He lay on the bed for a while, turning over the details of his next move, until a knock came at the door.
"Mr. Watson, it's time for dinner." The maid's voice came from beyond the door.
"Coming." Russell climbed out of bed, tidied himself up a little, and pushed the door open.
"Let's go."
"One moment, please, sir."
Just as Russell was about to set off, the maid stopped him, letting her gaze travel over him for a moment.
Then she glanced to the side and gave a nod to another colleague.
It was only then that Russell realized there was a second person.
"Before dinner, please change your attire, Mr. Watson."
The other maid walked into the room and pulled open the wardrobe.
Inside, a crisp formal suit had been neatly arranged.
"Please stand before the mirror."
Under the maid's slightly insistent invitation, Russell, somewhat resigned, took his place before that enormous floor-length mirror.
He looked at himself in the glass, dressed in his ordinary trench coat, then at the crisp, exquisitely tailored tailcoat in the maid's hands, and only belatedly caught on.
"Hold on—what's this?"
"In accordance with palace etiquette, formal dress is required at dinner, sir."
One of the maids explained, an impeccable smile on her face.
"No, no, no—that part I understand. I'm just curious... why is the size of this outfit—"
"Mr. Mycroft has already prepared one tailored to your measurements."
"Fine then..."
Russell said nothing more, quietly cooperating with the maids' movements.
With practiced ease they helped Russell out of the trench coat and then dressed him in the well-fitted formal suit.
The bow tie, the cufflinks, the waistcoat... every detail was attended to without the slightest flaw.
A few minutes later, when Russell looked into the mirror again, the figure within it was an entirely different man from before.
The impeccably cut black tailcoat traced his upright, well-built frame just right, while the white bow tie and shirt lent him an air of upper-class elegance and refinement.
"Looks pretty good." Russell appraised his reflection, muttering the assessment to himself.
"It suits you very well, sir," the maid flattered from the side.
Once he had changed, Russell was led by the maid toward the banquet hall.
When he arrived, Charlotte and Mycroft were already seated.
Charlotte had also changed into a black evening gown.
Her usually somewhat unruly black curls had been carefully styled this time, falling smooth and soft over her shoulders, which made her look a little less sharp than usual and lent her a touch of girlish gentleness.
She was resting her cheek in one hand, tapping the tabletop lightly and somewhat impatiently with her fingertips, as if she had been waiting for quite some time.
"You're three minutes late." The moment she saw Russell appear, Charlotte announced the time.
"Changing clothes took a while." Russell sat down in the seat across from her.
"You look..."
"They insisted it was etiquette," Charlotte said.
"Pretty good, actually—a lot easier on the eyes than usual," Russell said.
"The same could be said of you." Charlotte shot back, refusing to be outdone.
Mycroft watched the two of them bicker with a smile, not interjecting.
After a while, another set of footsteps came from the direction of the doorway.
Russell and Charlotte both turned toward the sound at once, while Mycroft had already risen a step ahead of them.
"Stand up," he reminded them in a low voice.
Russell and Charlotte exchanged a glance, then rose from their chairs together.
The new arrivals were Queen Alexandra and Princess Louise, along with King Edward VII.
"Your Majesties." Mycroft placed a hand over his chest and bowed, his bearing impeccable.
Russell and Charlotte followed suit, performing a proper greeting bow to the three of them.
"Be seated, all of you."
The Queen's voice was filled with the dignity that belonged to royalty, yet it did not seem overly aloof.
"Tonight is only a family dinner; there's no need to stand on too much ceremony."
With that, she took her place at the head of the table, the King seating himself beside her, while Louise sat demurely on the other side.
Only then did Russell and Charlotte sit back down, their posture rather more reserved than a moment ago.
"This must be Miss Charlotte Holmes?"
The Queen's gaze settled upon Charlotte.
"Y-yes, Your Majesty," Charlotte replied.
"I've heard Mycroft mention you many times. He says you're a genius even cleverer than he is."
A faint smile curved at the corner of the Queen's mouth.
Charlotte did not pick up the thread, merely inclining her head slightly to accept the praise.
Next, the Queen's gaze turned to Russell.
"And this is?"
"Russell Watson, Your Majesty's assistant," Mycroft introduced at the right moment from the side.
"An assistant?" The Queen's brow arched almost imperceptibly, her gaze appraising the two of them for a moment.
"He doesn't quite look the part."
"You're right, Your Majesty," Charlotte suddenly spoke up, her tone calm. "He's just the one in charge of running errands and cooking."
Seated across from her, Russell's lips twitched.
At her words, the Queen let out a soft laugh, and even the stern expression on the King's face eased somewhat.
"The two of you do get along rather well."
Dinner was soon brought out, course by course, by the attendants.
From the caviar appetizer to the main course of Beef Wellington, and on to the dessert at the end, every dish was as exquisite as a work of art.
Russell, while doing his best to maintain table etiquette, gingerly sampled these top-tier delicacies that he had only ever seen in cookbooks.
Thanks to the atmosphere the Queen deliberately cultivated, the dinner was not as oppressive as one might have imagined.
Now and then she would introduce these dishes to Russell and Charlotte, and she would also take the initiative to ask about cases the two of them had been involved in.
It was just that, given they were still in the middle of eating, many of the cases were not exactly suitable to bring up.
Charlotte and Russell were both clearly ill at ease in such a high-society setting, and faced with the Queen's overtures, they seemed rather awkward for a time.
In the end, it was Mycroft who quietly took up the conversation, keeping the Queen's setup from falling flat.
Having been let off the hook, Charlotte began to devote herself wholeheartedly to the food on her plate, as if utterly indifferent to everything around her.
Russell, meanwhile, was straining to recall those aristocratic manners he had all but forgotten, terrified that a single careless slip would have him using the wrong knife or fork.
At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, he could sense that Louise, seated directly across from him, seemed to cast curious glances his way every so often.
No... why are you looking at me?
Just as the dinner was nearing its end, the Queen spoke up once more:
"Come to think of it, Mycroft."
"I'm here, Your Majesty."
"About tomorrow night—do you have any plans?"
The Queen asked, getting straight to the point.
"As for how to catch that insolent little thief—what do you intend to do?"
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