, would have kept as a family heirloom….

She hadn’t been in her right mind since hearing the news.

‘Perhaps there’s something about my parents’ deaths that I don’t know.’

That thought had solidified when she went to the police station to try and see the vagrant again. The officers had looked baffled, stating they had never taken a vagrant into protection and didn’t know any officers matching that description.

They hadn’t even patrolled that area in the morning, they said, and there wasn’t a single filed report.

‘If he was so desperate for money, why didn’t he sell this sooner?’

There was only one answer. It was stolen. If he were caught selling it, the circumstances of how he acquired it would be revealed. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away, so he’d carried it for years, unable to even get it properly repaired. If the clasp hadn’t been so loose, she might never have recovered it.

The suspicion that it might not have belonged to her parents was little more than a flimsy excuse. What were the chances that a piece of jewelry identical to the one in her memory would also happen to be engraved with her mother’s exact initial? And besides, the portrait it contained…

Vanessa quickly reined in her spiraling thoughts. This was no time to be lost in useless fantasy.

“I want to know about that lawyer. If you just give me his name or address, I won’t contact you again. I give you my word.”

—Why on earth are you looking for predecessors? You’re already well aware that a woman cannot inherit land or titles.

“I can’t go into detail, but… it’s related to a certain painting I found. One that my parents commissioned.”

Static crackled over the line again. Suddenly anxious, Vanessa gripped the receiver with both hands. “Hello?”

—…I will give you the name and address only.

“One moment.”

Vanessa scrambled to pull out a clean sheet of paper and dipped her quill pen deep into the inkwell. She then pressed the receiver between her cheek and shoulder to hold it in place.

“Just a… all right, I’m ready.”

—Viscount B. Dawson. If he hasn’t moved, he should still be residing at 427 Lethe Street. He’s been retired for some time due to his age, so I understand he no longer takes clients.

“Lethe… 427 Street…. Thank you, truly.”

As she offered her sincere thanks with a deep breath of relief, a small grumble mingled with a sigh came from the other end. He already seemed to be regretting his needless meddling.

—Mark my words. If the Count asks, I never told you this name, My Lady.