Chapter Text
The report arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, resting with quiet patience on the corner of the earl’s desk. What made it unusual was not its appearance but its author: Sir Arthur Randall himself. For a man as proud and openly disdainful as the commissioner of Scotland Yard, writing personally to the Queen’s Watchdog was unexpected. Randall had never hidden his contempt for the young Earl of Phantomhive, viewing him as an obstacle whose secretive duties often interfered with Scotland Yard’s investigations.
“How queer,” Ciel murmured, eyeing the unopened envelope. “Randall writing to me personally.” With a weary sigh, he leaned back in his chair, already feeling the dull pressure of a headache gathering behind his eyes. His gaze drifted to his butler, who was arranging refreshments with practiced precision.
“Make it strong, Sebastian,” Ciel called from across the room. Experience had taught him that certain reports were best read only after the tea had been poured. “You know I always do, my lord,” Sebastian replied lightly as he set the polished silver tray upon the desk. Ciel shot him a skeptical look. “And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?” The butler’s smile only widened, a glimmer of amusement dancing across his face as he sensed his master's irritation.“It means,” Sebastian explained with impeccable courtesy, “...that I always anticipate your needs accordingly.” His expression remained perfectly composed, almost infuriatingly so.
Ciel dismissed his butler with a gesture and reached for his tea. He lifted the cup and sipped the hot beverage slowly. Sebastian watched, hands clasped behind his back and a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His brown eyes shifted languidly to the letter. "You know, my lord," he began, his voice carrying that particular smoothness Ciel had learned to distrust, "...you might allow me to read the report aloud. That way, you could enjoy your tea more thoroughly."
The earl regarded him over the rim of his cup with an expression of mild contempt. "You seem oddly interested in this case." He set the cup down with quiet deliberateness. "Care to explain why?" Sebastian closed his eyes briefly, the practiced smile never wavering. "Ah. No reason in particular." His gaze returned to the letter, then to his master. "Only a hunch that there is something—" he paused, as if selecting the word with care, "... unique about it."
Ciel studied him for a moment. "Is that what your demonic intuition is telling you?" His tone was entirely dry. Sebastian made a sound that might, generously, be described as a laugh. "You could say that." He raised one gloved hand to his chin in quiet contemplation.
Ciel exhaled. He had little patience for Sebastian's theater on a good day, and this was not shaping up to be a good day. "Fine," he said, gesturing toward the envelope. "Read to your heart's content." Sebastian inclined his head and reached for the letter. "You are far too kind, my lord." He opens it with a polished knife he always keeps in his jacket.
“This case is located in Sussex at St. Michael's Rectory,” Sebastian read. “A rectory, ay?” Ciel muttered into his cup. “I see now, why you are so invested,” the earl glanced at his butler’s composed smile. “...You are hoping to rendezvous with the nuns.” Ciel stated plainly.
The butler’s face twitched, "Not quite, my lord," he said, maintaining his polite tone through what appeared to be moderate effort. "And for the record, a rectory is the official residence of a parish priest.” Sebastian couldn’t help, but correct his master’s ignorance.
“Ah well,” Ciel sighed. “The convent can’t be too far off,” he took a sip of tea to hide his smirk. Alas, the demon caught it, "You are somewhat more cutting than usual this afternoon, my lord." Sebastian's gaze settled briefly on the teacup. "Perhaps I steeped the leaves a touch longer than necessary."
Ciel set the cup down with a sharp clink. "Have you already grown bored with your reading?"
"Not in the slightest." Sebastian's tone remained perfectly pleasant. "Shall I continue?" Ciel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I never told you to stop."
With a courteous nod, Sebastian continued. "Three parishioners have been treated for fungal infections. Two individuals reported missing were last seen in the vicinity of the property."
Ciel's interest, ironically, had begun to wane. His gaze drifted toward the window.
Sebastian carried on without comment. "The property has also been cited for structural mold damage."
"Structural mold?" Ciel's attention returned at once.
The butler nodded, "Quite extensive structural mold, my lord. The sort that does not respond to conventional remediation. The property also sits at the center of a small radius of agricultural distress; fungal blight on surrounding crops, unusual livestock mortality. Strays in the area behave irregularly." Sebastian tilted his head a fraction. "The neighbors have developed opinions."
"I imagine they have." Ciel reached for his tea, "Who is the caretaker of the rectory?" He asked before taking a sip.
“A priest.” Sebastian confidently responded. Ciel nearly choked at his butler's insolence, "Obviously!”
Sebastian swallowed a chuckle before reading again, "A Vatican-credentialed exorcist, to be precise." Sebastian's tone carried the faint texture of someone reciting information they found quietly interesting. "One Father Dion Donadieu. French national. Formerly of minor Provençal nobility. He has been operating in England for some years under Church authority." He turned the page with two fingers. "The arrangement has been, until recently, unremarkable."
"Why would a French priest move to England?" Ciel's eyes narrowed slightly. "The French Republic has been stripping Church authority for years. A Vatican exorcist abandoning that fight to manage a mold problem in Sussex seems either very dedicated or very convenient."
Sebastian scanned the remaining page with measured patience. "His reasoning isn't specified." A small frown crossed his face, there and gone. "Although Randall does note that the priest is overseeing a ward. An Englishwoman."
"Her name?" Ciel puts his cup down.
"Hagdalena Alderin." Sebastian's eyes moved down the page. "Institutionalized as a child following the deaths of her family. The asylum's records describe her condition as—" he paused almost imperceptibly, "—contested… She was initially classified as hysterical, though that classification was revised several times. The more recent documentation is less clinical in its language."
Ciel rose from his desk. "Less clinical how?"
"The final entries prior to her transfer into Father Donadieu's custody describe certain environmental anomalies that the attending physicians declined to attribute to any known cause." Sebastian's expression remained perfectly pleasant. "One physician submitted a formal request for ecclesiastical consultation and subsequently requested reassignment to a different ward." He turned the page. "He did not specify why in writing."
Ciel walked over to gaze out a window. The afternoon light came through at a low angle and caught the dust in the room, which was very little because Sebastian did not permit dust.
"It presents a foreign national operating on English soil under Church authority, generating missing persons reports with no accountability to the Crown." Ciel's voice was entirely level. "The Vatican is behaving as though England is an annex."
"There is another consideration, my lord." Sebastian set the letter down. "Exorcists operate on reporting schedules. If Father Donadieu's reports have become creative in their omissions, Rome will eventually notice. And when they do, they will send someone with considerably more authority and considerably less patience than the Father currently employed." Sebastian paused to ensure his master’s comprehension. "Given the nature of the anomalies described, it is possible they would send someone with very specific authorization."
Ciel returned to his desk and sat. He folded his hands and regarded the report for a moment, then closed it with one finger and pushed it aside. "Authorization to do what, exactly?"
"To resolve the situation cleanly." Sebastian's expression did not change. "As the Church tends to define the word."
Ciel reached for his pen. "Then we visit before they do." He drew a fresh sheet toward him and began to write. "I will not have the Roman Catholic Church conducting executions on the Queen's soil. Whatever is happening in that rectory falls under our jurisdiction. Not theirs." He didn't look up. "Arrange the carriage for Thursday. We will call on Father Donadieu unannounced."