It’s all rather pointless, really, Ella thought as she dusted a small table. I’ll dust this today, but soon enough it will just be covered in dust again. And then I’ll just have to clean it again, over and over. Ella considered that for a moment. Then again, it is excellent job security.

Ella’s thoughts did not usually go this way. The truth was she felt quite blessed to be working as a between maid at the Lindemans’. It was certainly better than working as a scavenger (and safer, too). And never during her time in Lindebo had her employers made any advances on her such as had happened in London. By all accounts she was now in a far better position than she had ever before been.

Yet with each passing day the truth of her own mortality seemed to make itself more and more apparent. She had been coughing more as of late, and despite her best efforts to hide it, it was obvious enough for people to have started inquiring about it. And when she did pass, she would have nothing to show for her life except for a clean house that would once again be dirty in a few days.

Ella cleared her throat as some dust found its way within. No, she should not think about these things. She had to focus on the present, and at present she was dusting in the Lindemans’ parlour. And that really was not a bad place to be, all things considered.

Brenton Mallory grumbled as he staggered down the stairs to the first floor. This was not his usual attitude. The Lindemans were at breakfast currently, and as he had not been assigned any particular tasks yet - likely being the case until an hour had passed, Brenton had decided to inspect the lower level. This required a trip down a lengthy flight of stairs, putting more stress on his already-stressed body, and the effort reminded Brenton that temporarily he could not do any of his usual activities that required physical exertion. He was powerless, and that made him annoyed.

Sharp pain sparked through him as he reached the final step. The path which the bullet had followed through his body last week had healed to a certain degree, but it still twinged now and then. Brenton remembered vividly the initial pain that had torn through him when he was shot, and the cool, unmoving face of the frenchman as he had pulled the trigger, and the memory made him shudder. Though he had been through many painful events beforehand, the experience of being shot still ranked as the most painful by a significant margin. Perhaps it was only due to the intervention of Haverhill that he had survived.

He made his way towards the parlor, deciding to start his inquiries there first while attempting to shake the gruesome remembrances from his mind. He was at work, safe within the Lindeborough Castle. The frenchman had long since been carried off to prison, and Brenton was recovering. He had to concentrate on the work at hand, and he couldn't do that if he was constantly absorbed in the past. However, this dismissal was incomplete, as the physical remnants of the encounter continued to disable Brenton Mallory.

He entered the parlor, a rather small room compared to some of the castle's inner chambers. Still, it occupied a space of roughly fourteen meters squared, which is considerably enough room to host guests in. A variety of furniture were scattered across the room, each of which was clean of dust - on first inspection. Brenton had acquired a habit to look closely at every place that was dusted over the years, partly due to a maid he had hired once.

However, the first vase he inspected did not disappoint him, and Brenton nodded slightly to himself. It was then that the sound of someone clearing their throat came from behind him. He turned around in order to see the cause of the noise, and saw Miss Ella Perry standing behind him, dusting a circular table. His heart softened. Perry was a fine young woman who had a terrible cough, but was an excellent worker. Ever since she had gained employment as a between maid with the Lindemans, Miss Perry's condition - whatever it was - had grown worse, and Brenton had a feeling that it was a fatal affliction. No doubt the finely-cleaned vase was the result of her work.

Feeling the need to say something, Brenton asked in a voice lacking of demand, " Miss Perry? How much of this room is complete?"

Ella lifted a small silver box to wipe underneath it, then proceeded to wipe all six sides of the box itself. It was a rather monotonous task; she had done it so many times that she no longer needed to think about it to do a completely thorough job. But the funny thing was she was not really thinking about anything else. She did not want to think about the future, and her past did not really have anything of note on which to linger. She supposed she could daydream up some sort of fantasy where she was not sick and did not have to work for a living (although the second part really was nowhere near as important to her as the first), but that would probably just depress her, like as not. And so she continued with her work, and no matter how straightforward and mechanical it was, she kept her mind focused on it, going over every step in her mind.

She was so focused on not thinking, in fact, that she did not hear when Brenton Mallory entered the room behind her. Luckily for her, though, she was not the type who changed her working habits based on whether she was being watched or not, and even if she had known he was there she would not have been doing anything differently (except she would have acknowledged him, of course).

" Miss Perry? How much of this room is complete?"

Ella slightly jumped, not expecting to hear a voice behind her, and she swiftly turned around to face the owner of said voice. Seeing Mister Mallory she quickly ducked her head and took on a subservient pose. Though he was a great improvement over the house steward of her previous home (she had always found Mister Mallory to be fair with her, at least), she still never wanted to give him anything other than the full respect he deserved.

“I’m almost done here, sir,” she said softly. If the fact that she never wanted to seem too assertive were not enough to make her speak softly, she had the added incentive of never wanting to stress her lungs or her voice too much. “After this table I only have that hutch in this room. I should finish that just in time to help clear the table once breakfast is through.” Once she was done talking she finally raised her head slightly to glance at the man before her. She had not seen him in a few weeks, and she was a bit shocked when she took in his appearance, though she kept this off of her face. He looked tired, as though he were carrying a great burden. She felt it would be rude and impudent of her to say this, however, and so she remained quiet, waiting to see if he had anything to say of the work she had done so far or some other task he wanted her to perform.

Brenton listened as Miss Perry summarized the work that she had completed. He seemed to have startled her, but at the moment, he was not as concerned with this fact as with what had been done. He was glad though, that she offered to help with cleaning the dining table once breakfast was finished. Not very many of his footmen or maids cared as much about the house as Miss Perry, though undoubtedly many cared about their jobs.

As he studied her handiwork in greater detail, her diligence presented itself in every corner of the room. Satisfied, Brenton nodded slightly. The only remaining question on his mind caused him to furrow his brow. Miss Perry’s coughing had reminded him. Her state of health seemed to have declined over the past week. Worry and anxiety showed itself in his eyes.

Brenton said in a quiet and kindhearted voice, “That will be excellent. Tell me, Miss Perry, is your health by any chance ailing you? I cannot help but notice your violent bouts of coughing as you work.” Brenton wondered why he asked. True, he did have a responsibility for his employees, but still. Perhaps Brenton felt for the loss of her as a servant. Where so many people looked after themselves when in this position, Miss Perry truly looked after the house as well. Brenton would be sorry to see her go. The last maid to have a cough turned up dead in the dining room.

While he asked after her health, Brenton picked up a silver candelabra for Miss Perry to dust under it. However, the candelabra had a lead-filled base for stability, not normally a problem for Brenton, but now much too heavy for him. Pain lanced through the not yet healed bullet-wound in his chest, and he was forced to set it down quickly. His haste was too great, however, as the candelabra wobbled and then began to tip over. A grab to steady it only produced more pain from the sudden movement, and he grabbed the table to prevent himself from falling over. The candelabra tipped over and struck him full-on his wound before crashing to the floor. He grimaced forcefully, and grabbed for the nearest chair to sit down in. Vehement torture seemed to be conducted on his form, but through it, Brenton made not a sound.

Once the pain had passed, Brenton relaxed. Realizing the scene he had made, Brenton stood up again, only to have the pain overtake him again. To an outsider, it must have been a trifling bit comical, as Brenton could do nothing except sit down, stand up, and sit down again.