Belle had never truly been one to keep late hours, but alone in a strange new place that first night she found herself completely unable to sleep. Her new husband had promised her that he wasn't interested in making her a true wife, but there was no way she could have enforced that promise if he decided to break it. She had thought briefly of having Elizabeth stay the night with her, but instead she'd sent the girl back to her own room. There was nothing the maid could have done to protect her against Rhys if he had decided to take her, and Belle didn't want word of her nightmares to spread to the rest of the house as long as she could hide them.

She'd stayed in her sitting room for hours after she changed into her nightgown, a thick robe wrapped around her and tied tightly shut. Belle halfway yearned for the familiarity of her father's home, but not for the memories it contained.

Rhys had said that she held the only keys to her rooms, and she clung to that little reassurance like a lifeline. After all, why would he go to such great lengths to put her at ease only to tear that away from her? Belle had locked her doors immediately after Elizabeth left, and kept a weary vigil well into the early hours of the morning. She'd tried embroidery to calm herself – she had a new initial to put on handkerchiefs, after all – and when that failed had brought out one of the few books she'd taken with her from her father's house but was only able to get through a few paragraphs before her fingers became jittery and her skin was too tight. She was, in the end, left with nothing to do besides pace.

She wished she knew exactly why this helped, what about it quieted her too loud thoughts. It was such a bizarre thing, like she could outrun her problems if she just walked fast enough and tried hard enough to do so. Maybe she could, for a little while anyway. Maybe if she just tried hard enough...if she tried harder she was likely to become the ghost haunting the attic, never to be at rest again.

Belle walked the perimeter of her sitting room more times than she could count, each time finding herself drawn further and further towards the balcony. The door was locked, of course – all the doors were – but the large windows showing the night sky were calling to her. Calling like a siren dragging a sailor towards the rocks and she knew it was dangerous, knew that she shouldn't succumb, and yet she was still drawn towards the balcony. The temptation was too much, and she would be lost.

Against her better judgment, she brought the key to the lock and let herself out.

She was hit immediately with the unseasonably warm night air, which she had hoped would snap her out of her fugue but instead only fueled the dream-like quality of everything as she passed the benches (she hated benches) and walked to the railing. The ground was so far below her from here and she couldn't help but wonder if it was far enough down. Belle had seen a gardener fall from a tree this high before, though, and he'd been alright. He'd suffered a broken leg and a sprained wrist, but he'd been back to work within the year and the only lasting effect had been that he could tell when it was going to rain. Perhaps if she went up on the roof…

Belle shut her eyes tight and shook her head, trying to clear the clouds that had settled in her mind and left her fuzzy and unable to think. She couldn't give Nottingham this much power over her. She had to be brave, and if she couldn't be brave she could at least be obstinate.

She was gripping the railing around the balcony so tight that her knuckles had gone white, and she forced herself to release the barrier and turn back towards the house. The benches caught her eye again. She'd have them replaced, she decided. Chairs would be nice out here. Chairs and potted plants (preferably hearty ones that wouldn't require the gardener's attention).

With that decided, Belle retreated quickly to her sitting room and locked herself back inside. He wasn't going to do anything to hurt her, she reassured herself. It was very late, and if Rhys had any intentions of coming for her at all he would have done it by now. She proceeded to lock herself in her bedroom and pull the curtains tight around herself. Still, sleep evaded her. Every strange sound was a footstep coming for her and in the darkness her mind played tricks. Finally, she opened the curtains just a little and lit a candle on the sideboard, the light just enough to reassure her that the shadows didn't contain a man lying in wait and it was only then that she managed a few fitful hours of sleep.

Elizabeth was standing outside Lady Belle's room looking agitated and confused when Jefferson found her. Not that he'd been looking for her (he'd actually been looking for Astrid, who needed to get the sitting room dusted now if she knew what was good for her) but why settle for one maid if he could have two?

"Don't you have something else to do besides fret?" he scolded her and she whirled around to face him instantly. "At the very least I'm sure the lady of the house has some laundry you could be collecting, after all."

"The door is locked," Elizabeth replied. "I can't get in and I don't know what to do."

Well, he'd known that this was a definite possibility anyway. Especially when Gold had taken all the keys for this suite and given them to his bride as a wedding gift. Still, he wasn't going to let her just stand there like a statue when there was so much still that needed to be done to get the woman moved in.

"She presumably knows it's locked," he said. "And she'll ring for you if she needs you. Go downstairs and straighten the sitting room. You know Mr. Gold uses it for company and his son won't be leaving until tomorrow."

Elizabeth nodded and took off for the stairs.

"Wait," Jefferson called after her as a thought struck him. "What do you think about your new mistress?"

Elizabeth got a startled look on her face and glanced around as though the right answer would present itself if she just thought hard enough.

"It's not a trick question," he sighed. "I just need to know if there are any accommodations she needs."

"No, nothing like that," Elizabeth replied quickly. "She seems nice enough but she's a little jumpy. Nothing too strange, though."

"But?" he prompted. He could feel there was more to this story that she hadn't told him.

"She's just...she's jumpy," the maid tried to explain. "I accidentally dropped a stack of books and she shrieked. I asked if she liked to read and she wouldn't answer me right away, and when I offered to fetch something from the library for her if she wanted she got quiet. Her hands were shaking a little bit, too. I don't think she knows I noticed, but she sent me out of the room to put some clothes in the wardrobe for a little while and when I came back she'd settled down some. It was really strange."

He knew he was grimacing now and setting an absolutely terrible example but these were all things he was going to have to relay to his employer lately and he wasn't looking forward to any of it.

"Did she say she likes to read?"

"She does," Elizabeth said with a little nod of her head. "But she said she doesn't have much time anymore. Whatever that means, anyway."

"Right, of course," Jefferson said after a moment. "I have two things I need from you. The first is that I need you to come straight to me anytime she says or does something you think is odd. I don't care how small it is. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"And the second thing?"

"Don't tell anyone else any of this," he replied firmly. "Don't go gossiping with Astrid, don't mention it in passing to the grocer's boy, don't tell anecdotes to the gardener. Spreading tales about your employer is how you end up on the street without a recommendation. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded again and he dismissed her to go clean. He was, of course, going to have to make a full report to Gold about all this. Jefferson really didn't want to get involved in his employer's marriage, but it was his job to make sure the house kept running smoothly and unfortunately a big part of that was going to be making sure that the lady of the house adjusted to her new home reasonably well.

He still wasn't entirely sure why Gold had married the poor girl. She seemed like a sweet girl, but she scared easily and he knew she was damaged goods. She had money, but not an obscene amount. Her father had a title, but not a particularly prestigious one. She wasn't exactly the pinnacle of wife material that she'd been raised to be, or that Jefferson might have expected to be the sort to inspire a man to make a whirlwind proposal. Jefferson honestly didn't know why Gold had done all this, nor was he sure he wanted to. He liked Lady Belle just fine, but he wasn't sure he'd have wanted to marry her in the same position.

Jefferson wasn't really looking forward to having this conversation, but it wasn't something that he should avoid. His job was to keep the house running smoothly, and part of that was to make sure this marriage got off on the right foot.

Gold was dressing for breakfast when Jefferson returned to his room.

"Your wife has locked her maid out," Jefferson announced, busying himself straightening the shaving things. The last thing he needed was to get caught staring.

"Did she?" Gold said, sounding resigned more than anything. "At least she's getting some use out of her wedding present."

"I just thought you'd like to know," Jefferson replied as nonchalantly as he could. "I sent Elizabeth to help clean until she's needed."

"I'm sure Belle can decide when she needs help," Gold said. "If nothing else, she'll want company at some point. I think."

Jefferson wasn't quite as optimistic as all that, but that was really his own business.

"Dinner went well," Gold continued. "She impressed Neal."

"You and I have very different ideas about how hard he is to impress," Jefferson reminded Gold. "He's a twenty-five year old man. He's impressed with nearly every woman he meets."

"That's true," Gold admitted. "But I'm willing to take the small victories right now."

"I'm not going to complain about you being in a good mood for once," Jefferson teased. "I'm just trying to make sure you stay that way and don't get your hopes up too high."

"What do you mean?"

Jefferson relayed the information he'd gotten from Elizabeth as efficiently as possible, watching as Gold's face settled into its customary scowl. Yeah, that seemed about right.

"It happened in a library," Gold groaned, letting himself fall into a chair. "I can't believe I didn't think about that."

"Has anyone thought about it?" Jefferson asked. He didn't really expect Gold to have an answer, but he had to wonder what (if any) accommodations she'd been used to at her father's house.

Gold was looking at him like he'd just tripped on a hidden gold vein, though, and he wasn't really sure what to think about it.

"What?" Jefferson asked defensively. "What did I say?"