Lucian stood in the center of the morning room, the scent of Lady Oakheart's fancy perfume and aged velvet clinging to the air. The room was the epitome of refined Industrial Era wealth: gaslight filtered through heavy silk curtains, casting a perpetual amber glow over the Persian rugs and mahogany furniture. He offered his thanks to his mother, the words were smooth and practiced, but a single, persistent thought kept him tethered to the spot. It was a thought that had been simmering since Mary mentioned the forgotten maid.
"One more thing," he began, turning back to his mother.
Lady Oakheart, impeccable in her tightly structured day dress, had regained her habitual expression of poised, untouchable composure. She stood beside a heavy, carved mantelpiece, one hand resting near a small, ornamental brass clock whose pendulum swung silently, marking time Lucian felt he had lost.
"Mary recently found an old handkerchief," he continued, his voice carefully casual.
"She said a maid named Maria gave it to me. She was my first maid. Do you know anything about her?
The name Maria, spoken after years of being buried, did what no amount of financial ruin or social scandal could, it fractured Lady Oakheart's rigid control. A visible flicker of alarm, deep and instantaneous, crossed her face-a ripple that quickly subsided, but not before Lucian caught it.
"Maria, you say?" she murmured, adjusting the cuff of her lace sleeve in a small, delaying action. "Yes, everyone in the mansion who was here back then knew her. She was a bright girl, quick-witted, and carried out her duties without a single mistake. Polite, kind-everyone loved her."
Lady Oakheart paused, her gaze distant, fixed on a patch of the plush carpet. "After serving for a time in the lower staff, she became your personal maid. You were very fond of her; she spent her limited free time playing with you every day, even when the rest of us were quite busy. She was a comfort when we were preoccupied with the affairs of the Dukedom because of what happened that time..."
Her voice softened slightly, adopting a tone of melancholy reflection. "But she left suddenly without telling anyone, Lucian. She simply departed, and nobody truly knows where she went. We exhausted every effort searching for her. Your father sent men out across the county. But it was as if she had never existed. We couldn't even find a single trace. After searching for so long, we had no choice but to give up. At that time, you still didn't open up to anyone else that much. So we made a conscious decision to avoid mentioning her name, hoping to spare you the pain of remembering her absence just as your illness began to take hold. It is strange you ask this now. You used to treasure that handkerchief, it was her final, simple gift to you. That Mary just found it recently... this is strange. You used to keep it by your side all the time."
Lucian felt a profound sinking sensation. The mention of the treasured handkerchief did nothing to jar his memory. "Because of the illness, I've lost most of my memories" he admitted, letting a sincere note of vulnerability enter his voice. "Even after hearing everything from Mary and thinking all night, I can't seem to recall her face or the moment she gave me this gift. It feels like the void in my memories is absolute."
"Do you have any photos of her?" he pressed, the question edged with a desperate hope he couldn't mask. "Who knows, seeing a picture might trigger something."
Lady Oakheart looked at him, her concern now visible, but laced with genuine caution. She let out a deep, audible sigh.
"Well, there are some photographs of the two of you kept in the archives," she conceded. "You can certainly look, Lucian. But please, remember what the physician said. You've just recovered from this terrible illness. You must not put too much pressure on your brain. You must take good care of yourself. The memories will slowly return if you tend to your health."
The genuine warmth of her concern finally reached Lucian. It had been a while since he had felt such unburdened maternal care. He managed a quiet smile.
"Yes, I will, Mother, don't worry," Lucian promised instantly, already moving toward the door. "Thank you, Mother. I truly believe if I can understand this small gap, the rest will follow."
He offered a final goodbye and strode away.
The moment Lucian's footsteps faded, the facade Lady Oakheart maintained shattered. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and her worried expression deepened.
"I thought Lucian was finally recovering from the illness," she said with a heavy sigh, looking to the side. "But when he mentioned the missing memories, it concerns me deeply. He is finally able to live freely after all those years of grueling pain. I don't want him to fall into any more danger. Even the doctor has been missing since that day. It feels like someone has cursed our household, and their main target seems to be Lucian. What should I do, Martha? I am very worried."
Martha, the formidable Head Maid, was a figure of unwavering authority within the grand household. Her presence alone seemed to straighten the spines of scullery maids and footmen alike. Her abundant black hair, often pulled back into a severe, impeccably tidy bun at the nape of her neck, was rarely seen out of place-a testament to her own stringent standards. Wisps might occasionally escape, hinting at the force of personality beneath the polished exterior, but they were quickly disciplined back into submission. Her eyes, often described as dark pools reflecting the gaslight, missed nothing, scanning for dust, disorder, or any deviation from the meticulous routines she had established. Dressed in her unadorned, dark grey uniform, with a starched white apron and cuffs, Martha carried herself with a ramrod straight posture that spoke volumes of her decades of experience and her unyielding dedication to the seamless operation of the household.
She replied to Lady Oakheart's worried question in a reassuring, controlled tone. "Don't worry, My Lady. Everything will be just fine. There is no one foolish enough to mess with the Oakheart household. Even if someone does, there are many people here who would do whatever it takes to stop them. And about the doctor... I will look into him personally."
This reassured Lady Oakheart a little bit, but worry could still be seen on her face.
As soon as he was out of their sight, the facade of polite gratitude dissolved from Lucian's face. It was now alight with joyful anticipation, a hunger that defied his recent weakness. He finally had a solid clue-a physical destination to solve the mystery of his missing memories and that recurring, haunting vision.