Hello everyone,
Here is chapter two! I'm afraid it turned out rather long, but I really wanted to end it at a certain point in the story. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!
II
Few inhabitants of Storybrooke noticed the arrival of a stranger late at night. Dropped off by the stage coach on the country road, the woman and the young boy who accompanied her walked the last two miles into town. They headed first for Regina Mills's imposing home on Grimm Street and, after a brief exchange with the lady of the house at the front door, the stranger then walked on by herself. The streets were almost empty that late at night and there was no one to see her arrive on the town square which boasted, amongst others, the Storybrooke Hotel, the town's most upscale establishment. The hotel's elderly owner, the widow Lucas, was therefore one of the first to learn of her arrival when the receptionist came to inform her that a guest had just checked in. It was startling news, for visitors from outside were rare – if she had paused to think, she might have realized that she couldn't even recall the last visitor – but the widow Lucas did not pause; hiding her surprise behind a congenial smile, hands held out magnanimously, she rushed to the reception to inspect the new arrival in person.
"Welcome to Storybrooke," she said, "Mrs...?"
"Swan," the other said, "Emma Swan."
"I am Mrs Lucas, the owner," she said, adding coyly: "My regulars call me Granny. It's always such a pleasure to receive new guests." Granny's keen eyes, always ready for a swift judgement and the picking out of details that made for good gossip, darted across the woman's figure even as she made an inviting gesture and said, "Won't you follow me, please?" She would usually have thought it beneath her to escort a guest herself, but would make an exception – if only because she wasn't quite sure what to make of her guest. She had immediately noted that the woman's left ring finger was bare, even though the woman was attractive enough: slim, with thick blonde hair that had been pinned up beneath her bonnet, and a fair, appealing face. Perhaps she was a widow, Granny mused as she preceded her guest up the stairs to the first floor. It might explain why she had showed up without a chaperone. Her social class (always a key point for Granny) was hard to establish; her clothes were simple and dark but well-cut, complemented by a tailored pink jacket that Granny thought was a tad flashy, but which might have come into fashion outside Storybrooke. The fashion catalogues she had ordered from London last month had never arrived, after all.
"There were are," she said, opening the door to room number 7 and going ahead to turn on the gas light on the dresser. "I hope you'll find it comfortable."
"I'm sure I will." Miss Swan set down her suitcase by the bed and went over to the window, overlooking the town square. Eyeing the meagre luggage, Granny inquired: "May I ask where you travelled from?"
"London."
"I see. And what brought you to as remote a town as Storybrooke?"
The young woman shrugged. "I decided to spend some time with a friend," she said, which was much vaguer than Granny had hoped, but when Miss Swan continued: "The journey here has been long and tiring. If you don't mind..." she finally realized that she was hovering and, with a pious "Good night," she retreated.
On the square outside, the hands of the clock in the church tower lurched into motion.
….
Although few had noticed the new arrival, in the week that followed almost all of Storybrooke would feel that something had imperceptibly changed. Not only had the church clock started running again, but fresh sentiments stirred in the minds of the townspeople. The dressmaker, who had sewn everything by hand as long as she could remember, decided to order two sewing machines from London. The carriage repairman built and sold Storybrooke's very first bicycle. Granny was delighted to find that her fashion catalogues had finally been delivered and dismayed to discover that ruffled sleeves had gone out of fashion years ago. Mary Margaret Blanchard, the school teacher, read some pamphlets from a group of women who called themselves the Suffragettes, realized that there was no reason women shouldn't be allowed to vote and erected the Storybrooke Suffragette Front. And Dr Whale received a parcel of medical periodicals and books and had an epiphany. No more than a week after the clock had started running again, he burst into Regina's office unannounced.
"Dr Whale," the Headmistress said from behind her desk. "Is there any particular reason you've decided not to knock?"
Dr Whale could tell she was in a bad mood but ignored it, excitedly slamming down one of the books he was carrying on her desk.
"What's that?" Regina made no movement to touch it.
"Proof that we have been fundamentally on the wrong trackhere at the institution," Dr. Whale said passionately. "God knows why that blasted mail coach failed to show up for so long, but the fact is that science hasn't stood still outside our little town, Headmistress Mills. Doctors, biologists – scientists – have delved into medicine and mental treatment and made significant advances."
"I see." Regina's voice was flat, but once again Dr Whale paid no heed.
"We've been following the oldmethod all this time: hard work, cleanliness, strict discipline, bringing in the Reverend once a week. But none of that cures a biological ailment! We should have been focusing on the body's chemistry, on nerve endings and the workings of the brain! Headmistress Mills," he said, "It has been discovered that the violently insane can be cured by means of surgery; specifically, a procedure in which the brain is accessed through the eye socket, to severe the connection between the two brain halves. It's known as a "lobotomy" and –"
"My dear Dr Whale," Regina said sharply, "I'm sure we don't need all these far-fetched modern shenanigans in this institution. Much more important is the solid foundation of honest labour and a predictable, disciplined schedule -"
"Then let me show you," Dr Whale said doggedly, starting to open the book on the desk when Regina laid an imperious hand on its front cover.
"Don't bother, Dr Whale," she snapped. "Although your eagerness to shove a surgical tool through the patients' eye sockets to improve their health is commendable, I am not interested. And I would like to remind you that I am still in charge of this institution. Now kindly leave." Even as Dr Whale opened his mouth to protest she impatiently swept the book off her desk and he just barely managed to catch it before it hit the ground.
Frustrated, he cast a last glance over his shoulder before he closed her door behind him; she was gazing ahead of her with an unusually dark scowl. She had been out of sorts for days now, Dr Whale thought to himself. Ever since the day the clock in the hall started moving again, in fact.
…
Isolated in the depths of the asylum Belle had no way of knowing about the change that had come over Storybrooke. And yet there was a major difference: she was no longer alone.
A week ago she had been roused from her half-sleep by the sound of frantic shouts and the footsteps of several men thundering down the stairs and advancing into her corridor. A door was opened and then the shouting man – whoever he was – was cast into the cell next to Belle's and the door slammed heavily shut.
"You stay here, pervert," she heard a man's voice growl, and another man spoke to the nurse as the footsteps grew distant: "I can't say I envy you for your line of work, miss..."
The screams in the next cell continued unabated even as everything else grew quiet again, until eventually they diminished in pitch and volume as the invisible prisoner behind the wall grew exhausted and out of breath. Finally his voice resolved to dry, thin sobbing.
Belle stole over to her cell door and pushed open the small hatch. "Hello?" she whispered, as loud as she dared; she had heard the nurse go upstairs with the men but didn't want to risk alerting someone. "Don't cry, everything will be all right." She had no idea if she was right but was desperate to speak to someone. "What did you do? Why are you here?"
There was a long silence in which she was afraid that the other prisoner couldn't hear her whisper, or maybe simply didn't respond. She was about to try again when a low, hoarse whisper reached her that she couldn't make out.
"What did you say?"
"I took a child from the schoolyard and tried to leave Storybrooke." The voice was flat and expressionless.
"Storybrooke? Is that the name of where we are?"
For a long time the man didn't speak. "Yes, it's the name of the town," he said, and demanded more sharply: "How can you not know? What's your name?"
"My – my name is Belle," she offered. It was the first time she had ever introduced herself.
"Belle?" he repeated. "You're Belle?" He sounded incredulous, although she didn't know why, and then there was a dry chuckle in the next cell and she thought she heard him murmur to himself: "Oh, this is too rich."
"What's your name?" she asked, frantic for him not to shut her out now that she finally had someone to talk to.
There was another long pause in which she feared that he had lost interest, but finally his voice drifted through the empty corridor again. "Jefferson."
….
When Gold's butler first mentioned that the church clock had started moving again, Gold barely glanced up from the Storybrooke Mirror. "Really?" he said. "About time." Only when Cogsworth guffawed politely did he realize the unintentional pun. "Tell the kitchen I like my toast better toasted next time," he said without a smile, pushing away his plate.
It had happened, then, against all the odds: the one possible threat to the Curse had somehow found her way to Storybrooke. Gold cared little whether the Curse was broken or not, although he supposed he might enjoy watching Regina squirm. But even that thought didn't lighten his mood, which was ruined by something that had happened before breakfast.
Gold did not wish to be plagued by memories in his own home, so the small army of maids, footmen and gardeners who maintained his magnificent estate consisted of dull young men and women in immaculately starched uniforms, all of whom he had chosen because he had not known them in the old world. And although he was generally a distant, but not unkind, employer, on his way to breakfast that morning he had unexpectedly come upon a maid singing as she scrubbed the hall floor – and the memory had stung him so unexpectedly, reminding him of her, that he had stormed at the girl until she had rushed away in tears. Sighing, he now laid down his newspaper, leaned back his head and closed his eyes. As if the day wasn't bad enough, his butler continued cautiously: "May I remind you that Mrs Lucas's dinner party is tonight, milord?"
….
Across town, Granny was wondering whether to invite her new guest to the dinner she was hosting that evening. Granny considered herself a social heavyweight in Storybrooke, hosting regular lunches, soirées, dinners and musical nights for Storybrooke's most wealthy, powerful and interesting citizens. For that evening, she had been planning a small, intimate dinner for eight in the hotel dining room. The guest list consisted of Albert Spencer, the town's attorney; the enigmatic Lord Gold who, even though she found him rather intimidating, was easily its wealthiest citizen; Sidney Glass, the journalist from the colonies who she thought was terribly exotic with his finely chiselled dark features; Lady Tremaine, one of her closest friends; the dashing Dr Whale and sophisticated Mrs Mills, prominent citizens who, she hoped, would have outrageous stories to tell about the goings-on at the asylum. (Dr Hopper had been left off the list, however; she found the timid, gingery man excruciatingly dull.) Including herself, she was still one lady short to even out the company; she had been pondering inviting Mary Margaret Blanchard, the school teacher, but – a snob at heart – Granny hated to think of the level of sophistication being brought down by this clearly second-best choice. Better to go with Emma Swan, she thought. She wasn't sure exactly what her guest had been up to after several days in Storybrooke, except that she had been out most of the time and Granny had only caught the occasional glimpse of her, but at least she could offer her other guests the spice of someone new.
….
The saviour caught Gold's eye right away when he alighted from his carriage in front of Granny's hotel that evening, even though her simple dress and absence of jewellery put her in the shade of Granny's more substantial, maroon satin-clad figure as they stood side-by-side in the reception to greet the guests as they arrived one by one.
"Mrs Lucas," Gold said quietly, bowing, as the younger woman introduced herself: "Emma Swan."
"Charmed. Lord Gold." This was her, then; he didn't give her much of a chance against Regina. She was visibly uncomfortable in her plain dress among the men in their smart smokings – that idiot Herbert Spencer, the pitiable Sidney Glass, the ambitious fool Dr Whale – and Regina, resplendent in her dark evening gown, with a graciousness in her voice that was belied by the vicious look in her eyes. Lady Tremaine was belatedly ushered to her seat when the others had already sat down and were awaiting the hors d'oeuvres.
"Terribly sorry," she said, taking her place next to Spencer. "I'm afraid my stepdaughter was up to her usual antics just as I was about to leave – she claims she's developed back pains that hinder her in her house work."
"Lady Tremaine's stepdaughter is with child," Granny explained to Miss Swan, adding in a scandalized whisper: "Out of wedlock...!" Gold had been seated across from Miss Swan and, glancing up, he could tell she didn't look impressed.
"There's only so much a woman can do," Lady Tremaine said coolly, shaking out her napkin and spreading it across her lap as waiters entered with plates of duck pâté. "By the time I married her late father, the girl had already become a vain, wicked little creature; as her new mother, I did try to teach her the values of decent work, earning her keep – but there was no stopping her plummet into sin, I'm afraid."
Gold, who had heard it all before, tasted the pâté. A tad too salty. Regina, however, was nodding in sympathetic agreement, and Granny added indignantly: "This is exactly why I had my granddaughter Roberta committed, to stop it from getting this far; oh, the dresses she would wear – the necklines! - and the colours: all shades of red, like a common harlot, I don't even want to think of the thoughts she must have put in the heads of all those young men I saw her talking to in the street…"
"You committed your own granddaughter?" Miss Swan had clearly blurted out the question before she could stop herself, and there was an uncomfortable little pause.
"My dear," Granny said with a stretched smile, "when my Roberta started calling herself Ruby I knew that, as her guardian, I had to do my duty even when it's painful. And I know she is well-cared for by Mrs Mills and Dr Whale here, isn't that right?"
"But of course," Regina said, "she has been responding well to the sessions with Dr Hopper -"
"...And we're hoping she might respond even better to actual medicine," Dr Whale broke in bravely. "There are some now procedures we're considering introducing -"
"Considering is a strong word," Regina said tightly.
"What are these new procedures, Dr Whale?" Sidney Glass asked jovially. "I like to think I'm a modern man myself." But trapped in loyalties of the past, thought Gold.
"Surgery on the brain, Mr Glass," Dr Whale said, refusing to meet Regina's eye but stubbornly continuing, as a man who is seized by a new idea can do. "Many of unsound mind are in fact troubled by an overburdened mind; severing the connection between the two brain halves takes away the overwhelming number of impulses that make them fretful, delusional, hysterical or violent."
"Now now, Dr Whale, I'm afraid I must side with Mrs Mills here," boomed Herbert Spencer from across the table. "Seems like those modern procedures of yours are hardly necessary when you have good old-fashioned common sense, doesn't it? That's what people need to be a productive member of society: the stiff upper lip that made Britain great!"
"I must say, Dr Whale," chimed in Granny, "I am nervous at the thought of surgery performed on my Roberta!"
Dr Whale laid down his fork with a clatter. "There would have to be more research, more experiments, of course," he said, "but what about the truly serious cases? What about Jefferson Ellis, whom the constables returned to the institution last week after he had escaped the premises and snatched an innocent little girl – as he has done twice before! Don't you think that in the case of a dangerous man who abducts children, there is little to lose?"
Mr Glass was nodding, and Lady Tremaine asked languidly: "Do you know why he abducts those children, Dr Whale?"
He shrugged. "Believes that he has a daughter of his own who has been separated from him by some evil force," he said. "But of course, the man never had children; he's completely delusional."
"Mad as a hatter," Miss Swan said pensively, and there was another short silence.
"I beg your pardon, my dear?" Granny said, and the young woman flushed. "It's from a new book that I bought in London before I came here," she said. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland – quite a new perspective."
"That sounds marvellous," Regina said dismissively. "But I think that we don't need new perspectives when the old ones work."
"Don't you think that maybe you need an approach towards people who are unhappy that is neither hard labour nor cutting their brain?" Miss Swan asked and, looking across the table, said: "Lord Gold, we haven't heard from you at all."
Suddenly Gold, who had been about to sip his wine, felt all eyes on him, and he slowly set down his glass. "It seems to me," he said softly, "that when the confusion, the torture, the feeling of being torn between different worldsare so deeply ingrained in the very heart and soul of a patient, there is no cure. There is no pain like feeling you are no longer whole, and never will be again." He kept his eyes steadily on Miss Swan, and missed the sudden change in Regina's face.
The rest of dinner conversation was guided into more conventional paths until the women stood up to move to the parlour while the men had their cigar and brandy. As she passed by his seat Miss Swan paused, to Gold's surprise, and pulled something from her pocket. "I think you might enjoy this," she said, "as someone who understands confusion and other worlds." Gold automatically took the small book she handed him and glanced at the cover. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.
….
Considering their disagreement at the dinner table, Dr Whale was surprised when Regina asked him to accompany her to her doorstep after dinner.
"This procedure you're so anxious to try out," she said, after they had been walking side-by-side in silence for a few moments. "It changes the personality, doesn't it? Makes the person a passive, detached version of who they used to be?"
"Yes," he said defensively, thinking he heard criticism, "but that is preferable to raving lunacy."
"And the procedure is irreversible?"
"It is."
It was only a short distance from the hotel to Regina's house, and they drew up to Regina's front door where she stopped. "All right, then," she said, "I'll give you your chance. In fact, I'll let you have two subjects to test it on, one male and one female."
He gaped at her in disbelief and delight. "Two? Who?"
"Jefferson for the male subject. And I have a female patient in mind – you haven't seen her yet, as her condition merits complete isolation." She saw his surprised frown and said soothingly: "If I were you, I would just thank me."
"Thank you, Headmistress Mills."
"You're welcome. I will see you in the morning."
Regina entered the hall of her stately home, which was already in deep rest; the nanny had put Henry to bed hours ago and most of the staff would have retired for the night as well. But Regina found herself buzzing with sudden energy. When one of the maids came into the hall to ask her if she needed anything else, she said briskly: "Saddle my horse."
….
Belle had spoken to Jefferson in whispers through the hatch in her door on and off every day that week, interrupted only when the nurse brought them the usual bland, boiled dinner. It was the same on the last evening of Belle's captivity, even if she wasn't to know it. That evening, Jefferson's answers had grown monosyllabic and he had finally fallen quiet. Fallen asleep perhaps, Belle thought and, a little dejectedly, stretched out on her own mattress again by lack of anything better to do. Staring at the ceiling, she thought of all the other questions she would have to ask Jefferson tomorrow when she sank away in apathetic sleep herself. She woke up because of something unusual – it must have been the middle of the night because her cell was pitch black, but the sound that had awoken her was the heavy door at the top of the stairs in the distance falling shut, and then there were footsteps approaching down the corridor. The crevices around the hatch in her door were faintly outlined in the yellowish light of an oil lamp. It was Headmistress Mills, she knew from the footsteps. With her breath held, she heard the door of the next cell open and the Headmistress enter. There were voices, but so low that Belle could not make out the words even though they spoke for a long time. Finally, she heard Headmistress Mills emerge and the door close and lock. The footsteps shuffled in hesitation for a moment, then advanced further and a key turned in her door and opened. The Headmistress looked unusually chic, in a sleek black gown with a diamond pin that glittered in her hair.
"I just came to say good-bye, Belle," she said, not advancing further into the cell than the door.
"Where am I going?"
"Nowhere just yet – but I've decided that you've wallowed here in this cellar long enough." Headmistress Mills appeared different from usual, and Belle realized she was nervous and seemed to be talking more to herself than to Belle. "The only thing better than hiding you here is showing you – so that he knows that the body still lives, but not the mind."
"Headmistress," Belle said quietly, "what do you mean?"
Headmistress Mills seemed almost to come to. "You're to undergo surgery, Belle," she said. "You'll be placed in the care of our chief physician soon, and I just wanted to tell you myself."
In the middle of the night? Belle wondered, but asked instead: "Surgery for what, Headmistress?"
"To make you better." She fidgeted with a fold of her elegant gown. "You know you wouldn't be kept down here if you weren't of unsound mind, and I ask you to trust me." Belle didn't respond and she smiled a little wistfully and said: "You were always such a nice girl, Belle. It's not the way I would have wanted things for you, you know."
"Then why-" Belle started, pleadingly, but Headmistress Mills shook her head abruptly. "I'm going to go home," she said, retreating towards the door. "I suppose I wanted to see you one last time, the way you are now."
Belle waited until she had heard the door slam again in the distance, before whispering: "Jefferson!" As it turned out, her neighbour had waited for the coast to be clear as well, for at the same moment there was a grating clicking sound, and she realized that it was the lock of the door next to hers opening.
"Jefferson?" She shrank away from the door as her lock, too, turned and opened. Her cell was almost completely dark but if she strained her eyes she could barely make out the outline of a man in her doorway – the first person she had seen for as long as she could remember, other than the nurse and the Headmistress. "Come with me," he said, and she realized that he had reached out his hand. Even though she didn't understand what was happening Belle hesitated for only a second; she had nothing to lose, after all. His grip on her hand was cool but firm as he pulled her along behind him, out of her cell for the very first time; up the stairs and through the door, another corridor and then bursting into a cold, tiled hallway where a large clock ticked loudly.
"Where -" Belle started but Jefferson shushed her, creeping soundlessly towards the large double doors. Belle was not even surprised anymore when the door opened beneath his hands, and followed him quietly outside. They were now descending the front steps and broke into a run across a large, moonlit lawn. Belle automatically headed for the large gate she saw ahead, but Jefferson grabbed her arm and pulled her off to the side, whispering: "There's a porter by that gate!" Instead, he made his way to a smaller gate, half-shielded behind a neat row of trees, to the side of the asylum that towered large, dark and quiet above them.
"There," he said as the door opened once again, "quick, before someone looks out the window and spots us."
Belle had rushed through the gate before she realized that he wasn't following, and turned around to find that he had closed the gate behind her.
"What are you doing?" she asked, nonplussed.
"I'm not coming with you," he said quietly. As they looked at each other through the gate's bars it was the first time Belle had the time and light to see his face properly. He had been handsome once, she thought, but suffering and madness had taken their toll on him and could be read in his pale skin, the sunken dark eyes and the lines by his mouth that gave him a hard, bitter look.
"Why aren't you coming?" she whispered. "You could open all those doors like it was nothing -"
He shrugged indifferently. "I've done that before, I've ran away before, and it never helped," he said in a flat voice. "I never get my child back, and I can never get out of this blasted town – I can never really escape, I see that now. It's time to call it quits."
"Then why did you help me?" Belle demanded, anxious at the thought of continuing on alone.
"Because it was one last thing I could do that has any hope," he said in a low voice and, seeing the expression on her face, his own softened slightly for the first time.
"Don't be afraid," he said, not unkindly. "I'm not afraid anymore. Just listen well. There's a man – his name is Lord Gold. Find him. All you have to do is tell him where you've been, and that Regina locked you up."
"What?"
"It's very important. Lord Gold is going to protect you, but you have to tell him Regina locked you up. He's going to know what to do. You understand?"
"Yes," she said, although she didn't really. "I have to find Lord Gold."
Reaching his arm out between the gate's bars he pointed in the distance. "Do you see that light?" he asked, "over the trees?" Following the direction of his finger, Belle could indeed make out a faint light in what appeared to be a low tower, sticking out over the tree tops.
"That's the Gold estate on the hill across from town," Jefferson continued. "That's where you need to go. Run as fast as you can, don't slow down for anything; stick to the woods and avoid the open road and the people. Just go towards that light, climb over the wall, and ask for Lord Gold. Do you remember all that?" he asked urgently.
"Yes." He started to withdraw his arm through the bars, but Belle grabbed his hand and pressed a grateful kiss on the knuckles. "Thank you, Jefferson," she said.
"Good-bye, Belle." He pulled his hand back gently, and urged her: "Go now."
Jefferson stood at the gate until he had seen the pale figure in the white nightgown disappear among the trees. In his head he still heard Regina's voice. Consider it a kindness, Jefferson, a small token that I am not beyond forgiveness; you did help me with that apple, after all. You have suffered every day under the Curse. This surgery will set you free at last.
….
Belle heeded Jefferson's advice and ran and ran and ran. She had at first been shivering in her thin cotton shift and then grew hot from running. She had not moved more than a few paces around her cell in years and, unused to the exercise, her legs soon felt like lead while every breath stung in her chest, and her feet bled from the sharp stones and roots in the ground. She went as fast as she could, pausing only a few minutes at a time when she couldn't go on. She was practically staggering by the time she finally found a stone wall among the trees. Taking a few steps back she saw that the high building with the light was on the other side and, panting heavily, ran alongside the wall looking frantically for a way in. Climb over, Jefferson had said, and she finally came upon a tree whose branches reached over the wall. Effortfully she dragged her exhausted limbs up and, clinging tenuously to the branch, shuffled over the wall, let herself hang by her fingers. It was more weakness than intent that led her to drop down on the ground, where she landed hard but without injury among the fallen leaves. Looking up and brushing the dirt from her shift she saw that she found herself under some trees by the edge of a wide lawn in the middle of which a large, white fountain tinkled softly. On the other side lay a massive, sprawling manor house, with the lit window in a low tower; but the light that really drew her eye, as for the very first time she took the opportunity to look around her, was the silver and breathtaking beauty of the moon, which she hadn't seen in so long.
….
Gold hadn't slept either that night. He had returned from Granny's travesty of a dinner party feeling dissatisfied and uneasy. The staff had gone to bed long ago when he still wandered the large rooms, pouring himself several stiff drinks that didn't help. Boredom, or perhaps an unconscious premonition, finally led him to wander into the garden. He flicked at the water in the fountain's basin with one limp hand (he would have to remind the staff to give it a good cleaning again), turned idly – and froze. There, among the dark trees, stood a pale apparition in a loose wide gown, as fragile as a ghost; he could make out her stance beneath the white fabric, the tangle of her hair, the way her head was tilted up towards the moon, showing just the curve of a cheekbone, and it was all so familiar – but it was impossible... She was no ghost, however; he could see smudges of dirt on the white shift and when he moved forward, his hand stretched out to touch her, to feel if she was real, she heard the rustle of grass behind her and turned to face him.
For several heartbeats they stared at each other before Gold managed to produce a hoarse whisper. "Dearie?"
