Two weeks later

Felicia paused on the threshold of the presbytery's kitchen and crossed her arms. "Are you supposed to be out of bed," she asked the man sitting at the table, "or do I have to sic Mrs. McCarthy on you?"

"Wouldn't be much left for her to get her teeth into after you were done," Sid smirked. "Now would there?"

"No," Felicia conceded. "There probably wouldn't be." She moved into the room and took a seat beside him. From there she could tell that Mrs. McCarthy knew exactly where Sid was. The expert arrangement of the pillows separating the chair from the welts that the hailstorm had raised on his back said everything. "Still sore?"

"Yeah. It's better, though. It's mostly the ribs that hurt now." Two of those, they'd learned when the ice had finally melted down enough to let a doctor reach Montague House, had been fractured, along with half of Sid's fingers and a couple of bones deeper in his right hand. He lifted that appendage and its bulky cast a couple of inches off the table. "And this. This is the worst bit."

The breaks in his hands and the utter flaying of the skin that covered them were the price Sid had paid for continuing to drive even after the hail had broken through the windscreen and started smacking into the steering wheel and onto the front seat. Felicia hated that he hadn't pulled over and come into the back of the car with her and Mrs. McCarthy to wait the third bout of the storm out. The conditions had been so severe, however, that even attempting to stop would likely have snatched control of the Rolls away from Sid completely. At least, that was the reason he'd given when she'd realized what he'd gone through for them and had burst into helpless, grateful, angry tears.

"It will heal." Clean breaks, easily set, had been one of the few things the doctor had said that hadn't made Felicia cry harder when she heard them. "Your face looks better." His split lip retained a bit of puffiness, and there were still scabs at his temple and the bridge of his nose, but the scrapes had receded into mere red patches. She brushed her fingers over one of them and was pleased when he didn't flinch at the pressure. "Much better."

"So does yours." He squinted at her closely. "Can't even see where the make-up ends."

"Thank you." Her black eye and sprained wrist, like Mrs. McCarthy's deep thigh contusion and most of the damage to Sid's face, had come from their jarring final slide into the corner of Montague House. That, too, Sid had since told Felicia apologetically, had been necessary, as it was the only way he could think of at the time to make sure they would come to a halt right next to the kitchen door. "I was getting a little tired of putting on oversized sunglasses every time I left the house. We're not quite close enough to summer yet for that to look fashionable."

"Mm...summer." A frown appeared as Sid carefully rolled his right shoulder. "Maybe..."

Felicia smiled, all commiseration. "I think you'd better sit this year out, Sid."

"I mean, the cast might be off in time," he insisted. "I might even bowl better after. Be more unpredictable. Everyone'll have to re-learn my style."

"You will bowl much better if you actually let yourself heal before you go trying to win glory for Kembleford," Mrs. McCarthy lectured as she bustled into the room and began pulling together Sid's afternoon pills. "There are plenty of others who can play cricket well enough to prevent our complete mortification in your absence."

"Well, it's just that you're setting such a fine example of taking a rest, Mrs. M.," Sid prodded.

"...You have to eat something with these, Sidney, but that something doesn't have to be my award-winning strawberry scones."

Wincing – though Felicia wasn't sure whether the look came from physical pain or from the prospect of being denied his favorite food – Sid raised both of his plaster-swaddled hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright, fine. Lady F. can take my place on the team. She'll be fine by then, and we know she can bring in a win."

A plate bearing a pair of neatly trisected scones and several capsules was set down in front of him almost immediately after this concession had been made. Sid pinched a piece of scone between his left thumb and his bandaged but unbroken index finger and tucked it into his mouth. "...Should still sit down once in a while, though," he mumbled through crumbs.

"Sidney!"

"He's not wrong, Mrs. McCarthy," Felicia chimed in. "The doctor did say you should try and rest your leg as much as possible until that terrible bruise is gone."

"Rest? And then who would do the parish business, and look after the Father, and keep this other one fed and bandaged and inside where he belongs? Besides," she waved their concerns away, "the bruising is much better now. I am perfectly fine."

Sid had wolfed everything Mrs. McCarthy had placed in front of him. Now he collected the last remnants of scone from his plate. As soon he'd swallowed them, he said in a careful, measured tone, "'S that why you've been limping every night when you come in my room before you leave?"

Felicia gasped. "Mrs. McCarthy!"

A hint of embarrassed color rose into the older woman's cheeks. "I put it up when I get home," she defended herself.

"I'll send one of the housemaids down to help you for the next few weeks," Felicia said. It would have to be Carol; Hannah was a fine and lively girl, but she'd drive Mrs. McCarthy up the wall in close quarters. "Or I could always take Sid back to the house for a while." She'd wanted to keep him there to start with, but Mrs. McCarthy had nearly gone apoplectic at the suggestion. "Many hands make light work, you know."

"Maybe so, but too many spoons in the pot will spoil the soup," retorted Mrs. McCarthy. "It is much better that he stays here, where it's quiet."

"She'll take the loan of the housemaid, though," Sid put in. "Better make it Carol, I think."

Felicia smiled. "I was thinking the same thing."

Mrs. McCarthy was huffing with indignation. As soon as Sid had returned Felicia's smile, he caught the older woman's gaze and held it. "I'll go with her if you don't. I wasn't out picking daisies in a daydream the whole time the doctor was there; I heard what he told you. You need to rest just as much as we do. That's why I asked the Father to help me come down this morning," he went on before Mrs. McCarthy could interject. "Didn't want you doing those stairs all day long, did I?"

Tears were shining in the parish secretary's eyes. "Sidney..."

The door opened then, revealing Father Brown. He had a small brown paper bag in his grasp, which he set on the kitchen counter as he stepped inside. "I seem to have walked in on a tense moment," he said, glancing around the table. "Still, Lady Felicia, I'm glad I didn't miss your visit today. I know I've missed many over these last two weeks."

Felicia had had Warbelow drive her into Kembleford in her sportscar at least once a day since the others had left Montague House, but Father Brown had been so busy that she'd barely seen him. While she'd never been a stranger at the presbytery, the recent frequency of her visits was unprecedented. And despite the lack of flowers to distract them, she realized, the debate over the housemaid was the first disagreement she and Mrs. McCarthy had really had with one another over all those hours.

"He agrees you should be resting more, Mrs. M." Sid said quickly. "Don't you, Father?"

Understanding dawned on the Father's face. "...I do, although I was saving that topic for a little later in the afternoon."

"Actually," Felicia inserted, "we have it all settled. Carol is going to come by for the next few weeks, starting tomorrow, to help Mrs. McCarthy however she can."

"Is she?" A knowing glint shone in Father Brown's eyes. "How kind of you to lend her, Lady Felicia."

"My pleasure." She only wished she'd thought of it sooner.

Everyone turned to Mrs. McCarthy. "Well...I..." She blustered for a moment, looking first to Father Brown, then to Sid. When the latter raised his eyebrows at her, she gave in. "Thank you," she sighed. "Carol does seem to be a competent girl. I should be able to sit down for a few extra minutes a day, at least."

"You can start right now," said Father Brown. He moved around Sid and Felicia, touching each of them appreciatively on the shoulder as he went, and pulled out the chair nearest to Mrs. McCarthy.

"I was about to start dinner-"

"I'll make dinner."

"You're going to stuff and roast a chicken, are you?"

"No. But I bought sausages, and I'm sure I can manage a fry-up."

"He definitely can," Sid confided to Felicia. "Best fry-ups I've ever tasted. 'Cept yours, of course, Mrs. M.," he added in haste as she finally took the seat on his other side. "Wouldn't want to be cut off from those. Just saying."

Mrs. McCarthy observed Sid sternly for the space of a long breath. Then she let a fond smile unfurl, shook her head, and patted his left hand so gently that Felicia wasn't sure she actually came into contact with the bandages. "I think you can rest easy on that count, at least for the time being.

"...Now," she went on, "so long as we are all in the same room, we can start thinking about the church fair. Since the last one had to be canceled, I thought we might try to make this next one a bit bigger than usual. Fortunately, that storm didn't hand us much in the way of unexpected bills..." This was true; while Kembleford had experienced some minor flooding, the hail had been concentrated mostly over the Montague estate and broad stretches of field and forest beyond, much to Felicia's chagrin. "...But we could do with making up ground on the income side. Oh, Father, hand me that pad and pencil, would you, please? I'll note down anything good we come up with."

Father Brown complied, his mouth quirking with restrained mirth. Sid and Felicia exchanged an amused glance. "She never stops, you know," Sid grinned, his teasing heavily underlined with admiration.

"I've noticed," Felicia chuckled.

"At least she's sitting down," put in Father Brown.

Mrs. McCarthy looked up from titling a page and blinked round at them all. "What are you all going on about?"

She got her response in triplicate. "Nothing!"

Felicia sent Warbelow back to the house until later in the evening, then stayed for the fry-up and the genial talk that followed it. When Sid began visibly struggling to keep his eyes open, Father Brown helped him hobble back up the stairs to bed. Once they were out of earshot, Mrs. McCarthy leaned forward over the table. "Have you found someone yet?"

Leaning in as well, Felicia lowered her voice to match the other woman's. It was silly, really, because they had to tell Sid about it sooner or later, but she didn't want the news to be something he simply overheard. "Yes. There's quite a good man in Cheltenham. Very discreet." Not that discretion should have been necessary, in her opinion; anyone who would take issue with Sid's childhood psychological trauma simply wasn't worth knowing. "I've made him an appointment for next Thursday. I'll pick him up at ten. Don't worry, Warbelow's driving, not me."

"You are going with, though, aren't you?"

"Yes." She didn't really believe that Sid would try and skip the appointment, since he could barely walk ten feet unassisted, but the possibility refused to fully leave her mind. Besides, she wanted to be available on the ride home in case he needed an ear.

Mrs. McCarthy was frowning down at the multiple pages of notes she'd taken over the past several hours, but Felicia knew that she wasn't thinking about the church fair. "...You could come too, if you wanted," she offered. "There's room."

The older woman blew out a long breath. "...No."

"No?" That was a surprise.

"No." Mrs. McCarthy sighed again. "I have given this a great deal of thought over the past two weeks, Lady Felicia. As much as I want to go, I am not the person he might need to be there. You are. The Father would probably do near as well, but he was never actually in the Blitz, either. You were. You and Sidney share that experience. I...I do not.

"I will tell you," she continued, her voice shaking, "that I did not have many terribly gracious thoughts about you when he pulled away from me in the middle of his fit. In fact, I might have hated you, just for a moment." Mrs. McCarthy freed a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her face as she spoke. "It was wrong of me, but it was how I felt. Envy has always been my weakness, and if there is anything on this earth that I am truly jealous over...it's..."

"Not the conservatory," Felicia filled in.

"No, though it was a shame to see that go. But to see him go on again like he did that night...never again. I would rather go all the way to Rome and back on my knees, atoning for my feelings at every inch, than risk them interfering with something that might help him. With something...anything...that might ensure that he never breaks down like that again."

If she said anything further, it was lost in tears. Felicia, her own cheeks damp, reached across the table with both hands. "It's all right," she whispered when they had been taken. "Bridgette...I understand." She might not have ever hated the woman sitting across from her, but she'd certainly had her own moments of jealousy. "You know," she revealed, beginning to laugh in spite of everything, "I can't even manage a simple fry-up, let alone an award-winning strawberry scone. All of my cooking attempts have to be heavily supervised by Mrs. Young. He'd starve in my house if it wasn't for her."

Mrs. McCarthy straightened up at that. "He would do no such thing," she said, continuing to sniffle. "Do you think I let him leave from under this roof without at least being able to cook a decent meal for himself?" Her words came out as a chastisement, but a tiny smile had appeared on her lips. "Anyway, you wouldn't let him starve whether you had a cook or not. I know that much." A beat passed. "...I could teach you a few things. If you wanted to learn."

"Thank you," said Felicia, "but I'm content to leave the culinary artistry to you. My point was that you give him plenty of things that I never could." The sort of determination that was required to continue driving through an endless hailstorm with two broken hands leapt to mind. Felicia did not believe that she could ever have done that. She was equally convinced that Mrs. McCarthy could, and that she'd then try to step back into her kitchen or review the parish ledger – or both – the very next day.

"Maybe so." Mrs. McCarthy squeezed Felicia's hands, then withdrew her own. "Thank you for saying it, anyway." She dabbed her eyes once more and tucked her handkerchief away. "Will you tell him tonight? About the appointment?"

"Do you think he's still awake? They went upstairs at least fifteen minutes ago."

Mrs. McCarthy nodded. "Sid has never been one of those who could nod off at the table or on the sofa and then go straight to bed. If he moves, he has to wind back down afterward."

"I'll go see him, then." Even if he was already asleep, Felicia knew looking in on him would make her feel better. It was one of the dozen reasons why she'd wanted to keep him at Montague House. "Will you call the house for me, and ask for Warbelow to come down with the car?"

"Of course. I need to stand up in any case; I cannot remember the last time I sat for so long without doing anything constructive. The Father even did the dishes, bless him..."

Felicia was still biting back a smile at that when she encountered Father Brown on the stairs. "Did you and Mrs. McCarthy have a nice chat?" he queried with a smile of his own.

She paused. "...Did you hear us?"

"No. Not the particulars, at least. But you seemed to need a little space to yourselves, so I thought it best to wait here." He glanced over his shoulder. "He was awake a few minutes ago, and he probably still is. He doesn't-"

"Go straight to sleep after he's been moved," Lady Felicia finished with him. "She told me."

Father Brown nodded. "Good. I'm glad to hear it." He hesitated, considering, then spoke again. "...I believe I did overhear that you've made him an appointment?"

"Yes. Mrs. McCarthy suggested that I tell him tonight."

"That's more good news, then." He squeezed her elbow gently and sidled past her. "Good luck, Lady Felicia. And thank you."

A moment later she was tapping lightly on Sid's door. "'M awake," came a response, and she slipped inside. He gave her a sleepy grin. "What, didn't you get enough of me downstairs?"

"Who could ever get enough of you?" she teased as she settled onto the edge of the mattress. The night beyond his window was clear, and copious moonlight was spilling into the room. Thank goodness for that; they could do without any more storms for a while.

Sid chuckled. "The Inspector, for starters."

"Oh, I don't know. I passed by him on the way here this afternoon, and he looked positively forlorn. In fact, I think I saw him shade his eyes and peer towards the presbytery as if he was just hoping you'd show up and give him something to do."

"Oh, yeah? Poor bloke. Guess I'd better hurry up and get back to causing trouble and giving him headaches."

"You seem to give him plenty of headaches without ever actually causing trouble," Felicia laughed. "Personally, I think you should keep trying the 'lie around in bed' model for another few weeks and see how it goes."

"I can probably manage that. I owe you a favor or two, anyway."

Felicia blinked down at him. "For what, exactly?"

Sid stared at her as if the answer should have been obvious. "Uh, for destroying the Rolls Royce that you literally pay me to not drive into buildings?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't care about the car?" She'd already said as much at least a dozen times. "I can buy another car, Sid. You're what's irreplaceable."

"D'aww," Sid simpered.

Felicia crossed her arms – a more difficult endeavor than usual with one wrist bandaged – and mock-glared. "You know, it's moments like these that make me understand why Mrs. McCarthy sometimes looks like she wants to smack you."

"Well, go ahead if you want. I won't feel it 'til morning. I get to take the good stuff at bedtime. And it works faaaaaast."

"You know I'm not going to hit you." She uncrossed her arms. "...There is something you could do for me, though. Assuming, of course, that you remember this conversation when you're no longer high as a kite."

"What is it, then?" He tried to sound put-upon, but Felicia detected a veiled eagerness in his voice.

"It's...about what happened in the conservatory. It's..." She hadn't expected it to be this hard to address face-to-face with him. The fact that all the levity had fallen out of his expression didn't help. Felicia felt her eyes start to burn anew. "Sid, I don't ever want that to happen again."

"...Y'know, Lady F., you sure know how to kill a high." He stared up at the ceiling, refusing to meet her gaze. "I can't promise that. I wish I could, and not just 'cause you're asking for it. Maybe a few weeks ago I would have promised – it hasn't been like it was that in a long, long time, years, since before you even came to Kembleford – but not now."

Finally, he looked at her. "I'll tell you what I told the Father a few days ago. The odds seem pretty good that it won't happen again, at least not like that. That bad. The sounds were just so..."

"So similar," she nodded. She remembered the way her own fear had crept back in. "So specific, but-"

"But not specific, at the same time. Just...angry."

"Like Armageddon."

"Yeah. Like that. And I don't suspect I qualify as a repentant sinner, so..." Sid closed his eyes, took as deep a breath as the wrappings around his ribs would allow, and let it out slowly. "...You get it. It probably won't ever happen again, leastwise not around here. But now that I know it can happen here...I don't want to break any promise I make to you. So don't ask me to make that one."

Sid's right hand was propped up on a pillow above the covers. Felicia covered it gently with her own. "I had a different promise in mind, actually."

"...Like what?"

"Like that you'll go and talk to the doctor I made you an appointment with for next Thursday."

He studied her for a long second. "You didn't go and actually make me an appointment with a ruddy headshrinker?"

"Yes."

He grimaced. "And I s'pose you're insisting on paying for it, too."

"Yes." She didn't mention that she intended to pay for any and every future appointment that the doctor thought might help, as well. Sid no doubt understood that that was her plan, but he would see it as too grand of a gesture if it was acknowledged out loud. Even though he'd appreciate it, he'd feel bound to refuse. It was better to leave the future as an unspoken agreement.

"The Father said you might." Sid shook his head. "I'm not crazy, Lady F."

"Of course you're not crazy. None of us think that. But if we have to watch you go through another fit like that – if I have to watch it, Sid – at least one person who is in this house right now will be."

He glanced at her, then away. "I don't think it'll do any good-"

"Sid, please-"

"-But I'll go."

Felicia was so ecstatic at that news that she tightened her fingers on Sid's arm. When he yelped, she yanked her hand back. "Oh, Sid, I'm so sorry, I...are you laughing?"

"S'either...that...or cry," he gasped. "...Ow. Fuck. Sorry. Hurts."

"I thought you were on 'the good stuff'?"

"So did I. Apparently it's not as good as it was making itself out to be."

Neither of them spoke for a minute as Sid wrestled with his pain. When he'd calmed, Felicia ventured a question. "...You'll really go?"

"I said I would, didn't I?"

"Yes, but you also said you don't think it will help."

"I don't. But you do. And the Father thinks it might. And I feel pretty safe assuming that Mrs. M.'s on your side, too. So I'll go, 'cause I'd rather spend an hour reliving the worst day of my life than disappoint all three of you in one shot." One corner of his mouth pipped upward. "Now who's being sappy, huh?"

Felicia gave him a watery smile. "It must be the drugs, after all."

"Must be."

"Then I'm going to leave," Felicia said, rising, "so you can go to sleep."

Sid snorted. "Don't think I'll sleep much between now and Thursday, being honest."

The bravado of a moment before had slipped, and Felicia caught a glimpse of a haunted sort of fear behind Sid's gaze. Bending close, she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and pressed a tender kiss to his unbroken temple. "Try, Sid," she whispered. "For me."

"Well, seeing's it's for you...okay."

She was at the door when he spoke again. "...Hey. Lady F. You're, ah...you're coming with, right? To the...on Thursday?"

It was Felicia's turn to look as if something should have been obvious. "Of course I am."

Sid smiled, his face settling into tired but satisfied lines. "That's alright, then." And he closed his eyes.

Before ten seconds had gone by, Felicia knew he had passed into sleep. "It will be, darling," she whispered. The words were half-prayer, half-promise. "...It will be."