Lechance

Missy ran into the lobby of the Beloved's hotel laughing. A group of the Beloveds and chaperones she had been walking with were all smiling, laughing and talking animatedly, as they all bumbled in together with her. Clothing was rearranged, and calls went out for towels and fresh baths to be drawn.

They'd all been caught out by the sudden downpour, and Missy was still trailing water everywhere when she turned around and nearly fell straight into the arms of someone passing. "Oh, please, my apologies," she blustered, trying to straighten herself out.

James was in the parlour that contained the Baby Grand in the Beloved's Hotel. It was the hour before midnight, and the room was in darkness, the heavy drapes closed. The only light was from a gas lamp that James had brought down from his room, and the dimmed light spilling in through the open door into the hall.  He was currently seated at the piano, the lid over the keys closed, his head resting on it as if to leech some comfort from it.

He was trying not to pace, he really was, hence sitting down, but it seemed like his stomach still wanted to move, even if he wasn't.

James had been sleeping better, he really had. His relationship with Paul was bringing him a great deal of peace, and the sleeping draught had helped some. But tonight it seemed like nothing had worked, and he'd been cursed with nightmares everytime he tried to rest his eyes.

He had at least dressed at least halfway to decent this time, favoured soft trousers, and a deep purple shirt. He was however still wearing his slippers.

Paul had told him to call for him if he had nightmares again, but James didn't want to drag him out over nothing. He worried that Paul would think he was using it as an excuse to see him. But god, he wished he was there to hold right now.

He crossed his arms under his head and sighed softly, before suddenly realising that there was a figure silhouetted in the doorway.

"Apologies. I didn't mean to disturb anyone from slumber," he said softly. "I wasn't intending to play the piano."

Thursday morning, and Effie had a pair of gloves completed, lifted, laundered and stitched, and packaged ready to go. Her first expedition to the post office without a chaperon - without needing one.

A fine, bracing morning, and she tugged her shawl snugly around her shoulders, head held high and parcel held close as she turned the corner, bobbing a curtsy of greeting to the person approaching from the opposite direction. "Good morning to ye."