The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

Chapter 127 Palington Manor

Kelly understood what her grandfather hadn't said, and she nodded silently.

The ship docked, and they transferred to another pre-arranged carriage, which took them to the nearby train station.

The carriage traveled along the winding roads of the Yorkshire countryside, with fields and sparse woods covered in a light snow on either side.

More than an hour later, the coachman suddenly slowed down the carriage and eventually stopped.

"What's going on?" the inspector asked, leaning forward.

"There's someone blocking the carriage ahead, sir." The driver's voice sounded a little nervous.

Douglas frowned and snorted coldly, "Someone actually dares to intercept our carriage?"

He didn't bother to look outside; he simply pushed open the car door and got out.

In the middle of the road, a woman dressed in black stood quietly, with a small black leather suitcase beside her.

She just stared straight in the direction of the carriage.

Douglas stood a few steps away, his gaze sweeping over her attire and demeanor, confirming her identity.

"Ms. Celsa?" He raised an eyebrow. "What brings the High Court's representatives here, stopping our carriage instead of carrying out their official duties?"

Celsa did not answer immediately.

She bent down and took a folder wrapped in dark red silk from a small box at her feet, handing it to her: "Please take a look at this document, Inspector. I have brought a special order from the High Court."

Douglas looked at the woman suspiciously, then took the package, unwrapped the silk cloth, and quickly glanced at the contents of the document.

His expression turned extremely serious within those few lines of text.

About half a minute later, the inspector looked up and scrutinized Celsa.

Are you sure?

"No one in the kingdom should have the guts to forge the authority of the Anglican bishop; those who are capable do not need to forge it."

Celsa's answer was brief and affirmative.

The inspector paused for a moment, then put away the documents and made an inviting gesture.

Celsa picked up the small box and nimbly followed the inspector onto the carriage.

The inspector told Kelly, "Our plans to return to London have changed. Under the new arrangements, we need to remain in Yorkshire."

Kelly looked at her grandfather, then at the unexpected guest, and nodded quietly despite her confusion.

She simply asked in a soft voice, "What do we need to do next?"

The inspector looked out the car window in the direction they had left.

"We just need to wait. In a few days, something big will happen there."

Upon receiving the order, the coachman turned the carriage around and headed toward Yorkshire County.

The afterglow of the setting sun bathed the hills of West Reading in Yorkshire in a dark gold hue.

A black carriage rolled across the gravel road and stopped in front of a brightly lit manor.

The manor’s stone main house stood in the twilight, with warm yellow candlelight shining through the windows, like eyes opening in the darkness.

As the coachman reined in the horses, bringing the carriage to a slow, steady stop, the main gate of the house opened.

Several servants dressed in dark uniforms quickly stepped out, and one of them jogged to the carriage and respectfully opened the door.

Viscount Edward de la Porte bent down and got out of the carriage.

He was still wearing that dark cloak, and his pale face appeared somewhat crystalline under the flickering kerosene lamp.

"Sir de la Porte, the Sir and Madam are waiting in the hall," the servant whispered.

The viscount nodded slightly and stepped onto the doorstep.

He walked quickly and lightly, like a ghost flitting across the marble-tiled corridor.

In the foyer, a burly, angular middle-aged man stood in front of the fireplace, toying with a glass of amber-colored whiskey in his hand.

Upon seeing the Viscount enter, a familiar, somewhat shrewd smile appeared on his face.

"Welcome, welcome back to Palrington Manor." Sir Charles Gascoigne set down his glass, strode forward, and extended a hand.

"The journey is long, you must be tired."

The Viscount shook the hand. "Thank you, Charles. Perlington Manor is as beautiful as ever, even in this late autumn."

"Not at all," Charles waved his hand and stepped aside to indicate, "Please come in, please come in. Isabella is waiting for you in the living room."

The two walked through the foyer and into a spacious living room.

The room is decorated with dark wood paneling and velvet curtains. An oil painting depicting a fox hunt scene occupies the main wall, with lifelike figures and horses that seem to leap off the page.

A woman was sitting on the sofa. Upon seeing the Viscount, she put down the book she was reading and stood up gracefully.

"Edward," her voice sounded younger than her appearance, "you're still so punctual."

"Isabella," the Viscount stepped forward and gave a slight bow, "It's been a long time. How's your research going?"

The woman's lips twitched slightly, revealing a barely perceptible smile—a complex expression that blended weariness and satisfaction.

"Some progress." Her gaze swept over her husband, who immediately understood and walked toward the whiskey cabinet on the other side of the room.

"I have prepared what you requested."

Sir Charles picked up the crystal bottle and poured himself a glass of wine.

He raised his glass in a distant salute towards the Viscount, then turned his back to the two men and looked out the window, seemingly uninterested in the conversation taking place inside the room.

Isabella gestured for the Viscount to sit down opposite her on the sofa.

She picked up a neatly bound stack of documents from the small table beside her and placed them in the center of the coffee table.

"Here's what you wanted—a detailed record of all lunar phase cycles in Yorkshire over the past five years, including precise data on the magnitude of each lunar eclipse." She pushed the file over, "and predictive calculations for the next three synodic cycles."

The viscount picked up the top volume and slowly opened it.

The paper was covered with numbers and coordinates, interspersed with hand-drawn diagrams of the moon phases.

He squinted, scanning the calculations written with an extremely fine pen tip in the sunlight.

"The Gascoigne family's legacy is truly remarkable," he murmured, his finger lingering for a moment on a line of marked data. "The calculation method is unique, but also very effective."

"I would be very happy if Edlina said that," Isabella said calmly. "Our method is better suited for lunar phase observations at northern latitudes."

The viscount nodded silently and continued reading.

About five minutes later, he closed the file and gently placed it on the table.

What is your confidence level regarding accuracy?

Isabella looked him straight in the eye, her expression unwavering.

"I guarantee it in the name of my illustrious ancestor William Gascoigne—90% certain."

The viscount nodded: "Very good."

He took a leather bag from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table next to the documents.

"The agreed-upon compensation."

Isabella's eyes narrowed slightly.

She reached out her hand, and as soon as her fingertips touched the leather bag, she felt an unusual coolness.

"I still need to use your observatory," the Viscount continued, "tonight—right now."

Isabella glanced at her husband.

Sir Charles happened to turn around, and his glass was already half full.

He raised his glass to the two of them, his gesture as natural as if he had just been enjoying his solitary drink.

"Of course, Edward. Please come with me. The observatory's equipment has just been maintained and should be able to meet your observation needs." He said, walking towards a door in the living room that led to the north corridor.

The Viscount stood up and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

"Goodbye, Isabella," he said. "I hope your 'trouble' will be resolved by the time we meet again."

"Thank you for your kind words," Isabella replied casually, but her gaze never left the leather bag.

Sir Charles led the way, and the two walked out of the living room.

Isabella was left alone in the living room. She sat quietly for a moment, her breathing gradually quickening.

The footsteps faded away along the corridor, finally disappearing at the end of the porch.

She then reached out, picked up the leather bag, untied the drawstring, and pulled out a large "pearl."

One foot is about the size of a regular pigeon egg.

But unlike any naturally occurring sea pearl, it is more like some kind of solidified, opaque crystal.

Isabella held it in her palm and involuntarily shivered.

She glanced at the living room door and made sure it was tightly closed.

So she raised her hand, put the cold, round ball into her mouth, and swallowed it quickly.