Chapter 41
Everyone turned back in unison.
In the backlit doorway, a blond man pushed a wheelchair slowly into the room. An elderly woman with silver hair sat in the wheelchair.
She wore elegant, understated clothing with a deep burgundy cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders. Her bearing was serene, her posture composed.
Though her face was lined with wrinkles, her eyes were remarkably bright, her gaze sweeping slowly across everyone in the hall.
It was the same old lady who had been eating porridge in the kitchen that afternoon.
Evelyn froze.
Emma looked at her but didn't recall the Perkins family ever having such an acquaintance.
Whispered murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Who's that?"
"Never seen her... She's not with the Perkins family, is she?"
"What are they doing here?"
Emma frowned and stepped forward, her eyes filled with scrutiny and distance. "Madam... This is a private matter for the Perkins family. As an outsider, it's hardly appropriate for you to interfere, is it?"
The old lady looked at her with calm, composed amusement. Like someone who had weathered too many storms to be moved by any scene.
"I didn't realize," she began slowly, "that after Noah's passing, the Perkins family had become so lacking in manners."
The air suddenly froze.
Emma's expression shifted. Noah was the name of Matthew's late father. This strange old woman dared to call him by name, her tone carrying a hint of mockery?
"Who are you?" Emma's voice cracked.
The old lady didn't answer her. She withdrew her gaze and looked at the crowd.
"This afternoon I had porridge in the kitchen made by this young lady." She raised her hand, pointing at Evelyn.
"I finished an entire bowl." She paused before adding, "Coincidentally, I'm also allergic to peanuts."
Gasps rose from the crowd.
"If the porridge had originally contained peanuts, something would have happened to me by now." The old lady's gaze swept slowly across everyone present. "But nothing did. What does that tell you?"
She didn't finish, but her meaning was crystal clear. The porridge originally contained no peanuts. The peanuts were added later by someone.
Evelyn stood there, suddenly feeling her throat tighten. Apart from Marsha, not a single person in the Perkins family had believed her, yet the one helping clear her name was an elderly stranger.
She instinctively looked over. The old lady was also looking at her. Her gaze held warmth and reassurance, causing the resentment in Evelyn's heart to loosen somewhat.
The lady's expression shifted repeatedly before she finally couldn't hold back. "The surveillance is broken—there's no proof!" Her voice turned shrill. "Who knows if you two didn't plan this together?"
The old lady glanced at her. That one glance, though light, made the woman's words catch in her throat, unable to utter another syllable.
The old lady said nothing more, only nodding to the blond man behind her. The blond man stepped forward, holding something small in his hand, and passed it to Matthew.
"This is a miniature camera." He pronounced each word clearly. "My grandmother's health is poor. To prevent accidents, I always carry this with me. Everything that happened in the kitchen this afternoon is on here."
Matthew accepted it, looked down briefly, then nodded slightly. "Thank you."
The old lady waved her hand. "No need to thank me." She looked at Evelyn, her eyes growing gentler. "This young woman is kind-hearted. She shouldn't have to suffer such injustice."
Evelyn stood frozen, managing only, "Thank you."
The old lady smiled. That smile carried the traces of years, along with an indescribable kindness. She signaled to the blond man.
The wheelchair turned toward the door.
Evelyn paused for a second, then quickly caught up. "Miss, let me see you out."
The old lady turned back.
Evelyn walked to her and crouched down, grasping her hand. Those hands were somewhat cool, bony and distinct, yet surprisingly strong.
"Thank you." Evelyn's voice was hoarse, her eyes slightly reddened. "Truly... thank you."
The old lady looked at her, something shifting in her eyes. She seemed to be seeing someone else through her, an inexplicable warmth and emotion present.
"Child," she patted Evelyn's hand, "you look familiar to me. If fate wills it, we'll meet again."
She took a business card from her pocket and pressed it into Evelyn's hand. "This is my number. Call me if you need anything."
Evelyn glanced down. Susan Gray.
She looked up, wanting to say more, but the old lady had already waved her hand. "Go on. There are still matters waiting for you over there."
Evelyn looked back at the hall, then at the old lady, and nodded. "Take care."
She stood and hurried back to the hall.
The blond man pushed the old lady slowly outside. Walking through the doorway, the night wind blew against them, carrying the mountain's coolness and the scent of grass and trees.
Logan Gray looked down at the old lady's expression. "Why wade into these murky waters?" His tone carried helplessness. "We haven't even resolved our own problems."
The old lady said nothing.
Logan sighed. "This time was another dead end. He's already lost his mind—can't get anything out of him. She left alone years ago. Finding her..." He paused. "It's too difficult."
The old lady's eyes dimmed. The night wind lifted the white hair at her temples, making her look especially desolate in the dim light.
Just then, a surprised voice came from behind. "Mrs. Gray?"
The old lady turned. Marigold stood not far away, looking at her with surprise.
"What are you doing here?"
The old lady looked at her with distant eyes. "Visiting an old friend." She paused. "I heard you got engaged? Congratulations."
Marigold smiled, instinctively taking a couple steps closer. "How has your health been lately?"
"Well enough." The old lady's reply was brief and distant.
Marigold wanted to say more, but the old lady had already looked away. "Things are chaotic at the Perkins family right now. You should head over."
Marigold paused, then nodded. "Then... I'll go now. Take care."
She turned and hurried away. The old lady watched her figure disappear behind the door, silent for several seconds.
"Let's go," she said.
Logan pushed her forward. After a few steps, the old lady suddenly spoke, as if making some kind of decision. "No matter how difficult, I must find her."
Logan looked down at her. In the darkness, the old woman's expression was calm, but her eyes were resolute.
He said nothing more, only pushing the wheelchair slowly into the depths of the night.
In the hall, the atmosphere had completely changed. The miniature camera was connected to a projector, playing the footage frame by frame.
Evelyn cooking porridge. Evelyn serving porridge to the old lady. Evelyn leading away the injured boy. The kitchen maid serving the porridge and leaving—everything looked fine. Until she reached the end of the corridor, a figure appeared in the frame.
A middle-aged woman in a deep purple dress. She seemed to be saying something to the kitchen maid, then lifted the bowl's lid before walking away.
Evelyn frowned, having the footage paused and enlarged at that moment. The woman could be seen quickly sprinkling something into the bowl, her movements swift, only visible when slowed down.
The crowd erupted. The lady's face turned deathly pale. Though her makeup and outfit were now different, that figure could be no one else in attendance.
All eyes turned to her.
Matthew looked at her, his eyes cold. "Aunt, do you have anything to say?"
The lady's face was terrifyingly pale, her entire body swaying. Her hands trembled, her lips trembled. "I... I..." She tried to defend herself but was too frightened to speak.
People around her began whispering. "My God, it was her?"
"Why would she do this?"
"But that's Mrs. Perkins! If something had happened..."
The lady's face grew paler, her eyes darting around frantically. Then her gaze unconsciously flickered to the side. Just once. Light and quick, but Matthew caught it.
His gaze followed that line of sight to land on the person beside her. Emma stood there, avoiding her gaze, expression unreadable. She didn't look back at the lady or offer any response. As if watching a play that had nothing to do with her, calm and detached.
Matthew saw their interaction, something sinking in his chest. He said nothing, his fingers slowly tightening on the armrest, veins rising slightly on the back of his hand.
The surroundings grew inexplicably quiet. Some stole glances at Matthew before quickly looking away. Some lowered their heads, pretending to study their shoes.
The lady stood in place like a soulless statue, too frozen even to tremble.
Evelyn stood in the corner, watching it all, her face expressionless. She lowered her head and laughed mockingly, the smile so faint it carried a trace of coldness.