Inventing Wonders

Chapter 31: The Beaded Handkerchief

Some things, no matter how you look at them, make no sense. For example, the pistol lying under an open fan seemed pointless, as did the front hooks on the corset hanging on the screen. The crooked letters forming nonsensical words like "call me, call me" also seemed meaningless. All these things held significance only for one person.

He examined the stacks of books and unsent letters, the dresses spilling out of the wardrobe like a colorful fan. The soul had left these walls, but the faint echoes of the former owner still lingered in the dried flowers and the glass trinkets scattering light in intricate patterns.

Nikolai approached the window. On the windowsill lay a black, beaded handkerchief. Red roses—a strange pattern, a strange item. The Emperor hesitated to pick up the fabric. Perhaps this handkerchief, left there so long ago, abandoned by her that evening, would remain frozen in time and preserve the memory of her touch. Nikolai Pavlovich dared only to touch the cold beads with his fingertips. Some things, no matter how you look at them, make no sense.

"It's strange they let you in."

A dark figure appeared in the doorway. His voice no longer kind, no longer caring.

"Does that surprise you?"

"Not at all, it only saddens me."

"I heard you were in Spain," Nikolai said, seemingly ignoring the last remark.

"Italy," Mark corrected indifferently.

"I heard you got married?"

"Enough, Nikolai Pavlovich, what's the point of all this? You are not welcome in this house."

The engineer, momentarily irritated, grabbed the handkerchief and turned around, fingering the beads scattered along the edge like a rosary. Mark leaned casually against the doorframe.

"For God's sake! You are a diplomat," Nikolai chided.

Bulgari was a diplomat by nature, and even after leaving his post, he shrugged slightly and remained silent: he was a diplomat.

"Do you blame me?"

Nikolai continued, pacing the bedroom he had never been in before. Everything he knew about the house's occupant, he knew from the drawing room. This place, dark and cold, still sweetly preserved her scent.

"And you consider yourself blameless?" Mark raised an eyebrow and stepped into the room.

"Stop it," the engineer frowned. "Larisa Konstantinovna did what she did herself; it's no one's fault. And you, Count, are not to blame either."

"Repeat that in confession, and maybe one day you'll believe it."

"She was a ruthless schemer who manipulated everyone. She got involved in a scheme too big for her and paid the price. A selfish girl who nearly ruined you too. A spoiled child who was never disciplined, and so she grew up spoiled!"

Nikolai paused, shocked by his own emotion.

"A selfish girl..." Mark repeated and, stepping closer to Nikolai, lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. "You're getting it all wrong. Lara was a schemer and an adventurer, fearless and stubborn. Lara was a spoiled, self-satisfied child. Lara was. She was, but now she's not, and you'd better tell the priest that it's not our fault."

***

"Larisa Konstantinovna! Are you still home?" Kirillushka burst into the hall.

"Why are you here?"

Lara froze on the stairs, already dressed in her coat with a scarf draped over her neatly arranged hair. She still believed that nothing would happen today. She had been by Kondrasha's side yesterday, and he had promised that nothing would happen. Nothing! But her heart felt that this boy wasn't here for no reason.