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Mere weeks ago, Jenny had found herself with a roof over her head for the first time in years. The generous woman who had taken her in went about her days veiled and cloaked, never showing even an inch of skin to the world. Even in their small room, she took care to hide herself, and she seemed never to sleep, always at a distance that was not only caused by the physical barrier of her clothing.
It came as quite a surprise to Jenny then when she, towards the end of October, returned late from the markets and the pub, to find her madame curled up on the ground, no candles or fires lit.
“Ma’am?” she asked cautiously, trying not to startle her.
When no response came, Jenny quickly set her basket down on the rustic wooden table and crossed over to kneel beside her madame.
Looking her over, Jenny could spot no obvious wounds that might have caused the lady’s sudden collapse, a state Jenny had never seen her in before. Madame Vastra was always poised and carried herself with so much grace, Jenny sometimes secretly thought she might be immortal and untouchable.
Still Madame was clad all in black, the veil concealing her face, the gloves her hands.
Gingerly, Jenny reached for her hand and placed her fingers on Madame’s wrist to find a pulse.
Slow, so slow, was the pumping of blood beneath her fingers, and even through the fabric, her lady seemed dreadfully cold. Whatever ill had befallen her, Jenny had to try and right it.
“We’ve got to get you a doctor,” she muttered to her mistress, if anything hoping it would rouse her.
And rouse her it did. Between laborious breaths, Vastra’s voice came out slurred, carrying so much vulnerability, Jenny’s heart clenched with the pain it caused her. “No… Just warmth,” Vastra eventually managed, and Jenny sprang to her feet immediately to lit a fire.
Soon enough, the flames were licking at the wood, and Jenny had dragged her Madame towards them, as close as she dared move her. From the bed she had torn all the blankets and placed them around her mistress, who still lay unmoving, as though no fire in the world would thaw her icy body.
“Oh ma’am,” Jenny whispered, tears in her eyes, when her Madame’s body still felt no warmer half an hour later. “What can I do to help you? You’re just not warming up!”
Almost imperceptibly, Vastra’s head shifted in her direction, after long seconds finally bumping against Jenny’s knee. “Warmth,” she rasped again, and behind the veil, Jenny thought she saw tired eyes blinking up at her.
Looking down at her body, noticing, perhaps for the first time today how much heat she produced with every second – something she had never felt from her Madame – Jenny tore off her layers one by one, until she was only in her shifts. “Well, ma’am, I hope this isn’t as improper for you as I was always told it were,” she murmured, awkwardly embracing Madame Vastra. Oh, Jenny had shared a bed with many a girl in her time, either to keep warm or for affection or both, but never with a finer lady. Being a maid and all, it was improper and any usual household would have her fired for her impropriety!
Not Madame Vastra, it seemed, for the lady seemed to melt into Jenny’s embrace, seeking out her warmth.
“Thank you… my… Jenny,” her mistress murmured, still tired but not as exhausted. Jenny thought she felt cool lips through coarse fabric caressing her collarbone, but she might just be wishing it.
And yet, as she watched over Madame Vastra sleeping in her arms that night, Jenny’s mind clung tight to the moment, and to Vastra’s tender words of thanks.