A/N:

So here is Part 4., at the end of discovering (at least in this story) what put the wedge between Eliza and William for 10 years, leading up to the start of Season 1. I have been toying with the idea of not leaving them where they are at the end of Part 4., but rather bringing them back together after 10 years so that there can be some love and light in their lives again. Any thoughts on whether to bring them back together or leave them apart? They do come back together in my story, A Second Shot and in my story, I'm On My Way - so we know that Eliza and William will have happier times ahead. I'm interested to hear what you think.

I used a program called The Dialectizer for the Cockney accent in this part. In some spots, I toned it down a bit to make it easier to read, but some parts of it are a little crude and quite unladylike.

I also took the liberty of letting William have some books on police procedures and training, which did not exist in book form in the mid-19th century.

Thank you for all the lovely reviews and your kind words. They are so appreciated!

Part 4. William

Days passed without a word from Eliza, but still William hoped against all hope that she would come back to him after her anger had subsided, and they could mend their friendship as they had always done before. He wanted her back on whatever terms she was willing to give him, so great was the void he felt in his life with her absence.

During a meeting he had with Henry Scarlet that week in his office at Scotland Yard, William hoped to hear that Eliza had asked to see him again so that they might make amends with each other. He had even hoped that Henry would recognize the change that had been wrought between him and Eliza and intervene on his behalf. He dared not ask Henry for this favor himself, however, since he was her father and as it was Eliza who had rejected him. She would need to be the one to let William know whether she wanted him back in her life. He remained unaware that Henry had tried to help the two of them resolve their "argument" just a day previously when he had asked Eliza to make things right with William.

A full week passed since their kiss and its fallout, and he still had no idea when or if she would ever speak to him again. His days dragged on, without much purpose. His nights were sleepless, despite his finishing off the bottle of whisky Sylvie had left him. Try as he might, he could not stop thinking of Eliza, of her golden hair, her clear blue eyes that always held a hint of challenge in them, her essence and those soft, delicate lips that had sought and savored his when they had kissed. Even more than her physical attributes and her beauty though, William missed her quick, analytical mind, her sharp wit and even her impatience. He missed all of the little things that made Eliza uniquely who she was, and he wondered if his heart would ever heal, or whether the gaping hole in it would remain for the rest of his life. It just did not bear thinking about.

As the days continued to pass with her silence, William came to the decision that if he could not speak to Eliza or hear her voice again, then he wanted her to have something from him that would not only express to her how much he regretted what had happened between them on the day they had kissed but also serve as a token of his love for her. He knew Eliza would not want flowers, chocolates, pastries or other delectable delights from him by way of an apology or as a sign of his affection for her. None of those things mattered to Eliza, as they might to other women. There was one thing, however, he thought he could give to her which she might just cherish and which might appeal to her brilliant mind. It was something they had shared in a moment of happiness between them when they had been close friends. It might be his last gift to her, and then he would walk away from her, if that was what she wanted from him.

On that Saturday afternoon, William was in his room, sitting at his desk. He had just finished catching up on his studies and had started to transcribe a poem onto a sheet of thick, cream colored note paper. He was nearing the end of it when he heard a knock on his closed door.

"Not now, Sylvie. I'm busy," he called over his shoulder. He had been avoiding Sylvie after their night of drinking and thought it would be easier not to have to apologize again for turning down her advances after he had let her into his room and kissed her. He thought she had heard him through the door and left, when he heard the knock come again, this time louder.

"Sylvie, I said I'm busy. I will come see you when I am finished with what I am doing. Not now."

The knock came yet again, this time even louder and more insistent but with no voice attached.

"For God's sake, Sylvie," he grumbled and pushed his chair back from his desk. He rose and in a few strides was at the door, turning the doorknob, saying, "Sylvie, I told you..." as he swung open the door.

He saw her standing there, just outside his room. He was dumbfounded. He could not speak. Was Eliza Scarlet really here in his boarding house, standing just outside his door, or had he conjured her up and when he closed his eyes and reopened them, she would be gone, and it would be Sylvie standing there instead?

They stared at each other in silence, their eyes locked for a long moment, and then he blinked. His eyes took in the pallor of her face and the dark circles under her eyes. There was a sadness in her eyes today, which had replaced the hint of challenge that he had grown to love. Why had she come here? Dare he hope that she had come because she wanted to ask him back into her life, just as he desperately wanted her back in his?

As all these thoughts raced through his mind, he realized that he had forgotten his manners; he had not greeted her and had left her standing in the hallway.

"Eliza, to what do I owe this unexpected delight?" He had tried to make his voice sound casual, but he was certain that he had not succeeded.

"William, I came to see you to discuss something of importance. May I come in?"

"Yes, although I was not expecting company today. Please forgive the state of my room. I do try to keep it tidier than what it is now." As he stood aside for Eliza to enter his room, he asked, "Are you here with your father? Or did you come with Ivy? Is someone waiting for you downstairs?"

As Eliza stepped into William's room, she replied, "I did not come with Ivy or Father. I came alone because what I want to discuss with you involves what happened between us the day Skip was killed, and I have not spoken to either one of them about our...our embrace in the back garden that day."

He was concerned that Eliza had come to his boarding house alone, both for her safety and for her reputation. But he wanted to hear what she had come to say to him, and he would not rush her. He would give her the space she needed to express herself. "Very well, I'll leave the door open while we talk," William said. He remained standing close to the door, as he watched her slowly take in her surroundings. Even with her pale face and her sad blue eyes, she was beautiful. He wished he could hold her in his arms again, but she was here in his room, asking to talk with him, and that alone was enough for him right now.

She came further into his room and took in his bed, which was pushed against one wall with a wardrobe standing against the opposite wall. Near the window, she saw a writing desk with a chair that had not been pushed back in when he came to answer the door. In the far corner stood a table with a wash basin and pitcher placed on top and a mirror hung on the wall above it. Above his bed was a single shelf on which William had stacked a few books on police procedures as well as some novels. The room was clean and tidy; it was tidier than her own room at home, even after Ivy had settled up for her.

"Would you like to sit, Eliza?" William asked and indicated the chair by his desk. He felt as if their conversation was stilted, as if they were circling around each other cautiously, neither wanting to upset the other by saying the wrong thing or using the wrong tone.

"I would prefer to stand, William. The last time you asked me to sit down, you had bad news to give me, and I do not think I could go through that again so soon. I will get to the point of why I am here." As she spoke, she made her way closer to his desk, then turned and faced him, as he stood by the open door, leaning against the doorjamb, hands shoved in his pockets. The distance between them could not have felt greater to them, even though they were, in truth, only a few feet apart.

She felt his eyes upon her face, as he watched her closely, waiting patiently for her to speak. "William," Eliza began. She paused. She wondered whether she had made a mistake in coming here today. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes, but even with them present, he was still so handsome, and looking at him made her heart ache. Could she confront him when he was looking at her that way with those green eyes that she now knew she loved? She could do it; it was why she was here. "William, why haven't you responded to my letter?" she asked, in a rushed breath, trying to get the words out before she lost her nerve.

"What letter would that be, Eliza?" he answered, his eyebrows lifting quizzically.

"The letter I sent you earlier this week. You should have received it by now."

"I have received no letter from you," he replied, and he could tell that Eliza was unsettled by his answer to her question. "I did not receive your letter, Eliza," he repeated, "but would you tell me what you wrote in the letter anyway? Please?" he asked her softly and took a step toward her. Perhaps in her letter she had asked to make amends with him? He felt his heart lift with this burgeoning hope.

He watched, as she rubbed her brow in consternation. Clearly this meeting was not going quite as she had planned, but Eliza knew she had come here to have it out with him and now that she knew he had not received her letter, to apologize to William as well. She needed a moment, however, to collect herself and decide what exactly she wanted to say to him. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly in her chest, and her throat was dry.

She looked up into William's steady green eyes, which had softened and were gazing at her intently, searching her face for answers to his unspoken questions. He again was waiting for her to speak, and the quiet of his room was unnerving her as was his gaze.

"William, would you get me a cup of tea, please? My throat is parched after the long walk up the stairs to your room."

"Certainly, Eliza. I will need to go to the kitchen on the main floor to get it for you, but will you promise to tell me what was in the letter you sent me and why you've come today when I return with your tea? How do you take it?"

She heard the kindness and warmth in his voice when he spoke to her, and she thought that they might just be able to work through what had happened between them and mend their broken friendship. "With one lump of sugar, thank you. And William, I promise that I will tell you when you return."

He smiled at her, and she thought she glimpsed the old twinkle returning to his eyes, which warmed her heart and made her smile back at him. He left his room, leaving the door ajar, and then descended the stairs. Eliza could hear his footsteps on the stairs, as he went down first one flight of steps and then the other to the main floor of the house.

While he was gone, she took the opportunity to look around William's room more carefully. Her eyes were drawn to the bookshelf above his bed, scanning the titles of his novels. Bleak House, Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, Great Expectations - all by Charles Dickens. She had no idea that William read Charles Dickens, and by the look of it, seemed to enjoy his works, as he had more than one of Dickens' novels. Next to these books was a collection of poems by Robert Browning, titled Men and Women. Next to that was a worn book on police procedures, which she gingerly pulled from its place on his shelf. She flipped open the cover of the book to see her father's name written on the front flap, which made her smile in spite of herself. She read an inscription that her father had left for William under his name: "My dearest boy, Always remember that you are worthy and that you carry all the tenacity and fortitude you will ever need inside yourself already." She was touched by her father's kind words to William, and she realized that she could not be jealous that he had given this book to William rather than to her; she could see that William had cherished this gesture by her father since he had put it up on his shelf next to his Dickens and Browning.

She moved to stand next to William's desk to see another book of poems, The Complete Poetical Works and Letters of John Keats, open to a sonnet called "Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art".* Her favorite Keats poem; it always reminded her of her father's love for her mother - constant and undying. She moved her eyes from the page to see that William had been transcribing the poem onto a sheet of cream colored note paper. He had not yet completed his task, but she could see that William had been taking great care in copying the sonnet, his penmanship as neat as she had ever seen it.

She was just rereading the sonnet from his open book, when she heard a woman's voice say, "Well, well, well. 'ave a looky 'ere. Yer must be that detective's wee daughter. Elizabeth, right, innit?"

Eliza looked up to see a woman standing in William's doorway. She had long, auburn colored hair that fell in loose ringlets past her shoulders and which, Eliza guessed, was a shade too red to be her natural hair color. Her eyes were a light green and piercing, and they reminded Eliza of a cat's eyes, as they watched her closely. She had a pert little nose, and her mouth had a perfect bow shape, although her lips were a dark red from her lipstick. She might be said to be pretty, although her face was heavily made up. She was slightly taller than Eliza and looked to be in her early twenties, although it was hard for Eliza to know her age for certain under all of that rouge and lipstick. She wore a red silk dressing gown, tied closed with a black sash, and the neckline of her chemise could be seen behind the V of her cinched dressing gown. Initially, Eliza had thought that the woman had not yet dressed for the day, although it was already Saturday afternoon, and she was wearing black stockings under her dressing gown, with no shoes or slippers. Was she an actress, or a showgirl?

"It's Eliza, and who might you be?"

"Name's Sylvie. I will admit - yor a pretty wee girl, and I can see why Billy might 'ave fought 'e fancied yer. But 'ere's the fink, 'Liza. I take issue wiv yer 'urtin' my Billy, and I 'ave a good mind to come over there and slap that smug look right off yor pretty wee face."

Eliza flushed, then curtly said "Your Billy? I beg your pardon, Sylvie, but you needn't resort to violence. What happens between me and William is none of your business. It is our own concern, and it is not for you to say if I have been mean to or hurt 'Your Billy'."

Eliza could hear someone coming up the stairs and hoped it was William. She did not want to have to deal with Sylvie any longer. As the footsteps came closer, she thought she could hear William muttering under his breath, "No, no, no. Not Sylvie." At the doorway of his room, William said, "Sylvie, Eliza and I have something to discuss. I can come down to your room later to see you if you wish, but please leave us now." He stepped past Sylvie into his room and handed Eliza her steaming cup of tea.

Sylvie was not having it though and would not leave them. She glared at Eliza as if she meant to spit at her, then turned her gaze to William. She retorted, "Swear ter God, Billy, uvver than bein' pretty, I 'ave no idea wot yer see in this stuck-up prissy wee girl. She wouldn't know the first fin' about 'ow ter handle all of yer, including yor manhood. 'Liza, yer can't be mean ter him and 'urt 'im, then expect 'im to share 'is luvly manhood wiv yer. Let me tell yer, 'Liza, right, this man - that's right, 'e's a man, not a boy - 'e 'as the chuffin' goods, and I knows about it firsthand."

"Sylvie, that's enough," William told her, his voice getting dangerously close to a growl. "It's time that you leave us." He moved toward Sylvie while she continued to stand in his doorway, as if he meant to close the door on her, but he turned back when he heard Eliza speaking to him.

"William, what does she mean when she says you have "the chuffin' goods," and she knows about it firsthand? What's she talking about?"

"Eliza, please don't listen to her. She doesn't know anything firsthand."

"Oh, that's rich, Billy! Cor blimey guv, would I lie to you? She's not only an uppity prude, but she's pure as the driven snow and so preciously naive. Next yer'll 'ave ter be tellin' 'er about the birds and the bees and where babies come from. Yer do know 'ow babies are made, right, wee girl? 'Liza, do yer know anyfink 'bout 'ow Billy is put togeffer 'ere?" Sylvie pointed at William's crotch to demonstrate her point, as she continued, "About 'ow the good Lord gave 'im..."

"Enough, Sylvie!" Eliza could feel William's temper rising, and his volume was getting louder, but he was trying not to shout. He did not want everyone else in the boarding house listening in on their conversation. "Sylvie, go back downstairs to your room. You are not welcome here. Go. Now!"

"Billy, I bloody well am just 'avin a look out for yer. Tell me, because I want ter know, wot do yer right see in 'er, eh? Is it the reward of copping ter be the one 'oo deflowers 'er, is it? Is it the bloomin' challenge of bein' the one ter pop 'er cherry, eh? That's the only fin' i can fink. 'Liza, I can tell yer, yer wouldn't be able to handle 'im. He is too much man for yer, but not for me."

"Stop, Sylvie, just stop! Those are vulgar and vile things to say to her, and they are not true. Go, Sylvie. NOW! Eliza, we'll just close the door on her. We'll shut her out." William looked at Eliza and saw the horror of what Sylvie had meant by her words dawning on her face. No, no, no. Please, no. He could see Eliza's eyes narrowing and getting harder. The softness was gone. "Eliza, please don't listen to her. She is just trying to rile you. Nothing's happened between me and Sylvie other than kissing. That's it. Please, we still need to talk about why you came to see me today."

"I wouldn't say that's entirely true, Billy. We did 'ave a roll on yor bed."

"Sylvie, I don't give a damn about the roll on my bed!" William shouted.

Eliza's head was spinning as she said, "Well, I do, William. I should never have come here. I need to leave. Now." Eliza set her tea cup down on his desk and then pushed past William, out of his room and into the hallway. She started toward the stairs when she felt a tug on her sleeve. She turned to see William's hand on her arm.

"Please, Eliza, don't listen to Sylvie. She's jealous and feels spurned because I would not sleep with her. Please don't go before we've had a chance to talk."

"Let go of my arm. I had no idea you were such a womanizer, William Wellington, or should I call you Billy? You can sleep with Sylvie if you'd like, especially since it seems as if she is able to handle all of you and your lovely manhood. I am done here. We're done, and I was naive enough to think that we weren't. Good day, William." He released her arm but followed her to the top of the stairs.

"Eliza, I am not a womanizer. I never have been, and I don't want to sleep with Sylvie. I'm asking you not to leave before we can talk. In fact, I am begging you not to go before we've had a chance to get things sorted between us. It has all been a big misunderstanding. I promise you that I am being honest with you. Nothing happened between me and Sylvie. Nothing happened!"

On the stairs, Eliza turned to him and said, "Please do not follow me, William. I cannot listen to one more word from you right now. There's nothing left to say." She turned and flew down the stairs.

William shouted from the top of the stairs, "There's so much left to say, Eliza! ELIZA! ELIZZZAAAAAA!" At the bottom of the stairs, she turned and looked up the staircase to see him looking down at her. "Goodbye, William."

The tears were streaming down her face, as she turned on her heel and walked through the hall to the front door of the boarding house. She could hear William shouting at Sylvie, "FOR GOD'S SAKE, SYLVIE, GET AWAY FROM ME! LEAVE ME BE! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!" Then she heard him call for her one more time, followed by several no's and then one last thing which was too quiet for her to hear. But she couldn't go back to find out what it was that he had said. She just needed to get out of this house. She just needed to get back home, to her room. She began to run in the direction of home.

By not going back, she missed hearing William say, "Eliza! No, no, no, no! I love you."

He had said those three magical little words to Eliza, but she either had not heard them, or it didn't matter to her that he had said them. If she was done, then so was he. He had asked her not to go, had begged her to stay so they could sort things out, but she had left him.

William walked over to his desk and, with a frustrated yell, swept everything onto the floor - books, pens, ink, papers. As these items settled on the floor, he saw the unfinished poem, laying on top. He picked up the paper and started to read, but the words cut into his heart as he read about constant and undying love. He knew this was her favorite Keats poem. The first time he had read it, he and Eliza had been sitting at the table in the back garden of the Scarlet house. She had told him it was her favorite poem because it reminded her of her father's deep love for her mother, and she hoped she would have that same kind of love for herself one day. He had been touched that she had shared this part of herself with him. He had come to think of it as their poem too.

Now, with Eliza gone, he had no use for this poem anymore. He started to tear the paper in two, but as he did so, he felt his heart rend with each further tear in the paper. He couldn't do it; it was too painful for him to tear it to pieces. He picked up the book of Keats poems from the floor and tucked the thick cream colored paper with the torn edge in between the pages, then put them in his bottom desk drawer, where he could forget about them for a time.

He decided then two things. First, he would never beg for anything from a woman ever again. He didn't need to subjugate himself to a woman as he had with Eliza today; it had had no effect on her anyway and only served to lower his self esteem even more. Second, he would never give his heart to another woman. He would store it in a box, put it on a shelf and not take it down unless she came back to him.

Eliza was his one great love; he knew that was an incontrovertible truth. No other woman would ever come close to her in his heart, and he would always love her. He doubted he would ever marry or have a family, even though he had wanted a life with Eliza that involved the two of them being married and raising children together in a household filled with love and laughter. He wanted those things in his life - with her.

If he could not have her in his life, then he would have to go on without her. He would continue to keep an eye on her, as he had promised her father a year ago that he would do. He would help her when she needed his assistance, and he would be civil whenever they spoke. Otherwise, he would keep his distance from her. It was for the best. After all, he had work to do.

End Note:

*Here is the sonnet by John Keats that William was transcribing for Eliza. Written in 1818 or 1819, the poem is a passionate declaration of undying, constant love. That William Wellington - the man has layers upon layers upon layers.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art -

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and moors -

No - yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever - or else swoon to death.

There is a film called Bright Star that recounts the love story between John Keats and Fanny Brawne, for whom Keats wrote this sonnet, as a token of his love for her.

While other fan fiction stories have included lines of poetry or some poetic phrases in their titles, in this story, the poem itself is part of William and Eliza's story.