"Charles Morstan Milverton?"
Mary frowned and repeated the name over and over between her lips and teeth, as though she were chewing on fishy raw meat.
For a professor with a near-photographic memory, it was impossible that she had completely forgotten a name she had once heard.
"This person… I've never heard of him. Are you sure the surname is really Morstan?"
Mary looked at William.
"Not only do I have no memory of him, but I've never even heard Father mention this person once."
"It is only natural that you have never heard of him, Miss."
The butler William gently set the teapot aside. An involuntary sigh appeared on his seasoned face, as though he had been pulled back into the distant past.
"This young master Charles… no, actually he should not be called 'young master,' because he has been removed from the master's register."
"Expelled?"
"To be precise, it was his mother. His mother was the one officially struck from the family register by the head of the household."
William explained.
"You do not know him, but you must have heard of his mother—Susie Morstan."
"At the time, Susie insisted on eloping with a young journalist from Birmingham against her grandfather's wishes. After the grandfather passed away, she never returned to her hometown again.
In his will, the old gentleman left the share of the inheritance that should have belonged to Miss Susie to the current head of the household—on the condition that the current head strike Miss Susie's name from the family register. After that… I heard the journalist was dismissed for having angered the Morstan family, and not long afterward he passed away."
"Miss Susie was left alone with her child. Fifteen years ago she returned to the family home only once.
It was an extremely cold winter, right around the time the master had taken over the family business and made his fortune. Miss Susie once brought young master Charles back to the house."
William paused, glanced at Mary, and lowered his voice to continue.
"But the master at that time… simply drove them away without ceremony."
"Not long after that, Miss Susie died of a cold in Birmingham."
The moment she heard the name, it was as though a certain keyword activated the palace of Mary's memory and instantly dragged her back into the past of many years ago.
Susie Morstan, the younger sister of that man, had abandoned the future her elder brother had prepared for her and chosen to elope to Birmingham with a third-rate journalist.
Milverton was probably the journalist's surname.
Arthur Morstan had been furious at this action and immediately severed all family ties with Susie. Later, when Susie fell seriously ill and realized she did not have long to live, she brought her only son back to London, hoping at least that her brother would raise the nephew who shared blood relation with him. Reality, however, is always cruel.
That was a long time ago. Mary had already moved into the Morstan household as a substitute, but it had not affected her very much.
In order to keep the existence of the substitute a secret, Arthur Morstan had never allowed the substitute to appear before friends or family until the real Mary died.
"Driven out of the house, and then her mother died of illness—this is a hatred that can never be healed."
Russell leaned deeply into his chair, gently stroking his chin with long fingers, and spoke in a tone that suggested he had realized something.
"So this Mr. Charles also lives in Birmingham now?"
"Yes, but…" William seemed to remember something extremely important and immediately reported it to Mary.
"By the way, Miss, just a few days ago—while you were busy taking over the family business and running around solving problems—this young master Charles came to London."
"He's here?"
Mary's eyes instantly sharpened. "Did he come here? Or did he contact any members of the family?"
"He did not come to the mansion, but he went to St. Thomas' Hospital."
William answered honestly.
"That day I went to deliver flowers to the old gentleman, and by chance I ran into him in the ward. He was dressed in a perfect Savile Row suit, wearing gold-rimmed glasses—the very picture of an elegant and wealthy gentleman. He claimed he had heard of his uncle's serious illness and had specially come from Birmingham to visit, and that he had stayed for a while in the patient's room."
"Zheng."
Charlotte was playing with the small silver paper knife in her hand. A very clear humming sound came from her fingertips.
When Arthur collapsed, the nephew who should have hated the Morstan family was the first to rush to the hospital to visit him? Even more interesting was the fact that this cousin had skipped over the Kensington residence, ignored the legitimate heir, and gone directly to see Arthur Morstan—the very man with whom he could be said to have a blood feud over the death of his mother. What a ridiculous joke.
"Did he stay alone with Arthur Morstan in the hospital room for a while?"
Charlotte continued in a low voice.
"Yes, Miss Holmes. When I entered the room, he was just about to leave."
William was startled by the sudden aura that emanated from Charlotte. "Is there a problem?"
"It's nothing major. You may go, William."
Mary shook her head.
"Prepare the carriage. I must go to the hospital… no, never mind. I'll do it later. That man can't even speak, so there's no point in going."
"Yes, Miss."
William sensed the awkward atmosphere but said nothing and quietly left.
Before leaving, he found the business card he had received from Milverton and handed it to Charlotte.
With Charlotte Holmes here, any problem, no matter how large, should be solvable, right?
After William left, the room fell silent once more.
Charlotte leaned deeply into the sofa, picked up her teacup, and gently blew on it.
"This is getting interesting."
She said, her gaze stopping on the business card.
"Chairman and CEO of the Birmingham Daily Mail, the Birmingham Daily Express, and the Sunday Courier."
She tossed the card to Russell.
"It seems we have found the person we were looking for."
Russell caught the flying card with one hand, held it between two fingers, and looked at the writing on it.
The name listed on the card was Charles Milverton; the middle name Morstan had been omitted.
"And a media magnate at that," he said, suddenly realizing. "Ah, now it makes sense."
"What was he doing at the hospital?"
Mary frowned.
"A nephew who was driven out of the house like garbage more than ten years ago and has not even been able to show his face in public since then. Now that he has achieved great success, the first thing he did upon returning to London was not to contest the inheritance, but to go to the hospital to visit the uncle who caused his parents' deaths."
She took the business card from Russell's hand and lightly scratched the name with her fingernail.
"He did it to enjoy that man's miserable situation and to flaunt his current status."
But that alone does not seem sufficient explanation.
Mary said quietly.
"When he saw the uncle he had always hated become a disabled person, the first thought that must have crossed his mind… was a sense of exaltation. But besides the exaltation, there was also regret—regret that he had not been able to take revenge with his own hands, and regret that it had not been he who had driven that man into this predicament. And then the truth would become clear… Now that Arthur Morstan has fallen and he himself has become Britain's greatest media king, why should he not inherit the family headship and become the new master? Even if that man removed him from the list, such a trivial matter could be settled with a single word. He wants power, and he has set his sights on me…"
"Once he has set his sights on you, it is inevitable that he will speak to Arthur Morstan about you."
Charlotte added to Mary's words.
"Arthur Morstan—your name is no different from the name of the God of Death who came from hell. He cannot speak, cannot move, cannot tell Milverton the truth… yet he still has one thing left—his eyes."
"Eyes…" Russell narrowed his eyes slightly, leaned back against the chair, and sank into the soft armchair.
"A cunning old fox who has spent most of his life surviving in the business world. A man who can devour people without even spitting out the bones. When the nephew he once drove out of the house said he intended to harm his only daughter, there was no worry in his eyes—rather, extreme terror and indignation. And by pure coincidence, the nephew sitting opposite him was a blackmailer who had dug up the private lives of celebrities and built a massive media empire in Birmingham. I do not think Mr. Milverton would have missed what Arthur Morstan's eyes were trying to convey."
"Of course he understood."
Mary picked up her teacup.
"Milverton only needs to utter my name to observe that man's micro-expressions, the dilation and contraction of his pupils, and even the uncontrollable spasms of the blood vessels in his neck… Even without knowing the details, for a man who made his fortune through blackmail, arriving at the terrifying conclusion that the daughter murdered her own father is simpler than a one-to-one calculation."
"And so, without any effort at all, he obtained his first trump card."
Charlotte clapped her hands twice without hesitation.
"Even without solid evidence, this speculation alone is enough to throw you into the middle of a storm of public opinion. Moreover, considering the vast media empire he possesses, a little exaggeration would make it easy for him to label you and turn speculation into fact. At that point, even if Scotland Yard and Moriarty leave the scene, it may not be enough to save you."
She took a sip of tea and then gently set the glass down.
"But the problem is that he took no action."
"Yes, he did nothing."
Mary nodded.
"He must have noticed something, yet he took no action. He told no one about it, and he never used it to threaten me. This shows that he does not want me to fall from the seat of power immediately."
"Is it because Milverton wants you to reintegrate the Morstan family that began to collapse after Arthur Morstan's downfall?"
Russell said.
"That is only one of the reasons."
Mary replied.
"Actually, there is another, highly subjective reason—"
"For Arthur Morstan, watching me gradually take over the Morstan Company is a torture more painful than death. This is my revenge against that man, and at the same time it is also what Milverton desperately longs for.
"For the present Arthur Morstan, Milverton's appearance can truly be called a savior."
Charlotte analyzed the psychology of the man lying on the hospital bed.
"He also had an irreconcilable conflict with Milverton, but that conflict was far lighter than the conflict between him and his filial daughter. Arthur Morstan knew that even if Milverton brought Mary down, the Morstan fortune would never return to his hands. But he did not care. He is already a disabled man, and for him now, nothing would be more satisfying than the disgrace of Mary Morstan. In other words, he had anticipated this development, but Milverton clearly did not live up to his expectations."
She paused for a moment and then concluded,
"At least when it comes to making that man suffer, the two of you are on the same side."
"Mm-hmm."
Mary neither affirmed nor denied the matter.
"But now that the integration of Morstan Enterprises is nearing completion, it is only natural that he can no longer continue to act as a bystander manager."
The girl twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she analyzed.
"Torturing an enemy is something one can never truly enjoy by merely watching others do it—let alone when one does it oneself."
"But where on earth did he get the confidence to threaten Russell directly without consulting me?"
Mary could not understand Milverton's intention and frowned.
"Do you think you have lived too long? From any point of view, threatening me would be more effective than threatening Russel."
"Let's wait and see."
Russell said.
"His existence is no secret. Rather, he knows that we will come to you after receiving the letter. The reason we did this was simply because we wanted to test our own limits."
"Should we just kill him?"
Mary casually mentioned a certain possibility.
"If he dies in London today, tomorrow the front pages of every newspaper in London will be filled with the two of you—one a man who plotted to murder his own father in order to inherit the family business, and the other the notorious phantom thief Moriarty."
Charlotte said.
"Then, dragged along by the two of you, Mycroft would have no choice but to leave the battlefield. In this way, both sides would suffer enormous losses, and everyone would be hurt."
"I don't particularly care… In the worst case, I'll just take Russell and run."
Mary directed a provocative smile at Charlotte.
"A phantom thief and a professor were never honorable figures to begin with."
"Don't even think about it."
Charlotte narrowed her eyes.
"You can buy a ticket and leave the country right now for all I care. As for Russell, there are any number of ways to erase him from the public eye."
"As it happens, I also have a solution."
"Can't we plan for the worst-case scenario?" Russell said helplessly.
"There are three of us, and only one Milverton. Isn't that to our advantage?"
"But we are in the light, and he is in the dark."
Mary said.
"As Charlotte said, if I were a blackmailer who controlled nearly half of Britain's media and held many secrets concerning aristocratic scandals… taking that into account, there are only two possible reasons why I would openly appear in public and deliberately stir up urban legends. The first is that I am certain the enemy cannot find me—meaning I possess enough false identities, and even the identity of Milverton itself may be false.
"Second—"
Mary raised her index finger.
"If I die, every secret that has been hidden in the shadows, every matter that has never seen the light of day, will explode overnight."