The Society of the Eleventh Hour

Estate Blues

I end up having to leave Morgan with Nightingale overnight, which makes me incredibly nervous. Technically, she's the most qualified person I know to take care of Morgan in this state— and they've been amicable enough in the few interactions I've seen between them— but there's always an off-chance that the people you meet might have something dark lurking underneath.

I'm glad to have brought her there in the first place, though, as Nightingale was able to deduce immediately that Morgan's state is likely a mere side effect of the medication they gave her at the arena... but the worry is still there.

It's substantial enough that part of my mind is consumed with the possible consequences of my actions as I lie down on the Crawford's couch to sleep a few measly hours, and enough that the worry persists for the entire rest of the morning as I prep and cook the dough and stand at the front of the counter greeting people I've come to recognize day in and day out.

When a familiar figure in all black materializes in the doorway at around two in the afternoon, right before my lunch break, I nearly weep with relief. She takes a seat in the corner, this time, rather than standing at the doorway.

I retreat into the kitchen shortly after to grovel before Mrs. Crawford's relatively indifferent form.

"Is there, um, any way that I could take the rest of the day off? I'm chasing a lead in the Rebecca Hendriks case, and it could be really important. I promise to make it up to you." I duck my head downwards, embarrassed, until Mrs. Crawford responds.

"You don't need to make a thing up to me, dear. It is your help that has made such a difference for my family, in the first place." She sets her whisk down for just a moment to give me a serious look.

I shrug the comment off, feeling an odd itch to escape her scrutiny and smile brightly.

"Right! We'll try and be on our way quickly, then, so I can hopefully still help close."

I hurry out of the kitchen and remove my apron, throwing it haphazardly onto a hook before sliding into the seat across from Morgan.

"You're feeling better, I hope?" I ask, leaning forward as if I could examine her condition for myself. (I can't. My medical expertise is specialized in the dead, which she certainly isn't.)

"Yeah," she grins, slyly. "Slept better than I have in years. Where are we going today?"

I hesitate.

"The Beaufort estate. Dagger described the buyer in enough detail that I can determine that it was a Beaufort that purchased the drug, but not which one. We're going to find that out now."

Morgan quirks an eyebrow.

"Great. Let's start now, eh?" She rises from the table, smacking her knee into it hard enough to nearly overturn it, and I frown.

"Minor issue here... I think that the family will react hostilely to you if you don't make an effort to conform to their expectations of what a woman should be, at least loosely. Um! Remember, this isn't me talking— it's them. I'll even help if you'd like?" I stand, too, and Morgan stares at me with wary eyes.

"How so?"

"We could, um..." I feel myself blush at how stupid this all feels. "We could start with your presentation? I have plenty of clothes for you to borrow."

Morgan looks like she would enjoy nothing less. I ignore this in favor of taking her by the wrist and dragging her up the stairs to Ben's room.