The Chronicles of Van Deloney-Chapter 12: A WARM WELCOME FROM THE HOUSE OF GRIMOARDS

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THE MORNING sun slowly made its way into the sky, the ship bearing Charlotte and her companions docked at the port of Albiana. The area was relatively quiet, with few people present at that early hour, and even fewer paying attention to the newspapers being passed out that detailed recent events in Grenswood.

After a long and arduous journey aboard the ship, Charlotte and her companion stepped off the vessel and onto the port of Albiana. Lindice, who was still with her, woke up for their departure from the ship. However, a surprise awaited them, as Saevionh, who they had assumed to go alone, suddenly appeared, and decided to accompany them on their trip to House Grimoard.

"Oh, it's just you," Lindice said, greeting Saevionh with an unsmiling face that radiated animosity and coldness. Her words received a similar response from Saevionh, who mirrored her unpleasant expressions as he questioned the manner in which she greeted him, "That's not a great morning greeting."

While Saevionh and Lindice engaged in their exchange, Charlotte took the opportunity to observe her surroundings, her curiosity piqued as she explored the foreign land of Albiana for the first time. Her eyes roamed over the unfamiliar environment, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the new place before her.

Saevionh's stride was interrupted as he picked up one of the newspapers being handed out. He proceeded to unfurl the paper and began perusing the headlines, his tone filled with mild curiosity. "The Grenswood incident was still fresh, huh?" he uttered in a questioning tone, directing his words towards Charlotte. His statement prompted a response from her in the form of a query of her own. "Huh? Isn't that just recent?" she asked, expressing her surprise and curiosity at the mention of the recent event in Grenswood.

"Oh, uh, don't mind what I said," Saevionh responded with some embarrassment, attempting to brush off his previous statement. Moments later, Lindice abruptly pointed out the sight of a carriage "The carriage is here" she uttered, a silver-haired man gesturing towards them in a butler's attire.

Charlotte, Lindice, and Saevionh approached the waiting butler, their pace slow yet steady as they approached the awaiting carriage. As they neared the vehicle, the butler extended a hand towards them and offered a polite but hearty greeting. "Mr. Grimoard, Lady Deloney, it's an honor for me to give you a ride through the mansion," he uttered, his tone and demeanor conveying a sense of respect and enthusiasm. He proceeds to offer further details, "The Chief Maid of House Grimoard is waiting for both of you."

"Who is he?" Charlotte inquired; her curiosity piqued as she glanced at the butler standing before her. The butler fixes his spectacle before speaking, "Apologies, m'lady, I am Argentum Jelque, one of the butlers in the mansion," he explained, his voice calm and unhurried. He went on to elaborate, stating that Madame Dorothea was currently absent from the premises and that he had been entrusted with the task of escorting both Charlotte and Saevionh to the Countess' home.

No further words were exchanged between the three as they proceeded to enter the carriage, their passage marked by the absence of conversation or dialogue. Argentum, however, attempted to halt Lindice's movements, grasping her wrist in an effort to stop her from entering the vehicle.

"Goodness Lindice, your clothes were all stained in dried blood," the butler remarked, his tone concerned, and his gaze directed towards the stain-laden uniform of the seemingly unconcerned maid. Lindice quickly brushed away his hand, her expression filled with annoyance. "I know, don't mind me." She uttered.

Frustrated by Lindice's nonchalant attitude towards her own appearance, Argentum made no attempt to conceal his feelings as he sighed and began the journey by urging the horses into action. The movement of the carriage was soon marked by the sound of thundering hooves, as the horses began to gallop and carry the three towards the mansion.

As the carriage made its way through the streets of Albiana, the setting sun cast a warm glow over the picturesque cityscape. The city's architecture was reminiscent of a traditional English town, with quaint cobblestone streets lined with quaint shops and homes, along with a picturesque courtyard or town square in the center, where the bustle of locals and passersby could be seen or heard. The air was filled with a mix of the scents of the sea, freshly cut grass, and baking bread, creating a unique and inviting atmosphere. The rolling hills and vast plains of the countryside soon came into view, adding to the already idyllic scene.

After a brief yet serene journey through the scenic streets of Albiana, the carriage finally arrived at the majestic House Grimoard, where it was greeted with a refreshing stream of water from a nearby fountain, a field of vibrant red roses, and the sweet melody of hummingbirds. As the carriage came to a stop at the mansion's front door, Argentum assisted Charlotte in her descent from the vehicle, her arrival marked by a group of maids and butlers who stood in line at the main entrance of the imposing residential structure.

"Welcome to the Grimoard's," a warm greeting came from a woman who stood before Charlotte, her expression filled with a pleasant and welcoming air. She extended her hand in greeting and spoke her words with elegance and poise, as though the gesture and act of welcoming was deeply ingrained in her nature. "I am Auremdra Tussauds, you may call me Miranda, m'lady," she introduced herself, her expression gentle and charming despite the formidable presence she exuded.

"Thank you for your gracious greeting, Miranda," Charlotte remarked, her attitude warm and grateful. As she spoke, she felt as though she had come home, as the welcome provided by the House Grimoard and its inhabitants made her feel at ease and comfortable. The sense of peace and security that greeted her as soon as she stepped through the door only further enhanced her positive mood and outlook on her new surroundings. Miranda's hospitality had certainly made a lasting impression on Charlotte, who felt a sense of liberation at knowing that she would be safe and protected within the walls of the Grimoard residence.

Suddenly, Saevionh alighted from the carriage bearing his suitcase in one hand. "Miranda, it's been a while," he said, his tone casual but friendly. Miranda smiled warmly in response and greeted him heartily. "Lord Grimoard! I'm glad you're back!" she exclaimed, her pleasant expression exuding the relief felt at his return.

"Might I inquire as to the day of Madame Dorothea's return?" Saevionh requested of Miranda, his tone polite and refined. "She shall arrive tomorrow morning, m'lord," Miranda responded promptly, using a title that surprised Charlotte, her confusion evident as she listened to the conversation...

"M'Lord?" Charlotte inquired, her tone inquisitive and her brow raised in confusion. Saevionh chuckled at her surprise, his manner one of amusement rather than offense or annoyance. He stepped closer to her, leaning to whisper into her ear.

"You see, M'Lady, I occupy a higher position than you do. Therefore, it is important that you recognize your station and behave accordingly," he stated, his voice low and firm. Having delivered his message, Saevionh released Charlotte and proceeded to move inside the house, leaving her stunned and a bit rattled by his statement and demeanor.

"What troubles him?" Charlotte inquired, her gaze lingering upon the figure that had just departed, her curiosity piqued by the tense air that clung to his presence.

At this, Miranda allowed a small chuckle to escape her lips, though there was little mirth behind it. She tilted her head slightly before offering an answer. "Ah, do not mind him. He was merely being his usual self—unyielding and far too accustomed to command. Lord Grimoard is the sole remaining kin of the Countess, and that, I suppose, affords him a certain privilege. But the matter is more complicated than it appears. The Countess has gone to great lengths to keep him here after his mother's passing."

"His mother?" Charlotte repeated, her voice laced with both intrigue and concern.

Miranda gave a solemn nod. "Indeed. His late mother passed away when he was a child. It was a tragedy that left an indelible mark upon him. The young lord was left under the care of Madame Dorothea, his aunt, but such loss is not easily mended. Even now, he carries the weight of it, though he seldom speaks of his grief." She paused for a moment before continuing, "That sorrow, I believe, shaped the man he has become today. It hardened him."

Charlotte absorbed this revelation in silence, her fingers curling slightly as she considered the implications. "Then, he has been alone in his suffering all this time?" she murmured.

Miranda exhaled softly. "Not entirely. Madame Dorothea has done all she could, but there are wounds that no guardian, no matter how kind, can heal. And Lord Grimoard, well... he has never been one to easily lean upon others."

"That explains much," Charlotte admitted, her expression now tinged with understanding.

With a polite nod, she excused herself from Charlotte's company, duty calling her back into the grand halls of the manor. The weight of her responsibilities was ever pressing, and she could linger no longer.

Charlotte, however, remained rooted in place, her mind now a storm of thoughts and unanswered questions. There was something about this House—the quiet secrets that lurked beneath its stately walls, the veiled history woven into hushed conversations—that stirred her curiosity. They had granted her shelter, had offered her a chance at freedom in exchange for a case she had no knowledge about, and yet, she knew so little of them.

Her gaze wandered over the towering structure before her, a fortress of mysteries she longed to unravel. Who truly were the people within? What shadows of the past lingered in their wake? And most of all, what had she unknowingly entangled herself in?

Meanwhile, Saevionh moved through the dimly lit corridors of the Grimoard residence with his usual measured grace, each footfall deliberate and exacting. His pace, though steady, carried an underlying tension—as though he were aware of an invisible weight pressing against him, urging him forward. The mansion, its tapestries hanging thick with the dust of forgotten years, seemed to watch him as he walked.

Upon entering the study, he cast his satchel onto the fainting couch without a second thought, his fingers untying his cravat with a practiced flick of the wrist. But even as he loosened the silk at his throat, a tightness remained—a faint, gnawing discomfort, like a shadow pressing against the back of his mind. His pulse quickened in his ears. He inhaled deeply, exhaling with precision, as though willing the thought away.

"So," he murmured softly, half to himself, half to the air around him. "This is the one Madame spoke of." His voice, smooth and controlled, barely betrayed the flicker of unease that briefly flitted through his chest. The thought that something in this room could cause his demise, something untold, something hidden in plain sight— it hovered on the edges of his consciousness, but he pushed it down with a slow blink.

He moved towards the desk, eyes scanning the papers scattered before him. As his gaze lingered on the disarray, a single scrap of parchment caught his eye, but he could not focus—not fully. His mind raced, cycling through one scenario after another—What if this was the very place where everything would end? Where would his carefully constructed world unravel? What if, by reading the wrong thing, he sealed his fate?

He reached for the papers with a trembling hand, barely noticeable, a tremor that seemed out of place. His fingers brushed against the edge of the desk, and for a moment, he held them there—compelled to smooth the rough edge of the wood, as though aligning its jagged surface would somehow quell the rising panic.

His breath faltered as he tried to shake off the thought. "Absurd," he whispered under his breath, straightening one of the papers. "Absurd, Saevionh. There is no reason to—"

The words died in his throat as another wave of dizziness washed over him. A coughing fit seized him violently, and he bent over, clutching his stomach with one hand, the other clutching the edge of the desk to steady himself. His vision blurred momentarily, a red haze swimming across the edges. Blood spattered across his palm.

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He stared at it, eyes wide. "Not now," he muttered. "Not now."

It was not the blood that troubled him—it was the thought that he might die in this room. The irrational fear gripped him fiercely. What if this was the moment? What if this was the fatal misstep?

But, even as his body threatened to betray him, his mind, ever the meticulous observer, sought order amidst the chaos. His hand gripped the bloodied fabric of his shirt, tightening with unnatural precision, pressing until the pain was a welcome distraction. "I will not succumb to this," he muttered again, his voice quieter now, as though trying to convince himself. He inhaled deeply, steadying his breath, forcing himself to focus.

Looking upward, the flickering candlelight cast shadows across his face as he dropped his blindfold to the floor, his expression hidden still beneath the veil of his thoughts.

He spoke aloud, the words hanging in the air like an enigma, his eyes unseeing. The fear lingered at the back of his mind, but he would not acknowledge it—not yet.

"When shall the counterfeit light descend its ped upon the stage of a true effulgence?"