It's not a perfect plan (but it's the one we've got)

by Rupzydaisy

Spin off from The Duty of an Elder Son. "So Eliza left her life behind her with every chug of the train. She leaves her city and the train runs on through the countryside and she lives in the moment, because the past pulls away from her like a shadow peeling off, and her future looks like the great black maw of a beast she never wants to confront." Fix-it ending, human AU, spoilers

Author's note:

This is a spin-off of The Duty of an Elder Son, written by Reapergal08: ""Lovino Vargas knew a lot about duty." His Grandfather's swollen empire puts all of his family in danger, the other gangs are massing, the police are on their tails and Lovino is given a bodyguard in one Antonio Carriedo. 1920s Mafia AU fic. Human Names. All characters play vital roles. Some pairings later on. M for lang/violence throughout."

This fic takes place in the same verse, after Chapter 40 'A Little Cloak and Dagger', and branches off from there with a handful of minor characters. You may not understand this fic without reading The Duty of an Elder Son first. This fic also contains spoilers for future chapters at the time of publishing this, so please be warned!

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It's not a perfect plan (but it's the one we've got)

(Part 1)

William slotted her suitcase and travel case neatly in the alcove above her head, and took another glance out of the narrow gap between the worn velvet curtains of the train carriage before tugging them shit.

"It'll not be long now." He told her after checking his watch, his voice low and anxious. "As long as that Vargas boy keeps his word."

Eliza had said nothing since they had stepped onto the train, but at this the shallow lines around her eyes tightened and she looked up at William with a greater sense of reassurance than he currently possessed. "Lovino promised." Then she looked down at her tightly clasped hands, "So he'll bring your nephew here."

With a long exhale, she released her hands and lay them on her lap to cover the small stain from the soapy laundry water she had spilled that morning, turning that patch of fabric a dark navy blue.

"I guess you've known him longer." William conceded with a grim expression and drew back the corner of the curtain again. She noted that if there was more space in the compartment, he would pace to keep his nerves in check. Instead he rocked back on his heels and brushed the grey tweed of his suit to get rid of imaginary dust.

Eliza took another deep breath, willing herself to stay calm despite the whirlwind of the morning and the way her life continued to splinter under fate's heavy and merciless hands. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest. Somewhere deep down and distant, the way it had been since Roderich had not returned. Even the hurried explanations of the morning had faded to a garbled churn of words. The only thing that lingered was the desperate pleas for trust. And now she sat waiting for one more passenger to join them. The man's nephew that Roma Vargas had kidnapped. Eliza reached up to draw her coat tighter around her, the very thought of the businessman dragging children from their homes and families turned her blood cold. Once she had been told that, her own fear had gripped her, and any lasting notions of loyalty to the house she had worked in had slipped away without protest. She had only one responsibility now, and that was all that mattered.

She glanced again at the drawn curtains that shielded them from the watchful eyes in the bustling train stations. It was there that William had explained some things to her. She had tried to concentrate. But the surprise of him holding her husband's suitcase, of this escape from beneath Roma Vargas' nose kept throwing her thoughts into disarray. Her eyes wandered over the other patrons, and twice she saw neatly slicked back blond hair that made her heart judder with the fear that Victor would step forward to lead her back to the house. She listened as William explained that Lovino and Feliciano had argued that she would be escaping with him and his nephew. They had waited in the small coffee shop opposite the station, letting their drinks cool until the final minutes to board the train, and now the long, loud whistle signalled the few stragglers to clamber into their carriages.

William took another peek out, scanned his eyes over the crowds and stilled. "They're here." Eliza's hands gripped her dress skirt and she nodded. "I'll go and get Peter." He told her and moved away from the curtain, leaving it half open, and disappeared down the corridor.

It had taken Roderich nearly eight months to save up enough for two third class tickets. But she now had a second-class ticket towards a small port on the other side of the country. It meant that it would be harder for Roma to catch them leaving the city. He would be expecting the boy and his father. Not another man, a woman and a child in their own compartment that had curtains to hide them. It also meant a more comfortable journey. There were two long benches with plump cushioned backs and seats, along with a grey carpet and beautiful light-coloured wood varnished to a high sheen. The centre panels on either wall of the compartment was decorated with a floral engraving, small flowers peppered a wreath with curling vines and leaves encasing a glossy bird that reminded her of a crow. She wondered how many people would it take to polish all the compartments in their carriage. Even the frosted light fixture was fitted with mock gold fittings. These were luxuries she was accustomed to taking care of, buffing to a shine, tidying and dusting them without leaving smudge marks or fingerprints. She was unsure of herself now her ticket meant her to enjoy them.

She could hear them before they entered, the padding of the dark blue carpet softened their hurried footsteps. The policeman's brother, had introduced himself in his odd accent as "William Kirkland. Police detective at Scotland Yard." He had explained very little as he escorted her from the market place, lifting out the half-filled wicker shopping basket from her hands and replacing it with her smaller travel bag. As he steered her away from the crowds haggling over prices, he picked up two suitcases, one was his clearly own, battered with use. The other was Roderich's, and she knew her clothes shifted loosely inside, barely filling the space within. He didn't explain how he had the suitcase, and for a long while her eyes kept flicking back as the handle squeaked softly in this new stranger's grip.

In the quiet nights, after they had both finished their work for the day, and Mr Vargas hadn't required evening entertainment or someone to clear up after him, they would take the remnants of the dessert down to their rooms and allowed themselves to whisper words of hope about the future. Roderich would paint wonderful descriptions of what kind of house they would live in, small but in a friendly neighbourhood with a beautiful garden of flowers and she would listen to the story and smile. It was difficult to imagine a whole house, and the way the doors and rooms would look. But she could feel glimpses of that future, where the three of them would be able to live happily.

The door rattled as it rolled open and the boy made it into the carriage without much more than a sniffle, but upon seeing his father still outside on the platform, broke down into sobs. His uncle hoisted him onto his lap, and let him lean over the small table to speak to Arthur out of the window. Eliza watched the haggard looking policeman hold together the last of his shredded nerves and try to comfort his son with small promises of distant reunions. But it was Lovino who caught her eye, standing behind the policeman.

He was still pale. His forehead and cheeks were covered in a sickly pearl sheen of sweat. He swayed on the spot a little and refused to meet her eyes for longer than a second or two. She stared back at the last vestige of family and comfort she had known in her city. She had worked for the Vargas family since she had been old enough to seek out employment. Taken in by the busy businessman who needed some order within his house with two growing boys without a mother or father who had judged her headstrong enough to deal with them. Lovino had been older and restrained around the house his grandfather's presence envelopes while his younger brother enjoyed cheerfully wrapping her around his little fingers for little meaningless concessions, extra sweets and avoiding his homework.

Now their fates left them in this position. She watched the boy she had helped raise step forward in the final moments and glance down to compose himself, while Peter was drawn back into his seat and consoled by his uncle.

Lovino reached out his hand, and then seemed to think twice about it and rested it on the window frame, "Eliza, you'll be safe. I promise, and so has the policeman's brother. He'll look after you, and Peter. You'll be far away from the city, and my grandfather."

The corners of his mouth tugged upwards in some semblance of a smile. "Far away enough to be safe." His eyes flicked from side to side, and then rested somewhere between her left ear and shoulder.

It was a look that rarely existed in the Vargas household, trained out of the two boys while they were young, from a man who believed that his will would be enough to bend the world and all its rules within it. It was guilt that was painted across Lovino's face in a way that made her ill to just look at him. It wasn't right to see the young man looking so desperate, clutching onto the window frame.

"Do you hear me? You'll be far away from this city, and you'll be safe Eliza." He repeated, looking for her response, to see that she understood him. But it was difficult for her to say anything. It was like he wanted her to trust him. Desperate for it. Yet it struck her that this was the most he had said to her since Roderich had gone, since he had fell sick, and he still couldn't bear to look her in the eye.

It was hard for her to reconcile the boy she had known for the better part of her life with the figure of the broken young man before her. The last man who had seen her husband, who knew the reason why Roderich could never come home. Eliza heard the final whistle of the train sound out, and puffy clouds of steam drifted across the platform, enveloping everything and everyone in a heavy fog. Lovino's eyes were searching for something that she couldn't give to him, not without a truth his soul he couldn't bear to say to her. This was the last time they would see each other, and this dance around the truth was all they could do.

She felt herself lost within the fog, that it could erase the past and the future, with the next puff of steam from the train clouding over the present so that everything was white, clean and unwritten. Detached from herself, she heard her voice speak softly, "Goodbye Lovino."

She watched herself reach out a little to bridge the gap and pressed her cold fingers against his; and then drew back as the train began to roll forwards. The two men turned smaller and smaller as the train left the platform. She turned forward and watched as William held the little blond boy tight in his arms and repeated the promises his brother had made to his son.

She waited until the boy had exhausted himself, tear streaks dried on his dirty face, his sleeping body curled up to rest on his uncle's lap. "We'll never come back here, will we?" She asked, knowing the answer already.

William shook his head and they spent the rest of the afternoon in silence watching the city slide behind them and the countryside roll out across the horizon. As they passed through vast fields near small towns, works downed their tools to watch and wave, and children gave chase for a few hundred yards.

So Eliza left her life behind her with every chug of the train. She leaves her city and the train runs on through the countryside and she lives in the moment, because the past pulls away from her like a shadow peeling off, and her future looks like the great black maw of a beast she never wants to confront. It terrifies her, everything she has ever know dropping further and further back, but she feels her strength getting sapped by the constant travelling. Her only company was a strange man, and a child, neither of them would understand her fears, let alone have the inclination to listen.

Despite their unfamiliarity with each other, over the next few weeks the three of them fell into a pattern established on that first night. William would do his best to distract Peter from the fact that the boy was leaving his life behind with every puff of steam emitted from the train. Eliza sat stiffly in the silence they created for her. The boy was happily willing to talk and fill up their carriage with stories of nonsense and never-ending questions. Eliza quickly became accustomed to their presence, like other regulars at the market, and settled her thoughts in the gap between two breaths; held it there so it was detached from her, her old life and whatever the future held, and watched the landscape float by.

They had left her to her own devices on the first evening after Peter had slept off his overwhelming day of being kidnapped and re-kidnapped again. William felt that they were disturbing Eliza, who had closed her eyes soon after the sun had been dragged under the horizon, leaving flat plains of black under the night sky. He had pointed towards the resting lady, put a finger over his lips and then motioned for Peter to follow him out of the compartment. It became easy to distract the boy from their new surroundings, and the two went on to explore the train from top to bottom. Since Peter decided that he wanted to go to one end of the train, they had to wander into the packed third-class carriages. The hubbub of people enjoying their travels, the card games spread out on table tops, the sound of a fiddle, the jaunty tune pulled forth to entertain fellow passengers from the nimble fingers of a young man, had all cheered up Peter a little more than expected.

His tentative smile, such a change from the inconsolable sobs of the afternoon, had caught the sympathetic eyes of a pair of teenage sisters dressed in heavy duty travelling dresses and their mother. The older woman pressed a boiled sweet into his hand and all three of them were rewarded with a smile that reached his eyes, even if it was for a brief moment.

William had let out a little sigh at that and felt a fraction of the stress winched across his shoulders unwind. He had told Arthur that the lad was young, that he would be able to bounce back from this entire mess they had found themselves in. He hadn't had believed a single word coming out of his own mouth, yet all the while hoping that his shattered brother would. And now for the first time since he told his brother those lies, he thought this journey might not be the struggle he had feared.

After a short while exploring the length of the train, Peter had been quick to complain about his hunger. His fascination with the fast-moving landscape was broken with a tugging on his arm. "Uncle William, Uncle William?" Peter asked, "Are we going to take back something for the lady?"

William rubbed the back of his neck as they reached the dining cart. "We already had food from the cart while you were sleeping, but I guess you can take something back. What were you thinking of?"

Peter turned to study the glass plates and gleaming silver trays stacked with food in the display, before settling on a fruit cake dappled with sultanas and almonds, topped off with a thin glistening slice of pineapple. William decided to carry Peter's wrapped sandwich, while the boy cautiously gripped the plate with the slice of cake with a look of pure concentration. He had insisted after all, with an emphatic "I can do it!" and if William had learnt one thing while spending time with his nephews, which was to pick his fights carefully, especially with the littlest one.

"Where are we going Uncle William?" Peter had asked as they made their way back to their own carriage. Lovino Vargas had put up enough money for third class tickets for the three of them once William had announced he would whisk the two of them out of the city. And with his own savings and a little contribution from Arthur, they had more than enough to make the journey comfortably. He was happy slumming it across land and sea, but it couldn't be expected for a ten-year-old and a pregnant woman to undergo those conditions.

The level of noise in the third-class carriages had fallen a little as people had settled in for the night, coats bundled up for pillows against the wooden headrests and legs haphazardly stretched out where there was space. A few people had dozed off, couples' heads resting on each other, while lone travellers tucked their bags securely under their feet and crossed their arms to keep warm.

The low babble of noise meant it was still quiet enough for someone to hear, and if money from a well-known businessman could loosen tongues, then William didn't want to hand any information out so easily. "Not now lad, you just make sure you don't drop that slice of cake."

He pushed down Peter's hat to cover the boy's lank hair, and to distract him further he added, "And remind me that the next place we get a chance, you are having a bath. I don't think your father would be happy to know that your face is so grubby."

Peter took the opportunity to turn around and stick his tongue out.

"Eyes forwards, and watch your feet." William admonished, so that Peter remembered the dessert in his hands, and he fixed his eyes on the cake slice to be perfectly sure it wouldn't tip over.

They made their way through the gap between carriages, the train jolting over the train tracks and the cool night air washing over them. They counted the compartments to find their own one, curtains drawn on the windows facing into the corridor door, before sliding open the door softly, and shutting it behind them.

"We brought this back for you." Peter announced and placed the plate on the table. "I like cake a lot, and so does my brother…" He trailed off to think deeply before turning to his uncle. "Where's Al and Mattie. Are they okay?"

"Yes, they're fine." William said reassuringly as he took his seat across from Eliza and rested his face against the cool glass of the window.

His nephew looked back suspiciously, but then seemed to take his word for it. He sat down next to his uncle and summoned up a small smile, "Mattie and Al both pretend to ignore me sometimes, but they notice when I eat their pudding. Even if it gives me a stomach ache."

"I'm Peter." He added after a moment and then stood up awkwardly.

Eliza stares for a long second at the boy who had sobbed his heart out in his father's arms earlier in the afternoon, and then wondered if the leaden feeling in her chest would ease as quickly as his did. His eyes were still red from rubbing them before he had slept, and although she had pretended to sleep, she had caught his uncle staring at the boy leaning against him just before he had woken up again. His features had dropped the stoic police officer mask and now it barely concealed his distress and slumped shoulders at the small child sleeping on his side. They were family, the two of them, and not for the first time that day she thinks of her own child growing in her stomach and imagines swapping places with the man opposite her.

The boy draws her attention again and shuffles forward closer to her. After another thought he took off his hat, and then stuck out his hand. William smirked a little at the boy's manners, which had been practically non-existent during the few weeks he had been living at his brother's house.

Eliza stared and then quickly smothered a smile so as not to upset him over his effortful introduction. "I'm pleased to meet you Peter, my name is Elizabeth." She took hold of his hand and gave it a little shake. "Thank you for the cake. It does look good, but I don't think I could eat it all by myself. Would you like to have some?"

Peter pulled a face in disgust, "I don't like pineapple." He turned and sat down. "Uncle William can have some though."

William threw up his hands, "No, no, you have it. The lad wanted to cheer you up."

Eliza nodded amicably and watched as Peter shifted in his seat to sit up straighter, "Uncle William, can you tell me now where were going?"

"We're on a train going to Cincinnati, but the train stops a few times to get more fuel and we'll have to get off on the way. Then we switch to another train that will take us to New York and we'll take a ship from there."

"How long will it take to sail?" Eliza asked curiously, reaching for the spoon resting on her plate.

"It took two weeks for me to come here. I know it's a little quicker the other way around because of the way the tides go."

"Two weeks on a boat?" Peter said in awe, imagining the novelty of it.

"It's a bit bigger than what you're thinking boy. Try something big enough to carry hundreds and hundreds of people."

Peter's eyes widened further, "Thousands?"

"Nearly eight hundred for just the crew." William replied with a grin.

Peter continued to ask questions about sailing across the ocean and of the ship, while William tried to keep up with the answers.

Eliza distracted herself by answering a few questions about shipping routines, having herself once worked near the city's smaller harbour. She paused while eating her slice of cake, gleaming silver fork caught in the air between her plate and mouth.

"My family have always lived by water, even when they lived in Europe, they fished by the shores of Lake Balkon. When I was a little girl, my mother would tell me bedtime stories about ships and sailing adventures her sister had made up when she was younger." She found herself recalling memories of being tucked in under thick scratchy blankets and the sound of a soft voice lulling her to sleep.

"Like?" Peter said, eyeing the golden half-ring of pineapple remaining on the plate with distaste. William gave him a nudge, to remind him that he was staring.

Eliza shrugged, dispelling the memories, "Oh, I don't remember much of them. Only that they were very interesting. Sometimes there were mermaids searching for treasure on the seabed, or maybe sailors who went on daring adventures."

"If you remember one," Peter hedged, "Can you tell me."

"I will." Eliza nodded, finishing off the last bite of the dessert and pushing her plate away.

Peter took up the position he had earlier, sticking his legs across the length of the seat, and resting his head on William's arm. "That's good. I hope you do remember one."

"I could tell you a story, if you want." William offered helpfully, wondering if more distractions would tire the young boy out.

"No thanks, Uncle William. You already told me a bedtime story the day you came, and it was boring."

William rolled his eyes and Eliza looked amused as Peter obliviously settled down comfortably. The sound of the train rattling along the tracks lulled the passengers to sleep. The lights in the compartments were dimmed, but they left the curtains open. Outside the moon rose and trekked across the sky, and the stars slipped past on the backdrop of the black night sky.

After some time, William spoke up. "Are you awake?"

Eliza opened her eyes and in the dim light, she saw William looking back at her. "Yes."

For a moment, she thought he was going to ask how she was, maybe how she was holding up, or if she was okay. She could have sworn he held his breath, but she wouldn't have wasted any money on a bet, her eyes may have been playing tricks in the dark.

"Thank you, for earlier. For talking to Peter." William said quietly. "I'm sorry, that there's only one carriage. We had to make do with what we could arrangements we could make at the station."

Eliza nodded stiffly, "It's fine."

"Not ideal though, especially because of your…condition. The Vargas boy mentioned it."

"Did he." Eliza replied flatly, and even in the dark, she knew he could see her glaring.

"All I mean to say is, if you need anything, just let me know. It's going to be a long trip, especially with Peter around." At the mention of his name, the boy snuffled in his sleep and attempted to roll over with his legs wedged under the windowsill.

They both held their breath, wondering if the boy would wake up.

"I mean it, just let me know." William repeated once he was sure Peter's breathing had evened out again.

She heard he was plain speaking from the moment he had grabbed hold of her arm in the marketplace and politely but firmly told her to follow him. It was the same tone he had used when promising his brother, things she knew were impossible through the glass of the train carriage window. She found herself saying "Thank you," and believing that the both of them had meant it.

Then William and Eliza sat awake for the rest of the night, and thinking their own thoughts into the early hours of the morning.

-x-

They arrived in the small town for refuelling early the next morning as the sun came up and lightened the colour of the sea and sky to a softer blue. As they left the platform behind them, William rubbed his bleary eyes and jammed on his hat, scanning around looking out for someone loitering without a cause. He wouldn't put it past Vargas Senior to have linked the disappearance of the boy he had kidnapped and a member of his own household staff. A quick telephone call would have alerted anyone needed, and they were sitting ducks while travelling on a train to a timetabled destination. Luckily for them, he couldn't see anyone lurking suspiciously. Nevertheless, the three of them stuck close to the mass of the crowd passing through the ticketing hall of the small building.

While they were directed to the centre of the town by chirpy train staff, William came to the realisation that having two teenage boys packing the woman's luggage for an overseas journey may have a little unhelpful.

He held up the lighter suitcase and asked Eliza, "Er, the journey's going to take almost three weeks...have you seen what they packed for you?"

She shook her head, "I didn't have much to take with me anyway."

William frowned, "I need to get Peter some new clothes, but if there's anything you need, then just let me know, or I can give you the money for it..." He trailed off awkwardly and decided to stare somewhere other than her.

"Can I get new shoes?" Peter asked, looking down the quiet main street and the shops lined up on either side.

William took a look at the boy's shoes. They were scuffed and a little muddy. "Are they too tight for you?"

"No."

"Then they're in decent nick. No new shoes for you. Come on, a quick haircut will do for a start. You need to look smart for your grandmother or she won't let you see foot into the house. If we get it cut short enough, you'll look fine for when we arrive."

Peter looked slightly horrified at the thought of a door being slammed shut in his face because of his hair and conceded defeat on new shoes as long as it meant he would be allowed into his grandmother's house. He darted ahead from street corner to corner and waited for them to catch up, like some bizarre game of cat and mouse.

William herded the two of them along the side of a park and towards the bakery he spotted in the centre of the high street, declaring that he needed more than a sandwich at dinner for sustenance. They sat in the corner furthest from the door and Eliza took the opportunity to open her luggage up. Resting on top of the clothes inside the suitcase was a piece of paper, neatly folded with her name written on the front. She decided against opening it and tucked it into the side pouch.

A quick inspection on the few items had confirmed what she had already guessed had been packed for her. Her few nicer clothes had been included, and her work dresses were left behind, apart from the one she was wearing. Her cosmetics and jewellery had been wrapped in a scarf, tucked into the folds of Roderich's Sunday jumper. Her fingers lingered on the soft knit of the dark green wool.

"Anything missing?" William asked, stirring cream into his coffee.

Peter looked greedily at the cream so William poured a little into the boy's hot chocolate.

"It's cold in England, isn't it?" Eliza asked, thinking on what she knew of the country.

"A lot colder than here." William replied, "Rains a lot too, and up north where my family live, the skies are grey for most of the winter. But it's something you just get used to after growing up there." He gave a shrug.

"I will need a warmer coat than this one then." Eliza said, her fingers reluctantly passing over the jumper a final time before she shut the lid and secured the clasps.

"Sure, we have enough time before we have to board back onto the train to get that." He replied, "And my sister will be able to help you out with clothes and whatnot in England."

"Whatnot?" Peter parroted and laughed. "Whatnot!"

They continued to while away the morning, and William found a smaller shop in a side road that sold coats. After spending a few minutes along the silver polished racks, browsing the few styles on offer, Peter felt bored and began to study his reflection in a full-length mirror, turning to the left and right and demonstrating a range of faces a street mime would have been proud of. William left them to browse the shelves, taking a seat on a cushioned stool and watched the town outside go about its business.

On the other side of the shop, Eliza chose a black thick knee length woollen coat from the rail and shrugged it on. After checking her reflection in the mirror, she decided she wanted it. Peter had grown bored of his reflection and offered to carry it to the lady standing behind the glass counter displaying delicate scarves. William had got to his feet and counted out the money to pay for it. The cashier smiled, ringing up the purchase.

"You have a good taste ma'am." She complimented Eliza and shook out the coat. Then she folded the coat, smoothed down the front, then pointed further down the shop at the rack of coats, "If you don't mind me saying so, we have a lovely burgundy that would suit you very well ma'am. The magazines say that black is a little dour, for autumn."

It was like Eliza had suffered from a jolt of electricity, her hand stilled on the counter, fingertips leaning to press against the glass hard enough to turn white. William could have sworn he heard her breathing stop. The shopkeeper was oblivious to how Eliza had paled, and there was a shift in the atmosphere, like the breeze shifting direction, "I chose this black coat, and I will wear the black. You can keep your opinions to yourself."

William froze as the smile threatened to slip off the shopkeeper's face, and he realised he had to say something, especially with the boy watching. He stepped in quickly, "The black is fine, thank you." The woman continued to wrap the coat, not noticing the chill in the atmosphere, mentioning a few other in season items if they wished to return later and browse further. Eliza kept her lips pressed tight, staring at the display behind the counter.

He then herded the two of them out of the shop, Peter offered to hold the coat wrapped and secured in brown paper. They stood on the corner of the main street, watching the occasional horse and cart clop by on the dark cobbles. Across the road, a shiny new black car pulled up to park, honking its horn loudly and the young couple sitting inside laughed raucously in delight. It was a homey sort of town, a halfway point between the bigger cities, and thrived off the travellers who spent their time in its dusty charm.

"I have to send a telegram to your dad, and our train doesn't depart for another two hours," William looked down at Peter. "Why don't you two take a walk around the park, and I'll meet you by the fountain?" He hazarded a smile at Eliza but she made no protest, lost in her own thoughts.

"There's a fountain?" Peter turned towards the tall trimmed hedges and reached up to take Eliza's hand with his free one, "Let's go see it!"

William watched her glazed eyes dart from left to right. She looked like she was struggling to see the world around her. Without saying a word, she allowed herself to be guided across the road by the boy who jabbered on about childish nothings.

He sighed and then made his way to the postal office which doubled up as the grocery store. The heavy door knocked into a bell hanging from the dark wooden frame, tinkling to announce his presence. The wooden blinds covering the windows rattled with the breeze allowed to slip in. "Excuse me, who do I go to for sending a telegram?" He asked into the shop. A few customers looked over at him from between the aisles of tonnes goods and sacks of rice and dried beans.

"That would be me." An old woman waved him over to a separate counter stretched along the back length of the shop. Behind her were shelves filled with produce on sale. The trains meant even bananas could be transported further inland, and three half-ripe bunch were proudly displayed behind the woman's head. "Where are you sending it to?"

"I've got two, one for Ohio, and the other to England."

"No problem darling. You just write them up on here." She slid over a piece of paper and a pen. "I'll do them right away."

The old lady bustled off absently to fill up the shelves of stock behind her. William leaned on the rough grain of the countertop and considered what to write Arthur about their journey, and he settled for a short and simple message, seeing as he would be charged by word.

Hello Arty. Journey was fine. No sign of Roma. Peter is doing well.

He paused, thinking on what to write about Eliza, the nib of the pen bleeding blue ink in spidery lines.

Eliza and I are well too.

He decided on, shaking out the paper so that it dried. He wrote Arthur's details down, and then scored a line underneath to start the next one.

The second telegram was much shorter, simply announcing that he, Peter and a guest would be arriving on the next ship into Liverpool. He handed over the letter to the lady, commenting that he hoped that it would reach its destination before he did. Then he left the shop, tucking the receipt in his pocket and stepped out into the sunshine drifting out from behind the thick white clouds.

He took a meandering walk around the park towards the greenery encircling the fountain. Autumn had struck, turning the park into a vivid burst of golden hued tones. The crunch of the red and orange leaves filled his ears, and the breeze picked up in the open space, nipping at his nose and cheeks. He took the time to appreciate the last of the mild weather, knowing that once they landed in England the weather would be terrible.

He found them by the fountain, sitting on a black metal bench. He was about to call out as they hadn't seen him approaching, but Eliza was wiping her cheeks with one hand and William holding the other looking a little confused but still trying to comfort her. "You miss him like I miss my mom."

Eliza nodded, taking a deep breath. William slowed his steps and listened as Peter spoke softly, "I think you miss him more than I miss her, maybe. I don't remember her much. It's not fair."

William sighed quietly to himself but continued to walk forward slowly, crouching down to meet Peter's eye level when he looked around noticed him there. "Uncle William, Eliza's sad because her husband went away. Like my mom went away."

"I know, lad." He rested a hand on the boy's shoulder, unsure of how to talk to the boy who normally acted like a whirlwind unleashed. "It's difficult, but you've been so brave. You're being really brave now too." He gave Peter an encouraging smile, but the boy only nodded back seriously.

William stood and then took a seat in the bench, and they all sat in silence for a moment, watching the fountain burble.

"Peter, I sent your father a telegram. By the time we reach England, the reply will already be at your grandmother's."

Eliza had taken the distraction to wipe her face dry. She nudged Peter, "You can write back to him then! You won't have to miss him, if you have his letter."

"He can read my letter too. And I can write ones to Al and Mattie. I miss them a little bit too, but you can't tell them that." Peter's mood lightened at the thought, and he swung his legs under the bench back and forth.

"Should we go back to the train now, it'll be leaving soon?" Eliza asked, looking at her watch.

"Yeah, it leaves in twenty minutes." William agreed.

The boy jumped to his feet and tugged Eliza until she stood. "We're going to New York City!" He called out in a sing-song voice. "I've never been. Dad's always been working. He says one summer and then the next, but we've not got yet. Now I get to go before Alfred does!"

(Part 2)

They arrived in New York in the late afternoon, and made their way from Penn Station to the harbour. The cab ride took them through streets lined with whitewashed buildings made of giant sized building bricks. They reached towering heights, and made a person feel like the size of a bug. Daylight rippled off the large windows like glossy streaks while fluffy white clouds sailed across the topmost floors. They turned out of the station's taxi rank and joined the flow of traffic winding its way through the crosshatched streets. Block by block they inched their way across the city, and men in smart suits exited offices in droves with their briefcases in hand. The taxi crossed a major junction, flanked on either corner by buildings that seemed in competition with each to reach the heavens first.

"They're called skyscrapers for a reason." Eliza commented, leaning up against the glass of the cab window so she could see their tops. "My parents brought me once, when I was a little girl. But I don't feel much bigger."

Peter sat opposite and mirrored her. The tip of his nose fogged up the glass. On the other side, William saw the metal skeleton of a new building being constructed, reaching up to the heavens with thick steel girders dangling from cranes. The sight reminded him of how the city was truly a place of untold possibilities.

"That's something you Yanks have." William quipped as he leaned back in his seat, "You got this thing about striving on. All these taller buildings, bigger ships. I'm from a, well it's a large village if you're comparing the size. And London is too old for any of this nonsense."

The cab driver ruffled his shoulders like a pigeon puffing himself up to preen, and then launched into story about how his cousin's neighbour was on a building project. "The new Court and Renson place. He says there's going to be twenty-seven floors. Can you believe it?" The man repeated the number in awe, and continued talking, "Yeah, and I heard that when the guy was on the newest floor they just finished building and he looked out of the side where the window's gonna go and passed out! They had to grab him real quick after that!"

It was early evening by the time they reached the boarding queues for the ship. The sun began to drop over the horizon, and the air turned chiller as they boarded via long bridges suspended over a narrow strip of dark water between the hull and the docks. The smell of salt water covered the steady stream of passengers around them. He cast an eye over the multitude of faces but decided not to worry if Roma had managed to beat them there and place men to catch them, there were far too many people, and he would be searching the huddles around third class.

The ship towered over them, casting its shadow on the dockside and even William find himself staring in awe. It was strange to think that not so long ago, travel between America and England had taken weeks, but with steamers it was could be cut down to a mere ten days. And they crossed the ocean in style, with large cargo liners having enough room for hundreds of passengers, dining halls, and large ballrooms for entertainment. Not to mention the food stacked up, and the staff laid on to the help passengers through the vast bulk of the ship. The memory of shipping disasters did cross his mind, when he thought on the length of the passage, but he did feel like any young boy who had once held onto a toy model of a ship, when he looked on at the giant replica. It was a feeling he recognised in his nephew, and a similar grin lit up both their faces as they stepped aboard.

Upon reaching the ticket inspector William produced their tickets and they were told to merge with the line making its way down a corridor lined with delicately patterned floral wallpaper that would take them to the second-class section of the ship. Around them, excitement levels were rising to dizzying heights as laughter burbled and loud voices called each other across the corridors and floors. They showed their tickets once more to a man in a blue trimmed uniform standing at a small counter at the foot of a staircase, who took a great effort of checking their tickets and then leafing through envelopes. He passed theirs over and Eliza accepted it as William's hands were full with the suitcases and Peter had taken it upon herself to hold her wrapped coat. A heavy key slid inside the thick card and the wooden tag attached on the key ring bore the same painted insignia of the ship.

She opened the door to their cabin and was startled as Peter launched himself past her onto the first bed he saw. William leaned on the doorway and laughed. Eliza passed him and stepped into the cabin. It was decently sized for the three of them, with one large bed taking up the side of the room and another smaller one fitted into an alcove. A solid wooden desk matched the honey coloured headboards giving the room a cosy feel. The green paisley patterned armchair sat in the corner, low arm rests and high back welcoming a weary traveller to relax. Other homely efforts had been made for the long crossing too, and a pale cream fabric screen was folded and propped against the wall, ready for use.

"Well, this is much better than what I had on the first crossing!" William announced, pleased with the creature comforts of the room.

Eliza placed her travel bag on the floor and sat down in the armchair, sighing softly as she took the weight of her feet. She had been worried about how difficult the journey would be, but compared to the train there was more space and comfort inside the little cabin.

William glanced over and saw her enjoying the calm the closed off room provided, away from the hubbub. He coughed quietly to clear his throat, interrupting her seated inspection of the cabin. "I expect Peter will want to see the entire ship, so you'll have some peace and quiet here."

"It is a big ship, you'll have plenty to explore." She agreed, still marvelling on the size of the ship. A little unbidden thought floated up in the back of her wondering what Roderich would have thought of it all. She squashed it down firmly, focussing on the carpet, a pale colour the same shade as freshly whipped cream.

Peter sat up excited, leaning over the side of the bed. "Can we find the Captain?"

"Maybe...he's probably busy with his crew." William hedged. "But there's four stacks, like we saw outside, and that's pretty impressive for a steamer."

Peter huffed and lay down on the bed and toed off his shoes so that they clattered on the floor. He rolled around on the large bed and then grabbed a pillow, jamming it under his chin. Eliza tipped her head to rest it on the plump backing of the chair, it was the first moment she had without feeling like they were running.

William pushed off from the doorway and straightened his nephew's shoes against the skirting board with the tip of his own shoe. He looked over at Eliza hesitantly, "I could ask around, if you wanted some company. They'll be other young ladies on the ship, or-"

Eliza shook her head wearily, glancing over at him, "Thank you, but I don't want to talk to anyone at the moment."

William nodded hastily and they fell into a long silence again. The sounds from beyond the cabin door leaked through as other passengers chattered down the corridor and the tapping of shoes sounded from above on polished wooden floors.

After what felt like an hour but was in fact only a few minutes, William crossed the room and pulled his nephew to sit up, reaching for the boy's shoes. "Right, yes. Peter and I will go for a wander, and let you rest. Put your shoes on, good lad. That train journey must have been tired you out." He ushered the boy towards the door with a constant stream of chatter, eyes firmly on the door handle and so unable to see her face.

"Wait, are we going to see the captain now?" Peter asked suspiciously, hoping to catch his uncle out.

"No." William replied, and then spoke back to Eliza, "But we'll be back in time for dinner, and I'll make sure the lad remembers his manners." With that final hurried sentence thrown into the cabin room for Eliza to decipher, he tugged the protesting boy out the door and shut it softly behind them.

Eliza could hear Peter's faint voice from down the corridor, "But I do have manners, Uncle William!"

In truth, William found it awkward to share the space with a woman who had barely spoken since he met her. It wasn't that he found himself tongue tied around women, his own sister was what the Yanks would call a "bearcat". It was a whole different kettle of fish talking to a woman who was getting to grips with the fact that she was widowed unexpectedly on top of becoming a mother in some months.

A strange cloud had descended on Eliza, and she crackled like lightning at strange things. He was sure there was raw grief mixed in there now that she had left the confines of the Vargas household and did not need to keep her behaviour in check before the ones she was supposed to serve. But he also thought he felt a tense sort of anger lying beneath that, possibly with having to leave her home and her husband's disappearance. He didn't know how to approach her without setting it off, and because of that he had decided he'd rather let his mother or sister tackle it.

So it came as a surprise to William when Eliza stood up and announced that she would accompany the two of them on their morning walk. They reached the top deck and mingled with other passengers enjoying the sunshine reflecting off the waves bobbing up and down as far as the eye could see. Ladies with their arms tucked into each other's strolled along the deck holding onto their hats and giggling. Three men holding pool cues lifted their caps and hats as they passed Eliza, and Peter was swept away by a group of children, hands tugging him along to make up the numbers of their game.

Eliza lent on the rail and saw that the ship was the only thing occupying the ocean as far as the eye could see, a bubble of humanity in the vast quietness. William took the spot next to her and watched the children play tag on the deck below. Their shouts and excited screams punctuated the rhythmic sound of the roiling waves.

"You leave the cabin so early in the morning, where do you go?" She asked, curious about where the two spent their mornings.

They had left her to her own devices, and she felt that the four walls of the cabin, while furnished beautifully, also had become boring after the first few hours. Being left alone with her thoughts had her mind spinning in circles, and the same surroundings had her thinking of what was missing.

William shrugged, thinking on what he and Peter had done the past few mornings. "Ah, nowhere really. Sometimes we go up to the prow where the crew tend to work early, and if the weather's not good, then the dining hall stays open and stays warm enough."

Eliza felt a small raindrop and looked up at the grey clouds blanketing the sky. "The dining hall?"

"Yeah, I'm teaching Peter some card games."

Eliza smiled and then added, "You could play your card games in the cabin. I wouldn't mind the company."

William looked at her with some surprise. "I figured you wanted to have a bit of quiet." He shrugged as he flipped the collar of his coat up against the sea breeze.

At this Eliza laughed, for the first time. "Before I was working at the Vargas household, I shared a room with five other maids in our hotel. Peace and quiet is a concept I'm not so familiar with."

William laughed too, trying to imagine a time where she was unburdened by their current circumstances. "Well, that's me told."

There was a cracking in the ice between them as they watched Peter having been tagged and frozen where he was standing, ignore the rules of the game and turn to wave at them.

Eliza broke the now companionable silence to ask, "If you're from Scotland Yard in England, then why were you working with your brother?"

William sucked in a deep breath, the wounds of the past never quite healing with a painless scar. Whenever someone in Arthur's station questioned his presence, it was easy to say he was there to help out on the ongoing case. However, the truth stretched back further than that, and would always leave him with a sinking feeling from the hollow gap in his heart.

"That's a long story, that bastard Roma dragged my brother, my younger brother Rhys into his mess. It... got him killed, and Arthur didn't take it well. They were twins."

"Rhys," Eliza paused on the name. "What happened?"

William ran a hand over his face and sighed, he sucked in a breath, seeming to gather up his words and began. "Rhys got in over his head while travelling abroad. And so, Arthur chased Roma all the way to America and joined the force there. He fought to get his task force to investigate Vargas. It's been a long case, even longer if you count the time Arthur's been fighting for it, that Vargas has a messy history. Stroke of luck really that he's finally got his breakthrough, even if it did mean we had to leave, but Arthur's hellbent and will do anything he can to put Roma Vargas behind bars. And now the pieces are coming together, especially with information leaked from the inside..."

He winced immediately, regretting the words.

Arthur's task force had been wavering into the more desperate measures available to them over the last year. William had known that they had an unknown man leaking information to them, but it had been a complete mystery as to who it was. With the death of Roderich Edelstein, the Vargas' butler, they had realised just how deep into the household the leak was. The only problem was that information had cost the man his life.

Eliza shifted uncomfortably, hands sliding over the rail to grip it, looking like a woman who was waiting for the world to pull the rug from under her feet again. She spluttered quietly, trying to speak. "I-"

"I didn't mean it like that." William shook his head, glancing to try to make eye contact. But the woman was staring out across the deck. "I mean I knew about the informant, but we never thought things would work out like this. It's not something you plan to happen, more like a bad turn of events."

"A bad turn of events?" She asked angrily. Now she turned on him, the grip of the hand remaining on the rail had turned her knuckles white. "It's more than that. We were going to leave, we had saved up enough. Move to a different town and forget about Roma Vargas. Our child would have grown up seeing its father."

She paused but somehow the words bubbled up out of her, "And that would have been enough to make me happy for the rest of my life."

Eliza looked away, lost to her thoughts again like a leaf in a gale, eyes fixed on the choppy grey waves gliding up and down. William winced internally, and fumbled, trying to turn the conversation around. He settled on something he has put his faith in a long time ago, "Roma Vargas is a ruthless man, but he will slip up, and when that happens you can bet that my brother will be there waiting with the handcuffs and the jail key."

They fell into another silence, this time lithe expanse of it yawned out between the two of them. The noises of the other people around them fell away. Eliza broke it after what felt like an eternity.

"But is it enough?" She wondered absently, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. "I don't think that it is, for a man who has made so many suffer."

William thought of the casualties associated with the Vargas case. He thought of his brother and his family and how they had continued to live after his death. He thought of the young boy who was rumoured to have been found dead only a matter of days ago. His heart thudded inside his chest before he replied quietly, "It's the best we can do. We have to hope it is."

A frown dipped across her brows and they spent a few more minutes in a silence occasionally broken by other passengers who interrupted them to wish them a good day. "What will happen when we get to England?" She finally asked and it was clear the question had been weighing heavily on her mind.

"When we arrive? Or…" He trailed off thinking about the bigger picture. "We've room at home, for you and your little one, when it arrives. You can stay as long as you want."

"That's a long time away, the doctor said the baby was to be expected in the spring."

He shrugged, brushing off her concern. "Have you got any family in England? In Europe?"

She shook her head. "No, none anymore. It was just me. And Roderich."

William leaned over the railing again, and nudged her shoulder. "You don't have to worry about a thing. Believe me. You'll have a place with us as long as you want." He promised and watched her smile back without feeling, and without it reaching her eyes.

He didn't blame her. It would have been a very particular and foolish kind of madness to believe the word of a stranger. He would have said so himself to anyone else. But he wanted her to understand that this was a kindness coming from someone who could understand her situation. And it would be a lie if he didn't admit that he felt some kind of responsibility for her future. He knew that it was more complex than one stranger helping another; that it was the hideous consequences of one corrupt businessman whose guilty hands had wrecked so many lives in ways which could never be fixed. Running away from the man wouldn't fix anything, but piecing back their lives would. In the same way he had crossed an ocean to help find justice for one murdered brother, and another who had lived years like a revenant obsessed with revenge, he would cross the water again to search for another way for his nephew to move on, and in doing so help the woman who had lost the most important pieces of her life.

It was important to him for the boy to move on from this upheaval. He had made that promise to his brother. Moving the child back across to England, to where he had spent the first few years of his life being raised by his mother, felt like coming around full-circle. In this case it was better because Peter could grow up surrounded by his family, and once Arthur had put Vargas and his men behind bars, they could be reunited. It was an easy ending to a mess, at least in his own mind. Yet he was wary about telling the lad, in case things stretched on for too long. There was nothing worse than waiting, especially when you were young and time ran slow.

As they collected Peter from the bundle of playing children and walked towards the dining room, William couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt that has creeped up on him. It wasn't rare for informants to fall while a case was in progress, but never in all his years on the force had the consequences been so close up to his own life. Now it meant that the informant's family was suffering and it threw their futures into bleak uncertainty. Arthur's case had started out with him gripping onto his sparse leads and refusing to let go. Unfortunately, those leads had led him to dark places and it was getting harder to follow him without falling into the shadowy dangers that lurked behind unknown obstacles, or shoring up a safer path for others to follow. Peter was safe, and Alfred was old enough to take instruction, it was Arthur that he couldn't help worrying about.

That night he was still pensive as he tucked Peter into his half of the bed, repeatedly telling him to stop kicking off the blankets. Smoothing the cotton covers down yet again, he whispered, "You know Miss Eliza's lost her husband?"

Peter had the insight to realise the fact that this conversation was a serious one, "Yes, and that's why she's sad all the time." His eyes glanced at the shared bathroom door where Eliza was getting ready to sleep. "She told me before, in the park."

"It means, you and me, we've got an important job, lad." Peter sat up to listen to his uncle with all his focus, dragging the covers up again and William resigned himself to not bother fussing over it again. "We've got to make her feel at home." He carried on expanding what he meant.

"I've not been to your home though? But Dad said when you drank the last of the milk last weekend that you acted like you were brought up a barn. Do you live in a barn?" Peter queried, concentrating to see if he had missed any dots.

William laughed at that. "Not like that lad, and never mention that to your gran. She would be horrified. Just be on your best behaviour, and try and make her happy."

"Like you were earlier?" Peter asked in a whisper, eyebrows low as he thought hard.

"What?" William cast his own thoughts back on the afternoon and realised that he had made her laugh, in amidst the pain of her loss, his brother's death, and trying to assuage her doubts about her future. "Oh right, yes, something like that had."

Peter nodded solemnly. "I'll try my best Uncle William." The boy promised, stifling one yawn and succumbing to a bigger one. "Night."

"Night lad." He blew out the candle and moved over to the light switch to complete the nightly routine of switching the electric ceiling light off once Eliza had climbed into her own bed behind the little privacy the fabric screen offered.

Despite the hulking size of the ship, it became inexplicably quiet in the late hours of the night. After the dining hall emptied, the band packed up their instruments and the rhythmic footfalls of passengers dancing fell quiet, the stillness outside slipped between the rivets inside the steel hull. When the seas turned black and reflected the cloud covered sky, the entirety of the ocean seemed like a blip in the darkness. From the tiny porthole in the side of their room, Eliza could see outside from where she propped herself up on the pillows, burying her hands in the green jumper pooled over her lap. For what felt like everyone apart from her, the quietness was a welcoming shroud around their dozy, dream brimming sleep. But in the late hours of the night, lying in a different bed to what was her own, her mind kept her awake with her thoughts revolving around and around like the spinning doors of the newly built skyscrapers they saw on the way to harbour.

(Part 3)

They arrived in Liverpool as dawn broke and lightening illuminated the dark grey clouds. The ship rocked heavily with the churning momentum of the waves. The air was thick and warm and by the time they stepped out onto the top deck, heavy raindrops were hitting the pavements, turning them from grey to black. Peter covered his ears when the first tremendous thunderclap echoed around the harbour. On the deck, squashed in with others, they were watching the ship approach the port and dock with awe and wave at the crowds below. The size of the thing was put into contrast with the little fishing boats moored around the sides of the harbour walls, bobbing with the smaller waves created as they moored. Tiny people, who were smaller than his little finger, rushed around the dockside, and behind toy cars were the occasional horse and cart lined up to whisk passengers onwards.

A small surge forwards of excited people had Peter stumbling to find his footing on the slick deck. A hand reached out to grab onto his shoulder and he looked around to see slim fingers that were Eliza's and not his Uncle William's. His uncle, holding the suitcases in either hand, had seemed to have slipped back as people were moving to gawk over the side of the ship.

Peter looked up to see Eliza glaring murderously at an elderly lady with tightly pursed lips. They opened to emit a sickly simpering voice, "Excuse me, dear, we'd like to move forward."

Behind her were two children, older than Peter, and both looking exasperated. The girl was staring openly at Eliza's furious expression, while the boy sighed heavily and fiddled with the tight bow tie pinning his starched collar flush against his neck. Both cringed when their grandmother coughed, announcing her presence again in an overbearing fashion.

The politeness of her words was worn so thin that even Peter could see its falsity. The old lady made to shuffle forwards, the fluffy lining of her coat brushing Peter's face and going up his nose. He made a move to step to the side, but Eliza held his shoulder firmly, and he was stuck in his place.

"We're all waiting, ma'am. And we'll all be getting off this ship. You don't have to push a little boy overboard to get off first." Eliza told her in a firm tone.

The old woman made some spluttering noises, "Well I never." She managed in the end, drawing her coat around her and brushing the furry pale mink lining down. Her haughty face scanned the people around her, but no one wanted to step in on her behalf, including her own grandchildren.

So with gritty determination Eliza refused to back down under the elderly woman's stony offended expression even though she could feel the passing glances of the people waiting around them on her. It seemed that the little argument occurring on board was gaining more interest than watching the dock workers secure the ship in its mooring with ropes as thick as Peter's own torso.

Eliza broke her gaze to look at the dockside, and after a few more moments, the old woman huffed loudly and shuffled backwards to search for another way of getting onshore as quick as possible. A few rumbles of muffled laughter circulated, and William managed to squeeze his way forward to offer her a "Nicely handled."

They disembarked without any further scuffles with malcontent old ladies and Peter finally felt ground beneath his feet that didn't sway or rock or tip him from side to side. It was a disorientating feeling and he gripped onto his uncle's coat sleeve. Behind them, Eliza trailed in her new black coat, glad that it was keeping the wet chill of the rain off her skin.

Most of first class already had someone waiting to pick them up, so the three of them pushed through the crowds and made their way to the line of taxis waiting for a fare. William hailed one to take them to the train station, putting their luggage in the boot quickly. They let Eliza slide inside first before clambering in to avoid getting drenched.

"It's raining and it's not even been ten minutes." William scowled half-heartedly but his delight was clear to see as he aimed a grin directly at Peter. "Best get used to this. It never really ends."

Peter watched as the raindrops turned into sheets of rain falling relentlessly from the sky. The wipers on the windshield of the taxi waved frantically from side to side, slicing through the water with soft squeaks.

"Been like this for a week, son." The taxi driver helpfully informed them, and nodded in approval at William's nondescript grumble in reply. "Exactly, but what else would you've wanted when you got here?"

"You talk funny." Peter looked in the mirror to see the driver. The top of the man's head, chestnut brown hair streaked with grey swivelled around as the man turned around as the traffic came to a halt, allowing a procession of horse and carts to pass.

The frame of his spectacles glinted bright under the rain refracted light and he huffed out a breath, wisps of his beard blown up. "And you talk like a Yank." The taxi driver retorted with a wry smile, "Don't worry, we'll have you talking right in no time."

Peter fell silent, thinking hard on this, unsure of just how wrong he was. He had washed his face twice this morning, just in case he had any dirt that he couldn't see with his bleary eyes in the large oval mirror hanging on the cabin wall. A quick inventory of himself had him remembering that William had brushed down his coat the night before, and declared it satisfactory. After dressing himself in the morning he had rubbed his shoes with one of his dirty shirts, the cleaner inside of it though, so as not to smear any dirt. His socks weren't really clean, but he had folded them, tucking away the splotches. And now his reflection in the window glass showed that his hair was damp, but he could press it down to look neater when it dried. All in all, he thought he looked smart enough, certainly by his own standards. But a little niggle of doubt creeped in when he thought on his uncle's words about his grandmother.

It was a short jaunt to the train station and by the time they had seated themselves on the train, William reached across the table and knocked on the wood, jolting Peter out of his thoughts. "You've been awfully quiet."

"I've been thinking." Peter replied seriously.

"Oh yeah? Fancy sharing?"

"You know Grandmother Victoria…" He began to question, but trailed off, frowning hard.

"Yes, I know my mam." William indulged his nephew, wondering if his words had taken some effect in scaring the boy into good behaviour.

Peter chewed over his words, thinking of a way to put his fear together in a sentence that wouldn't make him sound like a scaredy-cat. "You said she might not let me in the house. Is it true?"

Eliza looked on, mildly entertained as the boy's bottom lip had been tucked under his front tooth and was currently being gnawed on vigorously.

William was also astute enough to realise that Peter did feel a bit of apprehension about his new home and meeting family he had heard, and who had cooed over him as a baby, but that he hadn't met. "Ah no, I didn't mean it like that. She's a strict lady, but she'll never shut the door on you. I meant that you have to look smart for her, otherwise she wouldn't be happy."

"So I do get to go inside the house." Peter stated, doubt slowly leaking out of his face.

"Of course you will," William leaned propped his head up on his arm, leaning across the table. "There's bound to be a little snack cart on this train, it's bigger than the one we change for at Kendal." He rummaged in his pocket for a second and pulled out a couple of coins.

"Here, find the snack cart and you can get one chocolate,' he instructed. "I don't want your gran to think you're spoiled. Then she really will leave you on the doorstep."

Peter eyed the change, and then considered the warning, "Gran doesn't like chocolate." He paraphrased as he took the money and his eyes were focused with the look of deliberation. He turned away and walked off with purpose.

William froze, "That was a bad idea, wasn't it?" He asked aloud, and Eliza struggled to see what he meant.

"Why?"

"I just told him he's not going to see another chocolate bar for a long time. And then sent him off to buy some."

She rolled her eyes, "Go find him, he won't have gotten far."

William shot to his feet and marched off in search of his nephew. He caught up to him a few moments later, passing off his presence with the excuse that he wanted a cup of tea.

Cutting through the carriages with "Excuse me"'s and "Pardon me"'s peppered along the way, the two reached the snack cart and paid for their refreshments. Peter had somehow persuaded him to buy three of the largest bars of chocolate along with a bag of mints and his own tea.

Halfway back and between carriages, where the fresh air tugged at their coat collars and blew across their cheeks turning them red, Peter tugged on William's sleeve to say, "Eliza was angry this morning, when an old lady nearly knocked me over."

"Yeah, don't let it trouble you. She was cross at her, not at you."

"I know that but it was like before."

"How do you mean?" William rummaged through the memories of the past few weeks and struggled to find Eliza's occasional outbursts anything out of the norm for a grieving pregnant woman hauling herself over continent and ocean. There wasn't anything normal or to be expected about her situation, so it was strange for the lad to pick up on a pattern.

Peter looked a little sheepish as he explained, "When Al's mom died, Al said dad was like that. Sometimes he's like that when he remembers her. He gets sad, and then angry for being sad. But I think he just misses her."

"It's hard when someone leaves your life like that." William replied, leaning back on the handrail and watching fields zip by in flashes of dark golden wheat stubs and green grass and overgrown hedge.

"Do you think Gran will like me?" Peter asked nervously, fiddling with the chocolate bar in his hands.

William looked down at him and nodded enthusiastically, "You're forgetting she's already met you, when you were born! You're her grandson, she loves you."

Peter smiled at the thought. It was difficult concept for him to know that there was family out there that knew him, albeit as a squalling baby, but he didn't know what they were like.

Arthur had been able to fit a couple of small family pictures in his suitcase when he made the trip over to America with Peter when he was a baby, and his mother had given up on the expectation that she had a child to care for. Sitting on their mantelpiece at home, his old home, between Mattie's school achievement award and one of Al's sports trophies was a black and white copy of Arthur's family photographed when he was young.

A knobbly kneed Arthur with shorts and a Sunday jacket stood beside his brothers and sister, head turned away from the camera like he was ready to bolt as soon as the photographer had told then the image had enough time to stick to the plate. A day or two before his brothers' arrival, he had sat with Peter in the armchair, Alfred and Mattie lounging on an arm rest each, and told the three about his siblings. "There's your Uncle William, Uncle Rhys, and Uncle Owen who's younger than me. Your Aunt Patricia too. You know, she shoved me into a puddle not long after this picture was taken, and I had to walk all the way back home from town dripping wet."

Alfred had laughed loudly at this, delighted that his father rough housed with his own sister like he, Peter and Mattie did.

"You laugh, but she blamed me for everything. And my mother believed her. Only girl in the family, that's why." Arthur shook his head, the feeling of many lost arguments against Patricia weighed heavily.

"She was the naughtiest?" Peter asked, settling in against his father so that he was cosy. He looked down at the image of his aunt, frozen in time to show her younger than him, round cheeks squashed up to show a toothy smile.

"Oh no, you can believe that your Uncle Rhys was. Had this look like butter wouldn't melt and always avoided the cane at school." Arthur absently rubbed his knuckles, and then moved their attention away from his twin.

"But your Uncle William could give him a run for his money. When I was a little older than you." He looked down at Peter, "William had convinced me that I'd never be smarter than him, because I would never be as tall as him. Swore up and down that was how it worked."

"Isn't he still taller than you?" Mattie asked and Peter giggled.

"Yes," Arthur replied with a mock sigh, "But I let him believe he's cleverer to be kind. You watch, when he arrives, he'll go on and on about working at Scotland Yard and how he's a detective in London. You'd think he'd been given the job by the Queen! He has only just been promoted and moved down. He used to be far up in the Highlands working as some sort of liaison. Nothing up there but sheep on mountains."

Peter erupted into a fit of giggles as his father ranted on, pausing only to suck in air to breathe.

Upon remembering this conversation, Peter laughed to himself and William was surprised to see the odd reaction.

"What's that about, lad?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, "Just something dad said about being my age and all of you in England. Does Aunt Patricia still push people in puddles?"

William blinked at the turn in the conversation, trying to figure out what the boy meant. "No, not normally. She's grown up, and she'd sooner whip a person into shape with her tongue than give them a shove."

Peter nodded seriously in order to fake understanding.

"She's got herself a man. They've been counting for nearly a year. He might have popped the question by now. He was very sweet on her, and despite mam's I quite liked him. Down to earth fellow, if not a little bit too red for our liking, but she's happy."

Peter nodded again, brushing off whatever he couldn't understand and pleased his aunt was the same as his father's stories. They were about to move on when Peter asked another thought that had struck him sometime over the last few days yet he hadn't been able to figure out an answer himself.

"Will Gran like Eliza too?"

William made a show of having to think a little more on this one, as the boy was looking a bit nervous. He had taken a shine to the woman, and compared to his usual antics at home, he had behaved well when they were around her.

But the answer seemed clear to him. "You know what, I think she will. Miss Eliza's very clever, and she's also a friend to you and me, and that's important to your gran."

"She's also funny, and pretty too." Peter added, hoping that if there were enough items in the pro column on Eliza's behalf, then any future situation requiring the convincing of a grandmother would be made easier.

He opened his chocolate bar and snapped it into thirds, holding one third up to his uncle. "You should probably have some now too, if Gran thinks that chocolate spoils you, she might not have any in the house." His little voice spoke volumes with his astute warning.

"If you say so." William shrugged. He took the chocolate and bit into it, Peter mirroring him with his own piece. "Are you saving that?" He asked about the final third.

Peter nodded, "For Eliza." He said around a mouth full of chocolate.

"You'll go far in life." William quipped at the confused boy and they headed back to their seats to enjoy the ride.

The blurred scenery flashed by under the constant downpour of rain. Trees and fields has transformed into streaks of green, and the sky was reflected in each grey raindrop chasing others across the glass. He felt himself sinking back against the sparse padding, and after sometime, allowed himself to relax. He was going home, not his brother's house, or his pokey flat on the outskirts of Edinburgh buried in paperwork, but to his childhood home. The thought of not having to keep watch for dangerous strangers or work the case floated up. It was a welcomed change.

On the other hand, Peter grew bored of the quiet quickly and fished out the pack of playing cards. The three of them played together for a little while, amusing the people around them, until Eliza yawned widely.

"I'll just sleep a little while, until we have to change trains." She told them, covering her drooping eyes with her hand to shut out the electric light of the ceiling of the carriage. "I can't sleep at night with all this travelling."

Peter shrugged and divided her cards between the two of them and they continued for the next few hours silently playing games. Once they reached Kendal, they played rematches for rematches as the rain petered out. It left everything damp with a fresh chill in the air and roused Eliza from her dozing. She joined in with little persuasion, cutting the cards with practised skill. After beating any declared winners, she accepted her prize of the final third of the chocolate bar. Her mood had lightened considerably since the morning, and resting up had helped too.

"It tastes better than American chocolate." She said surprised, "Not as bitter."

Peter watched a little wistful as the last piece of chocolate disappeared and he sighed heavily. "Gran doesn't like chocolate. Uncle William will have to sneak us some more."

Eliza laughed and leaned forward conspiratorially with Peter, "Or I will!"

(Part 4)

William stretched as the train chugged through a valley, "The next stop is ours."

Peter lifted his head, looking out to see the steep green covered sides for a mark of people and cars. He managed to make of a horse on a far hill, and a ramshackle house halfway up the patches of green. "Are we really there?"

"Finally," Eliza remarked with relief, stretching her own neck, and wincing as the muscles held tight.

The constant tiredness that accompanied long travels had settled on her shoulders. It had wound itself along her legs, desperate for more space than just her seat so that she could stretch them. And she missed her own bed, her own space which wasn't filled with a multitude of faceless strangers forever wandering past. Even her eyes were tired of scenery zipping past. Somehow the tiredness had crawled into her bones. But deeper still lay the small gaping horror of leaving her home, of having to escape it, and the town she knew for no real replacement. She was alone, and her journey was coming to an end. This fear, which was slowly making itself known as the three of them reached their final destination; a blinking warning light in the recess of her mind.

They watched as valley and hedge slowed to show their forms distinctly and morphed into the grey and solid station platform. After hoisting themselves out of their seats, they joined a queue waiting to file out of the carriage. The locals had buttoned their coats and wrapped scarves around their necks as the wind picked up and blew cold gusts across the flatter land around the town. The porters at the station helped unload suitcases for the people disembarking, and the crowds dissipated quickly. The three walked down the platform, sidestepping the few people boarding the train and walked under the weather worn red brick archway onto the street outside.

"We'll walk down to the town square." William looked down to see Peter trying the lift his suitcase. "I'll take the suitcases, you-" He tugged on the boy's collar to stop him from dropping the case on his toes, "Just concentrate on where you're walking. And try not to step in any puddles."

The boy looked sheepish enough so William motioned for him to lead the way and they set off down the hill. The path dipped down and curved around, leading into the town square. A border of shops circled the green in the middle. The browning leaves on the trees had half shed themselves so that piles of ochre, amber and russet clumped together beside the kerbs. It had the feel only a small town in the countryside could give, of long summers leaking into a prosperous autumn harvest to starve off the cold stillness of winter.

The memorial nestled between the church and the far corner of the green caught Eliza's eye when they walked past. It was a solemn looking stone marker with names engraved on all three sides. The grey was dappled with bits of moss attempting to lay claim to the base of the stone. A few yards behind, a shiny blue truck sat idly on the kerb of the cobbled pavement.

Eliza looked around at the many shops with attractive window fronts far quainter than back home. There were food things displayed orderly in the butcher's and baker's windows. Strings of sausages dangled and next door glossy pastries drew her attention. Across the road some clothes shops had stiff looking mannequins and plastic arms holding up practical looking clothing for a place where it seemed to rain all the time. There was a school too somewhere out of sight, but the school day had just about finished and children in uniforms were spilling out around the pavement in front of the sweetshop, some mothers chatting nearby.

"Will?" A man's voice called hesitantly from behind them. Eliza turned around to see a cheery pair of blue eyes and a shock of wheat blond hair. The bulk of the man was covered by the large wooden crate full of carrots. He bent to place it on the floor, straightened up and called out, "It is you!"

The man beamed with delighted surprise and stuck out his hand. Will responded with an equally big smile. Peter watched as they enthusiastically shook hands and the stranger remarked how long it had been since they had last seen each other.

"You're back!" The man said, looking on at Peter who was openly staring at the stranger, and Eliza who had more manners and was politely smiling, but equally confused. The man's voice was distinctly Irish, mixing strangely in the country accents her ears had become attuned as the train journey had taken them deeper into England. "And you've brought…" He trailed off taking in the family resemblance in Peter's face.

"This is my nephew Peter, Arthur's youngest boy. You remember that he lives in Ohio." He gave Peter a shove forward and the man leaned down to shake his hand without hesitation.

"Who are you?" Peter asked nervously. The man towered over him, and was much broader than his uncle, but his face seemed friendly enough.

"I'm Sam, your Aunt Patricia's fiancée." At this Peter looked up at William whose face was struck with surprise by the news.

"You asked and she said yes?" He quizzed dubiously, leaning back and taking the other man's open posture.

Sam shrugged his shoulders with a wry smile. "Not that long ago, three weeks?" He said, and then the smile wavered and a false mask of annoyance slipped over Sam's face.

He crossed his arms and mockingly asked, "And what do you mean by and she said yes?"

William waved his hands dismissively, passing off the comment as he elbowed Sam. "Oh you know what I mean." Then he shook his head, "So how did my mam take it?"

"Oh...you can imagine." Sam grinned sheepishly. "But it's better than we expected. She invited me to tea at the weekend. We had thought the resistance would have gone on a little longer."

"She's probably secretly pleased that Patricia's finally met the standard for a lady in her eyes. Not to mention a wedding to be planned." William slapped his shoulder, celebrating the notion that they were soon to be family.

"If that's the case then maybe you shouldn't have come back in a hurry. She's going to have you running around." Sam replied.

William frowned, and the dark shadow of their first few days of the voyage and the constant checking over his shoulder suddenly floated to the surface of his mind. He turned to exchange a look with Eliza. "That couldn't be helped."

"Really?" Sam's gaze followed and he cheerily stuck out his hand noting that she wore a wedding ring on hers. "So what's a lovely lady like you doing with this one?" He raised his eyebrows at William, having connected two and two to make a four that didn't exist. "He's been a bachelor roaming the Scottish Highlands and the smog filled streets of London for too long."

"Eliza's a guest of ours." William interjected quickly, having become familiar with conversations to avoid.

The first time the mistaken nature of their trio's passage on the ship had arisen, Eliza had quickly excused herself from the dining room leaving her toast behind and William had been left to explain to the table that they were travelling together, but that she was accompanying them because her husband had passed away. After that, it seemed that word spread quickly, and others avoided the topic. There had only been a handful of instances when someone misspoke, and Eliza was prepared with a withering look and an angry clip to her sentences.

She had noticed Sam's glance at her ring and was ruffled. She spoke before William had a chance to. "My name is Eliza Edelstein."

The smile on Sam's face barely wavered, and William kept his mouth shut, half hoping he wouldn't have to step in. It felt like a repeat of the morning. Sam wasn't helping himself but his personality naturally shielded him from conflict with his strange quirk of being able to deflect insults like water rolling off a duck's back. It was that which had charmed his younger sister Patricia, despite their mother's unwavering distaste to the man's family background and work callused hands.

"I am visiting England and have been invited to stay the Kirkland's." Eliza added, ensuring that her words put a stop to that thread of questioning while giving enough explanation.

"Pardon me," He smiled apologetically and Eliza accepted it with a brisk nod of her head. "I hope you enjoy your stay here." He tacked on, determined to mollify her.

Eliza nodded again at his sincerness, seeing that any impression of him held by a guest of the Kirkland's was important to him.

"We can give you a lift." He offered. "This is our truck, we make deliveries all the way to Liverpool." He looked down at Peter, expecting the boy to be impressed, "Oh, never mind. It's a big thing for us, lad."

"Are you sure?" William looked at the truck. It was well looked after, certainly clean and highly shined. The flap of fabric covering the top and back of the truck had been slung up, and he could see the stacks of grocery laden crates.

"We're driving that way to make a delivery. It'll be quicker. Hop in." He hefted up the grocery box he had been carrying earlier and crossed the road to load it into the truck. He walked back and waved them over, "There's more room in the front Miss. You let the lads and Fred squash themselves in with the boxes.

William dragged a hand over his face, "My mother's going to complain."

"If you dally too long, she'll complain about that too." Sam added helpfully. William didn't offer up any resistance to that, so Sam lifted Peter up from under his arms and carried to boy towards the truck.

The boy giggled and squirmed his way across the road, legs kicking haphazardly. "Okay, up you go Peter, watch where you step." Sam said and boosted him up into the back of the truck.

The other deliveryman had come out of the shop with the last full crate and hefted it into place. Peter offered a shy wave at the new face as he pulled himself up to take a seat.

"Take a seat anywhere." Fred informed, dropping down onto the nearest wooden box. Peter copied the motion, thumping down heavily on the box opposite.

From the other side of the road, William picked up their suitcases as Sam waved them over. "He's just being cheeky. Don't take it personally."

Eliza hummed, allowing her anger to bubble away into nothing. She hadn't appreciated the remark Sam had made, but it was too silly to get angry over it. But it seemed that lately little frustrations kept building and with the lack of good sleep, she could feel herself sliding towards the end of her tether and towards a pool of hot anger.

It was a strong feeling, stronger than anything she had felt over the past few weeks. The humdrum of the endless ocean had left her feeling worn down and washed out. Having solid ground under her feet, new surroundings and the routine she had found comfortable when her world had turned upside down gone, it left her feeling uneasy and disgruntled.

"I see." She sighed and replied as an afterthought and William offered a smile back.

Sam hurried back across the road, "Here let me take your bag." He hefted up the handbag Eliza was holding, the weight disproportionate to its size as the main item inside was Roderich's green jumper. She had taken to leaving the zip a little open, dipping her fingers in to touch the soft material when the world spun too fast and left her feeling lost.

He proffered his arm to her and she took it, they crossed the road, turning to see Peter stick his head out of the back of the truck, "Hurry up, we're nearly there!" He jumped in the back, jolting the wooden crates of groceries around him.

Sam opened the passenger door, "Thank you." Eliza told him graciously and stepped up into the cabin, sliding onto the seat.

The inside of the cabin smelt strongly of leather and petrol, and when Sam started the truck, he fell back into what was his natural chatty tone, "Patricia will be pleased to meet you. The house is further out of town and company's a little sparse for a small place like this."

They drove out of the town and into the countryside. The road narrowed and wound around corners. Evergreen tree boughs stretched above, meeting in the middle to create an archway of greenery. The rain clouds had begun to breakup and the gaps of blue between then leaked sunlight, turning the leaves a hundred shades of green.

Eliza squashed down her nervousness and replied, "I look forward to meeting her too."

William had spoken at length about his family as Peter had quizzed him endlessly on his family back home, so she had gained enough facts to help her out for their first meeting. Now she felt a little envious at how Sam had managed to navigate her introduction, because despite stepping on her toes, his unabashed cheerfulness had helped him.

She, on the other hand, hadn't needed to make a good first impression on anyone in a long time. Working in the Vargas household had meant she barely needed to speak to new people, save to show guests to through the foyer or back out the door or to provide assistance. Over the last few months, Roma had consolidated his house staff to the bare minimum, so only the oldest and most trusted had kept their jobs. Their conversations were minimal and revolved around work, nothing new or surprising. Only her and Roderich's secret planning provided her with some break from the monotony.

Sam's chatter had slowed and then stopped. The quiet made her turn and she saw that he was waiting for her attention. "Don't be nervous. The Kirkland's have been in town since before my grandparents can remember, and they're well known around here. No one has a bad word to say about them."

Eliza nodded, glad to hear it, and then she pressed on, "He was teasing the boy for the whole journey about his grandmother. I'm not sure what was true, and what was exaggerated?"

"She's a very discerning woman, I'll grant you that." Sam let out a chuckle, "But don't let that fool you, she's got a kind heart. Besides, you're a guest so you've nothing to worry about." He pulled a face and gestured to himself, "It's me she'd rather be rid of, trying to whisk her fine upstanding daughter away on a greengrocer's wages."

"Oh really?" Eliza laughed at this, holding her bag tight on her lap as the turned the corner.

He pulled a mock wounded face. "The odds are stacked against me, higher than our crates on market day. But my Patricia's equally stubborn so we have a good chance of making it down the aisle. Regardless of the disapproving stare of my future mother-in-law."

"You have time to change her mind." Eliza offered tactfully.

"True, especially if her new guest sings my praises." He gave a friendly wink.

"I'll do my best." She replied, and offered a smile back for his helpful words.

"We're here now." Sam said, slowing the truck down and parking on the side of the road. "The house is at the top of this small hill, see there?"

He pointed up at the large red brick house poking up over the hilltop, then hopped out of the cabin and walked around to open her door for her.

There was a blur of blue beside her and Peter exclaimed, "We're here!" He bounced on his toes after his uncle had lifted him out of the back of the truck. "We're here!"

"Thanks for the lift. I guess I'll see you around more often now." William clapped Sam on the shoulder as he walked back around the driver's side.

"I've been invited around for afternoon tea on Saturday." He stifled a laugh, "I'll be wearing my Sunday best."

"Polish your shoes too. Mother always used to say you could judge a man's demeanour by the shine of his dress shoes." William advised with a shrug as Sam hopped back into the cabin, as Fred had taken the passenger seat up front.

"I'll bear that in mind, thanks. And take care, Miss Eliza." He said out of the window and gave Peter a wave goodbye as the truck drove off down the road.

Peter waved enthusiastically as the truck turned another corner and disappeared from sight, then he looked back at the two adults and declared that he was going to race them to the house. He took off, running full tilt up the tree-lined path towards the house.

William laughed at him before offering Eliza his arm, and she took it graciously. They started walking up a small path between fields. The damp grass brushed against the hem of her dress with a soft sound.

"It's you, your sister, your brother and your mother who live together here?" She asked curiously.

William nodded, "Yes, but my brother is studying law at university, he's living down in Wales at the moment. But Owen will be back in time for Christmas so you'll get to see him then."

Eliza sharp breath at the knowledge that offhanded comment drew had her throwing out one word. "Christmas?"

William paused mid-step, and placed the suitcases on the path. "You do understand that you're a guest...for as long as you want. This Vargas case my brother's team have been working on has been the messiest I have ever seen, but it also means that we have to deal with the consequences."

He stared at her, waiting for her reaction, "You might not see it, but it is part of our duty too, to try and put things right as policemen. My brother is fuelled by vengeance but he wants to set things right. Sometimes that goes beyond the law, and sometimes also means working with people you'd never expect to. Those two Vargas boys were adamant that you had to be taken out of the city. With Roma Vargas' history, and if we're speaking frankly, I didn't need much convincing. It was the right thing to do, and so is inviting you to stay with us."

Eliza looked away and her shoulders sank as she took in a shaky breath, "Lovino was the last person to see my husband alive. And since that night, he has not looked me in the eye."

William nodded, noting that the woman seemed to put some weight to that, as though she believed they were connected. He gave her arm what thought was a comforting pat. "I'm sorry." There wasn't much else for him to say, and nothing he could would take the sour tang of betrayal away.

She found her words stuck in her throat and mustered some strength to say something in reply. "It's not your fault."

"Still." William said and the silence descended like a swirling fog again.

They watched as Peter's head popped up at the top of the hill where he had turned to double back and was now running in between rows of tall golden stalks towards a ratty looking scarecrow. The hands dangled off the wooden frame holding it up, the collar of the tatty tweed coat flapped in the breeze.

"Anyway, that older Vargas boy said he'd make arrangements to send money on to you here through us. I don't know if he told you that? But either way, you do understand that you can stay as long as you like. You don't need to worry about finding work, or having money here."

Eliza thought back on the small envelope tucked away in her suitcase. "No, he hadn't told me. But I have my own savings too." She waved a hand towards the house, "We should keep going."

"Sure." William reached for the suitcases again and they fell into step once more. "So what was I saying before? Oh yes, my brother's away. So it'll just be Patricia and my mother at the house. You'll like Patricia, I have a feeling you'll get on like a house on fire."

Eliza nodded, a little cheered at the thought she wouldn't be going to stay in a place as gloomy as the weather. "And your mother?"

"Right, I'll admit it, I may have had a little fun telling my nephew about his grandmother..."

She raised an eyebrow, wondering how much he had elaborated in his earlier stories. He carried on regardless, "Saying that, she's got a lot of high standards, and living in America the boy's managed to pick up a lot of habits she thinks are peculiar." William confided in Eliza. "You must think I've been scaring the lad for no reason."

He laughed and shook his head, "But I've not strayed too far from the facts either, so no harm done." He gestured with his open hands, as though marking out his defence.

"What do you mean?" Eliza asked as they reached the top of the hill. She was finding it difficult to reconcile what she had heard of the woman with what William was now telling her. It seemed like some kind of tall tale, of the mother back home who ran a tight ship and wouldn't stand for any nonsense. It made her feel wary of her position, to walk into this woman's house as a guest in unfavourable circumstances. Even in her view, there was a limit on hospitality.

The path widened and a green car sat by the side of the house. Its gleaming polish had been marred by the unrelenting rain and now the watermarks were drying leaving small patches here and there. The drenched grass around the front had been mown short, and there was a small border of white and pink flowers running along the sides of the path leading to the front door. It was a pretty looking house, and Eliza could see the personal care that had gone into its upkeep. Unlike the Vargas house, which had been polished and dusted until it felt more like the clinical atmosphere of a hospital ward under the eye of a formidable matron, rather than a family home and the office of a successful businessman.

Peter had reached the gravel, after cutting swathes through the damp taller grass, puffing with red cheeks, and was slowly walking towards the front door to meet them there.

"My mam thought I had gotten all uppity when I started drinking coffee in London." William explained further, thinking back to the piles of paperwork in the early weeks of his job at the Yard. His words brought Eliza out of her thought of the house.

"She said I had gone to the city, and forgotten where I had came from. All because I had taken to drinking an American drink. She's more of a traditional woman, in that sense of things."

He couldn't help but laugh as Eliza's face was caught between surprise and some apprehension. It was clear to her that the house at the end of the lane seemed to get bigger with each step. But he knew her enough to know that if she didn't want to feel any smaller, she wouldn't.

William continued to elaborate, "I love the woman don't get me wrong, she's my mam. But the good Lord did not know what he was doing when he put that woman on Earth."

He laughed at his own joke, and then his voice softened. "But she's done a decent job, raising the bunch of us, especially after my father passed away."

Eliza looked away from the house, "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago." William replied with a nod, "I know it's hard because everything's different but try not to worry, she's a good woman."

They came to a stop outside the front door. The stoop was white washed and two flower pots full of late blooming petunias sat on either side. The navy glossy door had been painted recently, and at the centre lay a gleaming gold door knocker. Peter stood straight and was smoothing down his hair with both hands. William leaned forward and tapped the heavy door knocker, letting it clunk loudly.

"How much of my situation have you explained to your mother?" Eliza asked, turning to look at him.

William froze, his letter had been short and sweet. Very short. Under Eliza's expectant gaze, he felt himself stepping off a cliff without knowing how far the drop was, and he instantly regretted his next words. "I didn't go into details." The truth tripped out of his mouth, and he looked a little nervous while staring straight at the wooden door.

They heard someone walking down towards the door through the frosted glass panels.

Eliza dropped her voice, so that only he could hear. "Well, what did you say?"

"Nothing really." William found himself desperately regretting his sparse one line message to his mother. He had stuck to facts, only informing her that he would be making the crossing with Peter and an indefinite guest.

Despite the fact that he was a grown man, and a police detective by profession charged with the duty of catching criminals from the worst dregs in society, he felt the need to wipe his hands on the front of his coat when he found himself caught between Eliza's unimpressed glare and the threshold of his mother's house.

"Nothing. Really." Eliza repeated back with a hiss, her hackles were up again like they were on the ship, and all the persuading he had done over the past two weeks had become undone.

Peter had tipped his head back to watch their conversation. It was disconcerting for him to see the pair bicker quietly.

"I think this is a situation that could do with some explaining. I can't imagine I would be fully understanding when presented with this," Her fingers locked in front of her stomach, hands resting on the slight bump. It wasn't obvious to see until she had taken off her coat, which she would be doing once she was invited in. "On my doorstep without some warning."

"Oh." Was all he could say in reply, realising he had lost her trust with a foolish, thoughtless action. Then he jammed his hands in his coat pockets, "We're here now. Not much we can do but look on the bright side of things now." He advised himself out loud and Eliza huffed in reply, unable to formulate words.

(Part 5)

William felt that luck was on his side when the front door was opened and a familiar sightgreeted his eyes. Eliza saw him relax, shoulders dropping as the door swung wide. The hallway remained unchanged to his eyes, with the long stretch of hardwood floor covered by the soft rug and the twisted varnished arms of the coat stand waiting for him to take of his travel worn clothing.

Eliza looked through the gap in the door's opening and saw a stranger's home. The smell of polish was familiar to her, but everything else was new and had to be learnt. A home had a personality of its own, with its own secrets and the way stairs creaked and the paint along windowsills cracked. The Vargas household had been crafted to mirror its master's character, opulent and extravagance reigned wherever it could fit, detailed into the extreme corners and crannies. She had shined the embossed door knobs until they gleamed. But her home inside the big house was caught between cupboards in the kitchen and the softer unworn carpet of the stairs leading down to the servant's quarters. Her old home felt like the sound of familiar rhythmic clunking of the water pipes as the boiler heated up in the mornings coupled with the whistling of the kettle for her coffee in the warm early morning light creeping along the kitchen cabinets.

The door opened wider and his sister stood in front of him with bright eyes and a brighter smile. "Will!" Patricia hopped forward to hug him. "It's good to see you."

She took a step back and then noticed the boy by his side.

"And Peter!" She looked down to see that the boy had flattened himself against the doorframe. Patricia bent down and ruffled his hair, "You were only a baby the last time I laid eyes on you. And now you've grown so much."

Then she straightened up and turned her attention to the third figure on the doorstep, a stranger, who was also a woman. "Who's this?"

The two women looked at each other. Both around the same age but Eliza's worn hands and tired face contrasted with his sister's fuller cheeks and softer frame. Her hair was a brighter shade of ginger than William's, and her chin-length bob looked like it had been whipped straight of the pages of a fashion magazine or the streets of New York. On the door stoop they were eye level and Patricia's higher heels gave her more height so that she looked down, but there was no defensiveness in her stance. Instead, she tipped to the side to lean against the doorframe, her bright green eyes flicking from William to Eliza, and then back again.

"This is Eliza Edelstein, the guest I wrote about." William told her pointedly to break the silence.

Patricia had continued to stare for what felt like a long moment, but was really a few thudding heartbeats. William could tell she was considering their mother's reaction. Her thoughts ticking over behind her eyes. But she was quick to broaden her smile and stepped forward to lightly hug Eliza despite the surprise.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." She said politely before gesturing down the hallway to them, "Come in, you must be exhausted. The living room is the first door on the right, go on through. I can only imagine how long that trip must have felt like."

Peter didn't need much encouragement and walked in, shaking his head with the weariness of an old man, "So long."

Eliza followed the boy down the hallway, shoes clipping forward quickly, purposely refusing to meet William's encouraging expression as she brushed past him. Instead she focused on the wooden wall border panel engraved with round leaves that curled around each other, leading the way around the ground floor.

"She's got a bee in her bonnet. What did you do?" Patricia remarked quietly, once she was sure the woman was out of earshot. She was an old hand at not bothering to listen to her brother's spluttered defence. "And he's grown up to be a spitting image of his father."

William caught Patricia's eye as he passed her, raising his eyebrows, "Now it's your turn to babysit him, I've done my share." He whispered back to her.

He set the suitcases down on the hardwood floor. Everything was as it had been when he had left. The stairs to the first floor had been polished to a high shine, and small paintings of the surrounding countryside in all kinds of season hung in a sporadic yet artful manner up the side of the wall. It was satisfying to return home and see things hadn't changed. It mirrored the memories he had taken when he left for London, and then again as he crossed the sea.

"Yes, he's a smaller version of his father, only louder. Much louder." William commented, turning to meet his own reflection in the large silver framed mirror. He pushed back his hair so it looked smarter, and straightened the lines of his jacket with a tug on the lapels at the front.

Patricia met his eyes in the mirror and winced in mock-sympathy and then they followed the other two into the living room.

"Mother!" William called as he stepped into the room.

His mother had been stood to welcome her son and guests, her frame tense and shoulders locked into a practised position that portrayed a relaxed manner. Her line face paled and slackened a little when looking away from her new guests, and to her son. It was a change from the last minute when she had drawn a tight smile as Eliza had walked into the room, her coat drawn tight around her.

Only a few moments ago, Peter had bounced along and then stopped short in front of his grandmother's red armchair, seeing her smile soften as she walked forward to greet him.

"Hello Grandma, I'm Peter." He smiled wide with his left leg shaking a little as he stood on the spot. His arms went from hanging limply by his sides to running up the front of his jacket. "Uncle William says you already know me, but I haven't met you yet. Not properly."

He tugged off his hat and grinned sheepishly, hoping the tardy politeness still counted.

"I have, and you've grown so much. You look like a spitting image of your father." She rested her hand on the boy's cheek, surprised to be seeing the boy in front of her, with her own eyes. "Why is he not here, pet?"

Peter let out a long sigh of relief, and shuffled closer to his grandmother. "Dad's been busy on a case for months. He needs to catch the bad man, he promised me he would."

The old woman nodded decisively, her steely green eyes feigning some understanding and turned her attention on the strange woman who had just walked into her living room. She was a young pretty thing with long brown hair and a drawn face that added years to the tired look in her eyes.

"Jesus, and who are you?" Her eyes blinked owlishly and then she immediately answered her own question. "Well, I suspect you are the indefinite guest my son mentioned in his telegraph." She took in Eliza's appearance and the set of her chin sticking out with confidence.

Eliza reached out a hand, her coat falling open to show the very slight bump poking out around her middle. "I'm Eliza, and I'm very pleased to meet you. William has talked about you a lot." She told the old woman with a genuine smile, hoping it would help to make up for the confusion.

It had been a little difficult to summon up, but the weight of the first impression of the head of the household was too big an opportunity to let slip out of her fingers. While Peter had greeted his grandmother, Eliza had taken the brief interlude to steady her nerves with some big breaths. It had helped her get her words out, and so had the silent practising she had allowed herself on the train during the last portion of the journey.

The old woman's eyes had widened a little as her eyes ran over Eliza from hair to shoes. But to her credit, she took the extended hand and shook it firmly. When she felt the wedding ring on the finger, her heart flipped over and over. Her wrinkled fingers trembled a little with shock as they brushed past the band as she let go of Eliza's hand. She stared at her son who was hovering behind his sister in the doorway and her mouth fell open.

Then she looked back at Eliza and smiled, although not as soft as she had for her grandson. "I am Victoria Kirkland. It is lovely to meet you too, dear. Why don't you take a seat?"

She gestured to overly stuffed fabric armchair she had previously been sitting in and Eliza gratefully took the seat, glad to rest her feet. She leaned back on the plump cushion, and her aching back felt all the more better for it. The feeling of being watched, and being scrutinized was draining her patience. She knew she was being measured against some sort of yardstick, but without any answers she was left with a polite enough silence that did nothing for the nervous fluttering of her heartbeat or the sickening churning of her stomach.

It was then that William stepped into the room properly, unperturbed by the dark glance Eliza shot at him. Peter leaned on the armrest beside her, watching quietly. Patricia hung inside the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb and watched quietly.

His mother stepped away from the armchair and opened her arms to embrace her son, "William, look at you." Her arms reached around his shoulders and he had to bend down to hug her back tightly. She released him and patted his cheek covered in overgrown stubble, "What's this? You look like a farmer."

She huffed at the idea of her son walking through town earlier in the afternoon with a scruffy face.

"Sorry mam, it's a little hard to shave on a ship. The sea was choppy this morning." He smiled back at her, a little wistful since he had missed her since moving away. He straightened up and waved an arm towards the sofa, "Peter's going to be staying with us for a while, until Arthur gets things sorted. And Eliza will be living here too."

William knew that if his mother was the sort of woman to plant her hands on her hips and demand answers in front of her guests, she would have done, and she had been given a just cause to do so. But instead she settled for a more reserved reply that was directly largely at him.

"Yes. Your telegram was short, and sparse on any details. You never told me your guest was a woman." Her voice was climbing higher and higher. She raised her eyebrows and looked back at Eliza as if to make a point. "If I had known that a pregnant woman was visiting then I - would have made extra arrangements."

Eliza bristled a little at that, but decided to hold her tongue and wait. She clasped her hands together in a tight ball and concentrated on grasping all her nerves into order. "I don't want to cause an argument." She called out in a calmer tone than she felt.

"That's not the problem, dear." Victoria Kirkland smile tightly and turned away to look at William. "It's what has already happened that I have an issue with."

Eliza stared, her breath caught in her throat. She was suddenly very tired seeing the old woman looking down so dismissively on her. That was a feeling she had stooped under with a lifetime of work as a maid; if she wasn't earning room and board then there was no reason for her to tolerate it.

Eliza was on her feet in the next instance and spoke firmly, "I was under the impression that my stay here was a welcome one."

She had addressed William directly, who had finally taken the initiative to step forwards and try to placate his mother. Peter, on the other hand, had remained by the armchair and was intently watching the scene between the adults play out. However Eliza's vision had narrowed to pin itself on William, and now he was bearing the brunt of her anger.

Victoria noticed and hesitated a moment before saying, "You are welcome. No visitor has ever been turned away from my household."

"And I meant what I said. I promised." William told her slowly. It made her want to believe him, but she felt that she'd be a fool for doing so.

"I heard what you said." She replied distantly, looking past him to the open doorway feeling out-of-place. "But it's hard to believe."

Victoria looked on at the pair with eagle eyes, taking in her son's face and the stance of this new woman. She wondered how long they had known each other. When Eliza's flittering gaze crossed hers, she recognised the look of a proud woman gripping firmly onto the end of her tether, which only made her more uneasy about the young woman's unexpected presence. If she was a guest, then why did they look so familiar to each other?

William stepped forward again, this time passing his mother to take Eliza's hands in his. "Do you believe me?" He tipped his head to try and get her to look at him. He spoke in a soft tone he used when talking down the victim of a robbery or mugging gone wrong.

Peter leaned over and said, "Uncle William said you were coming to live with us, remember?"

But Eliza was stubborn, refusing to meet the other man's eyes. It was her hands that betrayed her. Stiff and sandwiched between his larger ones. She could feel the cool metal of her ring between them. "I can't see this working out." She whispered back, ignoring the feeling of being scrutinised. It was the truth, and she had carried that with her across a whole expanse of water. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

He let her take her hands back slowly, then reached up to rub his face wearily, regretting the fact that he had made this entire situation worse. "Yeah, that's on me. I guess I should have given you more warning. To both of you." He looked at his mother's face. Her mouth hung down on either side and the heavy frown was etched there, just above her eyebrows, immovable like the lines of a statue.

It was a face he was fairly familiar with. Scrapes between his brothers and sister had been common, and even when Patricia had been told to begin acting more like a young lady, it hadn't stopped him, Owen and the twins from the occasional fight. It was the look of disapproval. Seeing it again had pushed him on, after his father had died, to join Scotland Yard. To think his mother was disappointed in him for a non-existent reason meant that he needed to explain things quicker. So that she could understand why Peter was here without his father, and why Eliza was here at all.

"Some would have been nice." Patricia piped up helpfully, leaning against the wall beside the door. She had crossed her feet and seemed far more relaxed than any other person in the room.

William turned to her and huffed out a breath, "Honestly, there wouldn't have been a piece of paper long enough for it."

"Well then, William." Victoria called out before a silly argument began, seeking to put things straight for the sake of her whirling mind. "I will put on a fresh pot of tea, come and help me." She motioned for Eliza to take a seat on the sofa with another half-smile and puttered out of the room past her daughter.

"I'll explain everything to her." William told Eliza with what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and he led her back to the cream sofa to sit down. "She'll understand. This is the final hurdle, I promise."

"Will that matter?" Eliza whispered back, sinking into the seat. "What difference will it make?"

She bent forwards with her shoulders hunched in, but she barely regretted throwing the words out. There was fear rising up in her, it was better than letting it stew inside her chest along with the sticky, burning feeling of being abandoned again. Roderich was gone and then Lovino had done it at the train station, with his glazed eyes and clammy palms. He had pushed her away from her job and the city she called home. It was easy for him, to be so far away with the blame leaving her to try and live her life out of sight in another country. Her breath caught in her throat again.

Patricia pointedly stepped away from the door, coming around to settle herself on the sofa beside Eliza. "Rather you than me, brother. This was quite a surprise to spring on us." William rolled his eyes at her and then followed his mother out of the room.

Taking the opportunity of the grown-up conversation bubbling around him, Peter wandered around the room. It was heavily decorated from the light green floral patterns curling around themselves on the wallpaper, to the knick knacks on the dark mantelpiece. He wandered over to the speckled marble fireplace, covered by a heavy looking fire guard. Up above, and mostly out of his eye line were some photographs. He caught sight of some copies of the family photos from his father's childhood that he had shown him, some time ago. Further above the mantelpiece hung a large portrait of an elegant looking woman dressed in a floaty looking blue gown sitting on a chair. Behind her stood a stern man, dressed smartly in a black suit and white tie, looking a lot like William but much older.

He glanced at the empty doorway leading to the hall, putting two and two together, and then back at the painting. He came to the realisation that it was a panting of his grandmother from some decades ago. When she was young, maybe Eliza's or his Aunt Patricia's age. He inspected his grandfather's face a little more, seeing his uncle's features more prominently than his father's. But there was the same creased lines, faint but scored around the corners of his eyes.

He was about to say something about his father, but then noticed the remaining two adults in the room sitting quietly so he decided to continue looking around than disturb them. He knew he had better manners than that, even better than Alfred who would have burst out saying something anyway.

"Never mind him, he's about as forward thinking as a toad outside of his police work." The russet-haired woman shook her head. She shuffled closer to sit beside Eliza and took a hold of her hand in a more comforting fashion than her brother. The movement pulled Eliza back into the living room, and she seemed stunned to see Patricia beside her.

"You're here now and that's what matters. I guess, Sam and I are not the only thing to shock my mother lately." Patricia told her matter-of-factly. "She's got a strong constitution, our mother."

Patricia turned over Eliza's hand, finger lightly brushing over the wedding ring. "I mean, I always thought William was the kind of lad to think things through slowly. He's never been one to rush into things. Not to mention the fact that he never sent word. That's what's hurting her the most, I reckon, but she'll come around. Just you wait, you seem nice enough."

Eliza stared at the woman's bemused face, "No, no." She pulled her hand away, closing her hand over her ring. "My husband...he was-"

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Patricia butted in with wide eyes. "I didn't mean to say that. I thought-" She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from saying anything else.

"Miss Eliza's husband has gone. Like my mom." Peter said quietly, leaning a little on the coffee table and looking unsure if he should be repeating the quiet words that Eliza had told him in the park before they had reached New York.

Patricia swallowed nervously, and nodded. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I had thought, only from the way you were acting. Like a bickering couple. But it wasn't that at all… just my daft brother not explaining enough to us." She huffed, annoyed at her own mistake.

"You didn't know." Eliza nodded understandingly hoping that after William explained the true reason, his mother would allow her in her home as a temporary guest.

She looked at the apologetic smile on the other woman's face and figured she needed to make small talk, while the more important talk carried on without her in the kitchen. "Samuel dropped us off here in his truck."

Peter nodded, coming to sit on the other side of his aunt. "He let me sit in the back, and Fred gave me a carrot."

Patricia smiled back, "He's a lovely man, we're getting married in the spring." She leaned back into the sofa, "So, tell me about yourself."

"I'm from Ohio…lived there my whole life. But my parents were from Hungary and moved over there after they were married." Eliza began, "I was working as a maid in a large household... with my husband."

Eliza paused and struggled to find more words, and Patricia noticed so she asked another question. "Nothing wrong with being a maid, my Sam's a grocer." She gestured to Eliza's midriff. "You're pregnant? How many months gone?"

"Three months and the bump's getting bigger now. I've been letting my dresses out." She trailed off again, hearing sounds from the kitchen. "Sorry, I'm not feeling very talkative, I haven't been able to sleep properly since we left America."

"That'll be all the travelling. But you can rest properly now." She nodded sagely, "I guess we'll have a baby here by springtime. And the weather's not so bad at the moment, but soon you'll be glad of the excuse to stay indoors. There was an awful turn last week, I had to skip the market because there were hailstones!"

Patricia elaborated on and on, and Eliza felt herself relaxing in her seat with the mundane conversation topic. "We'll go into town maybe tomorrow, and pick you up all the things you need. I don't think any of my things will fit you now."

There was a loud babble rising from the kitchen as the conversation spilled through the crack in the door. Peter crossed the room to the doorway in alarm when he heard his grandmother's raised voice, but the three in the sitting room were unable to make out what was being said.

"Don't mind them." Patricia said, "I suspect he already had known how to win her over about you. He's daft, but not that daft."

"I'm not so sure." Eliza brows creased up and her hands clenched into her skirts. "I don't have a home anymore, and this…" She trailed off and Patricia draped her arm over the back of the sofa so that she could face the other woman.

"Go on." She said, knowing that the woman had something to get off her chest. "You can tell me."

Eliza leaned forward and lowered her voice so that Peter wouldn't hear her.

"I was promised a safe place, and I have had to leave my home. I have had to run away, because of the same reason Peter is here." She fixed Patricia with a look of pure determination. "My life has been shattered, but I have to fix this for my child." Her hands waved in the air before her, grasping nothing. The gesture showed Patricia that there were things too big to talk about to an almost stranger, despite opening up their home to her.

Patricia sighed after considering Eliza's words. "I can see why my brother brought you here. He's right, you can stay here as long as you need to."

The volume of noise from the kitchen rose again, both voices talking over each other loudly. It set Eliza's teeth on edge to know that William was arguing with his own mother. She was cross with him, for not warning his family, for throwing her existence in their lives. She was cross with herself for ever stepping on that train and leaving her home. She should have brushed him off her arm and left the market as soon as he grabbed her arm.

"Never mind that noise, you just leave it to us. My mother won't need much convincing, and I think my brother has that covered." She beamed at Eliza and then straightened up proudly, "Besides, even if he hasn't, Sam and I can wear her down."

Eliza couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter at the woman's self-assured stance. She had so quickly positioned herself on Eliza's side and now was talking about arguing for her. "You want me to stay?"

"Where else would you go? That safe place my brother promised, it's yours and it's here. I don't know how many times we're going to have to try and convince you. Looks to me like you had a whole journey of it. But you're a Yank, and I guess that's part of the charm." Her smile had turned into a full-blown grin, and it stunned Eliza.

She could only nod back, admitting defeat and feeling slightly more convinced with the cheery woman's arguments.

"Shush!" Peter said, leaning on the doorframe and listening intently down the corridor. He turned back with a scowl, "They're talking about you. But it's gone quiet, I can't hear anything now. Eliza's staying with us, right?"

Patricia waved him over from the other side of the room. "Yes, she is. Never mind them, come back here lad. Now, tell your Aunt Patricia all about the ship you three sailed the Atlantic Ocean on."

He dragged his feet on the plush carpet as he walked back to the sofa, and with a bit of cajoling began to chatter on about the ship. His voice brimming with the memories of excitement as he described the size, while Eliza's future was argued for further down the hallway.

(Part 6)

Victoria Kirkland reached for the kettle and filled it from the tap. The gushing noise from the faucet was white noise stuck in the background. Her noisy thoughts whirling around her head. The kettle filled, she put it onto the stovetop and lit the gas. Her son walked in and shut the heavy wooden door firmly behind him.

As soon as it clicked shut, she spun on her heel with a little less grace than her age belied and grabbed hold of his ear, pulling him down within a comfortable arm's reach. Despite having the frame of a woman in her mid-sixties, she was a picture of health and it showed in the way her grip never faltered, despite William trying to straighten up. "Ow, mam!" His arms flapped in the air and his struck the countertop awkwardly.

"Have I, or have I not, brought you up to be a decent gentleman, William Kirkland?" She asked sternly, and the question only had one answer. Not to mention it was in the familiar chiding tone of no-nonsense that echoed among the memory of the more dangerous escapes he had gotten himself into.

"You have, mother." He replied quickly and winced again as she twisted his ear, unsatisfied with his answer. "Look, I'm sorry. I know, I should have said more in the telegram, but it's all so complicated-"

"Complicated!" Victoria raised her voice a little louder and released his ear with a noise of exasperation. William took the opportunity to back off and lean against the counter feeling wary of the telling off that was about to happen. "Son, you've brought a pregnant woman to my door, explain."

"It's to do with Arthur's case." He sighed, deciding to start at the beginning.

His mother waved her finger in the air, failing to see a straight thread connecting this new woman and her son's police work. "Don't you dare go blaming your brother for your own actions."

"I'm not, I'm trying to explain." William defended, moving to the side as Victoria opened the cupboard next to him for teacups and china saucers. She swilled out the largest teapot with fresh water and set it down on the countertop. William noted that she had taken out her best set, but wouldn't allow himself to slip into complacency.

He held his breath as his mother puttered around the kitchen, opening and closing the drawer loudly after pulling out teaspoons. After placing the sugar and milk jug in the tea tray, she asked hesitantly, "Have you married her?"

"What?" William was thrown and he spluttered, slack jawed.

Victoria turned on him and waved the tea strainer in his face, "Have you married her?"

"What?" He repeated, waving his arms up in his defence. "No, mother. I have not."

There was stunned silence in the kitchen as the two of them reached for the right words. William was staring at his mother. Her face was struck between several expressions, anger, shock and he was very surprised to see the upward curl of his mouth showed that she seemed slightly smug.

"So you brought her back her to be married." His mother declared, as in her mind she had finally connected the dots with a sense of accomplishment. She set the tea strainer down and turning to pull the fridge door open. "Well I can't say that I'm surprised. She is well mannered, seems intelligent and is rather pretty. And you do seem besotted with her."

"What?" William asked flatly, somehow stuck in a loop by the sudden turn of the conversation. He stared at his mother's back dumbfounded.

"You are not a goat, William." His mother turned back to face him, milk bottle in hand. "But I am disappointed in you, son, I cannot deny that. Bringing her here, and with a baby out of wedlock. Without so much as a by your leave to your own mother? What would your father have thought?" The hurt in her voice had managed to leak out quietly from behind her anger.

"Mother, wait." He slipped the cold glass bottle out of her hand and set it on the table, avoiding her hands trying to bat him away so that she could carry on making tea. "Listen. Arthur's currently working on a case, to lock up a very corrupt businessman. You know him. Roma Vargas. He's been running illegal alcohol and he's got a stranglehold on the city, not to mention there's been open fighting been his gang and others in the streets. Eliza's husband was an informant to the police department, and it was supposed to be a secret..."

He paused, letting his words sink in, and the frown on her face deepened as his mother realised. "But Vargas found out, and Eliza's husband was...he was killed, mam."

"Oh." Victoria managed, her hand flew up to rest on her chest, feeling her heart flutter with shock. The name Vargas was an unwelcome familiarity in their home. "Arthur has been a nuisance to him, and now he's close to locking up the man. All he needs is a little more time. But it's made Vargas antsy, he's getting sloppy and lashing out."

He paused again, letting his hands drop to the sides of her arms, knowing that what he was about to say would upset her, but it was a truth she needed to know. "He also kidnapped Peter."

"No!" A look of horror crossed her face.

"We got him back quick enough and he wasn't hurt. But it was done with some help, and the people who gave that help made a deal that meant that Eliza was to leave the city too, to keep her safe. There's more to the story than that, but I'm keeping things simple because this is what you need to know, and some of it is hers to tell. Mother, she's here because she hasn't got anywhere to go, and because her husband lost his life trying to help our case. You know how important it is to have that bastard locked up. We owe her...something."

They let the words sink in as the kettle whistled and warm steam billowed up. Victoria Kirkland was standing still for the first time since he had arrived.

"I'm sorry for not writing more to you, but I couldn't risk anything falling into Vargas' hands. Even a telegraph from my own mother. You know what people are like when money's concerned."

Victoria nodded in agreement, mouth curled in disgust. "They took my grandson. That despicable creature. Peter was kidnapped." She shuddered unable to form words out of her hate

William pulled his mother into a hug. "You should have seen how brave he was, getting on that train. He's been behaving, like Arthur was at his age but with more manners."

His mother chuckled, "Now you're trying to make me laugh. How is Arthur?" She asked, resting her head on his shoulder. "He takes after his father, when he's got a bit between his teeth. Is he looking after himself?"

"He's doing better. Doesn't sleep much, but he's got a good team around him. And Alfred is keeping him on his toes. He is a young man now, you'd be proud of him too."

"I am." She nodded, "Good, I'm glad."

The kettle let out a long whistle, steam flowing out of the spout in a torrent. Victoria stepped away to take a towel and picked it up, pouring out the boiling water into the teapot. The smell of tea flooded out, curling up along with the steam vapour, filling the homely kitchen. It looked the same as when Arthur had last visited from America and taken Peter with him, but they had put in a new refrigerator that hummed loudly by the back door. The sound of barking from beyond the back door made William groan loudly. He was drowned out immediately as the barking grew louder.

"Let Skye in." His mother instructed in a firm tone as she fixed up the tea tray.

With another exasperated groan, William walked over and barely opened the back door a crack before a small, agitated Yorkshire Terrier wormed its way in through the space and began yapping at his legs. "I had hoped you'd gone chasing after some sheep and got lost in the fields." William quipped at blur of damp fur.

The little brown dog growled like a dying car engine and bounced from one foot to another as best as its old legs allowed it.

"I guess I hadn't had hoped as hard as I could have." He shut the door and made his way to the kitchen table, taking a seat and resting his head in his hands as his mother watched the tea brew. The dog sat beside his chair and snuffled at his shoes, headbutting his shins in a manner that was too hard to be entirely friendly, leaving damp marks on his trouser hems.

"Yes, I missed you too." William looked down to tell it with unconcealed distaste and the dog replied with another soft growl. They were a well-matched pair.

Ignoring the dog, he continued to share information about his brother's health and his visit. "They are still living with the Frenchman, Francis, and his son."

His mother nodded, and then went on to ask hesitantly, "And Eliza, where was she living, if her husband was an informant?"

"She was working in the Vargas' house. There was no easy way to get her out. I had to catch her at the market, and then convince her to come with us."

"She's got a backbone, despite everything that's happened." There was a sense of approval in her voice.

"You have no idea, mam." William replied, thinking on how difficult the conversation in the middle of the marketplace had been.

"But you are sweet on her." His mother pointed out quietly, "I can tell." She reached over for the sugar pot again, placing it with a soft clink in the tray.

William fell silent, thankful that the dog tugging on his trousers was distracting him enough to excuse him from answering.

She fiddled with the alignment of things on the tray, pushing the milk jug an inch to the left with her finger. "She's a widow, and she's about to have a baby. Poor lamb." His mother continued, "Oh, I wish you had mentioned something in your telegram. But I'll go out myself tomorrow morning to town. Can you imagine the gossip if Patricia went out to purchase things herself?"

"I'll take you." William offered.

"No, you'll stay here and keep her company for now. Patricia will help too. That Samuel of hers can help out, but you'll have to tell him that I'll not be sitting in the back of that truck. It must reek of vegetables."

William chuckled and stood up to hold open the door to the hallway for her, and Victoria let out a hearty laugh as she hoisted up the full tray. She paused at the door and lowered her voice to a whisper, "Oh, how silly you must think me. I had feared that my eldest had either married a woman and was having a child without telling us, or that you had not married her and was having a child regardless."

She eyed her son with a look to let him know that he would definitely not be trying that, anything to displease her, anytime soon.

"I am sorry for scaring you, mother." He repeated honestly. "If it helps, I promise I'll do neither of those things too.

She tossed head, and a few strands of her greying hair escaped her bun. "We can't stand here talking about misunderstandings, the tea will get cold."

She bustled past him and into the living room, ready to set things straight with her new guest. William followed, the set of his shoulders far more relaxed after clearing up the confusion. He was proud of his mother's reaction and now that things had been smoothed out a broad smile plastered itself over his face.

(Part 7)

The run up to Christmas had put the town into a frenzy. Gripped in the deep mid-winter, cold wind blew between the bare branches of the trees and sent them tapping and cracking against each other. The grey sky bore down on the townspeople without a smidge of sunlight, and the glow of the gas lit lampposts in the afternoon did little to lift spirits as the black cloak of night settled over them longer and longer with every sunset. It was the thought of the festive celebrations that tumbled through houses and shops, pulling the community together.

Conversations in the grocers and newsagents bubbled over Christmas traditions and of the order things needed to be done. Decorations were slowly put up from the end of November, and the town square was adorned with red ribbons and festive boughs. Colourful paper chains hung in windows and jaunty music escaped the village pub's doors. They had enrolled Peter in the local school, and his days were quickly occupied with exercise books and running around in the playground. His new friends treated him and his American accent like the latest fashion, and took to mimicking him to the distaste of some of the prim mothers who had worked hard to clip their vowels and imitate the voices on the radio announcing the news.

In the Kirkland's house on the hill, Eliza was settling in with an embroidery hoop. She had taken up the new hobby at Victoria's suggestion to keep herself busy as the weather turned colder. The older woman had sat with her for a few afternoons and gave a handful of tips before leaving her to work out her own mistakes. It was different, when compared to the straight stitches and button saving work she had done previously. A tangle of colourful scraps left over from Victoria's own handiwork had her stitching a multitude of flowers in silence, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She grieved in spurts. Some days it washed over her and pulled her under. There was a hopelessness when she turned over in her new bed, with softer pillows meant for comfort and an empty space beside her. It crept up in the quieter moments too when she turned, expecting to see Roderich's face and hear his voice. William occasionally caught her staring into space, lost in the memories of a happier time. Eliza turned more sombre in these moments, and he herded Peter away once he came back from school. Her pain waxed and waned, but as her stomach grew bigger she became more grounded and her attention kept being drawn back to her baby and what her life would be like once her child was born. Each time her mind wandered, she had to pull it back from thoughts of seeing a small Roderich growing up, or a girl with his eyes and temperament.

Peter liked to keep her company at the weekends, when Patricia had errands to run in town or a meeting with her fiancé. The boy was also making his way steadily through the bookshelf in the study, that stood tall in his father's old room. Stocked with daring stories, he lay on the rug beside it and compared his own adventure. William had tried to give the boy a tour around the large house in the first few days, but then decided to leave him to it. Peter tended to spend his weekend mornings wandering around the empty fields, playing with the chickens in the yard and chasing the solitary goat that had wandered in some years ago which was too stubborn to be herded off their land. William and Patricia continued to bicker and joke, drawing Eliza into their conversations and out of the house. He took to being a chauffeur, driving them down to the town centre where Patricia would escort her around the shops and they would chat to the locals until Eliza felt comfortable enough wandering around by herself, and the small town was used her presence.

As winter sunk its cold fingers into the countryside, they spent long mornings and lazy afternoons shying away from the rolling velvet darkness and stoked the warm fire in the kitchen sharing recipes and conversation. In the cosy and welcoming kitchen Eliza allowed herself to make less frivolous desserts that were more satisfying and filling. Patricia never turned down the offer to try her latest tart or pastry, and even Victoria confessed she had a sweet tooth, which only spurred her on. With a little wheedling on his fiancée's behalf, Sam had taken to bringing the first pick of the fruit shipped in, and his familiar presence meant his future mother in law slowly warmed up to the idea of him whisking away her daughter to the point of making a standing Sunday dinner invitation.

"I prefer a full house, and you're going to be family." Victoria told him matter-of-factly, and there was no room for argument even if he wanted to. Patricia smirked and sauntered off, leaving the two of them sitting in the dining room. She had quickly grabbed Eliza from the kitchen, and the two had stood just outside of the room and listened.

Sam spoke cheerfully, "It must be nice, I've not had that since I've been over here."

"Not even in the pub?" Victoria asked, and Eliza could imagine the woman pursing her lips and judging the young man.

"No ma'am. It's to do with a hearth, and having friends and family around." He laughed as his voice sunk into its Irish lilt, "It's not the same, but it's something like home."

Behind the door, Patricia beamed like a love-struck fool and Eliza took the effort to mention it to her after they shuffled quietly into the kitchen.

By the first week of December a letter had arrived for William calling him back to duty and the stacks of paperwork relating to the cases he had left behind. After profusely apologising to his mother and sister, he had caught Eliza taking a walk around the garden.

"I shouldn't be gone for too long." Eliza looked across the garden and noted the thickening grey clouds while listening as he gave a quick run-down of the cases that were taking him away from his hometown and to Glasgow. "And you seem to be settling in well."

At that, they exchanged a grin, Eliza's a little wider than he expected, "It's surprised me too. Thank you, for convincing me."

It was true. Despite the initial uncomfortable entrance, she found the house and its inhabitants opening up to welcome her far more easily that she had imagined. Over the last few months they had gone out of their way to make sure that she felt comfortable, and despite a few prying noses scattered around the town, she found her fears had melted away with Victoria's mother-hen like tendencies and Patricia's unwavering optimistic attitude. Taken under the Kirkland's wing, both her and Peter had settled into place in this new country. Now when she opened her eyes with the dawn light, she didn't feel startled to see the heavy velvet curtains or the dark wooden posters at the foot of her bed.

Later in the day, Eliza watched from the bedroom window and watched as William drove off in his shiny green car as the heavy rain turned the track into two muddy rivets. Peter sprinted down behind waving and shouting his goodbyes, making Eliza tut at the state of the muddy footprints he would leave on the kitchen floor.

She turned around and her foot clacked against her suitcase. There was a single item she was yet to unpack and find a place for inside her new room in her new home. Eliza sat down in the rocking chair by the window and lifted up her suitcase which had laid empty under the windowsill. She rested it on her knees and let her thumbs run over the cold metal clasps. Only, it was a small unknowable piece that she was unsure to open. She thought that after all these weeks, she still needed to face this final thing she had carried across with her and feel how heavy the burden was. She couldn't bring herself to flick the case open, and she slid it off her lap and placed it back on the floor.

Eliza was still to open the letter as winter blanketed itself in the crisp frost laid over the fields. She reminded herself to read it upon waking and seeing the little suitcase by the foot of the chest of drawers, but every time the day had slipped away and somewhere along it so had all the energy she had mustered up. Before the end of the year, she promised herself, I will do, and by then it will be time.

Two weeks later, on a whim she had opened the case, and sat in the bathroom on the side of the tub after locking the door. In her hand, she held the letter and she slowly ripped it open and unfolded the heavy creases in the thick sheet of paper. The blue ink had bled into the paper in certain spots, leaving dark spots puddled at the start and end of some words. It had been written in a rush and without being blotted. Further down, there were words and phrases scratched which meant sentences were left unfinished.

Dear Eliza,

I don't have the time to explain, Feli is packing your bag and then I will be taking the policeman's son from where my Grandfather is keeping him, to the train station. The policeman, Arthur, and his brother William, have promised that if I can deliver the boy to the station, then they will arrange things so that you will have passage on a ship to England too.

I know this is unexpected, but since Roderich's death our house has been falling apart and Grandfather expects things which cannot happen. He believed that Roderich was spying on us for the police, but this isn't true. I know this because -

Roderich's death was not his fault, and I need you to know this. He didn't spy, and he would have done anything to protect - you and the baby. He did everything he could to protect me too. Too much, I think, and I wouldn't -

It was my fault. He died because of me. I was too scared, and I couldn't change anything in that moment. He died looking at me in the eyes knowing that I couldn't stand up for him and tell the truth, but he never - Roderich died protecting me as well. Nothing I do for as long as I live would ever be able to balance the scales to repay him and my hands will never be clean.

He was brave - My Grandfather's crossed lines when stole the policeman's son. I can't be certain he would blame you for something he punished Roderich for, even if you were completely blameless. So William will get you to England, and you and your baby will have be able to have a new life, away from this family who has cost you your own.

I have set up a wire transfer, of five English pounds a month, to be sent to the bank in the village where William lives. You can choose what to do with this money, but I hope it helps you in your new life. It is the most I can do.

If you choose to never hear from me again, then I understand.

- I won't ask you to forgive me.

I am so sorry for the pain I've caused you and your child.

I hope you find happiness.

Lovino Vargas.

A wail erupted from the bathroom and inside the small room. Eliza held onto the counter edge with one hand as the world fell away from her. The sound echoed off the tiles and bath tub, fading to a whisper still unheard by her ears. She ripped the paper in half and then glared at the crumpled lines, breathing heavily to try and stop her throat from closing up. Lovino's words had disappeared into the folds of the paper and she felt like she was going to be sick with bile that burned sharply, clawing its way up her throat. She hated him, she hated Lovino Vargas, the young man she had helped to bring up, inside the house she had given years of her life working as a maid.

She marched out of the bathroom and to her bedroom, one hand dragging along the side of the wall and the other holding the paper gingerly, feeling the confession burning her fingertips and hating the idea that she couldn't bring herself to throw the scraps into the fire. She had wanted to know what was in the letter, and now the knowledge could never be taken away. If ignorance was bliss, then any peace she might have been able to salvage had disappeared with Lovino Vargas' cowardly actions. He hadn't even been able to tell her to her face in the house, and instead he had squirrelled away a letter. It amounted to a flimsy version of the truth, it was pathetic that he couldn't have taken the few moments at the train station to tell her to her face, and instead he had shipped her off to another continent. She and Roderich had dreamed of starting a new life together and it had been taken away from them by him, because Lovino had been trapped under the thumb of his grandfather. All those years of serving within a household that revolved around the importance of family and loyalty, only to be betrayed by the young heir himself.

She would have spat on him if he stood in front of her. Another noise spluttered up her throat and she barely choked it down, uncertain of how loud it would be, and unsure if she even cared.

There was a knock on Eliza's bedroom door, and she turned around to see Patricia opening the door, sticking her head in the gap with a little hesitation. Her hair had been inelegantly twisted up and a wool cap Eliza had embroidered the week before was pulled low over her ears. "Eliza, is everything alright?"

Eliza sat down at the end of the bed and crunched the letter more. "I read it. I read the letter given to me by that, that-"

Patricia looked alarmed and hurried to sit beside her, wrapping both arms around her shoulders to hold her. "Is this the letter that William was trying to get you read? From the boy who agreed to bring Peter back?" She paused and took in Eliza's state, "What did it say? Something bad?"

Eliza took a shaky breath and her anger burst into hot tears that streamed down her face.

"Awfully bad." Patricia corrected herself. "Right. Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No. I want to forget it, but I can't." Eliza replied, turning away the other woman and instantly regretting catching the sight of her reflection in the mirror. Watery red eyes and red cheeks and the bump of her stomach had her returning to the swirling currents of worry that had plagued her ever since she had stepped away from the market stall with the English policeman.

"True, but that's not what going to help you." Patricia took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye, "If you do want to talk about it, just remember we're here."

Eliza didn't think she would want to talk about it, felt she could certainly muster up enough energy to fight back any feeling of helplessness and wring Lovino's neck if she ever set eyes on him again. She rested both hands on her stomach and a flicker of a thought about the price of passage back to Ohio fluttered up to the front of her mind. But would returning even help? She had been given a second chance away from the broken mess of that family. And even if she could confront Lovino, his grandfather was a monster of a man with a black heart she wanted to stay far away from. She heard things, as a maid between cleaning dinner plates from the table. Stepping in between the clients and seeing papers scattered across the room. Even if he did pause in giving his orders to his men while she was in the room, his loud voice carried his twisted words down the corridors. There was no mistaking when gave Viktor orders. His stoic right hand man was there to carry out certain things only a pair of already dirty hands would have no disagreements with.

At least with a sea between them, her baby would grow up safe. The Kirkland's town was something sleepy and nestled in between green fields and lakes that had depths of murky blue. Here, alcohol wasn't forbidden and would not strike up the tensions between businessmen looking to play with the boundaries of their territories in a city full of people. There wouldn't be deaths and unsavoury deals between the shadows of alleyways dripping with shattered bottles of moonshine and blood. Here the streets were safe, she could walk them without fear, even if there would be a loneliness she would never be able to shake. A presence of someone whose life had been cheated, and a debt that would never be paid.

Eliza sighed, and then realised that Patricia had pulled her into a tight hug.

"I miss my husband." Eliza told Patricia, looking over her shoulder and out the window. It was like sharing a secret she had been keeping safe for the past months. "I think he would have liked it here. But we had always planned going somewhere sunnier. I had always wanted to go to California. But he had wanted to see Arizona. It would have been nice, wherever we had decided."

"Hollywood?" Patricia asked quietly, feeling Eliza's shoulder's slump a little and the anger and stress leaving her. "It's nothing like the glamour of Hollywood here. The scenery is beautiful, and no one can argue with that. The tourists that come to see jewels of the Lake district, rather than the one's around Miss Crawford's neck.

"There's lots of work going out East, especially for a maid and a butler, we could have done well. We could have been happy." Eliza let go of the screwed-up paper, dropping it onto the bedspread beside her. She shivered a little, and pushed away thoughts of the future and the past and the could-have-beens.

"You could have been." Patricia agreed, and Eliza was glad that the woman didn't pity her, despite everything. It was strange to think that this family that had lost its youngest son to the same family.

"How did you manage to...after your brother…" Eliza winced, watching a flash of shock run across Patricia's face, but as with everything the young woman was unshakable.

"It took time. A long time. It's different for us, we were still here when Rhys went to Italy. He was nothing like William or our father. He had Arthur were cut from the same cloth. They'd rush into anything head first. Always without a care, believing their own speed, and in Rhys' case fists, could fix any problems." Patricia smiled sadly, "Only this time Arthur was too late to help. It changed him. He's not stopping chasing, and although he's been working on this case, it's taken him away from his home and family, and from the person he was."

Eliza tried to imagine Arthur Kirkland, but the only image she had of his was the blond policeman with deep worry lines etched into his forehead, trying to reassure his son from the train window. "I only saw him once."

"Arthur used to be a happier man, with different dreams and hopes. But when you lose someone as close to you as your own twin, it's different - even for mother, and William, and me to understand. I couldn't even begin to imagine losing Sam. We're practically the same age... but you and me, we're nothing alike, are we?"

Eliza looked at Patricia and her eyes flicked upwards, at the knitted cap she had made after graduating from embroidery. She reached up and gave it a tug, "I wouldn't say nothing."

Patricia snorted, "I'll have you know, because of this cap, I'm now the most glamourous lady this side of the Lakes." She stood and gave a graceful curtsey, nearly knocking into the wardrobe beside her. "I came up to ask, are you finding it colder? Mother said that you might like a few more blankets, seeing as the coal is running low. Those miners know when to pick their moments for a national strike." She walked over to the dressing-table, reaching for tissues and then pressed them into Eliza's hands.

Eliza nodded, wiping her face quickly. "Yes, that would help, there's thick frost on the windows in the morning now."

"Just be thankful we don't live further north. I'll bet my last bite of pudding that William will be sleeping under five blankets and wearing gloves inside his office!" She laughed with some specific tinge of behaviour that was confined to the relationships siblings shared, in which they take pleasure out of sticky situations the others suffered. It was a distraction, done on purpose out of kindness, and Eliza felt herself feeling grateful for it.

"Here, I'll get you some now." Patricia left the door open, walking off to the landing cupboard and Eliza hefted herself to her feet to follow. "Oh, you needn't have come. I meant to get a few extra ones for all of us." Patricia explained, "It's going to get colder now and it doesn't help being out further out from town."

Eliza looked out of the window and at the rolling hills disappearing in darkness. Evenings crept up quickly now, and it seemed that the days were over within a blink of an eye. Lunchtimes were followed by a walk while it was still light outside and she had learnt some of the local geography over the past two months circumnavigating the gossipers in town and crossing the valley along narrow footpaths bordered by bramble bushes and leafless hedges that the cold wind whistled through. It was quiet here, unlike the constant hustle inside the Vargas household. The lack of staff, contacts, and prospective clients that had once crowded her days providing her with a long list of daily tasks had vanished. It allowed her the space to think.

Her anger hadn't faded, and the letter had been stuffed away from the light of day and her sight. She still felt sick, every time she thought on the last few moments she had seen her husband only now there were more questions to fill up her mind. Did Roderich know he wouldn't be coming back? Why hadn't he told the truth? Why had he lied for Lovino? Why had they stayed at that house for so long just saving their money up, when they could have fled in the night with enough for train tickets to somewhere on the coast, or in the desert, and started again there? It would have been hard, but it was time they could never have.

Each evening she helped to tidy up in the warm kitchen with the other women and considered all her questions that would never have answers and slowly loosened her hope of expecting any. She was in a different place, with different responsibilities, and the past was too far away to touch or make a mark on. So Eliza allowed herself to think about her future in small steps as the days stretched out before.

The third week of December heralded a new person in the house, but this wasn't an unexpected one. The run up to the day had been forewarned by Victoria lamenting several times that her poor son was eating in the university halls, and that their food could never compare to a 'nice hot meal and around the dinner table with family.' After the fifth absently minded mention, Eliza decided to offer her help making the dinner that evening, much to Victoria's pleasure, in the hope it would help to calm her frazzled temperament.

"Maybe dessert?" Victoria had hedged with the wrinkles around her eyes deepening when she frowned early on the morning of Christmas Eve, looking hopefully at Eliza who only nodded in agreement, swallowing the urge to laugh.

She had been doing more of that, especially as Patricia had taken it upon herself to throw numerous witty retorts her way, and Peter had been nudged to give performances on interesting passages from the books he had been reading. He had even took to reading aloud the letters from his father and brother. It was how she had heard news on the Vargas case, how it had closed with the man's death and that Lovino was still alive. That he had escaped jail and was working to legitimise the tattered remains of his grandfather's business. She had gained some satisfaction from that, but the meagre sentences hadn't given enough information to understand how Roma Vargas had died.

"Does that mean Eliza going to make dessert?" Peter piped up from the table, and his lapse in concentration allowed the dog to pull the rope clean out of his hand. "Today and tomorrow?" He shot a grin at the pregnant woman and then ran after the dog.

Eliza made to reach for a clean tea towel, allowing herself to turn around and hide the laughter she was trying to push away. Unfortunately, Patricia was still in her eye line and they caught each other's eye. She coughed twice, shoulders shaking while Patricia drifted out of the room speedily to avoid her mother's glare, "-And I'll do the bread, I know you've been planning the main dish."

"That would be wonderful, how thoughtful of you." Victoria said thankfully with a broad smile, glad that her son would have a delicious filling meal, despite turning up on Christmas Eve. She continued blustering around the kitchen to take stock of her ingredients. "Now, the pie crust is chilling, but I need to get the filling. Sam will be stopping by to drive me and Patricia into town shortly. Would you like me to bring you back anything?"

Eliza considered the offer, but replied, "I'm fine."

When she was left to her own devices a few hours later, fingers sticky with freshly made jam as she crimped the top of the strawberry tart, she realised it had been a long time since she really needed anything. While she knew she wasn't at the Kirkland's for a holiday, she was looked after. Every first Monday of the month, for the past two months, she had been given an envelope containing five English pounds. It was an absurd amount and she felt numb every time the money was handed over to her. The notes were crisp and had been withdrawn from the bank, by either William or Patricia after he had set up her bank account. The income itself was being wired over from America, and it seemed that Lovino Vargas was keeping his word, despite everything. William had seemed pleased, while Eliza was stony faced at the counter, the anger that had come from learning the truth hadn't left her.

As soon as they returned to the house that first time from the bank, she had tried to press the entire, unopened envelope into Victoria's hand, with a flustered explanation going along the lines of, "For any inconvenience and for any cost you've had for me staying here."

Of course, Victoria had wasted no time in setting her straight, "I cannot not accept this," and whirled away into the kitchen. It had taken two weeks of Eliza repeatedly bringing up the fact that she felt she wasn't contributing enough to pester the old woman into accepting twelve shillings for each week she stayed with them, just to contribute to the household spending.

However the days continued to pass by and she had taken to pulling the curtains over the suitcase like before so that she wouldn't have to see the reminder that those envelopes were tucked away. Still the money continued to be paid to her, and the final reminder of the year came before William had left. But she had learnt the worst, Lovino admitted to being a coward and the cause of her husband's death. His grandfather was dead too. What else would he be able to hurt her with? He was still sending her money, despite the family business floundering in the wake of its boss' death. She needed to make a decision, and she had been taking her time to consider her options.

Peter had taken to the fields later that morning, wrapped from head to toe in thick warm wool and moaned loudly and ungratefully about his scratchy mittens. His grandmother had ushered him out the back door, and then she had left the house herself in Sam's truck to go to pick up the mince for the pie filling from the butchers in town. Patricia was taking advantage of the lift too and would meet her brother at the train station. Eliza heard the horn echo around the top of the hill as Sam greeted his fiancé who had been waiting impatiently by the front door, and then the low rumbling of the truck quietened as it crested the hill and Eliza was left alone in the house.

She wiped her hands down and pushed the jam tart into the oven. Setting the timer on the side, she surveyed that there was little mess to take care of, and found her feet taking her upstairs. Her mind was caught in a stillness when she leaned down to pick up the suitcase and put it onto the top of the cabinet. This time she took out the envelopes from the side pocket, and sat down on the bed. With a deep breath, she lay out the money that he had sent her. Even though she hated him, their last meeting at the train station made more sense to her as she slowly understood how he acted the way he had. His guilt made sense, and the money he was sending each month was out of that guilt. He felt the need to repay her for what had happened to Roderich. For a long time she had suspected he knew more than he had let on. He had been too sick to go to the funeral and it was because of what he had done that had made him sick. It was his fault, and it was in his own words written down in that letter. He had confessed to her. It was his fault that her husband was dead. And he knew not to expect her forgiveness. Even after this time and space, she still despised him.

But he was offering her another option, to take the bare minimum of what was owed to her, and to build something new with it. If she had been on her own, she might have turned him down. There was something in the idea of burning his money she thought she might have enjoyed. She hated the idea of her husband in the cold ground, so far away from her, because of him. But her life wasn't just hers, it was the future of her child too, of Roderich's child. She had to do more for the both of them, despite her hate and pain.

Eliza totalled up the amount and put the money back into one of the envelopes, running her finger along the bottom edge of the letter beside her. She still wasn't sure if she should rip up the letter into tiny pieces to get rid of every word. From downstairs, there was an incessant ringing of the timer she had set. She looked down and unfurled her hand, the crumpled message branded into her thoughts. She breathed in deep again, and then folded the letter back up. Instead of putting it back into envelope with the money and tuck it away into the suitcase, she slipped it between the folds of Roderich's green jumper and she placed it inside the top drawer in the cabinet.

Then Eliza walked down into the warm kitchen, turned the timer off and washed her hands and face under the cold water. The old dog shuffled and after deciding the spot in front of the oven was warm enough, sat down watched as she pulled on her oven gloves.

"You're going to have to move, Skye." Eliza shuffled the dog out of the way to take the tart out and he decided to sit under the table instead, snoring softly after a few minutes.

The tart was cooked through with golden pastry, and even if the jam had leaked a little out of one side, it still looked good enough to eat. She took out the confectioner's sugar to dust the top once it had cooled enough. Then she took the bread out of the cupboard and began to knead it for a second time. She knew like before she would have enough time to think things through. There was enough space here for her life to unfold as slowly as she needed, and despite everything this family that had taken her in somehow had accepted that she needed time. Lovino would never have her forgiveness, but she would never know how to repay the Kirklands for what they had done for her.

She didn't hear the car pull up, but the dog shot out of the kitchen and barked excitedly at the front door. Eliza heard the new arrival before she saw him. It was the low tone of his voice that carried despite Patricia's louder bickering in the hallway and the skittering sound of the dog on the wooden floor. The sound of their arguing was broken by a loud thud, and an equally loud lament drowned out by the louder barking, "My books!" when a trunk had slipped and landed heavily on the wooden floor, hard enough for her to feel the tremors in the kitchen.

"Don't tell her! That dent has always been there" Victoria's long-awaited son called out loudly. Eliza hadn't caught his sister's response, but she could hear Patricia was laughing and saying something about the dog.

Eliza looked up from the sticky ball of bread dough and saw Patricia pull her brother through the kitchen door. She had guessed that he was around the same age Lovino, from the few photographs around the house and Patricia's long-winded childhood stories. But he looked his age, wearing his youth better than the lasting haggard image ingrained in her mind. His cheeks were still flushed from the cold, just like his sister's, and his manner was a sort of breathless excitement tapered off by the shrugging off outside worries and the comfort that comes from returning home.

"Hello." Eliza said, turning her thoughts away from Lovino's letter and to the two people standing in front of her.

"Eliza, this is our youngest brother Owen." Patricia said with one arm slung over his shoulder and the other pinching his wind reddened cheek lightly. "He may have all grown up and is now reading law at university, but apart from getting taller, not much has changed."

Owen pinched her cheek back and shrugged her off gently. He walked around the table, meaning to shake Eliza's hand. She had put her own up as an apology, covered in flour and sticky streaks of bread dough, but he had taken it anyway and was shaking it enthusiastically.

"Lovely to meet you. Patricia tells me that you're staying with us. And that you're from America!" He spoke quickly, words tumbling over themselves in delight at a new surprising addition to the house. It looked like Patricia had spent the short journey from the train station to the house catching up her brother on their new household members.

He took back his hand and absently brushed off the flour that was stuck to him. "And where's Peter?" He looked around, expecting the boy to pop of from one of the kitchen cupboards, which wouldn't have been too much of a surprise to the two women. He was equal parts terror and amusement, but considering the darker alternatives of not having him with them, they all were learning to tolerate his more mischievous moments.

"He said something about going into the fields after lunch. I expect he'll be back soon, it's getting dark." Eliza replied, kneading the dough for a few more turns.

"Mother's still in town. She'll be disappointed to learn that we've made it back here before she did." Patricia said, sliding the bowl over the Eliza so she could tip the dough in for it to rise again. "We took the bus and persuaded the driver to take a short detour. Everyone in town is in high spirits because it's Christmas Eve so it wasn't too difficult."

Owen laughed and rested his hands on the back of the chair, tipping in so that it leaned back on two legs. He pretended to bat his eyelashes at the dog who had shuffled into view again, "Oh sir, my brother's returned from university in Wales, yes he's studying law and he's got an awfully heavy trunk of books, I'm not sure we'll be able to carry it. I know, it's marvellous, isn't it? Young lads from our village going out into the world and making a name for themselves."

Patricia elbowed him viciously, "Be thankful you didn't have to carry that trunk the whole way home."

The sound of Sam's rattling truck parking outside had Patricia buttoning up her coat again. Within a heartbeat she had swept past Eliza and reached for her brother's shoulders. Steering the confused young man towards the hallway, she announced, "Mother's back, and now you get to see my fiancé!"

Eliza watched the comical sight of Owen's alarmed face as he was whipped out of the kitchen without a chance to protest.

"A lot of excitement today." Eliza said to herself, and the old furry lump in the basket replied with a soft snore.

The rest of the day passed in the same way family reunions go. Owen underwent intense questioning from Victoria and Patricia, recounting in detail everything about his studies and the university. He described the city he was staying, and Eliza listened to his descriptions of the lecture halls, libraries and the large dining hall were all the students got together and spent their time.

"It's huge and has portraits of all the former masters." He explained to Peter who continued to shovel his desert into his face.

"What do you do in your spare time?" Eliza asked curiously.

"Well, I managed to convince one of the professors to send a letter to one of his friends, a barrister in his old chambers. He's letting me work for him when I'm free, that's why I'm back so late, it's because I was finishing the filing for a case he was working on."

"He's following his father's footsteps, just like his brothers." Victoria added proudly. "Frank was a policeman, just like Arthur and William. But my Owen," she reached over and rested a hand on his arm, "He's going to be a lawyer, maybe even a judge one day."

Owen grinned and huffed out a long breath, "That's a long way off, I'm just going to pass these exams first, and maybe get Mr Charles to let me sit in on some of his court cases as an assistant."

Sam made a noise of approval, "Seeing a young man have a passion for the law, it's not so much of a change. So long as you remember there's people on both sides of it. And you can't forget the people who've been left out for too long, because otherwise they tend to remind you of it sharpish."

Owen blinked, and then dived into his next question, "You're a red, aren't you?"

"And proud of it." Sam replied, in a measured tone.

Eliza felt Patricia tense beside her, and then relax as the two fell into a spirited debate about Irish politics. It only ended when Patricia pushing the largest slice of the tart towards Peter, earning disappointed looks from both men who considered her betrayal of the highest order. The little boy tucked into the sweet dish, pleased he was the favoured one out of all of them. Peter was thrilled to see two men in the house, and had set about convincing them to play with him now that the Christmas holidays had turned into long days away from his friends living in the town centre. His uncle Owen had been worn down quickly and had made several promises for a football game the next day.

Owen and Sam had gotten on swimmingly enough that Victoria had left them in the dining room mentioned that there was tea in the kitchen along with and some leftover bread and jam. Sam leant on the kitchen door as Eliza offered to pull out the leftover jam. He let out a long sigh of relief and said, "I'm feeling like I've had a lot of luck with this family."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." Eliza said pointedly, sliding over the jam jar.

Sam plucked a spoon from the nearest drawer and made a show of thinking hard before pointing it at her. "True, you must have twisted his arm with praises about me."

Eliza snorted and put away the last of the dishes Patricia had washed up. "No, you have, what was it that William said...a sort of charm."

"Ah-ha! I'm charming." He crowed with mock-delight, feigning a triumphant pose with the jam spoon held high aloft as Eliza pretended to fan herself with the tea towel. "Although, if we're speaking of heroes and bravery, I think you need your own parade."

She dropped the tea towel and grimaced a little, "I don't know about that."

"Do you know what you're going to do? After the baby's born?" Sam asked, leaning on the countertop beside her and opening the jar. He stuck the spoon in and offered it to her. "Will you stay here?"

She accepted the spoon and dug into the strawberry jam. "I like it here. It's a new start." She licked the spoon. "I've been thinking, about staying. I've not said anything, but..."

"Yes?" He pulled open the drawer and produced his own spoon. Taking a scoop of jam for himself, he told her, "As a fellow jam conspirator, I promise not to say anything."

They heard the sound of steady footsteps behind the door, and Eliza dropped her spoon into her apron pocket. Sam stared at his with wide eyes and then at the jam jar in his hand as his mother-in-law walked into the door. "I-er-" He began as her green eyes flickered from the jar to the spoon and back to his sheepish face.

"You are lucky you are a grown man, and my future son-in-law." Victoria stated crisply as she passed him with her head held high and untied her apron, hanging it on the hook by the door. "If you weren't, I would twist your ear."

"It'll never happen again, Mrs Kirkland." Sam promised quickly, dropping the spoon in the sink with a clatter.

Victoria patted Eliza's arm as she made her way out of the kitchen, "Oh and Eliza, dear, you have a little jam on the side of your mouth." Victoria told her in a gentle tone, and when she turned to Sam her tone became curt again, "Goodnight Sam, and take care driving home."

There was silence in the kitchen as Eliza closed the jam jar and fished out the spoon from her pocket to toss it into the sink. Then she turned to face Sam who spluttered with laughter, "I might get my ear twisted, but you're fine. She terrifies me sometimes. I'm glad I've got her a good present for tomorrow." He shook his head and she shrugged back, looking at the jar in her hands.

"So, you're planning on staying?" He asked her in a whisper, eyes fixed on the door. Eliza put the jam back in the cupboard and nodded.

Patricia breezed in to say goodnight to Sam before heading to bed, he slouched so that she could plant a kiss on his cheek, and then swept out again. "I think it's the place. Yeah, the place grows on you, doesn't it?"

Eliza took a moment to smile, Sam was right. The place had grown on her. The town had gone from strange to familiar, to somewhere she knew like the back of her hand. It was a comforting thought, even if she would call somewhere else home for a little while longer, at least in her own thoughts. It was the people that had made things feel secure for her. Never in her wildest nightmare would she have seen her future fall the way it did, and she would never have dreamed for the kind of hope they gave by giving her a home and enough time to grieve. The house they had opened up to her, wooden and warm, even in the cold of winter, had become her home.

"Something like that." She agreed with a smile and wished him a good night, following Patricia out and upstairs.

(Part 8)

Spring blossomed into existence in an immediate way only somewhere encircled by fields and nature could bloom back into life. It was a creeping explosion of green that spread across the ground first, and then climbed the trees and wrapped them in delicate green vines and in new leaves. Winter was coaxed away with the strengthening sun falling in through windows and open doors, and birds began to chirp the dawn chorus in the early mornings.

Her old home had been a city of man-made buildings with small pockets of tended-to green parks dotted here and there. The mountains and forests in the state were too far away to visit easily, so the Vargas employees had contented themselves with the lush garden Roma's extravagance paid for and complimented Heracles on his handiwork in the spring and summer months. But here, even the grass had shook off its crunchy frosty covering despite the constant cover of grey clouds. Colour slowly flooded in with yellow daffodil buds ringed around the town square that turned towards the weak spring sunshine. When she last visited the Kirkland's house, the multitude of hardy flowers in the front garden had begun to bloom under Victoria's keen eye and green fingers. Just as flowers began to bloom, people ventured out in the cold air more often, and the town came out of its hibernation.

Her own cottage was half as large as the big Kirkland house, nestled in a narrow street behind the main parade of shops in the centre of the town. She had worked hard to make it homely. With every new piece of furniture, she laid claim to it, and with every passing day the horror of her past slowly began to slide away. The small bench between the sprigs of purple heather and snowdrops in her front garden was the best place to sit and while away the lengthening hours. She enjoyed looking out across the street at the other people going about their daily business. A few even waved or tipped their hats to her as they strolled past. She was a familiar landmark in the town now. Even though she was mainly known as the widowed American who had stayed with the Kirklands through the winter, the respect she had gained from her new neighbours and friends had grown once she had begun offering up her services as a seamstress. Especially after Patricia had spoken to her friends and complimented Eliza's handiwork on the rows of pearls and reams of lace that now decorated her wedding gown.

She let her hand dangle over the side of the pram, pushing it forwards with her foot and pulling it back gently to lull Caroline to sleep. She was so small, and Eliza couldn't put a price on how precious she was from the wisps of dark hair on her head to her tiny chubby feet. Despite the early long nights and the baby's uncontrollable fits of crying, the two of them were settling into a space they could call home. She felt happy and sometimes guilty for feeling happy, that she was able to enjoy it without Roderich. But the feeling of hope was bigger than her happiness.

There was routine now, within her new house and beyond. She took the money wired to her each month in the town bank from the stout Mr Fairfellow and planned out her grocery list. Each time she bought baby supplies and new material for any orders she had taken on, her thoughts strayed further away from Lovino Vargas' image at the bank. The first thing proper thing she had made had been for her unborn child. She had sat in the Kirkland's lounge for three afternoons by the fire and taken Roderich's green jumper and turned it into a blanket, wanting her little baby to have a piece of her father close to her at all times. It was better than keeping it shut away in a drawer. With each decision Eliza made, she was taking the shattered pieces of her old life and fashioning them into a new one.

This afternoon as a pair of magpies swooped over the houses, with flashes of white and glimmering navy, she smiled and waved as William turned the corner onto her street. "Shouldn't you be wearing a coat?" He asked, looking up at the grey clouds spreading themselves evenly across sky as he opened the gate. Trudging up the short path wearing a thick coat and a grey scarf, he looked more suited for being out in the brisk air.

She ignored his question with a roll of her eyes, enjoying the fresh spring breeze on her face and instead asked him, "Is it good news?"

He took his seat next to her, leaning over the side of the pram between them to peer in and see the softly snoring baby. With a smile, William reported his news to her, "Yes, all the paperwork is done and I've transferred departments. My superintendent called this morning to say he has signed me over. From Thursday, I report into the Kendal station. I won't have to travel to London or even Glasgow again. They need the support too, and I can train up my own team. It'll be slower going than London, but I think I'll like it."

"That is good news!" Eliza congratulated, and she dropped her hand into the pram and brushed her fingers over the green woollen blanket, then across to touch her finger to the tiny pink palm of her sleeping daughter's hand.

William shrugged, "Having a hand in resolving the Vargas case helped convince him, even if it was an American one."

They sat and listened to front doors opening and her neighbours starting their days. Caroline snuffed in her sleep and the sound brought Eliza back out of her thoughts, and she thought about what she had learned about Rhys Kirkland from Victoria, and what his death had done to their family. "A quieter life, sounds to me like you deserve it."

William turned towards her, a grimace on his face. "Maybe." He paused, and then continued on, "Maybe I've had my fill of running around. Although, don't tell Arthur that. In fact, don't mention it at all. He'll probably say something like I'm turning into my father."

"Settling down closer to home? Desk work?" She quipped, raising her eyebrows which only made him snort.

He crossed his arms and frowned in a vague approximation to his father's figure in the family painting hanging in his mother's living room. Eliza noted the fixed stare and the deep-set lines around his eyes and was about to drop her teasing, but William offered it up anyway. "Yes, apparently I take after him."

"I hadn't noticed, there's no likeness to the giant painting in your mother's house." She said and grinned while he pulled a face Peter would have been proud of. "Give yourself a few more years."

"We all can't be spring chickens like you." He retorted. "Give it time, maybe twenty years and I bet you'll look like your own mother." William replied with a huff, "And I mean it, don't mention it to Arthur. They arrived earlier this morning. He'll only go on and on about the responsibilities of having a team. By this evening, we'll all be bored about how big his head is now the big man's been promoted himself."

He drawled out the last few words and leaned back against the hard wood of the bench, tipping his face to the weak sun slowly rising in the pale grey sky.

Eliza mimed locking her lips shut and throwing away the key, "I won't say a word."

He shrugged, his smile stuck firmly on his face. It was infectious, this bubble of happiness had enclosed their extended family with the birth of Eliza's daughter, Patricia's wedding the following month and his brother returning home victorious after so many years. The time it had taken seemed almost worth the happiness they were all feeling now, it was the feeling of vindication for everything they had gone through.

Arthur had sent a long letter at the beginning of February addressed to his mother informing her that their investigation and court case into Roma Vargas had been formally closed, along with marking the dead man's name with a list of crimes longer than his arm. Victoria composed herself, yet she had collapsed into a fit of overjoyed sobbing after reading the second page where Arthur wrote that he would be coming to pick up his son, and to attend his sister's wedding. Peter's excitement had quickly become uncontrollable and even a month later he still bounced along, happily marking the days off until he saw his father again. Arthur had then sent a shorter telegraph explaining that he was delayed because Alfred refused to stay home, and they had to scrape together enough for another return ticket.

William cleared his throat, "You know, now that the case is closed, it means you could go back if you wanted to. He wouldn't mind helping you with the journey back. Have you thought about that?"

Eliza fell silent and William turned to face her, curious about why she had fallen so still. They had all learnt that she was quick to speak her mind, far much quicker that he had assumed when he first met her. It seemed like she had only been a shadow of herself, under the death of her husband and the shock of carrying a child in amidst a household of madness and danger.

"Is there something wrong?"

The corner of her mouth lifted, "I was just thinking. I... have something to ask you." She looked into the pram again, like she was taking stock of things. Then she turned back to him, "I was wondering, would you like to be Caroline's godfather?"

William looked stunned, and her hopeful expression held firmly as she watched him look down at Caroline. Eliza saw that William taken aback, his mouth opening and closing like a gasping fish. "You don't-" She began but he cut her off quickly.

"Godfather?" He said quietly, "You'd really trust me that much?"

Eliza rocked the pram forwards and backwards, she struggled to reconcile herself with the memory of the woman who had been terrified out of her mind and yet she could feel the shadow of that pain stuck to the edges of her soul, unable to truly be tossed into the void where all lost thoughts disappeared. His question, of returning to Ohio was an unthinkable one. Roderich's ghost would linger restlessly, and she wanted to keep their promise about moving away from Vargas' city and making a better life.

"You told me that I could trust you, and your family. I might not have done at the beginning, but I do now. You've been a good friend to me, William, even when you had little reason to help. I'll always be grateful for that, for the help you give to us. So will you, be Caroline's godfather?"

William spluttered a bit more, and then he leaned in to look at the sleeping baby and smiled at her. "Honestly, Eliza, it would be an honour."

"What made you consider me?" He asked a little while later when she brought out two steaming mugs of coffee.

"I thought about who Roderich and I would have chosen, if he were here with us. And I decided after everything you have done for us, bringing me here and making what I thought were stupid impossible promises offering safety, a place in your family...I couldn't think of a better person. He would have thanked you, if he was here." Eliza passed over a mug and she sat back down next to him.

"Who have you asked to be godmother?" William asked curiously.

"I haven't yet, but I was going to ask Patricia this evening."

William grinned, "I never knew us Kirkland's having ever made such a good impression before!"

Eliza was quick to justify herself, "She's been a good friend, and done so much for me too. I can't ignore that."

With a more sincere look, William conceded. "I am being serious when I say that she'll be delighted."

"We should leave now, if we don't want to be late. It's nearly tea time." Eliza noted as the sun began setting. She stood and gently extracted her daughter from the tangle of green, then gathered up her daughter in her arms. "Will you bring the pram?"

"Sure, although mother's thrilled whenever you and little Caroline visit." He hefted himself to his feet, and stamped the feeling back into them before tackling the ungracious task of dismantling the pram frame into half so that it fit into the back seat of the car.

As he drove them out of town and up to the Kirkland's family home, Eliza watched the green hedges zip past. Nestled in her arms, her little Caroline burbled quietly. There wasn't anything she wouldn't give for Roderich to be there, to see what she could see when she woke up in the mornings and looked over to the crib. Or maybe to hear him rouse himself beside her and curse quietly when Caroline would not stop crying.

There would be days when she would miss Roderich more than normal, when the gaping hole in her heart would crack open and the pain would leak out from the splinters. Time could not heal all wounds, no matter how far it would carry her away from him. Yet she had other days to look forward to; her daughter's first words, steps, maybe even to set up a shop in the town. Others awaited her too, like when she would explain to Caroline how her father had died, and of how brave and brilliant he had been. Ever since she made the decision to step onto the train and leap unknowingly into an escape, her own future had begun unravelling in unexpected ways, and she expected it to continue unravelling as the years rolled on.