She knew what he was implying, and wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. She had never stolen anything in her life, not even when she was desperate. Pippa wanted to shake the man for even insinuating what he did, but she kept her mouth shut and merely nodded. And then he was pulling out bread and butter, and he was telling her to help herself. So she did.

"Thank you," she said, and she would soon be trying to eat as daintily as she could, but ended up cramming a large piece into her mouth ravenously.

The fast eating did not offend him, for she hardly looked like a lady in her current state, and he could not blame a poor person for being hungry and forgetting her manners. But he was concerned for her well-being. "You should eat slow, or you'll get a stomach ache," he told her. "I won't take it away before you're done. Promised."

Heat filled her cheeks even still. She slowed down, though her fingers still trembled while she ate. Her eyes were averted while she chewed. The slice of bread was gone quickly enough. She hesitated, then reached for the bread again. The net piece was cut with all the dignity she could muster. Pippa spread butter across that and then ate it more slowly, no longer shaking by that point. She finally found the courage to look up and say a soft, "Thank you." It could be inferred that she meant "for everything."

Tristan regretted saying that when he saw her blush and he realized he had embarrassed her. A working girl would probably not have been bothered at all and would just have been glad for the promise to let her finish eating, but she had been brought up as a lady and was probably a good deal more sensitive to the way she was perceived.

He was just beginning to reflect again on what a disaster this situation was and how hard it was going to be to have such a young lady for a maid, when she thanked him in a way that was so disarming, that he forgot his concerns. It felt odd to be in a position where someone else... someone like her depended on him, but it made him feel responsible too. They would make it work.

He nodded, because he didn't know how to express that. "How long were you out on your own?" he asked instead.

She ate slowly now, chewing thoughtfully. Her belly no longer gnawed at her spine, it felt like. Her eyes finally lifted when he didn't say anything, watching him for a moment between bites. When asked about how long she had been alone, she said, "Honestly, I have lost count of the days..." She had to think about it, really. Things had been such a blur from the moment she'd learned about the fire. She set her bread down, her mouth suddenly dry. Pippa looked down and took in a trembling breath, "It happened so suddenly that everything has been a haze." She was looking through him by that point. Tears soon dribbled unchecked down her cheeks. Then she shook her head and jerked a hand over her face to mop up the saline like it had no business shedding in the first place. It was clear that she hadn't quite let herself grieve as of yet, that it was still fresh enough for her nerves to be raw. She'd gone into autopilot.

He was aware of the fact that she wasn't really looking at him anymore, although she was looking in his direction. He used the opportunity to study her body language. Since she spoke in terms of days rather than weeks or months, he figured the death of her family had not been that long ago, though he had to allow for the journey here. Her body language filled in the rest. A tension in her breathing and a propensity to disconnect that suggested that the grief, or even the awareness of what had happened, had hardly been processed.

When the tears did come, he averted his eyes and ate the rest of his bread, pretending he had not noticed. He wasn't uncomfortable with emotion. He had seen plenty of it at the asylum. But he also did not want to intrude on something private. Still, when he caught her wiping away her tears from the corner of his eye, he automatically went into alienist mode. He swallowed the bread. "It might well feel like a haze for some time, but it is important you try not to suppress your feelings. Grief is both natural and important for healing."

She wasn't sure what to say to the man when he spoke up about suppressing grief. Her wet eyes looked at him then and she gave a shuddering sigh, "I haven't had the time. And now is not the time either." Not in front of him, not when she just got there and had yet to do work for him. Her voice was ragged and soft as she spoke, raw, "I can't." But even as she tried to deny it, she could feel the tension winding up tighter and tighter.

"I-I-I..." Her eyes grew bright as if feverish, then she kind of looked like she was about to faint, all color had drained from her cheeks.

He observed her reaction, realizing that the loss had to be very fresh indeed - and that he should probably have shut up. "In bits and pieces..." he quickly tried to reassure her. He pressed his lips together nervously, because he was aware that he himself had turned the conversation in this direction, and that, given the fact that she was his maid, not his patient, it had been inappropriate of him. "When you have a moment to spare, it can be good to give yourself a chance to feel."

She nodded, heart in her throat. She could feel it beating like drums of war. She looked at him with glassy eyes, breathing hard enough that the sound of it soon reminded her of the sound of the ocean in her ears. Pippa swallowed audibly and slowly sank back into the chair, staring at nothing in particular. Then she lifted her eyes back to his face and she said in a small, raw sounding voice, "I'll take a moment once you..." she hiccupped, "once you show me to my rooms." She did not wish to cry in front of him it seemed even if he probably thought it one of the most natural things.

Pippa lifted her chin and steeled herself, the emotions in check for the moment and her expression replaced with the facade of calm. The last of her bread was then devoured because she was still slightly hungry despite the sudden souring of her appetite just moments before. She tried to ignore the way the pastry stuck to the roof of her mouth. She swallowed the lump and then folded her hands.

Tristan watched her sit there as if she was hardly present. Then he turned his eyes down. It had all been too raw still, and he had misjudged the situation. He didn't know what to do now, whether to change the subject, or whether that would be disrespectful. But before he could decide, the young woman spoke. "Of course," he said quickly and he got up to put away the bread and butter. He gave her a brief look and was glad to see she was eating at least, even though her face seemed so frozen that it was unnatural.

When he had stored the food away and he saw she was finished, he said: "This way," and began to lead her up three flights of stairs. "The two floors in between are the main house, but I'll show you around later." He unlocked the door and opened it, stepping into a garret room. It had a relatively large surface, though the sloping walls made it seem smaller. The walls had been painted white. There was a window in the sloping roof, and if one leaned out of it, one might glimpse the shopping street below. The room had been furnished plainly: An iron-framed bed, a table and chair, wardrobe, and a shelf. The floor was made of wooden floorboards that creaked a little as Tristan walked across There was a small, oval carpet beside the bed.

Tristan turned back to Pippa. "If you find there's anything you need in your room, tell me. I'll... leave you to unpack."