The Night Visitor
At the sound of Mikhail’s voice, Anastasia’s heart plummeted into her stomach. Fear piled upon fear. A man was inside her room. At night, no less. She could not breathe. And he had even realized she was only pretending to sleep. Just as she teetered on the edge of panic in this unbelievable situation, Mikhail spoke again.
“I am fully aware that entering uninvited at this hour is a grave discourtesy. When I knocked and received no answer… I meant only to leave this and go.”
This? Anastasia parted her lips and drew a deep, shuddering breath. His quiet tone, the footsteps that came no closer, and the object he claimed he only meant to leave behind—little by little, her scattered mind began to return.
“What… is it?”
She sat up slowly, then slipped quickly down from the bed and hid herself on the far side of it. She did not see the way Mikhail’s face hardened for a moment at her movement. But he smoothed his expression at once and set the thing in his hand down upon the nearby table.
“I had hoped to see you at dinner tonight—to apologize properly to everyone, and especially to Miss Anastasia, for my earlier rudeness. Yet you did not come.”
She had never heard of any such invitation. More than that—an invitation to dine? The idea of sitting at the same table with herself and the people of Lauderdale made cold sweat spring across her skin. How could she ever dare claim such an honor?
“I had no choice but to keep it with me. Then I found I must leave at dawn tomorrow… I considered leaving it in the corridor, but I could not be certain what might become of it, so I decided to place it inside.”
“You’re… leaving at dawn?”
The words slipped out of her before she could stop them. The moment she answered, Mikhail exhaled a short breath that sounded almost like relief. Even so, his feet remained rooted exactly where they were. That fact alone steadied her. This was not Mikhail. Mikhail would never simply walk in uninvited.
“Circumstances have made it so. Forgive me for startling you. I will take my leave.”
As though his business were finished, he turned toward the door. Anastasia suddenly remembered what the maids had said—that he would never return to Edenhurst again. The thought filled her with a strange regret. She wished he could simply stay in one place, the way Edenhurst itself stayed. How much better if he were a rock or a tree. Then she could keep looking at him for as long as she remained here.
By the time the thought finished, he was already in the corridor. Anastasia rose. If this truly was the last time… she wanted to look a little longer. She scrambled for any way to call him back. Then she remembered the one question she still needed answered.
“W-wait!”
The voice came out louder than she expected; she clapped a hand over her mouth. After a hurried cough to clear her throat, she tried again. She had spoken so little even since coming to this room that the words still caught and rasped.
“How… how did you know I hadn’t taken the medicine?”
That was what had puzzled her. The powder Igor had given her came in a small dish. She was supposed to scoop a spoonful after her meal and wash it down with water. Mikhail had not even glanced inside the dish—so how had he known?
“Igor’s medicines always contain a sleeping draught. You were awake, so I knew you hadn’t taken it.”
“What…?”
She knew a sleeping draught made one sleep. But why would they give her something like that?
“Please do not misunderstand. Igor is an excellent physician. He told me you were in a state of extreme nervous exhaustion. In such cases, remaining awake for long stretches is worse for recovery than taking more rest than usual. He informed the Countess and prescribed a somewhat stronger dose.”
The Countess had agreed only because she preferred Anastasia lying still rather than wandering about uselessly—but Anastasia had no way of knowing that.
When he finished the explanation, Mikhail asked quietly,
“Why didn’t you take it? Was it too bitter? Or was there some other discomfort?”
“No… I simply hadn’t eaten… He said to take it after finishing the meal…”
“You hadn’t eaten?”
His gaze moved to the table. There sat a plate of food that anyone could see had been half-eaten. Mikhail’s eyes flicked between the plate and her face.
“I truly didn’t eat any of it… That was the maids—”
She started to say the maids who had been in the room had eaten it, then closed her mouth. Why can’t I just say it? she wondered.
…Because even if I did, no one would care.
What difference would it make if she told him the maids had eaten her meal? Everyone at Edenhurst would only ask what the problem was.
Anastasia herself shared the same thought. If a maid helped herself first to the food meant for her, what of it? Were they not all proud members of this land who bore the name of Edenhurst?
Suddenly she remembered how she used to envy Elizabeth. If Elizabeth had been the one in this room instead of her, how different everything would have been. The maids would have waited on her with the utmost deference. No one would have dared touch Elizabeth’s meal, and no one would have summoned other servants to lounge about and eat as though the room were their own.
Anastasia stood perfectly still for a moment, saying nothing. It was the first time she had ever thought such a thing—comparing her own situation to Elizabeth’s. How presumptuous. How could she dare place herself beside a young lady of Lauderdale?
“The maids?”
When she remained silent, Mikhail caught the unfinished word. Anastasia looked at him where he still stood motionless—a stranger, not one of Edenhurst’s people. Would he think differently? She gathered her courage and spoke carefully.
“…The maids ate it.”
“Your meal was eaten by the maids?”
“…Yes.”
What would he say? Would he insist the maids would never do such a thing and decide she was lying? Or would he summon them and demand an explanation? The moment the second possibility crossed her mind, Anastasia realized what she had done.
If Mikhail called the maids who had been in her room and asked whether her words were true, what then? They would of course deny it. And he was leaving at dawn. After that, only the maids and herself would remain. The thought drained the color from her face.
“No—no, it isn’t true. I ate it. I simply didn’t take the medicine…”
She tried frantically to take the words back, but everything tumbled out in a panicked jumble.
“I’ll eat it now. I’m sorry. I lied. I’ll eat it right now. I—”
“Anastasia.”
The low sound of her name sealed her lips. She bitterly regretted the childish words she had flung out. If only God would turn time back a little, she could simply have said she had not taken the medicine. Why had she brought the maids into it at all…?
“Would you wait for me a moment?”
“What?”
“I will return shortly.”
Before she could answer he was gone. The room fell silent again, leaving her alone. The sky outside had turned fully dark; night birds called beyond the window, and the only light was the lamp the maids had left, its flame trembling. The sudden quiet made Anastasia wonder if she had merely dreamed the whole thing.
She edged out from her hiding place beside the bed and approached the table. There sat the box Mikhail had left—proof that the encounter had been real. She reached out and touched it. Soft velvet overlaid the paper, and her fingertips left faint trails across its surface.
Something this fine… given to her? As though spellbound, she stroked the box again and again.
What’s inside?
Perhaps nothing at all. She remembered the cruel little jokes Catherine used to play. “I’ve chosen a dress for you,” Catherine would say, and make her open a bag. Inside there was usually a slimy frog or some crawling insect. Anastasia had seen such things often enough in the basement room, so she never truly startled, but she always pretended to. Then Catherine would laugh that bright, delighted laugh of hers. On those days Catherine’s mood was so good she would sometimes give Anastasia one extra trinket. Perhaps Mikhail was playing the same sort of game.
While she still hesitated to open the box, footsteps returned in the corridor. A polite knock, and then Mikhail’s voice:
“May I come in?”
A far more formal request than before. The very idea that someone was asking her permission felt strange and wonderful.
“…Yes.”
There was surely a more elegant way to answer, but she did not know it, so the single short word was all she managed. The door opened quietly and Mikhail entered, a plate in his hand. He set it on the table. Fresh bread, cheese, and ham lay upon it.
“Eat. Afterward you must take the medicine.”
“……”
Yet Anastasia did not move. She only stared at the food he had brought. It was not that she had no appetite. She was simply overwhelmed by the fact that he had listened to her and then acted for her sake.
I don’t want to eat it.
She did not want this meal. No one had ever brought her food out of concern before.
Her eyes burned; her throat tightened. This man was kind. He was good. He looked after the people of Lauderdale—and even after her.
Thank goodness.
She offered a silent prayer of gratitude. Just as she had hoped, the new master of Edenhurst was someone who could show mercy even to her.
When she remained motionless, Mikhail moved. He took one of the pieces of bread he had brought, tore it into a manageable size, and spread it thickly with butter using a knife. Then he held the morsel close to her lips.
“Open your mouth.”
Ordinarily she could never have borne anyone standing so near. People had always terrified her—especially men. But she was not afraid now. This was someone who took care of her. Therefore… this person was not frightening.
She parted her lips as he instructed.
“A little wider.”
His voice came again, and again she obeyed. In the darkness a blue spark flashed for an instant. The next moment her mouth was filled with exactly what she had longed for.
“……!”
Before she could even savor the soft bread and the rich scent of butter, she realized something else had entered her mouth along with it. Mikhail’s long fingers had slipped inside, pushing the piece of bread deep. Startled by the sudden pressure at the back of her throat, she made a choked, gagging sound. Above her head his voice sounded almost pitying.
“There, you see? I thought it wouldn’t all fit.”