7th December, 1894 — Adebayo Estate, Cambridgeshire

It had been easier to weather it before; she had still been managing to seem herself, unaffected and content. But now it wasn’t just spotting Mr. Echelon-Arnost across a room at an event, or feeling vaguely guilty when another debutante mentioned the rejected courtship. Now the details had surfaced in recent social gossip, and Callista had felt a wave of sorrow all over again. But if she was feeling sorry for herself and frustrated at the world, she had been doing her level best to hide it from everyone else by spending hours alone in her greenhouse. She tried not to take it out on the plants, but she was working unnecessarily vigorously today, earmuffs clamped over her ears and angrily patting down earth as she repotted some toddler mandrakes for the winter. She couldn’t hear their bawling screams, but she felt them, the inexpressible emotions locked fast in her chest.

Someone must have heard the mandrake’s cry, though, because somewhere by the door of her greenhouse there was a muffled thump of someone falling. Callista didn’t notice until she had tidied up, brushed soil off her gloves and hung up her gardening smock – and finally, as she set off back for the house, she saw them.
* * *
With a little help from one of the household staff opening doors for her and a levitating charm, Callista had gotten the visitor back indoors and sprawled out, still unconscious but hopefully more comfortably, on a chaise longue in the drawing room. They had come to call on her, and been directed out to the greenhouse to retrieve her when Callista hadn’t responded to any calls from the house, the housekeeper had explained disapprovingly. They had been out cold for an hour or two. Callista had been sitting, and fretting, and flitting around the room and fretting some more. The last thing she needed now was for anyone to hear she was trying to murder house calls. Finally, their eyes fluttered. “Oh, thank goodness!” Callista murmured, hastening to their side to help steady them as they came around.

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open to a visitor of any kind! UCPB preferred for hurling; could also be a friend or herbologist acquaintance etc

  

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The last thing Gregory remembered before everything went dark was the sound of a shrill scream piercing the December air.

* * *
An observatory. That was his reason for travelling to Cambridgeshire today—not even a new observatory, but dramatic improvements to an existing one. It was frivolous, Gregory thought as he made his way to the Adebayo estate, but in a charming, erudite way: something intellectual, rather than a herd of zebras or curtains made of pixie wings intended solely to show off to others. Perhaps he mith have one of his own, some day, if his fortunes—both metaphorical and literal—ever improved enough to actually build the house he insisted to his mother and siblings was presently under construction.

It was a victimless lie, one designed to help the wizard maintain his pride and dignity after his concience had gotten the better of him, prompting him to abandon his dishonest pursuit-for-pay of Miss Oakby. It was also a lie that was getting progressively more difficult to keep the longer he remained under the same roof as his family. For this reason, the architect had hurled himself with rather more fervour into his work, even seeking out projects—such as the botanical gardens in Padmore Park—to bring in to the firm in the hope of clout, a promotion and, consequently, money.

This was why he was "here", broadly, in Cambridgeshire. But why, Gregory wondered was he here, more specifically? And where was "here"?

"Where... what..." he did not quite have a grasp on the reins of his line of questioning, but both of these seemed like a sound place to start. He had a headache. That much the wizard knew for certain. Not the dull throb of a very-much-earned morning after, but something sharper.

Callista Adebayo

  

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— set by lady —