17th August, 1895 — The house, Pennyworth

Aubrey was settled in by now – well, as settled in as he imagined he would ever be. The room was more comfortable than any he’d had before (in spite of its persistent cobwebs in the corner and the slightly creaky bed, and the strange things he had found left stashed in odd places, like under the mattress). The house was fine. Dorset seemed a decent enough lad. The problem, probably, was still Aubrey – he was not sure if he would ever be comfortable in his own skin.

He had woken up early, stiff in his body from having slept under his bed, rather than in it. He had shuffled downstairs, intending on being quiet and not disturbing the household, only – Dorset was down here, slumped in a chair. Aubrey stole a glance or two, not judging, just – a little concerned. Didn’t he have a bedroom too? Was he asleep, or was he dead? See, was he breathing? He seemed very still. And his chief constable had only been killed the other week, so maybe Dorset wasn’t quite right. Or what if he had been injured on his shift, and subsequently snuffed it in his sleep?

Aubrey went to the breadbox, and nibbled on a slice from the loaf as he considered what to do. He tried to bang around a bit in the kitchen, opening and closing drawers to see if Dorset would stir. No luck yet, so Aubrey sat down in another chair, brow furrowed, tearing off the crusts of his bread and chewing on them, as he watched quietly, hopefully, for some sign of life. He didn’t want to disturb him – but he really didn’t want to deal with a dead body this morning. He didn’t know how to deal with dead bodies, generally.

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At some point Jack became aware he was awake but more importantly he was awake and his shoulder wasn't hurting. He must have gotten the angle and pillow propped just right. For that reason alone he didn’t want to move but if he could also fall back to sleep he'd take that too. He kept his eyes closed, half awake and half drifting in the comfort of near sleep, but it didn't last long.

He was just getting around to accepting that he was awake for the day when he heard stirring in the kitchen. He was used to the house being occupied as much as he was it being empty but knowing someone was there made his position suddenly much less comfortable. He waited a few more moments to see if Mr. Davis would go back to his room or leave before giving up

"I'm awake." he admitted in case the man was being quiet for his sake and straightened in his seat, giving the shoulder a tentative roll.

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He had finished on the crusts, and was left the with soft innards of the bread. Aubrey’s manner of eating was – was still, he supposed – a rodent-like nibbling, holding the piece of bread up close to his mouth and snuffling bites almost ferociously fast, like he was afraid someone would stop him in the process of it.

This time, he was relieved to be interrupted, because Dorset was awake at last. Aubrey swallowed his current mouthful. “I wasn’t sure,” he offered, to explain his continued presence, and his continued quizzical gaze. “You were... very still.”

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