Elizabeth thanked the officer who had walked her home before heading into the house. Closing the door, she shrugged out of her coat and hung it up. Her mother entered the hallway a moment later, holding a towel in her fingertips as she dried off her hands. Looking to her daughter with an arched brow, she cocked her head to the side.

"I trust your father was well?"

"He was busy," Elizabeth said to her mother, looking at her reflection in the mirror that hung above the sideboard. She tucked some loose strands of her hair behind her ears and then looked back to her mother, cheeks puffed red from the walk and the cold. "He was on his way out to the fighting ring."

"I do not care to know about your father's work," Emily informed her daughter, her voice terse.

Elizabeth remained silent, not pushing. She followed her mother into the kitchen and she informed her that she had made a casserole for their dinner. Elizabeth helped her with the vegetables, peeling them and adding them to the dish. They let the meal cook and sat in the parlour for a few moments, Emily asking Elizabeth if she intended to join her at the shelter the following day. Elizabeth accepted her mother's invitation. They ate their dinner in silence and Elizabeth then went to fetch her book. Her mother read her copy of the bible, both of them in the parlour. The night soon fell and her mother lit the candles as Elizabeth peered onto the street.

"That is the fifth time in the past twenty minutes you have looked outside," Emily informed her daughter.

Elizabeth dropped the net curtain and sat back down in her chair. She folded one leg over the other, feeling her mother's stare on her. She shrugged her shoulders.

"It is nothing," she promised her.

"It must be something, Elizabeth, do not think me naïve," her mother said to her and Elizabeth sighed.

"I was just wondering when father would be home."

Emily looked even more inquisitive then. "You have not sat by the curtains and waited for your father to come home in many months," she said to her. "Why is this evening any different?"

"I…" Elizabeth trailed off. Emily's brow arched, waiting impatiently for her to continue. "I saw the case that he was working on and I…I might have noticed something about it and suggested he interview someone. I want to know what happened."

Emily looked horrified at that piece of information. She dropped her bible onto the table in the middle of the room. Leaning forwards, she laced her hands together and looked at Elizabeth as her daughter had the decency to shift around in her seat. "Whatever were you doing involving yourself in business that is nothing to do with you?"

"It is not like that," Elizabeth said to her. "I just went into his office and I saw them. It just happened."

"It just happened," Emily spat back at her, shaking her head vehemently. "Elizabeth, do you have any idea of the horrors of your father's work? Do you know how long we…I…have tried to shelter you from it? Do you not see that what he does has cost us so much and you go and involve yourself in it? Why would you do that? What possessed you?"

"I enjoyed it," Elizabeth said, her own voice rising an octave or two. "I enjoyed helping him, mother."

"No!" Emily snapped loudly, pointing at her daughter. "You do not say things like that, not in this house. Do you understand me?"

"I do not see what I did wrong," Elizabeth said to her, moving to her feet. She folded her arms over her chest. "It is not as though I killed anyone. I was just trying to help him on the case with what I saw."

"Your father should be more careful with what he shows you in his office," Emily huffed. "And you should know better than to involve yourself in his business. It is no place for a young woman like you, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth ground her teeth together. Emily stood then, challenging her daughter. But Elizabeth did not do anything.

"Well?" she snapped at her daughter again. "Am I understood?"

"Perfectly," Elizabeth retorted and left the room, heading up to her own bedroom and away from her mother.

…

Edmund had gone to visit the photographer with Jackson and Bennet. They had been locked in due to Creighton. He had found them snooping and he had set the place on fire, burning any piece of evidence that they might have had. The incident at the fighting ring had gone to plan, however. They had arrested Smeaton and it had been there when Bennet had said he noted the man who had been at Thwaites house the night before. Dashing back to the office, Edmund wondered what more Thwaites could tell them, but it was too late. He had already slit his wrists. He was gone. He was dead.

Edmund headed home after he had finished up business with Smeaton. His face was covered in dirt from the fire and he was in desperate need of a bath and a fresh change of clothes. He noted the parlour light was still burning bright on his way into the street and he frowned. He had suspected his family would be asleep by then.

Entering the house, he placed his keys down and removed his hat, hanging it up alongside his coat. Moving into the living room, he found his wife sat in her usual chair, the fire still burning and a look of annoyance on her face. Edmund wondered what could possibly be wrong, rushing towards her and kneeling in front of her. He moved his hand to hers, urging her to look at him.

She did so, her gaze turning onto him and her eyes wide and wet. Edmund squeezed her hand.

"Whatever is the matter, Emily?" he asked of her and she sniffed once.

"Why do you do this?" she asked from her husband and he frowned. "Why do you insist on working these cases despite the toll that they take on this family?"

"I do not follow," Edmund said and she laughed a hollow sound then, shaking her head back and forth. "Emily, please," Edmund urged her to be serious.

"Why did you let her see?" Emily enquired; her voice harsh. "Why did you let her see those images…after all we have done to protect her from them…to shelter her. You let her into your office freely and without any consideration of your actions."

"Emily, please," Edmund urged from his wife. "Elizabeth just happened to stumble upon those images. I did not actively encourage her to help. You know that I would never do that."

"But you should never have let her near them," Emily hissed and he almost felt the anger swell inside of him. How could she blame him for this? He had done nothing. Besides, Elizabeth had not been injured. She had not even looked perturbed by anything. "We have to protect her, Edmund. How is letting her look at your case protecting her?"

"We do protect her," Edmund defended, "but she also has an inquisitive mind, Emily. She was more than happy to give her own opinion on the case. I do not feel that I did anything wrong."

Emily sighed, brushing her husband's hand from hers. She moved to her feet. "And there lies the problem," she whispered and Edmund frowned, wondering what she could mean from that. But he did not push her. Instead he allowed her to walk away from him. He remained knelt where he was, bowing his head. He sighed to himself and then moved to his feet, hands on his thighs to brace him.

"I did not wish to make her upset," Elizabeth's voice appeared.

Edmund turned around to see his daughter stood there. He shook his head at her and managed to smile in her direction. She moved into the room and Edmund reached around her and closed the door, trying to keep the noise down. She went to sit on the stool by the fire and leant forwards, her hands clasped together. She frowned as her father sat across from her in his chair.

"Why are you filthy?"

"You were right about the photographer," he commented. "He knew more than he was letting on. He set his studio on fire…almost as though he was trying to destroy the evidence."

"What?" she screeched at that piece of information and leant forwards. "Are you hurt? Did he injure you?"

"No," Edmund held his hand up to stop her worrying. "We got away from him before any true damage could be done. We are all safe. I am going in to work early tomorrow. Bennet believes he saw the man who was at Thwaites house at the fighting ring. We have his image in our possession. We just need to find his identity."

"How long do you think that will take?"

"I cannot be too certain, but I hope not long," Edmund responded. "Regardless, I should change and attempt to gain an hour or two's sleep."

"Of course," Elizabeth said.

"You should get some rest too, Elizabeth," he said to his daughter.

"I am sorry," Elizabeth blurted out again and Edmund sighed, seeing her eyes begin to well up with tears. He did not wish to see her upset. He never wished to see her upset. He only wanted her to be happy. That was all that he wanted for his daughter. He moved to take hold of her hand as she cried softly. Reaching to pull her to her feet, he urged her towards him and she sank down to sit on his lap. Edmund wondered if she was too old for this, but she did not seem to protest.

Instead she gripped onto his waistcoat, not caring that it was covered in ash and soot. Edmund wrapped his arms tightly around her, cradling her against him. He closed his eyes for a few moments and nodded his head as his daughter cried softly.

"You have no need to apologise, my darling," he whispered down to her. "You truly have no need."

"I do," Elizabeth responded in a whisper, her warm breath tickling against his neck. "I do not want you and mother to argue. I want you both to be happy. I just want us to be happy."

Edmund said nothing then, knowing that they could not be happy, not truly, anyway, and most certainly not without Mathilda. Elizabeth rested her head by his shoulder, for once in a very long-time feeling content in her father's hold. She closed her eyes and Edmund kissed the top of her head.

"We will be," was all that he could say to her. "We will be."

…..

They had found the man who had murdered Mrs Thwaites and Edmund had been relieved that it had not been the Ripper. It had been easy enough to track him, especially when they found his identity. The case had been closed and Edmund had told Best of the identity of the killer, saving him from further public scorn. He had hoped for a brief reprieve before the next case, but he knew that he would never be so lucky.

He had been on his way to work when he had seen her. For a moment, he had wondered if it was his daughter, but there was no mistaking the back of her. He knew the way her hung, never in a neat up-do, but strands dangling down and free. He had wanted to follow her, but he had been forced to refrain when he had heard Bennet shout his name. Instead he was left to ponder where she was off to.

Elizabeth knew that her father had been following her. She had attempted to sneak out of the house before anyone saw her. A part of her felt guilt, but she pushed that to the side. It had been sneaking around that had caused her to land in trouble last time. She moved down the back alleyways until she was back near the river on her familiar path. Wandering along the pathway, she turned off into the park a few moments later and took her seat on the usual bench.

He appeared before her within moments. Dressed in a simple black suit, Elizabeth felt her chest ache at the sight of him. Moving to her feet, she stood before him and he stood before her. He gathered his breath and Elizabeth looked at his features. His cheeks, like hers, were red from the cold. His eyes were still as piercing blue as she remembered and his brown hair was neatly coiffed on top of his head.

"I apologise for being late," he said. "The Vigilance Committee were marching towards the police station on my way here…plus I tried to hide from your father."

"I only just arrived here," she said, "you were only a few moments behind me. What were the Vigilance Committee doing?"

"George Lusk was leading them," he said to her. "He was shouting about how a young boy…Thomas Gower…killed the toy seller, Manby."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "They are not the police. They are vigilantes. How do they know that the boy is guilty, anyway?"

"Well, that is not something I know," he replied to her. "Come, let us sit, all this talk of murder is not proper for-"

"-Please do not say that it is not proper for a young woman such as myself," Elizabeth demanded, holding a hand up to silence him. She sat down on the bench once more and he took his seat next to her. He removed his hat from his head and kept an honourable distance from her. He looked her in the eye and wondered what was going on in her mind. He often wondered that, but Elizabeth had become even more closed off since her sister disappeared. It had taken him months to persuade her to visit him.

"I take it something has happened?" he questioned her.

"When does it not in our household, Edward?" she asked from him.

He chuckled. "You have a good point," he agreed with her on that matter.

She folded one leg over the other, the green skirt she wore flowing around her legs. Her white shirt was tucked into her skirt and her hat was tilted askew on the top of her head.

"I went to see my father," Elizabeth spoke. "I was taking him food and I happened to stumble across the case he was working on. It was the Thwaites murder. I trust you read about it?"

"Indeed," he nodded.

"Well, I began to help him, but not really…not much, not at all. I am not saying that I solved the crime as I am certain they would have seen what I saw eventually, but perhaps I sped up the process," she blabbered at him for a few moments.

He chuckled and reached across to take hold of her hand. He squeezed it tightly, the movement calming her. She took a deep breath and looked at him, smiling up at him demurely as he beamed back. She nodded once and he chuckled.

"Sorry," she said. "Anyway, my mother discovered I had been looking at the case and she was not happy. She blamed my father for not keeping me away or protecting me."

"I can understand her perspective," Edward said, but as Elizabeth went to talk, he held his hand up to stop her. "But I know that you are a strong, young woman who is able to cope with many things on her own. I also know that your mind is inquisitive. Lord knows I have tried to stop you reading my notes so often and failed."

Elizabeth chuckled at that, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ears. "How is university?" she asked of him.

He shrugged. "As good as can be expected," he informed her. "I am looking forward to becoming a solicitor eventually."

"Not long now," she responded.

"And you?" he questioned her. "Have you given any thought as to what you wish to do?"

"Not as of yet," she responded, "but I shall. My mother keeps attempting to have this young man at the shelter converse with me."

"Is she now?" he asked from her and she nodded. "Perhaps the time has come to tell them of us, Elizabeth? It has been over a year since-"

"-I worry what they will think," Elizabeth interrupted him and she sighed, scratching at her chin and Edward noted the anguish on her features. Her mind was running away with her and he did not wish to see her suffer. He scooted closer to her and he bent down, his own hand going to her cheek. He stroked it softly.

"Do not fret," he encouraged her. "We can take as long as you want. You know I have no intention of abandoning you, Elizabeth. I love you. I always will."

Elizabeth wanted to say it back to him. She wanted to, but she could not force herself. Instead she moved quickly and pressed her lips to his, completely unaware that they were being watched by a certain journalist.

….

The trial of the young boy for the murder of Manby was due to begin the following day and Edmund had finished writing up his report. Of course, not that the boy had told them much. He had kept completely quiet and Edmund wondered if he had even committed the crime. But he kept his thoughts to himself. He could only help the boy if he spoke, but he would not.

"A comment, Mr Reid?"

Edmund almost groaned at the noise of Fred Best's voice. He kept himself composed, however. He looked up and placed his pen down onto the surface. Lacing his fingers together, he placed them onto the surface of his desk and looked at Best with disdain.

"The boy is due for trial. I will not be commenting on anything, Mr Best."

"Oh, not the boy," Best said, unable to help himself. "I was wondering if you had a comment about your daughter? You see, that could be a story itself, the young daughter of the famous Detective Inspector Reid cavorting with a boy in broad daylight."

Edmund frowned. Best chuckled.

"Ah," he said in a soft drawl, "so you did not know?"

"I would think it wise if you left now, Mr Best, and stopped your lurid gossip of my family."

"T'is not gossip, sir, t'is fact," he said, but held his hand up. "No matter, I will go and see what other story I can dig up on this day."

Best left and Edmund ground his teeth together. So that was where she was going. But who was this boy? Surely it could not be to see Edward? She had not spoken his name since Mathilda had been taken from them. Why would she sneak away? Why would she sneak around and not tell them anything? But that was the issue. They were a family who kept everything hidden.

….

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