Evie didn't recognize the room, but it was warm and pleasant. She was in an overstuffed arm chair and had a well-thumbed book in her hands, obviously loved even if she couldn't say what it was about.

"Mother?"

A young woman pattered into the room, slender and lovely with long dark hair.

"Cecily," Evie heard herself answer, closing her book with a smile. She drew the girl closer and held her face, searching it eagerly. Freckles. A straight nose. Hazel eyes.

Cecily beamed. "I wondered where you were- I have something to show you," she said, pulling Evie out of her chair and along by the hand.

They walked down long hallways that seemed to go on forever until they turned a corner and Jacob was there, standing at a window, his back to them both.

"Father," Cecily called out, immediately letting go of Evie's hand to skip over to him.

Her heart stuttered when he turned and identical smiles beamed out at her, framed by sunlight, Cecily's laughter light and free.

Jacob took Cecily's hand. "I'm not your Father."

Evie felt the smile slide off her face.

Jacob pointed to Evie. "She wouldn't let me be."

"Evie?"

Cecily's heartbroken face made Evie stumble forward. "No, please, I wanted to- I'm sorry-"

"How could you, Mother," Cecily whispered, her body beginning to shake, a terrible red bloom beginning to grow at her chest. "You killed me."

"Evie!"

"No," Evie cried out, Cecily falling and writhing on the ground as Jacob just watched, impassive, his stare cold and hard and the distance between them too far, too far for her to cover-

And then she was awake, Jacob shaking her briskly, his voice calm and soothing. "Hey, hey, you were dreaming. Everything is safe. Deep breaths."

She was heaving out shuddering sobs, her hands shaking as she curled into Jacob's chest, clinging to the front of his nightshirt. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, encasing her with his body and his warmth.

"Deep breaths," he said again, stroking her hair. He waited until the shaking had mostly stopped, whispering soothing noises into her ear, his tone worried. "You were calling out Cecily's name."

"Nothing new," she said, scrubbing at her face. This was all rather embarrassing; she was meant to be supporting him, not the other way around.

She could see his alarm even in the dim light. "Does this happen a lot?"

Evie closed her eyes at the thought of those countless sleepless nights. "Not as often as it used to."

He was quiet at that. He understood, she thought in a rush, feeling that sensation for the first time. It was like handing a portion of that burden to someone else, her shoulders now that much lighter for it.

Jacob traced her face lightly with his fingers. "I think about her too."

"She was beautiful," Evie whispered.

"I'm sure she was. Just like her Mother."

She let out a wet snort.

"It's true," he insisted, pulling her close to pepper her face with kisses until she was laughing and squirming, batting him away.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she muttered, shifting back under the covers and pulling him down with her. She settled against his shoulder, waiting for the tightness in her chest to recede so that sleep could finally reclaim her.

When he thought about it later, Jacob would realize that he had never seen her cry about leaving. Obviously distraught but always composed, she hadn't let him see a single tear.

He wondered why.

His recruits gathered as commanded when the time came, crowding into the small space of his flat. Evie had decided to stay, perched in one of the wobbly wooden chairs, observing the proceedings.

Jacob clasped his hands together. "Right, so. Tell me what you've learned."

Alfred started, stepping in first as he always did. He put his hands behind his broad back, squaring his shoulders like a soldier. "I took back our warehouse by the Thames. It was still being patrolled by a couple of turned Rooks, but I took care of 'em easily. I think most of Jack's followers of any quality are already dead."

No one needed reminding about who was responsible for that. Evie just shifted slightly, drumming her fingers against her knee.

"Excellent," Jacob said, "then we can resume training there."

Alfred nodded. "I'll set it up."

Roy was next, pushing his spectacles up his nose as he examined his notes. "I have regained our access to the accounts that Jack took. He made a lot of money, though I shudder to think how. I think the best course of action is to try and put some of that money back into Whitechapel. I propose that it be spent on repairing some pumps; the lines in Cox's Square to get water can be up to an hour."

Jacob accepted the plans that Roy held out to him, giving them a cursory look. "Agreed."

Roy flipped a few pages in his notes. "Our income is completely out of control, but I'm working on it. Ruth-" his voice became tight on her name, "-left excellent records, so I should have a better idea soon. Let me get back to you."

Lottie stepped up, her voice clear, letting Roy regain his composure. "The brothels are still being terrorized. I'm only starting to follow the chain of command to whoever is actually in charge- it'll take some time, but I'll keep at it."

Jacob nodded again. "Good call." He looked around the room: at Emmett, Jane and Walter, too young to have assigned duties, and at Oliver's sullen glower. That would be enough to start with. "Right," he said, clapping his hands on his knees, "we'll resume training tomorrow. If no one has anything to add-"

"I have a question," Oliver said, voice over-loud in the confined space.

Everyone tensed.

"I want to know," he continued, "why the hell you're still in charge."

The silence was telling because it was more exasperated than shocked. Jacob looked around the room, noting that no one would meet his eyes. Not the first time this had been brought up amongst them, then. "Do you have something you'd like to say to me, Oliver?"

"Just to ask-" Oliver's voice broke on the words, "-why you sent them to die."

Jacob closed his eyes and willed the image of the girls' deaths, so brutally burned into his brain by Jack, to recede. "They knew the risks."

Oliver lurched forward, as if pulled along by an invisible string. "The risk that you were only too willing to put them in-"

To everyone's obvious surprise, it was Evie who interrupted. "I don't think your fiancée would've appreciated the implication that she was foolish enough to sign up without knowing that she might die."

It was true; Constance had begged to be put in the field, insistent that she was ready in the face of Jacob's hesitation, that this was something worth risking her life for.

Oliver rounded on her. "You don't know anything-"

"I know that had it not been her, an innocent would have died in her place. Do you think she would want you to wish another woman dead?"

Breathing ragged, Oliver lurched another few steps, raising his arm at her threateningly. "You-"

Jacob felt himself move before he knew what he was doing, catching Oliver by the collar and shoving him into the closest wall. Even as his muscles groaned and his ankle spasmed in pain, anger drove him forwards, giving him the strength to hold Oliver in place.

"Your quarrel is not with her," he heard himself rumble. "As to your question- there's only one person in this room even close to having enough training to take over from me, and that is Alfred."

Everyone glanced over at Alfred. Human brick wall or not, he looked horrified at the suggestion.

"As he hasn't expressed the slightest bit of interest, I suggest you keep your bloody temper in check."

He let go of Oliver and the young man straightened, unable to meet his eyes.

"We all miss them," Jacob added, sitting back down heavily in his chair. "You're dismissed. See you on Monday."

They shuffled out quietly, Emmett casting a worried glance backwards as he left.

Evie moved and held out her hand, taking Jacob's with a firm grip. "You did the best you could. They know that."

"I know," he said bitterly. "It just wasn't enough."

Clara was true to her word. She came for her visit on an early Saturday morning, when the sky was grey and the drizzle outside was relentless.

Evie joined her for a walk until they came to the Rose and Crown, taking a table in the corner. Evie insisted on paying for their drinks; from the state of Clara's clothes, she didn't think that her companion had much to spare.

"I hardly know where to begin," Clara said, unwrapping her scarf and draping it onto the back of her chair. "But I'm at my wit's end, and I remembered your, ah, unique set of skills from when you lived here. I still can't believe I had the luck of spotting you."

"Are you in trouble?"

"Not… Exactly. Maybe. I'm not sure. That's precisely the problem."

Evie waited patiently while Clara gathered her thoughts.

Clara tapped her glass. "When did you arrive back in London?"

"I've been here almost a month."

"Then you won't have been here for the strike," Clara said, thoughtful. "It's sort of what started my concern. Last July, the women of Bryant and May- they make matches- decided that they'd had enough of 14 hour working days and having their pay docked in unfair fines. Thousands of women left the factory. It was a thing of beauty." Her eyes took on a misty sheen as she took a swig of her beer. "I got involved because I know Annie Besant through some of my trade unionist work. She wrote a piece about their working conditions in The Link," she clarified. "Does any of this sound familiar?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Right. Anyway, the point is, since then, some women and I have been… Meeting." Clara smoothed the front of her dress down a bit self-consciously. "To discuss worker's rights. And the rights of women, married and unmarried, to represent themselves. But something is off. Has been since the beginning."

She trailed off in silence, staring into space until Evie gave her a little prompting nudge. "How so?"

"One expects opposition, of course. We are demanding rightful, radical change, and the small-minded will always resist that. But it's more than that. I think there's a traitor in our ranks. Little things keep going wrong- women in the group having unlikely accidents, meeting places suddenly declining our patronage, important items going missing. Which brings me to my point: I'd like you to help me find out who's doing it."

Evie cocked her head. "Members of… My organization generally don't become involved in politics."

"I know," Clara said, "I remember. But I'm asking you as a friend. As the woman who taught me how to write. You changed the course of my life, once."

Evie looked up at the ceiling. Surely it couldn't hurt just to look into it.

Clara didn't give her a chance to change her mind. When Evie gave a slow nod, Clara grabbed her hands, beaming a full smile. "Thank you. Perhaps it's all in my head and there won't be any need for help after all. But I'll feel much better knowing that you're helping."

Jacob's mind felt clearer than it had in a while.

Enough that he was enjoying something of a normal afternoon; he read the paper, catching up on some of the news that he'd missed. Evie was across the room, doing some more sewing over an open book. His socks hadn't been in such good condition in years.

Anne arrived at some point, bringing a basket of baked goods with her. Evie had relaxed enough that the two of them would sit and talk, mostly comparing stories about Jacob in order to laugh at him. He made a point of occasionally grumbling loudly, but otherwise didn't stop them.

It was a strange normal, but it would do for the time being.

A short way into her visit, Anne called across the room to get his attention. "Jacob, I've been thinking."

He hummed in response, not really listening.

"You're not being fair to Evie, asking her to dote on you like this."

He saw Evie stiffen.

"Why don't you come and stay with me for a while? I have a proper guest room; I can tend to you. And Evie can- where has she even been sleeping?" Anne frowned at the flat, her eyes taking in the only bed like she was only just seeing it.

"Pallet," Evie said quickly. "I keep it under the bed during the day."

"See, a woman in our time of life deserves more than a straw mat on the ground. I don't know how she can look so well rested."

Evie cringed. "I don't mind-"

"Nonsense," Anne insisted. She was on a roll now; he recognized that look. "You can come and stay with me as well, if you'd like, or you can stay here and have some privacy."

He sighed. "Anne-"

She rounded on him. "I know that tone; you mean to deny me. Well, you have no good reason to."

Jacob folded his paper down to shoot her a pointed look. "I don't want to be treated like an invalid."

"But you are an invalid."

"Don't mince your words, then, Jesus."

"Don't be profane," she said sternly. "I have a hard enough time already telling Emmett to mind his tongue, and he's trying to imitate you." She gestured to Evie. "You called her here away from India and her husband- and don't misunderstand me, I'm ever so glad that you did- but she didn't sign up for nursemaid duty. I would be happy to do it."

Evie was looking back and forth between them. "I really don't mind, I promise."

Jacob nodded towards Evie. "See? She says she doesn't mind."

Snorting, Anne shook her head. "Of course she's going to say that. You ought to be more perceptive."

The irony was overwhelming. "I'm not leaving here, Anne. Your staff are disapproving enough when I'm just there to stay the night, I'm sure they don't want me moving in like they're expected to treat me as the head of household."

"You're never going to let a few disapproving stares from servants keep your sister inconvenienced!"

"I won't be goaded."

"But Jacob-"

"No," he said firmly. "That's final." He put his paper back up to signal that the conversation was over, hoping she would drop the issue.

The rest of the visit was decidedly awkward after that. Anne clucked and sighed to Evie, who was apparently sympathetic, if the way that Anne seemed to leave a bit more soothed was any indication.

It was hardly a surprise that she wouldn't take well to being turned down. He'd barely ever done that before; he'd never had reason to. Setting his paper aside, he looked at Evie, her fingers pressed to her lips as she frowned over a piece of writing.

Jacob's mouth settled into a grim line. He didn't like it, but he and Anne were both going to have to get used to him turning her down from now on.

Evie was a woman of words. She'd kept a diary for as long as she could remember, and books had been her constant companion. She was used to words coming easily. And yet.

Dear Henry

It was a good start. Now, if only she knew what to follow it with. Evie spun the fountain pen in her hand, staring at the blank page, willing the text to magically appear.

Dear Henry,

I pray this letter finds you in good health. Jacob remains very unwell in body and spirit. The Brotherhood here is weakened and greatly in need of assistance.

It should be easy enough to write, in theory. "I don't intend to ever come back." But still she hesitated, dithering over the words.

I cannot yet return to Punjab.

That would have to do. At least for now.

Please convey my fond regards to everyone.

Yours, &c.

Evie