Chapter Text
Miss Mia Fey--brave, well-spoken, and brilliant--ought to have been one of the sharpest and most incisive attorneys in the country. She was, instead, an unmarried twenty-seven-year-old woman with no hope now of becoming anything but a spinster aunt--assuming that her younger sister, Maya, could avoid the same fate. Pearl, the youngest, was only nine, so she could not yet have been expected to uphold the entire Fey lineage alone. However, Mia Fey rather liked her current situation. She did perfectly well managing her uncle’s household on her own and didn’t feel compelled into marriage for companionship, though she was considered a beauty and her hand had several times been sought from her by one unremarkable gentleman or another. Perhaps she would have married one of them, had it not been made clear to her that they did not want to engage intellectually and simply wanted a body to warm the bed on cold nights. Mia’s conscience would not allow such a humiliation simply for someone to keep her company; it was ridiculous to sacrifice one’s dignity to seek out a thing already possessed. Besides, she trusted the promise that Phoenix had made her. No matter what, she and the girls would be cared for, so long as he could help it.
Before their mother’s death, the Fey girls had already claimed Phoenix Wright as their brother in spirit. The late Misty Fey’s final gift to her daughters as sole executor of the Fey estate was claiming him as such in her will and entailing the family’s meager assets to him. Having no surviving family and nothing to his name, the support of the Feys meant everything to Wright, and this formal adoption ensured his lifelong loyalty to the sisters. When Mia, Maya, and Pearl accepted the generosity of the household of Marvin Grossberg, an uncle with no children of his own, Wright followed after them. They were a funny, cobbled-together bunch, and the oft-untidy house was a bit too small to comfortably board its occupants--but it was always full of laughter and lively conversation, and Mia would not trade the comfortable rhythms of their home for anyone else’s. More than anything, she loved sharing a dinner table with them: Grossberg discussing the finer points of solicitation with Phoenix and herself (with much throat-clearing and reminiscing), Maya interjecting lighthearted non-sequiturs, and all of them falling silent to listen when they heard little Pearl stuttering before sweetly asking a question, which Phoenix would usually answer, in an endearingly gentle voice used only with her. In her heart, Mia felt that participating in this mealtime tableau was as close as she would come to attaining perfect happiness.
Mia never wanted to leave her sisters behind, and when her uncle and Wright both trusted her consul on their cases, Mia knew she neither needed nor desired any other man’s approval. The town gossips, however, could not imagine why Mia wouldn’t care to hear the news of every eligible bachelor that passed through their town whenever they caught her out and about, so despite her best efforts, she stayed regrettably well-informed of their comings and goings. Sometimes, she would bring them up at dinner if there was nothing more pressing to discuss, just to see what funny thing Maya might say about them. Mia had no reason to expect anything else to come of it, so she was wholly unprepared for what was to follow when she accidentally opened up a doorway into Phoenix’s past.
“May I share some news that I unwillingly received from you-know-who while I was walking back from the post office today?” Mia asked down the table, hoping to catch Maya’s eye first.
Maya saw the look on her sister’s face and rolled her eyes a bit too far back in her head. “Tell me it’s not another old man the old bag thinks we should all be so excited about.”
Maya really shouldn’t call her the old bag , but Mia certainly wasn’t going to correct her sister for an apt description of the doddering woman who chattered all of this to her. “He’s actually not old this time--well, older than me, but not by much.”
“Then he is old! No chance of that ever happening, Mia.”
“I don’t think she had you in mind when she told me about him.”
“You haven’t even told us who he is,” said Phoenix, reaching for the bread basket. “But with all the suspense you’ve built, I’m curious now.”
“Apparently, his name is Gumshoe.”
“Gumshoe?” Grossberg frowned. “Odd name. Don’t think I know him.”
“Nobody does. He has no connections here in town and he’s lived elsewhere his whole life, I believe. She made sure to tell me he was single, and I don’t think he’s ever been married before. Was a constable in another parish, not much money to his name.”
Maya huffed. “Why did the old bag even bring him up to you, then? He’s of less consequence than we are!”
Pearl turned to Phoenix, seated beside her, and asked softly, “May I have the bread basket?”
Phoenix nodded towards her table setting. “You still have vegetables on your plate, Pearls.”
Pearl wilted, not expecting that she wouldn’t get it after she asked so nicely. “Please?”
“Eat a few more carrots first.”
Grossberg coughed a bit into his napkin and turned to Mia. “Where’s this stranger going to be staying, if he knows no one? I assume at The Gatewater Inn?”
Mia pointed at him with her fork. “That’s the interesting part. He’s moving into the Stagwoods Estate.”
Maya leaned over the table, eyes suddenly shining with interest. “ What? That ancient, crumbling place down the road from us that’s definitely haunted?”
Pearl’s eyes widened. “Is it really haunted?”
“Nobody else believes me, but I think so. Any place that eerie has to be full of ghosts.” Maya adopted a wicked expression. “I’ve always wanted to sneak in and ask for them to show themselves. Maybe before Mr. Gumshoe arrives--”
Mia leveled a hard stare at her younger sister. “Don’t even think about it, Miss Maya Fey.”
“It was a joke!”
Mia continued. “He’s inherited it, according to the rumors. The old recluse that owned it before was supposedly a distant relative, and somehow the estate ended up falling into his possession through some strange machinations with the line of entailments in the will. Nobody’s sure quite how legitimate it is, but it looks like the house is his, so long as nobody manages to contest it.”
Phoenix hummed. “Well, good for Gumshoe! We’ll have to go visit once he’s settled and driven all the ghosts out.”
Grossberg nodded in agreement. “Let’s hope no one contests his claim to Stagwoods. He sounds like a decent fellow. It would be nice to have a sociable neighbor for once.”
“Or if someone does, let’s hope he asks us for help with his case.” Mia settled back with a bit of smug self-satisfaction in her seat when her comment got the laugh out of Phoenix and her uncle that she was hoping for, but her nature would not allow her to let it stand uncorrected. “He may not require our assistance, truthfully. Gumshoe’s coming with some infamous legal company, if the rumors are correct.”
Grossberg eased back in his chair. “Oh? What kind of legal company?”
“Is he bringing someone along to arrange the estate for him? I’m impressed he can put out that kind of money already,” said Phoenix, finally conceding the bread basket to Pearl. She accepted it eagerly and closed a little fist around a soft brown roll, the last left of its kind.
Mia sighed. “I suppose. He’s certainly very invested in protecting his client if that’s the case. He’s been arranging everything on his behalf before their arrival, hiring new staff for the house, that sort of thing. The woman is very interested in that lawyer, though she admits he’s far too young for her." Her nose wrinkled with distaste, remembering the euphoric look on the old bag's face as she gushed to Mia about 'that fine gentleman oh I do hope he'll come to town often so I have a chance to become friendly with him,' and on and on. "It likely won’t stop her from overstepping if they’re ever introduced. She wouldn’t stop telling me about how refined and intelligent he is--she’s neither seen the man nor spoken with him, so I have no idea how she knows anything about him.”
“Repulsive old bag,” Maya grumbled. “A fossil would be too young for her.”
Phoenix whined, “Now you’re just teasing us, Mia! Who is it? Do we know him?”
“I’ve personally never heard of him, but he’s said to be a fearsome prosecutor in Gumshoe’s old parish. Do you know of a Miles Edgeworth?”
The table fell silent. Phoenix Wright had frozen stock-still, fork halfway to his mouth, and his expression betrayed a curious mixture of terror and something else Mia could not place. Whatever it was, his eyes were very far away. Mia suddenly wished she hadn’t said anything--whoever this man was, the response he elicited from Phoenix frightened her.
Maya tilted her head, cautious fear in her voice. “Uh...Nick? What’s the matter?”
Phoenix put his fork down and blinked the glaze from his eyes, talking mostly to himself. “Edgeworth... he’s really coming back, after all this time...”
“Coming back? He’s been here before? When? ” Maya seemed ready to fly from her seat--she was already half-risen from it beneath the table.
Phoenix turned to Maya, and the smile propped up at the corners of his mouth seemed impossibly sad. “A long time ago. He probably doesn’t remember me.”
Mia wasn’t sure yet what any of this meant, but she may have had an inkling, even then, of the weight of it--how familiar it felt. She hadn’t quite the words for it, but she hoped that her empathetic expression when he turned and met her eyes could communicate it well enough.
“My god. What a miserable-looking place. It should be ashamed of itself.”
Miss Franziska von Karma’s sharp assessment of Stagwoods Estate, though accurate, still elicited protests from the other two occupants of the carriage rolling bumpily down its washed-out path.
Dick Gumshoe, terrified of incurring the wrath of the imposing young woman seated across from him despite being twice her size, was stung by her comment on his new home and the one bit of good luck he’d ever fallen into. He had to say something in its defense, but all he could muster was a weak, “Come on, we haven’t even seen inside of it yet.” From the outside, however, he had to admit that the manor didn’t look very welcoming. Though the view through the window was shaky, portions of the stone edifices were clearly in disrepair, and Gumshoe believed he could make out at least one missing pane of window glass. He would have to beware of drafts if he wanted to keep from catching a chill in the encroaching autumn weather. But still--it was many times the size of his previous residence, and miraculously, it was all his. His heart swelled with proud excitement at the prospect of making it a home.
Miles Edgeworth, hanging on for dear life (in as dignified a way as he could manage) as the carriage wheels picked slowly over pitfalls and sludgy mud puddles, scolded Miss von Karma through gritted teeth: “I’ve sunk too much time into working on the estate for you to insult it, Miss von Karma. If it’s not to your liking, then you could have assisted me in finding people to make improvements.”
Franziska von Karma had a cruel little smile, sharp at the edges. She scoffed, “Oh, please. You wanted to handle everything yourself, Mr. Miles Edgeworth. Who am I to stand in the way of your martyrdom?”
The carriage hit a particularly nasty bump, temporarily unseating the unsuspecting Gumshoe and nearly sending him straight into Edgeworth’s lap. Miss von Karma banged on the roof of the carriage with the riding crop laid over her knee and threatened the driver that if he didn’t mind the path, she would happily climb out and drive the horses herself. Edgeworth felt another headache coming on, and he closed his eyes and pressed his temple to try and stave it off until they arrived at the house--but Gumshoe would allow him no such luxury.
“Mr. Edgeworth...sir?”
Edgeworth sighed and opened his eyes. Gumshoe was giving him that pitiful drowned-puppy expression he loathed. “Yes?”
“I do wish that you would have let me help with the arrangements for the house. I’m appreciative of all that you’ve done, but you’ve overworked yourself, and for my sake...I just wish there was something I could have done.”
Edgeworth looked out the window, towards the placid green lake in front of the property on the other side of the path. A small boat was tied up to the dock; he’d have to make sure the lake was stocked so Gumshoe could use that embarrassing fishing pole collecting dust among his belongings. “Nonsense. It was nothing. And I just wanted to ensure that you weren’t cheated out of your assets before you’d properly acquired them.”
“But are you sure there’s nothing I could do to repay you? I could…” Gumshoe paused, thinking hard, until his face lit up. “You could let me host you here!”
Edgeworth felt a cold, creeping fear move down the back of his neck--but that also might have just been Miss von Karma’s icy stare. Gumshoe was going to trap him into accepting his hospitality, and he had no defense against it, save that, “We’ve already made arrangements to stay at the Gatewater tonight and leave town tomorrow. We couldn’t possibly.”
Gumshoe shook his head and smiled, unconcerned. He knew he had the upper hand--if he leveraged his friendship with Edgeworth, he’d be forced to accept something in return for his kindness. “There’s still time to cancel them! No reason for you to pay for a room when I have plenty now. You could both stay for as long as you like, get out of the city for a while, enjoy the fresh air, keep me company so I’m not all alone out here, show me around a little...this was your hometown, wasn’t it?”
This last remark was directed at Edgeworth, who chose to keep silent.
“Who would send for our things?” snapped Miss von Karma. “Who would explain our sudden disappearance? We can’t just take a vacation on a whim!”
“...Actually, we can,” Edgeworth grumbled.
For all his cluelessness, Gumshoe was occasionally very clever. The last court circuit had concluded at Michaelmas, and trials wouldn’t reconvene until the new year. Aside from some cursory meetings with solicitors and other preparations immediately before the Epiphany sessions, there was essentially nothing for Edgeworth to do. He was always working regardless, busying himself with personal matters or traveling for sake of research, but it was only to keep himself in motion. There was nothing pressing that would send him directly home but his own self-imposed aversion to leisure. This was even more true for Franziska von Karma, who had no such employment and no friends to invite her out elsewhere. The two of them, through the benefit of their inherited wealth and their lack of attachments, were simultaneously constantly occupied and perpetually idle, simply passing time between infrequent obligations. And here was one of their only mutual friends, insisting that they come and stay with him--the lone chink in their armor of voluntary isolation. Accepting his request would be the only polite thing to do. This meant little to Miss von Karma, but Edgeworth’s conscience could not allow him to be willfully cruel to Gumshoe. He’d forced his way into managing Gumshoe’s newfound estate for what he could now see were self-serving reasons, and if this was the favor Gumshoe wanted in return, then Edgeworth would have to concede to his terms.
It was a terribly bothersome thing, being beholden to a friend. It was the one thing Edgeworth couldn’t stand.
“Will you both come stay with me, then?” Gumshoe asked, his broad face further broadening into a foolish grin.
“You cannot convince me to spend one night in your little falling-down house,” Miss von Karma replied, crossing her arms tightly under her chest, “let alone several. I refuse.”
Edgeworth turned to her and firmly shook his head. “No. We’re staying here tonight.” And, steeling himself, he turned to face Gumshoe and said, “And we’ll stay for...as long as you are comfortable hosting us. We are at your disposal.”
The cacophony of Gumshoe’s delight and Miss von Karma’s disdain made Edgeworth’s ears ring as the carriage finally, mercifully rolled to a stop at the door to the Stagwoods manor house. Edgeworth could not wait on the footman to come and open the inside door and wait for his ungrateful foster sister to stop berating him and accept defeat by getting out of the carriage; he freed himself through the other side and tumbled from the awful, cramped box with the urgency of a castaway rushing onshore. He could still see the lake from here, and he had the sudden urge to walk to it, and keep walking right to the bottom of it. It would be cool and quiet, at the very least, which might help with his headache.
This had been his hometown, once. It was so long ago that he had forgotten all he once knew about it--its geography and its residents were foreign to him as an adult. Edgeworth could only hope that the town had blessedly forgotten him as well. He did not care to remember, or to be remembered as who he once was. Best to come as a stranger with no expectations. He would keep company here awhile, avoid going into town with all his power, and leave as quietly as he’d come, as if he’d never returned at all.