“Billy, is this the woman who handed you the chalices?” Lorelai asked.

Lady Irene’s eyes flickered between Lorelai and Billy with a bewildered expression on her face. She didn’t seem scared or cornered.

She didn’t appear like someone who was on the verge of being exposed as a criminal. She just appeared confused, and more than a little distressed.

“No,” Billy answered, hesitantly. “It’s not her.”

Lorelai didn’t expect that answer. “No?”

“The woman looked a lot like her. Same hair color, same eye color, but their face is different.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Irene’s voice turned shrill. “Are you accusing me of being the one who poisoned your cup? Goodness, Lorelai! I didn’t realize you thought so little of me!”

Lorelai’s heart hammered, both happy and embarrassed. It wasn’t her cousin. Of course it wasn’t her cousin. How could her own kin harm her? But then who? And all the evidence leading up to Lady Irene, were they wrong? Or did someone plant evidence to frame Lady Irene…

“Is now a good time to show off my use?” A familiar voice came from the direction of the balcony.

Irene screamed in surprise, startled by the sound of a man’s voice in her private quarters.

“Carlyle?” Lorelai asked incredulously.

Carlyle levitated onto the balcony, his mana a brilliant gold that dazzled everyone’s eyes. He had a calm, composed smile, which was at complete odds with the hysterically screaming maid whose hair was being grabbed by Carlyle’s hand.

For a moment, Lorelai couldn’t help but feel impressed at his display of magic. It was incredible. The brightness of his mana was like fragments of the sun itself. Then, she remembered the distressed maid in his grip.

“Look at who I caught trying to run away just now.” Carlyle opened the door that separated the balcony from Irene’s room and tossed the maid onto the floor.

“Abigail!” Irene cried out in horror. “Your Highness, what have you done to my maid?”

“Billy, do you recognize her?” Carlyle asked, ignoring Irene’s shriek of indignation.

Billy was trembling in fear at the chaos around him. After all, he was the only servant in a room full of nobles and one wrong move could get him killed.

“Yes, it was her. She had the same face.” Billy admitted.

“But her hair is brown?” Lorelai noted.

As if her words were a cue, Carlyle flicked his finger, and a suitcase came flying out of Irene’s closet, which elicited a shout of anger from Irene.

The suitcase popped open, spilling its contents all over the floor. Contents that included a fine wig of flaming red hair, letters, clothes, and a suspicious-looking bottle.

“I believe if the physicians were to check this, they would identify the remaining content in the bottle as Lethrindor poison,” Carlyle said as he picked up the bottle. “You couldn’t dispose of this without drawing suspicions, not with the security swarming this mansion after the poisoning attempt, so you hid the bottle among your belongings, isn’t that right?”

Abigail started trembling at his words.

The more Lorelai thought about it, the more it made sense. If Abigail had disguised herself with the red wig, she would fit the description Billy provided during his interrogation. Abigail was around the same height and build as Irene, and had similar eye colors. On top of that, Abigail was from an impoverished baron family, and Lorelai remembered that Irene had her closest maids trained in etiquette—which was also a common practice among nobles.

“Unless,” Carlyle added. “You were planning to save that bottle so you can frame your mistress with it later? A red wig, huh? You didn’t have to go this far for your disguise unless I was right about your intention to frame Lady Irene.”

At those words, Irene, who had been flustered and agitated at having her peaceful afternoon disrupted and her maid manhandled, stopped her angry squawking and froze.

“Frame me?”

“What else could it be? The investigation into the source of the poison also led us back to your family. Your maid dressed up as you in case the other servants saw anything suspicious. And lastly, you were the last one to borrow the key to the Ashburn’s heirloom room from your father.”

Irene started trembling again. “But- but- I gave the key to my brother.” Her voice trailed off at the end.

“No.” Irene realized. “No, no, no.”

Lorelai turned to Abigail, who had broken into sobs from where she lay on the floor. “Is it Claude who ordered you to do all this?”

“No, it was all me.” But Abigail wouldn’t meet her eyes, a clear sign of a lie. “I took the key from him when he was busy preparing for the celebration and replaced it with a fake.”

“Why?” Irene shrieked.

“Lady Irene, please calm down and step back so I can interrogate your maid,” Carlyle spoke up.

Irene glared at him, then retreated to a couch a short distance away so she could watch the whole thing while staying away. She appeared visibly calmer once she was farther away from the maid who betrayed her.

“If you were acting on your own, then why did you frame Lady Irene?” Carlyle continued.

Why was he leading the interrogation? Shouldn’t that be Lorelai’s job? However, Lorelai decided to let him continue. After all, she felt sorry for doubting him for so long.

“I didn’t mean to-” Abigail sputtered.

“Lies. Red wigs are the hardest to acquire. There’s no way you happened to possess it by chance,” Carlyle continued.

“Actually,” Irene spoke up from her couch. “The wig is mine. Sometimes, I make Abigail dress up as me to go to some formal events. With the makeup done properly, most people don’t even notice the difference.”

Lorelai sighed internally. It sounded just like something her irresponsible cousin would do. But also, using a body double was terribly clever.

“Did you bring your make up with you?” Lorelai asked. “I don’t think Abigail did her makeup the other day. Otherwise, Billy might have been naming you as the culprit instead of Abigail.”

Irene tapped her chin, deep in thought. “Now that you mentioned it, that was really lucky. On my way here, we encountered a fallen tree blocking our path. It delayed us for several hours. On top of that, the dress I prepared for the evening ball last night was strangely damaged, so I had Abigail mended them in a hurry. Maybe that’s why she didn’t have enough time to apply the makeup.”

That was really lucky. Lorelai wondered if there was some fate or greater power at play.

“That doesn’t explain why Abigail tried to poison me,” Lorelai brought up the biggest point.

“I did it so my lady could become the heir to the Ashburn Duchy!” Abigail sobbed. “That would give her enough power to help out my family!”

“You’re crazy!” Irene was screaming again. “Why would you do such a thing? Disguised as me no less! Don’t implicate me with your crazy conspiracies, do you hear me?!”

With her anger seemingly spent, Irene slumped down in her chair. “And here I was so happy for you, since you’ve been talking about a potential engagement with a well-off nobleman. One that is powerful enough to save your family from ruin.”

“A well-off nobleman?” Lorelai pressed. “Did Abigail ever tell you his name?”

“No! I thought it was weird. She rarely left my side, so the well-off nobleman must be someone close to my family. Maybe a vassal or something?”

“I think I get it now,” Carlyle snapped his fingers, which drew everyone’s attention back to him. “That nobleman is Claude Ashburn, isn’t it?”

The blood drained from Abigail’s face.

“I thought we established it wasn’t my brother,” Irene raised an eyebrow.

“Abigail claimed to be working on her own. But the more I think about it, the more her motives were lacking and things didn't add up. How can she afford to purchase the poison or create a fake replacement for the key? Why frame you, even if she claims it was unintentional? And the rich mysterious nobleman whom she only could have met within your mansion, who else but the young and handsome Claude Ashburn. And he did take the key to the Ashburn heirloom room from you. Maybe he handed it to his ‘lover’ Abigail afterward.”

Irene sat up straight again, with a look of both unease and anger. Lorelai could sense the inner turmoil within her cousin.

“Also,” Carlyle continues. “If his plan succeeds and Lorelai and Lorenzo both die, then you and your brother are next in line to inherit the Ashburn Dukedom.”

Lorelai’s eyes widened as she realized what Carlyle was trying to say.

“And the clues left by Abigail would implicate Irene as the culprit, while Claude evades suspicions.” Lorelai finished. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yes. And that would leave Claude as the undisputed heir.” Carlyle confirmed.

“You’re crazy!” Irene screeched, but it wasn’t directed at either Lorelai or Carlyle. It was directed at Abigail, who had a clear expression of guilt on her face. “You wanted to kill my cousins and frame me for it, just so you can become the next duchess of Ashburn? You know he wouldn’t marry you, right? He’ll just abandon you afterward! You stupid, stupid wench!”

Irene launched herself at her maid, whom she once trusted as her closest friend. Lorelai jumped aside, deciding it wasn’t worth dragging the two apart, although with her knight training, it wouldn’t be too difficult.

But as she watched Irene and Abigail roll around the floor, clutching and yanking at each other’s hair and shrieking loudly, Lorelai quickly changed her mind.

“Uh,” Lorelai started. “Maybe it’s best if we separate the two of them before my cousin kills our key witness here.”

Carlyle nodded, and with a flick of his finger, the two were forcefully pulled apart and levitating above the ground.

“Thank you for your testimony, dear cousin.” Lorelai nodded awkwardly to Irene. “I’m sorry for doubting you. I’ll be taking Abigail with us now. Have a good day.”

At those words, Carlyle gently set the fuming Irene back on the couch.

“Let’s go, Billy.” Lorelai added.

Poor Billy, who had been forgotten and left in the corner during this mess, nodded his head obediently and hastily retreated from Irene’s room.