Author Note: Here's the new chapter. Thanks for reading :)

It was the start of a new year and a winter night. Amelia Siddall stood on the sidewalk, glancing back as the chauffeured car pulled away. She clutched a piece of paper - a confirmation letter with instructions which she scrutinised. How silly she might look if she was in the wrong place. She slipped it into her leather handbag, the better one she owned. She should at least look the part. Just over a month since her acceptance of this position, it was her first time back in the city.

In front of her was a townhouse, looming several storeys high. The exterior lights had a red-orange glow which reflected on the long windows. Wrought-iron bars of fencing marked the perimeter. She buzzed the intercom at the gate. And there was a pause. A low sound as the gates rolled open. With access granted, she went through with her luggage, and the gate closed behind her more suddenly than expected. Once up the threshold of stairs, at the front door she looked around for a bell or intercom, but there seemed to be none. Behind her, the gates were shut. There was no one else around. A dull glow through the windows, but it wasn't possible to look inside. A cool breeze caught her dark hair, and her warm breath steamed on the chilled air. She hoped that she wouldn't be outside for too long.

The front entrance was a double door of solid wood with no glass. She was going to use the door knocker, but found that the door yielded to even this light touch. Her brows furrowed and she sighed. Had it been unlocked all this time? And I just stood there like an idiot. She pushed the door open fully, realising that there was no one behind it. As was a common architectural feature of old houses, there was a small vestibule, a type of porch, between the front door and a set of French doors. A glimpse of the interior through the glass panels showed it to be just as grand as the facade had promised. Like the first set, these doors were also unlocked. Her gaze drifted up to take in more of the interior revealed to her. The entrance hall was of a handsome classic design, not unexpected of this type of property.

She looked around, "hello?'' No response. Not sure what to do, she decided to go to the table at the centre of the room. Perhaps something there might give her clues. Glad to get the cumbersome luggage out of the way, she left them beside the doors.

The table top a glossy rosewood and relatively clear, save for a neat envelope. It had her name on it. Unfolding the embossed paper, there was a note written in an elegant hand.

"Miss Siddall,

Welcome. Forgive the absence of someone to greet you in person as soon as you arrive. There were some last minute changes, and unfortunately, you could not be notified at short notice. But I trust that your journey has been a safe and pleasant one.

I believe that you will find the suite I have provided you comfortable and the amenities sufficient, so please make yourself comfortable. Also attached with this letter, are some details for you to read.

Someone will meet with you soon, so wait here or in the study.

I look forward to seeing you, perhaps tonight or another. We shall see. As it is quite late, you will not be expected to start early tomorrow. Sleep well tonight.

Yours,

S. LaCroix."

Somehow, she couldn't help but smile to herself. It did make her feel at ease. LaCroix seemed nice. She had heard vaguely of the man, but he was somewhat elusive. He was a businessman in possession of several lucrative ventures and CEO of the LaCroix Foundation. She had interned there, but of course, being a simple intern meant she had never met him in person, nor was ever likely to. It seemed that not many did, except at exclusive occasions and in business. However, of his personal self, that was little known. Perhaps, it was so mundane as to be not worth mentioning. Or, it was quite the mystery. Either way, she was intrigued to finally meet him…

She leafed through the other piece of paper enclosed in the envelope. Just some general guidance about where things were; where to go, et cetera. She slipped it into her bag. Moving deeper into the hall, through a door on the left was a cloakroom, a washroom and an elevator. At one time, she thought, these may have been a butler's pantry or service rooms. There was a backstairs visible through the glass of one locked door. Surely, there were staff? Yet, no one had come to meet her immediately. But who had unlocked the gates and front door?

The study was a room just off the entrance hall. And she may choose to wait there as LaCroix had suggested, but she wanted to explore a little while she had the time. The staircase, probably at the centre of the house, swept up to the next floors. In the daytime, she imagined this inner hall to be bathed in natural light from the skylight above. But now, all that could be seen was the cloudy night sky. She buttoned her coat up again. The house was quite chilly, and she was glad that she hadn't left her coat in the cloakroom. Seeing the interiors was dizzying. She turned on the spot; looking up at the overwhelming architecture of the stairway. The sofa beneath the stairs looked inviting. It was the first time she'd had a chance to sit down and collect herself.

Amelia was still surprised to have been offered this position. For persons such as Sebastian LaCroix, it was not atypical to hire private staff. Plenty of agencies specialised in supplying that demand. In truth, it was just a temporary role, essentially as a personal secretary. It diverged therefore from her vocation. But, it was a start.

Whilst most duties were administrative and clerical expected of secretarial work, there were still aspects of interest to her. The management of business and archival information materials, or updating records to modern forms, perhaps. In that regard, she had training and experience of corporate information management, particularly from her internship at the LaCroix Foundation, which was largely responsible in getting her this job. However, being a librarian archivist, her heart was in antiquarian and special collections material. But that area seldom had a surplus of vacancies, and those usually required extensive experience and established reputation. However, this role offered some opportunity in this subject too. Hiring librarians or archivists for private individuals was rare, but not unheard of. Those of noble lineage, or Old Money families of great wealth and industry, often had collections and records spanning centuries. And those required professional attention, which secretarial assistants tended not to offer, which was why she had been chosen. But still. A young; relatively inexperienced graduate seemed an unlikely choice. Absurd even. But she had the job, and so she must excel.

A glance at her watch. Hmmm, eight in the evening. And still, the house appeared deserted. She shrugged, deciding to visit the guest washroom while she waited.

When she came out again, she happened to glance at the entrance hall, but had a double take as her luggage wasn't there anymore. Her heartbeat quickened in surprise. Where had they gone? I definitely put them in that exact spot, didn't I?

She checked the front doors, and found them to be locked. Turning around back into the hall, she called, "hello? Is anyone there?''

Nothing.

Now, she was rather puzzled. Clearly, someone else was here after all. And if there were house staff, it seemed they were remarkably discreet, perhaps they were ghosts! She whirled out of the room, back into the staircase hall.

"Hey, you must be Amelia, right?" Seemingly out of nowhere, a man greeted her, with a likeable directness that added to the impression she had of him. Since being in America, she was beginning to grow accustomed to the accents, but even so the novelty remained as she had previously mostly been familiar with them in films, rather than in person. He appeared to be in his thirties and was of average height. He had brown hair and blue eyes that held a determined quality, mirroring the strong set of his jawline. Curiously, his clothes stood out to her for the seventies styling and this, along with the hardiness in his expression, struck her as Mafioso-like. However, she pushed that thought aside, thinking it fanciful.

''I am, yes,'' she stood next to the sofa, a hand on it. "Do you want to see my ID or something, just so you know that I'm not an imposter?'' She smiled.

''Nah. LaCroix told me to expect someone fitting your description,'' he replied as if slightly disarmed by her. "Well, it's nice to meet you. Name's Mercurio.''

"Nice to meet you. I was beginning to think that I'd be waiting forever," she smiled; shaking his hand as he offered it to her.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was just doin' something. Was just looking for you actually. LaCroix would kill me if I lost you.'' This he said in a gravely earnest manner, and she wasn't sure whether to take it as a joke or serious.

She furrowed her brows, ''oh, I'm sure he wouldn't really.''

Mercurio just smiled tightly. "I've taken your stuff up to your room already, in case you were wondering. I can take you up there too now if you want. Or, maybe show you where some things are first?"

''Yeah, that would probably be useful.''

''Sure,'' he began leading her. "Won't take long. I'll just show you the main areas. I suppose you're pretty tired, huh?"

She started following him, talking as they went. On the lower ground floor, there was the main kitchen; a laundry room and other similar service rooms which it might be useful to know about. As they went up the staircase, he told her briefly what was on each floor. She asked him a few questions. Some of his answers were detailed and the conversation pleasant. But sometimes, he was slightly evasive.

"What do you do exactly - for LaCroix I mean?'' Amelia followed him up the last flight of stairs, before turning into the landing.

"Oh, just a few jobs here and there. Actually, you probably won't see much of me. I need to head out west to LA soon,'' he grimaced, but did not elaborate. "LaCroix just asked me to "check you in", so to speak."

Amelia thought he was some sort of odd-job man. "Are there not, er, house staff to do that?''

He thought for a moment, his gaze shifting. ''Yeah, there are. He has a PA, who you will probably see. Some others for housekeeping. It's not unusual around here to have staff - housekeeper; domestics; cooks; PAs; nanny; security - you get the picture. But I don't think he's too fond of all that. Doesn't need it all anyway. Just the essentials.'' He led her down a short corridor, quite dimly lit except for a few wall-lights, and stopped in front of a door. "This is it."

"Oh ok.'' Amelia took the key he gave her. "What you said about staff. That sounds reasonable. I shouldn't want so many people in my house if it was me. But, before you go, I'm curious. Is he here much?"

"You probably won't see much of him. Not in the day anyway he's - er, got business to deal with.'' As he spoke she got the impression that there was more than he let on, but she could not deduce what it was. Sebastian LaCroix was a CEO of a major company. Apart from that, he probably had other important engagements in matters of business, finance, governance and other elite activities, which such people often involve themselves in. She did not therefore think to question the truth of him being away during the day. ''In fact, he's busy most of the time. So, you might not even see him at night either.''

''Yeah, I figured.''

Mercurio laughed, ''you sound almost disappointed. Want to meet the main man real bad, huh? Well, I think he does want to see you soon, or so I've heard." He saw that her face lit up a bit, as if to say - "really," with the enthusiasm of naiveté. "Just so you know, he's not exactly, erm,'' he grimaced, as if something made it hard for him. "Well, he's not the most easygoing person, just to give you some warning. Although, for what it's worth, I've only met him in person a couple of times.''

''Well, with someone like him, I kind of expected as much,'' she gulped. Worried about doing a good enough job, or even being qualified enough. She dreaded the thought of making mistakes, or to be seen as incompetent. The reference from this engagement could prove invaluable It might be a step forward for her, and she didn't want to mess up the opportunity. ''But, I will see. I'm sure he's not a monster.''

Mercurio smiled thinly. Something passed behind the eyes. ''No… No, I guess not.''

"Ok, well it was nice meeting you, Mercurio," she said as they paused outside the door of her room. "I hope we meet again. Have a nice trip to Los Angeles.''

"Yeah, thanks. To be honest I'm not looking forward to it, but what can you do,'' he shrugged. "Night, Amelia. I hope you find it ok here."

Finding herself now alone, she took a short tour around her rooms. She was staying on the sixth floor, in one of the two suites here, although it seemed that the other was empty. Originally, these rooms were likely built for live-in staff. But now, the layout remodelled and refurbished, it was doubtful anyone would feel demoted or deprived. It was almost a self-contained apartment, with a bedroom, a lounge and an en-suite bathroom.

Perhaps the only deficiency, there was only a kitchenette, which was practical enough for the basics, but small. If she wanted to make anything more elaborate, she would have to go all the way down to the main kitchen on the lower ground floor. Or, even dine with LaCroix himself on some occasion!

When this arrangement had first been proposed to her, she had been unsure of it. Actually living in her employers house seemed odd. She was unaccustomed to live-in staff work and belonged to the modern age, where this was less usual than in previous eras. It might have seemed unseemly, but the house was extensive. There were seven floors, and the property housed a couple of smaller apartments, of which hers was one.

However, the principal apartment presided over the majority of floors. There were many rooms and several bedroom suites. Though, not the most elaborate ever built in Manhattan, it was amongst the more impressive of townhouses. Many of those Gilded Age mansions had been demolished; making way for skyscrapers, or were converted into high-end duplexes, boutiques, hotels, department stores or galleries. Few in their original late-19th century glory remained.

Coming back into the centre of the bedroom, yes, she thought, this is alright. On the unusualness of essentially living with LaCroix, she felt more at ease. Likewise, she could never have afforded even a little apartment in this area, so it seemed like a kind and convenient gesture.

She sat on the edge of the bed. It had a canopy and seemed antique. In fact, the interior and furnishings was altogether very well-appointed, but almost like being teleported into the early 1900s. It seemed that, for the most part, Mr. LaCroix was not fond of modern design.

Her eyes felt heavy. Her body wanted rest. But it was not yet late at night, and she needed to do some unpacking, and write in her journal. She wanted to start journalling more diligently, and this adventure presented a perfect opportunity. She caressed the soft bedcover under her hand. Perhaps, just a nap. I'll just do most of the unpacking tomorrow, she shook her head.

She had a shower, making use of the fluffy towels provided there. And then went to bed. The bedding was enveloping luxury. She could have sighed; sunk into this embrace of comfort, being so ready for sleep.

The following day, Amelia slept in until around midday. It was essentially a day-off, and she didn't see anyone else. A breakfast, more accurately brunch, had been laid out on the round table in the sitting room. I could get used to this, she thought while nibbling a piece of rye bread, and looking out of the dormer window on the cityscape. It was quite a cloudy day.

The rest of the afternoon was spent loitering about in her room. She did some unpacking; arranging her belongings to make the rooms homely. The wardrobe and armoire were both quite big, and so she hadn't brought enough clothes to fill either completely. Later on, she did a bit of journal writing, making use of the Secrétaire. Her journal was open on the leather writing pad while she wrote. Just after completing a final sentence, there was a knock at the door.

Turning half around in her seat, she stared at the door a moment. And then went to it, almost timidly, opening it slightly ajar. Outside the threshold was a girl, not older than Amelia in age, perhaps younger, and a bit shorter. She was quite pale-faced and a little weary-eyed. However, for the most part, she seemed relatively chipper.

"Hello," she said earnestly. The girl held a piece of paper. "Master LaCroix asked me to deliver this to you."

"Oh, thanks," Amelia took the paper from her hand. "Master" LaCroix? What was this? The 19th century?

"Would you like me to take those away for you?" The girl noted the finished plates from breakfast on the table.

"Er, no, you don't have to. I can wash them myself in the kitchenette up here, that's fine."

"No, I'll take those for you," the girl insisted. And so, Amelia felt she might as well let her in, opening the door fully. The girl went towards the table and began tidying it, stacking up the plates and cups.

"Do you work here?" Amelia wondered if she also lived-in. Some properties here still had accommodation for housekeeping staff, so it was not unreasonable.

"I do some of the housekeeping. But at other houses and some offices as well."

"Ok." Amelia was not used to having domestic staff cleaning for her, except when she had stayed at hotels. So this was a little weird, but she could go along with it. She'd just think of herself as being on holiday, except that there was work to do. "Thanks for that, er, what's your name?"

"Leticia," the girl smiled, holding the tray in both hands, as she stood in the doorway.

"Ok, well, thanks Leticia. Have a good evening." She watched her go down the corridor, before shutting the door again.

Leaning back on the door, it was still unfamiliar to be in a setting where having private staff was normal. But, after all, she was really no different to Leticia. It was just that she was doing administrative work, rather than cleaning. Actually, her grandmother had been a domestic servant, a parlour maid, so Amelia was not one to feel superior. In an earlier time, she too would likely have had such a job.

Once opened, the note read:

"I'd like to see you at nine tonight. You may wait in the drawing room on the second floor."

S. L.

Hmmm, another note from LaCroix. So, I'll be meeting him soon. A mixture of feelings went through her. Nerves, but also a little excitement. It was better to know who she worked for. And it was good, almost surprising, that he was actually bothering. It was quite believable that someone like him would have little to do with a simple secretarial employee.

Still wearing her nightdress and dressing gown, she'd needed to get ready. She could hardly meet LaCroix dressed like this! It was 6pm, and so there was a couple of hours for her to get ready.

Downstairs in the drawing room, Amelia paced the floor a little as she waited. In the mirror above a console table between the long windows, was her reflection. She hadn't done anything elaborate. Just bushed her hair, and let it hang as it naturally did in dark, thick waves which framed her face. She wore a deep-blue skater dress with mid length sleeves. It was smart and well-made, and fitted her well, but was casual and not overly glamorous looking. It wasn't a date after all.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed. It was just past nine at night. I wonder where LaCroix is? She turned on the spot; her back to the room as she brushed the curtains aside and looked out of the window. It was almost pitch black outside, if not for the lights of the city.

Just a casual glance, her eye caught something in the mirror. A glimmer of light from the gallery outside. A chance reflection of a figure, striking due to his familiarity. She whipped around, thinking this a trick of the light; or a figment of imagination born from her dreams.

At the opposite side of the room, it seemed out of the shadowy darkness, was a man. Fair haired; of an average height and build, and dressed in a dark suit. He was occupied in reading some papers, which were held in one hand. His light eyes scanned over them; his pleasing profile and bearing an air of casual hauteur. He had noticed her, though he did not rush to greet her. It was almost brusque when he did acknowledge her. "Miss Siddall, good evening."

She stared at him. "…er, good evening." She felt almost rooted to the spot. It was hard to articulate any words, "Mr.?"

"Sebastian LaCroix," he replied. She noted his pronunciation of his name to be the correct way, unlike others who did not. She assumed that he himself was of French extraction or descent, although his accent seemed to show little trace of it. He put the papers down on the side-table, and then his full attention turned to her. "Forgive the lateness of this meeting, and that I was not here to welcome you yesterday. But, you see, I had some business."

"I understand," she nodded. Almost entranced as he approached her. The whole thing seemed almost surreal. She had dreamed of him, and so all the more to be in a sea of wonder at seeing him now. It meant that it was not a dream at all. Yet, she was not quite sure how to broach that subject. Perhaps, if she did, he would think her mad, or of an overly romantic imagination. "Thank you for letting me know in your note yesterday, by the way. I wasn't sure what to expect when I came in, so it was thoughtful of you."

"Pleasure," he almost smiled. With a courtly gesture, he bid her to sit down. "Do you find your room acceptable?"

Sitting down on one of the sofas in the room, she was still a little nervous. "Yes. It's very nice. I suppose I've only been in it one night. And I've started unpacking… er, but I think I will like it." It felt awkward answering; like she was just rambling. But she wasn't capable of much else at this moment.

"Good. If you need anything, or if something is wrong, let it be known." He went over to the sideboard, which had some decanters. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"Yes. Actually, I am quite thirsty," she affirmed, "just some water?" He poured the glass and passed it to her, before sitting on the chair to her left. She sipped it, and held the glass in both hands on her lap.

LaCroix asked her about her journey yesterday, and she told him some of the details of it. He also asked of her experiences on arrival. Apparently, she answered his questions in such a way that she unintentionally revealed some deficiency in Mercurio's conduct.

He scowled a little. "Nothing was brought to you? Mercurio should have arranged that.''

"It's ok. I guess he forgot," she shrugged. It was only that he hadn't brought her supper last night. But it seemed that, at times, Lacroix could be very exacting.

"Perhaps, but he was remiss. He'll be reminded of it." A slightly sinister undertone. Now she could sense why Mercurio had told her LaCroix was demanding. "Speaking of which, have you eaten yet today?"

"I had breakfast earlier. But that was quite a few hours ago now,'' she shook her head. I am pretty hungry actually." In truth, she was quite famished. She hadn't eaten in… hours? And so, the thought of it was appealing to her, even if it was so late at night.

"I see. Well, come, we can go to the dining room. A meal can be brought for you there." He rose from his seat and she followed his lead, taking her glass with her. He opened the door for her, then went across the staircase gallery, through to the opposite doors. Beyond those, was the dining room. Paintings were on the walls and it was furnished with antique furniture; it was in an early 19th-century style. At the centre was the dining table, a solid piece of furniture that extended to a great length, but at the moment was at it's smallest, seating up to six.

"Please, sit down," he gestured to one of the chairs at the table.

She slipped into the seat to his left, as he took the head of the table. Something had been arranged, and after a short wait, a meal arrived. A cold, very delicious supper. But it was only for her.

LaCroix observed the young woman. She was just as he remembered, it seemed that little had been change in her appearance since then. He talked to her only a little while she ate. There was only a passing curiosity in him about what she was eating, given that the enjoyment of food was for him a distant memory. And, besides, he did not really miss it. When it came to pleasure in consumption, he had a very different interest. One that he did not want Miss Siddall to become aware of yet.

"You know, I feel a little greedy eating while you are not,'' Amelia paused to take a sip of water.

"Don't hesitate on my account. I have already dined," LaCroix seemed quite genial then, though she could not discern why.

"Plus, I suppose it is quite late. Er, do you have dinner out a lot then?" She looked at him inquisitively.

"Sometimes." He didn't elaborate, and she didn't press the subject because there was no reason to.

She finished the last few bites of her meal, before setting down her knife and fork.

"I take it you enjoyed that," his grey eyes drifted over her plate, noting that it was completely empty.

"Yes, it was good. I hadn't realised how hungry I was," she laughed. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"It's no trouble, Miss Siddall. The least I could do." Sebastian LaCroix seemed relatively affable. Her impression of him was positive on the whole, at least so far. They talked for a little while longer. Some details about her work and such. The conversation gradually warming up from the slightly surreal, cold place it had been. Her curiosity was strengthened, and she felt a shade more daring. She wanted to ask him about that night they'd met before, and which she now knew was real, even though parts of it remained mysterious.

"Can I ask you a question?" She waited for his affirmation to proceed.

"I suppose so. What is it you would like to know?"

"We have met before now, haven't we?''

He looked at her, his grey seemed to bore into her as if discerning her intent. "Yes. At the event at the public library. A fortunate encounter." He did not elaborate on the darker aspects of that night, referring not at all to the creepy scene which had caused her confusion and some angst ever since. "I told you then, I would consider you for a position, should a suitable one present itself. That it happened to be for myself was merely coincidental."

"Ok." She closed her eyes, finding some self-assurance. "But, why the secrecy? You could have made it clear to me when the offer was made, so I'd know the context. As it was, it seemed to come from nowhere."

"Perhaps. However, the offer details were already quite clear. Even though this role is not typical for interns offered a position, your internship with us had a bearing on it. And so, that fact, together with your particular vocation, and meeting you face-to-face, made the decision to hire you a prudent one. I had a vacancy. You were suitable. Now, perhaps you can forgive me for creating a little mystery. I'm sorry for surprising you. Perhaps, I ought to have been more transparent."

"Well… I guess I knew. I guess it was alluded to, just in an oblique way," she fell into agreeing with him. She had a feeling that with him, it was easier to catch a fly with honey than with vinegar. And ultimately, it didn't really matter. She had always known that the offer and the first meeting with him were connected, if before only as a sense of fate.

His eyes beheld her, then dropped; glanced away with a thought. "Well, that settled, now seems a good time to retire,'' he rose from his chair. "It is quite late, you should go to bed."

"I suppose so. When should I be up tomorrow?" The end to this conversation seemed sudden, and yet, when she glanced at the clock, it was near on midnight.

They moved through the door into the gallery, and she stood at the foot of the stairs. She rested her hand on the polished wooden stair-rail, almost as reassurance for her nervous hands.

"Much the same as today, if you like," LaCroix replied. "You will be briefed on your tasks then, so try to sleep well."

"Oh, ok. Well good night,'' she said, lingering on the stair.

"Good night, Miss Siddall. It was pleasant to see you again."