∫ i'm of the glamorous ladies at whose beckoning history shook

[eyvdowtyah]

In some ways, Christmas with the Beauchamps is much easier than the days they spent in France with the Malfoys; extended family fills the townhouse, spilling out into others and there is an ever-fluctuating sea of laughing, friendly faces whose names she has mostly mastered. They are loud and glorious, and she drifts without particular purpose

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[nameofnote]

Sergei has managed to get his hands on a PINpoint. (He figures if Avdotya has one, he should too.) So this time it's very purposeful when he turns up in Wales, with a bag slung over one shoulder. He and Lika had parted a few hours before; she was spending New Years' with some school friends in New York, and he told her to have fun and be careful (possibly in that order) before leaving her.

Christmas hadn't been easy, but it had gone well enough. His Mother and Lika were still rocky, but they'd both tried to put it aside for the holiday. Frederick still tried too hard, but it was well-meant. And having something else to look forward to certainly helped him, it must be said.

He approaches the manor optimistically, though with caution. As a Malfoy, he doesn't want to go sneaking up on it.

[eyvdowtyah]

A wise choice by all accounts.

The door is answered by a tall, expressionless man in severe black; Guilfoyle examines him briefly and then says, "Mr Alkaev. Come in."

[nameofnote]

"Um... hello." He's taken slightly off guard. He doesn't know why - in a manor this large, it only makes sense to have at least one servant. He just had an image of Avdotya kicking around the manor alone, skirts tied up and a book under her arm.

Still, manners do kick in, and he comes inside when invited. "Thank you."

[eyvdowtyah]

"Allow me to take your bag," unfailingly polite but extremely difficult to contradict, the efficiency for which Guilfoyle is always so highly paid, "and I will show you to Miss Karkarova."

The door slams shut a little harder behind Sergei than is strictly necessary, with a certain odd impression of sulkiness.

Caledfwlch looks much improved; cleaner, better-lit, certainly much warmer. Some of the portraits and furniture have been removed - the former to be restored and some of the latter just to be replaced entirely - and it's still something of a work in progress, but it's now looking more like a house and less like some monster's lair.

[nameofnote]

"Thank you," he says, again, letting the man take his bag as he removes his cloak. He doesn't ask the man's name, feeling it wouldn't quite be appropriate, but instead just lets himself be guided.

[eyvdowtyah]

Guilfoyle escorts him to Avdotya's sitting room - where she's got her television and DVD player, naturally, although when they get there she's (typically) in the corner of the sofa with a book. The house as it is looks much too big for her to be its mistress, as quietly empty as the halls remain and as young as she is. Nevertheless she is, funnily enough, and she dismisses Guilfoyle (by name, helpfully) as she rises with a smile for Sergei that looks oddly tentative and abstract.

"Hello, again," she says, when he's taken his leave.

[nameofnote]

He smiles, warmly, but the slightest bit reserved. They'd written so much, but he'd only seen her the once before; now he was here, to stay a bit.

"Hello. It's good to see you again." A pause, then he adds, "You look well."

[eyvdowtyah]

"I have something for you," she blurts - and then, hastily: "It's not from me, though, it's - it's sort of complicated and I think that you should sit down. Please."

Avdotya had planned the things she wanted to say, and how she would say them, and her careful planning is rapidly unravelling around her. Talking to Mr Malfoy about it had helped - as much as it could when she wasn't telling him the whole truth - but she's well out of her depth with navigating the damage in someone else's family.

She almost wishes he hadn't asked her to do it.

[nameofnote]

"...oh." He has a present for her, but he gets the sense that this isn't the time. "...alright."

He takes a seat as she asked. "What is it?"

[eyvdowtyah]

After a moment of awkward indecision, Avdotya fetches two things from one of her bookshelves; a parcel wrapped in plain paper, and an earring. She sits down beside him on the sofa, holding the parcel in her lap and the earring in her hand, and when she starts to talk she has the brisk, nervous tone of someone equating this with the swift removal of a bandaid.

"When I was in London - you know, when I wrote to you - Mr Malfoy gave me this for you. And I think, but I'm not sure, that it might have been your...your actual father. I said I'd let you choose if you wanted to open this or not, but- I thought it might be good to be sure one way or the other, so...so I hid one of my earrings in his belongings." She uncurls her fist and the diamonds glint in the firelight. "If it was your father, then the other one will be in a puzzle-box from his flat in London."

The box had looked neglected enough she'd been relatively confident he wouldn't find it in there and move it.

[nameofnote]

He hesitates but then reaches out to take them both. "Alright. He didn't... he didn't tell you, one way or the other, or you just didn't have another way to know for sure?"

[eyvdowtyah]

"I don't think he would've told me if I asked." She contemplates it for a moment, and then says, "His mood changed when I mentioned Mrs Hussey. And then he had this for you, before I left. But he never said anything but that Mrs Dearborn was dead. So- I wasn't sure. And I didn't want to offend him by suggesting he was lying to me. If he wasn't."

But she's relatively certain now that he was, actually. (She still wouldn't have said anything; there were moments he frightened her.)

[nameofnote]

Knowing his father, that wouldn't surprise him. He looks down at the package his his hand. "Do you mind if I..." He feels that if he were politer, or a better friend, he'd put it away and not think of it until later. But he can't quite manage.

[eyvdowtyah]

"No! No, of course." It is, she's concluded, entirely his to do with as he will and even if she's dubious about the entire thing - well, she wouldn't wait, either.

[nameofnote]

He nods and opens the package. Inside is a small, elegant pocketwatch. From his flat, Avdotya can conjecture it's Lucius' taste, in being very expensive and very minimalist, though there are a few tiny emeralds set into the design.

Sergei bites his lower lip, and flips it open for a moment, looking at its face, then closes it and carefully opens the letter.

His expression shifts from something like grim satisfaction to a bit of pain and then something much harder to define.

After a long moment, he says, "He was. My father. He said to tell you that he was sorry for lying to you."

[eyvdowtyah]

"I wouldn't have-"

Well, if she'd known it was him, she wouldn't have said anything about his death. It's too late now, though, and maybe it's worth having done it for this? Maybe that's really not up to her to decide, her part in this all accidental.

"I expect I'd have lied, too," she says, after a moment, shaking her head. "Are you- do you need anything?"