Grell didn't sleep much that night, she was so preoccupied with thoughts of her husband. In disgust, she imagined he had been disemboweled by the foul demon that had ravaged her. That he had been strung out by his own intestines and left to drown; his body swelling and decomposing while the fishes and bacteria feasted on his flesh. Oh! Why not the crows, she wept softly into the night, why not the crows so his spirit could fly and come to her in a rain of black feathers? And feast on the flesh of beasts and vultures? Wouldn't he have preferred that over eternal isolation under some icy surface? Why did he have to drown? The thoughts haunted her like his ghost; he was calling to her, begging for her to find his body and give him a proper burial so he could move on. So she could lie besides him in his coffin a state of unconsummated necrophilia.

If not for the child in her womb she wouldn't have gotten up for breakfast. A part of him was inside her, he was growing inside of her. It would be against his wishes if she simply abandoned that life still growing inside of her, the child would be her last respects to him; his funeral. She would eternally mourn him with her smile as she coddled the baby deep inside her body and so shallowly in her embrace. That child would one day leave her as well...She didn't want to think about that part.

"How are you feeling, Grell?" William asked from across the table, sipping his coffee. He especially favored the Vanderbilt Baltimore tea and coffee sets, so he was drinking from the expensive porcelain and so was his house-guest, "You look tired,"

Grell poked at her spinach omelet and okra hash browns (it was quite delicious) and sighed, "I didn't sleep well last night,"

"Your fever's down, you must've at some point," William told her.

"If I did then I didn't dream..." she mumbled, taking a sip of the green tea in her fancy cup. William insisted she be put on a cleansing diet for the baby, it would be healthier and Grell did agree. She had a very similar diet before, but for the moment she didn't care. She wanted to know what happened to her husband, maybe she'd find a clue at her cabin, "William...?"

"Yes, Grell?" William responded.

"I need to go to my cabin...Retrieve my things...It might take a few trips, but I need to if I'm going to live here," Grell told him. William sighed, "Very well, I'll have Bartholomew escort you via the carriage, but if you look a tad bit ill I won't deny him the right to drag you back home. We have to play this off,"

William left about an hour later for work once he was certain Grell was well enough to be left alone. As he promised, his butler prepared the carriage and situated Grell comfortably inside before they rode along through the forest. Despite the frost on the window Grell continued to stare though it, any dark blur that they would ride by had the potenial of being her husband's silhouette. Every time she cleared the layer of chill away she'd only see a dying tree or something else of a dark silhouette. It was never her husband; she forced herself to look away from the window. She couldn't consent the sorrow to take a hold of her, it could harm her baby! A beautiful, living incarnation of her and Undertaker's love made during the height of their passion. She blushed, oh he was so gentle and passion and also rather creative. He never ceased to find new ways to please her inside and outside the bedroom, they had a keen bond that way. They both didn't want to grow stale.

"Ms. Sutcliffe," Barthelomew called from the front of the coach, "Are you feeling ill?"

"No," Grell answered, "I'm fine,"

"You sound rather irate," he noted, "Is it my master? I do apologize, he is rather stern and callous, and doesn't know how to express concern properly. And since you're the first young woman he's been able to make contact with he must find this an awkward situation,"

"I don't see how William has changed since I've changed," Grell glared out the window as the old man chuckled, obviously amused. It wasn't in a sly way though, it was in a way that told Grell he was amused by the antics of the young. Being a retired and elderly reaper he often prided on his wisdom, even to William when he needed some advice. He wasn't blind despite his old age, he could plainly see that not only was William concerned for his subordinate, but he was highly attracted to her. Grell was a beautiful woman after all, and Bartholomew was old enough to appreciate the prescence of a young woman without appearing strange. He and the maid, another elderly retiree, had their own little affair so there was no need to lust after another woman. He much preferred his own place, meanwhile he knew William was stuck between a rock and a hard place. William was a young man with a young man's libdo, being a natural reaper he wasn't prone to aging like his home help was. olomew could only imagine how stressed William felt having Grell under his roof with his lust and with Grell's condition staring him in the face.

"Stop!" Grell screamed, Barthelomew pulled the reins tightly and roughly brought the carriage to a stop. Grell flew out of the coach and ran through the snow, heading toward a black object lying on the ground. No, it couldn't be! It was a body, Bartholomew dashed after Grell as quickly as his aged legs could.

"Undertaker!" Grell cried, rushing over to the still, frozen carcass. She turned the body over, it was her husband alright! Since he was a reaper she knew it wasn't abnormal for their kind to sleep without breathing. But something was wrong. His skin was much paler than before and as she touched his cheek she could feel his was severely hypothermic. His clothes were also torn revealing bruises and lacerations that would've been crawling with maggots had the weather been warmer. He was in bad shape, blood had stained the snow...He must've been out here for days! Even his hair was laden with ice and frozen against his face.

"Help me!" Grell cried, trying to pull her husband toward the carriage, "Help me get him in the carriage! We have to get him to the hospital! We must!"

Bartholomew knelt down besides Grell and examined Undertaker, he frowned. He had been a doctor during the war...He knew by the mere look of him the mortican was long gone, "I'm sorry Ms. Sutcliffe, there's nothing we can do. He's gone,"