The Forgotten Guard (Noctis 5)

Mary stood in the block of early morning light resting on the wooden boards beneath her shoes. The light revealed worn shoes that were more of a stained brown than the black they were supposed to be.

She had stopped shining them over a year ago. There hadn't seemed to be much point. The master never noticed.

She was staring out the small window at the view below. Tucked among the peaks of the evergreen trees, a few broadleaf canopies were already starting to turn. In another week, they would've been golden, or that brave red that always made her smile the first time she caught sight of it.

This year she wouldn't be around to see it.

Her hands tightened over the handles of her carpet bag.

"You were a lucky girl, Mary," she whispered to herself. "Not as many maids can expect to get a room like this."

It was small and bare, with a bad mattress on an old iron frame, but it was a room at the top of the house. A room with a window. A room she didn't have to share.

No. She couldn't—shouldn't—expect something like that. She needed to know her place.

There was a knock on the door frame behind her. It was quiet, but the sound was unexpected. The girl gasped and jerked back.

She turned to see a thin man standing at the door to her room. His suit was dark, trim, and looked more posh than the ones the master had imported. She wouldn't have recognized the man if it wasn't for the clothes. His face was so average that it could have belonged to any man and every man, but the tie and the watch-chain fob were familiar.

"I apologize," he said as he lowered his hand. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, sir," Mary said. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you come up the stairs." She hesitated, then let her gaze fall to the floorboards between them. "I'm afraid I've been distracted."

"I was told that you had plans to leave this morning."

Mary swallowed and forced herself to nod. "They's—They said Mr. Turner would be coming up for me. I'll have to walk to meet him." She raised her eyes, as if to look the man in the face, but stopped short. "I was told he wasn't allowed to come as far as the gate anymore."

"That's correct."

Mary dropped her eyes and nodded again. She'd been hoping for more of an explanation than that, but that was another thing she was learning that she couldn't expect.

She knew things, and they knew that she knew things, but that didn't mean they would tell her anything more.

And the master, dead on the floor without a mark on him.

No explanation for that either.

Mary flushed as she willed herself to speak: "Excuse me, sir. Is it you I have to thank for finding me a new position?"

When the man didn't immediately answer, Mary stammered on, "Only, I know—rather, I've heard—that you're the one who bought everything." She waited. "At the auction." She waited again, then said, with more emphasis, "Everything."

"That's true," the man said, "and I did help you find a new position, but I wasn't the only one involved."

No. He wouldn't have been. Mary had been surrounded by more men than she'd seen in years. She remembered how they'd all glanced at her, then muttered to each other.

"For your part then," Mary said, "thank you."

"You're welcome. I believe you'll like Mr. Burke's home. I know him. He's a good man."

As if a gentleman's opinion of another gentleman has any value.

Mary smirked before she could stop herself. That was another thing she'd have to work on. No more talking to herself. No more expressions.

The man had been watching her, but he didn't seem to mind the slip.

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It was his indifference that gave her the courage that she needed to speak up again.

"Are you sure that you don't need any assistance here, sir?"

The man looked away. "No—no, but thank you."

Her heart sank.

"I understand that you mean to live here," she said.

"Yes. There will have to be quite a few arrangements made, but that is my intention."

"But you don't need any service, sir?"

"Not for myself." The man looked right at her. "Is there a reason you want to stay?"

This time Mary flushed bad enough it would raise those ugly blotches under her freckles. She turned away before the man could see them. Cook would've told her off. You were always supposed to be facing the gentlemen when they were talking to you.

"Not really, sir," Mary said. "But it's familiar." She was facing the window again. She felt her eyes drawn to the scene below. "Come autumn, it's very beautiful."

A full second passed before the man spoke.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Three and a half years," Mary said. "I came when I was fourteen."

"I understand you're from Ireland?"

Mary nodded, then turned toward the door again. The carpet bag swung with her, bumping against her legs.

As she crossed the small room, the man said, "If you have any family there—"

He stopped when he saw Mary shake her head.

The man stepped back as she approached, but Mary paused beside the plain set of drawers next to the door and reached out to pick up the ornate silver hand mirror that was resting, face down, on the top.

She had only touched it a few times. It always weighed more than she expected. She turned it over.

Red hair, thin face, black rings under her eyes—she absently noted the details of her face. They didn't matter. She was studying the mirror itself. Delicate curves of metal leaves and ivy vines wound around the handle, framing the pool of glass.

Her mind was numb and heavy with all the thoughts that were too deep for her to articulate. The cold fluttering in her stomach rose to her chest.

In an hour, she'd meet Mr. Turner. By the end of the day, she'd be on another carriage. In a few more days, she'd see Albany. She would be setting off into the unknown, but the plan was all there, laid out for her…if she wanted it.

Her hand tightened around the mirror.

"Did you forget to pack it?" the man asked.

Mary blinked in surprise. The man was watching her again. He didn't have much of an expression, but what expression he had was open, placid, and simple.

Mary found herself smiling at him—a full, amused smile. "What? The mirror?"

"It's in your room."

"Bless you, sir. I wouldn't own a thing like this." Mary looked down at it again. "I was given loan of it. By Mr. North."

The man paused. "Were you close to him?"

Mary's smile vanished, and she felt herself bristle. "That's a hard thing to ask a girl in my position, sir."

"Why?"

Mary had to stare a long time at the man's simple face to convince herself that he wasn't making fun.

Her hand tightened around the handle of the mirror, and her mind churned, trying to find an answer to the man's awkward question.

"I often worked here alone," Mary admitted. "The master was never good at keeping people around. He wanted a housekeeper and a cook, but we were often between them." She lowered her voice. "Sometimes they'd leave around the same time. Toward the end, he stopped hiring them at all."

Her shoulders tightened.

Would this man have something to say about modesty and reputation? Or was he the kind who would only frown—or, worse, leer at her with that knowing look in his eyes?

You've nothing to be ashamed of, Mary. It wasn't as if you had a choice. And it doesn't matter what this man or anyone else thinks. You and God know the truth if no one else in the world believes it.

The man's voice rose: "You had to tend this whole house by yourself?"

Mary gazed at him, her eyes wide. Then she laughed. It rang through the whole floor.

Mary did her best to smother the laugh by biting her lips together. It was a good thing she already had another position. She never would've gotten one with manners like that.

But, once again, the man didn't react to her unseemly outburst.

"Yes, sir," she said, "and it was awful work too."

"Why didn't you leave?"

What was it about this man that made her feel so free? She said with unworried frankness, "Where would I go?"

"Ah. I see." The man paused again, then asked, "Was it hard on you?"

Mary's easy smile faltered.

She thought about the smells creeping up from the floor, scrubbing the bloodstained laundry until her knuckles were raw, the master, barely turning his head to yell orders over his shoulder—how rarely he even looked at her—

She thought about the midnight knocking.

"It was, sir." Mary turned the mirror over and gently put it face down on the chest of drawers. "But it's over now."

She stepped away from the drawers and the beautiful mirror, toward the door. The gentleman took another step back, giving Mary all the room she needed to leave.

She stopped beside him. "You say that Mr. Burke is a good man?"

"He is."

Mary nodded again and drew in a deep breath.

The gentleman reached out a hand. Reached it out—to her. To take her hand.

Oh, well. American gentlemen could be like that.

He said, "Thank you for all your help, Miss…?"

"Mary, sir," she said as he pressed her fingers.

"Mary," he repeated. "I'm glad to meet you. My name is Jack Noctis, though most people call me Big Jacky."

Mary started to say, "I'm happy to—" but then she understood what her ears had heard. "Big Jacky? But…that's…"

She glanced down at his waistcoat and the fob that was dangling from his watch chain. A delicate inlay of white stones created a tiny, perfect image of a skull.

Mary smiled and nodded to the decoration. "I see that you've embraced your nickname."

Jacky's hand went to the fob. "Yes. This was a gift from a close friend of mine."

Mary tried once more: "I'm very happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Noctis. Maybe I'll see you again."

She stepped past him and started down the hall.

She'd take the grand staircase that day. Something told her that Mr. Noctis wouldn't even know to mind. She would walk across the large front hall and step out the front doors. And maybe she would leave them open, for good measure.