Chapter Two
With yet another morning spent laying in the bed that used to be Annette's room, staring out the window with a heaviness in her heart and a weariness in her form, Samantha begins to feel that she's becoming proficient in the activity. If she'd descended downstairs before noon any day in the last few weeks, she couldn't recall it. No, most of her mornings were swept away under the rug, skipped in favor of the afternoons which held a miniscule more promise.
So, Samantha peels herself off of the mattress and throws a pinafore over her nightgown. She would have rather jumped into a freezing lake than be seen in such attire when she was a Lady, yet now it was her most common household attire. She'd hardly been able to take most of her belongings when she was cast out, and many of the things she had taken she had sold in order to amass enough to live on without being entirely at the mercy of the detectives'.
Harold, Cordelia's beloved pet pigeon, seems to have formulated an understanding of her lazy schedule, and is never to be seen in the mornings or early afternoons. He returns only in the evenings, and typically only because he could see Samantha setting out a plate of seeds for his consumption. They hold an uneasy alliance of need: Harold requires food, and Samanta requires something which forces her out of bed. He's off exploring this morning, though, she was never sure where he went.
Her morning, which was afternoon to the rest of the world, is met with the melancholy of a woman without purpose. She ambles from room to room, sometimes staring off at a wall without registering any of its effects. The townhouse is a little cluttered, adorned with the endless trinkets and baubles Cordelia Jones had gathered from her detective work, most of which have been placed into a careful organization from Cordelia's servant-turned-partner-turned-lover, Annette, who was also Samantha's dalliance-turned-ex-lover. The darkwood walls, if Samantha cared more she would identify the tree they were cut from, spot a variety of maps and paintings, adoringly framed. She spends most of her time in the conversation room and the dining room, and only sometimes in the kitchen when her hunger would finally pry her into a sense of direction for only an hour or two of the day.
She's just about to settle into her schedule, biding time until the Fleeting Faery would open its doors and she could commiserate with Bill once more, when her borrowed home on 167th Mill Street receives a knock upon the door. She ignores it, figuring it was simply another prospective client for the detective who had not yet heard she was out of the country. A second knock repeats, an almost sing-song rhythm, which also goes unanswered. By the third entreaty Samantha is annoyed, so she rises from her place on the couch and storms over to the door, preparing to send the petitioner away with as much callousness as possible.
She throws open the door and finds her hostility deflate upon seeing the black-and-white robes of the nun she was hoping was only a strange dream.
"Miss Deveroux," Esther says warmly, her shoulder sporting a small bag whose effects tug against the fabric.
"Sister Levy," Samantha sighs. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I was at the market," she tells her, voice buzzing with the charitable enthusiasm of a Sister who'd not yet become an old crone, "and whilst there I found myself moved with concern for you, adjusting to the pitiable life without servants at your beck-and-call. I came by to bring you groceries," she nudges her shoulder which carries the bag, "and to see if loneliness has overtaken you."
Samantha crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm quite alright on my-,"
"As I feared," the nun confirms, nonchalantly strolling past her to enter the home. "I'll prepare lunch," she declares.
With the door closed behind her, Samantha marches after her, face contorted into a mild offense. "I didn't invite you in."
"Because you're too proud to ask for help," Esther diagnoses, setting the shopping bag down upon one of the counters in the kitchen. She meanders through the kitchen as she speaks, acquainting herself with the facilities. "So, I didn't offer. I am simply helping, and you are simply being helped. No asking required." She turns to Samantha, eager to see if the woman would put her foot down and demand she leave the home, and seems delighted to see her relent. Samantha pulls over a chair from the dining room and drops into it, resigned to accept her company. "Atta girl," Esther grins.
The nun retrieves a mixing bowl and spoon, then produces flour and processed yeast from her shopping back. Combined with water, she quickly begins the early steps of making a dough for bread. Her head pops over her shoulder, black veil obscuring the back of her head while the white collar of her habit covers her neck, leaving only her face visible. "How was your morning?"
Samantha crosses one leg over the other, resting her hands wearily into her lap. "It has been fine." She provides nothing else to the conversation, a small portion of her mind wondering if it would still be too late to invite the nun to leave.
After a few moments of silent work, Esther calmly replies, "Mine has been excellent, since you didn't ask. Ask me why it has been excellent."
Samantha rolls her head to one side and disinterestedly asks, "Why has it been excellent?"
"There is that noble disposition," she teases, looking quite pleased with herself. "I awoke early to find my spirit invigorated. Morning prayers were grounding and refreshing, and Sister Minerva even let me lead the hymns." She pulls back the billowing sleeves of her habit, carefully tucking them away as she adorns herself with an apron. She picks up the spoon and begins mixing the flour, water, and yeast together. "And then, I had time to speak with Father Billings and his insightful roommate, Mr. Thornbry, only to find that the two of them were acquainted with you. Father Billings even told me the most scandalous story about you at a ball thrown by Lord Hastings."
"Dear Jesus..." Samantha mutters, recalling the occasion when the then Deacon Billings had stumbled across herself and Annette in the hallway during the ball. She'd played it cool in the moment, but there was a part of her which was terrified at the scene, sure he would expose their deeds to others. It was a miracle he remained quiet about the matter, resolving only to speak with Annette at the behest of Sister Pullwater.
"Oh, I'm sure He saw it too," Esther quips. Her face beams, as though the story was a happy affair. "I'm not shaming you. I'm politely impressed."
"Yes, I have enormous capacity for scandal," Samantha utters back, pulling her hands up across her chest.
Esther drops her voice lower, delighted by her salacious knowledge. "According to Father Billings, Miss Baker seemed quite well taken care of," she smirks. "I didn't know she was twice-born, how incredible."
Samantha hadn't known Annette was either when they'd first met, and was further surprised at how much she'd enjoyed that fact about her. To know that Annette, as a child, was so sure of her own womanhood that she underwent the process of rebirth, taking on a new name and social identity, was admirable. It almost made Samantha feel insecure about her own womanhood, and jealous of Annette's. She'd taken her birth as an assumed fact, that she was born a woman and simply must be. Annette had defied the expectations of her first birth and attested to the womanhood within. It was marvelous and made Samantha appreciate something which she had taken for granted.
