The doctor Cora hired with money she found in the portmanteau in O'Brien's room said something about dengue fever. She was too distraught to focus on any of his further findings. She only wanted to know if her maid - her former maid - her friend was going to die. After looking his patient over, applying a damp cloth to her forehead to cool the burning fever, feeding her medicine and water in brief moments of semi-consciousness, and waiting for progress, the doctor concluded, to Cora's unimaginable relief, that Miss O'Brien was likely found just in time. Although, she would need careful attention over the next day or two with water and cold towels to keep the fever at bay.

The Countess cared for her charge attentively, though O'Brien was hardly aware of her presence. For several hours, Sarah remained in a state of delirium, speaking mostly incoherently and apologizing for all sorts of outlandish things. Something about soap, something about a pie and a witch and prison, and about someone named Jimmy, and especially the soap, Cora could not make heads or tails of any of it. But she stayed up all night and all day, wiping O'Brien's brow with a cool cloth, coaxing her to drink water when she could, holding her tremulous hand, until finally the fever broke. Cora's back ached from dozing in the wooden chair but Sarah slept peacefully at last.

Sarah had slept soundly for the better part of two days while Lady Grantham kept vigil at her bedside. Now dusk was approaching again. Shadows stretched across the wood floor. Cora leaned her head from one side to the other, cracking out the stiffness. She arched her back and twisted to the left, her spine making a series of popping noises. She twisted the other way for three more pops in quick succession.

"How could anybody sleep with all that noise?"

Cora jumped at the sound, "Oh you're awake!"

"That, or I'm dead," O'Brien replied hoarsely, "because I don't know how in heaven's name you-" she was interrupted by a fit of mild coughing.

"Shh. We can talk about that later. You rest. I've sent a letter to his Lordship and when it reaches him in a few weeks I'm sure he'll send a telegram about our passage back to England."

The coughing subsided and O'Brien cleared her throat, "Noo,' she rasped, shaking her head on the pillow, "I'm not a lady's maid anymore and I'll not take charity."

"It's not charity. In exchange - when you're well enough - you can act as my tour guide until our ship leaves," Cora proposed to Sarah who lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling above, "and if I may stay here in your room-"

"No you can not!" O'Brien scoffed, "A countess in a room like this? The very idea! I can manage m'self now. You'll have to reserve more suitable accommodations."

Lady Grantham's brow knitted. Her patient was surely just too weary to soften her tone the way she might have with her lady in the past. Yet, Cora could not help but feel a twinge of hurt and embarrassment. "I can't book my own room. I don't have any money. I-," she raised her hand unconsciously to her bruised and cut face, "I was mugged," she said, blushing.

In an instant, O'Brien was up and facing her. The woman had lifted herself to sitting with a speed and strength Cora did not know she still possessed. Sarah searched her face, eyes wide with concern, then she felt Sarah's gentle fingers tracing the healing abrasion on her cheek.

"Who did this?" O'Brien demanded, not unkindly.

Cora chuckled at her former maid's sudden fierceness, "Why? Are you going to track them down and get my jewels back for me?"

"I will kill them."

The intensity with which O'Brien said the words made Cora's smile falter. She had no doubt that if Sarah had the strength she would already be out the door and scouring the streets for the giant and old lady. She was not afraid of O'Brien's intensity. She felt safe. Cora continued gazing into blue eyes and relaxed against the soft fingers on her cheek. Then all at once O'Brien seemed to remember herself. She broke the gaze, withdrawing her hand. Almost imperceptibly, her cheeks colored as she reclined again onto her pillow.

"You should stay here."

After agreeing to share her room, Sarah had wanted to have Mr. Ramachandra send up a mat for her to sleep on the floor. The room was not really big enough for a folding cot. Lady Grantham would hear no such talk.

"You are in no condition to be sleeping on a cold hard floor."

"Well, you can't continue sitting up all night in that chair and I can't well have the Countess of Grantham sleeping on floor next to my bed like an old dog."

"No, I'm more of a cat," Lady Grantham said wistfully, eyes downcast. She played with the torn seam where Sarah would need to mend her frock. Sarah watched her. The woman was in a funny mood. She was quiet. Considering.

"I don't take up much space," the Countess finally said, "and neither do you… I suppose we could share the bed." She finished speaking but continued looking down at the tear.

Sarah stared at her, heart beating just a little bit faster. Was she still feverish or was it something else? She thought to argue but simply did not have the wherewithal. "Alright," she finally said with a sigh. Her Ladyship did not look up but her lips curled into the faintest smile.

For the first few nights Sarah slept like the dead. She hardly noticed another person was in bed with her she was so exhausted. When she was finally well enough, they began taking walks into the marketplace. Each day they walked a bit further away from the hotel and each night Sarah became more and more aware of the woman sleeping next to her. In that small bed it was impossible for their bodies not to touch. One early pre-dawn morning Sarah woke, at what had once been her usual time, to find the warmth of Lady Grantham's entire body pressed against her back, a long sinewy arm wrapped firmly around her waist. Sarah lay quietly, feeling those delicate fingers pressed against the chemise over her ribs. She ought to gently extricate herself from this predicament. Her Ladyship had simply been unaware of herself in her sleeping state, she'd mistaken Sarah for his Lordship. Yes, to avoid embarrassment for them both, Sarah should slide herself smoothly out of bed and go watch the marketplace open. But - Lady Grantham's warm breath against her ear, the slow rise and fall of her chest against Sarah's back said she was sleeping peacefully. She would hate to wake the woman. Maybe she would let the Countess sleep just a bit longer. Sarah closed her eyes and soon her own breath grew slow and shallow. By the time she woke again, the mattress behind her was cool, vacant. Lady Grantham was seated in the chair by the window, pulling on her stockings.

Later that afternoon, as their rickshaw rumbled along the road to Chokkanathaswamy Temple, Sarah watched her Ladyship squint and grimace with blanching cheeks. She had forgotten about the Countess' motion sickness. "Only a few more minutes, m'Lady, and we'll be there."

"You know, Sarah," -at some point during her illness Lady Grantham had taken to using her Christian name and continued to do so. Sarah had felt no compunction to object- "You know, Sarah, as you are no longer in my employ and no longer a maid at all, you should really feel free to address me by my Christian name."

"Not likely," Sarah snorted, "I may not be a maid but you're still a countess." She chuckled at the idea. Lady Grantham's brow furrowed and the corners of her mouth turned down into what almost looked like a sulk. Sarah could not be sure the expression was due to the bumpy cobblestone road.

When the rickshaw finally halted in front of the temple, Sarah hopped down and raised her hand to assist the Countess. Taking the hand offered, her Ladyship stepped down onto the road and as the rickshaw pulled away she did not loosen her grip. She walked along the temple grounds with Sarah hand in hand, asking her about the different statues and flowers, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Eventually Sarah herself began to feel quite natural. They spent the entire afternoon that way, never losing touch, until the Countess let go to grab the railing in a narrow, crowded stairwell. Sarah's empty hand felt a coldness almost like longing where the other hand had just been resting. She imagined retaking her Ladyship's hand several times after that but with the crowd there was never an opportunity. Or maybe Sarah could not work up the nerve to initiate the contact she wanted more intensely with each passing minute. Intense feelings lead to vulnerability, to weakness, to embarrassment, they were to be suppressed not encouraged. She could not go back to maiding for her Ladyship, could not go back to Downton, best not to become too entangled.

On their fifth night sharing a room, Sarah lay on her side facing her trunk and the window. She gazed out at the stars spread over top of the city. After so many restful nights she was hardly tired at all. She could feel Lady Grantham's arm against her spine. Her Ladyship was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling - if her eyes were open, Sarah couldn't be sure.

"Sarah?"

"Yes, m'Lady." Sarah could almost hear Lady Grantham's lips purse at the formal address.

"You've never married," the Countess paused.

"And you're American."

"What?"

"Oh, I thought we were stating obvious facts about one another." Sarah could hear those lips pursing again, the eyes were probably narrowing too.

The Countess sighed and continued, "I was only wondering if it was because you never found the right man."

Sarah rolled her eyes, "Suppose not." What was the silly woman on about?

"- or if it was because you… prefer the company of women."

Sarah made no sound. She swallowed. She could hear Lady Grantham's head on the pillow, turning to face the back of hers.

"It's not something that would upset - or unnerve me…"

Still no sound.

"It's not so unusual. I was very close with some girls before I left America..."

Silence.

"-even kissed a few…"

Silence.

"Did you ever… Sarah?"

Sarah lay frozen, brow knitted in apprehension. Her thoughts raced but she could not speak. She could hardly breath. Finally, she let out a theatrical yawn, "Oh, what was that m'Lady? I'm so sorry I think I nodded off. I get so knackered."

"Yes, yes of course you need your rest. Good night, Sarah."

"Good night, m'Lady," Sarah feigned another yawn and pretended not to hear the disappointment in Lady Grantham's voice. She felt the Countess roll away onto her side. The women were quiet then but neither slept much that night.