The thing about being a spy is that there is no going back. It's like being a killer. One taste of death at your own hands and you're always a killer, no matter how pure your intentions, no matter how long ago it's been. Once a killer, always a killer; once a spy, always a spy.

I resented that, at first. I just wanted to be normal after the war, like everyone else did. We all wanted to pretend that it didn't change us for the worse, that we could still be as innocent and naïve as we always had. Coming back home, I was a blind woman who had been given her sight. It was terrifying, the world that had suddenly opened up. I could see beautiful things, but so much more of it was ugly and I couldn't stop seeing it. But at the same time, what blind person who had regained her senses would lose them again, no matter how ugly the world? And anyway, I couldn't avoid it. It was a part of me, and the world was that way whether I tried to ignore it or not. Once a spy, always a spy.

I thought that moving there would escape it. It was such a quiet town, away from everything. The people were warm and superstitious, routine-loving and as part of the village as the bricks its foundation sat on. They were unchanging through the ages, steadfast- or that was the way they seemed at the start.

My first day there, I thought I would never get a moment's peace. My things had been sent ahead of me, so I thought there would be little fuss when I unlocked the door and walked inside. I had barely started exploring when there was a knock on the door. Apparently I was not the only spy in town.

I opened it cautiously and saw a middle aged woman standing there, dressed in a bright flower-patterned skirt and smiling so wide through thin, red lips I thought her face might crack from the intensity.

"Hallo, you must be Audrey! I'm Betty, your new next door neighbour! It's such a pleasure to meet you." She reached out a white-gloved hand and I shook it firmly.

"Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you as well. I just got in."

"I trust you had a pleasant journey. The train can be so awful sometimes. I can't stand it, myself. I hardly ever go into London because of it. All the smoke and the hustle and bustle- can't be bothered."

"No, of course you can't." I said politely.

"I hope your things all arrived alright. Workmen can be so rough with things, and there was no one to supervise! I mean, most of what you need is probably here already, no one else has been by since your uncle passed. I'm so sorry about that, of course. He was a very…" She trailed off.

"I never even met him, to tell you the truth. I think he was actually my third cousin twice removed or something along those lines."

"Well, I would never speak ill of the dead, but I wager that's a good thing." She said, waving her hand surreptiously. "It'll be so nice having you here! This huge old place could use some life in it. When is your husband arriving? I'd love to have you both over for dinner this Thursday for my weekly dinner party. There are some people I'm dying to introduce you to!"

"That's very sweet of you, but I don't have a husband."

"Oh."

I smiled, and though I imagined it looked convincing, it was a strain. I knew that every other young thing was getting hitched at the blink of an eye to the first man who told her a good war story, but I had gone out of my way to avoid such things, and I didn't like explaining it to women like Betty who couldn't fathom a woman without "her other half".

"Do you think by any chance you could point me towards a place to get some groceries in town?" I asked. "I imagine the pantry here will be empty."

"Yes, it's just down the road to the left, as is most everything else here. Did you not keep Miss Williams on?"

"I'm confident I can manage on my own just fine."

"I see. Well, I'm just next door if you need anything, Audrey. Good morning!"

"Good morning."

She gave a little wave as she walked down the drive and I kept my smile painted on until I had closed the door. I peeked through the curtain and saw her breaking off in a hurry towards town, walking rather comically in her heels. I rolled my eyes. I hadn't even been in town ten minutes and I was already news worth getting the first scoop on.

I walked further into the manor. My three suitcases were stacked up near the stairs, and my vanity was against the wall with a sheet over it next to my favourite roll-top desk. Everything else was original to the house. My uncle- or whoever he was to me- had had very Victorian taste, apparently. The whole house felt overwrought for its size. Though it was large, it was by no means sprawling. Just a regular little small town manor house in the country, but he decorated the whole thing like Queen Victoria's sitting room. It was all artsy statues, big oil paintings, large wooden furniture, and heavy brocade drapes.

While the house was big, I was still confident that I didn't want a maid. I wanted solitude- and anyway, I couldn't afford it. I had no job, no income. I might become a maid myself, even. A maid owning a manor, how odd would the townsfolk find that?

I had barely given myself a proper tour of the house when there was another knock on the door again. It was the vicar's wife. Would I be joining them for church on Sunday? Of course. In a town like this, you didn't dare not. I think they would still burn a witch at a stake if they had enough reason. Then, it was the mail man with a few odd letters from friends in London. His questions were unusually prying- did I get lots of mail? Did I have lots of friends in London? Is that where I grew up? Where were my parents and what did they do, anyway? After him, it was the ladies from the Children's Aid Society inviting me to their tea social on Wednesday afternoon. I politely accepted the invitation. Getting a reputation as a hermit would hardly do.

I always hated it when my mother fussed over how we appeared to the rest of the world, as if the family was meant to fool everyone into thinking we were utterly and completely flawless. Now, I found myself deflecting questions and playing that part myself. What a hypocrite I'd become.

Then, just as I was considering looking like a hermit myself just to stop people from calling, I opened the door to him.

He was tall, with messy brown hair and deep brown eyes. He held a pie, and had a warm, handsome face. I was rather surprised to see someone like him standing at my door.

"Hi! I'm Avery. I heard you had moved in and felt you might like a pie. Made it myself, chicken and vegetable."

"Oh, that's lovely of you, thank you." I said, taking it from him lightly.

"I'm sure the parade of gossips has already come knocking, I figured you would need nourishment after such an inquisition."

"It's been more of a preliminary questioning than an inquisition, to their credit." I said, smiling for real this time. I had met a lot of shockingly handsome men in the war, and he would stand at par with any of them. I had learned that this was not always a good quality, but it was nice to know there was at least one piece of eye candy around.

He laughed. "You're going to need that sense of humour for when they really move in. You're the most exciting thing that's happened around here since the war ended."

"Well, that sounds like a good thing. I think we've all had a little too much excitement for a lifetime."

"One could look at it that way. I'm sure we'll see each other around town- I work at the bakery on main street, so come pop in anytime. Enjoy your pie!"

"Thank you so very much."

He turned, and my smile fell a little as he left. The pie smelled delicious. It was even still a little warm in my hands, but I was suddenly distracted from my hunger by a simple question.

Why did a quiet, cozy village baker need to carry a concealed gun in an ankle holster?