Written by the Bystander

At night I walk, lighting the lamps for all those who need to find their way home. Tired mine workers, those who work late at the factory, and the occasional office men delaying their arrival home.

I love seeing my city at dusk, the colours against the harsh city line. That might be why I took this job. And most nights I don't run into many people. Most are at home having dinner with their families or waiting to go home till it's too late. As the sun dips low in the sky, day giving way to night and I nearing the end of my route, I see her.

A young lady trying too hard to blend in. Even her simplest clothes make these folks’ church clothes look like rags. I say nothing. She sees me and pulls her hood tight around her face.

I make work of looking busy but stay close by. She'd be an easy target for pickpockets and scammers. I notice she is holding a paper tightly. Most likely it’s an address. With what? I wonder. Instructions? A love note? An invitation? She wouldn't be the first young lady I have seen slip to a party with her friends, finding the factory workers and miners better company than the businessmen who call on them.

She seems anxious - most likely not here with her parents’ approval. I wonder if I should say something. I don't get the chance. A carriage pulls up, and she breathes out a sigh of relief. She straightens up and slips into the carriage.

I can only hope I did the right thing by saying nothing. Over the next few days when I get to that spot, I wonder what happened to her. But eventually, I forgot about the young lady. Then after a month, she is back. Holding another note, still overdressed, but looking more relaxed.

I say nothing but stay nearby, busying myself with cleaning the street by the lamppost. I look at her closely - definitely a noble lady. Why is she back? Most noble ladies have their night of revelry and then settle into whatever marriage their father has set for them.

But she is back. I want to ask her questions, but I know better. I'm just the person who lights lamps. So I simply stand guard. She humming today, maybe she is in love? Or enjoying the last few days of freedom? Once again, a carriage pulls up, she smiles and flushes and a hand extends to help her into the carriage.

The warm winds of summer fade to the cool breeze of autumn and she keeps coming. Every month she waits, then slips into her carriage. Soon snow starts to fall - will she keep coming? She does; now she stands there wrapping her cloak around her. Trying to keep out the cold.

I set my torch near her and go about my cleaning without saying a word. I look from the corner of my eye and see her warming her hands. It's been months, I decide it's time to say something. "Miss, are you quite alright?” I don't look at her.

"Oh yes, quite."

I respond with a hum. I wait to see if she will say more. "I should thank you." She pauses and turns towards me. "You've been keeping an eye on me while I wait in the dark. My beloved appreciates that. "

"The streets can be risky. And you don't know about them. It was the least I could do." Then I noticed her bags. "Ah, so I won't be seeing you again, will I?"

She blushes. "I hope not. We're hoping to slip away unnoticed on the early morning train in the next town over."

"I'm just someone who lights the street lamps, Miss. No one knows the path I walk or who all I see." Soon the carriage pulls up. I help them load up her bags, then step to the side.

"Thank you again, My Guardian of the Night. Keep safe in these streets.” She smiles at me. I don’t think I will forget that smile for a long time.

I look at the man beside her. "Take care of her, and get yourself wed before you do something foolish, ya hear?" I point my finger at them in a manner that I doubt seems threatening.

He shockingly throws his hands up and smiles at me. I trust him. He seems like a good man.

The young noblewoman catches my hand. "I mean it - thank you. I hope you have a good life, My Guardian." She kisses my cheek and I close the carriage door.

"I hope your new life is worth the one you gave up,” I whisper as they drive away.

I smile and walk home. Maybe in the paper in a few days, I will learn the name of the woman whose love story I have watched unfold.