After a needed delay.. back to our regularly scheduled program!

While it seemed that the others accepted Reilly quickly enough, I had my reservations. Her background was clear – her hair and accent proclaimed it. She would be trouble, and I did not look forward to anything that could possibly threaten the quiet of my household. The Doctor's orders were precise, though: not to be judgmental and to hire the first eager unfortunate that answered the advertisement. If they proved untrustworthy or incompetent, then I would have the pleasure of firing them.

And it would be a pleasure.

I have always prided myself as an excellent judge of character. True, I do not trust easily, but I attempt to give people a fair chance. Such was the case with the new girl. By first appearances, Reilly was a quiet woman, respectful and soft-spoken. I knew, though, that this could change with time. It is the face of the domestic, at least those who wish to keep their positions. But everyone reveals their true selves eventually.

I am reminded of a conversation that took place between me and the Doctor. It had been a beautiful day, the breeze soft and warm, though I had scarce luxury to take time from my duties to enjoy it. I was surprised, though, that the Doctor should be spending such a day inside. It was quite an odd change for a man who insisted upon customary early morning strolls. When I came to get cook's orders for the day, I found him still bent over his desk as he'd been an hour earlier. His breakfast was untouched.

"Do you believe that every man has a dual nature, Poole?" he asked suddenly, looking up from his work with tired eyes.

It was uncommon for the Doctor to address a servant, even one of my high standing in his house, about an aspect of his work. However, I paused in the act of pouring out his tea and gave some thought, then slowly nodded. "I believe everyone has two sides to themselves, sir; one they show to friends and the other to strangers." I paused again. "And perhaps, sir, some people have more than one face."

The Doctor frowned lightly and shook his head. "I do not mean the facades that people have or the roles that they play. I mean inside; that there are two sides of a person. Like... a coin. Good and evil."

I had no answer for this, and I am afraid I looked at him rather oddly. He chuckled, continuing. "Perhaps saying 'good and evil' is a bit common and clichéd. I was thinking..." This time it was he that paused with a shake of his head, and then frowned again. "I believe, Poole, that it is the struggling of these two natures that causes the breakdown of man, of society; war, murder... madness."

I knew to what he referred, and my eyes dropped. His father... The Doctor sighed. "I know there is a way to cure him is a way to cure him, Poole. I'll not give up as long as I live."

"I know, sir," I said quietly. A solemn smile crossed the Doctor's lips. "You're a good man, Poole." He glanced away, perhaps realizing the impropriety of our conversation.

Giving him a half bow, I added the cream to his tea with a slow tip of the decanter. "Thank you, sir." I nodded to his tray. "Will you be breakfasting, sir, or shall I take it away?" Looking to the now cold food, he shook his head and sighed slowly. "I'm afraid my appetite has left me, Poole."

"Very good, sir." I set the tea service aside and collected his breakfast tray and turned for the door. The Doctor sank into silence, already lost again within his work. His voice stopped me as I turned to pull the door behind me. "Poole?"

"Sir?" My eyes lifted to him. He had not even looked up, but gestured languidly with one slender, nervous hand.

"I do not wish to be disturbed for the rest of the day."

I frowned. That meant he wasn't going to eat again, but of course I said nothing of my concern. I had already come close to overstepping the boundaries of good service. "Of course, sir. Good day."

"Good day, Poole," he muttered. As the door latched behind me, I still saw him there, hunched over his desk, engrossed in the work that had plagued him for days, weeks, seeming to encompass every moment of his life. I hoped this obsession would not prove the catalyst of the growing sense of unease that tickled the back of my mind. There had been other times when the Doctor had immersed himself in his work, but this seemed different. He often went without food or sleep, and I harbored some concern that he might actually work himself to death, or at least to the wreck of his physical and mental faculties. I prayed the prayer of every good major domo – that the new girl would prove a help to the burdens of the household, and not an added complication.