Sitting in the parlour room, Edmund cast his eyes on the flames of the crackling fire he had lit. The clock had just struck nine and he had begun to wonder if it was too late for him to return to work at that hour. Then again, he would be out late the following evening as he and Beckett had a job to do at the fighting ring. He would inform Emily of his intentions later on, but for now they had another discussion that they had to have. It was a discussion he did not relish the idea of, but his newly turned sixteen-year-old daughter was hurting and he could see that clearly. He was witnessing it for himself.

"It was her birthday last week," Edmund said when his wife came downstairs and she sat down in her usual armchair next to his. Elizabeth, no doubt, was either still hiding in her own room or in the bathroom after stating that she intended to bathe. Looking over to Emily, Edmund noted that his wife was still staring into the fire. "It was Elizabeth's birthday and we did nothing for her. We did nothing to celebrate her turning sixteen."

"She said that she did not want a fuss," Emily responded, still avoiding the gaze of Edmund.

"Of course she did," Edmund responded. That was clear. "She said that to appease us…because she feels guilt over what happened to Mathilda. She blames herself and we need to stop her from that."

"She should not blame herself," Emily said, her voice a whisper and her tone not entirely convincing, but Edmund did not push that. He had no need to. He knew that a part of his wife held resentment, despite all of her time in church. He could not blame her. Of course, he could not. Each member of that family had secretly resented the other.

"But she does," Edmund said. "I know that things have changed, Emily…I have faith that they will not go back to how they were until she is found, but for the sake of Elizabeth we have to do something."

"And what do you suggest we do?" Emily enquired, finally daring to look her husband in the eye. They held each other's gaze, a familiar sense to the conversation they were holding. "I cannot look at her without thinking about Mathilda…about how she has her eyes…how she has the same bone structure…but that is not the hard part. The hard part is I cannot look at her and wonder why she had been so adamant that she had to sneak out to see a boy instead of looking after her sister."

"Because she was a young girl who had a fancy on a boy," Edmund said, voice in a whisper and harsh as he felt a sense of annoyance rise up inside of him at what he was saying. "This is what I was talking about, Emily. You do place some of the blame on her."

"No…I just…I just wish that she had not been so selfish. I wish she had been wiser."

"And what of us?" Edmund demanded from her.

"No," Emily said with a shake of her head. "Do not dare lay any of this on my door, Edmund. You had been working away all hours…I had no time to myself and looking after them could be tiring. Mathilda never tired and Elizabeth was constantly brooding over that boy…complaining that I would not let her see him without a chaperone."

"Then blame me," Edmund demanded from his wife. "Blame me for taking her with me on the case. Blame it on me, but do not blame it on Elizabeth. She is our daughter, Emily. She is our first born…our little girl…"

"Do you think I do not know that?" Emily hissed back at him. "I know who she is. I love her. I love her so very much and I do not want to feel this way, Edmund. God help me, I do not want to feel any of this."

Edmund sighed. He bowed his head and tugged on his tie. He felt his top button begin to tighten around his neck and he struggled to think of something else to say. How many times could he beg Emily not to take her anger out on Elizabeth? He wanted her to take it on him. Perhaps if she did then they would be able to move on. They might be able to be happy someday.

"I need to get some sleep," Emily said as her husband remained silent. "Can I expect you for dinner tomorrow evening?"

"I doubt it," Edmund responded. "Bennet and I have a case that we are working on involving a gambling ring. We are going undercover tomorrow night."

"As you are," Emily said and moved to stand up. She did not bid him goodnight. She did not even look at him. Instead she moved off towards the hallway and staircase. She moved up the steps, leaving Edmund alone in his chair. He heard mutterings upstairs and he suspected that Emily was bidding Elizabeth a good night.

Edmund contemplated heading up to bed himself, but he thought better of it. A moment later the staircase creaked again and he saw Elizabeth moving past the doorway and into the kitchen. He stood up and followed her, standing in the doorway. She was dressed in her white nightgown, her damp hair pulled back from her face and braided down her back, tied in white ribbons. He often forgot that his daughter was now considered to be a woman, but he struggled with that thought.

"Did you bid your mother a goodnight?"

"She said goodnight on her way to bed," Elizabeth said to him, reaching for a glass and filling it with water. She sipped on it gently and Edmund folded his arms over his chest, watching her. "She did not yell at me, which was something."

"We worry about you, Elizabeth," Edmund said to his daughter. "When you run off in the dark as you did, we worry about you. You know that…you know that I do not like you out there after nightfall."

"I know," she said and she almost did sound regretful for once. He sighed and she gulped down the rest of her water, placing the glass down onto the worktop surface by the sink. "You know that she used to know about your cases?" Elizabeth asked from her father. "She used to see the notes…hear you talk…I tried not to let her hear too much. She was a child. She should not be hearing things like that."

"I regret that the case took over my life, Elizabeth. I…I still feel like a failure…letting him get away," Edmund admitted to her.

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders at that comment. She moved slowly towards the doorway. "You were not a failure," she said to him. "Sometimes there are just those who are cleverer."

"Perhaps," he responded earnestly to her. He did not know what else to respond with. "Now, off to bed with you. You need to rest."

"I will," she responded.

She began to move past him, but Edmund moved a hand to hers, stopping her from going any further. Looking up to him, she wondered what he was thinking as he glanced down at her. He said nothing, however, choosing to keep silent before he moved his arms around her, holding her tightly. Elizabeth startled for a second before daring to wrap her own arms up and around him, wondering when the last time they had hugged had been. She had missed it. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek just by his shoulder. He bent down, kissing her on the forehead.

"Never forget we do love you, Elizabeth," he said in a whisper. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, father," she responded and he pecked her once more on the top of her head before letting go and watching her head on up to her bed.

….

Edmund did not know if he was back. He could not be sure. A woman had been found in an alleyway. She was ripped. It was his trademark murder, but Reid could not be certain that it was him. He had silently hoped that it would not be the Ripper because he did not think that he could cope with him being let lose again. Fred Best had given him until Friday to prove that the Ripper was not the man who had murdered that woman. Edmund worried about what might happen if the story was printed. Would he be hounded again? Would his name be dragged through the mud? He could not rest until he found out who the woman had been killed by.

Elizabeth knew what that meant. Both her and Emily were well aware that meant that Edmund would not be home that often. He would come home to change and perhaps try and sleep for a few hours, but he would be gone before morning broke.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Miss Lizzy."

Rolling her eyes at that familiar American accent, Elizabeth did her best not to bite the bait as she saw Homer Jackson approaching her. She was on her way to the police station, her mother having sent her with a freshly baked loaf of bread and homemade jam, telling her to ensure that her father was eating. Jackson caught up with her quickly, jogging at a slow pace.

"Captain Jackson," Elizabeth responded.

"On the way to visit your father?"

"How did you guess?"

"Well, I doubt you would be heading into a police station for any other reason," he said to her earnestly. "Unless you've gone and gotten yourself arrested, which I have to say would paint an amusing story to witness when your father found out."

"I hate to disappoint, but I am merely bringing him food to ensure that he is eating," Elizabeth said, holding up the bag she carried as evidence of that. "What are you doing heading to the police station?"

"Your father asked me to help him with the Ripper case."

"So do you think it is him?" Elizabeth asked, unable to stop herself. Her wide eyes peered up at him and he looked down to her, seeing so much of Edmund inside of her. She had his determination. He had seen that before. In the past, whenever she had wanted her way she rarely backed down. She was as stubborn as an ox. "Do you think it is the Ripper?"

"I cannot be certain," Jackson responded to her, scratching at his chin. "Chances are I think it is more likely to be a copycat."

"How certain are you?"

"Still as inquisitive as ever, aren't you?" Jackson commented, his lips quirking up. But he shrugged his shoulders at her. He remained silent for a few moments as the station finally came into the view. "I can't be sure," he admitted to her. "But it seems too perfect, especially because it was Best who wrote on the wall."

"He did not," Elizabeth said, her mouth agape. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he knows that the Ripper being back would make a good story. He's a journalist, little miss Lizzy," Jackson said and he held the door to the station open for her. She went in first, inkling her head in thanks before looking around. It was a quiet day at the station for once. There was hardly any ruckus or commotion, which made a nice change.

Elizabeth walked by Jackson's side towards the back of the building where her father's office was situation. She could see him through the glass, noting that his head was bowed low and over his desk. Drake was sat in the chair to the side, a brown file in his lap. Jackson knocked on the door and opened it after a moment.

"Look who I caught sniffing around," he said, once again holding the door open for Elizabeth. She narrowed her eyes at him as he kept that cocky and entertained look on his face. Edmund stood up quickly at the sight of his daughter.

"Elizabeth," he spoke her name, "what are you doing here?"

"Mother sent me with food," Elizabeth informed him. "She suspected that you had not had anything to eat."

"Mrs Reid would be correct," Bennet informed her as she dropped the bag onto her father's desk. "I'm silently hoping she packed enough in there for two?"

"Of course, I warned her that father would be working you like a dog also," Elizabeth said and Bennet smirked at hearing that.

"What about me?" Jackson wondered.

"Technically you are not a part of the team," Bennet commented and reached into the bag for some of the bread and jam. Jackson scowled over at him. Edmund ignored their bickering, instead he remained intrigued as he watched his daughter look at the images on the board behind him. He moved to block her view, hands going to her shoulders.

"Well, if I am not part of the team then you will not want to hear what I found," he said to them. He moved his hand into his pocket and tugged out some pieces of paper, tossing them onto the desk. "Rose knew the murdered woman…went to the same place to take pictures of smut as she did. You should have a word with that husband of hers again."

"Rose took these?" Bennet enquired and averted his gaze after a brief look. He did not want to stare for too long and violate her privacy. She deserved better than that. She deserved so much more.

"Excellent work, Captain," Reid spoke earnestly and Bennet almost rolled his eyes as he saw Jackson throw a wink in his direction.

Looking back to his daughter as she peered around his form, he wondered what was going through her mind. "You should head home," he urged from her, running his hands up and down her upper arms before she looked down to his desk, narrowing her brow. She ignored his comment and Edmund wondered what was going through her mind.

Bending down, she picked up one of the images and looked down onto it.

"Elizabeth Reid-"

"-I have a point!" Elizabeth interrupted her father before he could scold her for looking at the images. She moved around him and towards the board, pointing at another one of the images. "See!"

The three men looked at her with confusion for a brief moment before she spoke again.

"There are blemishes on the top of the images on each photograph," she informed them. "Presumably whoever took these photos at the crime scene was perhaps the same person who took the images of Rose?"

"How…" Edmund struggled to form a coherent sentence, wondering how she had picked that up in a few seconds. "The man at the crime scene had been sent there by Best," Reid commented in a low voice. "He was not one of our known photographers."

"Perhaps he knows Mrs Thwaites."

"Perhaps," Bennet echoed back to Edmund.

"Is she the woman who as murdered here?"

"I think that is quite enough snooping for you, Elizabeth," Edmund said and looked over at Bennet. "What do you say? We speak to the photographer after we go to the fighting ring?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"Well, if that is everything and my services are not required then I will be heading out." Jackson said, moving to his feet. "Gentlemen," he said, inclining his head. "Miss Lizzy," he added separately, tipping his head once along with his hat in her direction. She smiled over to him before pouring over the board once again, looking at the sights that she should recoil from. Most of the girls who were in her class would look horrified at the newspapers when they were snuck into the schoolyard. But Elizabeth had grown accustomed to the pictures. They had no impact on her, not truly.

"Mrs Thwaites was the woman who was murdered, yes?" Elizabeth asked from her father, turning her head over her shoulder and looking up at him.

"Indeed," her father responded and his brow furrowed.

"And who was the man who took these images?"

"His name is Creighton," Edmund spoke. "And we will speak with him after we deal with Joseph Smeaton and his rigged fights."

"But…who is killing them then?" Elizabeth wondered out loud. "Surely it has to be someone who knows them. If the same man took the crime scene images then why did he not mention he recognised the victim?"

"That man…" Bennet trailed off and Edmund looked over to him. Clearing his throat, he nodded his head solemnly. "Someone tried to kill Thwaites. We need to find out why. There was a man leaving his home…what if he was there to stop him from talking? Stop him from letting us make the link between the photographs and where they were taken."

"Do you think he knew his wife was getting the photographs done?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Edmund responded. "He did not mention anything when we spoke with him."

"I doubt he would want to raise that as a point, sir," Bennet said.

"The photographer knows something," Elizabeth said to her father. "You have to see that makes sense."

"Yes, it does," he said and his daughter turned to look him in the eye once more. She nodded her head as Edmund held his arm out towards her. "Now come along, I think you have had quite enough excitement for one day. I will escort you to the street and have an officer walk you home."

"I am perfectly capable of walking alone, father," Elizabeth protested as Edmund dropped a hand to the small of her back and ushered her along as Bennet smiled over to her.

"Thanks for your help, Miss Elizabeth," he said to her. "That's some good deduction skills you have there."

"Yes, thank you, Bennet," Edmund said as Elizabeth demurely smiled at him on her way out of the station, her father demanding for a spare officer to walk her home. The desk clerk told him to wait a moment and Edmund stepped onto the street with his daughter.

"How did you see that so quickly?" Edmund asked from his daughter, silently impressed with her. "You noticed the blemishes almost instantly."

"I read a lot," she said, avoiding his stare.

He arched a brow in her direction. "Elizabeth," he said her name sternly and she sighed.

"I used to read your case files after stopping Mathilda from seeing them," she responded. "I got used to putting pieces together in the end…I found it quite…well…interesting."

"Interesting?" Edmund echoed back to her. "Elizabeth, it is not entirely proper for a young woman to be looking at such things."

"I know," Elizabeth said.

Edmund wondered if she thought he was disappointed in her. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and her gaze lowered. She said nothing and he took the lead once more.

"However, I confess myself impressed."

She almost looked proud and his chest ached. When was the last time she had looked at him in such a way? And that was when Reid realised what she wanted sometimes. She wanted his approval.

"Really?" she asked.

"Truly," he spoke with adoration. "But do not be scaring yourself from reading such things or snooping…I confess that I would prefer for you to remain ignorant of such goings on, but I know that you are no longer a little girl. I often forget."

"I know," Elizabeth said to him and there was a brief moment of awkwardness between them.

"Detective Reid, sir," a young man's voice suddenly spoke from the entrance of the station. "You have a task for me, sir?"

"Yes," Reid nodded. "Please escort my daughter back to her home before nightfall. I trust you will return to the station once that is done?"

"Yes, sir," he said.

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side. "I thought you said I was not a little girl anymore?" she questioned from him.

Planting his hands on her shoulder, he ruffled the dark green intricate material of her dress. He bent down, giving her a soft stare. "Humour me?" he encouraged from her and he saw her lips pick up as he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. He let her go and watched as she walked side by side with the officer, no doubt talking his ear off.

As he saw her retreat, a part of him wondered if he even truly knew the young woman his daughter had become.

…

A/N: Do let me know what you think!