Jenny: Unwell

Brute! The Guttersnipe shook her head and refused to acknowledge his little cunning smile, though she knew it was a good joke and that by flaring into a temper she was making the joke taste all the better in his mouth. She dismissed him with an imperial wave of her hand and, picking up her skirt, moved to fetch the tall green glasses for supper. The candlelight danced and flickered across the cut faces of the vessels, turning the rich warm wine to god's-blood crimson, flecked with living gold. It looked warm, but was cold to her touch. Occupied with the wild colours and plays of light as she filled each glass, she did not notice Ambrosius approach until he turned her head with a touch on her shoulder.

"It looks as though your candle is going out," he murmured, and inclined his head to the end of the table.

Domitia sat in a chair, tensed and pale, head in her arms. The moments of her fits rushed into the Guttersnipe's mind, the thrashing and white eyes, like a rabbit in a wire, being choked out of life. She pulled her hand from the glass violently, afraid; faster than lightning Ambrosius caught the glass before it could spill. "Oh - ! I'm sorry."

"That's fine," he assured her. "Go see to the girl. She looks very unwell."

She picked up her skirts and rushed across the room, bending down with an arm about Domitia's shoulders. "What's wrong?" she asked, trying to see the girl's face. "Are you going to have a fit?"