An All Soul's Day Visit.

Shaded eyes scanned over the alphabetized list of plant names, over to their symbolic meaning, and then--  when the flora did not signify something too passionate or embarrassingly sentimental--to the price. The doughty middle-aged woman running the florist stall soon grew impatient with the strange man in smoked spectacles who lingered so long without placing an order.

"Right then, sirrah, what sorda tussymuss' you wanna give ye lady? Are ye in love with her for marryin', or d'ye owe an apology? O jus' tryna make a spark, have a little fun?" Her creaky voice took a moment to break through Nigel's deep concentration. The officer was focused on memorizing certain flowers' names, matching them to their rather crudely painted likeness on the stall-board, and remembering the sentimental significance that, apparently, every English female of any good breeding would ascribe to not only the bloom, but even its color.

Nigel looked up, sucking in his cheeks in embarrassment. "Good day, ma'am. What about, admiration? As in, respect, for a colleague, or...a school teacher  as it were?"

The shopkeeper's face fell in disappointment, for the best profits came from young men hoping to unlock their lady's affections with an expensive hyperbolic bouquet. "Ah...yes...I see well, sirrah. P'raps a trusty fern plant, or...here we have some fancy chrysanthemums, although, to be quite honest, the French Catholics put them on graves about now for All Souls Day, so it could be a bit morbid without'cher meanin' it." The proprietress wiped thick hands on her apron, then leaned over the colorful panoply of blossoms.  "Er, let's see 'ere...well, 'ow much coin 'ave ye? I could check the greenhouses if ye need to be so specific with yer sentiments."

"What's this one? Is it a rose? That blooms in November?" Nigel's gloved hand pointed to several branches of dark waxy leaves punctuated by small but very elegant blossoms of a pale shade of fleshy shell pink; their petals spiraling into a central pointed bud. They seemed vaguely familiar, but also quite foreign in their unapologetic beauty.

"Oh!" The florist pulled forth a stem, turning it as if examining a finely balanced sword.  "That's the camellia, it is! Very rare, grows only in the highest mountains of Chiner and Indier.  This pretty flower stands for  admiration, for sure, but its very dear.  Perhaps too dear for you." 

Nigel tilted his head and gave a small smile as his memory now placed the flower in the steep slopes of his birthplace near Darjeeling. He recalled the pale blooms sparkling in the morning fog like stars reluctant to depart with the day.  "The tea plant...its the flowers of the tea plant," he murmured gently, before patting his pocket to feel the scant coins amid the lining.

After some persuasion on Nigel's part, the lady was willing to break off three blooms from a larger stem in order to meet his budget.  Nigel then spent the afternoon roaming the hills just northeast of Manchester, recalling the simpler, native flowers the florist offered and their meaning. He soon  added several stems to supplement the camellia, surrounding the china-pink blooms with fluffy clouds of white heather, which in the language of flowers meant protection. There was also  lavender heather, which was said to imply admiration in solitude. Finally he added a few stems of the herb bay laurel, strength, and a few trailings of ivy, which symbolized faithfulness or loyalty.

A brief stop at the lodge was made to bathe and put on his  covert coat, topping a slim waistcoat over a blouse and ascot all in shades of black-- the same outfit worn a few days ago to accompany the Widow Patterson to the All Hallow's Eve festival in Tameside. Nigel frowned at his improvised tussy-mussy as he tugged on his riding boots, recalling the many dreadful events that had overshadowed what had promised to be the first truly  pleasant evening he'd had in ages.

The lancer was haunted by both the happy and horrific aspects of that day, losing sleep, failing to accomplish much in the way of Murphy's learning. Nigel was heavily distracted by images of shattered goblin masks, the sickly green sorcery of Dr. Holllis, the singed skin of Black Jack--and, more than anything, his recurring daydreams and nightmares of the two personalities he ascribed to the mysteriously powerful woman in their party. Helena, smiling gentle and ever-graceful as her mourning-hued skirts swirled against his  legs in their brief yet happy dance, he bashfully returning the smile despite the sickening sheen of her wedding ring against his person.  This contrasted with Pride Mother, whose temerity against the child-stealing goblins led  ironically to  the unintended  still horrific stabbing of a young boy;  but who also had the mettle to aim her rifle so precisely against the evil warlock-doctor swearing his vile vengeance upon her.

Nigel knew it bothered her greatly-- the injury to the child. And it bothered him greatly-- for who could have known, and then, after-- what could one do? Fight bravely, despite everything, which Helena did, perhaps even saving Nigel as he foolishly, blindly charged an enemy who could have very well destroyed him-- had it not been for Pride Mother's insistent iron hailstorm.

These conflicting emotions of worry and wonder weighed upon Nigel until he could not stand to be smothered anymore. The lieutenant begrudgingly admitted to himself that his turbulent heart and mind were  exacerbated by not only her feminine beauty, but also by her fine talent for combat. Hoping that the widow would not be offended by his sudden acceptance of her vague invitation to "take tea sometime," Nigel set off to the respectable suburb where Mrs. Patterson called home, bouquet of symbolic blossoms clutched tightly in his hand.

Despite the flowers, and the long carriage ride to think things over,Nigel found himself still doubting any chance of the lady finding him to be anything more than a rude intrusion on her day.  As the horses halted, he pushed his sunglasses high on the bridge of his nose and sent the driver off before climbing the short brick stair to the door of a picturesque cottage in Sale. A gloved hand stoutly rapped the doorknocker as the former lancer rocked a bit nervously on his boot-heels.

As Nigel approached up to the front door of the Patterson estate he could spy her through the window cleaning, maybe dusting, some sort of large stand near one of the windows on the front of the house.

Hearing the door knock Helena paused for a moment, curious that she didn't have a package arriving today, and took off her apron and headed to the door. She was dressed in a black dress to signify that she was still in mourning and had her hair up in a small bun since today was cleaning day. There was a small staff that worked the land and kept everything looking proper but today she had given most of the staff off and went about cleaning some of the shelves and nick knacks she had collected in her travels. Heading to the door she took a moment to wipe her hands off on a rag she had been using and dropped it into the apron's front pocket before opening the entrance to her house.

"Hello...how may I-", Helena was cut off by a surprised look on her face seeing Nigel on her door step. "Nigel...what a pleasant surprise.", a smile creeping onto her gentle features. "Please come inside...the house is a bit of a mess, I had the staff take a day, but please come in." Holding the door open Helena stepped aside for Nigel to move into the rather spacious interior.

Nigel accepted her invitation and crossed the threshold, tucking the hat he  borrowed last-minute from Ivan under his arm. He had no idea what to expect, but somehow domestic dusting duties seemed the farthest from his mind, and he was a bit mortified at finding the lady alone-- while he wasn't sure exactly how it worked for a young widow, his training in society's protocols led him to believe this was still somehow very improper. Although he suspected a hasty retreat would be doubly so, Nigel still afforded Helena a chance to politely send him away. 

"Hello, Helena-- oh, what a perfectly charming home! Ahh.I'm....I apologize if this is a bad time, especially with your help on leave. If you prefer me to go, I will walk back to the town centre and find my driver. But I wanted to bring you these-- I just, well, I wanted to thank you for the dance the other night, and also, for Pride Mother..." Nigel paused a moment, desperate to swallow his stammered words and try to make any sense of his intent.

 "I know no harm was ever intended to an innocent child. None of us could have known he wasn't one of those creatures- so, I just wanted you--her--to know, I am grateful for the bravery and compassion shown that night. I know it must still be troubling, on top of Hollis'  attacks...ahm...Well,  I just wanted to see how you were doing, not that I don't think you can't hold your own...oh, cripes-- I'm afraid I sound like quite an idiot, don't I? Well, here you go anyway, and I'm sorry, again, to interrupt your day.." With that, the lieutenant awkwardly offered the cobbled-together bouquet of native and exotic flowers to the mistress of the house, bowing his chin, eyes locked to the ground behind their grey glass rounds. 

 Her smile never faltered although the mention of the unfortunate injury of the young child at her hand did seem to soften her joyful expression around her eyes. She nodded politely at Nigel stammering on about the grisly details of the celebration that happened a few days previous. Seeing the floral arrangement pressed forward though did bring a spark of energy back. Nigel staring at the ground, he missed the change but her voice was that of happiness. 

"These are an absolute delight Nigel. How thoughtful of you." Helena took the flowers from Nigel's hand and stepped back some so that he would be able to come into the house. The door space was clear with only a single shelf that held a fresh cutting of flowers that the grounds keeper had put together two days previous in modest vase. They were a simple spread of local wild flowers, the last bloom of the year given that a chill was beginning to take the air.

"Please come in...I can put on some tea if you wish."

 "Tea would be lovely, thank you, Helena." Free of the floral burden, the  officer straightened up, removing his swordcane from its modified saber sling to steady his left arm that kept the hat pinned tight to his side. He moved a bit further in, turning to glance out the windows and then to examine the objects upon the shelves. 

"It is very pretty out here, away from dingy old Manchester and that dreary Lodge! Mr. Murphy is alright company, I suppose, when he's around-- but I am obviously not his usual type of mate. That, and I'm afraid I've become something of his headmaster now...trying to learn the old boy some reading and writing. I thought I gave him fine incentive, but none of it will come to fruition if he's not around to study and drill, the rascal!"

"These little things  here are all quite interesting, too-- forgive me, for I know I am being very strange and probably very rude, but, we've not exactly had the most normal interactions  the past few weeks-- and I must say, I am very intrigued by you..." Nigel turned away from the souvenirs, pushing his sunglasses up on his head, daring to look at the lady with dark blue eyes that were ringed by permanent purplish rings, marred by tiny white scars.  Nigel suddenly could not call Helena by her proper name or her pseudonym, increasingly unsure of the demarcation between the two in his mind. 

"I hope one day to learn more about you, to understand how to put your kind smile and graceful hand together with the other image you bear so fiercely. I'd like to know...more than what you've already shared with the others-- on how you  learned to fire a rifle with perfect discipline, or to bravely charge into battle without a hint of fear. For while the others may be shocked by such boldness, I admire it greatly! I assure you I'm not saying this because you are a lady-- for such prowess under fire  is rare to find in any person, even seasoned soldiering men. At the risk of speaking of forbidden confidences, I almost suspect that you might have had special military training as an assassin? It seems we all have specific gifts and motivations, and I fear I've fought in too many bloodbaths to ever relish any sort of victory in battle. It weighs heavy on me, but! I am very much honoured to fight alongside you, or Pride Mother, as it were."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry if this is incredibly forward...but as much as I wish I could just walk in here and politely discuss the weather and the social season, I fear I have been ripped from that sort of normalcy since birth-- and now that I've met someone else who knows what is out there, who has faced what I have faced in lands familiar and foreign-- 

 and lived to tell about it--" Nigel's gloomed eyes  flashed as he gave a small smile, and tenderness tempered his voice.

"I don't mean to seem so melancholy, for, indeed, it is rather a relief to finally know I am not alone-- and better yet, to realize  there is someone like you, who will stop at nothing to destroy those evils."

Taking both Nigel's hat as well as the flowers, she hung the former on a rack near the door while heading towards the back of the house while Nigel helped himself into the sitting room. The various items on the three shelves lining the walls of the room seemed to be in their own places. Some of the items seemed to come from Spain while others from France. One of the shelves though had items decidedly from the dark continent. There was some sort of a fetish mask lined with feathers and fur from some sort of beast indigenous to Africa that stood out above the other items...if it weren't for the necklace baring claws from some sort of large predator.

There were also several photos in frames above the mantle place which also bore a crucifix sporting Jesus twisted in the pain of his last moments. Some of the pictures displayed Helena but others had her posed with a gentleman about the same age. A wedding photo made it clear who he was. There was also a picture of Helena holding a baby, alongside the very same man.

Helena had retreated into the kitchen to start making tea for her guest, listening as he talked on in the other room. Starting a fire in the stove she set a kettle to boil with some water she had gotten earlier in the morning. She put some more water into a basin and laid the stems of the flowers into it trying to think of how she would display the arrangement later.

Returning to the sitting room she offered Nigel with a motion a seat on one of the reclining chairs while they waited for the tea.

"I didn't suspect you had come all the way out here for idle chit-chat.", the smile returning to Helena's face as she also took a seat. "It has been something of a whirlwind of events these past few weeks...last week alone had us dealing with a murder conspiracy involving vampires and goblins assaulting poor townsfolk."

"As for me being an assassin or some sort of trained military siren I am sorry to disappoint you. I had never even touched a firearm til necessity declared I do as such. The details of my first hunt are hardly pleasant and don't make for very good tea conversation I am afraid...but the Lord works in mysterious ways and has seen fit to gift me with these talents I never imagined possessing."

Helena seemed almost thoughtful as she relayed this to Nigel. "To be honest I really have not had the chance to speak with anyone about my incursions into the darkness that exists here at home. My home staff knows that I sometimes leave the estate for prolonged trips to the country and any social circles I have in Manchester never really pry that hard into my personal life...being in the state that it is in.", Helena began to play with the golden band on her finger.

"Teaching the youth of the city has been a God send. It takes my mind off of other more visceral activities. Someone has to protect those innocents and others like them from the monsters that inhabit the dark alleys and in the shrouded woods."

Turning the conversation away from herself she perked up her smile and engaged Nigel, not shying away from what must have been a serious trauma for him, letting her eyes meet his. "Tell me Nigel, where did you gain your abilities? Please don't tell me that her Majesty is giving such talents as being able to perceive that which others might miss as gifts to her most courageous of soldiers these days..."

Nigel propped his swordcane against the chair as he settled into the deep cushions, and a quiet calm seemed to soften his entire demeanor as he listened intently to Helena, his sapphire-sparked eyes tracing over her hands as she touched her ring. He  then glanced to  the  photographs and crucifix  before meeting her eyes again. For the first time that afternoon, it seemed the young officer had truly let down whatever guard had previously only served to rattle his own nerves, and as she spoke, he regarded her with an expression that was at once sympathetic and curious. However, his response came with words that were strange, traitorous even-- yet in context of their recent nocturnal missions, perhaps not completely mad.

"Ah Helena, I am hardly disappointed, for your fighting skill is far greater than mine-- and for it to be born of necessity and blessed by your faith in God is far nobler than the crude training of a blind warrior of the Queen,  marching to the darkest corners of the earth for who knows what reason.  For me, it seems the only glory on the battlefield is won by Death's rusted, indiscriminate scythe-- and yet we fight on, even when the  animals have turned against us, the native allies flee from us, and even Death tries to stop the Empire's  senseless siege upon the world."

The lieutenant paused to fetch the tea, leaning over to pour Helena's share, his palms trembling slightly as he lifted the delicate saucer and cup to her hands. "I don't know if it is Her Majesty's reward for me or not, for since I was a child  I had certain weird abilities with what my mind perceives-- or what it can make others perceive. I'm not sure why the military didn't just execute me, as they did my commanding officers who failed during the massacres at Islandwana, Rorke's Drift, Hlobane...then fluff up some propaganda pinned by Victoria's Crosses to hide the disgraceful loss of men. But  the military had other plans...or maybe the Cabal...or even the Rippers...who knows; I daresay I suspect they are all the same!"

Placing his teacup down, Nigel folded his hands into each other, looking at his hostess with a sudden fragility. " I confess, Helena--this is rather shocking, but its not like I have any reputation left to uphold. I woke up one day in an asylum for madmen in northern Ireland, after the Tsavo mission,  with these glowing eyes that made the twilight world come alive. Months had gone by apparently with me strapped to a bed.  I'd lost all my strength, could barely wield a spoon or manage the stairs, much less a sabre or a horse. Some of it was due to a wound I suffered in Uganda festering with  preternatural venom; some of it was a bad reaction to my 'enhancement.'   When I came to, I remember having a violent outburst-- much worse than my bitter words at Sir Hood and Blackjack recently--more like the rage of an animal about to be slaughtered.     My father was there-- and soon after disowned me.  I was told my commission with the  Lancers was revoked; that I would be assigned to a covert unit to fight what apparently I had the gift to see, and the potential power to conquer. I didn't understand, and no one explained-- and then I received that summoning from whomever Our Generous Host is."

" I don't know what the asylum doctors did exactly, but they must have thought sticking their silver knives through my eye-sockets would make me forget how I saw lions with the bodies of monstrous men in that awful jungle; that I fought red-eyed demons under a black sun; then bashed the skulls of skeletal soldiers in flames--  forced to desecrate the dead  as the Zulu rightly did. I had to do it--! Give a coup de grace to our fallen redcoats rising again and again to attack us. Whatever the surgery was meant to do, it only made me all the more certain of what I had seen. 

"But despite the horrors I have seen, and see, I cannot fathom what you have gone through, Helena!  I don't know what it is to love another person, or one's own child, much less to lose that beloved so cruelly.  When you told us of your loss that first night, my heart broke-- not because of polite pity, not with indignant rage, but a genuine horror at your pain. I felt defeated at  how futile my compassion was.  I wanted to understand, but at that moment, I realized-- I could never understand. I couldn't help or  comfort you in any meaningful way:  I can only keep others from suffering the same grief." Nigel leaned forward, daring to place his hand, light as a shadow, upon Helena's wrist as he looked away, shameful of his long discourse. 

 "So yes, I can see as a were-lion sees in the dark.  But at what cost?  Oh Helena, please be careful should you wish to experiment with any of these monstrous components our lab has collected! You see,  I cannot take off a mask at the end of the day and take comfort in looking fondly upon friends,  or any sweet children: for they will only see that I am an abomination!  And now, I fear, you do too. I am so sorry, but no one seems very willing to share any truths with us-- and when you have proven over and over again you will selflessly protect me, I feel I can best protect you by being utterly honest.... even if it means you are loathe to ever dance with me again."

~~ 

 Helena regarded Nigel carefully as he spoke. She thought fondly of all her lodge-mates but she was careful about how she let herself regard them. As he continued to talk of lions and experiments in dark basements she listened intently. Watching as he drank the tea and then moved his hand over her wrist her expression cooled a bit and she considered her next words.

"Lieutenant...you mistake my feelings over this whole affair. I have grieved and suffered through much at the hands of the darkness that clings to our very existence but now I have purpose. My wrath is to be visited against the very enemies of His light each night we head into the fray. I feel no sadness for these outings. They do remind me of my beloved and our child but I know they are in a better place than this land we call our lives. I do this not for any sort of glory, but more a duty to protect others from the rage that grips my very soul."

Clearing her throat and sitting back from Nigel,  she didn't want to appear ungrateful or even rude to this man's plight. Nigel was indeed part of her pack now and she needed to protect him as she protected the others: from both the monsters they fought as well as themselves.

"What has happened in our pasts cannot be unmade. Truly God has given us a path and we now hoist forward His light towards those shadows. We shall lay them bare and deliver unto them a fierce righteousness that only death will allow them to escape." Helena's eyes flared with a strength that Nigel had seen in Pride Mother's fighting prowess. Pride Mother and Helena were one and the same of course...though her polite nature in public may have confused the party previously.

"As for indulging in the materials we have taken as trophies from the sinister elements of our world...I will make my own decision in using them later. If one of us was to falter though...and give into base desires of augmentation for power and not for sacrifice I too shall deliver them to the Lord for judgement." Helena's face had grown stern and her smile had retreated as the conversation had turned. She caught herself in the moment and again cleared her throat while taking up her own cup of tea. She sipped gingerly before returning the cup to the table.

"I know that you hadn't come all the way out here for mild pleasantries but it seems I have killed the mood. Especially after you brought me flowers. I just need you to know that I bring my prowess to our group not as a means of vengeance against those that took my husband and son from me. Those beasts are already laid to waste and destroyed. I do this for Him and to deliver the innocent from any other creature's grasp. If you respect my abilities then do not look at my fighting as a way to combat my own sadness. I too have laid that to waste as I did the monsters who resided in Tsavo."

Relaxing into the chair some...Helena too grew curious. "You mentioned some sort of Cabal...of men who would have set these things upon us...what do you know about them?"

 

The fervent words of the godly woman gave Nigel pause, and as she withdrew from his bold touch,  he blushed and straightened himself in his own space.  He regarded her attentively as she spoke of her paladin-like calling and her willingness to "deliver unto judgment" anyone who might run afoul of her interpretation of what was being used for personal glory rather than "sacrifice.". Nigel now qualmed at his recent frank admissions. He recalled her rage at the witches of Wigam's Woods, her dislike of the Hallow's Eve masks she called pagan, her focused yet relentless battle tactics. He remembered how how many of his former troops clung to their religion when faced with impossibly brutal  circumstances, giving miraculous strength to the meek, and divine guiding light to the lost in even the most desolate darkness. 

Merely days ago,this woman was adamant about delivering the lovely Miriam to her maker-- but then Pride Mother also readily attacked the small mob that had come with the same intention. And then there was the unfortunate stabbing of the boy. Why did God not stay her rapier to spare the innocent? Of course, the child didn't die, so perhaps He did intervene.  Either way, Nigel truly believed that Pride Mother could never have known it was but a mortal child beneath the sorcerer's deceptive mirage.   

"I must apologize, Helena-- I am so poorly spoken, and it is I who have brought this unpleasantness, not you! I did not mean to claim to know or  judge your  feelings or motivations, which are certainly sacred to the memory of your family--and-- I surely know,  guided by your great faith. It pains me how  I can never fathom your rage, but, if even a small thing-- such as a walk in the evening  or simple flowers from the hillside-- offers you a moment's peace, then I am obliged to you, my lady.  But I fear I have done more harm than good-- hardly my intention!

"Please know, we do have the same objective: protect the innocent,  destroy the unnatural evil besieging our land, and save the monsters from their cruel existence, even if such merciful release can only be bought by their slaughter. But we must take care, because, what of the monsters who are merely creatures of God captured by the  powers of evil against their will, such as those poor corpse-slaves of Spinner? And what of good men who inadvertently become monsters when the burden of this Rippertech becomes too great for their simple mortal minds to bear? Is forgiveness too forgone?"

With a heavy heart, Nigel realized that he mustn't speak any further to Helena of the qualities that made him an aberration from mundane men; and also gave him a certain strange similarity to nefarious madmen like Dr. Hollis. The lieutenant couldn't bear to tell the young woman that he had tried to use one of Hollis' same powers on her, to deflect  the evil man's attacks (especially since Pride Mother still seemed to flounder, despite the  benevolent unearthly shield Nigel hoped to construct about her person). He knew it  was impossible to explain how he was sure he had succeeded in diminishing the Romanian vampire's very will to live -- especially without implying that he could, in theory, use it against his mortal allies.  

After a brooding pause, the officer twisted his fingers in his lap, deeply unhappy that his selfish speech had so darkened  his hostess' demeanor. He wished to leave, although he felt he owed her the kindness of an answer to her query.  "The Cabal? I know nothing other than what Blackjack and Sir Hood have divulged, and perhaps my own personal conspiracy theories stemming from my father's bizarre secret clubs in London and their sinister string-pullings.  I don't know what to make of our senior lodge members with their half-told tales of Prospero and Hollis, plus the Oldham split and and this Black Fist business...it seems there are as  many factions in this strange fight with the supernatural  as there are religions fishing for souls, or suicidal armies hoping to conquer the same forsaken stretch of Afghanistan that has been contested as long as man has walked this earth."

The former lancer's eyes glimmered not with their strange metallic-white sheen, but with saltwater as lifted his heavy gaze from Helena to stare again at the effigy of the tortured Christ above the mantle. For the lieutenant, the dead son of god was but a damning reminder of his own life's more limited destiny. There could be no ultimate salvation without ultimate sacrifice. And for mortal men--especially those corrupted by inhuman gifts-- salvation was not assured. 

Nigel now addressed the widow with a voice that was abrupt, yet more demure than disconsolate.   "I should go, Helena, before I do or say anything else to bring strife into your home... but I have learned much just in this short time, and I think it is good for us to talk, so that we may better look out for one another and help each other in our task."

 Helena listened to Nigel as he continued. Perhaps speaking with Lord Hood might help her understand a little better the machinations of men seeking to control monsters. She nodded when Nigel spoke of leaving. "I am sorry that the conversation turned sour so quickly. Again I don't believe this is very good tea talk." Helena stood and moved to the door to retrieve Nigel's hat for him.

"I will have to find a place to put the lovely flowers you brought. Maybe a place that gets sunlight...to help further brighten the room." Handing Nigel his hat her smile had returned. "I do enjoy conversing about out dark business if only to allow me someone to speak with on it. The staff here at home doesn't need me prattling on about slaying creatures that go bump in the night."

"Do let me know about the progress you are making with Mr. Murphy as well. He is a simple man but I feel that if he were granted the same opportunities as we were given when we were young he could shape up to be a proper gentleman."

Standing to take his leave, Nigel was careful to avoid the widow's left hand as she returned the hat he'd borrowed. He smiled as she spoke of sunlight, nodding.  "Please, don't apologize for anything, Helena-- for as you said, even though our conversation was a rather unhappy one, I think it is because we've been thrown into this flim-flam all pell-mell and we are just trying to make sense of the senseless. But you have certainly lifted some of the heavy thoughts that have bedraggled my heart, and I  cannot tell you how much I appreciate the hospitality of your sweet home and a good cup of tea. Please don't think I have any untoward intentions-- I studied the flowers, for example--  I wanted to convey my respect and admiration for you, and try to leave you with something beautiful, rather just  my gloomy words."

Pushing his sunglasses back down before departing, the lieutenant gave a small grin at the mention of Murphy. "I fear he's more a gentleman than I, good Helena-- despite his pugilist exterior and simple ways, there's truly a golden heart in him, one that needs more than anything to be able to put his thoughts and feelings into words, and also, to read the words of someone in India who apparently means the world to him. Its those sort of bonds - faith, love, family, friendship-- that keep us in the fight. Love conquers all, they say. But yes,  if you would like, I can pack a hamper and maybe soon we can have a picnic? I think it'd be good for both of us to relax some and take in the autumn splendor before it grows too cold and dreary." 

Nigel gave one last smile, tipping his hat with a small bow as he leaned on his swordcane.  "Thank you, Helena-- and good evening to you. May God keep you safe."