A Pair of Soft Leather Shoes

At dawn the next day, Mikhail, Igor, and Yury set out before the sun had fully risen. It would be no exaggeration to say that nearly every servant in the household came out to see him off.

The man who would become their new master was, contrary to their earlier tension, refined, good-humored, and generous. Thanks in no small part to the casual remark Yury and Igor had dropped the previous day—that the Sokolov estate was in need of more servants—the staff soon began to hope that when Elizabeth left for Sokolov, they might follow her there as well.

Among those who gathered to bid him farewell, the Countess was still nowhere to be seen. This time, however, a perfectly dressed Elizabeth and a half-awake Catherine blinking the sleep from her eyes stood ready to see him off.

“Then I ask that you wait just a little longer.”

Before climbing into the carriage, Mikhail pressed a kiss to the back of Elizabeth’s hand. It was the briefest of touches, yet more than enough to send color flooding into her cheeks and to make the servants glance away for a moment. After releasing her hand, he kissed Catherine’s as well.

It was a courtesy reserved solely for the Lauderdale daughters of the house, and the maids watched the young ladies with open envy, thinking that such treatment was only natural for their mistresses. Having offered the sisters this formal farewell, Mikhail inclined his head slightly.

“Edenhurst has been a truly fascinating and beautiful place. I hope it remains unchanged until I return.”

“Of course. Edenhurst will always welcome you.”

At Elizabeth’s words Mikhail smiled gently and stepped into the carriage. A crack of the whip soon set the vehicle in motion. The servants kept their backs bent until Mikhail’s carriage vanished into the distance. Only when it had finally disappeared did they raise their heads.

“Hoo…”

As if by prior agreement, everyone exhaled a long breath—like people who had been held down by some invisible weight. Once Elizabeth and Catherine withdrew inside, the servants broke into chatter and gossip.

The heavy atmosphere that had hung over the estate before the visitors’ arrival was already quite transformed. Though the Countess’s orders played a part, not a single servant at Edenhurst wore black any longer, nor would they again. After all, Elizabeth’s wedding—a joyous occasion—now awaited them.

“I want to go to Sokolov. Mr. Yury said Mikhail’s mansion there is filled with gold. It’s packed with ornaments from Ils, and every week they bring in flowers shipped all the way from Flanders. Even in the dead of winter!”

In Novgord, flowers that could decorate a mansion in winter were the height of luxury. The country was so bitterly cold that no flowers grew in the season, and blooms wilted so quickly that they had to be constantly replaced. To send ships all the way to Flanders merely for decoration…

To eyes that had once believed Edenhurst the richest and most beautiful estate of all, the peeling paint on its walls suddenly stood out with painful clarity.

The servants spent the entire day buzzing about the wages at the Sokolov mansion that Yury had casually mentioned. And it was not only the staff whose spirits were high. When Mikhail’s visit and his meeting with Elizabeth proceeded more smoothly than she had dared hope, the Countess wrote letters to her acquaintances and relatives in the capital. At the same time she began ordering goods she had not been able to summon from the capital for some time.

Those who received the Countess’s letter made inquiries about who had visited Edenhurst, and the moment Mikhail Sokolov’s name emerged they wrote back without delay.

Even if he stood in opposition to the Dowager Empress, everyone knew Mikhail would prevail. And once he married Elizabeth he would become the Count of Lauderdale in full right—placing him squarely at the center of power.

Replies that had once been sparse even after multiple letters now arrived swiftly, and the proprietors of the capital’s dressmakers whom the Countess summoned arrived with several wagons piled high with the most expensive fashions of the year. For the first time in a long while, Edenhurst thronged with people.

In all the bustle, everyone forgot that Anastasia was still in the corner room on the third floor. Only after another week had passed did the Countess remember her existence and frown.

“I had quite forgotten that insolent thing.”

She had come dangerously close to embarrassment in front of Mikhail Sokolov. Fortunately she had coordinated her story with the head maid and every servant: the girl’s mind was unsound, that was why she wandered; she was little better than an idiot, and they could neither send her away nor stop looking after her here.

It’s fortunate Mikhail Sokolov made no further remark. After that he never really pressed the matter.

At first he had carried her about and even given her the use of his own rooms. That was why the Countess had been forced to pretend concern for Anastasia—even going so far as to create a false chamber for her on the third floor of the main house.

But afterward Mikhail never sought Anastasia out. He merely said he would have his physician subordinate prepare medicine and send it over. On the final day he had spoken of wishing to see her at dinner as a courtesy, yet when she failed to appear he said nothing at all.

He never even went to visit her.

The maid assigned to stay at Anastasia’s side reported that Mikhail had never once come looking. At that the Countess relaxed. After all, Anastasia feared people; when the other person was a man she was even more helpless. That ignorant creature followed only the words of God her father had taught her as a child. Had she ever been left alone in a room with a man she would have screamed in terror.

The Countess recalled the sight of Anastasia in the third-floor room—emaciated, unable even to meet another’s eyes. Yet even in that wretched state the Countess could tell: the girl’s looks had blossomed far beyond what they had been in childhood. The hollow eyes, the gaunt cheeks, and the grotesque clothing merely concealed it.

“Now that the guest has gone, it is time we sent that thing away.”

Because her son had cherished the girl, she had shoved her into a corner of the estate and occasionally used her as a memento of him. But the time had come to clear things away.

Ordinarily the Countess would have wept at the thought of Edward; yet the prospect of her daughter reclaiming their former glory kept her emotions from rising as they once had.

She considered how best to dispose of Anastasia cleanly. With appearances in mind, the proper course seemed to be to marry her off to some suitable man and then cast her out. She ran through the people who came and went from the nearby village. One of the village headman’s sons was said to be simple-minded; perhaps she could send the girl there.

Then, from Elizabeth—whom she had expected to agree—came an unexpected answer.

“Leave her be.”

“…Elizabeth?”

“With good fortune ahead of us, I have no wish to cast her out and risk stirring up noise. There is no great harm in settling the matter slowly, so for now just leave her. Besides, guests will be arriving for some time; if we turn her out now there are those who would make unpleasant talk of it.”

“…That is true enough.”

There would certainly be those who looked askance at this marriage. And Mikhail was still locked in conflict with the Dowager Empress, was he not?

At the thought of the Dowager Empress a smile rose to the Countess’s lips.

That damned woman.

The vulgar words, unfit for a noblewoman, died unspoken in her throat. The woman who had deliberately sent her son into the army. The woman who had held Edward hostage and slowly drained the Lauderdale fortune—everything from the beautiful seaside villa to the estates that yielded rich profits every year. And still she had held on to the end, until at last she killed Edward.

The Countess’s first reason for contacting Mikhail had been to save the cornered Lauderdale family, yet the desire to drive the Dowager Empress into a corner had been nearly as strong.

Mikhail Sokolov knows well the debt he owes us.

Now he would soar with the wings of Lauderdale. He must never forget who had fastened those wings upon him.

By the Countess’s order Anastasia’s room was moved once more. She had thought she would be returned to the basement as before, yet instead of the corner cell underground she was given the best chamber among those used by the kitchen servants.

Unlike her previous room, this one was a half-basement with a large window that looked out upon the ground and admitted light; it scarcely felt underground at all. The wallpaper was properly applied, and though modest, there was furniture.

Once again layered in many clothes, Anastasia began sorting the garments she had brought down from the third-floor room. Working slowly with the door closed, she checked whether anyone stood outside the window, then made certain the door was firmly locked before stretching her hand beneath the bed. Her fingertips met a soft box. A moment later she drew out a red box and cradled it against her chest.

Mikhail had told her to open the box after he left. So Anastasia had waited until the next day, after his departure, before lifting the lid. Inside lay a single pair of leather shoes—clearly new, never worn by anyone.

They were of the softest leather, so fine she scarcely dared try them on. Had she ever received anything new in her life? Not while she lived with her father, and not after she came to Edenhurst either. Even when the Count was alive, everything placed in Anastasia’s hands had been castoffs Elizabeth or Catherine could no longer use. The Count had said then,

“When the time comes, I will place everything in your hands.”

Anastasia knew well what that time meant; he had always whispered it to her. But the time he spoke of had passed, the Count was dead, and nothing rested in her hands. She thought it fortunate. She had never waited for that time, never desired anything at all.

Anastasia shook her head hard, driving the dead man’s image from her mind. Then she carefully gathered the shoes to her breast and stroked them. The tiny ornaments fastened to them swayed against her palm.

Clutching the shoes, Anastasia smiled radiantly. She was so happy. Over the past few weeks she had filled her eyes with the beautiful scenery of Edenhurst and savored a beautiful room. And now she had received proof that what she had seen was no dream—a gift. Sitting alone in the half-basement chamber, Anastasia wore the brightest smile of her life.

“I really like them…”

Emotion she could not fully swallow spilled from her lips.

Anastasia thought of the new master of Edenhurst who had given her all of this. She already respected and loved Mikhail, and she was ready to serve him anew. Like everyone else in the house, she hoped he would return soon.

But two weeks later, the atmosphere of the estate began to change.