Hearing Louise's plea—childish, yet with her true intent laid bare at last—the atmosphere at the dining table turned somewhat delicate for a moment.
The Queen and the King exchanged a glance, identical looks of helplessness on their faces.
Mycroft and Russell, for their part, were smiling, wearing the air of those who saw through it all but would not say so.
Only Charlotte, gazing at Louise's little face written all over with nervousness and entreaty, found herself at a loss for the moment.
"Your Highness," in the end it was Mycroft who spoke, breaking the silence and drawing Louise's attention away from Charlotte.
"Please rest assured," he soothed, "our foremost objective is to ensure your safety, and to recover the dignity that belongs to the royal family.
As for that Mr. Moriarty—we will not overlook what he has done for London, but neither can his affront to the royal family be wiped away in a single stroke.
Therefore, we will handle the matter in the most appropriate manner possible."
A typical, thoroughly ambiguous official answer.
Having lived in Buckingham Palace year-round, Louise naturally caught the perfunctoriness in it, and pouted with a touch of dissatisfaction.
But seeing her mother's gaze that signaled the matter should go no further, she ultimately said nothing more, only lowering her head in silence and idly poking at the dessert on her plate with the fork in her hand.
Once the arrangements for the following night had been settled, dinner came to an end.
The Queen and the King left the table first, taking Louise with them, while Mycroft and the others stayed behind to refine the last few details.
"Basically, we'll do exactly as we said at the table just now." Charlotte said, studying the Buckingham Palace defense map in her hand.
"Mycroft and I will each take one wing—one the east, one the west.
There are two towers there, from which one can observe nearly half of Buckingham Palace—conveniently, one for each of us."
"So I'll stand guard in front of the princess's bedroom door?"
"In front of the bedroom? No, no, no." Mycroft shook his head. "You have to guard from inside."
"Is that appropriate?" Russell raised an eyebrow.
"In a situation like this, there's no question of appropriate or not—only of whether it works."
Mycroft said.
"There's a specially made summoning bell in the princess's room. The moment Moriarty appears, you press it at once.
When that happens, Charlotte and I will each bring people in from the east and the west.
But—"
Mycroft suddenly paused, looking straight into Russell's eyes.
"Remember, there's only one chance. The moment you press it, that's when all of Buckingham Palace will be at its most chaotic."
"So I have to be certain the other party really is Moriarty before I can press it—right?"
"Exactly." Mycroft nodded in approval.
"Understood."
"Don't put too much pressure on yourself, young man." Mycroft patted Russell on the shoulder.
"Moriarty is no assassin; he won't harm you or the princess.
As long as we make sure he can't get close to the princess, that's essentially our victory.
And to take it to the very extreme, even if we fail, no one will blame you.
So relax. If it's merely a suspicion—whatever it may be—just ignore it entirely."
"Tonight, just hold to one principle—presumption of innocence." Charlotte explained.
"As long as you don't see Moriarty, don't ring the bell."
"Got it, I understand what you mean." Russell nodded.
"Very good." Mycroft withdrew his hand, satisfied.
"Then get a good rest tonight; tomorrow will be a long night.
Oh, and as for the school—I've already arranged your leave for you, so there's no need to worry, Mr. Watson."
"All right... thank you for the trouble."
"You're welcome."
He gave a smile, offered a few final instructions, then turned and left the banquet hall as well, leaving only Russell and Charlotte behind.
"So, where to now?" Russell asked. "Back to the room to sleep?"
"You finally get to visit Buckingham Palace for once, and all you can think about is sleeping?" Charlotte cast him a sidelong glance.
"Do I need to remind you—tonight may well be the last time in your life you'll be able to move about Buckingham Palace so freely."
"The thing is, even if I wanted to wander off, I don't know my way around." Russell paused, then looked at Charlotte.
"How about... you keep me company on a stroll?"
At his words, Charlotte's motion of flipping through the defense map paused slightly.
She lifted her head, her gray-blue eyes fixed on Russell, lost in some thought or other.
In the end, she silently folded up the map in her hand, then stepped forward and tucked it into the breast pocket of Russell's jacket, leaving one small corner peeking out.
"Let's go." she said, then headed toward the door.
Russell glanced down at the map in his pocket, then quickened his pace to follow.
The two of them did not choose to wander through the resplendent interior of Buckingham Palace, but instead passed through a long corridor and came to the royal garden behind the palace.
The garden beneath the night was, if anything, a few shades more tranquil than by day.
Moonlight poured down like quicksilver, gilding the meticulously trimmed hedges and flower beds with a hazy silver border.
The air was suffused with the freshness of earth and the fragrance wafting from all manner of exotic blossoms.
The two walked side by side along a path paved with white gravel; the wind rustling through the treetops with a soft "shh-shh" was the only sound in all that stillness.
From the very start, Charlotte had not spoken, simply walking quietly, her gaze sweeping now and then over the flowers that took on a different aspect beneath the moonlight.
"You seem to have a particular fondness for gardens."
Russell, hands stuffed in his pockets, turned his head toward the girl beside him.
"I'm merely observing." Charlotte withdrew her gaze, her tone as flat as ever.
"Every single plant here is a rare variety scoured from all over the world, tended with painstaking care by the very finest gardeners.
The layout, the varieties, the manner of pruning... every detail is brimming with a deliberate, contrived craftsmanship that conforms to royal aesthetics."
"Speak plainly."
"Too fake. Uncomfortable to look at." Charlotte put it succinctly.
"This counts as fake?" Russell crouched halfway down and reached out to lightly touch one of the roses.
"There are wildflowers in the back alleys of Baker Street too. They need no gardener, no painstaking care, yet even in the cracks between the bricks and tiles they bloom quite beautifully."
She crouched down beside Russell, her fingers brushing over a rose.
"Compared with these precious varieties kept penned up in greenhouses, I far prefer the ones that grow wild and unrestrained.
After all, no matter how beautiful, the penned-up ones are nothing more than birds in a cage."
Charlotte rose to her feet again and continued onward, utterly oblivious to her companion's brief moment of distraction.
Russell paused slightly.
His gaze fell upon the black evening gown Charlotte wore.
The form-fitting cut traced the girl's slender lines, lines that nonetheless held a sense of strength, the hem swaying gently with her steps, like a black rose blooming in the dark of night.
It was only after she had walked some distance and sensed the emptiness beside her that Charlotte frowned and turned her head.
"What's the matter?" She looked at Russell. "Do you really like these flowers that much?"
"No," Russell stood up and caught up with Charlotte's pace, "it's just the first time I've seen you dressed like this."
"This is the first time I've ever worn clothes like this... I didn't want to wear it, but those maids wouldn't take no for an answer."
Charlotte looked rather awkwardly at the somewhat flimsy formal dress on her body.
"Does it look bad?"
"No, it looks lovely." Russell's answer was candid and direct. "Far easier on the eyes than that nightgown of yours."
"..."
Charlotte fell silent for a moment, in the end only letting out a hum of indeterminate meaning from her nose.
Whether or not it was a trick of the eye, he seemed to see the girl's earlobes, beneath the moonlight, flush with a faint, almost invisible tinge of red.
"Though your musical cultivation still has room for improvement, at least in terms of aesthetics, you just barely pass."
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