Realization
The first to notice that something was amiss was Emma, the cook.
“What do you mean it’s empty?”
When the young maid reported there were no potatoes left, Emma snapped that she was talking nonsense. But the girl insisted it was true and urged her to come see for herself, so Emma followed her to the pantry—and found only a handful of potatoes remaining in the sacks. It wasn’t just the potatoes. Flour, ham, butter, milk—almost nothing was left. Exactly as it had been last winter.
That can’t be right.
When she demanded an explanation, she learned that the village grocer’s cart, which usually came three times a week, had not appeared once all week. Emma scolded the younger servants for failing to report it sooner, then scraped together whatever ingredients remained and hurriedly prepared the family’s meal.
Afterward she made do for the staff as well, but of course there was nowhere near enough.
“What is this? One bowl of soup and you expect us to work? You think garden work is a joke?”
“Is this bread from yesterday? It’s hard and tough.”
The grumbling filled Emma’s face with irritation. She shoved the ladle into another maid’s hand and stomped upstairs, fuming.
“That grocer is going to get a proper thrashing.”
She needed to tell the butler at once, have him contact the village shop and restock the empty pantry. While she was searching for him, she heard the clatter of hooves and the familiar figure of the very man she meant to summon dismounted.
“You!”
Emma strode up roughly, jabbing a finger at him as she shouted.
“Have you lost your mind? Not a single delivery all week? If Her Ladyship and the young ladies’ meals suffer because of you, will you take responsibility?”
She fully expected the merchant to bow his head, confess his mortal sin, and beg for one more chance. Instead he glanced at her once and tried to walk straight into the house.
“What’s wrong with this man? Can’t you hear me? Get back to the village this instant and bring the goods!”
“Quiet. I didn’t come to see you. The butler—no. Where is that Yury fellow?”
“Yury? Ah, Lord Mikhail’s man. Why are you looking for him?”
“Why else? He paid on the nail every week, then two weeks ago the money simply stopped. I’m not bringing another scrap of food until I get those two weeks’ payment. Hand it over now. Yury! Yury! Where are you?”
“Here now, what insolence is this! Keep your voice down!”
Startled by the racket, the butler came running and told the man that Yury had returned to Sokolov and was not at the estate. The merchant only raised his voice higher, declaring he didn’t care and demanding his money at once. Only after the butler paid him out of his own pocket did the shouting stop. Then the man announced that from now on he would take payment in advance.
Neither the butler nor Emma could understand the merchant’s behavior. Who did he think he was, acting so vulgar? To bellow and throw a tantrum like a street thug at Edenhurst simply because he had gone two weeks without payment. Large estates usually settled accounts monthly; sometimes several months were paid at once.
“Who do you think will keep dealing with you after this? Do you imagine you can slight the Lauderdale family and still do business?”
Emma called after the grocer as he swung into the saddle. He jerked the reins and gave a snort of laughter.
“I heard the house is on the brink of ruin, yet you still put on airs. Lucky for me I found out early. The ones coming after me may not be so fortunate collecting what’s owed.”
With another snort he rode off. Emma coughed in the dust his horse kicked up and brushed off her skirts.
“That insolent whelp! How dare he!”
Years earlier the Countess had transferred ownership of the land, so the village was no longer part of the Edenhurst estate. Even so, these people had paid taxes to the Lauderdales for decades. To behave like this now…
“Where did he pick up that outdated rumor and come swaggering with it!”
There had been a dangerous stretch last winter, but that was over. To dredge up old gossip now and show his true, base colors—Emma glared after the vanishing merchant, then turned to the butler.
“Butler, please change suppliers. Even if it means a longer journey, we should ask the neighboring village.”
“I’ll see to it. Still, what a dreadful scene… Fortunate that Her Ladyship was out in the garden and didn’t hear.”
The butler also stared down the road the merchant had taken. Then he remembered the personal funds he had just paid out.
Come to think of it, there’s been no word from Yury either.
He had left for Sokolov with Mikhail, promising to return soon, yet there had been no contact at all. And more than that…
Lately there haven’t even been replies to the young ladies’ letters.
After Mikhail’s departure the Countess, Elizabeth, and Catherine had each written to him. The first letters brought scented replies on fine stationery and gifts for all three. After that—nothing.
He must be very busy.
According to the Countess, Mikhail and Elizabeth’s marriage was now only a matter of setting the date and place.
The butler recalled what Yury had whispered to him the night before they left: that the butler at the Sokolov mansion was a thoroughly inadequate fellow, and that he would be glad if this one would come to Sokolov instead. From the way the house was run, Mikhail was clearly very pleased with him.
Then Yury had named a salary more than five times the present one. When the butler looked startled, Yury had laughed and said that if such a sum surprised him he would never survive life in Sokolov. The remark had not offended; it was, after all, the future he was about to seize.
Once that day comes…
If he only waited a little longer, Mikhail and Yury would return. Then the trifling sum paid to the merchant would be repaid at once, and his loyal service would be recognized, perhaps even speeding his transfer to Sokolov. From there he might rise to become butler of an even greater noble house…
Smiling at the pleasant vision, the butler turned away. First he had to contact a grocer in another village.
“Look at this! Valentina is absolutely green with envy!”
Catherine sprawled on her bed, laughing as she read her friend’s letter. The head maid beside her murmured that a young lady ought to behave with more dignity, but the words never reached Catherine’s ears.
These days every day was a delight. After Mikhail’s visit her mother had begun inviting people from the capital again, just as she used to. Thanks to that, Catherine had finally been able to order proper clothes for the first time in years.
Twenty outfits for each season, no less!
Even when her father was alive she had never ordered so many. At first her mother had said three of each would do. Catherine had watched carefully, then spoken up.
“Once we go to Sokolov there will be so many trips to the capital. Only three? We’ll be calling on friends constantly, I’ll be making my formal debut, and there will be tea parties and balls. Three dresses would be hopelessly short. What will people say if I wear the same gown twice?”
The Countess considered a moment, then nodded.
“You have a point. Ordering again after we reach Sokolov would take time, and there are so many places we must visit at once. We might as well have everything made now.”
She agreed cheerfully to Catherine’s request and ordered still more evening gowns for Elizabeth.
In the old days the first thought would have been the cost, but that no longer mattered. Listening to Mikhail, the Countess had realized his fortune far exceeded anything she had imagined—greater even than the imperial household’s. Since he would soon marry Elizabeth and take responsibility for the entire Lauderdale finances, it was far more comfortable to order freely now than to feel constrained after the wedding.
The dressmaker was delighted. As she fitted samples and took measurements she shared the latest capital gossip, never forgetting the flattering phrases for the Countess and her daughters.
“I hear excellent conversations are under way with Mr. Mikhail Sokolov. Please do come to me again for the wedding clothes. And truly, congratulations. So many ladies wanted him, yet they all did the chasing; he never reached out first to anyone. Of course, for Lady Elizabeth it was only natural. She was crowned Rose Queen at her debut, was she not?”
The madame’s sweet talk went on and on, but neither the Countess nor Elizabeth made any move to stop her.
Once the orders were finished the three women answered the letters that had poured in from relatives and friends in the capital. Word had clearly spread; even relatives who never wrote and acquaintances long out of touch had sent messages. Catherine wrote to the friend who used to send her pitying notes that she had received mountains of goods from Ilenka courtesy of Mikhail Sokolov. By now, she decided, there was no harm in letting people know about her sister and Mikhail.
Just as she expected, letters flooded back. Some even asked whether they might visit Edenhurst at once.
Of course I refused politely.
Catherine thought of the list of high-ranking noble houses she had seen in the magazines. It would be better to cultivate those circles now. Some might still sneer at Mikhail’s origins, but soon he would be a count, and she herself would be the daughter of the wealthiest noble house in the empire.
She rose from the bed, went to her desk, and took out the capital ladies’ magazine she had been hiding from her mother. It listed every newly fashionable shop, person, and item in careful detail.
Catherine drew out a sheet of paper and began a letter to Mikhail. When she and her sister came up to town she wanted to visit these places; would he kindly make the reservations in advance? Of course he would. He would never refuse a request from the sister of the woman who was to be his wife.
The last to notice the change was Anastasia. That was only natural: her meals were now brought to her room twice a day by a maid, so she ate alone inside. It was pleasant to sit in a sunlit room and eat without anyone’s eyes on her, yet it meant she no longer overheard the servants’ talk.
The one remaining channel through which she had learned of the outside world had vanished, but Anastasia did not mind.
After setting the empty dishes on the cart outside her door, she left the house still wrapped in many layers of clothing. Perhaps because the Countess had moved her to a different room, the servants still ignored her yet no longer looked at her with open contempt. So Anastasia was able to walk the path in the sunlight all the way to the woods.
She entered the forest and reached her sanctuary—the ruined chapel. At once she looked beneath the stone bench. The safest, most comfortable spot in the collapsed chapel was covered with straw, fallen leaves, and rags that had once been clothes: the things she used as a bed whenever she stayed here.
She pushed them aside and the beautiful red box was still there. Anastasia sat on the bench and stroked the lid.
I hope he comes back soon.
He had said he would return. So she must wait.
Anastasia knelt in the center of the chapel and began to pray. Ever since her heart had grown calmer she had been recalling the old words and offering proper prayers—long ones that began with the liturgy, confessed her sins, sang hymns, and pleaded again and again for what she most desired.
The prayers she had once memorized while her father beat her were still etched in her mind. A smile never left Anastasia’s lips as she prayed.
Lord, please protect Lord Mikhail. And please let him come back soon.
The prayer continued until the sun set.
When she realized how late it had grown, Anastasia hid the box beneath the clothes again and returned to the house. If she went to her room the maid would bring her supper. But as she drew near the mansion she heard a loud, angry voice.
“Pay back the money!”