The dim alley lay quiet, cloaked in early dusk and softened by a light drizzle steadily darkening the worn cobblestones.
Only the faint echoes of a recent downpour lingered, rainwater pooling in every groove and crevice, reflecting the last slivers of daylight slicing through the narrow gaps between buildings.
A thick, almost oppressive silence hung in the air, broken only by the cautious, hesitant murmurs of a few officers gathered at the alley''s entrance.
They wore long, dark coats with high collars and wide-brimmed hats that shielded them from the persistent drizzle.
Despite their duty, none seemed eager to step further into the alley''s depths, their eyes casting wary glances at the shadows stretching before them.
From the other end of the alley, a figure approached, her steps measured and purposeful, each one a quiet declaration of control.
Her bearing was so composed, so unshaken by the grim setting, she could have been stepping into a grand hall rather than a rain-soaked backstreet.
Dressed in formal butler''s attire, the woman moved with a regal precision, her shoulders squared, her posture flawless.
She carried herself with an air of detachment that seemed to place her above the bleak surroundings.
Her gloved hand slipped into her coat pocket, producing a handkerchief embroidered with a faint glimmer: three roses, two red framing a central white bloom.
The officers'' eyes were drawn to it, their uneasy expressions hinting at recognition of its symbolism.
One officer, a young man with apprehensive eyes, took a hesitant step back, his lips parting as though to speak, yet no words emerged.
Respect—or fear—held him silent.
Her voice cut through the damp quiet, cool and crisp.
"The body?"
The young officer flinched slightly but answered, his voice betraying his nerves.
"It''s one of them, ma''am. The markings match."
Without hesitation, she moved past the officers, who instinctively parted to let her through, not daring to interfere.
At the far end of the alley, the body lay sprawled, twisted and lifeless, near a rain-slicked wall.
One hand still clutched at nothing, as if grasping for life itself in his final moments.
She took in the scene with a practiced eye, each detail revealing itself under her scrutiny.
The slight turn of the body suggested he''d been tackled sideways, his balance lost just long enough for a blade to slice across his neck—precisely, efficiently.
The cut was clean, unmistakably lethal. A move executed by someone who understood the art of killing.
A faint rustling reached her ears, a small noise from the shadows coiled near the corner, where stacked crates and a rusting dumpster lay drenched in the drizzle.
Yet, she didn''t flinch, her gaze unwavering and unbothered by the disturbance, as if accustomed to danger.
Then, the rhythmic clop of hooves echoed down the cobblestone streets, growing louder until an ornate carriage emerged from the mist, halting at the alley''s mouth.
Dark, polished wood gleamed beneath the rain, its glass windows tinted and its sides adorned with an embroidered insignia—an unmistakable mark of nobility.
At the sight, the officers straightened, their eyes widening with a mix of respect and apprehension as a new figure descended.
The woman who stepped down wore a maid''s uniform, though it was unlike any common servant''s attire.
Metal gauntlets protected her hands, and her boots, crafted from dark leather, gleamed with steel reinforcements.
Her skirt, ending just above her calves, was trimmed with glinting blades woven into the fabric''s edge, a subtle hint at both elegance and lethality.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.Her face bore lines etched by time and experience, yet her posture and gaze exuded a vitality that demanded attention.
The officers visibly stiffened, instinctively aware that this was no ordinary maid.
"Amelia!" Her voice rang out, steady and commanding, breaking the alley''s silence.
The butler—Amelia—lifted her head, meeting the maid''s gaze with equal composure.
"Did you find them?"
"Yes," Amelia replied, her tone calm, clipped, her hands resting neatly at her sides.
"Good. I''ll bring the young lady. Clear the mess," the maid ordered, each word carrying an authority that made the officers avert their eyes, as though the command itself were something sacred.
Without hesitation, Amelia bent down, lifting the lifeless body over her shoulder with an effortless strength that belied her refined appearance.
A firm kick tipped over a nearby trash can brimming with rainwater, washing the blood from the cobblestones.
She positioned herself between the walls, pressing a gloved hand against one side, and with a graceful leap, launched herself upward, vanishing into the shadows above.
Meanwhile, the maid turned back to the carriage, her movements measured as she opened the door with care.
Inside, a young girl sat poised, hands folded in her lap, her eyes bright with a resolve that seemed to age her.
She looked up as the maid addressed her.
"Young lady, are you certain you wish to meet them?" The maid''s tone softened, though her posture remained disciplined and unwavering.
The girl''s voice, though small and carrying the cracks of youth, held a surprising strength.
"Yes, Ophelia. I promised them."
Ophelia nodded, opening an umbrella as she held her hand out to the girl, who slid forward with a dignified air unusual for her age.
Barely seven, she gave a slight hop, landing on the cobblestones with an assuredness that suggested she was accustomed to new challenges.
Ophelia moved to shield her with the umbrella, but the girl, with a polite yet firm gesture, took the umbrella, signaling her intent to carry it herself.
The officers watched in silence, their expressions a blend of puzzlement and respect, as the girl and her maid began their descent into the alley.
Together, Ophelia and the young lady walked toward the far end of the alley, where shadows thickened and dim light barely held sway.
The heavy scent of blood and decay filled the air, and the girl''s face briefly reflected a flicker of apprehension.
Yet, she did not falter. Her steps were steady, as if she knew the weight of the responsibility she bore.
At the alley''s farthest corner, two small figures huddled between crates and the dumpster—a young boy and girl, both visibly shaken, trying to blend into the shadows.
The young lady tilted her umbrella, extending it toward them as a gesture of warmth.
"Ann, Ed, I''m sorry I''m late," she said softly, her voice gentle yet resolute.
Ann darted forward, face streaked with tears as she threw her arms around the young lady, her sob choked and desperate.
"Bea!" she cried, her small frame trembling.
The umbrella slipped from the young lady''s grasp, clattering to the ground.
Ed, clothes stained with blood not his own, met Ophelia''s steady gaze, understanding her unspoken command.
Stooping down, he picked up the fallen umbrella, holding it over his sister and the young lady.
"Thank you, Ed," the young lady said, offering a small, grateful smile.
He nodded once, his expression solemn beyond his years.
Ophelia watched the reunion for a moment before speaking gently.
"Young lady, it''s time we returned."
The young girl glanced down at Ann, giving her a reassuring squeeze before standing.
Together, they walked back toward the waiting carriage, Ann and Ed trailing close.
Once they were settled inside, Ophelia turned to face the officers one final time.
"You saw nothing tonight," she declared, her tone carrying the full weight of authority.
"Your captain will see to your compensation."
The officers exchanged glances but remained silent, each grasping the gravity of her words.
As the rain began to pour in earnest, the carriage rolled away, its wheels splashing through puddles as it disappeared into the mist, leaving the dim alley and its secrets behind.