Episode 123
“Keep your wits about you. The people outside are far harsher than this.”
When she was only eight years old, Dilton Manor, which she entered holding Theodore’s hand, had seemed as grand as a palace. The high walls, bearing the traces of long years, and the garden within—how could they compare to the backyard of the fairly wealthy business couple’s home?
The mansion was filled only with antique furniture as costly as its age, and every person there carried themselves with impeccable grace. Back then, young Sasha had believed that “wealth” was the same as “splendor.” The businessman’s wife filled her wardrobe only with fashionable dresses, and every month she bought new necklaces and earrings. And what of the gentlemen and ladies who frequented Robin’s dress shop? They, too, would order only expensive clothes in the latest style.
The people of Dilton Manor taught Sasha that wealth did not necessarily lead to ostentation. They showed Sasha a dignity befitting that place. Whether master or servant, every person there had some sort of formality ingrained in their very bones.
Mrs. Maugham. The governess Lady Rosaline had hired was a woman who insisted on wearing only dark dresses buttoned up to the neck, even in the height of summer. She made young Sasha learn the conduct befitting her new station. Young Sasha found it a little confusing. Only later did she realize that what overflowing money still could not buy was “nobility.”
Mrs. Maugham was a typical noblewoman, and even among noblewomen, she belonged to the particularly old-fashioned sort. There was no better person to teach aristocratic dignity to a child as wild as a little savage. Whenever Sasha was about to forget, Mrs. Maugham would take her hand, trap it between her knees, and admonish her as though threatening her.
“What do you think they will do if you behave vulgarly? Do you think they will point fingers at you? Oh. No, my dear. People will never inform you in so kind a manner. They will simply slander you quietly behind your back. Worse still, they will look down on you.”
She grips young Sasha’s shoulders tightly.
“From now on, every little thing said about you will affect the lady who took you in. If you truly wish to repay her kindness, then obey me quietly.”
Sasha looks at the audience. It is a bizarre sight. Every face is chillingly familiar. They all have Mrs. Maugham’s face.
Mrs. Maugham wearing a bowler hat and holding a cigarette, Mrs. Maugham in a gaudy summer dress that does not suit her. Even in the illusion Sasha has created, every one of their faces remains stiff and expressionless.
Sasha now knew that it was not simply a stern face. It was contempt. They had spent years rubbing shoulders, and yet, while teaching Sasha at the closest distance, Mrs. Maugham had despised her all along. The reason was Sasha’s lowly birth.
No, to be precise, it was because something that ought to have remained at the very bottom dared to set foot on the same floor as them. What would be the right word for it? That fundamental and blatant loathing. The loathing of noble people looking down on an inferior thing that dared to cross class lines. The contempt born of that sense of authority.
“Good day, ladies and gentlemen. I am Sasha Grayson.”
Facing the audience, who still wore Mrs. Maugham’s face, Sasha greeted them politely with an expression that had grown quite composed. When she brazenly used the name Sasha, a mustached man in the front openly snorted.
“What I have brought today is my grandmother’s keepsake, a violin. Forty years ago, it was personally crafted by master artisan Nian McMurrow and kept with great care, until my grandmother received it as a gift for her thirty-fifth birthday.”
A servant rolled in a small wheeled platform with a clatter. Ignoring the blatant disdain of the man and several others, Sasha recited the history of the violin placed atop the stand.
“The violin was made of maple and spruce. My grandmother once told me that its middle register was especially smooth, and that in its lower notes, it resonated deeply, like a human voice. As it was an object she cherished dearly, I dare to hope that it will go to someone who understands its true worth.”
After finishing her brief explanation, Sasha looked at the people again. Though they had all worn Mrs. Maugham’s face before, they now bore their own faces, but their expressions were still no different from Mrs. Maugham’s.
Looking at them as they all watched her with awkward faces, Sasha turned over the fact that the people before her were at least among the more moderate sort. Even such people could not hide their discomfort toward Sasha.
The auctioneer, who had been gauging the mood amid the strange silence, had just opened his mouth and said, “Then, the bidding…” when Sasha raised a hand toward him.
“First, before the auction begins.”
Sasha spoke slowly.
“I would like to tell you a little more about the violin’s history. I imagine none of you are curious, but it is an object that holds some meaning for me as well. …As you all know, my grandmother loved music. Whether she was happy or sad, she always kept music close, and whenever she was going through something especially difficult, she would call a performer and have them play this violin.”
Sasha paused for a moment and took a deep breath.
“And so my grandmother wished for me to become skilled at playing this violin, and even hired a separate teacher for me. Unfortunately, however, I had so little talent for the violin that calling me terrible would not be enough. This violin was the first thing that taught me the limits of education. It is an object that holds deep meaning, in its own way, both for me and for my grandmother. …Even so, whenever she was struggling, I wanted to comfort her. Though it was not the sound of a real violin, I would follow the melody and play it for her on the piano instead. I wanted to be a comfort to her, even like that.”
It was not a lie. In truth, young Sasha had worked tirelessly to gain Lady Rosaline’s favor until she finally gave up.
Strictly speaking, it was a shameful memory. It was an object that brought back memories she wanted to forget.
“If you ask whether my grandmother was satisfied with even my piano playing, well. I do not know. Perhaps only she, now departed, would know. Still, she never said she did not want to hear it, nor did she send me away halfway through. …Later, I remember her calling me first and saying, ‘Play that dreadful piece again.’ And once, my grandmother called for me and looked at me for a long while without saying a word. She was cruelly taciturn to the end, but if I may dare to guess… perhaps she thought it admirable. Though it was not a true violin performance, perhaps she found the sincerity behind it admirable.”
Sasha did not want to speak of her memories with Lady Rosaline in this way. To her, the lady had truly been a person so indifferent and cold as to seem almost cruel, and so she never wanted to bring out sentimental anecdotes like this, ones that made her younger self seem foolishly buoyant.
Sasha tried to press down the strange emotion churning inside her. Within, she tried to maintain her composure, while outwardly she tried to look as though she were deeply immersed in sentiment.
Think about what you need right now.
“I apologize for the long story. The reason I have been forced to bring up even such matters is… because of certain rumors that have been circulating about me lately, as you know.”
I need their sympathy.
“…With the story I have just told, I believe you must have come to understand the truth of those rumors without my needing to explain further. I did not prolong this tale in order to plead my own innocence. I simply did not want the name of the lady who took me in to be tarnished because of me.”
Sasha looked at Baron Harold and his wife.
“And I wished to express my gratitude to the two of you, who called me here and allowed me to stand in this place regardless of those rumors. Also, I did this in the hope that, through this honest account, you might recognize my sincere intent.”
It was an age in which one could buy even status with money. Yet even so, there was something that could never be bought with money, and that was innate nobility. To have been born an aristocrat was their pride. It was a value that money could never presume to reach.
Even those who served them were invariably required to possess dignity and formality befitting their masters’ level. But that was not all they had. The reason they could maintain that lofty bearing while still receiving respect from those beneath them was because—
“I apologize for taking up your precious time.”
—sympathy and compassion, the willingness to pity those beneath them, were also forced upon them.
It was a kind of virtue. It did not matter if one lacked it, but those praised even among the nobility all regarded it as a proper merit.
It was the reason Sasha had been able to escape Mrs. Maugham’s whipping for the first time. When Sasha not only acknowledged her own lowly birth, but also wept as she said that daring to reach the level of those high above was too burdensome and painful, Mrs. Maugham’s switch had stopped.
Her face had remained stern, but Mrs. Maugham had comforted Sasha with gestures that were far gentler than before. For the first time, she had pitied Sasha.
Disgustingly.
Her repulsion was brief, and Sasha accepted Mrs. Maugham’s pity and the small consideration that came with it without resistance. To Sasha, it was entirely one of her means of survival.
“Originally, I…”
From afar, someone cut Sasha off in a rather high voice, saying, “That’s enough!”
Then someone else said, “Lift your head. It’s all right.”
“I would not have been able to appear at a gathering like this. Thank you for your encouragement.”
As someone had said, Sasha lifted her head and looked back at the audience.
It was the first moment she genuinely wanted to thank Mrs. Maugham. She wanted to tell her she was grateful for teaching her the fundamental reason she was despised, and for letting her discover a way through it as well.
“Thank you for listening to me.”
She could not see each person’s face one by one as she had before. Her vision had become completely blurred by the tears that had welled up before she knew it.
Tears again.
But she did not feel as miserable and shattered as she had when she cried in front of Isaac. She simply felt empty inside.
It was a terribly unfamiliar and complicated feeling.
Sasha roughly wiped her tears away with her fingers, then stepped down from the platform.
“…We will begin bidding for the violin. The starting price is five hundred ond.”
Someone shouted in a ringing voice, “Eight hundred!”
Regardless, Sasha descended into the darkness, wiping away the rest of her tears with a cold, hardened face.