Oh! Her insanity: true music to his ears.

Zechariah managed a surprised look, and cast a concerned frown in the direction of the noise. Then, a shadow of actual doubt crossed his face. He had thought his excuse out, certainly. How hard was it to get eggs?

More involved than he thought, apparently.

“I … do not.”

"Oh..." Jenny looked rather lost for a moment. "Well... there might be a damaged basket in t' stables I can give ye. One moment, please." And she left the scullery.

This was Zechariah’s chance for a daring adventure!

Instead, he tried to sate himself by nosily taking inventory of the room from where he was standing.

The scullery was a normal skullery, with a copper, a sink, and items such as tubs, brooms, and baskets. The door to the kitchen behind it was open. A bowl and some foods lay on the table where the maid had been preparing food before she was interrupted. There was little that was particular about the rooms.

"There we go," said Jenny as she reentered the kitchen with a small basket. "There's a hole in it, but if ye put a handkerchief on the bottom, it should serve ye until ye get 'ome, ser. 'ow many eggs did ye say ye want?"

He eyed the window, letting in the smell of … barnyard. Ew, barnyard.

Zechariah was just starting to reach for the window when the blonde was back, and he promptly whirled to face her and not look like he was meddling.

He never would have bothered look innocent had he not come here for the explicit purpose of meddling.

“I will need,” he started, dragging out the last word as he eyeballed the number of eggs in said basket, “about two dozen more.”

He drew a handkerchief out, though passed it off to her rather than figuring it out himself.

“How much do I owe you, miss?”

Jenny took the handkerchief put it on he bottom of the basket and started stacking eggs around the sides first. "More?" That sounded eggcesive.

"It's half a bob per dozen. One moment, ser. I'll fetch more from the larder." She went into the kitchen and opened the larder, leaving Zech to suffer barnyard odor for longer.

Tobias was rather confused as to why there should be a carriage here. Those he knew in town would walk or drive their own farm carts, less fancy than this. Did Alice have a visitor? But surely no one she knew would be able to pay for it. He nodded at the driver.

Jimmy jumped down and opened the gate, and with all the bumping and creaking of an old cart, Tobias drove into the yard.

Oh, gross. Did a cow just fart directly into the window? It was time to take his eggs and go-…

Zechariah’s head raised a fraction of an inch at the sound of an incoming cart.

“You know what, fill another basket.”

He wanted to know all about Simon’s Alice’s abominable life.

"We don't -," began Jenny, but just then, Tobias appeared at the door. He was dressed simply and wore a flat cap like many of the working class men in Whitby would.

"Hello," he said in a way that was more a question than a greeting. What was a gentleman doing in the scullery talking to the maid?

Zechariah, on the other hand, was the picturesque definition of fop. Particularly: one of those fops who led working class men ‘astray’.

“Good day,” Zechariah answered brightly, able to ignore his own nose long enough to picture Alice in an asylum. “Is this where all sales take place here?”