By the time Julian Foyle and John reached the dining room, the servants had already prepared breakfast.
John took his seat at the long polished table while a maid set the final dishes in place before quietly withdrawing. The spread laid out before him was far more elaborate than he had expected for a morning meal. Plates of buttered toast, sausages, eggs, smoked fish, and fresh fruit were arranged neatly alongside a pot of tea that still steamed gently in the cool morning air.
For a moment, John simply stared at it.
This… is breakfast?
Back in his previous life, a typical morning meal had usually consisted of something far simpler—toast, perhaps a quick cup of coffee before rushing off to work. Even on weekends he could not recall ever sitting down to something quite like this.
He suppressed a small chuckle as he picked up his utensils.
Well… I suppose that's one of the perks of being wealthy.
Still, he reminded himself to proceed carefully. The real John Halsworth had grown up in this world of manners and expectations. Every movement at the table carried a quiet formality that would not have been questioned by anyone accustomed to it.
He tried to imitate what felt natural to the body's lingering instincts, keeping his posture straight and his movements controlled.
Unfortunately, his stomach had other priorities.
Within minutes he found himself wolfing down the food on his plate with far more enthusiasm than he had intended. He did his best to maintain some semblance of decorum, though the effort required a surprising amount of concentration.
Slow down, he reminded himself. Victorian gentleman, remember? Not starving university student.
Across the table, Julian sat with a plate of food before him as well.
But unlike John, he had barely touched it.
The young doctor occasionally lifted his fork and took a small bite, though most of the time he seemed more interested in watching John than eating.
John noticed the glances immediately.
Julian's eyes flicked toward him again and again, studying him with the focused intensity of a physician examining a patient.
Ah… there it is, John thought.
From Julian's perspective, the situation must have seemed utterly impossible.
The night before, John Halsworth had been feverish and barely conscious, suffering from what should have been a dangerous infection. Julian had likely expected to spend the following days monitoring a patient confined to bed.
Instead, he now sat across the table from a man who appeared perfectly healthy—and who was currently demolishing a breakfast meant for two.
John could practically hear the gears turning inside Julian's head as the doctor attempted to rationalize what he was seeing.
He's trying to diagnose a miracle, John thought with mild amusement.
That was unlikely to end well.
Deciding that it would be better to redirect the conversation before Julian's curiosity pushed him into a medical interrogation, John dabbed his mouth with a napkin and spoke casually.
"So," he said, leaning back slightly in his chair, "how has London been treating you lately?"
Julian blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change of topic.
"London?"
"Yes," John replied with a small shrug. "You have been here while I've been away. I imagine you've had more opportunity to observe how things are going."
Julian hesitated for a moment before answering.
"Well… for the most part, things have been relatively quiet."
He paused, as if considering how much to say.
"Although," he continued slowly, "there has been a minor cholera outbreak in one of the poorer districts."
John frowned slightly.
"Cholera?"
Julian nodded.
"Yes. It appears to have originated in one of the overcrowded neighborhoods near the river. Poor sanitation remains a persistent problem in those areas."
He folded his hands together on the table.
"The situation is not severe yet, but if it spreads further it could become quite serious. The city authorities are already attempting to contain it."
John absorbed this information thoughtfully.
Even in his previous life he knew that nineteenth-century cities had struggled with outbreaks of cholera and other diseases due to inadequate sanitation systems.
"Has it caused much disruption?" he asked.
"A little," Julian replied.
"The outbreak has frightened many of the dockworkers. Some of them staged a protest several days ago, demanding that the city address the conditions in those districts."
He gave a small, weary sigh.
"That demonstration forced parts of the docks to shut down temporarily."
John raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds… inconvenient."
"It was," Julian said. "Trade slowed for a short time while the authorities attempted to calm the situation."
John nodded slowly, filing the information away.
Dock activity slowing down could affect shipping schedules—and considering that his family's wealth was connected to overseas trade, such events might be more significant than they first appeared.
Still, what surprised him more was something else.
"I hadn't heard about any of that," he admitted.
Julian looked mildly puzzled.
"Well… you have been away for several months."
"That's true."
John reached for his teacup, taking a thoughtful sip before setting it down again.
Then a small thought occurred to him.
He turned slightly in his chair toward Hawkins, who stood quietly near the wall overseeing the room with the composed attentiveness expected of a butler.
"Hawkins," John said.
"Yes, Master John?"
"Is that the reason my father hasn't come down this morning?"
He gestured lightly toward the empty seat at the head of the table.
"Normally he would be up before I am."
The words had barely left his mouth when the atmosphere in the room changed.
It was subtle at first.
A maid who had been arranging a tray near the sideboard suddenly froze.
Another servant paused mid-step.
Across the table, Julian's expression shifted abruptly.
Even Hawkins—whose professional composure had seemed almost unshakable—allowed a flicker of surprise to cross his face.
The silence that followed felt strangely heavy.
John looked from one face to another, his brow slowly furrowing.
What…?
He had asked what seemed like a simple question.
Yet the reaction around the room suggested that he had said something profoundly unexpected.
For several long seconds, no one spoke.
The servants exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unsure how to respond.
Julian's expression had turned deeply concerned.
And Hawkins…
The butler lowered his gaze slightly, as though carefully choosing his next words.
A quiet unease began to creep into John's mind.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
At last Hawkins spoke.
"Master John…"
His voice was calm, but there was a noticeable hesitation behind it.
"…Do you truly not remember?"