Chapter 48: Doug Is Her Master

Eleanor was carried down the mountain while Michelle and Matilda were sent away ahead of time. The officials who had arrived that day had all departed—except for Tyler.

It wasn't that Tyler couldn't leave; he simply refused to depart with them. Only after everyone else had gone did he finally bid farewell. Geoffrey personally escorted him to the manor gates. The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the entire estate in a warm, gentle glow, casting long, soft shadows across the countryside. But Tyler remained still, his gaze locked onto Geoffrey. His voice, carrying a note of resignation, broke the silence. “Geoffrey… how did it come to this?”

Tyler sighed, clapping a hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder. “When the case first arose, I deliberately delayed the trial. I had my men summon you here, hoping your presence alone would be enough to deter those in the estate from giving false testimony. Anyone with half a mind could see that this was a setup meant to frame Isolde. And yet… you didn’t see it? You arrived and acted without even questioning the case.”

With that, Tyler shook his head and turned away. Geoffrey watched him go, his figure disappearing into the lengthening shadows. He turned his gaze toward the courtyard, where the jujube trees cast flickering silhouettes under the fading sunlight. Everyone had seen through the trap—everyone except him.

He stood there for a long time before finally making his way back inside. But when he entered the hall, Doug, Oliver, and Isolde were nowhere to be seen. Oliver stood at the edge of the pavilion, overlooking the distant reservoir. With his height, he could just make out the rippling waters, the marks along the bank where Michelle had been dragged under. Doug sat on a large boulder by the reservoir. Before him, Isolde knelt, her posture rigid, her body unwavering—but her tears fell freely, one after another, in silent, unstoppable streams. To see her master again… it felt like a lifetime had passed. In her previous life, before she had died, Doug had already been long gone.

“Crying?” Doug’s voice was cold, detached. “I’m not dead yet.” But Isolde only cried harder, her sobs escalating into unrestrained wails. All the pain, all the resentment, everything she had carried alone—upon seeing her master, it all surged forth, overwhelming her in a flood. Doug let out a quiet sigh, the coldness on his face softening just slightly. He reached out, patting her back gently. “What’s wrong with you, girl?” he muttered. “You were a little tyrant back in Windermount, sharp as a…”

Isolde only cried harder. From behind Oliver, a figure quietly approached. Oliver didn’t turn; he didn’t need to. From the footsteps, from the faint breath, he knew exactly who it was.

“You asked me to introduce Orson to Geoffrey,” Oliver said casually. “He’s waiting over there.”

Geoffrey stood in silence, watching as Isolde clung to Doug, weeping. His face was unreadable, his lips pressed into a firm line. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away. But after only a few steps, he hesitated. Turning back, he asked Oliver, his voice grave, “Oliver, tell me one thing, and tell me the truth.”

“Ask away,” Oliver replied, turning slightly. The wind from the mountains stirred his robes, making them billow like banners in the fading light.

“If you hadn’t known beforehand… would you still have been able to tell, at a glance, that Isolde was innocent?” Geoffrey’s gaze was complex, searching.

Oliver chuckled. It was a carefree laugh, full of unbridled confidence. But in the depths of his eyes, a flicker of irony flashed—too brief for anyone to catch. “Known beforehand?” he echoed. “Vincenzo came to Southern Watch, seeking out Mr. Becker, pleading for Isolde’s rescue. We had no prior knowledge. We weren’t lying in wait—we were the last ones to arrive.”

Geoffrey frowned. “Then why? Why were you and Mr. Becker so certain Isolde had been wrongly accused?”

Oliver studied him for a moment before speaking. “It seems,” he said finally, “that you don’t understand her at all. I’ve only met her a handful of times, but even I know this—she knows how to fight. If she had truly wanted Eleanor dead, she would have simply abducted her, taken her to some desolate place, and finished the job however she pleased. But instead, she supposedly pushed Eleanor into the water—right in front of a crowd of maids and servants? Does that sound logical to you?”

Geoffrey’s expression darkened. “People can act irrationally in the heat of the moment. A crime of passion isn’t impossible.”

Oliver shook his head. “Maybe for others. But not for her. She’s spent her entire life without anyone to rely on. She wouldn’t pick a fight unless she was absolutely certain she could win—because she knows that, if she did, there would be no one at the Duke’s estate to defend her.”

Geoffrey’s face turned pale as he asked, “Mr. Becker analyzed it this way too, didn’t he?”

Oliver shook his head again and said, “No, Mr. Becker doesn’t analyze. Even if Isolde really did kill someone, he would go to great lengths to protect her. He… he is fiercely protective. He wouldn’t allow anyone to harm Isolde. When Vincenzo arrived, Mr. Becker had just returned to Argentum. The Queen Mother sent someone to summon him, yet he chose to come to the manor instead of entering the palace.”

Geoffrey’s face grew even paler. “No… Mr. Becker is cautious, rational. He wouldn’t have done this unless—at the very least—he was absolutely certain.”

Oliver looked at him in silence for a moment before finally saying, “Yes, you have a point.”

Geoffrey remained silent for a long time before staggering away.

Oliver sat in the pavilion, watching as the golden hues of the setting sun bathed the hillside across from him. His gaze unconsciously drifted toward the reservoir’s edge, where a silent pair—a father and daughter—stood still. Before coming to Montlins Manor, the palace had sent someone to summon Doug for an audience. But without hesitation, he came straight to Montlins Manor instead. He had said, “What is meeting the Queen Mother compared to seeing my family?”

A strange feeling stirred in Oliver’s heart. The sunset over the estate was breathtaking, but as the sun sank below the horizon, the sky became shrouded in heavy mist. The manor, lively throughout the day, now descended into an eerie silence as night fell. Doug had to go to the palace for an audience, so he left Oliver at the estate, saying it was to help Isolde put the manor in order. But in truth, Oliver’s presence wasn’t necessary at all—yet Doug had still given the order.

Helena, bubbling with excitement, clung to Isolde and asked, “I never would have guessed that the elongated master was actually Doug! Miss Langley, did you already know? You kept asking me if Doug had returned—surely you knew his identity all along?” “Elongated master” was Helena’s nickname for Doug. Back when he stayed at Belleview Manor, she had been the one assigned to serve him. Helena had always been Isolde’s attendant. Seeing a head so long and narrow instead of the usual small, round ones she was used to, she found it amusing. Ever since then, she had called Doug the elongated master.

“I knew,” Isolde replied, her eyes still swollen and red, a sign of her heavy heart.

“You didn’t tell me!” Helena pouted in protest.

Just then, Jacqueline slipped in from outside, peeking around as she asked, “Didn’t tell you what?”

Helena, knowing Jacqueline was a snitch, didn’t bother to be polite and snapped, “Why do you ask so many questions? Where have you been?”

Jacqueline had been waiting for her turn to testify. But strangely, after so many people had been questioned, no one had called for her, which made her anxious—this was a perfect chance to earn merit. Then the situation changed, and she felt relieved. Thankfully, she hadn’t spoken yet. Before Ryker left the mountain, he had pulled her aside to give her instructions. So, she had taken the opportunity to slack off for a while. Now, upon returning, she saw Helena looking elated and wanted to find out what had happened.