"Young master, after all the Queen's errands you've been on, it would be a real tragedy for you to drown in the tub."

Ciel's eyes snapped open and he looked around the guest bathroom. The water splashed with his twisting waist. "What–? I'm in the bath, I'm not... I'm... Oh." He rubbed at his face with wet hands and sank lower into the warm suds. "Ugh… damn it, not again. Why is it that when I finally try to repair my sleep habits, they're more horrid than ever before?"

Sebastian almost dumped a pitcher of water over the boy's soapy head but stopped himself in time as Ciel, again, yawned enormously. "I believe your aunt said you would not be staying at the party for longer than two hours," he reasoned. "If you manage to remain awake throughout, you'll fall asleep at a normal hour tonight and then perhaps everything will shift into place."

"That's a lovely thought," Ciel grumbled. "Of course, it's never that easy for me."

"My, it sounds like a child's cautionary tale, doesn't it? The Little Lord Who Couldn't Stay Awake During the Party," Sebastian smirked, and Ciel clambered out of the bath, not without a few snarled retorts in his butler's direction.

Peverel's Honor had been through a number of refurbishments across the generations, but for the second story floors only so much could be done. Therefore the old wooden planks of Ciel's grandfather's era were still intact in the bathroom and were more of a hassle to take care of than tile or brick. Once Ciel was dressed for the occasion, Sebastian immediately went in search of extra towels to clean up any standing water that could cause the floorboards to rot. Lizzie's maid Paula directed him to the storage closet down the opposite hallway, and he thanked her before making his way there.

"You don't suppose Lady Dawes will be at the party tonight, do you, dear?"

The voice coming from the master bedroom belonged to Alexis Midford. Sebastian generally gave all external conversation his secondary attention, and so he did not become attentive to it until his charge's name was spoken.

"Do I suppose? I don't know. Why do you ask?" Francis returned. She was likely at her toilette, as there was the soft clatter of things being picked up and put down again.

"I'm just thinking of what she might say to Ciel."

Sebastian paused before the closet.

Francis scoffed that. "What are the chances of him talking with her, do you think? Lady Dawes is an old widow and he's just a boy, after all."

"Well, I don't think that he'd approach her, but she might seek him out, if she knows he's there."

"Hmm. Yes, she of all people would go so far, wouldn't she?" Francis sighed out her nose. "I believe last year she had retired by eight o'clock. If we arrive at seven thirty, the chances of the two meeting are slim. And nobody else will care that we invited him."

"… Have you ever asked Ciel why he doesn't donate to Weston?" Alexis asked after a pause.

"No. I scarcely ask him about money anymore. I used to meet with his accountant in private when he first began managing his own funds, but he's really very smart about his finances, so I trust him to do what he thinks is best… Don't tell him I said that."

Alexis was surprised. "Why ever not?"

"Because," Francis continued matter-of-factly, "he shouldn't relax when it comes to me. Someday he'll have to take care of Elizabeth too. I don't ever want him to think I'll 'settle' for how he manages his wages or his business or… anything, really. I have minimum expectations, but not maximum, and he can always be striving for more."

"He is only fourteen," Alexis reminded.

"He is a Phantomhive," Francis reminded back.

There was the subtle movement of shoes on carpet, and then, "You have the strongest will in all of Europe, darling. I fell in love the day you beat me in the Queen's tournament, and you've been parrying me ever since. I never can decide if you're more beautiful when you finally let your guard down or when you keep fighting with everything you have."

"Oh, stop it," Francis chided, but warmly, and there was a whisper of sound as the couple briefly kissed. Sebastian opened the closet and chose three towels that seemed the most worn-out before traveling back to the guest bath.

The number of stray cats wandering the alleys of Oxford were too numerous to count – this Sebastian knew. But he had learned his lesson from the Shrove Tuesday party and tonight he would not gather any of them in his arms for entertainment. Instead he would train his focus on Ciel as best he could, because he refused to spend months wondering about some new attitude again. Considering the Midford's discussion of this Lady Dawes character and Ciel's short fuse from a lack of sleep, conflict seemed a high possibility.

They took the Midford's five-glass landau to the party. Sebastian did not drive but rode in the boot – the Midford's Broglie was the senior butler while he and Ciel were here, and there was only one space remaining in the front. The journey was not long but took them to the city proper, along the Thames by the Weston recreation grounds and the Christ Church Meadow. Weston's treasurer, of course, would live on a piece of prime real estate near the school, in a manor half the size of Ciel's but quite large considering the territory. Little lanterns guided the way up the drive and the house itself was a bull's-eye of light and sound in the dark. The air was balmy tonight, and party-goers were made giddy by the breath of spring. It was England, the next rain shower was only a thought away – they'd enjoy the good weather each moment it lasted.

A short queue of fellow carriages deposited noble ladies and gentlemen at the manor's entrance. When their own carriage made it to the front, Sebastian descended the boot and put down the long step to let the passengers out. Lizzie emerged first, wearing a sky blue silk gown with white lace and pink accoutrements, and Ciel followed after his aunt in an old favorite blue coat and trousers that just fit by Sebastian's standards. Lizzie had been upset that she and her fiancé didn't match, but there hadn't been enough time to plan coordinating outfits tonight. "At least we'll have Easter to look alike," she'd lamented; Ciel lamented too, but for the very opposite reason.

The family went into the yellow glow of the doorway, and Sebastian climbed back aboard as Hammond flicked the reins to find a place to park the horses. The coach was stationed about five minutes away down an unpaved dirt road, amongst other nobles' vehicles. Broglie went to sleep in the compartment, and Hammond lit a cigarette and went to chat with footmen from other houses who'd parked nearby; there was nothing for the servants to do but wait when the rich clicked glasses. Sebastian had no trouble slipping away unnoticed in the direction of the house. The darkness was a swift disguise. Within it, even humans became panthers. It turned demons into water and air.

In this darkness, Sebastian could observe the party through the windows. The inside world was gold and platinum. A hundred humans in a single room glittered with white wine and white jewels. Men were as different as sparrows and finches in their suits, while each woman was as unique as a shell. The whole room was awash in starry flames that reflected off every facet of every chandelier, every polished piece of furniture, every tooth when the people tipped back their heads in laughter, lost in their fabricated heaven.

Sebastian marveled the scene but was not dazzled. He did not lose sight of his mission. When focused, his sharp ears could make out individual discussions, and as a hound roots through a cacophony of scents to find the rabbit's, Sebastian sifted through the voices until Ciel's was the only one he heard. He followed that voice all around its sweep of the room, the voice of a prideful boy trying his best to sound interested and interesting when all he wanted to do was sleep and be left well alone. Sebastian fancied only he could decipher all the undertones of that voice.

An hour passed. Ciel faced a few small trials in that span: an intoxicated man gestured with his wine glass and splashed the boy's shoulder; a runaway lapdog had nibbled at his shoe and untied one of his laces; he wasn't in time to get a slice of cherry Madeira cake before it was all eaten. The fullness of the room began to overwhelm him too, and Ciel allowed himself a break by the far wall, where some of the spring air came in from the open doors leading to the gardens.

"Excuse me. Excuse me, boy, who are you? Yes, you. Tell me your name."

There were few English words that Sebastian held disdain for. 'Crotchety' was one of them, and that was precisely how Sebastian felt this old woman's tone should be described. He could not see her or the boy from his position, but he could imagine the scene, her leaning in too close and Ciel's contained annoyance at being so addressed.

Ciel introduced himself with polite confusion and quite a bit of hesitation. He had been groomed to handle even the most awkward social interactions, though this one did come with strange circumstances: no one had introduced the two properly, he was not entirely sure how to speak to her until he knew her status, and it was likely she could only get away with being so forward because she was old or high-titled. "And who do I have the pleasure of knowing this evening...?" he asked slowly.

"I," she said, putting on airs, "am Lady Opal Dawes, great aunt of your kind host, Mr. Theodore Goode."

Ah, did it even take a demon's intuition to know the forewarned meeting would occur after all? And it was past eight o'clock too.

"You would know this," Lady Dawes continued, "if you had come to one of my nephew's parties before, and you would have come to one of my nephew's parties before if you were a benefactor. But I know everybody who donates to the school, and I know you have not – I don't recognize you, and I would have seen your name before. What are you doing here?"

Ciel seemed floored by this accusation, and rightfully so. "I'm… I'm here with my family, the Midfords."

"Yes, I know," Lady Dawes said quickly, as if this conversation she herself began was a waste of time. "I know Marchioness Midford was a Phantomhive before she married the marquis; I daresay I know your family better than you do, seeing as they used to come to these parties before you were even born. Your grandfather and your father, Weston was their alma mater, and they donated graciously each year to the school's upkeep. But we both know why those contributions stopped. What I don't know is why you didn't take up their mantle after they passed. Which wouldn't be my business," Lady Dawes pressed, "if you hadn't decided you were invited here tonight after refusing to show the devotion to education that your forefathers did."

Ciel was stunned into silence. Sebastian could tell by the sway of voices around the two that guests nearby had begun to notice the altercation. No one yet came to Ciel's aid, so the boy was forced to speak for himself. "I came because I was invited by my aunt," he finally stuttered out. His words began to grow hot. "If I'd known I wouldn't be welcome here, I certainly wouldn't have come."

"You could have assumed it," the old woman said. "You are young, but I hear a great deal about you and your exploits, you aren't stupid – leading me to believe you withheld donations with a purpose in mind."

"I promise you, I had no such designs," Ciel said thickly, "and the ramblings of an angry old woman certainly aren't about to change my opinion on the subject!"

Lady Dawes gasped. "Well, I never–"

"Great Aunt Opal." A middle-aged woman's voice cut through the exchange. She was likely the sister or wife of Theodore Goode. Sebastian could tell she would be too submissive to end the widow's tirade. "It's getting late, dear, how about we get you to bed? I believe all the company has made you excited."

Lady Dawes ignored her niece or daughter-in-law. "What a good man I thought Vincent Phantomhive was," she rattled on, "but if this is how his son behaves, then I see his goodness only went so far. I can only imagine what he would say if he were here right now!"

"Aunt Opal, that's enough of that..."

"Yes, you can 'only imagine,'" Ciel said shakily, "because I don't believe you really know anything about who my father was."

"Do you?" Lady Dawes marveled. "How old were you when he passed again? Eight years? Nine? I probably remember him as well as you do. As far as I'm concerned, you're too young to understand–"

"Shut up!"

For the briefest moment, the chatter beyond the bright window dithered into whispers. Even Sebastian felt something in him go still. He could not see Ciel's face in the crowd, merely a triangle of blue coat within a halo of gold ambience – then Aunt Francis called sharply above the din, "Ciel!" and the blue went dashing off into the gardens outside.

Well, well, how the drama had unfolded. The Shrove Tuesday party was a mere sideshow attraction in comparison to this.

Sebastian moved silently from the shadows of the window to the shadows of the garden to see Ciel escaping into the infamous topiary maze. Francis Midford was behind him in twenty seconds, still calling his name. In polite society, she was a woman of stature before she was a mother, but this was an unusual occasion and her emotions too pushed her to act. Because of her skirts she could not keep up, however, and the boy's head start gave him an advantage.

Sebastian found his charge in an instant but did not reveal himself. He stayed a wall of hedges away from the boy and watched through the leaves as Ciel paced the corridors, looking over his shoulder every few yards to make sure no one was behind him before continuing. Ciel walked quickly, his hands balled into fists by his sides. A natural at puzzles, it wasn't long before he found the stone fountain Lizzie told him about, marble benches surrounding the structure. Ciel sat on one. He stayed like that for a minute, clenching his fists tightly, until they suddenly loosened and he pulled his legs to his chest, pressing his face into them.

"Oh, dear… Now what could this be about?"

At once Ciel jumped to his feet, rubbing his face hastily on his forearm. Sebastian was similarly surprised; he hadn't noticed anybody else's presence either, so fixated had he been on the boy. "Wh-Who is it?" Ciel said quickly. "I'm, um, who else is here?" Ciel's stance said he was prepared to leave again, not yet ready for any confrontation about what had just happened indoors.

A tall, broad-shouldered man walked around from his seat at the opposite end of the fountain. A full head of dark brown hair spilled from under a sleek black top hat, though his face said he must be in his early forties at least. A plump cravat was clamped beneath his paisley vest, over which he wore a herringbone frock coat. He stopped when he was about three yards from the new arrival. Then he smiled politely.

"Beg your pardon, young man," the stranger said with a dip of his head, "do you mind if I ask what seems to be the trouble? You appear distressed."

Ciel took a step back slowly. "No… No, excuse me, I just wanted to make sure I wasn't bothering anyone who might be enjoying the fountain…"

"Sit. Please," the man offered, gesturing at the bench Ciel had just left. Ciel hesitated. "I don't bite," he laughed, "nor do I bark. And I've been told I'm quite good at keeping secrets. Now, tell me, why should a young person your age look so distraught?"

Sebastian smirked. Ciel had trouble confiding in anyone, and he certainly wasn't going to suddenly improve with a stranger. The boy opened his mouth to respond but it was Aunt Francis who stole the silence. "Ciel Phantomhive, there you are!" She appeared from the opposite entrance to the fountain area, holding her skirts with both hands. "Don't you dare run off again, you stay right there… Ciel! How could you speak to Lady Dawes like that? I am so appalled and ashamed, I am beside myself with anger! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Ciel was glaring at the ground. He was quiet.

Francis put her hands on her hips. "What do you have to say for yourself?" she repeated. "A woman her age… What could she possibly have done to make you that upset?!"

Before the boy could answer, the gentleman gave a short laugh. "Are we thinking of the same Lady Dawes?" he said jovially. "I don't know what the lad has said, but if anyone can pry discouraging words from a mouth, it's her."

Francis seemed to see the stranger for the first time. "Pardon me, but this is between my nephew and I," she said. "He told a respectable woman and the host's great aunt to 'shut up,' if you must know. Whatever she said to him, it was probably hard to hear; I'm familiar with her commentary, and I know she doesn't mince words. Despite that," she aimed her attention at Ciel, "that does not give you permission to speak to her the way you did. You must go apologize to her right now."

Ciel's head whipped up at that. "Apologize to her?" His words were full of offense.

"You heard me," Francis snapped. "At this point it's the only salve we have. I refuse to let you leave this party without giving your most sincere regrets to Lady Dawes and Mr. Goode – don't look at me that way, Ciel, you know it's what must be done! Now, don't stand there anymore, we have to make our way out of this ridiculous maze you made me chase you into, and you must prepare a very heartfelt speech while we walk…"

"Wait." Francis and Ciel turned to the stranger, who held his top hat in his hands. "I think I have somewhat of an understanding of what happened," he said. "I want to help, if I can. Mr. Goode and I have been friends for some time. I know all about Lady Dawes." He smiled, somewhat sneakily. "She's a tough old bird, and she's worried of becoming irrelevant, so she causes a scene when she can."

Francis looked at the gentleman narrowly. "You speak boldly yourself."

"Boldly, perhaps. But also honestly," the man said. He turned to Ciel. "You're Earl Phantomhive," he went on. "You're a clever young man – anyone acquainted with your work can attest to that. I want to believe that whatever Lady Dawes said to you tonight, your anger was, in part, justified. Even if your words were strong," he added when Francis shot him another look.

Ciel glanced between the adults in a sort of peculiar wonderment. He was facing the gentleman when he finally responded. "She… that is Lady Dawes, she asked me why I was at the party since I'm not a benefactor to Weston. And when I said that my family invited me to join them, she seemed to think I wasn't donating any money because I was against the school or something of that nature… and then she started speaking poorly of my late father, and I…" Ciel suddenly seemed to feel embarrassed by his own explanation. "It isn't like me to lose control like that. But I've been a little under the weather this week. I don't know what came over me."

"What came over you?" The stranger looked taken aback. "What boy wouldn't be upset at someone criticizing his father? Excuse me – what young man wouldn't be upset, I meant to say… but regardless, hearing this, I now feel I completely understand your actions."

"I don't want to justify this," Francis clarified. Then she sighed. "Ciel… the way you spoke to Lady Dawes wasn't acceptable, and you still must apologize to her. But I feel… a bit relieved and a bit angry to hear how she spoke to you, too. The truth is, I was afraid she might seek you out tonight and give you a piece of her mind. Perhaps I should have taken more precautions to make sure this didn't happen in the first place."

Ciel's shoulders drooped and he propped up his bangs with the back of his hand. "What's done is done, unfortunately… It doesn't matter why I said what I did. People are going to talk, and the only part that anyone will care about is that I was very rude to a woman five times my age."

"Not I," the gentleman chipped in. "Make your apology gracious and allow me to do the rest… If anyone can be sure the Phantomhive name is a good one, it's Henri Fairclough."

That's when Ciel backpedaled, and even Sebastian's own lips turned in a fractal of a smile. "You're–?!" Ciel sputtered, eyes widening. "You're Henri Fairclough," he exclaimed, and gave a short laugh. "So this isn't the first time you have my gratitude – but now you're more than a signature on a cheque. What an honor it is to meet you in-person, Mr. Fairclough. I only wish I had presented myself less…" Ciel grimaced. "Less… in the way that I presented myself tonight."

Fairclough laughed boomingly. "I couldn't resist keeping my identity a secret any longer! And it's a pleasure to meet you in-person too, Earl. I had no idea that…" He tapered off and restarted. "I had no idea you would be at this party tonight."

"You live in Clermont-Ferrand most of the year, don't you? I assumed we would never cross paths," Ciel admitted.

Fairclough looked impressed. "Well! Your French accent is quite good!"

Ciel tucked his hands behind his back. "Plus que simplement mon accent est bon."

Now Fairclough looked thrilled. Aunt Francis refused to stay in the dark any longer. "Mr. Fairclough, what is your relation to my nephew?" she demanded.

"Mr. Fairclough has been the highest bidder at almost all of my display auctions," Ciel explained in the man's stead. "The toys featured in the store display windows are sold at the end of each season, and the money is donated to orphanages and workhouses across England. For the displays, toys are often specially made, and are larger or of a better quality than the ones that are sold to the public, making them a collector's item. Mr. Fairclough's name has come to my attention a number of times. I am very grateful for his patronage."

"And I am very grateful to have met you in person!" Fairclough said, shaking Ciel's hand suddenly and with vigor. Ciel was startled by this but masked it quickly. "Marchioness Midford… your nephew has my utmost respect. You can be certain that I will keep tonight's incident from traveling farther than Mr. Goode's doorstep."

Mr. Goode and the woman who turned out to be his wife were actually quite reasonable about the whole event. They apologized before Ciel could: Mrs. Goode had overheard the entire conversation, and could not believe Lady Dawes had been so inappropriate with her claims. "We never want our guests to feel unwelcome, no matter who they are," Mr. Goode promised.

"Thank you. Regardless, I shouldn't have spoken that way." Ciel's apology, Sebastian could tell, was at least somewhat sincere, likely motivated by the Goodes' civility. "I lost control of my temper, and I shouldn't have. It isn't right for a gentleman to speak to a lady so."

Mr. Goode dismissed him with a hand raised. "Lady Dawes was nearly asking for it. You should have seen her after you ran off! She went upstairs unassisted for the first time in a year! Whatever you said to her, it gave her an energy boost. She was only pretending to be upset… At her age, the only joy she has left is in seeing she can still create her own gossip."

Even with that graciousness, Aunt Francis was not going to let Ciel off the hook just yet. She rounded up her husband and Lizzie to leave at once, saying to Ciel in a harsh whisper as they approached the carriage, "We will talk about this further at home." None of the Midfords were surprised at Sebastian's clairvoyance to have the landau prepared for their early departure. Ciel, however, glared at Sebastian in a way that said I know the reason you're here on-time is because you overheard everything that happened, bastard. Sebastian smiled sweetly back and closed the door behind his lord.

The talk on the way home was loud from the women and non-existent from the men. "You have my support, Ciel," Lizzie declared. "The way Lady Dawes talked to you was ever so rude! She deserved to taste some of her own medicine!"

"Elizabeth, I will not have you responding to rumors with such a strong opinion!" Francis barked back. "I know you didn't overhear the conversation – and Ciel is your fiancé, not your husband, and I don't give you permission to back him on every one of his decisions yet."

"Mother, you should be angry too! Lady Dawes was speaking poorly of your own brother!"

"I have no need to respond with anger. It isn't becoming to be riled up by the opinions of others, particularly when they are unfounded. Lady Dawes is your elder. She is an adult and in charge of her own reputation. You and Ciel are still young, and I will not condone speaking your mind whenever you please!"

"But we don't speak our mind whenever we please! Ciel was just defending himself!"

"This isn't a discussion, Elizabeth, this is a matter of etiquette, and it has undoubtedly been breached. Keeping calm during an argument is one of the least expectations I have of you children."

"But Mother–!"

"No more, Elizabeth!"

The rest of the ride was held in silence.

Sebastian opened the compartment door once they arrived at Peverel's. He helped the women out with his hand, and closed the door after the men followed. Ciel refused to look at his butler as he went inside. Alexis touched Francis on the arm and said, "Dear, before you speak with Ciel, a word?" The lights in the house came on as Broglie lit them, and Hammond and Sebastian road to the carriage house to put the horses away. When Sebastian came in through the servant's entrance, he sensed the souls of Alexis and his wife in their own bedroom, and considered it safe to approach Ciel in his.

Ciel knew Sebastian by his knock, and called gruffly, "Come in, damn demon."

"Well," Sebastian said, shutting the door behind him, "it seems tonight was rather eventful, wasn't it, young master?"

"Don't be coy," Ciel spat from his bed, arms folded tightly across his chest, "you know all the details already, you don't need me to lay them out for you. Ugh! That awful woman pissed me off!"

"Indeed," Sebastian said. "I didn't realize such an evaluation of your predecessor would cause you to lash out so."

Ciel shot up from the pillows. "It's not that at all! I hate presumptuous people! She thought that because she met my father a few times that she knew him! What a joke! And then Mr. Goode basically confirmed that she just wanted to make me mad! As if I'm not already exhausted enough from this wretched week, and now my aunt must think I've developed such a quick trigger finger that I'm no longer suitable to be taken out in public!"

Sebastian tutted. "And now you wait like a schoolboy for the cane."

"Be quiet," Ciel snapped. "This is ridiculous too. I don't need an adult to tell me how or how not to behave. I already know I made a fool of myself." He crossed his arms again, leaning back down to the pillows. Then he looked at Sebastian sidelong, carefully. "I know what I said was rash, but… Well, what do you think? Lady Dawes was being rude too, wasn't she? I mean, I could have come up with something much more formal, but… But you don't think I was unjustified in saying what I did, do you?"

Ciel's expression had changed during those last couple of sentences. There was a sort of pleading in his eye that Sebastian recognized from when his charges realized their contract was coming to a close. But Ciel wasn't asking for his life – he was asking for support.

The truth of the matter was, Sebastian did not really have a strong opinion. No, of course he didn't think his master should have spoken that way to a lady – but at the same time, what Ciel had said paled in comparison to Lady Dawes' slights. She was not a senile old woman who'd forgotten how to hold her tongue; she had purposefully whetted her words like iron daggers in hopes of drawing blood. Most men would have had trouble staying level-headed, and undoubtedly most boys. Not to mention, Ciel was an aristocrat himself. It was within his rights to defend his bloodline.

But this was also Sebastian's chance to dissuade Ciel's faith in his guidance. And he promised himself he would push the boy away.

"I believe," Sebastian said, "that your aunt has a point of her own, young master."

Ciel wrinkled up his nose, betrayed. The pleading in his blue eye turned to scorn. He looked like he was about to curse at Sebastian when another knock came to the door. Ciel turned his unspoken words into a glare. "Come in," he called, with contained emotion.

"Hello, nephew." Instead of Francis, Uncle Alexis entered the room, then blinked when he saw the butler. "Oh, Sebastian! I hope you weren't busy working in here, but I'd appreciate it if you came back later. I would like to speak to my nephew in private."

"... Certainly, sir." Sebastian turned away from the cold fire in his master's gaze and left the family to themselves, shutting the door gently behind him.

Going against Ciel had been the right thing to do. He believed this, and yet Sebastian felt the regret rising in his chest for just a hair of a second and feared it. First sympathy and now fear. Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed. If he was reciprocating his charge's feelings, it only could mean that their connection was all the stronger, that he was cultivating a tastier soul than ever before. Or it could mean the opposite, or anything in between. No one had mentored Sebastian in demonhood. His life was one of trial and error, utter guesswork, and until this very instant in time, that had been enough.

Perhaps, thought Sebastian, I too need a holiday.

Of course a full-fledged leave of absence was nothing he had interest in, but a thirty-minute respite would do. Which was how he came to be stationed in a tree outside Ciel's bedroom with a calico mistress cradled in his arms as a mother with her infant.

An esteemed butler should feel a bit disgraceful about all the eavesdropping he now participated in. Sebastian quashed this by telling himself he had to hear how Alexis spoke with Ciel. If Alexis addressed the boy's needs, Sebastian could rely on him to teach Ciel about the business of growing up. And if not… the hunt for a suitable teacher continued.

Sebastian tuned his ears to the discussion after its start. Alexis was saying, "Your aunt told me what she overheard, but I'm sure you have a different perspective. Would you mind explaining to me what Lady Dawes said to you?"

Ciel sighed. "I'm sorry, Uncle Alexis, but I really don't want to talk about it anymore tonight. I'm very tired, and I honestly feel ashamed about the whole thing. It isn't like me to act that way. I'm sorry that I did."

"To act… what way?" Alexis pressed.

Ciel huffed. "Without heed."

"Heed of what?"

"Heed of–? Of how the other person feels, of course! What else would I mean?" Ciel burst. Then he groaned in self-contempt. "Just listen to me… I'm still out of sorts. I'm sorry, Uncle. The truth is, I've had an awful time sleeping this week, and it's made me very temperamental. I was spouting off at my servants every day before I came to Oxford. Now I've been rude to a stranger, and to you. I don't like acting this way. It would be better if you left me to sleep, before I get any worse."

Alexis was contemplative. He had pulled the desk chair over to the bedside when he entered the bedroom and he shifted his weight on the cushion. "Ciel… I think it was good that you talked back to Lady Dawes tonight."

Ciel swung forward on the edge of the mattress. "What…?!"

"Because," Alexis explained, "if you hadn't, you would have hid your anger from us, and then I wouldn't have the chance to ask what you really thought about what she said to you."

Sebastian felt the cat bite his hand, unsatisfied with the way he stroked her belly.

"It helps to know what she said at all," Alexis prompted.

Ciel cleared his throat. "What she said does not excuse my behavior."

"Perhaps; perhaps not. I'd still like to hear her words and why they upset you." A pause. "I know, at the very least, that she insulted your father, Ciel."

"… Yes, she did insult my father," Ciel sighed, "but it only upset me because I was tired and easily angered. If I weren't tired, I don't think it would have hardly mattered so much to me. Which is why I really need to rest, Uncle. May we please discuss this at a later time?"

"We'll have to get ready for the cricket match in a hurry tomorrow morning, which is why I wanted to talk now." Alexis stood up. "I wanted to let you know that you haven't embarrassed me. I've never seen you behave that way before. I felt as though your aunt was too quick to scold. It doesn't do any good to avoid the root of the problem." Ciel gave a yawn, likely trying to speed things along, and Alexis finally relented. "I mainly wanted to give you the assurance that the air will clear. You rest, and I'll assuage Francis. Tomorrow we'll all enjoy the cricket tournament as it's meant to be enjoyed."

"Um, yes. Thank you," Ciel said hastily. "I'm looking forward to it, too."

"We'll be leaving the house tomorrow at eleven. Sebastian has already been told. Do get some rest now, nephew. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Uncle Alexis. And, um…" Then Ciel put on a grateful voice that Sebastian knew was strictly for lying with. "Thank you, again, for worrying about me. I urge you to think no more of it. I'm sure I'll feel myself again after a full night's sleep."

Alexis stood in the doorway. "I hope you do. But we'll talk about this more later. See you in the morning, then."

"Ah, yes…" Ciel couldn't hide his perturbation at being unable to shake his uncle off. The door shut and he flopped back against the bed, began undoing the buttons of his vest. "Sebastian."

The cat was placed gently on the lawn. She swiftly mixed into the ink of darkness.

"Don't come to me. I can get ready for bed on my own."

Where do the cats go at night? Sebastian could not sense any more paws on the grass, save those of the calico that had longed to desert him. Rats in the city, mice in the country, but naught in the suburbs but a demon. The light in his lord's room went out. The silhouettes of Alexis and Francis sat close together. The stars shone ravenously above. So like demons, they were: beautiful, sparkling wish-fulfillers that, on closer suspect, were made of hellfire. Humans drew stars with five points, like hands. The sky was full of those tiny hands, reaching from millions of miles away, reaching out for humanity, the only thing that believed in them. Such faith humans put in celestial bodies. They did not realize gods needed humans just as much, if not more, than humans needed gods. Oh, the brilliance of mortality; oh, the inevitability of death. The question wasn't when death would strike, rather which hand would reach down from the skies to take take the soul when it was ripe.

But even the gods, they cannot say where it is the cats go at night.

It's been a while, so if the name Henri Fairclough didn't seem familiar to you, do take a quick trip back to chapter one...