Lilian: “You shouldn’t be up and about when you’re so ill.”
Tristan: “What…?”
Lilian: “You heard me perfectly well. You need to get some rest! You could catch your death wandering around in your state. You gave your father and I a bad enough scare last night, I’d prefer it if we avoided another.”

In a flash of anger, Tristan had crossed the space between them, stopping just short of the woman.

Tristan: “I don’t know who you are or what you’re trying to do, but I won’t stand for this.”
Lilian: “I don’t understand.”
Tristan: “My mother is dead, and has been for a very long time.”
Lilian: “You must still be feverish. You were so ill when you came in last night... you really shouldn’t push yourself so hard. Sit down and I’ll have the help get you some tea started while I find you a blanket.”

Tristan felt a fresh surge of confusion as the woman turned her attention to Emily, who seemed frozen in place.

Lilian: “Miss?”
Emily: “What’s going on?”
Tristan: “That’s not ‘the help’, that’s my girlfriend.”

A series of emotions played quickly across Lilian’s face, starting with shock. The shock was quickly followed by moderate confusion and what Tristan thought must have been a mix of pity and embarrassment before settling back into a calm and collected neutrality.

Lilian: “I’m very sorry. I assumed because of her clothes…”
Tristan: “Stop this. Now.”

Without warning, Tristan suddenly found himself pushed firmly down on the couch.

Lilian: “I never did have any problems with you unless you were sick, then you just become the most ill-tempered child I’ve ever been around. Even at twenty-four years old - a grown man! - you’re fighting me.”
Tristan: “I’m not sick!”
Lilian: “You see how he is? You were at death’s door a few hours ago! How can you say you’re not sick?”

Tristan fought against the onslaught of emotions each struggling against one another, with confusion ultimately winning out. The woman in front of him was, for all intents and purposes, his mother. She was no ghost, that much he could tell from the firmness of her grasp on his arms and the sound of her heart beating beneath the taffeta of her dress as she sat down in the chair next to the couch.

Tristan: “Mum, what’s the last thing you remember happening before we came in just now?”
Lilian: “I came in here to sit by the fire.”
Tristan: “Where’s everyone else?”

A flicker of uncertainty quickly passed over Lilian’s face.

Lilian: “Your siblings are off at a séance.”
Tristan: “A séance? Eva and Frances both?”
Lilian: “It was Eva’s idea!”
Tristan: “And you stayed home because—“
Lilian: “Because someone had to look after you. Are you sure you’re not still running a fever?”
Tristan: “Positive.”

Lilian looked over at Emily, who was standing pale and quiet by the piano.

Lilian: “He was so feverish when he came in we weren’t even sure he would make it through the night.”
Emily: “You must have been terrified.”
Lilian: “More than you can imagine, but we can’t let our fears keep us from doing what we have to do. There’s time for emotions afterward. I just don’t know what I’d do if I lost one of my children…”

Tristan felt as though he’d been physically punched in the gut, and was grateful he was sitting down as he was sure his legs wouldn’t have been able to hold him up very well.

Lilian: “Tristan, are you sure you’re feeling all right? You’ve just gone frighteningly pale!”
Tristan: “I’m fine, you really don’t have to worry anymore.”

Emily: “Tristan, can I talk to you alone?”

Emily’s voice was soft, hardly above a whisper, and trembled ever so slightly. Tristan gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage, which he couldn’t help feel was somewhat lacking, before turning his attention back to his mother once more.

Tristan: “Can you excuse us for just a few minutes?”
Lilian: “Of course.”

He followed Emily quietly into the dining room, thankful to be out of Lilian’s presence. He’d begun to feel as though he were trying to function while being submerged in several feet of water.

Emily: “What on earth is going on here?”
Tristan: “Your guess is as good as mine. That woman out there is, as far as I can tell, my mother.”
Emily: “But your mom--“
Tristan: “Has been dead for over a century, yes, I’m very well aware.”
Emily: “Are you sure it’s really her?”
Tristan: “I’d dismiss it outright if it hadn’t been for all the shenanigans and goings on the last few years. She certainly looks exactly how I remember, hell she even smells the same.”
Emily: “Maybe there was a tear in the space-time continuum and your mom got thrown into our time.”
Tristan: “I wonder. It’s not really unheard of. The only thing…”

Tristan paused, furrowing his brow in thought.

Emily: “What is it?”
Tristan: “She doesn’t seem at all shocked by any of it. Our hair and clothes, the electric lights, the flat screen television hanging in front of her face; it just doesn’t make sense! It’s like she’s not really seeing her surroundings.”
Emily: “Not to mention she thought I was your maid.”
Tristan: “Try not to take it personally.”
Emily: “I’ll try.”

Tristan: “Also, it seems a bit strange, and sort of a funny thing to notice, all things considered, but her speech patterns aren’t quite the way I remember them being.”
Emily: “Really? She sounds exactly how I'd expect her to sound, to be honest. It has been a long time since you heard her talk.”
Tristan: “It’s very odd the way she’s talking, how she’s phrasing things. My mother was a proper Victorian woman, only now she sounds more like a proper modern woman. Truth be told, it’s a little unsettling.”

Emily: “So what are we going to do with her?”
Tristan: “Hell if I know; I can’t bring her with us to the Xenon!”
Emily: “That probably wouldn’t go over very well. Do you think she’d be OK here on her own? Do you trust her to stay here on her own?”
Tristan: “If that really is my mother, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”
Emily: “How sure are you?”

Tristan glanced quickly in the direction of the living room, then just as quickly at his watch. He could afford to run a few minutes late, but that was about it.

Tristan: “Sure enough.”