Chronicles of Mystery

The culprit

Once their ride was over, the whole family returned to the old house that was their home.

Alistair decided to go explore the whole place in hopes of discovering clues to the crime or, even better, of finding the jewels themselves.

Guided by Jeanne, the three began their visit. The ground floor of the house was occupied by the dining room-kitchen, the living room where they had tasted their drinks, and by a large common room filled with portraits of ancestors and ancestors who eyed the newcomers with that air of antiquity that only the many years spent rotting in this low-ceilinged, damp room had given them, with a large fireplace and long sofas against the walls. A sideboard sat snugly in its comfortable mass along one wall, indulging in its old age, its warm dark wood bearing a thousand marks and knocks that years of life had left behind. Its large open doors gave a glimpse of various treasures, medallions, rags, headscarves, cutlery, plates by the dozen. With a warm smile, he greeted visitors and seemed to rejoice gently as his doors appeared to open even wider. On the wooden table in the center of the room sat a tablecloth three days old, stained and soiled by all the meals it had served. The air was thick with dust that fluttered in a thousand wild and raging particles. A smell of old wood had invaded everything, carrying with it a feeling of old age, the image of a venerable specter watching over the family.

They searched everywhere, moving the portraits, lifting the seats and armchairs. The most suspicious thing they found was a mustached portrait of the dear great-great-grandmother, hidden behind a piece of furniture. They prefer to put it in its place so as not to make it a subject of contention.

When they went up to the floor above, they were advised not to walk too hard so as not to cause pieces of the ceiling to fall.below. The stairs creaked like the bones of an old man with arthritis. Lucy gazed at the dark, gleaming wooden stair railing, smooth in the hand, and stroked it with a certain pleasure for the softness she felt under her palm. The steps were covered with a faded green carpet that was losing its color. Lucy had the impression of contemplating a forest moss or a resistant fungus that had entered the house. She couldn't resist tiptoeing a bit more as a precaution. The staircase, at the end of turns and turns, led them to a stained glass window with scratched and chipped panes that still retained a sufficient red hue to cast a scarlet shadow on the floor. Lucy stood for a moment in the rubicond circle traced on the ground with the feeling of having stepped into a bloodstain.

On the first floor, one could find the rooms of Ophelia, Peter and Juliet as well as a music room in which the instruments piled up had not been touched for a long time, rendered useless for a long time to the family who could no longer afford the services of a music teacher. The hallway was endowed with the same carpet as the staircase, the bacterial invasion continuing up there. Dark wood paneling covered the lower part of the beige walls. Other portraits hung on every surface, proliferating rapidly and each showing another obscure family member whose name no one could remember. Large windows opened onto the street, pouring a rather timid pale bluish color into the corridor, and were framed by heavy blue velvet curtains which looked like capes or squares cut out of the immensity of the sky. Lamps hung from the ceiling in the form of small orbs similar to luminous buds. The doors, of a certain simplicity, filed past one after the other, like well-arranged soldiers, the handles gleaming thanks to Jeanne's frequent cleanings.

Ophelia's room was dazzling, almost too much, hard to stare at for too long. It very clearly sported an eye-defying color palette with all the pink she displayed. The remnants of the family's luxurious life were clearly visible with the precious objects and decoration visible from all sides. The walls were covered in peach-colored paneling with bronze decorations that had lost some of their luster but still tried to shine as gallantly. The light brown parquet floor was so clean you could see yourself in it. A large window opened like a bay window, spreading its panes in a benevolent generosity, prouding itself of the sumptuous finery that were her pale pink curtains of the same tone as the beautiful cheeks of a shy young girl, folded over her and giving her a fringe. Everything was hung with this same pink and gold fabric, the armchairs, sofas, the bedspread, the pedestal tables with a pink marble top, the lamps which gave the illusion of flowers, the carpet which displayed gigantic floral motifs. On a small table in the center of the room, framed by seats, was a vase on which roses showed their variegated faces of painted ladies. On the table was also placed a tea service of the same color as sugared almonds. The queen bed had a rich, warm wooden frame with the same shine as one of Martha's chocolate drinks. A cupboard that even a bear could not lift stood in one corner, the glass doors serving as a mirror for the girl, the top of the cabinet sculpted so that one had the impression of contemplating the crown of a queen. To complete the whole, there was a white wooden dressing table with a large clear mirror to reflect on and a chair placed in front with a delicious candy pink cushion. The set gave the impression of having entered a colorful doll's house, furnished in a childish style, vibrant and colorful to excess. The result of the whim of one of the ladies of the house dating from a time when the finances of the house could afford it. Today these decorations had become obsolete, too old and out of fashion. Moreover, Ophelia would have preferred to open her ribcage in half rather than trying to sell what she had always considered the pinnacle of sophistication for a young girl like her.