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The White Queen Reigns – Part 05

It was when Jacqueline finally graduated from a strict, renowned girls’ school.

The world had finally regained some semblance of peace after the harrowing war came to an end. Saubreme was filled with men who had safely returned from the battlefield, bedecked with numerous medals. Among them was Signore, the man with whom Jacqueline’s marriage had been arranged.

Returning from the countryside summer resort to the mansion in Saubreme, Jacqueline brought along her little friend Q, a chipmunk she had befriended during her stay. Her sun-kissed skin bore the marks of adventure—cuts, scrapes, and bruises—from climbing trees and playing in the stream.

“Q, huh? What an utterly uninspired name,” Victorique interrupted in a low, disinterested tone.

“It was the perfect name for him, okay?” Jacqueline snapped back childishly.

“Hmph.”

“He had a pattern on his back that looked just like a lowercase ‘q.’ Hence the name Q.”

“Hmph!”

“He was so cute.”

“But because of your lack of creativity, you got dragged into a peculiar case and found yourself in quite the predicament.”

“That’s right. Wait, how do you know about that?”

“…”

“Well, whatever. Let’s continue the story, shall we?”

Jacqueline resumed her narration. The antique globe started spinning with a soft whir.

A winter breeze was blowing outside. The elegant French windows trembled ever so slightly.

After some time, Q started feeling unwell, perhaps due to the city water not suiting him. Jacqueline hurriedly took the chipmunk to the veterinarian, where he was admitted. However, a month later, Q passed away.

Crestfallen, Jacqueline wept for some time. One day, while Jacqueline was burying Q in the mansion’s garden, creating a small grave and offering flowers, a mysterious incident occurred. The veterinarian was stabbed to death in his clinic.

The veterinarian was found lying on his back, still wearing his white coat. It appeared that he was stabbed from the front and fell backward, before dying on the spot.

Using the index finger of his right hand, he had left behind a single character written in blood, a hint indicating the identity of the culprit.

The character was “q.”

Witnesses stated that a female customer recently brought in a chipmunk named Q, after the distinctive “q” pattern on its back, causing suspicion to fall on Jacqueline. Rumors started spreading that she held a grudge against the veterinarian for failing to save her beloved pet.

However, the lack of evidence, the fact that Jacqueline was attending an opera with Signore at the time of the veterinarian’s murder, and witnesses stating that they saw them sitting closely together in the box seats, prevented the police from seriously considering her as a suspect.

But soon after, the staff at the clinic began testifying that a strange woman had been loitering around the clinic in the past few weeks, grumbling about her deceased pet. Reportedly, she would wave a branch in her left hand, swinging it around while expressing her grievances towards the veterinarian. During that period, only Q the chipmunk had died, and none of the other animals were in serious condition.

Just as rumors of Jacqueline possibly being the culprit started circulating among high society and the townspeople, something incriminating happened.

During the veterinarian’s funeral, his widow, grieving alone in a secluded area, suddenly screamed, recoiling in horror. As the priest and relatives rushed to her side, vivid red letters suddenly appeared on her right arm.

The characters were written in a mirrored fashion, read from right to left, a form of ancient curse.

With much effort, everyone read the words from right to left.

It said: “Jacqueline killed me!”

The massive globe spun incessantly.

Jacqueline’s voice reverberated in the dim, hushed library. “At that time, I didn’t know what to do. I was at a complete loss.”

“I can imagine,” Victorique replied, displaying complete disinterest. Lifting her face from the book, she let out a yawn. “After that, you were arrested, sentenced to death by hanging, and now you’ve become a wax figure at Madame Tussauds, holding a branch in your left hand and swinging it about. Is that right?”

“Oh, you. Of course not. I’m right here, alive and kicking. But until now, I still have no idea how I got out of that.” Spinning the globe somberly, Jacqueline added, “Come to think of it, that’s when Grevil suddenly adopted that pointy hairdo. Well, it must have been a coincidence…”

“Y-Yes, it was!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Do continue, Mrs. Signore.”

“I will.”

Jacqueline continued her story.

The foreign books stuffed on the shelves by the wall seemed to listen intently, showing interest in the police commissioner’s wife’s nostalgic tale.

Rumors quickly spread throughout Saubreme, and soon Jacqueline, along with her parents and siblings, could no longer casually stroll through town. Invitations to parties and tea gatherings ceased altogether, and the elegant dresses, smoked cheese, and even the new chair she had ordered from the department store failed to arrive. Even the newspapers, after being delivered to their home, were used as tissues or had fried trout inserted into them.

There was a lack of scientific evidence, and she had an alibi to support her innocence, but suspicions planted in people’s hearts are not easily dispelled.

Due to her fiancé, Mr. Signore, holding a notable position in the police force, Jacqueline decided to break off the engagement herself. He was considerably older and, as her school friends teased, bore a slight resemblance to a carp. Moreover, being listed in a blue book, he carried a certain formality about him. However, Jacqueline found him a pleasure to talk to, and they got along well, so Jacqueline had been enthusiastic about the engagement.

She didn’t want to cause any weird trouble to someone she had grown fond of. Having made up her mind, one day she summoned Signore. Arriving ahead of schedule, she sat on the café terrace, absentmindedly sipping her tea, when an extra edition of the newspaper flew towards her face.

Jacqueline recalled that on her way to the café, she heard the newspaper boy shouting, “Extra, extra!”

Was there some kind of an incident?

As she casually glanced down at the newspaper, her breath caught in her throat.

The words read: “Veterinarian’s Wife, Paula, Turns Herself in! A Crime Motivated by Inheritance?”

The real culprit had been arrested out of the blue.

Overwhelmed with relief, Jacqueline felt as if she might roll off her chair at any moment.

---

“What is this? Seriously. This is going way too far for a prank!”

Inspector Grevil de Blois stalked down the hallway on the first floor of the grand, U-shaped school building, passing by massive portraits of the entire royal family that adorned the walls, and stomping on the dark-red carpet that covered the floor.

From the neck up, he appeared as usual. However, from the waist down, he wore a white square cardboard box crafted by the students, a makeshift costume resembling a human rook.

His irritation was palpable. “A critical situation with the Christmas holidays just around the corner… Speaking of Christmas…”

He pondered, placing a hand on his chin. He was still carrying a lovely doll on the other arm.

“Christmas, huh… Well, my sister… Victorique… No, hmm…”

He was mumbling to himself, contemplating something when suddenly, at that very moment, a familiar low and hoarse grunt emanated from behind the large door on his left.

“Hmph!”

Inspector Blois jumped in surprise. “Am I hearing things?” He looked around restlessly.

“Hmph! How idiotic! Utterly inane!”

Without a doubt, the husky voice, devoid of the lovely charm one might expect from a younger sister, instead loaded with hateful insults unbefitting of a fourteen-year-old, belonged to his most detested being in the world—his half-sister and descendant of the Gray Wolves, the ultimatel weapon of Europe—Victorique de Blois.

Am I finally losing it? She has tormented me quite a lot.

Furrowing his brows, the inspector gripped the snakehead doorknob and gently opened the door.

And there…

In the darkly lit room sat a magnificent doll, or rather, Victorique, wearing a vibrant red dress reminiscent of a blooming dawn rose.

Her stunning golden hair cascaded like a loosened silk turban, flowing wildly towards the floor, while a crown woven with crimson roses adorned her head. Her green eyes, dark as dormant emeralds buried beneath the earth, flickered eerily.