Teaand Biscuits
The carriage ride was quiet on the way back to Eliza's. William didn't want to break the silence, and what was there to say? He'd already apologized to her over dinner at Gilbert's that evening, expressing his guilt over Henry's loss and Franks's betrayal. Of course, Eliza accepted his apology and graciously took his hand and said he had nothing to be sorry for, he was not to blame for Franks's deceptions. Now here in their cab, William was sat next to her: it felt more stable and secure to be beside her. Partway through the journey, she reached for his hand and held it. He looked down at their hands and he placed his other hand atop them and they stayed this way until they reached her door.
"I assume you're coming in. For a bit?" she asked.
"I'd like that," he said.
They closed the front door behind them and Ivy came up the stairs to greet them. "You're back already?" She said with surprise.
"Yes," Eliza replied, as they continued to remove their coats and hats. "They discontinued using the short drop method. Mr. Marwood has seen that justice was swift." She said it with no emotion, just as a cold, factual statement. Then she added with just a bit of anger, "Though I expect Jenkins will continue to hang for at least an hour." It was a bit impertinent of her, her cheeks flushed a bit when she looked at William. "Sorry," she said quietly, then walked to the drawing-room.
Ivy turned to William after she'd left them in the hallway. "Is she quite alright?"
"She was tight-lipped the whole cab ride. Maybe a bit too stoic," William said.
"I remember going to a topping as a girl with me mum. Right awful it was. It's not something a lady should see," Ivy said, her eyes cast off to the left, remembering the event.
"Well, there was no crowd to contend with, otherwise, I'd not let her go. It was over rather quickly, thank the Lord," William said.
"I've put tea on the table and I've got fresh biscuits soon to come from the oven. Miss Scarlet didn't want to put much in her stomach before leaving this morning. See that she eats something. And you too, Inspector." It was more of an order rather than an offer. William smiled and nodded his assent and they parted ways.
In the drawing-room, Eliza was sat on the settee, and she was organizing the teacups and milk jug. William removed his jacket and draped it over the other settee and sat across from her.
"Tea?" She asked, passing him a cup.
"Yes," he said taking it from her.
William placed the saucer on the table and reached for his jacket to retrieve his flask to pour whiskey into his cup.
"Oh!" Eliza exclaimed when she noticed his flask and extended her cup towards him.
William's eyes opened wide and he asked her with a slightly higher pitch, "You want some?"
"Just a wee dram," she smiled. "Don't tell Ivy," she whispered conspiratorially. William obliged, she thanked him, and as she was about to bring the hot liquid to her lips, Ivy walked into the room with a tray of steaming biscuits.
Her sudden appearance startled Eliza so, that she clattered her cup into its saucer. William saw her jump and he only had time himself to tuck his flask behind his thigh. When he saw how flustered Eliza was, he smiled widely and had to turn his face away from Ivy so she wouldn't see him. Eliza glared at him quickly, then smiled broadly as Ivy placed the biscuits on the table.
"Hot out of the oven, there's butter and marmalade, please enjoy," she instructed.
"Thank you, Ivy," Eliza said clutching her spiked tea. She gave William a subtle glare.
He coughed a bit to stifle his growing laughter, "Ahem, yes, thank yeuu." His brogue thickened. Ivy looked at them both with suspicion, but said nothing and left them to their breakfast.
As soon as she was gone, William finally let go with a chuckle, while Eliza berated him: "You're awful, making faces at me!" She tried sounding angry but kept an amused smile on her face. That only made William laugh more.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," he said. "This reminds me of your father's candy dish. Remember when you showed it to me?"
Eliza smiled the memory surfacing. "Oh yes, that first time you mean?"
William laughed. "Yes. How old were we? 9? 10?"
"I believe I was 7. I showed you the dish full of candy, intending you to help yourself to one..."
"...and I grabbed a handful. Oh, the look on your face." William laughed more.
He remembered her indignant glare at his uncouthness, his street-boy logic of taking more than he needed. Then he shoved every bit of candy in his mouth.
"You can't do that!" she'd told him.
"Why not?" he had replied with a full mouth and a haughty smile.
Eliza didn't have a ready response. So after a few beats of consideration, she had copied his action and stuffed a handful into her mouth. She was looking like the cat that swallowed the canary when Henry had walked in unexpectedly. William had already finished chewing and was able to talk to Henry and distract him while Eliza panic-chewed as fast as she could, hoping he didn't notice the reduction in the candy dish. It was all William could do to keep from laughing at Eliza's panic-stricken face. She managed to elude punishment for being a glutton, with Williams's help.
"I don't think Father noticed," she smiled.
"Oh, I don't believe that. He was a detective and YOUR father. I'm certain he knew, he figured it out. He never let on with me, though."
Eliza sipped her tea, grimaced slightly from the whisky and continued smiling at the memory. Then her smiled faded and after a few thoughtful moments, she said," I thought I'd feel better after this morning." Eliza sipped her tea again.
William knew she was referring to the hanging. "Frank took Henry's life and many others and then paid with his own. It doesn't bring Henry back, but at least no other lives will be lost due to him."
Then William added, "I miss Henry daily."
"He adored you and was proud of your accomplishments," Eliza said.
"He was proud of you, too."
They stared at each other, teacups in hand, not sure how to proceed with the tension that started to build. The silence lingered for a few moments.
After another few sips of spiked tea, Eliza spoke first. "I noticed you didn't watch the hanging."
William looked up from his tea, confused. "I stood right next to you…"
"No, I mean, you were looking at me when Detective Jenkins…"
"Don't...call him that," William's voice was sharper than he intended.
Eliza paused and tentatively continued, "...he was staring at you and when the hood went on, you stopped looking at him."
"What of it?" William asked, starting to feel like a conflict was brewing.
"Well, I'm wondering how you're feeling. I can say I won't forget it anytime soon, but what about you? He was your friend."
"A friend who betrayed me," William's brogue thickened with acrimony. "And betrayed the Oath of the Yard."
"Which is why I'm asking you...are you alright? I feel you've lost more here than I have." Eliza must have felt bolder with the sips of whiskey.
William reached for his flask and poured more alcohol into his cup, more whiskey than tea now. "How do you figure?" he asked defensively.
"You've lost my father and a colleague. Not that grief should be compared, I'm just saying that today's event may have more effect on you than me." Eliza sipped again.
"I've borne witness to hangings before, this one is no different." Frown. Sip.
"I would dispute that. It must be a horrible strain on you."
"I can handle it."
"Can you?" she boldly asked, eyeing his teacup of whiskey.
William tilted his head with annoyance on his face. Why is she asking me these questions? he thinks. He took another sip from his cup.
"I deal with any number of horrible things in my job, Eliza. Violent crimes, people on their worst behaviours and I've attended hangings before."
"But not of people you know, or people who betrayed you."
William dropped his cup to the table with anger. He stood up and paced to the fireplace. "I'm not certain I wish to discuss this right now," his brogue thickened again.
"If not now, when?" Eliza asked quietly.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he said, his temper building.
"I'm stating that if you wanted to express your sadness that I am here for you, William, as your friend."
"I'm not sad. I'm angry. Frank killed Henry. He would have easily taken my life and yours without a second thought and for what? Simple greed. He lied, he stole, he killed. Now he's dead. As it should be," his voice had risen.
Eliza sat quietly.
"He murdered Henry," William continued. "He took my mentor, he took my friend."
She continued to remain quiet, watching him closely.
William felt compelled to fill the silence. "My friend killed my friend. Your father."
Still more silence.
William was pacing now near the fireplace. He suddenly found he couldn't stop his tirade. "I drank with him. I joked with him. I took him home drunk so he'd be safe. I found the fumigation mask. He took my gun and pointed it at me. He killed Henry. He admitted it to me." Despair was filling his voice.
William turned away from her. He was choking up. He didn't expect this reaction at all.
"It's alright to cry, William," she said.
"Men don't cry Eliza," he said with some annoyance, his back still to her.
Eliza stood up. "Well, maybe they should. If they did, then maybe they could heal a broken heart and not lose themselves in a bottle so often." Her voice was sharper than expected. She walked briskly toward the window and folded her arms around her.
William turned around-he was struck by her statement. She was referring to Henry, but she could also be referring to him. Was she worried about his drinking? She had criticized him on it before.
Is that what prompted this whole discussion? She's concerned about his alcohol consumption? She had certainly witnessed her father's downward spiral into the bottle. He stared at her, the light from the window highlighting her face. She was so soft, and yet, so strong.
Eliza was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I didn't attend the hanging today for me so much. I came for you."
"For me?"
"I had already accepted Detect...Frank's fate as punishment for what he'd done. I was content to let it carry on without me. When you came by to inform me without specifically inviting me to attend, I considered that perhaps you needed the company."
William stared at her.
"I came for you."
At this realization, a pained expression came across his face, full of confusion and guilt. Eliza turned back to see it. She crossed the room in a few steps. She wrapped her arms around his waist and said, "I'm sorry, William."
William froze. He wasn't expecting her to be so close.
"I know I said I needed to see it through, but not for me or even for Father. I wanted to be there to witness it, for you."
William was dumbstruck. She was comforting him, not the other way around. And that seemed to be her goal all along. His arms wrapped around her.
How does this woman continually manage to surprise me, he thought.
The thoughts of pain and despair of the days' events suddenly left him and all he could think of was the last time he had embraced Eliza. She was mourning the loss of her dog.
He dropped his chin to her head. Her hair smelled of lavender. She was warm and soft and he had the sudden urge to kiss her.
He couldn't. She'd slap him again. Plus, he didn't want her to associate his kiss with the day of Frank's execution. Or perhaps, he didn't want the association. After all, barely an hour had passed since they'd left the prison.
They stayed this way for an indeterminate period. Finally, William spoke quietly into her hair, "He fooled me, I should have seen it."
"You know that none of that was your fault. I told you that before." Eliza's voice was muffled against his shirt.
"I know. But it haunts me still."
"I understand."
She continued to hold him tightly. He wasn't sure if she was crying, but he wasn't and refused to. He was too distracted by her closeness. He figured if Ivy walked in right now, there'd be more Hell to pay than there would for slipping whiskey in Eliza's tea.
"Perhaps...I should go," he said into her hair.
Eliza loosened her grip and they held each other's arms. She stepped back a bit to look up at him.
Her eyes were dry, but a bit glazed over. She did not waiver in her stare. She seemed to be waiting for something.
Perhaps she wouldn't slap him.
William broke the stare and dropped his hands. He didn't dare to try, not today. He tentatively stepped back from her.
"Don't go just yet. Stay with me a bit longer. And you haven't had any of Ivy's biscuits, they are outstanding." Eliza smiled, defusing the tension.
His defences down, he couldn't refuse her. "Very well," he grinned and they both took their seats again.
Eliza refilled her cup with tea. Perhaps, William thought, she requested the whiskey to bolster confidence to confront him with this line of questioning.
Eliza reached for a hot biscuit and slathered it in marmalade.
"Take this as a peace offering?"
He smiled at her and took the plate. Eliza prepared her biscuit and they ate in silence. Well, almost silent, there was a moan of pleasure from both of them when the warm biscuits melted in their mouths.
William took a bolster of liquid courage himself from his cup and spoke up, "You may be right, Eliza. I didn't want to watch Frank drop. But don't tell me you weren't affected by it. You were a bit sharp with Ivy when we arrived back here."
Eliza dabbed her face with a napkin, a slight look of guilt on her face. "I will freely admit that I don't wish to repeat the experience if possible. I know Marwood's method won't allow...Frank...to suffer, but I confess, I didn't expect it to be so...brutal. My feelings are mixed about it."
"It is just, though. It's the law."
Eliza nodded, looking sad. Then she looked down at her cup. She paused as if weighing what she was about to say.
"Is this how it begins...slipping whiskey into tea? Then drinking it straight? Then a glass at every moment you remember what it is that you wish to forget?"
He didn't know what to say. She wasn't wrong. It had likely begun that way for him, for Henry.
"No cases to keep your mind occupied?" he asked, avoiding the question.
"Sadly, no. I was planning to stay here for the morning, then perhaps go to the office by noon."
"I need to get back, myself."
"Take a biscuit or two before you go, or else Ivy will stuff me with them." William stood up and put on his jacket and took the linen-wrapped biscuits from Eliza. She walked him to the drawing-room door. He turned to her and took her hand.
"You're a good friend, Eliza Scarlet, like your father," he said smiling at her.
"Exactly like my father?" she asked, staring at him again.
The whiskey must have emboldened her. William was sorely tempted to kiss her senseless, but again, the occasion was too sombre, and well, she wasn't sober. He didn't want to take advantage of her and he would like a kiss from him to be remembered. He'd likely never hear the end of it either. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips and let it linger a bit longer than usual. "Your hands are softer than Henry's," he joked.
Eliza laughed out loud. An hour ago they watched a man die. Now they were laughing. It was turning out to be an odd day.
"I'll come by tomorrow to check on you?"
"Maybe I'll come by the Yard to check on you?" Eliza flirted. William rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. It was becoming difficult to leave.
"I would expect nothing less, Miss Scarlet. Good day," he reluctantly dropped her hand.
"Good day," she replied.