Once they had gotten her to her room, she turned to look at him with a look that didn't "see" and nodded numbly at him. She was trembling. She stood there even after he left her there, staring at the door for the longest time. She sank to her knees on the floor and soon to follow was a heartwrenching sob that could probably be heard throughout the good doctor's house. Just the one sob, and then she would spend the next half hour curled up on the floor silently grieving for the first time since the nightmare actually began.

She passed out for the next hour and a half, emotionally spent. When she woke, she did all she could to repair her appearance, though one could not hide the red and puffy eyes. She put away her meager belongings with a tired sigh, then went off in search of the man who had just hired her, most probably out of pity, she knew. She couldn't wallow, she thought, not when there were things that needed to be done. She would learn.

When she found him, it was in his living room. She quietly approached, stopping a good distance away from him, and said, "I am terribly sorry for taking so long to unpack." There was a poor attempt at a smile.

After he left her in the garret room, he considered going to the library while she unpacked, but when he reached the landing of the floor below, he heard the sob, which seemed to knock the air out of his lungs and sent shivers down his spine. He stopped in his tracks and listened, while his eyebrows knitted together, but all was still. He bit his lip, unsure of what to do. Perhaps he had chosen the wrong profession, for whenever he was confronted with grief or pain, his heart ached just a little too much.

There was nothing he could do for her at this point, however, Tristan decided, and he made his way down another flight of stairs. Best give her some privacy. He decided to stay in the house however. Grief could do strange things to people, and he felt all the more responsible since it seemed he had provoked this sudden outburst with his unguarded speech.

By the time she came downstairs, he sat ensconced in a large velvet green armchair, his legs stretched out on the saloon table in front of her, because he had not heard her coming down the stairs. He was seemed immersed in a heavy volume, frowning in concentration. The drawing room seemed rather dark, with heavy double curtains blocking out much of the natural light. The room lacked the popular excess of furniture and was hardly decorated, making the one wall that was filled with bookshelves all the more conspicuous. Admittedly, there were far too few books to fill the shelves, and a few family and other photographs and other trinkets filled up the rest of the space. There was one miniature statue, about a feet high, of a young, naked man with an arm wrapped around the neck of a large eagle.

Tristan looked up when he heard her enter the room, pulled his feet of the table, put the book down (the cover revealed the title 'Phasen der Trauer'), and rose. "That's no problem at all," he quickly said, eager to make her feel more at ease than he had done before. "I hope the room is sufficient? I know it's not what you're used to..."

"Oh, but I am grateful merely to have a roof over my head," she said with honesty, meeting his eyes with tired ones. Her smile, such as it had been, faded back into a neutral expression. "I could do much worse for myself." She could have chosen to beg, or she could have been forced onto her back had he not taken pity upon her and given her the job as maid. She clasped her hands in front of her and wringed them a few times, then went on to say, "It's a fine room and I thank you for it." She gave a nod. She seemed a bit lighter after having a good cry, like she had needed it more than imagined at first. While she didn't smile, her voice had become slightly singsong as if in better cheer.

Tristan nodded. "Well, I'm glad." He stood there awkwardly and then waved his arm around. "Well, this is the drawing room. During winter, you'll need to lay a fire at dinner time on weekdays and in the mornings on the weekends, unless I'm out. Dusting once a day. You'll soon find out that soot will be your constant enemy. And clean the carpet in front of the fireplace every day. It gathers most. Your books will tell you how best to approach it. Air the room in the morning, all rooms, in fact. Thorough cleaning once a week." He began to lead her out onto the landing and into what was evidently a dining room. Again, it was wanting in decoration, and the wallpaper was a faded blue that begged for replacement. "This is the dining room. "I break fast at 7:30. Porridge and coffee are all I have, so that shouldn't be hard. Lunch at one, dinner at six. Apart from the table, you can stick to cleaning the room once a week, unless there are guests."

Pippa continued to wring her hands a little here and there, but it didn't seem that it was nervousness that caused it to happen, merely doing it without putting thought into it. As he spoke, she listened intently, hanging onto his every word silently while gazing at his face, particularly at his lips, and she stored the information mentally. She followed his lead into the dining room, her eyes filled with intelligence that indicated he would be in good hands at some point with her. "I will learn quickly enough how to cook. I shall apologize ahead of time for any... bad foods I serve you as I learn. If I can learn six languages, I can learn to cook." She gave a determined nod and planted her hands upon her hips, letting her gaze move about to take in her surroundings. The young miss had confidence despite her seemingly meek nature... To be truthful, not meek at all, but quiet nevertheless.

"Six?" Tristan turned to her and looked at her, standing there with her hands on her hips, and he couldn't help slight amusement showing in his eyes. He added in French: "I shall soon find out that my maid is better educated than I am!"

He didn't mind an educated young lady for a maid, as long as she learned to do the housework as quickly as she promised. It was a trade off, he supposed. He didn't know anyone in town, and while he had worked in the asylum, he had often felt starved of intelligent conversation. He wouldn't mind a maid who was capable of discussing more intelligent topics than the weather.

He realized there were some books he would need to store out of sight though. He hadn't bothered before, since they were in foreign languages, but he didn't want to run the risk of exposing a young girl to material that wasn't appropriate for her.

"Non," she replied in French, "You are a doctor, after all." She actually smiled a real smile. Her eyes warmed and danced with laughter, a far cry as to her situation earlier. Pippa let her hands fall from her hips and she tilted her head whilst regarding him with some curiosity. So the good doctor had a sense of humor, that was good. That helped anyway.

She knew that cleaning wouldn't be the hard part, but cooking would. Cleaning was easy enough to learn, right? She was not ignorant to what a broom was or how to ply it, for she had seen them in use growing up. She had never seen how food was cooked, only ate what was served to her family. If only young ladies were taught such a thing.

"Will more responsibility be added if I prove myself? I'm sure I'll be kept busy, but I am not afraid to work more." She was glad to have something to do now to keep her occupied.

Tristan smiled back at her, but his smile faded a little when she talked of more responsibilities. "I wouldn't underestimate the work. A housemaid's life is a busy one, or so my mother once told me. She was one once, and it kept her busy morning to night... Not to discourage you," he quickly added, realising that he had probably done exactly that. "But there are more rooms," he led her out of the dining room.

"I see," she said as she followed him out of the dining room. She wasn't the least bit slighted by that. Knowing there would be a lot to do kind of put her at ease, really, for she would have something to do to keep her hands busy. She might even start enjoying the work in time. Perhaps in time, he would allow her to grow a garden. It wasn't unseemly for a woman to tend to a garden, was it? That would be a discussion for later, she surmised, training her thoughts back on the matter at hand. Cleaning this house.

Tristan opened another door. "Here's my study," he said. "But it's a terrible mess, so you can leave the room alone unless I ask you to clean it." He merely allowed her to glance inside before closing the door again, hoping that there had not been enough time for her to read the titles of the books he had carelessly left on his desk, titles such as Psychopathia Sexualis and Araxes: Ruf nach Befreiung der Urningsnatur vom Strafgesetz and Forschungen über das Räthsel der mannmännlichen Liebe. He had not expected a well-educated maid, and would make sure the room was well 'organized' once he did ask her to clean.

"This way," he said, and he began to lead her up to the next floor. He opened a door. "This is my bedroom. Kindly bring hot water and a towel up in the morning at seven. Once I breakfast you can air it and make the bed. Please remember to put on a clean apron for making the bed..." Did he tell her about the chamber pot?... Nah, he'd leave it for her to find out that chore from a manual. Even Tristan had shame.