Eleanora had ignored all of the questions when she arrived at Mrs. Standfield's. She had curtseyed respectfully and listened patiently to all of the lady's reproaches, and the whole thing took about three hours, but she still had her job after it was over. Mrs. Standfield claimed that it was because good help was hard to find, but Eleanora thought that it was because she was being pursued by the Earl of Phantomhive—Mrs. Standfield said that he had called about three times wondering where she was, a fact that she brought up every three seconds.

The servants were even more insufferable than Mrs. Standfield. They would not shut up, and quite a lot of attention was placed on Eleanora's new ring; they all wanted to know where she had gotten it and who had given it to her; it looked much too expensive for her to buy on a humble maid's wage. Nobody questioned the strange symbol on her upper arm because Eleanora had had the foresight to tear a strip of her dress and wrap it up, like a bandage, with the excuse that she had tripped and had accidently hurt herself.

She went to bed late; there were quite a lot of things that she had to do after Mrs. Standfield's lecture. She wearily trod up the stairs to the attic, where she and the other maids slept. There was a briefcase on her bed; she opened it without thinking.

It contained numerous syringes, filled with liquid. There was a note waiting for her—a note in oddly familiar, elegant black handwriting:

To be injected into the left arm, once every twenty-four hours.

There was a note towards the bottom that had been crossed out, and then rewritten.

I'm sorry.

Eleanora swore and tossed the briefcase full of syringes out the window. She knew that they would be picked up and put in the garbage tomorrow. She checked everywhere in her room, making sure that there was no one hiding in her room, watching her, ready to inject something else into her arm. After making sure that she was well and truly alone, she flopped down on her bed and promptly fell asleep, too exhausted to even change out of her clothes.

She woke up due to pain, the worst pain that she had ever felt in her life, even worse than when she had been tortured. She thought that she knew pain? Hah! That pain was nothing. Everything hurt, and really, truly everything.

Breathing hurt; the mere act of her chest rising and falling sent spasms of pain running through her body. She tried to roll over and that hurt. She tried to move her arm; that hurt. She tried blinking and that hurt. She tried keeping her eyes closed and apparently her eyelashes had gained three hundred pounds in a night because just having them rest on her cheeks was sheer agony.

She struggled to focus, forcing her mind through the pain, and realized what the cause of the pain was: her upper left arm. Absolutely everything hurt; she could barely stand having a lock of her hair glide across her neck; but moving her left arm was impossible.

She thought that she fainted once or twice while trying to get up and get ready; she remembered standing up and moving around and then she was on the floor, trying to get up again. The whole morning was a type of pain-filled delirium. Later, she would look back and wonder how she had actually managed to drag herself down to the kitchen. She decided that it was due to her stubbornness.

If Eleanora could be described in only two words, they would be "stubborn" and "proud." These two characteristics could be described as both a blessing and a curse. It was her stubbornness and her pride that forced her not to sign that marriage contract from the get-go—and she lost an arm and half a leg due to it. On the other hand, she was able to continue her work—however half-heartedly—due that same stubbornness and pride, which prevented her from being fired for the time being. But nevertheless, it was still an extremely painful morning; she had actually screamed when Jacob had accidently bumped into her left arm.

But the day got even worse.

The butler arrived at around noon.

There was a knock at the door in the kitchen—the one that led outside, where the businessmen usually entered.

"Come in," Eleanora called out, trying to cut vegetables using only her right hand, not even bothering to question who it was that had knocked.

And suddenly he was standing next to her, looking a bit awkward.

"H-Hello," he said.

Eleanora jumped and said something like, "HOLYCHRISTJESUSSHITTAKEONASTICK!" After she had gotten over her initial shock, she said in a far more intelligible voice,

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," he said, looking with interest at the vegetables. "Is this a bad time? Should I come back later?"

"Yes, come back later. Say—in another century or so?"

"…But I need to talk to you now."

"…I was being sarcastic."

"Oh," he said, looking confused. "Is that…funny? Should I be laughing?"

"! off," she suggested and went back to the vegetables.

He just stood there for a bit, collecting his thoughts, and then he shook his head and focused.

"The Earl of Phantomhive has need of your services."

"And isn't that just bully for him?"

"He needs you tonight."

"Gotten bored of you already?"

"You don't understand—"

"The real question is, 'do I want to?'"

"There's been another murder."

She paused.

"…Well isn't that just fan-!ing-tastic," she mumbled, chopping the vegetables with more violence. "Isn't that just a bundle of joy with a little side of peaches?"

"Is that more sarcasm?"

"! off."

"The crime was committed in the bad parts of London," Sebastian continued, choosing to ignore her language. "And don't you know that place?"

"Like the back of my hand."

"So you could lead us there and take us back."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's dangerous and the Earl won't be able to pull it off and I hate you and I'm busy and I said no. Did I mention that I hate you?"

"Yes, you did." He sighed. "Did I mention the rather large salary that the Earl is willing to pay you?"

Eleanora mumbled obscenities under her breath, mostly about the Earl and his money and where they could go and what they could do there.

"…I take it that you're not interested in the money?"

"There are several things that I'm willing to do for money. Personally escorting a child Earl into a suicide mission and spending time with his pervert butler never had a chance of making the list."

"It's not a suicide mission."

"Have you ever been to that part of London?"

"N-No…"

"Then you clearly have no idea what you're talking about, so shut up."

He looked at her for a moment and sighed in impatience.

"So you really won't do it?"

"Not in this life."

"Fine," he said and leaned against the counter.

"What are you doing? Shouldn't you be leaving? Don't you have Earls to take care of, dishes to wash, women to torture?"

"I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"For another servant to come down."

She scoffed.

"And then what? You'll tell on me? 'Boo-hoo, she's not doing what I tell her to do; someone get me a butcher knife; this bitch just lost her fingers?' Get real. You can't do anything to me now; this is a public place. I'll have witnesses."

"I'm not planning on cutting off your fingers."

"Then what will you do?"

"I'll tell them that you're married."

Eleanora froze.

"…You'll what?"

"I'll tell them that you're married," he said calmly, crossing his arms, "and that for that month that you were missing, you were on your honeymoon, doing…things. And you know what'll happen next—you'll get fired. No one likes a married maid, after all."

Eleanora stared straight in front of her, looking like a statue.

"I'll go," she said quietly.

"What?"

"I said I'll go!" she shouted, tears in her eyes. "I'll be there at eight. Now get out of here!"

Sebastian did a courteous bow.

"Your sacrifices will not go unrewarded," he said and left.

Eleanora slumped down to the floor and instantly regretted it. Her rear came in contact with the floor and that hurt. The tears ran down her face and that hurt. And her stupid left arm still burned like hell.

She stared up at the ceiling and tried to pray to whoever was listening.

"Please," she whispered. "Please…Help me. Get me out of this mess. Please…I'll do anything…Please…"

But no one came to help her, and at seven-thirty she got ready and began the journey to Phantomhive.