1. Pastoral Symphony

Mov. 1

Zoe Avril of the Avril family was a child with an extraordinarily strong appetite for money.

Put kindly, she had a sharp grasp of the world and quick situational awareness; put unkindly, she was the possessor of a mercenary streak that showed itself from the very beginning.

Thirteen-year-old Zoe believed all of this came from the unfortunate event that had ruined the family five years prior.

From what she could remember, the household had been fairly well-off until she was around eight.

So all this misfortune had started when her father was swindled out of his entire business, and then, in his attempt to recover, he’d thrown himself into the front lines and then just like that……

It had all been unavoidable. So Zoe held no particular attachment to any of it.

Still, if she were honest, there were moments when she missed the old glory, the dozens of satin dresses suited to their station, the matching hats and gloves, the large house, the fine clothes, the days when money was never a worry.

Yet Zoe had never once let that slip past her lips. The reason was simple. It would make her mother sad.

Her family, who’d sold off everything of value and barely managed to hold onto the ancestral Avril estate, had a gap where her father used to be, but they were happy and close-knit in their way.

Zoe Avril still took pride in her father, even if she’d thought he’d made rather foolish choices, and she loved her mother and her older sister and her younger sister. That was the whole of it.

Instead, Zoe had to earn money. As much as possible, as quickly as possible.

This thirteen-year-old girl was extraordinarily pragmatic, as though she’d lived life five times over, and that was precisely why she’d grasped the importance of money so quickly.

Whatever anyone said, land deeds, cash, jewels, and gold were the best. Absolutely, without question.

No one had forced this on Zoe. Evelyn Avril, the young widow who was Zoe’s mother, did her utmost to ensure her daughter wasn’t shocked by the changed circumstances, to let her enjoy as calm and comfortable a life as possible, as close to before as could be managed.

Yet Zoe Avril, who had voluntarily put her own satin dresses up for consignment at a fine boutique and firmly insisted they not be sold for less than sixty barts, continued to diligently seek out ‘work’ she could do.

Teaching spelling to the dim-witted child next door, pulling weeds, reading aloud to old Mrs. Algelda, running grocery errands for Mrs. Livingston…… and so on.

Armed with an uncommon mercenary streak and a pride that touched the sky, Zoe Avril always received ‘fair compensation’ for her own brand of ‘hard labor.’ Money handed over for nothing was strictly refused.

All of this was possible because thirteen-year-old Zoe knew how to be reasonably pretty, sharp, and agreeable when it suited her.

In any case, Zoe divided the money she earned into exactly three equal portions according to purpose.

One third she tucked away under her dusty bed for the future; one third she occasionally spent on borrowing books she wanted to read; and the remaining third she slipped quietly into her mother’s household account book.

Her mother, who of course couldn’t have failed to notice, mostly pretended not to and put it back under Zoe’s bed, or used it to help families in greater need.

Then occasionally, very occasionally, when little Violetta, Zoe’s youngest sister, fell ill or the household was short, her mother would hold back tears and draw out a little of that money at a time.

That day too, snow had been falling all morning as though the sky had a hole punched through it. Assuming her memory was right, anyway.

The white land, North Lubelique in Taren, was a region where days of heavy snowfall overwhelmingly outnumbered days without snow throughout the winter.

This damned weather!

Lately, perhaps because of the weather, good-paying work had been scarce, and Zoe had no steady income. That had kept her mood rather sour for the past few days.

“Oh? It stopped?”

No wonder her eyes had snapped open.

Sometime in the late morning, too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, Zoe woke from an unprecedented lie-in.

Sleeping in, one of the three cardinal virtues of the idle, was fundamentally at odds with Zoe’s lifelong dream of becoming a self-made wealthy person, but sometimes life just went that way.

Satisfied for now that the heavy snowfall had stopped, Zoe thumped downstairs in her nightgown. Belated industry.

“Sleeping in for once. You looked so sound asleep I didn’t wake you. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, of course. Did you sleep well too, Mother?”

Evelyn Avril smiled at her daughter’s crisp morning greeting.

The snow that had been pouring down all week had finally stopped, and it was now possible to go out. Her large, round green eyes clearly held some kind of expectation.

Leaning close, as though sharing a secret, Mrs. Avril lowered herself and whispered into Zoe’s ear.

“……Actually, I have some news you’ll like.”

“Work? Whose household?”

“Not far. Right next door, the Eisenhaum residence.”

The face that had been sullen for days lit up as though it had never been otherwise. Zoe nodded vigorously, ears perking up at the ticklish whisper.

Old Mr. Eisenhaum, a longtime friend of her late maternal grandfather. The owner of a shipping company that ranked among the top ten in Taren.

The white land, with its beautiful snowy scenery, was home to quite a few wealthy gentry-class magnates who, while not quite on the level of Mr. Eisenhaum, still wielded considerable money. Back when her father was alive and before the business had been lost, around five years ago, the Avril family had counted among their number.

Mr. Eisenhaum. That kind and generous old gentleman, who had reportedly possessed an almost unbelievably fiery temper in his youth, had been staying alone at the Eisenhaum family’s hereditary winter villa for recuperation after his health had declined sharply three years ago.

But…… had something happened? As far as Zoe could recall, this was the first time she’d been asked to do anything for Mr. Eisenhaum. Guessing was naturally out of the question, and she even had a feeling it wouldn’t be simple, so she tilted her head.

“Whatever could Mr. Eisenhaum possibly need?”

The Eisenhaum estate had a butler, a housekeeper, a cook, maids, and a great many servants in residence, enough to rival any noble household in the capital. With all that, there couldn’t possibly be anything for her to do.

To put it more objectively, with a surplus of verified professional staff, there was no need to enlist the hands of a thirteen-year-old girl.

Her mother leaned a little closer and whispered more quietly.

“About a week ago, Mr. Eisenhaum brought his grandson home from his studies in the Southern Empire.”

Mrs. Avril bit her lip anxiously, seeming to search for how to explain.

Zoe understood it as ‘adult matters,’ the kind that were awkward to explain to a thirteen-year-old.

Studies was a generous word for it; he’d simply grown up there. She already had a rough idea, so there was no need to hear a lengthy explanation.

“You mean the carriage that arrived a little while ago? I heard about it from Sister Meryl and Mrs. Livingston. They said he’s a Southern Empire half-blood.”

“I’m glad you already knew.”

Having cleared the immediate awkwardness, Mrs. Avril smiled and clapped her hands together once, softly. Her voice turned intimate again.

“That child has a rather sad situation. He lost both parents in a fire. Only fourteen years old. He was the only one who survived. So…… Mr. Eisenhaum brought his grandson home to make him his heir. His only son left for the Southern Empire and never came back, and around the time you were born he lost his daughter too.”

She knew there was more to the story of that ‘son’ that had been left out, but Zoe chose not to bring it up. Her green eyes went wide. It meant she was in a hurry to hear what came next.

“……So?”

“Your ages are close, and adjusting to a new environment at your age isn’t easy, is it? Compared to the imperial capital, this place is quite rural…… he must be very lonely. Mr. Eisenhaum made a special request of you specifically. He’d like you to spend some time with the boy for a while.”

“……”

“Why not go over now? I’ll pack some bread and some pickled limes for you to bring along.”

“……Pardon?”

“Mr. Eisenhaum said he’d pay you generously, a daily wage, or rather pocket money…… Money isn’t everything, but…… wouldn’t it be nice if you two became friends? I’m sure you could be good friends.”

“……”

“Off you go.”

Her mother smiled, smoothed her daughter’s tangled hair with her hands, and straightened the creases in her rumpled muslin dress. A basket packed as though they were heading out for a picnic was thrown in for good measure. Zoe accepted all of it without protest. There was no particular reason to refuse. It’s not exactly what I’d choose, but it’s still work, isn’t it?

Above all, Mr. Eisenhaum’s house had a great many books. The elegant mahogany bookshelves looked as though they might reach the ceiling, and the volumes packed inside gave off a cozy, familiar smell. Visiting Mr. Eisenhaum’s house meant she could ask permission and borrow those books to her heart’s content. Right, her mind was made up.

“I’ll be off, then.”

“……Zoe!”

And so Zoe, half-willing and half-pushed, was just stepping out the door of Avril estate when her mother grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back, muttering ‘what was I thinking’ as though she’d forgotten something. Zoe tilted her head.

“I nearly left out something important. Zoe, you understand, but…… you must never bring up the boy’s late mother. Avoid his father’s story as much as possible too. Unless he brings it up himself, it’s better not to touch on that subject. Understood?”

What a thing to make a fuss about.

“You mean Mr. Eisenhaum’s son? The one who ran off in the middle of the night, abandoning his father and his business for a Southern Empire musician he’d fallen for.”

Zoe enunciated the words ‘ran off in the middle of the night’ with deliberate emphasis, and Mrs. Avril exhaled a sigh of resignation. Quite the refined choice of vocabulary.

“What I mean is, you need to be careful. Because that story……”

“You’re trying to say that bringing up someone who’s passed away is rude, that Mr. Eisenhaum regards the matter as a family disgrace, and above all, it could wound the boy. It could even be a serious insult.”

“How clever. Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted to say.”

Mrs. Avril’s thirteen-year-old daughter occasionally stopped adults mid-sentence with her uniquely rapid situational judgment.

Well, no matter. It was actually a relief. No need to worry. Mrs. Avril quietly pressed a hand to her chest.

“Don’t worry. I’m not that stupid.”

The pretty face wore confidence and impatience in equal measure. She was the one going to visit, yet she carried herself as though she were the one doing the caretaking.

“Then I’ll really be off.”

Bang, the door of the estate closed.

***