18 October 1894 — Lestrange Household; hours after this

Adrienne had handed the baby back to the nurse after her husband left. She’d wanted to put on a brave face for him, to let him know there wasn’t anything to worry about; she would be fine, she would recover, and they would be a happy family. But her energy had been drained by the simple act of holding her son. It felt as if her head were being split in two, and soon her son had been taken back to the wet nurse, a cold compress applied to her forehead, and she was left alone to sleep.

Glowing diagnostic spells hung over her like a golden mobile, intended to trill in case any of her vitals changed. Adrienne eyed the colored orbs, knowing each of them corresponded to something but unable to remember what her textbooks had told her. After trying had led to even more of a headache, she drifted off into a deep sleep.

When she awoke she knew that night had fallen by the simple fact that the healer’s post had been left. The diagnostic spells still whirred above her, slow and pulsing. This time, Adrienne was clear-headed enough to know that she was stabilized enough. The healer wouldn’t have left if she had been in any danger. Perhaps she was recovering then. Cash seemed to have such a worried look etched into his features, she hoped he was getting some rest too.

Adrienne had little time to do much else other than wiggle her hands free from the blanket because at that moment when she glanced to the window, a familiar silver head poked its way into her room followed by an even more familiar outfit (complete with the silver sword impaling his person). “Monsieur Wye,” she rasped, raising a hand in greeting; then squinted in doubt. “Am I hallucinating or is that truly you?”

Elias Grimstone — Barnaby Wye

  

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“‘Tis I, indeed,” Barnaby said, his tone more sombre than usual from the moment he had seen her like this; his joke softened to something almost sympathetic. “But I am afraid you do look like you have seen a ghost.” In the metaphorical sense of things, anyway. Her skin was ashen, her forehead looked clammy, her voice seemed hoarse and weak – although she had raised her hand to him.

He drifted further into the room, towards the foot of the bed. If he had been bound by the rules of Living decency, Barnaby supposed he ought not be here, at this particular moment – she should be with her husband or her twin – but it was only chance that had seen him look in on her, and now that he was here he couldn’t help but think she was perhaps getting near the brink of death.

And that was rather a vested interest of his, generally speaking. (And specifically so, too – for if anyone was set to join him in this side of the afterlife, Adrienne Lestrange was a rather favourable candidate. He wasn’t sure whether it would it would flatter or distress her, to say so to her face.) His gaze lingered on the spells above her, but, being unable to decipher them, his eyes finally settled back on her. “Whatever is amiss?”

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It was him. Adrienne managed a wan smile. At least she hadn’t been truly hallucinating. That might have been a more troubling sign than having the ghost of a man slide through the wall and into her personal rooms. Oddly enough she felt the strangest urge to apologize to him for her state of being. Normally when he saw her, though it often wasn’t in when she was dressed to the nines, she still at least looked less like she was seconds away from knocking at Death’s door.

Though, perhaps this was an exception seeing as she apparently had been about to knock at Death’s door. Adrienne wondered vaguely if she’d have passed into the After Life, beyond the veil of the living, or if she’d have become a ghost much like Monsieur Wye. Frankly neither thought was comforting at the moment, and she was grateful for his question. She had to squint slightly to focus on him at the foot of her bed, transparent as he was. “What is amiss, is I’ve given birth and I don’t believe it went too well.” She replied, attempting to inject some sort of humor into her response. “I’ve been told I gave some people quite the scare, including my poor husband — could you come closer, please?”

Her hand lifted, reaching toward him. “It’s terribly hard to focus on you, and I should like to see someone else’s face other than a wet nurse or healer at the moment.”

  

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