Pippa was dressed in clothes bought with her own money, made by a seamstress! The feel of fine fabric instead of the practical fabric... she felt different about it... it wasn't the same. Her mother and father had paid for her clothes, finery, and having been at work for Tristan without a clue as to how to work. She looked at herself in the mirror, not in admiration but indifference. She sat and held her work frock up.

The money, the finery, the preparation to move into a place of her own. She pictured Tris and all he had done for her despite her ignorance of many things. Then she looked at her room, the basket of mending she still had to do, at the things she collected as a maid.

Then she felt the baby move and dropped the dress in her lap to put her hand on the spot. She knew she was going to do vetter. Her child was going to learn how to work, to clean, to do chores... she was not going to let her baby grow up with soft hands. He or she would know how to rely on themself.

Pippa stood and put the frock in the small trunk she had paid for, but she felt her anxiety go through the roof and started to tremble a little.

(CW: Reference to violence)

He hadn’t slept, though he was sure he had experienced several nightmares. The tranquilizer had worn off, but the tension in his body hadn’t. Every sound had seemed alien and dangerous and had startled him. The sound of the wood-clogged fishermen making their way to the harbour had inflicted hot, racing panic. He had gotten out of bed, put on his shoes and paced the floor.

The pain seemed worse than last night. Was he certain he hadn’t broken anything? No internal bleeding? No brain damage? No damaged vision? It was hard to tell in the dark, but he had blown out his candle when frightening shadows leapt along the walls ready to pounce at him, and he dreaded lighting it again. His ribs were killing him with every breath. He felt his side as gently as he could. Bruised definitely, but no clear fracture. He examined his liver, his kidneys, his stomach. All the while, a cynical voice in the back of his head wondered why he bothered. If he lived, how was he supposed to face the days that lay ahead? To face the world?

But there was no internal bleeding. He was quite certain. And as the walls and ceiling crept from black to grey, and the hustle and bustle swelled outside his window, he recovered a sliver of reason. He was not in fact going to die and he needed a plan. There were things that needed to be arranged. He had a responsibility.

With great effort and a handful of curses, he managed to get dressed. Then he examined his face in the mirror. He shuddered at what he saw. He did what he could to clean it up, but there was no way he was going to be able to hide it for a couple of days at least. The bruise around his eye would take longer, he suspected. He didn't plan on seeing patients – (he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to open the door in the first place) -, but there was Pippa. She was in such a delicate state as it was.

Pippa… He remembered John. What had he said? It was all a blur. Didn’t matter. Pippa should go away, go to the Zimmermans and they’d not approve of John anyway. Pippa had to go. Today. That was what all that mattered now.

But he spent the morning avoiding her. His breakfast was untouched. He sat in his practice with the door locked as if he was seeing patients. He sat alone in a trance.

It wasn’t until later that morning, after another dose in his veins to stop himself from absolutely losing his mind, that he made his way up to the guest room. He had insisted Pippa would take it, for he did not want her to climb the stairs to the attic any longer in her condition, and she was no longer a housemaid. He knocked but did not enter.

“Pippa? Please don’t open the door. I think I’m ill and I don’t want you to catch it in your state. I’ll write to the Zimmermans and ask them to take you in while I’m recovering. If you could start packing…”

She opened the door so he could see she had packed some, one of her frocks in the trunk with half hanging there. She sat down slowly, didn't speak, couldn't. But then she got up and took the frock to fold it. She gave a shaky breath. Then she looked at him and down at the silk she wore, hair perectly coiffed. It felt wrong to her, alien.

She swallowed audibly, then finally spoke. "I am sorry I disobeyed you. Mister Zimmerman already bid me to. He said to leave the frocks, but I can't find it in me to leave them." She turned to look at him, tears in her eyes, tilting her head a little. "I'll miss you terribly. You are my family in my heart. You taught me so much. My child is going to learn to depend on themself... the thought occured because the baby kicked while I was staring at it, my frock in my hands."

Then she added, "I heard you come home. I am not asking... but I am here if you wish to discuss it." She wiped her face with a wet cloth from her ewer. Her room had been turned into a haven. She had started a patchwork quilt and a knitted blanket for the baby as well as half done booties, little gowns and nappies, the basket of mending next to an old chair given to her.

Of course she opened the door immediately. (When had Pippa ever followed instructions?) He turned his face away, knowing it was pointless. When there was no reaction, he turned back to look at her. She looked distressed but not in shock. That was something at least. She was dressed like a woman of her birth for a change and he realized for the first time that she was beautiful. Beautiful and sad. He spotted the trunk, just as she began to explain.

Good. This was good.

It was better this way. She’d be saver.

He was glad.

Her safety was all that mattered. Perhaps her words would have hit deeper, if he didn’t feel so anxious. As it was, he just listened. At least she didn’t press him on the injuries. It was all be easier than he had thought.

This was good.

“May I come in?” he asked in a somewhat raspy voice. He entered and sat down in a chair, slow, and with an involuntary grunt. “My own stupidity. Took a shortcut when I shouldn’t have and got mugged,” he told her what he had told John. “Looks worse than it is. I just didn’t want to frighten you in your state. Should have known by now that you’re made of tougher stuff.” He tried to force a smile at her, but all he managed was a wince and a grimace.

“You’ll be alright, Pippa. The Zimmermans are good people, and we’re not saying goodbye forever, are we? It’s just a new chapter. A happier one.” And after a laboured exhale he added: “After dealing with my grouchiness, everything else in your life will be a breeze.”

She nodded gently when he was comfortable enough to be honest for the first time when she'd pointed something out. She said, "You may sit if you like too. And no, I'm not leaving Whitby. I... can't go back there, America, to live. I have to eventually go as hieress to the textile mills... as to what happened to you... are you alright? Physically?" Her eyes were soft as she queried.

She started to rub the silk between her fingers, a lovely, burgundy color with tastefully puffed sleeves and irish lace at her throat. Her fingers had done it before, and it was as if muscle memory had hit her. Deapite her being a girl, her father allowed her to feel the fabric to know quality. She had been groomed to some extent to be able to understand the business from a woman's perspective as to what to buy because women were the demographic they were catering to most of all.

"Yes. Or I will be," he answered, though with a slight tremor in his voice. "I'm a doctor, remember?" Mentally... he wasn't sure if he'd ever regain his sanity, but he wouldn't trouble her with that. He noticed the outline of her belly in her new dress. Good thing she was going. "I'm happy to see you dressed well. It becomes you."

"It feels strange after all of this. I never thought I would wear silk again. Tobi brought a few from the seamstress. It's lovely... too lovely. I feel like I will ruin it. I have more money than I knew was in the bank and I think of how the last months have been a struggle and all the work, toiling, and callouses, and I just want to cry, not because it saddens me that my hands aren't soft, but because doing it gave me a purpose where as before, I was just.... basically an ornament. I don't want to be an ornament, I... want to use my hands and accomplish more than watercolors, embroidery, and pretty dresses. And most of all, the thought of leaving this house after all of that? I have every board, every tuft, every room except for your office memorized. It's... home..." She gave a soft, humorless laugh.

He watched her with affection. For the first time since last night, he was out of that dark alley, away from those hateful eyes, the cruel hand around his throat, and the overwhelming fear. He felt pride. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be a parent. For all her flaws and stubborn mistakes over the past months, Pippa had grown and he knew that she would grow still. At last he understood his own father's steadfastness and patience when he was an insufferable young man. He'd go to any length to make sure Pippa landed on her feet.

"You needn't scrub floors to do something meaningful and productive. You have a good head on you, don't forget that, and a fortune at your disposal. That's a very privileged position. Get someone to teach you the ins and outs of your father's business and get a good financial advisor, and you would make a fine business woman. That's hard work too, make no mistake. But you could change many lives for the better."

"It would be an honor to invest in your practice. If you let me," she said, doing that thing she did, looking up at the ceiling to try not to cry. Damn it, she had to swipe a tear. "I think I will open a factory here. It would help a lot of people. I want to pay fair wages and give childrena chance to go to school instead of using them for labor. My father said treating your people like they deserve to be treated will make them more loyal. I honestly have a lot to learn still... and I want to help as many as I can. I don't want to help you just because you helped me, but because you are as close to a family as I've had since that awful man killed mine. I want to help because I care."

His practice... How could he carry on with it? In this town? Now that Pippa was going, perhaps it was time to start anew somewhere else. Somewhere safe. He felt his heart rate rise as the images of last night returned.

"That is kind," he said, not to ruin the mood. He focused all his attention on her. "But we can talk about such matters once you have a good grasp of where it stands with the business and your finances. There is time for that. For now, you must take it easy. The sudden changes in your situation are more than enough to deal with in your current state."