[[Okay, I have been way too scared to post. So please be have pity on me. This is my first historical RPG and I am a little lost...]]

Hestia had been in town for nearly a month but had spent little time away from the estate from which she was employed as a Lady's Companion. Hestia's Lady was Madame Eva Howsham. She was a married woman of twenty-seven with no children. She was amiable if not a bit eccentric. She was also quite beautiful by anyone standards. She was fairskinned with black hair and crystal blue eyes. There was always a hint of color on her cheeks and she had a warm and even-toothed smile. Madame Howsham seemed well aware of the power of that beauty, though she was not vain by Hestia's estimation. She loved to plan parties and spend her husband's money of which he seemed quite comfortable with.

Hestia thought it strange that the couple, who had been married some seven years now, was not stressed by their childless state. She did not inquire, of course, and heard little gossip from the staff, all of whom seemed to take an immediate dislike to Hestia.

Today, she was being driven to town in one of the smaller carriages to be deposited at one of the finer fabric shops. Hestia had already impressed Madame by reviving one of her older dresses into a new creation based off some prints that had been supplied to her by her employer. Hestia also did some sketches of her own and made some color and fabric recommendations that she felt would set off her Madame's crystal blue eyes. Madame Howsham had picked up the sketches and looked at them quite seriously before breaking into a wide smile and nodding with approval. She sent Hestia off to choose the fabrics she wanted, telling Hestia not to disappoint her.

It was Hestia's first time off the estate and while she was excited by this prospect, she was also not a city girl and felt a little anxious as the carriage pulled to a stop. She bit her bottom lip a little as looked at the faces that filled the street. She was dressed quite simply in a brown skirt and white blouse and her wool cloak to keep out the cold. Her hair was pulling loose a bit in some erratic gusts of wind that were whipping the skirts of woman on the street who huddled closer together.

Hestia stepped out of the carriage and made her way up the steps that lead to the store.

(OOC: I'd have pity on you, except that your post was freakin' awesome. You don't need pity, you're right on track here. :) Don't be scared, we don't eat people here; we're really very nice. Except Mjinga, stay away from her. ;))

Nolan was still furious at young Wallace. It was, he suspected, going to be his permanent disposition towards the man; after all, what father could find anything at all amiable about the boy who had taken his daughter’s honour and then abandoned her, refusing to marry her and even suggesting that she should attempt to destroy any offspring of the union? There was not a father in the world who had the right to call himself such if he could bear that without anger.

But the fury that Nolan felt now was different than the first rage he had expressed to Wallace. Now it was fury tempered by implacable determination; Wallace would restore honour to Nolan’s daughter, or Wallace would face utter ruination. Already Nolan was merely a step away from getting Wallace kicked out of his lodgings, but two steps from forcing him out of his job at the theatre, and three from getting him in trouble with the law. It was not too bad a start to the downfall of the fellow. It gave Nolan a measure of satisfaction to know that his daughter’s enemy would not get away with his misdeeds; and it gave him a measure more to have it be his own doing.

But it was time to put Wallace temporarily from his thoughts. Shannon was refusing to step outside of the flat because of her disgrace, and she was growing increasingly more depressed the longer her confinement continued. Nolan was now at a fabric shop, one of the higher-end ones, because he thought that a gift of fabric to make herself a new dress might cheer her up. Such things often did. But now that he was here he realised that he had no idea what exactly he should buy for her. What was in fashion? What was suitable for a young lady? It wouldn’t do for him to spend money he could ill afford to waste on a length of fabric that a spinster might make a dress out of. He was on the point of walking out without achieving his goal when he spotted the young lady that walked into the shop. She was clearly knowledgeable about such things, just by the way she looked about the place. He could ask her for her opinion, her assistance if she would give it.

However, he could not introduce himself to the young lady; it would be far to familiar of him to greet her, an unknown woman, without her first speaking to him. Such a thing would imply that she was on friendly terms with strange men, and therefore of questionable morals and habits. He would never disgrace any lady so unless the circumstances were far more immediate than they were now; although he was too poor to own all the things and practice all the hobbies that a gentleman should, Nolan’s demeanor and manners were impeccably those of a gentleman.

Therefore, he stood a polite distance off, enough to indicate he desired to speak to her without being forward or intruding into her space, and set his posture to such that she could ignore without being impolite, if she chose to; he said nothing at all, waiting to see if she would allow him to introduce himself.

Hestia had entered the store and found that the scent of the textiles brought her some sense of comfort and familiarity. Already she was walking slowly among the bolts of fabric, admiring one then another. The sounds of other woman discussing the merits of on pattern over another filled her ears. The warmth of the store cut the chill that the wind had whipped through her and she removed her gloves and tucked them inside of an inside pocket of her cape. She had taken well to sewing since her childhood. She liked the precision of it and her fine stitchwork proved it. But she would not be lucky enough to own such fine fabrics and stitch dresses of her own imagination. Her fine dressmaking work was always for her employer and Hestia knew her place. Still, she had had been lucky in finding two employers who seemed amiable and generous. The first had given her many of her cast off items to which Hestia had built a fine but modest wardrobe with a few approriate alterations.

Among the those in the store who moved about, Hestia's eye caught sight of one very stilled and tall figure who looked out of place. A man stood a short distance away from her and she noted by his stance that he was seeking to speak. Her body tensed for a moment, her eyes diverting to examine a rich blue brocade. She was still very new to city life and what possible dangers might be lurking. She stole one more quick glance and in her gut insticts, felt that the man was simply out of his element. She moved a bit nearer and nodded at him slightly as she continued to look at more of the fabric. "Good day, sir." She said softly and then let her gaze move about the store, both at the fabric and the other women. She could not afford any sort of wagging tongues that might jeapordize her employment and reputation. "So many fine selections. It makes it difficult to choose, wouldn't you say?"

Nolan almost sighed in relief when the lady decided to speak to him, but remembered not to just in time. “It rather does,” he replied. “They all look excellent to me, and I have no idea exactly what each is fitting for. I usually do not buy fabrics.” She was at least willing to talk to him; he could probably safely ask her opinion once he had introduced himself and they had gotten over the formalities. She didn’t look the type to mislead him on purpose just to have some sport with an unknowledgeable fellow.

Of course, Nolan would not be hard to have sport with here, if she were that type. He was well aware of his own shortcomings. He had once bought hat felt when his daughter had asked him for brocade. He still felt it was a reasonable mistake; she had described it as “A very stiff fabric, quite thick, with a coarse texture, and it should be all over embroidery.” The felt had been sewn all over with tiny patterns, how was he supposed to know it wasn’t what she wanted? Of course that hadn’t been as bad as the time that she sent him to get salmon-coloured linen and he had returned with peach linen. He still couldn’t tell the difference in the colours. He privately thought that perhaps it was a distinction that only women could make. But his daughter had sighed and exclaimed over his mistake, and had been forced to make it into shirts for Phelan and him, because there had been no way she could have worn a peach linen dress that year, it was just Not Done.

But he was woolgathering now, he realised, and hadn’t introduced himself yet. He addressed himself to the lady, and bowing courteously to her, said, “Allow me to introduce myself; I am Nolan Quartermaine, and I must confess myself to be totally ignorant in this sphere.” He waved a had at the generality of the fabric store. “And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

Hestia could see quite readily that this man was feeling a bit out of his element as he looked over the store with an eye that seemed unguided. She nodded slightly as he spoke, concealing any amusment she found in order not to seem rude of flippant. He had been sent, as she had, to choose fabric for another it seemed.

"I am Miss Hestia Logan, sir. I am companion to the lady of the Howsham estate. And I am well-versed in fabrics so perhaps I might be of some assistance to you." Hestia almost wanted to scowl at herself after she had spoken. It was such a trivial thing to be "well-versed" in fabrics but it was, after all, the only knowledge she could lay claim to openly. In truth, Hestia knew a great deal about medicine and anatomy. She had inherited five of her father's books as a young girl and took to reading them little by little and as she began to truly make sense of the language that they contained, she began to read them over to understand the finer nuances in the relation between the body and how it healed. Later, her reading became a way to memorize certain things so that the information could be called up in her mind readily when she was bored to tears as she attended the hair of her last mistress or poured her tea.

Hestia knew the Mr Howsham was a skilled businessmen, though knew little of what it was he exactly did. He entertained often in his large study behind closed doors. Her uncle, who had sent her to this new position had told her this was a fine and respectable situation and so Hestia trusted in that. Still, she was curious at the state of this couple she now resided with. They did allow her a great deal of freedom by most accounts and she had been provided a room away from the general staff who disliked her greatly.

She looked up at the man who looked anxious to be done with this fabric buying business and smiled just faintly, hoping to appear only friendly in a business-like manner. "So sir, if you would like to share with for what purpose this fabric shall be used, I will do my best to assist you."

She was obviously a lady born and bred; she discerned his dilemma and offered her help without his even having to ask directly for it. “I am ever grateful for your kind offer, Miss Logan; I cannot thank you enough. I am sure to many people it may seem a simple thing to know the fabrics, but I cannot make heads or tails of them and so I am forced to admire those who can. It is completely beyond my capacity.”

He smiled, and because she seemed a bit uneasy still, he tried to put her at her comfort by telling her of his experience so far. He knew it was pathetic and laughable, and hoped by showing her that he was not so proud as to mind others laughing at him for just reason that she would be calmed. “I have had a dreadful time so far. I picked up very nice white fabric, quite suitable for a dress I thought, and asked if it was linen or cotton, and whether it was good for a summer dress. No, no, you stupid fellow, I was told, that is tweed, and only an idiot would wear it in summer. Why, I asked, and was told, It is made from wool, you daft man, it would be much too hot.”

He laughed at his own folly, and said, “So you see, Miss Logan, you are saving me from such abuse, and so I am eternally grateful for your presence. I must insist that you call me Nolan, or Mr Quartermaine if that makes you uncomfortable; in any case I cannot have you be so formal and call me sir. It makes me feel like a pompous old man.”

“But I blather on, and take up your time which you have been so good as to accord me. The fabric I must buy is for my daughter; she is about your age. I wish to buy her enough fabric for a summer dress, and I must pick a fabric that will be considered in a good style and colour. And that is, of course, where I need your help.” By giving her the information that she was his daughter’s age, which was not strictly necessary given what she had asked, he should put to rest any fears she had about this being an improper acquaintance; he could have no designs on someone as young as his daughter.

Hestia found herself relaxing slightly in this man's presence. There was a genuineness and an ease in his movements and his speech that whisked away any suspicion about insincere motives. Although her aunt had been encouraging her to allow suitors and her placement at the Howsham estate seemed to carry with it this motive, no man had sparked Hestia's interest. Her lady seemed eager to have Hestia accompany her to parties and she had already shared some fasinating though rather bawdy stories about events that had happen at some parties at other estates. There seem to be only a thin veil of loyalty in some of these well-to-do families. Affairs seemed to be a quietly tolerated past-time of sorts. She was sure her aunt was completely unaware of such things or that she had any idea that her current employer had this rather improper side. Still, Hestia found her lady to be beautifully intriguing and something in her spirit called to something deep in Hestia.

Once Mr Quatermaine had fully confessed himself and his fabric buying folly, she found it difficult to hide her own amusement. She tucked her smile away by lowering her head slightly and looking at the bolts of fabric nearest her. She did find it odd that his daughter would not be shopping for her dress fabric on her own, but she kept this question unspoken and offered another in its place.

"Mr Quartermaine, I do understand that you are shopping for summer material but you understand that there our many different dresses that a young lady might wear in the summer. Is this a dress for a party or perhaps a visiting dress?" Her voice was quiet and direct, a manner she had picked up from her father. Her eyes lifted briefly to meet his before returning to examine the fine weave on a bolt just beneath her hand.

Nolan frowned and thought about that. Of course there were different dresses for the morning, and the afternoon, and the evening, and parties, and visiting, and riding, and drinking tea, and just about every other thing that he could think of. But they required different kinds of fabrics, too? His admiration of anybody who could keep such things straight in their heads rose. Who on earth had time to learn it? He much preferred the simplicity of dress for his class and sex; there was really only the sack suit such as he wore now, and evening dress. There were more outfits for richer gentlemen, but for him there were only two, and he wouldn’t have to change if he wanted to drink tea, or walk in the street, or visit his friends. He suddenly thought that the women who Phelan read to him about in the papers, the bloomer women who bucked fashion, had it right. Who would want to waste so much time each day with dressing?

“Ah, I hadn’t thought about it. I didn’t know the fabrics were different for each,” he replied. But now that she had asked, he did think about it. Shannon would not be going to a party any time soon, he thought. He couldn’t afford to waste money on fabric for a dress she would only wear at home, and she wouldn’t go out much unless he could persuade her to visit a friend. “Perhaps it should be for a visiting dress. Shannon looks well in blues and greens… are those acceptable colours for such a dress?” He would have asked more, but at that moment there was a commotion from the front of the shop and Nolan looked over to see a fifteen-year-old boy in the door; quite slight, about five and a half feet, dressed in nice but well-worn clothing and looking around somewhat desperately. The boy was his son, Phelan Quartermaine. What was he doing here?

Phelan darted over to Nolan and said urgently, ”Father, you must come now!”
Nolan blinked. This was unusual, for his son to ignore the required courtesies in front of women; he had been taught good manners since his early childhood. But clearly Phelan was quite agitated. Nolan adopted the calming tone he used with restive horses automatically, which brought out the Irish lilt to his words. “Whisht, whisht, Phelan. Come, you must be polite, and then you can tell me what the matter is.” Nolan smiled apologetically at Miss Logan. “I apologise on his behalf, Miss Logan. This is my son, Phelan; Phelan, this is Miss Logan.”
Phelan bobbed a bow in the direction of the lady and then turned straight back to his father. ”Father, it must be now; it can’t wait.”

Nolan glanced at Hestia and hoped that she would excuse them; Phelan was practically hopping with urgency and impatience. “What is the matter?”
Phelan cast a glance at Miss Logan and tried to turn his father aside. ”It’s Shannon, Father.”
“What happened?” Tears started in Phelan’s eyes, but he seemed to not want to speak in front of Hestia. Nolan grew alarmed; his son was not given to unwarranted displays of emotion. He turned to face Phelan, putting a hand on his shoulder and bending to bring his great height more near Phelan’s level. “Whisht, Phelan, Miss Logan will forgive you.” Now that he was worried, though, he was not nearly as caring about whether she would or not as before. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Phelan’s tears started seeping out of his eyes. ”It’s Shannon! I heard a noise and went and found her with a rope around her neck and…” Nolan felt his heart stop. No, no, that couldn’t be. Phelan must be mistaken. Shannon wouldn’t do that. ”… and I cut her down, Father, but she won’t wake up.” Nolan closed his dry eyes; he couldn’t feel anything at all, anywhere, it seemed. His heart didn’t beat, he couldn’t breath. ”She’s on the bed, Father, and she’s breathing but I can’t get her to wake up! I didn’t know what to do!” The most relief that Nolan had ever felt in his life flooded over him, leaving him trembling. Shannon wasn’t dead! The thought gave him hope, and he gathered Phelan to him, hugging his son, despite that it was unseemly in public. “Whisht, Phelan, whisht, it’s not your fault. You did the right thing to find me.” But what was he to do now? He didn’t know any physicians at all; Shannon clearly needed one. His eyes, staring over Phelan’s head, fell on Miss Logan, and he had his answer. He didn’t know any physicians, but a lady like her would.

He let go of Phelan and turned to her, his voice slightly strangled with emotion, “Miss Logan, you must forgive what you’ve heard; Shannon is not a bad girl. I must impose on you again and beg you to tell me if you know any doctors—“ he was cut off by Phelan bumping his arm and saying, ”Father, Shannon will… a doctor, a man… Shannon…” Despite the missing words, Nolan knew what his son was saying. Shannon would be mortified if a man saw to her; she might even try to kill herself again. Well there must be some female who could help, a midwife or something, somewhere in the city; it was huge, certainly Miss Logan must know at least one. He amended what he was saying to Miss Logan, “—any lady who can help. I will not inconvenience you any more, but just tell me if you know of any, and where they might be.”

Hestia took in a breath and her heart began to race at this awful new whispered from the boy’s frantic lips. Hestia was about to retreat, to move away and give Mr Quartermaine his privacy, when he turned and beseeched her to assist him in finding help.

Hestia felt speechless at first. Her heart felt as if had leaped up into her own throat and she opened her mouth to try to gather in a little air. “I…I am new to this town, sir,” she began, her mind working over the possibilities of what fate might befall this woman without some sort of intervention by someone who knew medicine. She was not that person. All she knew was from books, her father’s medical books. He was the doctor. He would have known exactly what to do.

A poultice. She is breathing but not awake. Cover the patient to keep body warm as she is likely in shock. A poultice to ease the swelling in the throat. Check for damage to the larynx. What then? What if there is damage? I have no medical tools. But if I don’t help, who will? This man seems unacquainted with anyone that can address this.

The boy was clearly out of sorts and the young woman’s condition sounded grave. Hestia's eyes darted from the boy the man, both looked so utterly desperate. Her eyes shifted slightly to see the gazes of the other women in the shop. Hestia lowered her voice before she spoke so that what she said would not carry. There would be too much gossip, to much trouble, should she ever reveal herself. “I trained up a bit as a midwife…with my aunt.” She stammered out her lie and swallowed back her own fear at hearing those lying words in her ears. But she continued. “I might be able to help…until you find a suitable doctor to tend to her.”

Hestia knew medicine by the book and only by the book. She had never touched a medical instrument, only run her fingers over the sketches of them in the books and imagined the weight of them in her hands. But no one would blame her for at least trying to help an injured woman, stabilizing her, nothing more, until a man could be found.

(OOC: Hestia's mun gave permission for me to mod her to Nolan's house. :) )

Nolan’s plan seemed to be fizzling around him. Miss Logan stammered that she hadn’t been in Lindebo long, and she dropped her eyes. Nolan tried to think of what to do. He didn’t know any doctors at all, he probably couldn’t afford what it would take to get one to come immediately, and even if he could it would take him time to find one. He had been hoping that Miss Logan would give him a name, and then he could use whatever influence that Miss Logan’s name had with the woman to get her to come speedily.

But then she saved him entirely, saying that she herself would be willing to come, at least until a doctor could be found. She had been trained as a midwife. Nolan did not stop to make the polite objections that he should before accepting anything; Shannon was all that mattered. If Miss Logan wanted to help then he jolly well would accept her help. “I cannot thank you enough, Miss Logan.” He was already walking towards the door, holding it for her as she swiftly followed. “Please forgive any rudeness you perceive in me for accepting so quickly, but when a father worries for his daughter he thinks of nothing else.”

Phelan ran ahead of them and hailed a hansom cab, but the fellow, perhaps thinking that Phelan was a street boy, started to drive past. Nolan darted to cut it off, shouting to the cabby, “You stop, Bill Briggs, or so help me I’ll see that Jimmy Thompson finds out you sold off your old nag at twice the price it was worth!” The cab came to an abrupt halt as the cabby pulled back on the reins; Jimmy Thompson was the less fortunate cabby who had bought Briggs’ old cab-horse. He was approximately twice Briggs’ size and had a mean right hook and a temper given to flashes of rage.
“Here now, no need for that, Mr. Quartermaine. My pleasure to take you where you need to go. And where is that?”
Nolan gave his address as he handed Hestia into the cab; then he and Phelan climbed in after her.

The cab started going, quite slowly, and Nolan stood up to slide back the roof panel and stick his head out to tell Briggs, “As fast as you can and I’ll pay three times whatever it is you’re asking these days.” He was thrown back in his seat as a whipcrack sounded and the hansom abruptly started moving at a much higher rate.

(OOC: Hestia, Nolan, and Phelan will next appear in A Father's Nightmare)