March 17th, 1891 — Ari & Dio's Bartonburg Home
A twelve-hour shift the day before had afforded Dionisia very little time to catch up on anything that did not involve her patients' vitals and recovery, but that changed Wednesday, her first day off all week. The stack of papers had begun to pile up in the Fisk drawing room; atop the stack was Wednesday's paper, then Tuesday's paper, then Monday's paper, and then - Sunday's edition of Witch Weekly, which Dionisia might have discarded if not for the face of Reuben Crouch on the cover. The images of the three women on the cover were enough of an indication what the article was centered around, and not wanting to taint her opinion of the man she'd impulsively tossed it into the bin.
That was not the last time Ben's name would occupy her mind. Later that morning she stopped by the Apothecary to refill her stock of gurdyroot and goosegrass, and then after had stopped at Honeyduke's to grab a bar of chocolate for Elliott—and that is when his name came to mind again, prompted by the gossiping of two nearby women.
"Reuben Crouch was caught fighting a man in Bartonburg", was possibly the most alarming statement Dionisia had heard all week, and one of the healers on Monday had informed her that one of her patients was being put into a coma - so. It was jarring to say the least.
She tried to go about her morning, and did a remarkably good job of keeping her wits about her until she returned home. Time went very quickly after that; she put Elliott down for a nap, helped the cook make a list of groceries, and then rummaged through her bedroom desk, in search of a stack of letters and a parchment.
Only then did she finally settle down back in the drawing room where her morning again, this time finding her seat at the small wooden desk they kept instead of the loveseat. Her quill hovered over the parchment, frozen in place. The words Dear Ben, sat alone at the top of the page, along with the day's date, but she found that she was unable to manage words beyond that.
She had to write to him. She needed to. They were not close, but the image she'd formed of him based on their limited encounters did not include rumors of brawls and trysts and complete irresponsibility, even if she'd known prior to their acquaintanceship of the rumors about his rakishness. But then the roar of the floo network filled the drawing room, and Dionisia was frozen in place—
And scattered on the desk all around her, letters from Ben Crouch—and, perhaps more damningly, a letter addressed to Ben Crouch.