Season of Moonlight

Tenth Month

The Wellington Estate

Rural Girchester, The Cronia Region

2325

Dark clouds gathered in the sky and concealed the estate in shadow.

Percival stood astonished by Bernadette's discovery. He watched Reggi Edwards stiffen on command, his mother's face distorted with anger. Mrs. Wellington pounded the tip of her cane into the ground, which punctured a hole in the soil.

"The gun proves nothing," she spat.

"Oh, I beg to disagree," Percival replied smugly, attracting the woman's harrowing eyes. Something about her black pupils seemed unnatural. They penetrated his soul, injecting an unquenchable fear that paralyzed him from head to toe. 

He slowly eradicated the feeling, showing no signs of weakness. "The gun proves your son has something to hide."

"It has been fired recently," Bernadette said. "Your stepbrother was killed with a bullet, Mr. Edwards. Now is the time to provide a real alibi because this is not looking good for you."

Reggi shook his head. "I didn't do this! I am being framed!"

"Convince me," Percival said, his tone blunt. The world of crime was full of surprises, and while he longed for the man to be guilty, he needed concrete evidence.

Reggi combed a hand through his luscious blonde hair, then stared at his mother. His face glistened with sweat, handprints staining his overalls as he leaned against them. "Lydia," he slurred, "it must have been Lydia."

"Lydia?" Mrs. Wellington said, her lips twisted. Then she gasped. "Of course! Detective, it was my daughter. She is behind this."

Percival felt the gears in his head start to turn. "Care to elaborate?"

Bernadette set the gun down onto the bonnet of the nearest motorcarriage, waiting for an impeccable answer. She was ready to make an arrest. The man was guilty. She was sure of it. 

The trunks of the nearby trees croaked as a gust of wind swept through the Wellington property, the crackling of the branches sending a harrowing chill down her spine. 

Bernadette's gut clenched. Something was wrong here. She couldn't pinpoint her skepticism, but an urge was brewing inside her—an urge to run.

"Let's talk inside," Mrs. Wellington said. "I feel a storm coming."

Bernadette opposed the invitation, but before she could protest, she found herself sitting on a sofa in a chandelier-lit room with a cup of tea cradled in her left hand. 

The steam fumed into her nostrils, serenading her tensed muscles. It appeared to be a floral concoction, the sweet aroma of rose petals teasing her taste buds. 

Bernadette took a sip, soaking in the flavour. She nodded assertively—a blend of roses, which she found odd. Roses never bloomed during the Moonlight season.

Bernadette pondered this thought while taking another mouthful of the warm beverage. She couldn't help it. It was delicious.

"So, Mrs. Wellington," Percival said, initiating conversation. He lowered his teacup onto a wooden side table. 

He sat beside Bernadette on a black sofa, his right leg crossed over the left, his coat unbuttoned, and his back slouched. "Tell me about Lydia."

Detective Cherry pulled out a pen and notebook from his breast pocket. He flipped to a blank page and lingered the tip of the pen over the top of the paper. His sepia-brown eyes rolled up to glance at Mrs. Wellington, who stood across from him holding a teapot. She put it down on a glass table separating them and sat next to Reggi Edwards on a nearly identical sofa, the fabric indigo blue.

"Lydia is a charming girl," Mrs. Wellington said, lowering her chin. "She has no faults. Her smile lights up every room. Her kindness is infectious; she holds her honour like a wonderful daughter. I would have never suspected her to be capable of such evil."

Bernadette stirred her tea with the tip of a silver spoon. "What changed?"

"Mother married Eddison Wellington," Reggi explained, taking his mother's trembling hand. Their fingers overlapped, locking together in a tight embrace. Bernadette found the action peculiar.

"Lydia hated the man," Mrs. Wellington said. "I don't know why, but she butted heads with his son, Andrew, over the most childish matters."

Percival wrote down the recollection and then paused. "Like what?"

"Andrew teased her," Reggi said, hardening his voice. "Lydia has dyslexia. He would ambush her and push a book or poem into her face. Then, when she could not read it, he tormented her for her stupidity."

"This must have upset Lydia," Bernadette said, setting her empty tea cup on the table. She pressed her palms together, leaning into the sofa. "You appear to hold a sense of pity for your sister, yet you accuse her of murder."

Reggi sighed. "While I felt sorry for my sister, our relationship was similarly tainted. For whatever reason, Lydia didn't like me. I couldn't fathom why. If she got the opportunity to ruin my name, she would."

Percival nodded. "So, where is Lydia now?"

A servant girl walked into the room, wearing a black dress and white apron. Her red hair was tied back with her youthful face composed.

"Mrs. Wellington, Mr. Edwards," she said softly, "you are needed in the servant quarters. Mrs. Loftman needs to speak with you urgently. Another one of her girls has gone missing."

"What does Mrs. Loftman want us to do about it?" Mrs. Wellington hissed. She held out a hand and waited. Reggi Edwards rose from the sofa and helped his mother into a stance, gifting her the golden cane as she steadied herself on her two feet. "Excuse us," Mrs. Wellington said.

"Sit tight. We'll be back to answer more questions shortly," Reggi said, guiding his mother out of the room with the servant leading them into another corridor.

Percival closed his notebook and shifted positions, angling his body towards Bernadette, who observed him keenly. "Missing girls?"

"They probably just ran away," Bernadette said. "If I worked in a place like this, I would too."

Percival laughed, letting down his guard for the first time. "What do you think of this investigation?"

"It is full of holes," Bernadette said, "but something troubles me. The gun we found in the tool bucket was scorching hot. If it had been used to murder Andrew Wellington, the gun would have been cold. A shot from a pistol usually leaves the barrel warm for five minutes, give or take. Mr. Wellington was killed nearly an hour ago."

Percival scratched the top of his head. "I agree. If we are judging by the facts, then that gun was fired shortly before our arrival, meaning-"

"There could be a second victim," Bernadette said. "But who?"

A figure caught her eye at the edge of the room. Bernadette turned to find another servant girl, this one older than the first, waving a hand toward her. The woman constantly checked over her shoulder, her gesture becoming more desperate.

"Excuse me," Bernadette said, standing. Not waiting for Percival's approval, she approached the servent, the woman pulling her into the corridor, gasping for breath.

"Are you a detective?" she wondered breathlessly.

Bernadette nodded. "Yes, Inspector Bernadette Case, and you are?"

"You must leave," the woman said, "before you are trapped inside the serpent's den!"

Bernadette frowned. "I don't understand. What are you afraid of? I-"

She suddenly felt light-headed. 

The room smudged together as Bernadette stumbled, struggling to maintain her balance. Her heel snagged on the lip of a chair, sending her plummeting to the ground. Her head hit the floor, and everything vanished.