Chapter Three

Light filtered in through the window of the spare room, or at least it tried to. The blinds caused merely a thin, white crack to fall upon Eliza's eyelids, startling the Hungarian awake. A warm, sweaty figure besides her rolled away drowsily, and it took the woman a few, sleepy seconds to realise that it was Gilbert. Upon realising this, she felt suddenly nervous, as if she was guilty of a crime. Hastily, Eliza slipped out of the bed and changed back into the clothes she had worn the day before, one crystalline eye fixed on the albino's sleeping form. She sat down on the chair by the bed, then, as if to reassure Gilbert that she was still there, she clasped his hand.

The man's breathing was steadier now, and some colour was returning to his face- or whatever colour could return to his face, as pale as it was. It made Eliza feel slightly more relaxed to see that he was recovering, however slowly. Usually she would be running a bath, yet she had forgotten in the rush of events. Remembering, the woman hurried to the bathroom for the spare room, and turned on the taps. She didn't want to turn on the radio, as it would wake Gilbert, yet Eliza felt that perhaps that was just her making an excuse for her fear of knowing the news. Ignorance is bliss, she told herself. There is no reason to be ashamed of it. Yet deep down, she was. Eliza felt that to be ignorant was to act like cattle, flies flocking to a flame.

The woman shook her head, letting thick brown locks fall over her face. No, she mustn't be thinking about things like this. She rushed back to the bed, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the red gleam of Gilbert's eyes. He was awake. Yet he didn't make a sound as Eliza leaned over his head. There she waited for several minutes, watching for his movements. Suddenly he snapped up, like a spring, and his Eliza in the chin. "Oh!" she cried, staggering backwards a few steps. Gil looked at her, and perhaps there was amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Sleep paralysis, Lizzie. Or partially, anyway."

Eliza exhaled, nodding. "Ok. I was just... worried." She reached a hand out. "I'm running a bath. I expect you'll want to get cleaned up." Gilbert took her hand and stood shakily - enough time passed for Eliza to notice that he was awfully, awfully thin- before the man collapsed into her arms. She sat him back down on the bed, only to notice he was shuddering. Eyes locked. "Gil... are you really all right?"

Gilbert looked down at his knees. Somehow the light had dulled once again from his eyes. "Yes, I'm all right. Just... tired." Then, without warning, he stood up and stayed standing. Eliza tried to put an arm around him, but he insisted that it was fine, even though his legs were trembling from the effort. Eliza noticed all of this, yet didn't complain, and simply led Gilbert into the bathroom. "I expect Roderich would like to know about my awakening," he remarked upon arriving there. He sat down on the first surface that he found once entering the bathroom, which was a pre-18th Century antique chair, the very one which Gilbert had openly despised ever since seeing it. To sit down on something that you label as 'pretentious' and 'unnecessary' was very unusual, yet still Eliza didn't say a word. It was obvious from the strain of the muscles, from the hasty, slightly skittish nature of his actions, from the way he winced when Eliza handed him a change of clothes, how he seemed to shrink away from the water, that he was scared, in pain, or both. "Yes, I'll fetch him now," Eliza replied indifferently, and swiftly left the room.

Something, she had already concluded, was not quite right. He had no scars, no cuts, scrapes, or bullet holes, yet still he seemed pained and small in comparison to the rest of the world. It was not unusual for a soldier to suffer from shell-shock, nor was it strange for them to take months, years, or even forever to recover. But what really put the woman on edge was the way he was completely unscathed otherwise. Surely Gilbert, who had been thrown in the midst of war, would have at least a bruise? But yet again, he might, as Roderich had suggested the night before, be ill. He had had a fever after all, and perhaps, although it had subsided for now, there might be a greater underlying illness. She pushed these thoughts out of her head. It was better for Gilbert to be well, she told herself. Perhaps he was just lucky. Yet even as she stepped into her husband's room, she felt that nothing quite added up.

Roderich was still asleep, as Elizabeta had expected. She glided swiftly across the well-boarded floor, across the Alpine goatskin rug that lay by his bed, and tapped the man on the shoulder. No response. She shook him gently, and finally the Austrian's long black lashes slid apart. "Oh, good morning, Lizzy. How's Gilbert?" he sat up and put an arm around her. She gently kissed him. "Awake, although I would prefer you to bathe him." he slid off of the bed, allowing a large yawn to escape his lips, although it seemed like a song in itself with his Viennese accent. "I will, dear." Eliza stood aside to let Roderich stand up. He glanced at her absent-mindedly before leaving the room. "I think you should change as well, Lizzy. Spending twenty-four hours in the same clothes is frankly quite unhygienic." She nodded, and let him pass.

Although they were married, Eliza rarely slept in Roderich's bed. It was far easier for them to sleep separately, and besides, both thought it unseemly to be able to see each other change. She walked out of the room, her husband already out of sight (unusual for him; he always walked about twelve times slower than the average human being), and entered her bedroom, where Hella, the maid, was. She was busying herself with looking at Eliza's clothes, and her sudden entrance made the woman start abruptly. "Oh! Miss Hedervary, I am sorry for lingering around in your room, I was just-" "No need to apologise, Hella, and please just call me Eliza." The woman nodded as the other passed her elegantly, and began leafing through the closet.

"You are expecting, right, Hella?" she asked, picking out a white ruffled blouse. Hella may or may not have blushed, yet from the tone of her voice she seemed flustered. "Well yes. I-I hope you do not mind, Miss?" Eliza smiled, turning around. "Of course not. I'm not the kind of mistress to demote you or something of the sort for wanting a family. Otherwise I would have fired you a few weeks ago. Who is the father, may I ask?" Hella seemed to relax slightly. "Berwald Oxenstierna. Is-is it really all right?" Elisa nodded. "Yes, positively. I just hope that the child doesn't suffer- our house lacks childcare facilities." Eliza laughed gently, and pulled a quail-blue dress from the wardrobe.

"So what are you planning on naming it?"

Hella smiled softly. "Liam if it's a boy, Aina for a girl. Now, Miss, I was wondering if you would like these shoes?"

Breakfast was held under a somewhat subdued atmosphere. Now that the initial shock of Gilbert's arrival had worn off, it was replaced with a dull scrutiny. There were so many questions that Eliza wanted to ask, and so few answers, that it made her want to scream. Even the albino had stayed silent, which did nothing to improve the mood. Finally, Eliza couldn't bare it. She asked, with a fearful desperation, "So, Gil, how are you still alive?"

Immediately after uttering the wretched words, Eliza regretted it. Gilbert's eyes seemed to focus upon his bread, as if it was a long-lost lover. Roderich started whistling to try and soften the mood, only to stop and just stare at the tablecloth. It seemed like hours passed before Eliza broke the silence. "I-I'm sorr-" "It's fine." Gilbert broke in with surprising firmness. "To be honest, I don't know myself." Yet somehow his hand was shaking. Eliza said nothing more. And so the rest of the meal passed in silence, with no sound except that of the birds whistling or a far-off gunshot.

"Is the maid still here?"

Gilbert asked the question plainly, as he sat in the garden with Eliza. Roderich had stated that it would be beneficial for him to get some fresh air, and since he had to attend a meeting with several other officials, Eliza had to stay with Gilbert.

"Who..?"

"Tinahella Väinämöinen? You know, the wife of that Swedish bureaucrat?"

"I know who she is, Gil. I was just wondering if you were thinking of the same one."

Gilbert paused for a moment. "Lizzy, I'm pretty sure I'm capable of remembering the maid. I mean, my mind's not that messed up, is it?" He said it as a joke, although it was half-hearted. Eliza pretended not to notice.

"Lizzy?"

"What?"

"Aren't the cornflowers pretty?"

Roderich had had the little blue flowers planted so long ago that Eliza had stopped noticing them.

"Yes they are pretty."

"You know," Gilbert walked towards them. "I always expected Roderich to have ripped them up by now. Especially after... you know..."

Eliza nodded. She didn't mention that her husband had, in fact, mentioned many times that the cornflowers ought to be removed. She didn't mention that every time she had refused, insisting that they went well with the garden, that they showed wealth and nobility. She didn't mention that both wanted a seperate fate for the cornflowers for the same reason. They reminded the two too much of Gilbert.