Louise snapped out of her daze and turned toward the newcomer.
Mycroft Holmes was standing a short distance away, his face adorned with a flawlessly gentle smile, as he gave her a slight bow.
"Mr. Holmes," Louise acknowledged, giving a standard, graceful curtsy in return.
Within the palace, Mycroft was one of the few outsiders who could put her at ease. He wasn't like the strict servants or the formal ladies obsessed with propriety. He was exceptionally intelligent and would speak to her about things not found in books—stories of the world outside. Admittedly, most of his stories involved parliament bills or international trade disputes.
"Her Majesty is still with visiting guests. I'm afraid you may need to wait a little longer," Mycroft explained.
"That's all right," Louise replied, turning her gaze back to the window, "I was just looking at the view."
"It's very foggy today," Mycroft said, following her gaze. "You can barely see anything out there."
"Because you can't see it clearly, it's worth looking at. It makes London seem just a bit more mysterious than usual." The princess spoke softly.
Mycroft didn't reply, simply standing quietly by her side, the perfect background character in a painted scene.
"Mr. Holmes?" Louise spoke again after a brief silence. "Did you read yesterday's paper?"
"Of course, Your Highness."
"What do you think about Moriarty?"
She asked, curiosity bubbling up—typical for someone her age.
Mycroft seemed a bit surprised by her question, pausing before replying. Then, after hesitating a bit, he finally responded with an official and diplomatic tone.
"He's a contradictory figure—someone who disregards the law, yet happens to act for the public good."
"Contradictory?" Louise tilted her head. "It doesn't seem like you think very highly of him."
"My job is to maintain order, Your Highness," Mycroft chuckled quietly. "And he is a disturber of order. From a purely professional perspective, I can't commend him."
"I see…" Louise nodded, as if she understood. "And outside of your professional duties?"
"Well… let me see…" Mycroft looked at the princess with the same bemusement he might reserve for his unpredictable and troublesome younger sister. "From an unofficial standpoint," he paused, lowering his voice, "I have to admit that, thanks to him, London has become just a touch livelier."
Louise's eyes instantly lit up at his answer.
She was about to press for more, when a staff member quietly appeared at the entrance to the gallery, bowed slightly to Mycroft, and said:
"Mr. Holmes, Her Majesty requests your presence."
"I see." Mycroft nodded, then turned to Louise. "Please excuse me, Your Highness."
"Of course." Louise replied with a slight disappointment.
Mycroft left, his tall figure swiftly disappearing down the corridor.
The gallery fell back into a frozen, lifeless silence.
Louise gazed out once more over London's golden city as Mycroft's words echoed in her mind.
If only Mr. Moriarty were here…
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, than she heard an almost inaudible "swish" from the other side of the room.
Louise instinctively looked in that direction.
Deep in the gallery, a crisp, pristine white card, neatly folded as if by the wind, slipped silently in through the window and came to rest on the polished marble floor.
Louise blinked in disbelief.
This was the most secure part of Buckingham Palace—guarded so tightly that not even a fly could get in.
How could a card appear here?
A mix of fear and uncontrollable curiosity welled up inside her. She glanced around—the gallery was empty except for her, so quiet that she could hear her own heartbeat.
Breathing deeply, Louise lifted her skirt and walked, step by cautious step, toward the card. She walked to the door, knelt down slowly, reached out with a gloved hand, and gingerly, almost hesitantly, touched the card with her fingertips.
A cold chill ran through her.
Summoning her courage, she picked up the card.
It was exquisitely crafted, with intricate designs. In the center, a line of artistic Gothic script read:
[At midnight seven days from now, I will come to claim your most precious treasure.]
Beneath the line, a signature—the very name she and Mycroft had just been discussing.
[Moriarty]
Louise's pupils contracted sharply.
"This is…!"
She gasped, then covered her mouth, glancing anxiously around as if afraid of being discovered.
She could hardly believe her eyes.
Is this a declaration from the real Moriarty? A message to her, or perhaps to himself? Had he ever left such a note before? And had all this preparation been for her sake?
The thought made her heart race.
Calm down, Louise… calm down, and be graceful, she told herself, pressing her chest with a hand before carefully—and joyfully—concealing the letter inside her clothes.
No one must ever know about this—not the Queen Mother, not Mycroft, not even the maids who cared for the Empress Dowager.
If they ever found out, not only would she never see the Daily Morning Post again, she'd be lucky to ever meet Moriarty at all.
Having hidden the letter, Louise hurried back to her bedroom.
Seated at the edge of her bed, she glanced nervously around, half-convinced the phantom thief might appear at any moment.
What will he come to steal…? My necklace from my mother on my last birthday? My beloved hairpin? Should I hide them better, or leave them out to be taken?
According to the paper, the thief always returned what he'd stolen right away.
So does that mean I'll get to see him at least twice?
But the note only said he'd come within seven days—it didn't specify which day.
What if he comes and I'm not here? Would I miss my chance?
Her thoughts raced, up and down like a rollercoaster.
In the end, she simply flopped down onto the bed, buried her face in her soft pillow, and let out a small, spoiled, frustrated whimper.
"Ugh… so annoying…"
...
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