It certainly looked real, even if its green was somewhat more bright than was entirely natural. Hildegarde was up decorating it, even at such a late hour—but it had been her intention to do so whilst the two families slept, for she wished to surprise them come morning. She was doing quite an admirable job, but when it came to the upper half of the tree she experienced a few difficulties; she couldn't seem to reach that high. Muttering to herself in a somewhat flustered manner, she looked about her for a chair.

No chairs were to be immediately found; realizing this, she decided to settle for the piano's old stool instead. It was quite dark in the piano's old corner, but she knew where it was despite this—long years serving the Everglots had branded its position forever in her memory. As she tried to lift it, however, she found herself grasping an object which she could not believe was a piano stool.

"What's this? Oh, dear me," she grumbled, somewhat annoyed. "Where's a candle? Dear, dear me."

The candle was fetched and she returned a little cautiously to the piano stool, the candle's little flame shedding ample light over all that darkness had formerly hidden. With a gasp of astonishment, she took a few steps back. What could this mean? Of course he had his own room. Then why was he sleeping so soundly upon the stool, his head resting on his arm and his arm propped up on the piano itself? How odd.

Perhaps she wouldn't have woken him. Perhaps she would have. As it turned out, she was not required to do anything at all; as soon as she gasped, Victor's eyes snapped open and he leaped to his feet with a startled cry. Hildegarde cringed, but the noise was not all that bad; gazing at Victor curiously, she asked,

"Is yer room unsuitable, dearie? Something wrong, then?"

Victor sighed and pressed one hand against his forehead. "Nothing's wrong," he returned softly; his expression told her otherwise.

"Ye seem frightened, poor dearie," she said, grasping his thin arm. "Can't get any sleep, can ye?"

He couldn't seem to meet her gaze. "I—not really," he whispered.

"Well, then," the old nurse said with a friendly smile, "ye can help me with the tree. Goodness, ye're such a timid little pet." She pinched his cheek with unintended force. "Come on, now. Pick up that stool."

Victor bent to raise it, yet he stopped abruptly and turned towards Hildegarde instead. "Please," he said, catching hold of one of her wrinkled hands, "how long have you lived here with the Everglots?"

"Hmm." Hildegarde frowned a little. "Don't hold my hand so tightly, now. I'd say close to more than a few decades. Why?"

Victor was twisting the buttons of his coat, since he seemed to have no tie handy. "Has anything particularly—odd—ever happened?"

"Plenty," Hildegarde replied, "why, we've just decided to use a fake Christmas tree instead of a real one. Now if that isn't—"

"I don't mean that sort of thing," Victor said earnestly. "I mean—more disturbing things, little occurrences which may have frightened you."

Hildegarde stood silently for a moment, deep in thought. "No," she said finally. "Why? Have ye?"

She hadn't meant to upset him, but no sooner had she finished speaking than he seated himself quickly on the piano stool, avoiding her eyes and shivering every so often. It occurred to Hildegarde that perhaps Victoria had married a madman, but she thrust this thought swiftly aside and removed her shawl, draping it over Victor's thin shoulders and murmuring to him in her most soothing tone.

"There, there, ye must have had a nightmare. That's all. Everyone does, dearie. Rouse yerself, now—we wouldn't want Victoria to find ye a nervous wreck in the morning, would we? Then how would she feel? Terrible, let me tell ye, terrible..."

"Hildegarde," Victoria whispered, none the better for the old nurse's chatter, "tell me—do you think me mad? Honestly, now. And—and am I not—a—a coward, Hildegarde? Surely you must have noticed. I feel like such a wretch," he added, looking down.

Hildegarde had often found herself in this position while in the presence of Victoria. "Well," she said, holding his chin with two fingers and forcing his head up, "I think ye've an active imagination, dearie. That's all. Sometimes ye get carried away with something, but that isn't madness. You're a wonderful laddie, believe me."

"Then why," he said with some difficulty, "am I having hallucinations?"

Hildegarde hesitated. "Perhaps ye're feeling stressed," she said. "After all, ye still haven't bought Victoria a present, have ye? And we went and picked one out, too. An awful shame, yer taking so long."

Victor managed a smile. "You'll go with me tomorrow, of course," he said, "and we'll purchase it together. That is, if you've the time."

"Time? I've plenty of time, dearie. Now, are you going to help me with this tree?"

Victor stood, rubbing his hands vigorously. "Why," he replied, regaining the confidence he had formerly lost and bowing deeply, "I'd do anything for you, fair Hildegarde!"

The nurse scowled. "What an impudent laddie ye are," she said. "Let's get a move on, then! We've only got all night."