The Savage Inheritance

The Question of Mary Stewart

Boston, 1747

The servant girl tried to shoo away the stray dog, a shaggy mutt that stood obstinately at the foot of the front steps. The animal dropped it's rear on the icy cobblestones and lifted it's snout in challenge. Gingerly, she skirted down a few steps and hissed at it to scamper away. Her mistress was due home soon and though she was not a precious woman, the servant girl did not want her to be inconvenienced.

Truthfully, the girl liked Missus Annabelle Martin and wanted to please her. Her duties were always preformed skillfully and to the letter of decorum for a person of her station. Even the head butler had commented on occasion that the girl was made for greater things. She might even aspire to the position of housekeeper someday if she remained faithful in her work.

"Get on with you," a man growled at the animal. 

A stranger materialized out of the shadows from a brick fissure that was thickly swathed in naked ivy vines. The dog hopped to it's feet and pranced towards him. He could have been born from the shadows themselves. His clothes, rich in fabric and make, were old fashioned. A jet garrick coat that had been patched and was muddy at the hem swung around his limber frame. A tri-corner hat crowned black hair that frayed in waves like a thunder head around his shoulders. At first glance, anyone could see that he had Native blood in him. His expression was wry if unsure as he studied her and patted the animal at his side.

The servant girl cleared her throat. "Is that dog yours, sir?"

"No." He didn't cut his dark eyes away, nor did he seem to have anything more to say.

The clatter of hooves on the street drew her attention. It was Missus Martin's carriage. The servant girl looked back to tell both the man and the dog to be on their way, but found herself alone. He had disappeared as swiftly as he had come into being. A chilled January breeze brushed a square of tattered paper to the foot of the steps. With a quick glance in the carriage's direction, she dropped to the sidewalk and snatched it up.

The dog eared card was illustrated with two figures were intertwined with a pair of goblets hovering over them. The words deux des tasses was written at their bare feet. Her fingers tingled as she ran them over the drawing. She knew it from somewhere, but couldn't place it. Perhaps she'd dreamed it. 

Missus Martin's carriage pulled up to the curb and she considered telling her of the meeting. However, as the coachman opened the cab door to reveal her mistress with her arms full of shopping bags, the servant girl forgot the man as though he had never appeared. She couldn't even remember what she had been doing out in the cold waiting for so long. She should have stayed inside the foyer to prevent catching a chill.

"Mary!" Missus Martin declared as the girl took the parcels from her. "Thank you so much, please let me help you bring them in."

"No need, ma'am," Mary Stewart chirped as she efficiently swept up the stairs. "I already have called for the tea to be set."

"Thank you, Mary. You are a God send."

The man in the black coat watched from the corner as the girl helped her mistress into the house. Having melted into the shadows of late afternoon, he had evaded her notice. The dog trotted away, his task complete and happily gnawing on a turkey bone.

She hadn't changed an ounce; her upturned nose lifted high and curled lips perpetually on the verge of a smirk. Life as a servant had not tarnished her prideful demeanor, taken the smart clip from her step or stately turn of her head, brown curls escaping her mob cap. But the shadows under her blue grey eyes had been erased and a healthy pink tinted her cheeks. She was happy. And she was safe. It should have been enough. 

If it hadn't been for that strand of hair over her left ear, a shock of white in one too young.

Disturbed, Enoch Ramsey tucked his hands on his cloak as he strode away and played with the tattered deck of cards in his pocket. He would bring it up to his employer. Whether Bawden approved of him seeing her, it didn't matter. Bawden owed the girl that much at least, no matter how he tried to excuse what had been done to her. If anything, it gave Enoch the chance to see her at least once more