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~Sunrise Sunday September 26th, 1909: light cloud, Beaufort 4 (windspeed ~13 knots); visibility poor, declining


Matt peeled away from a leaden and undreaming sleep with a jolt of alarm, sure he'd slept too long. Turning on his back and taking in a long, guilty breath in preparation to rise, however, he saw that it was not quite dawn. A thin pinch of headache gripped lightly at his temples as though raised up by this feeling of time drawn too long and short at once, and some swelling lingered in his eyelids and sinuses from the night before. Hunger haunted him, and some faint ache along the line of his left shoulder, stiffened overnight. His wall was a wall, his bed, a bed.

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Hetty woke as though squeezed out of sleep by anxious pressure. She found herself bundled tightly in her blanket, sheets and eiderdown, her nose cold. Outside, the sky was starting to lighten, the soundless pulse of their own Light fading in the pinking dawn. She scrunched herself into a warm ball of bedclothes awhile and listened. Nothing moved in her room except herself.

Hall stood stiffly, his full attention on the wall beside him. Just as he had done the night before, he placed his hand on it, running his palm across its smooth surface. Once again, no trace of a door could be found. Satisfied, if still deeply unsettled, he moved to the window and peered out at the morning, allowing his mind a few moments to absorb the sight of it, the picture of a world he recognized.

He washed and dressed, finding an odd comfort in the mundane familiarity of the tasks, but he did not dawdle. It might be for him to prepare breakfast and he did not wish to keep either Miss Dowling or the Captain waiting.

He hurried down, first setting about brewing a fresh pot of tea.

Having learnt that even if Hetty had returned to sleeping in her own room, this new man might also let her in, Hall could hear Pest even before he'd got downstairs.

  *ponk*  *ponk* *ponk*

A little of yesterday's bread and some butter remained, enough to provide a fast-breaker for those in the lighthouse and possibly distract the seagull for a few seconds. The cottage's barely-perceptible tilt did play on Matt's poor sore brain a little, as though going too heavily might capsize the house and send everything rushing into the parlour, but the flags underfoot were sturdy and real.

The sleep she had so desperately needed had not been deep enough to keep dreams (or nightmares) at bay, meaning she wasn't as rested as she wanted to be when she woke up. She lay there, listening and wrapped in the flimsy shield of her blankets. At least she was warm. Her room was suffused with the curious light that only existed on the border of dawn. She could only delay so long.

She didn't hear Pest but that could have meant any number of things. With a groan that faded into a sigh, she disentangled herself and swung her legs over the bed. Not that there was a lot of light to see by but it was enough to show her that it hadn't changed that much if at all from the night before.

Hetty hastily combed her hair and pulled it up and back so it'd be out of the way, scrubbed at her face, and tugged on fresh undergarments and clothes before heading downstairs. So far everything was normal...  That was exactly how she would behave until circumstances proved otherwise.