I received several notices from the universe that today was not going to be a good day.
The first thing that clued me in was that Phoebe had to wake me up. Phoebe, I ask you. Being, as she was, the daughter of a lord, I doubted Phoebe had ever been early for anything in her life. She seemed to follow her mother's rule of being "fashionably late" in every aspect of her life, sleeping included.
I was just lucky that she doted on her companion enough to wake me up in time for the day's activities. She could easily have left me to my uncharacteristic later slumber, but she absolutely insisted on having me near her at all times.
"Finley, please, you absolutely must get up, you simply cannot miss this!" Phoebe said excitedly. She obviously had not yet noticed my irregularity. "Lord Vincent has come for luncheon, and he has brought his newest automaton to show!"
When I sat up, head spinning and hands shaking, her ladyship finally noticed that something was indeed wrong.
"I do not think I will be able to accompany you, Phoebe," I said faintly. "My head hurts."
I saw the slightest hint of fear accompany the concern in her eyes as she touched her cheek, where she was injured by yours truly in the incident in the park yesterday.
"No, no, it's nothing to do with that," I assured her. "I have already told you I'm fine" – doubt – "Phoebe, do you not trust my healing?"
And that she did, as I had demonstrated my incredible healing skills to her the day before.
"I feel sick, that's all," I conceded.
I knew by her expression how much she wanted to press me to come with her anyway. I was well aware of her entirely founded fears of Lord Vincent, her handsome and much older fiancé. Had this been any other day, I would have been the one persuading her to go downstairs, as she was deathly afraid of being left alone with him.
However, it was not a good day, and my head hurt something fierce, an expression I would not have used in front of her ladyship due to its harshness. I ran through the list of what could have caused this sickness – I didn't usually feel any sort of sickness whatsoever.
Quickly, I attributed it to the rich food I had been eating recently, and how much it was disagreeing with my middle-class pallet. I longed for my step-father's bookshop, and toast with butter dipped in hot chocolate, reverting back to childhood thoughts and pleasures in the face of the fact that I was really sick.
I shook my head pleadingly at Phoebe, who seemed to deflate just a little before resigning herself to her fears.
"Well, that is most unfortunate, then," she said, not unkindly, and waving delicately to a passing maid outside the still-open bedroom door. She murmured a few words softly to the maid, as was the custom. The most I could discern, even with my hearing, were the words "inform" and "pity". The maid softened under Phoebe's well-chosen words and hurried off, like a puppy eager to do her mistress' bidding.
"Do you want to get dressed?" Phoebe asked me, and when I nodded – who wants to be caught in their nightgown under any circumstances? – Then she helped me do so. I felt marginally better dressed in my own day clothes, especially as they were much more suited to rest than one of my uncomfortable dresses "borrowed" from Phoebe.
I would have felt just like my old self, had I not felt like I was in the middle of a whirlpool still. I had the sense of our roles being reversed, and told Phoebe something along the lines of "we could have had a maid help".
"No, it's all right," she smiled. "I've spent my life being taken care of. I might as well help somebody out for once."
Dizzy from both my headache and gratefulness, I sank back on to the bed into sleep. I knew I had to rest if this was to be gone in time for whatever nefarious adventures might befall me or Phoebe the next day.
