PandoraHearts ~Caucus Race~, Vol. 1 (11 page)

I—

Yesterday, Dahlia had saved him right and left, and he hadn’t done anything manly in front of her. That made him even more determined to succeed this time. Gilbert strode along, backed by an enthusiastic aura that seemed out of place on him.

I’m…going!

Behind him, Oz and Break had begun to tail him, but Gilbert completely failed to notice.

On the outskirts of Reveil, Gilbert hurried down a lane that wound through an elm forest.

…There was no wind. The forest was silent.

Finally, Gilbert’s field of vision opened up, and as he left the forest, the Garland mansion came into view. For the main residence of an aristocratic family, the building wasn’t very
large. However, although old, its appearance exuded solidity and respectability, as if it were a clear physical expression of the Garland family’s long history and honorable traditions.

Possibly because the elm forest made them unnecessary, no wall circled the mansion, and there was no gate. He examined the building from a distance, but all the curtains in all the rooms were closed, and from the outside he couldn’t tell which room was Dahlia’s. Wordlessly, Gilbert walked up to the front door.

Standing before the door, he took a deep breath, then tugged on the bellpull that hung beside it.

There was no immediate response; Gilbert was forced to wait for a while.

Just when he was beginning to wonder if he should try calling inside, the door opened with a long, low
creeeeak
.

“—May I inquire who is calling?”

A rasping voice challenged him from somewhere quite low down. It belonged to an elderly man in a threadbare black suit.

The man was small to begin with, and on top of that, his back was terribly hunched, so his head was low. The upturned gaze he directed at Gilbert clung to him clammily; it seemed more appraising than suspicious.

Although he felt rather repulsed, Gilbert spoke resolutely. “I am Gilbert Nightray of the House of Nightray. Is Miss Dahlia Garland at home?”

“…Hmm. What business might you have with the young mistress, sir?”

Gilbert had introduced himself as a member of one of the four great dukedoms, and yet the Garland family’s butler didn’t seem overawed in the least. On the contrary: With an air of superficially polite insolence, he had answered Gilbert’s question with one of his own.

Gilbert made no attempt to sugarcoat the matter. “We’d promised to meet today, but she never arrived.”

He’d come to see if she was all right, he said.

At that, in a gesture that seemed vaguely theatrical, the butler bowed his already low head even lower.

“My humblest apologies. I see. So that is what occurred.”

“Is she feeling ill?”

The butler answered Gilbert’s question with a slight, high-pitched chuckle.

“Lady Dahlia began feeling poorly late last night. She has taken to her bed. She has always been rather frail, and this sort of thing is not unusual… I regret that we were unable to contact you.”

Instinctively, Gilbert felt that this might be a lie. However, he didn’t have anything substantial enough to make the other man change his tune.

Gilbert asked for permission to pay her a short get-well visit, but the butler turned him down firmly, although his tone was still polite.

“…In that case…” Finding himself stalemated already, Gilbert pressed on. “Could I pay my respects to the head of the household?”

“Dansen-sama will see no one. He is not fond of people, you understand. If you really must see him, you will have to put in a request in advance. …We cannot, of course, accommodate those who are ill-mannered enough to demand that the master present himself because they are unable to see the young mistress.”

“Nrgh. Well, I…”

Gilbert was at a loss as to how to respond. Of course, the butler had the more logical argument.

Should he turn back for now, or force his way through?

Gilbert was torn.

Just then, there was a clatter somewhere overhead, from an upper story, and immediately afterward—

He heard a faint noise. No, a voice.

A voice so thin and weak it could easily have been mistaken for the wind.

Gilbert started.

Someone had called his name in a pleading tone, as if asking for help… Or so he felt.

That’s Dahlia’s voice.

Possibly the butler hadn’t heard it. He seemed perplexed by Gilbert’s abruptly sharp expression.

In a corner of his mind, Gilbert thought,
This is going to create a big hassle later. …Still. Either way, I—

At this late date, it wouldn’t bother him one bit to be treated like any more of a black sheep by aristocratic society, or by the House of Nightray itself.

Gilbert’s lips curved into a faint, fearless smile.

“Sorry. I’m coming in.”

With that brief statement, he stepped into the mansion, pushing the butler aside. Beyond the door was a modest entry hall, and a large staircase that led to the second floor was directly in front of him. The butler put out a hand to catch his arm, saying, “Please, sir, you mustn’t,” but Gilbert shook him off and made for the staircase.

In a normal aristocratic household, behavior like this would likely have brought the guards down on him. However, the mansion was so quiet that there might have been no other people in it. Once he’d freed himself from the butler, no one barred Gilbert’s way.

He climbed the stairs, calling “Dahlia” as he went.

Once he reached the second floor, at the top of the stairs, he knew right away:

Through the door of one of the rooms, he could hear a weeping voice.

It was Dahlia’s voice, calling his name.

Quickly, he went to the door. The possibility that it might be locked crossed his mind, but when he twisted the knob, it opened easily. Dahlia stood beyond the door, dressed in a thin negligee. When she saw Gilbert, her eyes went wide and she fell silent.

Her eyes were red and bloodshot.

Gilbert didn’t know what to say to her, and for a short while, he was silent, too.

“You…came,” Dahlia said.

She seemed to have mixed feelings about that. Her tone wasn’t one of simple delight.

Gilbert glanced at the door.

“Your father?” he asked, briefly.

Dahlia nodded, uncomfortably. Gilbert continued. “Please let me speak to him. This wasn’t your fault.”

“Won’t you come in?”

Dahlia took a step back, inviting Gilbert into her room. Possibly she had something to discuss with Gilbert before taking him to see her father.

Large bookshelves took up most of the wall space in Dahlia’s room. She had said she loved books, and her room reflected this. She’d mentioned that she liked mystery novels, but all the books wore covers, and the titles weren’t visible.

As Gilbert gazed at the bookshelves, he noticed a faint fragrance.

This room smells nice…

A sweet aroma hung in the air, as though Dahlia were wearing perfume, or burning incense.

“I’ll make tea.”

At a small table in the center of the room, Dahlia tilted a pot and began to pour tea.

“Oh, sure. Thank you.”

“Do you take milk?”

“That’s fine.”

“I can add a drop of brandy if you’d like.”

“No, I don’t really—”

Was it his imagination? Dahlia, who’d been crying just a moment ago, now sounded as if she were in high spirits.

That’s strange
, Gilbert thought.

However, as if erased by the sweet scent, the doubt faded in his mind. Dahlia approached, cup in hand, and held it out to him. “Here you are.”

Gilbert took it obligingly—or tried to take it. For some reason, his fingers were unsteady, and he very nearly dropped it. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s all right,” Dahlia said shyly. “Go on.”

As Dahlia urged him to drink, Gilbert had a vague sense that something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.

He took a small sip.

Dahlia was watching him, steadily.

………
…? Something’s…funny
—

Before he knew it, all the strength had gone out of his legs. He staggered, falling to his knees on the carpet. His senses were hazy, as though he were dreaming. The cup fell to the floor, and he fell after it, but there was no pain. Strident alarm bells were ringing in his head.

However, his body wouldn’t listen to him, and even his mind was fading, disappearing beyond the mist.

“For the Great Mother—”

Dahlia’s murmur was the last thing Gilbert heard before he lost consciousness.

A short while later.

A carriage departed from the rear of the Garland mansion, bound for the center of Reveil.

The coachman was the small, elderly butler.

Inside the black carriage, Dahlia sat in one of the two facing seats.

A prone form wrapped in a white sheet lay on the other.

“Sooo…What next?”

Break spoke from the shadow of a tree trunk in the elm forest that surrounded the Garland mansion. Oz, who’d watched the carriage drive away down the lane from the shadow of the next trunk over, looked back at Break. His eyes seemed to ask,
What’s going on?

“Sorry. I’m coming in.”

Oz had seen Gilbert push the butler aside and force his way into the mansion after he’d been denied a meeting with Dahlia.

The sight had made him wonder if Gilbert was serious. If this was how things were, there was no place for the Anti-Socialization Plan. Break had said, “My,
my
, Gilbert-kun, how manly of you…” and seemed to be enjoying himself, but Oz couldn’t share his enthusiasm.

Now a carriage had left the mansion.

From what I saw, it didn’t look like Gil was inside, but…

He’d only caught a brief glimpse through the carriage’s small window; he might have missed seeing him. He’d seen only Dahlia in the carriage.

Had Dahlia left Gilbert in the mansion and gone out alone? …That would have been unnatural.

“Dahlia Garland, aged nineteen, only daughter of Dansen Garland, the head of the Garland family.”

As he spoke, his voice matter-of-fact, Break stepped from the shadow of his tree trunk onto the lane that ran through the forest.

Oz followed Break out onto the lane. He gazed down it, as though he were watching the carriage that was already out of sight.

“Night Butterfly,” Break murmured.

“Night…Butterfly? What’s that?” Oz echoed Break’s words, puzzled.

“The name of a boutique just off the high street. It doesn’t carry famous brands, but it does have a wide array of dresses designed to appeal to fancy madams. From what I hear, business is fairly good. I’ve seen a few at parties, and they’re quiiiiiite…”

“‘Quite’ what?”

“Gaping décolletage, you know. Like this. They’re dresses created to tempt men.”

As Break explained, with gestures, Oz’s face went rather red.

“They’re also designed to be quite easy to take off.”

Oz choked a little.

The topic was a bit too much for someone who hadn’t yet climbed the stairway to adulthood.

“S-so what?! Why bring that up now?!”

“Dahlia’s never been one for going out. For the past six months, however, she’s been spotted entering and leaving Night Butterfly frequently… And it isn’t as though she’s started attending parties.”

As the conversation unexpectedly connected with the
subject at hand, Oz had no idea what to say. However, at Break’s next words, his expression suddenly changed.

“Besides. There are dark rumors about the proprietress of Night Butterfly.”

“…Such as?”

“That the proprietress is running a secret club under the boutique. That, although they call it a club, they actually conduct antisocial devil worship— And that, in
that
case, it resembles a black magic cabal, or something along those lines. Of course…”

Break paused for a moment.

“Dahlia may be involved. …Perhaps.”

Oz felt seriously uneasy. At the same time, he had a few questions.

“Break, why…? When did you check into that?”

Break’s answer was casual. “Gilbert-kun
did
come to me for advice about it, you know. I’ve always done at least
that
much for him.”

He’d had fun messing with Gilbert, but behind the scenes, he’d run proper investigations on the other parties. That did sound like Break, but Oz wasn’t quite satisfied.

“In that case, you could have told me about it, too.”

“But you didn’t
ask
me. —Not about Dahlia’s past.
”

At Break’s unabashed answer, Oz’s shoulders slumped. It was entirely possible that, while Break had had fun toying with Gilbert, he’d been entertaining himself by watching Oz as well. Oz glared at Break. He considered making a sarcastic comment, but decided against it.

If what Break said was true…

“Wait, then, Dahlia might be…”

“Exactly. You can’t judge by appearances. …It’s possible there was some intent behind her approach to Gilbert-kun.”

By “intent,” he didn’t mean “socialization with an eye to marriage”…

When his thoughts had taken him that far, Oz realized that something felt off. What had Gilbert told him the night before?