Mary returned to her bedroom. The time was already 6:20.
There was still one hour left before the carriage came to pick her up.
One hour was more than enough time for her to prepare.
The girl took off her casual clothes and walked over to the coat rack, picking up the pure white velvet dress that Mel had prepared for her.
The dress had a simple design with no elaborate lace or frills, but its excellent cut perfectly accentuated her slender figure.
After changing into the white dress, Mary turned to look in the mirror.
The person reflected in the mirror was as pure as a fairy transformed by the first snow.
Next came the jewelry.
She opened the velvet jewelry box and, instead of choosing dazzling rubies or sapphires, selected a pearl necklace made of uniformly sized South Sea white pearls.
The warm light clung to her collarbones. Her skin shone whiter than snow, exuding a delicate beauty. Two small diamond stud earrings adorned her ears like teardrops falling from the corners of her eyes.
Finally, there was her makeup.
Since her skin was already fair after the bath, she didn't need much. Simply outlining her eyebrows carefully with an eyebrow pencil made her blue eyes appear deeper and more innocent.
She applied a faint touch of rose-colored blush to both cheeks, imitating the pitiful expression one might have after being slightly chilled by the cold wind.
Her lips were thinly coated with a moist, glossy cherry-colored lipstick, as though she had just been gently kissed.
Everything was ready.
She picked up the white-tea-scented perfume bottle and gently pressed it against her wrists and behind her ears.
A cool, faintly bitter yet sweet fragrance instantly spread throughout the room. It was the scent most familiar to Russell.
When the clock struck 7:15, Mary draped a velvet mantle that reached her ankles, trimmed with thick white fox fur around the collar.
She pushed open the door, descended the stairs, avoided the servants' gazes, and quietly stepped outside.
The early winter wind blew snowflakes against her face, making her shiver.
Mary wrapped the mantle tightly around herself. The fur collar framed her delicate features, leaving only a pair of blue eyes sparkling in the night sky exposed.
A black carriage without any family crest was quietly parked under the streetlamp.
When Mary appeared, the coachman immediately jumped down from the carriage and respectfully opened the door.
"Miss, where are you going?"
"To Baker Street."
Mary lifted her skirt and elegantly boarded the carriage.
The carriage wasn't particularly spacious, but it was very clean. The seats had soft wool cushions, and there was a faint scent of leather.
Mary sank deep into the seat and looked out at the passing city scenery, feeling a sense of relief and joy she had never experienced before.
The snow was falling harder. Snowflakes like goose feathers danced in the dim light of the streetlamps, transforming London's streets into a world from a fairy tale.
The carriage glided smoothly through the snow, the wheels making a faint creaking sound as they rolled over the snow.
About twenty minutes later, the carriage slowly came to a stop.
"Miss, we have arrived at Baker Street."
The coachman's voice came from outside.
Mary took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart, then pushed open the carriage door and stepped out.
In front of 221B Baker Street, the familiar gas lamp emitted a warm glow.
Mary looked up at the second-floor window. The curtains were closed, but a faint light was seeping through.
She adjusted her mantle and walked to the door, pressing the doorbell. A clear sound echoed through the quiet street.
Immediately after, the door was opened from the inside.
He was wearing a dark charcoal-gray wool double-breasted coat that reached his calves, and over it, the same tailcoat he had worn at Buckingham Palace, with a gray scarf wrapped around his neck.
At this moment, Russell's usual lazy and carefree demeanor was suppressed, replaced by a mature and composed gentlemanly attitude.
Mary stood at the doorway, looking at him through the drifting snowflakes, and froze for an instant.
Regaining her senses, she gave a faint smile, her voice as soft as water.
"Good evening, Mr. Russell."
Russell looked at the girl standing outside the door.
Wearing a pure white velvet dress and a cape trimmed with fur, against the backdrop of falling snow, she looked so beautiful that she seemed like a snow fairy who had wandered into the human world.
"Good evening, Mary."
Russell turned slightly. "Please come inside and wait. It's cold outside."
"No," Mary shook her head. "The carriage is waiting outside. Let's go straight there."
As she spoke, she glanced past Russell's shoulder into the room and asked, "Is Charlotte here?"
"She's sleeping upstairs."
Russell said.
"Then we won't disturb her."
Mary smiled, then extended her hand toward Russell. "Shall we go?"
Russell nodded, closed the door behind him, and took the hand Mary offered.
The girl's hand was cold. Even though she was wearing velvet gloves, he could feel the chill.
He instinctively clenched his fist, enveloping her small, cold hand in his palm.
The two boarded the carriage, closed the door to shut out the wind and snow, and headed toward the Royal Opera House.
The interior of the carriage was dim. Only the occasional light filtering in from the streetlamps outside cast flickering shadows on their faces.
Russell and Mary sat side by side, close enough to smell each other's scent.
"It's very cold today."
Mary spoke softly and unconsciously leaned her body toward Russell.
"Yes, this year's first snow has accumulated quite a bit."
Russell avoided making a direct statement.
Mary leaned forward slightly, resting her soft shoulder against Russell's coat.
The hem of her pure white velvet dress spread out in layers over the dark leather seat like blooming white camellia flowers, with one corner touching Russell's knee.
When she gently pressed her face against his shoulder, the refreshing scent of wind and snow mixed with the sweet fragrance of white camellias instantly filled the small space, creating a fermented aroma.
"This way, we can stay warm."
Mary murmured quietly, like a Persian cat snuggling up to a fireplace.
Russell's body stiffened slightly for an instant.
Through the thick clothing, he could feel the softness of the girl's skin, and he could also sense the occasional touch of her silver hair against his neck as she breathed.
The hair carried the coldness of the snow falling outside, but it quickly warmed up from his body heat upon contact.
"Today, you…" Russell tried to break the heavy silence.
"What about me today?"
Mary tilted her head slightly. In the light occasionally filtering in from outside the window, her blue eyes shone brightly.
It seemed like a thousand words, but everything condensed into one simple question.
"Did your father cause you any trouble?"
Russell withdrew his initial statement and instead asked the question that was more important to him.
After all, even though Arthur Morstan had clearly expressed his opposition, Mary accompanying him to the opera was an extremely risky act.
Hearing this, Mary gave a faint smile tinged with secret joy.
"He went to a banquet and probably won't be back until very late. Whether he'll do something troublesome to me… we can think about that later. At least for now, it has nothing to do with him."
As she spoke, she tightened her grip on Russell's arm.
"So, don't think about anything else tonight."
Mary looked up and met Russell's gaze.
"Think of it as a short, beautiful dream you're spending with me, okay?"
Russell remained silent for a while, then quietly let out a sigh.
He said nothing. Instead, he extended his other hand—the one not being held—and gently placed it over Mary's small, cold hand, which was covered by the velvet glove.
The warmth transmitted from his palm gave Mary a silent but firm answer.
The carriage continued traveling through the wind and snow, but the temperature inside quietly rose.
It was unclear how much time had passed, but the two felt the carriage gradually slow down and finally come to a stop in front of a magnificent building.
"Dear guests, we have arrived at the Royal Opera House."
The coachman's voice came from outside, breaking the captivating silence inside the carriage.
Russell got out of the carriage first and turned around to extend his hand to Mary inside.
Mary placed her hand in his, lifted her skirt, and elegantly stepped out of the carriage.
Amidst the falling snow, the Royal Opera House, like a garden in Eden, was brightly illuminated, shining like a jewel in the winter night.
Gentlemen and ladies dressed in elegant attire hurried into the hall under the waiters' umbrellas, leaving footprints in the snow.
Russell lightly bent his arm and signaled for Mary to follow.
The girl smiled gently and naturally slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. The two walked side by side up the stairs covered with red carpet.
The moment they entered the grand hall, familiar gazes were directed at them.
However, this time the experience was even more intense than when he and Charlotte had come to the opera house before.
Because Mary Morstan's face was far too distinctive.
Of course, Russell was also an existence that couldn't be ignored.
"Look, isn't that Miss Morstan?"
"The man next to her looks familiar…"
"Oh my, isn't that the assistant who's always in the newspapers with Holmes?"
"Why are the two of them together? And from the looks of it, their relationship seems to be more than just friendship…"
"No, didn't he just come here with Charlotte Holmes a little while ago?"
The whispers swept through the magnificent hall like a tide.
Mary ignored these comments.
The girl raised her chin slightly and wore the perfect, elegant, and noble smile she had practiced since childhood.
She walked arm in arm with Russell, her steps relaxed and full of confidence.
It was as though she herself was the sole protagonist of the dinner party, and the people around her were nothing more than insignificant background characters.
"Tomorrow's headline in Fleet Street will probably feature someone else as the main character again."
Mary whispered teasingly into Russell's ear.
"Give me a break," Russell sighed, looking helpless.
The waiter politely welcomed them, checked their tickets, and then led them up the curving staircase to the second-floor private box.
Since this wasn't the first time Russell had walked this path, he felt a slight sense of dissonance at the familiar scenery.
Just recently, he and Charlotte had been in the same place, the same private box, watching a different comedy.
But today, his companion had changed to Mary, and the event he was about to witness had turned into a complete tragedy.
This strange sense of overlap evoked complex, indescribable emotions within him.
The waiter stopped in front of the private box, gave a light bow, and then opened the door.
"Please enjoy the performance."
Mary entered the room first. The room was exactly the same as Russell remembered.
In the center were two comfortable red velvet armchairs. On the small round table between them sat an unopened bottle of champagne and two clear stemmed glasses.
"Back here again."
Russell sighed and sat down in a chair.
"Did you and Charlotte come here last time too?"
Mary walked to the edge of the box, placed her hands on the railing, and looked down at the audience seats that were gradually filling up as she spoke.
"Yeah."
Russell nodded.
"Last time we watched a comedy here, but this time we're watching a tragedy. It's very moving."
He looked around, and his gaze unconsciously drifted into a state of reminiscing about the past.
Hearing this, Mary turned around, leaned against the railing, and then walked toward Russell.
She stopped in front of Russell, leaned down slightly, and the scent of white camellias drifted toward him.
"Russell," Mary said gently, cupping Russell's head with both hands and forcing him to look into her eyes.
"What's wrong?"
Russell asked.
"Do you remember the promise you made to me?"
The girl spoke with a captivating, alluring gaze.
"Keep a close watch on me."
She said.
"Charlotte Holmes is not here tonight."
"Tonight belongs to Mary Morstan."
Hearing this, Russell looked at the girl's face, noticed her childish possessiveness, and smiled gently.
"Of course."
He said, "I'll keep a close watch on you."
That was exactly what she wanted.
Mary smiled in satisfaction and sat down next to him.
When the lights dimmed, the heavy dark red curtain slowly rose, and a melancholic yet beautiful symphony echoed through the hall, signaling the official start of the performance.
On stage, the glamour and charm of Parisian high society unfolded like a picture scroll. Marguerite appeared surrounded by a crowd of admirers, embodying an irrepressible impulse filled with the desire to burn everything down, even as she knew her life was nearing its end.
Russell's gaze was directed at the stage. Mary remained silent.
She sat quietly beside Russell and, in the darkness, gently extended her slender hand wearing velvet gloves, slipping it between Russell's fingers and intertwining them.
The joy and sorrow on stage continued to unfold until the latter half of the second act.
For Armand's future, Marguerite, after much anguish, wrote that insincere farewell letter.
At that exact moment, Russell suddenly felt his hand being gently squeezed.
He turned his face to the side.
"I need to go to the bathroom."
Mary leaned close to his ear. Her warm breath mixed with the scent of white tea.
"Should I go with you?"
Russell asked.
"No need. It's just a quick touch-up."
Mary smiled. "I'll be ready soon."
As she spoke, she let go of Russell's hand, lifted the hem of her white dress, quietly opened the door of the private box, and softly stepped out of the room.
The corridor outside the door was covered with thick carpet, which absorbed all sound of footsteps.
Mary walked briskly into the bathroom and headed straight for the large brass sculpture-embellished mirror next to the sink.
The girl looked up at her reflection in the mirror.
Judging from the time, that man should still be sound asleep in his study.
The faintly burning embers in front of the fireplace would soon roll out from the tilted firewood.
Mary took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding violently.
She raised both hands, washed her fingertips under the cold tap water, and then opened her eyelids.
Two thin blue fragments were thrown into the drain, as though bidding farewell to the past.
When the girl looked up again, the emerald green eyes—full of vitality and wildness, which had been hidden for years—finally bloomed without hesitation under the light.
She gave her reflection a light smile, straightened her pure white velvet dress, and returned to the dimly lit private box with light steps, like a reborn fairy.
Upon returning to the private box, the girl did not sit in her usual seat.
She walked over to Russell and sat on his lap. The familiar scent of white tea once again enveloped him.
"Hm?"
Russell asked quietly.
"It's fine."
Mary leaned against Russell's shoulder and, while gently tracing the collar of his coat with her fingertips, spoke in a soft voice that seemed to melt into the snowy winter night.
"Russell, would you like to hear a story?"
"A story?"
Russell raised one eyebrow and lowered his head slightly, about to say "yes."
However, just as the spotlight on stage suddenly brightened and its light reflected into the second-floor black box, Russell's voice caught in his throat.
At this extremely close distance, thanks to the light coming in from the window, he could clearly see the eyes of the girl in his arms.
They were no longer the familiar deep blue eyes that always held a gentle smile.
Instead, a vivid green like summer leaves had appeared.
They were full of vitality and carried a hint of wildness, but under the theater lighting, they seemed to exude a heartbreaking sadness and fragility.
"Your eyes…" Russell suddenly lost his words. Those emerald green eyes froze him in place as though by magic.
"Shh."
Mary raised one slender white index finger and gently pressed it against Russell's lips, stopping the question he was about to ask.
She gave a faint smile. Her emerald green eyes shone with captivating beauty in the darkness.
"Please stay quiet while you listen to the story."
As she spoke, she removed her finger and once again wrapped her arms around Russell's neck, resting her chin on his shoulder.
The girl's gaze passed through him and settled on the seemingly endless darkness.
"A long time ago, in a London orphanage, there lived a little girl who had been abandoned by her parents."
Mary's voice was very soft, blending with the music coming from the hall, resembling a quietly sung requiem.
"Life in the orphanage was very monotonous. There were many times when she didn't know where her next meal would come from, and there was always the anxiety of not knowing when such days would end."
"Just when she thought her life would end in mud and hunger, one day, an unbelievably luxurious black carriage stopped in front of the orphanage gate, and a high-ranking noble stepped out."
Russell listened quietly, allowing the girl to straddle his lap.
He could feel her chest rising and falling slightly with her breathing, and he could feel the arms wrapped around his neck gradually growing stronger.
"That noble took a liking to her among the group of dirty children."
Mary continued speaking.
"Because she was very quiet, unlike the other children who were noisy and would swarm around whenever someone came."
"She only watched quietly from the corner and showed no reaction even when the man stood in front of her."
The stage lighting gradually dimmed. The rhythm of the symphony also softened, as though reflecting the sudden silence and solemnity that had visited the private box.
Russell felt the girl in his arms hold her breath for a moment, as though she was organizing her thoughts or mustering her courage.
"That noble took her away."
Mary's voice continued to whisper in Russell's ear. Her warm breath brushed against his earlobe.
"He dressed her in the most beautiful dresses, gave her the finest delicacies, and hired the best tutors to teach her etiquette, music, dance, and several foreign languages."
"He raised her to be a flawless lady of high society and even gave her a new name."
"The man said, "From today onward, your name is Mary Morstan.""
Mary spoke quietly, her gaze shifting restlessly as though she could see the brightly lit Morstan residence through the dark box.
"At first, the girl thought she had met an angel—that is, a benefactor who would change her life."
"So she studied desperately, repaid his kindness, and did her best to meet all his demands so that she would appear as the perfect daughter in his eyes."
She gave a faint laugh, but there was no joy in it—only stubborn bitterness.
"But later, she gradually realized that the man didn't need a daughter."
"What he needed was a beautiful, obedient doll that he could sacrifice at any time—a stand-in."
Hearing this, Russell unconsciously tightened his grip on the girl's slender waist and furrowed his brows slightly.
"A stand-in?"
"Mm, a stand-in."
Mary nodded.
"That man actually had a real daughter."
"However, the child had poor health and had been bedridden for many years, so she couldn't attend complex social events, let alone preside over family weddings. And that was unbearable for the father.
Therefore, he needed a stand-in and wanted to train that stand-in to be identical to his real daughter."
"They had to perfectly imitate every expression, gesture, and even the smallest habits."
"The name was originally that child's, but it was temporarily lent to the stand-in so that she could respond immediately if someone ever mentioned that name in the future."
Mary's voice was soft, but it pierced Russell's heart like a needle.
"He had planned that when the girl grew up, she would act in her place at social events, endure the hypocrisy of noblewomen, and deal with those detestable young nobles."
"If necessary, she might even be made to wear a veil and marry in place of the real daughter in an unfortunate political marriage."
"Meanwhile, his real daughter could hide in the shadow of this double and enjoy comfort and freedom."
When the stage lighting lit up again, a glamorous ballroom scene appeared, and lively waltz music echoed throughout the hall.
However, that cheerful music was completely out of place with the atmosphere in the private box.
"Actually, for a little girl, it might be unacceptable, but it wasn't that bad."
Mary looked down at Russell. The flickering theater lights were reflected in her emerald green eyes.
"After all, everything she had was given to her by that man. Without him, she would probably still be in the orphanage."
"Therefore, even after learning that she was merely a stand-in, she quickly accepted that fact.
At least her future was bright. She was the daughter of the Morstan family."
"And the sacrifice required for all of this was very small—just a little self-awareness."
She paused, and her tone became somewhat mysterious.
"But sometimes fate plays cruel jokes."
"When that girl turned ten, the real daughter of the noble's condition worsened."
"And then, what happened to her?"
Russell couldn't help but ask.
Mary turned her face to look at him.
"She died."