The house was unusually quiet the rest of that day. Apart from Søren asking if he could have some supper, nobody spoke to Tino and Berwald until the next morning. The devastated Alma had previously been handed over to two very concerned and supportive house maids, who, after a short while had managed to console her enough to cease her crying.

There was no sound in the house that night. It seemed like even the alley cats knew something was wrong, and had remained completely quiet. It was uncomfortable. Even sleeping in Tino's arms wasn't enough to calm Berwald down so he could fall asleep, and he remained awake for God knew how many hours. His mind just wouldn't relax.

He must have fallen asleep at one point, he reasoned when he was awoken by Tino gently shaking his shoulder. For once it had been Tino who had gotten out of bed first, and even gotten dressed before Berwald awoke. There was a minute look of triumph in Tino's eyes.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he said tiredly. "You're going to be late for making breakfast."

Berwald groaned and hid his face in his pillow. "'S Monday," he said, his words muffled. "Th' maids make br'kfast on Mondays."

"Uh," Tino said guiltily. "I kind of promised Alma we'd do it today. Lovise and Ester thought it necessary to keep her company just in case."

Fine, Berwald thought. It's not the end of the world. He sat up and forced himself out of the bed, and managed to wake up while dressing. "And 'm not sleepin' beauty," he murmured.

Tino flashed a quick grin at him. "Sure, you are," he retorted. "You're beautiful and you're sleeping."

"'M not sleepin'."

"You sure look like you are."

There was nothing Berwald could think of to reply to that. He was all too certain that Tino's notion was correct; he usually did look like a sleep-walking monstrosity right after getting out of bed. Not to mention that he usually donned an unusually stern facial expression, knitted eyebrows included; his face looked even angrier when he was tired, and without his spectacles on he had to squint to get a look at something. This combination resulted in him looking like he wanted to go on a murdering spree and then go back to sleep.

Only those who knew him well knew that there was very little malice in Berwald's body and mind, no matter how murderous he looked. He certainly had his moments where he would dislike someone, occasionally openly, but he was the type of person who preferred to release little spiders into the garden rather than step on them and sweep them up.

Tino had on certain occasions wondered what Berwald would look like if his face was correspondent to his thoughts and feelings. He definitely wasn't an easy man to read.

He picked up Berwald's spectacles and handed them to him. When said spectacles had been put into its proper place, Tino placed his right hand on Berwald's neck and kissed the man on his lips. Berwald was all too glad to return the kiss, and placed both of his hands on Tino's hips. There was nothing better, Berwald thought, than waking up to Tino's scent and touch, feeling his closeness and his warmth. It had to be love, he reasoned, if they were both willing to keep up this socially unacceptable relationship even if it meant risking losing their job, their friends and all forms of respect from anyone of importance.

Berwald jerked when Tino suddenly broke the kiss and coughed once. He smiled apologetically up at Berwald. "Sorry," he said guiltily. "You've got morning breath."

"And you 'aven't?"

"My breath is as fresh as mountain air!" Tino protested, chuckling and pulling the other man into an embrace. He sighed happily and kissed Berwald's neck. "I love you," he murmured.

"Love you, too," came the reply.

They stood there for a while, just enjoying the moment, until Tino retreated a little and smiled up at his boyfriend. "Come on," he said, still smiling. "Let's go make Mr. Strand some breakfast."

Berwald was relieved to see that the master of the house was out of bed by the time he and Tino finished setting the table. He looked much more awake than he had the previous morning, not to mention the previous evening, even though he still seemed fixed on the idea that he would not don any other clothing article than his morning gown.

The loquacious guest was nowhere to be seen. Berwald imagined the man was still fast asleep in the guest room, dreaming a dreamy dream about having no consequences whatsoever, or whatever the finer gentlemen of society dreamed of. Swimming in gold and wooing women of all kinds of exotic types, perhaps. It wouldn't surprise him if this was the truth.

"Bread again?" Einar scoffed when his breakfast plate was finally put on the table before him. He seemed unaware of everything else that had been placed upon the table: butter, brown cheese, white cheese, various kinds of jams, salted mutton, and anything else a hungry man would have loved to have on top of his slice of bread. He shot Berwald a tired glare. "There was nothing wrong with that full English breakfast you served the other day."

"I'm sorry, sir," Berwald replied politely. "I'm afraid we didn't have all the ingredients to make a full English this morn."

"Do you have eggs?"

"Yes, sir."

Einar forcefully shoved the plate into Berwald's hands. The slices of bread nearly fell to the floor. "Fry some damn eggs to go along with this."

"Right away, sir."

It was done in a jiffy, and soon Einar was scoffing down his breakfast with enthusiasm. Berwald was pleased to see that his master had recovered from yesterday's inappetence, and was not particularly happy with what he and Tino were about to do.

He retreated for the time being, letting Mr. Strand consume his breakfast in peace. It wasn't until Mr. Strand had finished eating and seated himself in the living room that Tino and Berwald approached him, cautiously. The look he gave them would have been enough to scare away the bravest of men, but it was a look one got used to over the years, and neither Tino nor Berwald intended to back off.

"What is this?" Einar demanded.

Tino swallowed before speaking. "Sir," he began, as politely as he could muster. "There is something we think we ought to tell you, sir."

A frown appeared on Einar's face. "About what?"

Both housekeepers knew immediately that Einar was not in the mood for serious conversations, especially not ones where he had to lift a finger to do something about it. On a regular basis they would have taken the hint and gone away, but Tino was persistent, and Berwald had no intentions of leaving his side.

"It's about Mr. Kierkegaard, sir," Tino said, keeping his voice steady. He folded his hands behind his back to keep them from fidgeting. "We have reason to believe that he's not particularly pleasant towards the maids."

Einar's face was unreadable. "Go on," he said coolly.

This was very uncomfortable, and Berwald knew Tino thought the same. "Well, sir," Tino continued, his voice not as composed anymore. He took a deep breath. "Yesterday Berwald and I found one of the maids crying and I went to comfort her while Berwald went to make you dinner, and she was crying so hard that she couldn't speak properly, but from the few words she did say I can only gather that Mr. Kierkegaard has, uh..." He hesitated a brief moment. "That he has made his moves on her... against her will." He took another breath. "Sir."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room, in which Einar's piercing eyes drilled straight through Tino, who appeared to put all his energy into not buckling under the stare.

Einar's expression remained the same. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" he asked calmly. "Are you saying you think that Søren forced one of the maids to bed him?"

"Y-yes, sir," Tino stuttered.

"I see." The master of the house crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. "You are saying that the man who has been my best and most supportive friend since I went to university twenty years ago, is not the man I think I know and that he actually is a devious barbarian?"

Uh-oh, Berwald thought, as Tino's face whitened. This conversation was about to be shot down.

"Sir?" Tino squeaked.

Einar's glare didn't falter. "The man of whom you speak, Tino," he continued, "has been my closest friend for more than twenty years, despite the fact I find his attitude insufferable on some occasions. I have known him for longer than you two have been working for me, and he and I know each other better than a pair of siblings would know one another." His voice remained calm and steady, but the two housekeepers could sense the anger coming from him. "He is an insolent man with no knowledge of how to act like a gentleman, and he likes his beer cold and his women hot, but never ever would he force his person upon anyone else. Is that understood?"

"But sir!" Tino protested desperately. "What if you're wrong! What if, just this once, Mr. Kierkegaard―"

"Not another word, Tino!" Einar snapped. "I am willing to ignore this conversation if we end it here."

"But... sir!"

"No more 'buts'. If I hear another word about you two suspecting my guest of such savage behaviour, you're going out the front door, head first. Is that clear?"

Tino looked like he wanted to protest even more, but he knew better than to test his master's patience.

"You should be happy I'm willing to ignore this. Imagine having housekeepers who suspect their master's closest friend of such things! Questioning their master's judge of character!"

He shook his head in exasperation. "You will refrain from talking about him in such a manner again." Both housekeepers nodded solemnly. "I can't believe you two. Of all people." He exhaled sharply. "Which one of the maids was it?"

Tino and Berwald briefly exchanged worried looks before Einar continued. "I order you to tell me."

"It was Alma, sir," Berwald said, not particularly happy with betraying the poor maid. "Please, sir," he begged. "Don't be too hard on her, sir."

Einar pointed a finger at him. "In this house it is I who decide what to do and what not to do." He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Brew me some coffee, Berwald. Tino, tell Alma I wish to speak with her."

"Yes, sir," said the housekeepers, far more unhappy than they had been for a long time. This would not end well, no matter how they looked at it.