Pippa did not move at first, nor did she answer when he asked his last question. In fact, it didn't even register that he had left and come back, nor that he spoke again. Her attention was now on a vision in the darkest of the corners in her room. "No... nonono.... nonono no..." she rolled to her knees and shuffled back on her rear in horror, not even aware that she sat in her mess. She covered her ears with her hands and started sobbing the most frightened sounding sobs he might have ever heard coming from her. "Please... please... please?" She kept calling out in a ragged voice, "Nono no..."

Then came the sound of that figurine shattering in the corner and the following sound of her thumping run to the corner opposite. She was soon beating a tattoo on the wall with her fists, "Noooooooo!"

Tristan braced himself and moved into the room. "Pippa." He was very concerned but his voice was calm and deep. He crouched down by the bed, took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Pippa. You're here, its me, dr. Wells."

She stared at him blankly, tears brimming wide eyes, pale and shaking in his grip. She said in the smallest most dispondant voice, "He's going to kill my baby... And then me... I love my babe..." she started to wring her hands. "He's standing in the corner... he wants to hurt me. He is leering at me..." Her pupils were pools of deep black at the moment, she was so frightened that she had even wet herself. And then she started having a clear panic episode, her breaths coming in with wrenching movements, her body jerking with the impact of the shuddering. And then the image faded and she only saw Tristan.

Her face crumpled and she started to cry. It seemed the hallucination at least passed. She looked at him with wide eyes, face wet. Her gaze was lucid again.

Tristan looked back over his shoulder, then back at Pippa. It had come to this. The poor child.

"There's nobody there, Pippa. It's only in your mind. There there now," he added as she began to breathe heavily. He wanted to rush downstairs again, to get something to calm her down, but he was afraid to leave her in this state. Nor did he dare to try and bring her down the steep stairs while her mind was deranged.

When her body eased into crying, he reached out for the towel, dipped it into the warm water and dabbed her face with it. "There now. Easy now. You're perfectly safe here." He got up, walked over to the window and opened it, both to get rid of the worst of the smell, and to let the fresh air hit her face. Then he returned to her side. "Can you still see that figure?"

She sobbed in her confusion and gave in to the feeling of soothing water on her face. It calmed her down. She closed her eyes and let herself relax as he moved to open her window, the air hitting her heated face and giving her a much needed peaceful feeling.

When he asked about the man, she shook her head no.

She looked down at herself, seeing the vomit and the rather sizeable wet spot, and she reached into her chest to pull out a fresh nightgown. She dropped it on the bed to keep it out of the mess on the floor. She could not help herself, she grabbed one of her towels and tossed it down on the mixture of body fluids, but she was so tired that she could not manage more.
Pippa shivered after realizing the pee had grown cold against her flesh, and she could not help but to cover her eyes against fresh tears. "I'm tired," she then said so very softly.

He was happy at least that the moment of madness seemed to have passed. But all was not well.

He winced as she threw the towel down into the mess. Then when she said she was tired, he told her: "You cannot stay here. That floor needs to be cleaned. Clean yourself up and put on a clean gown. Then you can lie on the sofa downstairs while the place is being cleaned." There was no room for debate in his voice. If she was unwell in her mind, the best he could do was offer a clear course of action. "I'll wait outside to help you down the stairs." And with that, he left the room, breathing in long breaths of clean vomit free air as soon as the door had closed behind him.

She spent the next ten or so minutes after he left to clean herself up. She looked down at the swell of her belly and said softly, "I have to keep you safe..."

It wasn't long before she came downstairs. The gown was the last one she had that fit. She moved to lie down on the couch with a soft sigh.

Her eyeluds were drooping and she was particularly wilted.

Tristan helped her down on the sofa and then went down to the yard to find a fisherwoman willing clean the attic for some supplementary income. Then he went to gather a few things from his practice and returned to the drawing room.

Pippa looked very ill. He crouched by her side. "You still look poorly. How do you feel, Pippa. Will you get me listen to your heart?"

She only nodded, tired enough she didn't want to speak anymore. The truth was that her fear ate at her, the despair and sadness, the nightmares that plagued her. She was not alright. Her heart was beating a rapid tattoo against her breast and he'd have no problem discerning tachycardia, and her skin was warm enough to be a mild fever.

With a deep sigh, she sort of drifted to a doze, but not a sleep. She would easily wake up to the touch of his hand or the sound of his voice.

He frowned as he listened. He took her wrist and placed his fingers over the vein to compare and look for any irregularities. After half a minute or so, he placed his hand on het forehead. A mild fever at least. High enough to explain the temporary insanity? No.

“Allow me,” he said, and he placed the stethoscope on her belly to listen for the baby’s heartbeat. At least the child seemed alright. The mother was another matter. “Answer me honestly, Pippa. How long have you been feeling unwell?”

He would need someone else to take over Pippa’s work but he couldn’t afford it. He should probably have been nicer to his sister.