It was early May, just over a week after Anzac Day, and Derek Alderton and Robert Hannam had both disappeared back beneath whatever rock they'd crawled out from under, and left behind them a whole host of questions. Questions Lucien could not answer on his own, and so when he sat down to work on his personal correspondence, to respond to Mister Kim the private investigator and old Doctor Harker at Saint Andrews, he wrote another letter to a man called Roger Wilmot, who had once been a soldier, same as Lucien was, and in his retirement had devoted himself to the study of the connection between man and daemon. If anyone would know what Derek and his lot were getting up to - if anyone would know whether Lucien's suspicions were even possible - it was Wilmot. As the letter drew to a close, however, Lucien included one final question.

It has been my experience, he wrote, that daemons are private little creatures, and do not generally touch one another, unless a great bond exists between them already. I have however recently made the acquaintance of two daemons who were touching one another almost from the moment they met, and who display an unusual fondness for one another's people, despite the people in question being only briefly known to one another, and then not very intimately. What would you make of this curiosity?

He closed out his letter by sending his regards to Wilmot's family, and tucked it in his pocket, and resolved to go into town that very day to place the letter in the post himself. As it happened, when he went to fetch down his hat and his car keys he found Jean by the front door with her shopping basket in hand; Mrs. Beazley and Halcyon were also preparing for a jaunt into town, and so Lucien graciously offered to escort them himself. It was a whimsical offer, made with no real thought for the consequences, but Jean's eyes grew sharp and bright at the prospect of having him to carry her shopping, and as they walked out the door the list of shops she intended to patronize grew from one to three, and Lucien did his best not to balk at her steely delight. He had, after all, done this to himself.

On a fine sunny day such as this Mrs. Beazley ordinarily would have walked, and the drive into town was a quick one, for which they were all very thankful; Lucien and Jean and Halcyon fit quite comfortably into the front seat of the Holden, but Nemea grumbled about being terribly cramped in the back. As long as there had been men so too had there been daemons, and the world and all its modern conveniences had been designed with daemons in mind, but most men's daemons were small enough to hold, and there had not yet been made a car intended to ferry a lion into town for the weekly shopping.

"The butcher's first?" he said to Jean as they disembarked from the car on Lydiard street, and Jean shot him a beaming smile.

"Yes," she said. "And then the greengrocer's."

"And perhaps the florist's as well?"

The sunroom and the garden were Jean's domain, verdant and beautiful and lovingly tended, but he rather liked the thought of having fresh flowers for the table, and since Jean seemed determined to spend his money today he supposed they ought to have something nice to show for it.

"I think that would be lovely," she agreed.


It was rather strange, having Lucien and Nemea accompany her into town. Oh, Lucien was a pleasant companion - Nemea more pleasant still - but they did attract stares everywhere they went. Most folks knew by now that Doctor Blake had himself a lion for a daemon, and plenty of folks had seen her, but she was still an unfamiliar sight on the high street. Several people jumped out of their way as Lucien and Jean meandered down the pavement, crossed the street and took pains to give them a wide berth, and Jean frowned at their foolish superstition. One had only to speak to Lucien and Nemea to see that they were both quite wonderful, and meant no harm, but oh, the people of this town did put so much stock in appearances. A judgmental lot, she thought. And I am one of them, she reminded herself, for she, too, had been wary of both Nemea and Lucien upon their first introduction. Not so, now, but in the beginning, she had judged them both, and been proven wrong, for the unpredictable Doctor Blake was neither so flighty nor so selfish as she had first assumed, and his lovely lioness was more kind than fierce. Perhaps in time the people of the town would see the truth, as well.

An unwelcome sight lurked just inside the butcher's, however; Grace and Victoria, two of the most notorious gossips of Sacred Heart's congregation, were chatting to one another by the counter while Tilly rushed to fill their orders, and move them along as quickly as she could while still being polite. Grace and Victoria each had small, furry creatures for daemons who rested sedately in specially made pockets on their ladies' skirts, and they always tutted and sucked their teeth when Halcyon began to chatter, disapproving - as everyone was disapproving - of a daemon who did not know when to hush.

"Oh, Jean!" Grace called as the little bell above the door tinkled to herald the Blake party's arrival in that place. "Lovely to see you."

"Grace, Victoria," Jean said, nodding. Grace's eyes had gone wide, looking at Lucien, who did seem so out of place in his fine suit. An introduction would have to be made, and quickly. He swept the hat from his head, and Jean rushed to speak before he had a chance. "This is-"

"Oh!" Victoria shrieked and made a great show of surprise, all but leaping back and catching Grace by the arm, her face taking on a melodramatic expression of alarm. "Good heavens, what is that?"

It was, of course, Nemea, who was standing sedately by her man's side and behaving herself as she always did, perfectly. The ladies' sudden distress did not escape her notice, and it seemed to rankle her, for she insinuated herself between them and Lucien, and bared her teeth, and it was Grace's turn to cry out then, and behind the counter young Tilly sighed in an exhausted sort of way.

"It's only Nemea," Jean said as reassuringly as she could, and then, quite before she realized what she was doing, she reached out and placed a gentle hand on Nemea's head, and the lioness quieted, pressed herself into Jean's touch and looked up at her with her golden eyes, soft and warm.

"She's Doctor Blake's daemon," Jean continued, but then she noted the way Grace and Victoria's eyes were both glued to her hand, touching the good Doctor's daemon, and she very carefully withdrew. "And this, of course, is Doctor Lucien Blake."

Oh, why had she gone and done that! To touch another's daemon was most improper; it simply wasn't done, not in company, certainly not in the butcher's. A widowed lady, touching her widowed employer's daemon; she might have well fallen into the man's arms right then and there. The scandal this would cause didn't bear thinking about, and it was too late to undo it, and Lucien was already speaking.

"Pleasure to meet you, ladies," he said, a bit sheepishly. "I do beg your pardon, I assure you my daemon means no harm."

"Oh, of course not, Doctor Blake," Victoria said, her gaze bouncing speculatively from Jean to Lucien and back again. "We've just never seen anything like her before, have we, Grace? What a magnificent beast."

"She's not a beast," Halcyon trilled grumpily from Jean's shoulder. "She's quite lovely, really, and you ought not be so-"

"Halcyon," Jean murmured, "please."

He fell silent, but it was too late; the damage was done. The ladies were all but glowing in their triumph; that little scene would no doubt provide them fodder for weeks, as they told everyone in town how loose Jean Beazley had been with the good Doctor's daemon, and how her own had revealed his affection for the lioness, and they would titter about what it meant. And them living together, they would say, in that great big house with no one but the District Nurse to keep an eye on them, and the girl must sleep sometime. You do know, don't you, how she fell into her first marriage? You don't? Oh, it's the most shocking story.

"Mrs. Lawrence?" Tilly called then, and the ladies went back to the counter, finished their purchases and departed in a whirl of skirts and lovely to see you, Jean, Doctor Blake, and then the four of them were alone with poor Tilly, who was doing her best to keep her eyes focused on the roasts, and not reveal that she knew exactly what it was she'd just witnessed.

Jean felt as if she were going to burst into tears at any moment.

"Charming ladies," Lucien whispered to her dryly, and she tried to muster a smile for him, but the effort was thin, and wan, and wasted.

"Jean's just worried they'll talk," Halcyon said, taking wing and spinning circles round Lucien's head. "Everyone's always talking."

Lucien shot Jean a thoughtful look, then, but she could not hold his gaze, felt a blush staining her cheeks. Of course he didn't know, couldn't know, about the whispers that had followed her all her life, from the moment Halcyon finally settled into the form of a kingfisher. A bird, and that was not good enough, and Jean herself was not good enough, and she tried, she tried so hard, to be what they expected her to be but she never got it quite right. She knew everyone in town and they all knew her and that was the problem, for they would not ever, ever let her forget what she was. Beneath the courtesy and calm of small town life there lurked a beast with teeth, and it remained ready at any moment to open its maw and rip her life to pieces. Oh, what would happen if the gossip grew to be too much? People would not see a doctor who took liberties with his housekeeper, and the police might not keep him on, if his personal notoriety made him too distasteful, and if he could not work he might well leave, and then what would become of her? It was a dreadful prospect.

"Perhaps they ought to do a bit more listening instead, eh?" Lucien said, very gently.

At their feet Nemea began to move, slowly, silently, until she was standing next to Jean, and then she shifted, rested her weight comfortingly against Jean's leg.

"Those who talk loudest are those who know the least," Nemea rumbled in a soft voice.

"Quite right, too," Lucien agreed.

They were only being kind to her, Jean knew, and she wanted to be grateful for it, but their kindness threatened to break her heart. It was a kindness she did not know how to accept, a kindness she feared, for if they carried on being kind to her she might lose her heart completely, and she didn't know what would become of her if she did. There was so little kindness in her world, she had almost forgotten the taste of it.

"Here you are, Mrs. Beazley," Tilly said softly, and Lucien stepped up to the counter, paid for their provisions and slipped them into the basket, and then slipped the basket over his own arm, before offering the other to Jean.

"The greengrocer's next?" he asked.

"Yes, I believe so, Doctor Blake," Jean said, and then, though it grieved her, she did not take his arm, but walked out of the butcher's under her own steam, and left Lucien and Nemea to follow after her. She wanted to take his arm, but she had done too much damage to their reputations already, and could not risk further impropriety. It's the way things are, she told herself. And the way they always will be.