Under the moonlight, Dorian walked the streets, the tap of his cane echoing on the cobblestones.

  I’ve already asked Cliff about the previous servants, but I never got an answer. Maybe he doesn’t know himself.

  The lights in the windows went out one by one, darkness spreading, leaving him alone.

  Makes sense… it’s nighttime.

  He found a house with a slouched figure in the window and knocked three times. The door slowly creaked open.

  “Who are you?” an elderly man’s voice called out; his face was hidden in shadow.

  “I’m a detective. I need to ask the residents about the servants who worked for the late Lord Albert Redgrave.”

  A pause hung between them.

  Could I really be this lucky?

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” the old man said, trying to shut the door, but the cane blocked it.

  It was cold enough outside for his breath to mist in the air.

  “Please, let’s talk. I won’t take much of your time. I may not look it, but I’m a decent person.”

  The old man loosened his grip. Dorian finally saw him: hunched, with hands roughened by years of service and gray hair thinning in places. He smelled slightly unpleasant.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dorian. And forgive my rudeness… were you connected to the estate where Albert lived?”

  The old man nodded and stepped inside. Dorian followed.

  “My name is Roger. I was the lord’s personal valet.”

  “Understood. I didn’t think I’d find the right person so quickly.”

  “I also wanted someone to talk to… I didn’t think I’d have to revisit those days…” His face clouded over.

  Roger led the detective onward, passing from one room to the next.

  Dorian noticed small items: dusty children’s shoes on a shelf, crumpled letters on a desk, a silver frame on a dresser with a photograph. The woman’s smile was gentle, though her appearance was fragile.

  Is she dead? Judging by the photo… it’s been a long time.

  Dorian approached the living room. Books lined the shelves neatly, but some were bent, as if hastily read. Papers, manuscripts with notes, ink stains, torn and crumpled sheets lay scattered on the floor.

  Creative crisis?

  A slightly torn children’s toy lay in the room. Dorian bent down and picked it up carefully. Dust and old stains marked the wooden bear.

  Does he have children?

  “I had a wife who fell ill and passed away, leaving me with only my son. He grew up and left this place—I don’t know where he is now. I hope he’s well,” he said, a sincere sadness in his words.

  Roger needed someone to confide in. He saw Dorian not just as a young man, but as someone who could understand.

  Losing those close to you is hard. I know that all too well...

  An old clock stood on the table, its hands frozen at a certain hour.

  He wants to preserve the moment? I’ve never even thought about that.

  Dorian spoke calmly:

  “Your home has told me much about you. Let’s get started.”

  Lynette is there alone… I need to hurry.

  The old man nodded and settled into a comfortable chair. The atmosphere was perfect for a conversation.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Please, ask your questions,” Roger said with a warm smile.

  “Tell me everything you know,” Dorian said firmly, gripping his cane, convinced he would find the answers here. The cylinder hat stayed on his head, unmoved by sudden gestures.

  “It’s been a long time… but I’ll try to remember,” the old man began quietly. “When I turned twenty, I went to the Redgrave estate. It was a wonderful place… countless flowerbeds, an atmosphere of peace and happiness.”

  He paused, his gaze lingering on the fireplace, the soft crackle of the logs carrying his thoughts further and further…

  ***

  I was appointed personal servant to the young master. Sir Albert was my age. He was a polite and kind young man, whose eyes reflected true serenity.

  His parents ruled wisely. They never looked down on others; they treated everyone with respect.

  At twenty-three, Albert lost his parents… a carriage accident. It overturned into the water, and they couldn’t escape. The young master had to take on the title immediately after the funeral.

  Everyone mourned, but they understood: duty does not wait. The newly titled baron was subdued, but never wished to show weakness. Sometimes, he called me brother, sharing his feelings. I decided to repay him in kind…

  At his age, he needed a fiancée, but he refused marriage without love. I searched for someone worthy of his kindness and found… Miss Juliana Clermont, the only daughter of the viscounts. I advised the baron to meet her, and he reluctantly agreed.

  She seemed gentle, yet strong. She carried herself with innate dignity. Her kindness and high morals made others keep their distance.

  After just one meeting, Albert seemed brighter. At their next encounter, he brought a canvas and oil paints. They spent hours together. At the end, he gave Juliana a portrait.

  Their meetings became more frequent… later, they married.

  ***

  Roger fell silent, his gaze sweeping the room, returning to the present.

  “At thirty-one, I saw their child… but with this joy came sorrow. Juliana died in childbirth, leaving only a trace behind…”

  Dorian listened silently, his dark red eyes fixed on the speaker.

  “What happened next?” the detective asked. “Is that all?”

  “No…” Roger replied, sinking back into the past…

  ***

  The days turned grim. The baron no longer smiled; life in the house where his wife died was heavy. My presence only slightly eased his loneliness.

  He barely saw his son… In him, the lord saw the reflection of his deceased love. I took it upon myself to raise Sir Cliff…

  I had access to the family budget. I did everything to make the boy’s childhood happy, giving my all, yet I spent less and less time with my dear friend.

  Thanks to the late Miss Juliana’s servants, managing the house became easier… The lord shut himself in his room and stopped going out socially.

  But, to my surprise, he gradually became normal again…

  In his room, paintings appeared, seemingly giving him solace. He spent more time with his son. Returning to family duties, he achieved great heights… This lasted about seven months.

  Renovations began in the estate. The right wing, too small to match the interior, was planned to be closed. It was a wonderful time… until that incident.

  A young maid disappeared… She had served Miss Juliana personally. Immediately after her disappearance, the lord fell into despair.

  A few months later, he summoned me and ordered me to leave the estate, freeing not only me but all the other servants. Each received a generous sum for a comfortable life.

  However, one maid stayed behind despite the dismissals and disappeared a month later.

  ***

  “I still wanted to return there…” Roger fell silent. “All I know is: he hired new people instead of us. And thirteen years later, he quietly passed away in his own bed.”

  “You knew the girl who disappeared after your departure?” Dorian asked.

  “No, at the time I hardly spoke to anyone.”

  “The puzzle is starting to come together. Can you answer a few questions for me?”

  “Go ahead,” Roger nodded.

  “When did you last see the baron?”

  “In his room…” the old man murmured.

  “Were there paintings there?”

  “Uh… I don’t remember.”

  Dorian pressed on, hoping to get what he came for.

  “Try to recall.”

  Roger closed his eyes tightly, immersing himself in memory.

  “It seems… no.”

  The detective pressed his chin against the cane’s knob.

  “Although…” Roger recalled. “There was one… a seascape with a beautiful sunset. He called this kind…”

  “Marina…” Dorian whispered.

  A seascape… does it hold some meaning?

  “We figured that out. Are you familiar with the rumors about the disappearance?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any thoughts?”

  “Sorry…”

  Need to make sure.

  “One last thing: did any of the servants from that time who left the estate disappear or die under strange circumstances?”

  Roger hesitated.

  “I keep in touch with all of them… and I haven’t heard of anything like that.”

  Rising, Dorian slowly made his way toward the exit.

  “You think it’s true?” the old voice barely carried behind him.

  “What do you mean?” Dorian stopped and turned.

  “You think it’s Miss Juliana?” Roger’s voice trembled.

  “What does she have to do with it?”

  “Well… maybe she… was involved in the first disappearance.”

  “Where did that idea come from?” Dorian asked, studying his face intently.

  “There were rumors…” Roger lowered his gaze, as if afraid to speak aloud. “I couldn’t confirm them, since I cared for Cliff. But the maid who took over my duties for the baron… she had… an unusual relationship with him.”

  Does he think Juliana’s ghost was involved in the maid’s disappearance out of jealousy?

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Dorian said. “Does anyone else live here connected to that period?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then I’ll leave. Farewell.”

  “Sorry…” Roger whispered. “Have we met before?”

  Dorian froze.

  “No, this is our first meeting…”

  He moved on. The darkness of the alley swallowed the last sounds of his footsteps—and him. Reaching the central square, where no one was present, Dorian relaxed, stretching slightly.

  Juliana, Albert… the first and second missing maids. What really happened? Who is to blame, and who is simply a victim of circumstance?

  Exhaling, the detective continued toward the next house with a light in the window.

  I hope she doesn’t get into trouble…