XV

It was the chill that woke him. He'd fallen asleep in the bath and the water had gone cold. He was shivering there, and as he regained consciousness, he realized that he wasn't feeling as terrible as he had before. He had quite a headache but he was hungry instead of nauseated and the world was no longer spinning around him. And actually, he felt even the slightest bit rested. No choice now but to get up and actually start the day.

He drained the bath as he shaved and fixed his hair. He did not, however, return to his bedroom just yet. The evidence of his night of tormented depression was not anything he wanted to see again just yet. Best find something to eat first. He donned his dressing gown and went down the hallway to the kitchen.

What he found, however, surprised him. His kitchen was not empty. Sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea was Mrs. Beazley.

"I thought I fired you," he grumbled, deciding to hold on to his anger and annoyance rather than let his surprise show.

"You did," she answered calmly. Her eyes flashed somewhat dangerously and her mouth was set in a stern line. "And you don't have to pay me if you don't want to. But I'll not let you drink yourself to death. These people need you, and you're going to be there for them as long as I have something to say about it. You need to be at Confession in twenty minutes. I'll make you some toast while you get dressed."

Lucien stared at her, dumbfounded. His mouth opened and closed like a pitiful goldfish.

Mrs. Beazley did not give him a chance to respond. "Go now, please," she instructed.

He had no choice but to obey. His head was pounding and his mind was not entirely functioning yet, so he went to put on his clothes without much thought on the matter. But he could not possibly imagine what Mrs. Beazley was doing here still. He had yelled at her yesterday to get out and she had. And then she'd arrived this morning like usual. Perhaps if he'd found her waiting in the kitchen, he would not have reacted as he had. But he had instead found her in his bedroom going through the things in his trunk while he was passed out on the floor. She had seen things that he had never shared with anyone. And he had not actually shared them with her. She had taken them. The knowledge and meaning of them, she had taken. And that was why he had fired her and thrown her out this time.

But she had not left. Why had she not left? He could not fathom why she would do such a thing, why she would say that he did not need to pay her but she would continue to help him and ensure that he was able to continue to do his work.

Lucien finished getting dressed and went back to the kitchen. A plate of toast and jam and a cup of tea were waiting for him. Mrs. Beazley had already done the washing up and was sitting down with another cup of tea, waiting for him. She did not speak as he sat down to tuck in to the breakfast she prepared.

But he would not let it go so easily. He could not have everything just fall back to how it had been, though how it had been was very nice. No, she knew too much and surely had too many questions. And knowing this, he had too many questions of his own. The chief of which he asked first. "Why are you bothering?"

"I told you," she replied curtly. "I won't let you lapse in your duties when the parish needs you."

"Yes, but why?" he insisted.

She took a sip of her tea, probably considering his answer. She was watching him closely as he chewed on his toast. But she did give him a response. "I have enjoyed working with you, up until yesterday. And if you fired me a week ago, I may have been disappointed but accepted it."

"But not now?" he pressed.

"No. You might not like to hear it, but I owe it to your father."

She was right, he did not like to hear it at all. "So that's it, is it? You're fulfilling your duty to old Doctor Blake by playing nursemaid to his failure of a son?" he asked angrily.

"I don't think you're a failure. And I don't think you are as much of a failure as you think you are. You hide it far too well. And you care too much. I know there's a great deal I don't know about you, but I would like to, and I would like to help you if I can."

"I suppose you think this is God's plan for you, hmm? That you were sent to this town after Dad died to lead me to the light?" he scoffed.

Mrs. Beazley shrugged slightly. "Perhaps. I don't know. But I'm here now, and however you want to look at it, you had the good or bad fortune of being found by me under the willow tree that night, so here we are."

"But you don't owe me anything."

The smallest hint of a smile appeared on her lips. "What does anyone owe anyone else?"

And that was certainly something to ponder.

"Go hear Confession," she directed. "I'm going to do a bit of work in the garden. And when you return, I'd like to talk about some things, if that's alright. Though if you continue to shout at me and throw me out, I'll go home and only show up here to make sure you're out of bed and fed enough to do your job."

Lucien stood up, feeling slightly less hungover but significantly more troubled and confused. "I…" He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thank you."

Mrs. Beazley just nodded.


As soon as Father Blake left, Jean felt herself crumple in the chair. Her heart was pounding. She could not believe that she had stood up to him that way and been able to remain so calm about it. It was the truth that she felt slightly more compelled to help him, now that she knew that he was Doctor Blake's son. She had so many questions still about their relationship and what had happened between them to cause Jean to be the one to inherit the man's estate.

Maybe he was right, as facetious as he was about the notion. Maybe it was God's plan for Jean to work for Doctor Blake and to continue her service to him by being the one to look after his wayward and complicated son. Jean herself did not quite see it that way. She had suffered far too much to believe that God had a plan for things like this. The God Jean believed in, the God to which she prayed when she went to church was full of love. He did not bring such suffering upon people as a punishment, nor did He place such cruel tests and obstacles in the way of His children. Perhaps the Catholic Church might disagree, perhaps everything in her life was some sort of divine intervention, but Jean liked the idea of coincidence. Because if it was coincidence that she happened to have been Doctor Blake's housekeeper and now Father Blake's helper of sorts, then it could mean that Christopher's death and Jack's troubles could be coincidence too. It was simply too painful to believe that such cruelties were purposefully inflicted upon her by God, and it was too hypocritical to pick and choose what it was He controlled. Easier to think of it all as some sort of unplanned accident.

But even if the priest were not the son of her former employer, whether or not it was God's plan, Jean somehow felt that she would still insist on staying on to help him like this. She meant what she'd said to him, that she might not owe him specifically, but what does anyone owe to anyone else? Jean truly felt that if she was in a position to ease the suffering of another that she should endeavor to help any way she could. Father Blake was surely suffering and desperately in need of help. He had admitted as much to her when he'd first hired her, and that fact had not changed in the weeks since. And Jean knew that his protests against her now were the product of discomfort and fear; him firing her did not mean he no longer needed her help.

Besides, she did not need the money if he did have no further intention of paying her. And really, what else did she have to do? She had made some friends in town with her neighbors and such, and she did enjoy them, but Jean had known from the beginning that she would need some sort of purpose in her life to keep her from getting bored. And Father Blake certainly was not boring. Messy and confusing at times, but never boring.

She finished her tea and washed up his breakfast things and went outside. The rain had practically drowned her freshly planted garden, but it did not look too dire. She spent some time moving things around and undoing as much of the rain damage as she could and cleaning off things that had gotten muddy or whipped around by the wind. The whole task was much dirtier than she expected, but at least the sun was shining today and she did not need to be rained on anymore.

When her tasks were complete, she went back inside to clean herself up. Father Blake should be finished with Confession any minute, by her estimation. She put the kettle on to make them both some tea, and she waited, hoping that he would be willing to let her ease her curiosity about him just a little and hoping even more that he would not tell her to go.