My lord’s late wife took primary care of the
household. Now, with her gone, as the butler, I filled
that role. I was quite young to be head of house, but I
had graduated top of my class from the Huize Damiaan
and my lord hand-picked me after an interview to be
his live-in butler and assistant.
The radiator moaned and opened.
It had been nearly two hours. I couldn’t sleep
and so resolved to go, quiet as a church mouse, to
truly stand in awe, without fear of seeming childish, of
my new home.
I opened the door with a creak and crept
slowly out of the servant’s chambers with my candle,
walking slowly up the heavily draped stairs, careful
with the flame. I jumped—a face! My light passed
over a woman’s portrait, life-sized, at the bottom of
the stairs. I’d forgotten it was there—things take on a
new geography at night. Old-world beauty and
innocence showed in her eyes—a red ruby the color
of blood adorned her neck. I continued to creep
forward and passed three more portraits of different
women, each wearing the ruby necklace. One I
assumed was his dead wife. The others, I couldn’t say.
I was surprised when I opened the door to the
library and find a light dimly on, my lord seeming to
take great pleasure in the book he held, The Sins of the
Cities of the Plains. The orientation of the library faced
inward, toward the house, rather than towards the bay
windows overlooking the mountain pass. Behind my
lord was the one room for which I did not have a key,
the room he had introduced earlier. My eyes lingered
over its ornate knob, just a few feet away in the faint
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