An hour later, in a private lounge, Ghervil emerged, transformed by the church-provided attire into a figure of subtle academic gravitas.
It was a deep brown, high-waisted, straight-cut dress, lending her an air of scholarly seriousness.
A black wig, pulled into a low ponytail and secured with a silk ribbon, framed her face, which was further shaded by a wide-brimmed black hat designed to ward off the sun.
Subtle makeup adorned her face, dramatically altering her original features.
Sparse brows were artfully filled with an eyebrow pencil, imparting a softer expression.
Her eye sockets were deepened with dark brown contour, her nose bridge subtly highlighted, and her cheekbones swept with shimmer, all meticulously crafted to suggest the slight droop of aging facial muscles.
Matte balm muted the natural hue of her lips.
A diagonal sweep of powder from her earlobes towards her jaw blurred its sharp edges, then a final dusting of setting powder softened her overall facial outline.
In essence, her exquisite features were artfully rendered to seem coarser, more mature, and remarkably unremarkable.
Where most sought beauty through cosmetics, she deliberately pursued the inverse.
With gold-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose, a leather notebook bag slung over her shoulder, and low-heeled Oxford shoes—discreetly fitted with height-enhancing, non-slip insoles—she completed her transformation.
The image of a seasoned scholar now stood before them; had her height been a touch more substantial, the disguise would have been utterly flawless, rendering her completely unrecognizable.
This was the new identity the Bishop had meticulously crafted for her: Ashe-Rowen, a Blood Rose expert employed by the Holy See.
A native of Florence City, born into an ordinary family with no notable background, she had, through sheer diligence, earned admission to the Royal Botanical College and graduated five years prior.
This persona was no mere fabrication; such a person genuinely existed, with published papers on Blood Roses readily traceable.
As the Bishop revealed, the true Ms. Ashe-Rowen was currently undergoing covert training within the Holy See, poised to emerge as an authentic Blood Rose expert, barring any unforeseen complications.
Though not widely renowned, her authenticity was beyond doubt.
Indeed, an identity of this nature was least prone to inciting suspicion.
All that remained was to adjust her vocal patterns and refine her mannerisms.
She would not have to sustain the deception for long, merely until the case reached its conclusion.
Accompanied by the two nuns who had aided in her transformation, she exited the lounge to find the others already waiting, their patience having been tested for some time.
“My apologies for the delay, everyone.”
Adjusting her spectacles, she spoke in a deep, resonant voice.
“Are you Sister Ghervil?”
Esli, her face etched with disbelief, leaned closer.
Just as she drew a step closer, something sprang onto her head.
Govet, with a powerful thrust of her tiny legs, halted the knight’s advance, using the momentum to deftly spring onto the young woman’s shoulder.
“If you refer to the renowned nun of the abbey, I am not acquainted with her.
I find it far more productive to study a single flower petal than to squander my time attempting to understand a person.”
Govet, who had been defiantly wagging her tail at Esli, ceased her movements and glanced over, her expression conveying a clear, ‘You’re quite the actress.’
“Indeed, a touch of scholarly arrogance.”
Ramsey rose from his seat, stroking his chin as he completed a slow circle around her.
“The disguise is virtually flawless.”
“Ghervil—or rather, Ms. Rowen, as I should call you now—no identity could suit you more perfectly.”
“Wait, what about my own identity?
My mission strictly forbids her from leaving the protective radius I can establish.”
Esli suddenly realized that if she were to join the hospital department in their investigation, she would undeniably require a new identity.
For The Order would scarcely permit an active knight to guard a commoner without compelling justification.
“There happens to be a vacant probationary knight position available here, I wonder if Knight Esli would be amenable?”
Bishop Gomor approached with a smile.
“Demoted from full knight to probationary knight?”
“Indeed, this arrangement would allow you to join the investigation under the guise of a preliminary assessment.”
“That actually sounds rather good…”
Esli punctuated her thought with a decisive clap of her fist into her palm.
“It’s settled then!”
“Your Grace, when might we be permitted to meet the individual concerned?”
Ghervil inquired, a subtle gravity underlying her tone.
“Immediately.”
The old man nodded gently.
‘So, the person has already arrived?’
Ghervil’s unspoken question was swiftly answered.
A knock sounded at the door, and upon receiving permission, it opened to reveal a man in clerical attire, his prominent nasolabial folds lending him a somewhat severe, almost acerbic, countenance.
“Your Grace, the Baron has arrived.”
“Then I shall leave it to you, Kruger.” The Bishop inclined his head towards him.
The cleric named Kruger gestured with his eyes for them to follow.
Esli was about to question Bishop Gomor when Ramsey swiftly interjected on the older man’s behalf.
“The Bishop still has preparations for the flower exhibition to oversee; the remainder can be entrusted to us.”
Ghervil offered no further comment.
Any discerning observer would understand that this was no day for idleness.
She was already immensely grateful that the Bishop had managed to carve out this considerable amount of time to offer such profound assistance.
With a slight, deferential bow, the group took their leave of the lounge.
En route, Ramsey introduced the cleric as Kruger-Asriel, one of the church’s deacons and a close acquaintance of the missing deacon.
However, with the day’s primary objective being the investigation of Penelope, Ghervil chose not to delve further into his personal history.
Asriel apprised them of several crucial points, cautioning them, for instance, against mentioning suspects or making any similar insinuations directly to the Baron.
Baron Cambaton had, on more than one occasion, lashed out at investigating police and clerics for precisely this reason, with Ramsey himself having been one of the unfortunate targets of his ire.
Without concrete evidence, and considering his influential status as a Baron, there was indeed little they could do to compel him.
Ostensibly, the Baron was almost beyond suspicion, yet it remained an undeniable fact that Penelope had last been seen in his company.
The Baron’s strained relationship with his daughter was, moreover, a matter of public knowledge.
Indeed, their relationship was so fractured that Penelope privately refused to use the Cambaton surname.
Consequently, inquiries regarding surnames or private family matters were best left unasked.
Should the Baron’s temper flare, the discussion would almost certainly conclude in futility.
From Asriel’s measured tone, it was abundantly clear that the individual they were soon to confront would prove exceptionally formidable.
Mentally registering these crucial points, Ghervil offered her thanks to him.
A few minutes later, after a discreet knock, they entered a conference room to find an elderly gentleman seated at a round table, leisurely sipping tea.
Judging solely by his appearance, he bore little resemblance to the ill-tempered man described.
He was impeccably dressed in a black formal tailcoat, a monocle perched over one eye, and pristine white gloves covering his hands.
His short, slightly wavy brown hair was touched with white at the temples.
A salt-and-pepper beard framed his jaw, and his keen, gray-blue eyes sparkled with sharp intelligence.
His broad shoulders suggested a commanding presence, and even while seated, it was clear the Baron stood at approximately 185 centimeters.
First impressions led Ghervil to believe he was a man of considerable wisdom.
It was unusual for a Baron of such high standing to be without a personal butler, yet the conference room held only him.
Upon reflection, however, it seemed perfectly logical: he was currently in the delicate position of ‘proving his innocence,’ and having attendants nearby would only invite unnecessary complications.
“Father Asriel, you are two minutes later than I anticipated.”
Baron Cambaton was the first to speak, addressing the cleric as he entered.
“My apologies, I was delayed by a matter en route.”
Asriel offered a polite, apologetic smile as he directed them to their seats, pulling out the chair directly opposite the Baron.
Ramsey nearly took it himself, but midway, he quickly stepped aside to allow the person behind him to pass, settling into a chair nearby.
He was not the protagonist of this ‘interrogation’ today.
Ghervil glanced at him, then, without hesitation, took the seat, followed by the others.
“My old friend, what a rare treat to see you now. Won’t you introduce your new companions?”
The Baron’s words were directed at Ramsey.
Before the agent could respond, Ghervil placed her leather notebook bag on the table and retrieved her notebook.
“Greetings, Baron. My name is Ashe-Rowen, and I am a Blood Rose expert, surpassing most in this country.”
“That, of course, includes yourself.”