Duvalle nodded silently. His face became a mask of polite understanding.  Before he could react more to Doctor Hutchinson and Reverend Baptiste, something else grabbed his attention. 

"I'll stay, Mr. Duvalle." Liz said quietly from where she was standing off to the side. She did her best to hide the fear she felt but was sure the others would know. Still, even if she was afraid, if she had the ability to keep someone else from suffering as she did she had to help. No matter the cost to her personally.

Duvalle pushed himself away from the table and sighed contentedly. There was nothing like a good meal to break the ice. While there was still an uncertain edge to everyone, they had seemed to come together, briefly during the meal, sharing the experience with relish.

Only Elizabeth and Marco seemed to still be completely reserved. Though he didn't completely understand Marco's frame of mind, his emotions indicated he have been processing a similar shock as Liz.

Duvalle made a mental note to make an appointment with Marco to see about helping him through his troubles. There seemed to be something related to the young man's grandmother's death and funeral that still bothered him. Duvalle hoped he could help.

Breakfast.

Harold led the group deeper into Manor. They retraced their path, back to the foyer, where Harold led them through an archway behind the grand stair case towards the center of the manor. The aromas of cooking food stirred the air, adding to the ambiance. The collection of fine art wasn't limited to the foyer; paintings and sculptures were tastefully placed throughout the manor.

Jack was well into his second tumbler of the excellent whiskey, Bushmill's 1608 anniversary edition, when he noticed the car had slowed to gentle stop. Looking out the window he could see they were on a small wooded country lane. They'd stopped at a gate and what appeared to be a guard was talking to the driver.

A few moments later they were being waved through the open gate, and Jack thought they'd been transported back into time. The car wound through an estate the likes of he'd rarely seen aside from the grounds around the Royal residences. perfectly manicured lawns, gave the grounds an idyllic park like setting. Any minutes he expected to see sheep grazing, or a young lord pelting across the lawn on a horse, hunting hounds milling around the horse's feet.

Tom Morrison checked his watch for a third time as he wove through London traffic. He had a tight schedule, four different pick-ups, through out the city, all within fifteen minutes of each other. He had plotted and driven his course several times over the last few days, to make sure nothing would interrupt the flow of the trip. He had a bonus riding on it. His boss had bet him that the schedule would be impossible to keep, but he'd been able to get it worked out with precise tolerance, even managing to give himself a few minutes, no more than three, at each location to allow for delayed embarkation.