Hotel guests began filtering down the stairs and through the lobby as suppertime arrived. The Doctor watched each but did not move until George Adams passed by. The man's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides when they weren't pressed over his pocket. He did not leave the hotel. Instead, he walked slowly toward the bar adjoining the lobby.

The Time Lord rose and followed him inside, observing as he sat at a small table in the dimmest corner.

"Bourbon," Adams said curtly to the bartender.

The Doctor settled at the next table, offering Adams a nod of friendly greeting. This was met with only a stony stare. When the server brought the small tumbler of bourbon, the Doctor requested a bottle of the same.

He filled his glass then sipped slowly, watching the other man out of the corner of his eye. Adams finished the first glass quickly then ordered a second. He pressed a trembling hand over his pocket again and again as his gaze darted to the doorway repeatedly. After perhaps half an hour, he set a few coins upon the table and began to stand.

The Doctor reached over to set his bottle on Adams' table. "Have another one me," he said smoothly.

The man glanced at him then held his gaze for a moment. "All right," he replied.

He poured a measure of the liquor into his glass and drank. The Doctor settled back in his chair, taking one tiny sip of his own drink.

"So," he said casually,"what brings you to the city tonight?"

Adams shrugged. "Just something I promised to do… a favor."

"Ah, yes. Favors. I've been asked to do many, some easy and some a bit trickier."

"Trickier?" Adams shifted slightly in his chair, his body turning incrementally toward the Time Lord.

The Doctor nodded. "Yes. Things I didn't want to do. Things I knew weren't quite right."

"But maybe they were for a greater purpose, a greater good."

"Good for whom?" He turned his head to face the other man.

Adams did not respond immediately. Finally he said, "For a cause. For something you believe in."

The Doctor nodded toward Adams' glass, and the man finished the contents. His hand was still unsteady as he poured another serving. He downed it in a single swallow.

"And do you believe in it? I mean really, truly believe?" the Doctor asked, his voice soft yet intense.

"I thought I did."

"But you don't now. Or at least you have some doubt."

"And if I do?"

The Doctor rested a hand over Adams' arm. "Then you know what to do."

With that brief advice, he stood. "Keep the bottle. And keep true to yourself."

He did not look back as he walked from the room.

Rose extinguished the gas lamps throughout the downstairs rooms, leaving only the front parlor and hallway lights on, as was the household custom. The grandfather clock in the foyer showed that it was just after ten.

She was tired. It had been a difficult day on the heels of a sleepless night. But she felt less anxious now, knowing she'd see Mrs. Lincoln soon and pass along the critical warning. Still, her steps were slow as she returned to the kitchen.

The cook had gone home for the night, leaving the large room dark and deserted. Rose had left a lamp on in her tiny nook; she could see the soft glow beneath the door. She was ready for bed, ready for sleep.

But she'd forgotten to return to Mrs. Seward's rooms and gather up the supper things. Her temporary employer disliked clutter and untidiness, and seeing her used dishes in the morning would not please her.

Rose sighed and headed for the stairs. Augustus and Frederick had retired for the night. She noted that both had closed their bedroom doors, though Frederick was still awake, undoubtedly reading by lamplight. She continued down the hallway with soft steps toward Mrs. Seward's apartment and tapped gently upon the door.

She expected that the gentlewoman was asleep. When he'd stopped in just after supper, Dr. Verdi had given her a bottle containing some sort of sleep medicine at her request. The poor woman really was exhausted.

Rose knocked softly again then opened the door a little. "Mrs. Seward?" she said quietly. "It's Rose. I'm just gonna get your supper tray."

She stepped inside. A small lamp upon the wall cast a wan light through the sitting area. Rose saw the tray just where she'd left it earlier. Most of the food was untouched. With a small sigh, she gathered the dishes.

"Rose?" Mrs. Seward's wispy voice inquired from the bed chamber.

"Yes, ma'am. Just tidyin' up."

"Come here, please."

Mrs. Seward was sitting up in bed against the pillows.

"Yes?" Rose asked.

"A glass of water, please. The pitcher is empty." She glanced at the night table.

Rose fetched the carafe and filled it from a larger pitcher in the sitting room. She returned to Mrs. Seward and poured some water into a glass.

"Thank you," the matriarch said.

"'M sorry if I disturbed you. I thought you'd be sleepin'." She gestured toward the brown bottle beside the bed.

"I took only half what Dr. Verdi recommended. Perhaps I should have taken the full dose, but I dislike the thought of being unavailable should William need me."

"D'you feel sleepy?"

"I do."

"Well, maybe you should give it a little more time."

She nodded. "I suppose I should."

"Is there anythin' else I can get you?"

"No thank you."

"I'll see you in the mornin', then. What time should I tell Cook to have the tea things ready?"

Mrs. Seward blinked sleepily. "Tea things?"

"Yeah, for Mrs. Lincoln's visit."

"Oh, of course. I believe it will be late morning. She and Mr. Lincoln are going to the theater tonight."

"They'll be out late, then?"

"I should think so."

Rose turned to go, but almost as an afterthought asked, "What theater're they goin' to?" As soon as the question popped from her mouth she wondered why she'd asked it.

"Ford's."

Rose was half-way down the hall when recognition struck. Suddenly she remembered that crucial bit from her history courses. Lincoln was shot while attending a play at Ford's theater. She gasped. It was tonight. The President was going to be killed tonight.

To be continued...