1.

Alisa woke to fierce sunlight pressing through her eyelids. Mornings in the attic, with no curtains to speak of, began at six.

She climbed out of bed (the middle of the mattress had long since sunk in) and stretched. Then, first thing, she went to the calendar and drew an X.

Three years had already passed since her mother disappeared. Today was the day Alisa turned thirteen.

She rolled her stiff back this way and that, then looked around for her hair ribbon. She pulled her messy silver hair, which fell to her waist, into a tight bundle at the back of her head, and a long stretch of neck appeared. She’d been growing fast lately that her sleeves had crept up well above her wrists.

She looked into the mirror and smoothed down the flyaways. Once she’d wrestled her stubborn hair into submission, she whispered:

“Happy birthday, Alisa Ludendorff.”

A birthday present — well, she’d finish her chores quickly and go see the gentleman.

“……Alisa! Still not down yet. Stop being lazy and get down here this instant!”

Yikes. Alisa tossed the mirror into a crate and scrambled up. She was in such a rush that she banged her head on the way out, rubbing the sore spot as she climbed down the ladder. Another shout came from below before she’d even reached the bottom.

“Alisa!”

“Yes, yes! I’m coming!”

She jumped from the last rung and ran to the kitchen.

Apron tied on, Alisa pulled out the bread dough she’d made the night before, loaded it into the oven, and peeled the potatoes. By the time the soup — thick with soft, mashed potato — was ready, she opened the oven. The smell of freshly baked baguette filled the kitchen.

After that, she helped her great-aunt to the table. In the beginning, just getting the old woman settled into her wheelchair had taken the better part of half an hour. Now it took less than five minutes. One of Alisa’s prouder achievements.

“Here’s your baguette and potato soup, Grandmother. There’s scrambled eggs too.”

Her great-aunt, bib fastened, picked up a fork with a vacant look. Then, all at once, her eyes snapped wide open and she began to talk.

“……What a fine day. A perfect day to receive Her Majesty the Queen. Is everything prepared? Have the silver pieces been polished in advance?”

“Yes, of course. I polished them with a dry cloth until they shone.”

“Good girl. Silver must be polished to a shine at least once a week. Just imagine — Her Majesty arrives for the tea party, and the silver spoon she uses to stir in her sugar doesn’t reflect her face! A disaster. An absolute disaster.”

“Dreadful. The family’s honor would be in ruins.”

“Quite right, quite right. ……But who are you? Where is my maid, Marie?”

“Marie is unwell and has taken a day off. I’ll help you with your meal today.”

Alisa answered clearly and wiped the sauce from the corner of the old woman’s mouth with a handkerchief.

For all her efforts, the old woman soon began to look around with a frightened expression. The composed mistress of a household, fork held with perfect poise, vanished in an instant, leaving only an old woman lost in the flood of her own memories.

“Ugh…… wh, where am I? This doesn’t look like my house……”

“Yes, you came here on holiday, from Lander to Montrau.”

“……Montrau? Me?”

“Yes. Shall we take a walk along the beach after you finish eating? Get some fresh air and enjoy the view.”

“Oh, yes. The beach……”

The old woman murmured in confusion, then fell quiet. By the time she finished her meal, she had entirely forgotten what they’d spoken about and begun to nod off at the table.

“Good heavens, look at her falling asleep at the table again. Mary, Mary! Come and move this old woman upstairs!”

Hannah burst through the door, shouting. Mary, who had been stirring soup in the kitchen, came running at the call. With her considerable build, Mary scooped the old woman up in both arms and disappeared toward the stairs.

“What are you staring at? Clear the table, quickly! Look at the mess she’s made, dribbling food everywhere. Disgusting.”

Alisa let Hannah’s scolding wash over her and wiped up the food on the table with a napkin. While she tidied, Hannah stood watching with a hum on her lips, not lifting a finger.

“Look at her, not a scrap of strength. Takes after her mother, I suppose. Skinny little thing……”

“Oh…… well…… I suppose so.”

Mary watched Alisa stagger under the weight of the heavy dishes and muttered slowly. Alisa pretended not to hear a word and kept ferrying the plates to the kitchen.

After about three years of hearing the same things, you got used to them, whatever they were.

Alisa’s life had changed like this after her father, following her missing mother, had fallen ill and quietly passed away. He’d left behind some assets, but once the various debts were settled, all that remained for Alisa was this house.

Even this single house hadn’t been left to her whole.

Her uncle, Robenson Ludendorff, had come flying in the moment he heard of his elder brother’s death and seized the estate. Alisa had the right of inheritance, of course, but there were many ways to take property from a girl who hadn’t yet come of age.

The legal age of inheritance was eighteen.

Claim guardianship of the house in exchange for keeping her out of an orphanage until then, and a powerless child had no chance of winning.

Having taken the house, he might at least have looked after her properly, but Robenson handed Alisa off to her senile great-aunt. In practice, it was no different from lumping two problems together and tossing them into the hands of a pair of maids.

From that day on, Alisa became a drudge for Hannah and Mary, the women who looked after her great-aunt.

She rose like a diligent bird, prepared meals, cleaned the house, and collapsed in the attic at the end of it all. Some days she cried because she missed her parents. Other days she cried because she was sick. For a child who had been raised as a cherished only daughter, adjusting to that kind of treatment took enough tears to fill the Montrau River.

But when one door closes, another opens. Alisa had found a new source of comfort.

“Once you’ve oiled the whole floor, go out and buy some onions. Make sure you bring back the right change.”

“Yes!”

Alisa picked up the coin purse Hannah had tossed onto the floor and tucked it away. She scrubbed the floorboards with her ears perked.

Thud, thud, thud. Click. The moment both maids went into their room, Alisa sprang to her feet. She left the floorboards — already polished to a mirror shine — exactly as they were and flung off her apron.

‘Let’s go!’

If she wanted to see the gentleman and still make it to the market before lunch, she had to leave right now.

Alisa slipped out of the house with nothing but a basket over her arm.

Two bridges span the Montrau River as it flows to the sea. The stone footbridge among them was flooded every rainy season without fail, only to resurface again when the waters receded.

The footbridge reopening for use was a sign that spring was on its way.

Alisa spotted the bridge which was submerged until not long ago now clear of water, and stepped onto it with care. She had to watch her footing until the slippery moss dried out and died in the sun.

She crossed the bridge, passed through the town center, and climbed the hill visible in the distance. The hill where the coastal cliffs met the land was the most scenic spot in Montrau. It was also a place no one ever visited for a picnic.

Because this was where the hanging tree stood.

“Sir!”

Alisa waved toward the shadow stretching beneath a large yew tree. The man leaning against the trunk turned his head in her direction.

If the idea of a gentleman had been shaped into a person, perhaps it would look something like this. The man wore a black silk top hat and a perfectly fitted morning coat. The waistcoat and cravat visible beneath were grey, and they paired beautifully with the pearl cravat pin threaded through them.

“You’re here.”

He closed the book resting on his knee and rose to his feet. She had grown quite a bit in three years, and yet the man in the top hat was still two heads taller.

“Keep staring and you’ll wear my face out.”

“……You can’t even be seen properly, so what’s there to wear out.”

Alisa grumbled and gave the ground a pointless kick.

It was now three years since she’d known him.

She still didn’t know this kind gentleman’s face.

“Hmmmm.”

She studied him quietly.

His features were hidden beneath the deep shadow cast by his hat. The only things visible were a sharp jawline and a faint smile — not nearly enough to guess his age.

He could have been a boy in his teens. He could have been a middle-aged man nearing forty.

And he was so secretive that even after more than three years of living here, almost no one seemed to know anything about him.