"Mrs Holland," Phoebe said softly. The woman did not move. "Mrs Holland?" Phoebe tried again. She stirred slightly. "Sibella, do wake up, please."
Using the Christian name seemed to do the trick, as the other woman turned over in bed, slender arms emerging from the sheets to stretch over the head of blonde hair, and then back down again, long fingered hands dragging over her face to rub at her eyes. Grey-green eyes met Phoebe's dark blue in the dim early morning light, and a slight smile crept onto the still sleepy woman's lips.
"Countess Navarro," Sibella mumbled. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" The second half of her thought was a trifle more articulate.
"Sibella, we haven't time for the niceties. You have to get up now," Phoebe said, clearly distressed.
"Whatever's the matter?" The other woman's expression darkened at Phoebe's tone.
"Please, you must get up." Phoebe moved away from the bed. The blonde swung her legs off the side of the bed, folding the sheets back. The dark haired woman went to the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulled out the first dress her hand came in contact with- a pale pink gown, fairly simple compared to the rest of her wardrobe. Walking back to the woman seated on the edge of the bed, she handed the dress to her.
"Phoebe, what's happened? Are you alright? Is Monty?"
"Yes, we're both fine. But put this on and come downstairs. We must be quick. I'm afraid there's been... there's been an accident."
"Is anyone hurt? Who is it, what happened?"
As she spoke, Phoebe had pulled a corset, petticoat, and other undergarments from the trunk, and also gave these to Sibella.
"I- I can't... Put these on. I'll lace you." The blonde obliged, tugging on undergarments beneath the nightdress before turning her back to the other woman and pulling the nightgown over her head. She reached behind her for the corset, but Phoebe faltered handing it to her. Her eyes were fixed on Sibella's ribs, and the dark bruise that covered them on the left side. The hand extended to her was also bruised, deep blue and purple lines around the wrist and forearm, ending in rounded tops. From his hand, Phoebe thought. Marks left by him practically crushing her already thin wrists. Sibella turned her head to look at her, and the brunette noted that there was also bruising on her left shoulder, widespread like her ribs, and the back of her neck was marked like her wrist. The countess had not been able to properly see Mrs Holland's injuries the night before, but now as she saw the full extent of what he had done to her a small part of the panic within her disappeared.
"Does it hurt?" Phoebe asked quietly. Sibella crossed a hand over her breasts to shield them from view and turned to take the corset from the other woman's hand, ignoring the question. She refastened the hook and eyes down the front, and pulled her curls to the side, over her shoulder, so Phoebe could lace the back of it.
Starting at the top, Phoebe tugged firmly on the lacing of the corset, but stopped immediately upon hearing Sibella's sharp intake of breath. "Did I hurt you?" Phoebe questioned, alarmed.
"No, it's not your fault. Just lace it," the blonde responded, reaching her right hand out to grip the bedpost. Reluctantly, the dark haired woman resumed tightening the lacing, however she took greater care that it was not as tight as it would have normally been.
"There," said Phoebe, tying the ends of the laces into a neat bow. She then fastened the buttons up the back of the pink gown, and -despite Sibella's protests- fastened her shoes for her, as she could not bend over without pain. The blonde barely had time to run a brush through her curled hair before the countess practically dragged her downstairs. As the two swished down the grand staircase, Monty all but ran through the open front doors.
"Phoebe, where in God's name-" he was shouting, but stopped when he saw the pair on the stairs. Sibella skipped the last two steps and ran into his waiting arms. "Oh, there you are," he said softly into her hair.
"Monty, for heavens' sake, what's happened?"
"I... I'm so sorry. Sibella, darling, there's been... a terrible-"
"Accident, I know," she replied, pulling away from him slightly, though not entirely, his hands resting on her waist.
"You told her?" he questioned, shocked, looking past the blonde to Phoebe, still on the stairs. She shook her head in response. Sibella looked from Monty to Phoebe and back again, noting the panicked expression in both of their eyes. As she looked questioningly at Monty, a movement caught her eye behind him, and before he could stop her, she walked out the doors and down the drive, in the direction that he had come from. A group of people was being blocked by two of the butlers of the house, both looking rather ill, cold, and uneasy. They saw her at the moment that she saw what everyone was trying to get a look at. Half way down the incline of the drive and off to one side was a motor car. A motor car that she knew all too well. But a tire lay on the other side of the drive, unattached from the car. And the hood of the car had all but disappeared into the massive trunk of an ancient tree adjacent to the drive, its branches bare and dusted with frost.
Sibella started down the drive, gaining speed with every step. One of the butlers, Gorby, tried to stop her as she passed the group. "Mrs Holland," he said, stepping toward her, a hand outstretched. "I wouldn't recommend-" But she had already sidestepped him and continued down the incline.
"Sibella!" she heard Phoebe shout, as she rushed on.
"Sibella, no!" Monty's voice was closer than Phoebe's. But the blonde was undeterred, though she heard heavy and quick footfalls behind her. She slowed only slightly when she was close enough to see that the majority of the front seat of the car was covered by a white sheet, but as everything clicked into place in her mind, her pace more than doubled, and she was running towards the car, her skirts gathered in her hands, Monty racing after her.
She was only a few yards away from the car when Monty caught up to her, coming alongside of her. He reached out in front of her and stopped her with a hand around her waist, decreasing and diverting her momentum into him as he pulled her to him. Only momentarily winded from the impact of her body against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her, turning her so that her back was against him, effectively preventing her from getting any closer to the car.
"Sibella, please don't," he murmured, slightly breathless. They were both silent for a moment, their rapid breath creating white clouds that drifted upwards in the frigid morning air.
"It's Lionel," she said definitively, not a question but a statement.
"Yes, darling, it's Lionel."
"Let me go," she ordered, far too calmly for the situation.
The group still on the drive looked on in horror as the Earl let go of Mrs Holland, and she stepped slowly towards the wreck. Upon reaching the driver's side of the car, she reached out a trembling hand and pulled back the corner of the sheet. The maids shrieked in anticipation, even though nothing could be seen from that distance, and even the countess, who stood a ways down the hill from the group let out an audible gasp. They watched as Mrs Holland reeled backwards, dropping the sheet immediately, tripping back in the direction of His Lordship, and the Earl jumped forward to catch her as she tipped sideways and crumpled. The countess started towards them, but the Earl, one arm around her waist and the other under her knees, lifted the blonde woman and began to walk back up the hill. The countess ran to meet them, only to pivot and walk alongside her husband with rapid steps to match his quick pace. Sibella's right arm fell over Monty's, which held her waist, and Phoebe took her hand and laid it across her stomach, so that it no longer dangled over her side. But as she was releasing Sibella's hand, blonde curls moved against Monty's chest, and perfectly manicured fingers closed around Phoebe's.
"Monty, she's awake," the countess said, looking up at him.
As they approached the front steps, Phoebe darted ahead, shooing members of the staff out of the way. The parlour was just off of the foyer. Monty went first, Sibella in his arms, Phoebe following close behind. The countess shut the door firmly, barring anyone from the gathering outside from entering. She hurried to snatch a throw pillow from the window seat and plop it down on the sofa so that Monty could set the blonde down. Monty placed Sibella, now conscious, on the sofa, making sure that the pillow was beneath her head. He knelt beside her, and he was soon joined on the rug by Phoebe, who dropped down into a puddle of blue fabric. Monty took the blonde's hand, and she held tightly to his fingers. Phoebe laid a hand on her upper arm, her thumb rubbing lightly across the pink fabric there.
Sibella looked, wide eyed, from Monty to Phoebe to Monty again, and she knew that in that moment, all of their lives had been altered irrevocably.
