The Society of the Eleventh Hour

This Brief Rough Patch

A PUBLIC NOTICE FROM THE HEIRESS HERSELF

To the readers of the Libitina Gazette, I am sure you have seen news of my recent hospitalization and my fiance's arrest. Those interested in the social scene certainly must have mourned the loss of three or four social events this week. Not to worry, the Hunt is still on and will still occur on Wednesday as is tradition. I am better now.

I must apologize for concerning you all. What occurred at the Masquerade was merely a squabble over whether or not I would be accepting William's proposal or not. We have come to an agreement and no hurt feelings exist as I will be accepting William's proposal at the closing ball of the Season and will also be married at some point afterwards. (A day long awaited by my poor seamstress, Margaret, who I am certain must be weeping tears of joy right now.)

I hope that we can move on from this brief rough patch. I am doing everything I can to ensure that, I promise.

-Lucia Augustin-Sauveterre.

I snap the newspaper shut with an irritated sigh. The address actually is my own, believe it or not, but it was written last night while my mother practically breathed down my neck. I did my best to speak in a way that my supporters would understand while still enduring my mother's strict censorship. My hand has been forced, and hopefully they will see that.

Rough patch, indeed. Now that I am somewhat healed, I have too much to do to remain in hiding a second longer than is necessary. Mrs. Crawford was able to bring me one of my old summer dresses (I have nothing more appropriate for the season in Ben's closet anymore) as I asked once I realized that it is long past time for me to return home.

I tell Morgan this directly when she comes to see me off after her day-shift at work. The sun is sinking low in the sky already, and I stare up at the mountain ridge with nothing short of dread. To be honest, the extremely short walk from the hospital to the edge of town has winded me.

"You could come home with me," she says quietly.

I shake my head.

"No— I couldn't. That'd be like forfeiting, abandoning my estate once again after I promised not to. My mother uses my absence like a weapon against the people we rely on... the household staff and our army. She thinks of them as pawns, to be disposed of at will in order to win the game."

"You can, and should, return to them every day." Morgan concedes. "But what good does sleeping in your bed do for your people? I don't think it matters where you spend your evenings— and worse, I worry what the two of them might plot while you are vulnerable and within their reach. Bad things happen at night, Lucy."

She takes a step closer to me, imploring. It's the closest she's allowed herself to me since that night, a few days ago. I find myself unable to refuse her.

"Alright. Perhaps... just for a night. It wouldn't be so bad, and my mother can hardly expect me to return home in the first place if she's not going to send anyone to bring me there." I scowl, at the slight.

Morgan bumps her shoulder against mine.

"Perfect!"

She dumps her heavy woolen overcoat onto my shoulders and makes a place for me on her couch like it's the most natural thing in the world. I trail after her helplessly because there is nothing else to do, and it is rather cold.

....

The next morning, I wake up with a horrible ache in my shoulder. I'd rolled over onto my side whilst sleeping on the couch and done something terrible to it, and the stitches on my ribs are aggravated from what must have been a night of tossing and turning. Strange, because I don't remember what I had been dreaming of.