Chapter 2

In the midst of Eliza's stunned silence, the doctor arrived. Heedless of the tension among the inhabitants, the doctor banished the men from the room, shutting the door firmly behind them. William complied, though under protest, kicking himself that he still hadn't looked for the bullets he'd come for. It was always like that with Eliza. He couldn't remember a time that his good intentions had panned out when it came to her, so she always ended up witnessing the worst in him. He turned to Nash beside him in the hall, William still supremely annoyed at the man's very existence.

"You can go now. As I said, this is a crime scene." William used his considerable height and burliness in an attempt to bully him into submission. Nash merely grinned, but held up his hands in surrender. Not a good thing to get in bad with the police.

"I'm going. I just had to see for myself that Eliza was all right. If you're taking her away, I'll have to postpone my trip to Paris until she's able to take over at the London office in my absence."

"I wouldn't worry on her account. Just go about your business and leave her be. I'll see that she's safe and far away from the temptation of doing any sort of investigating, for anyone, ye ken?"

"You realize you're making a mistake if you try to exert your control over her. You've got to let her come to her own conclusions about things."

"Is that how you manipulated her into going to work for you?" asked William tightly.

Nash shrugged. "A woman like her needs finessing."

William grabbed Nash by the collar and pushed him firmly against the wall, his muscled forearm across Nash's throat. "There'll be no more finessing of Miss Scarlet, least of all by you. She's mine, and you should wipe all notions of a personal nature out of your fekkin head."

Nash knew the inspector could snap him like a twig, but he wasn't about to show the man his fear. He wouldn't have become one of the top private detectives in London had he allowed anyone to see they intimidated him. Still, he couldn't resist poking the bear a bit. "Stakin' your claim are you? I imagine that's up to Eliza, and as of yet, I see no ring on her finger."

William pushed his arm harder against Nash's throat, mindful that all it would take was a bit more pressure and he'd be done with this nuisance once and for all. But William knew when he was being baited. Abruptly, he let go, and Nash slumped against the wall with a satisfying grunt.

"That remains to be seen," William said, straightening his coat, "though not by you. Now get the hell out or I'll have you arrested for interfering in a police matter."

Nash stood up on shaky legs, but managed to bend and reach for the hat he'd dropped and placed it gingerly on his head. He cleared his sore throat. "Inspector," he said hoarsely, and with a tip of his hat, walked toward the stairs with some amount of dignity.

"Bloody hell," William swore to himself. This morning was not going at all as he had hoped. The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.* He smiled to himself at his own fancy. He might not know a word of Shakespeare, but he knew his countryman Robert Burns well enough, and took him to heart as a comfort now.

He sighed, and with a regretful glance at Eliza's closed door, went downstairs again to look for the bullet that had lodged in the front door.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eliza lay back in her bed, mentally preparing herself for the dose of chloroform the doctor was about to press against her nose.

"I don't need that," she said bravely, though her heart was pounding in fear at the thought of the impending pain of receiving stitches. She'd never had any kind of surgery before.

The doctor took it in stride. "Trust me, Miss Scarlet, you don't want to be awake when I stitch up your wounds, and I'll be poking around first to see how bad the damage is inside. You would likely faint from the pain anyway."

"Fine, but don't give me much. I'll need a clear head about me."

That was that last conscious thought she had before feeling the cloth on her face and inhaling the sweet scent of the anesthetic. She awoke sometime later with a headache, dressed in a clean night gown. She felt the tightness of a new bandage and a dull ache in her arm, and she generally felt achy all over.

"Where's William?" she whispered through dry lips.

Ivy thought it was very telling that those were her first words coming out of her surgery.

"Making arrangements, I hear," said Ivy.

While Eliza had slept, she had begun packing for a week's stay away, although the Duke had not returned to tell where or when. She'd finished her own packing too, fearful of the dangers that might await them in their travels to wherever it was, anxious about leaving their home unsecure with a broken door.

"Could you find him for me?" Eliza persisted. Obviously, she'd forgotten how angry she'd been with William before she'd gone under.

Ivy held a glass of water to Eliza's lips. "Take a few drinks and I'll go see if he's about, or if his men can get a message to him. Whatever you do, don't get out of this bed. The doctor warned me you might be dizzy still, and weak from blood loss. I don't want you tumbling to the floor again."

Ivy left and Eliza gradually began awakening fully. It all came back then: the shooting, the tender moments she'd shared with William, the red-hot ire that burned in her when he invoked her father's memory. That horrible man, she thought, but then she remembered how she'd felt when he'd held her in his arms, how gentle he'd been, how strong, how green his eyes looked up close. He'd almost kissed her, and in that moment she would have let him, and gladly.

A light knock came before William walked in. He sheepishly met her eyes, his hat literally in hand, remembering once more how different things might have been had not some interloper come between them this morning. Mindful of her reputation, he left the door open.

"Ivy said you wanted to see me. She's downstairs making you tea and toast. Frankly, I'm surprised at your request."

"As am I, given your oafish behavior earlier."

He nodded, accepting that characterization as fair. And just like that, and like on most similar occasions when he'd said something hurtful or gone too far or blown up in frustration with her, he felt her forgiveness wash over him like spring rain. As usual, it was unspoken, but the return of the good humor in her eyes confirmed she was ready to move past it. He wondered if it would always be this way between them. He strongly hoped so, for if he were to admit it to himself (or to her), he would say that he enjoyed their clapper-clawing as much as their making up.

"We've found no clues to your shooter. I'm wagering he was a professional."

"Not a great shot however, for here I am."

He shuttered, his jaw tightening as he relived those horrifying moments when he saw her fall from view at the second shot. "You moved at the last moment, I think; he might have had his sights on your heart or your head. You were lucky."

"I suppose so. You're still intent on moving me elsewhere?"

He cocked an eyebrow suspiciously at her blasé attitude. "You'll not fight me then?"

"No. I see the reason in it, especially when it might have been Ivy as well in the line of fire. So, where are we going?"

That he was relieved to avoid this particular argument was an understatement; he'd come girded for battle, delightful makeup opportunity notwithstanding.

"Detective Fitzroy has come to our aid. His family owns a seaside cottage on the Isle of Wight. They don't go there this time of year, and he's given me directions and will give me a key. It will only be you, Ivy and I, to limit anyone knowing where we are, or the chances of anyone finding out."

"And he won't be telling his irascible father about our invading his home?"

"No. But if something happens and he does, I'm hoping I can explain that this makes his son a hero. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, as the poet says."**

"Well…quoting poetry. I didn't know you had such hidden depths, Inspector." Her blue eyes filled with laughter, and his heart skipped a beat. He might complain, but there was nothing he loved so much than when she was teasing him.

"Despite what you might think, Eliza, there is more to me than Scottish oaths and the use of ma fists."

"I know there is," she replied softly.

William stared at her, his heart in his eyes, and he wished this was the time and place to confess his love as he'd wanted to that morning. A vision of telling her on a windswept beach came to mind, and he wondered then if he'd gone too soft. First his embarrassing pretend proposal in the jeweler's shop the other day, now a lovesick daydream. Next he'd be breaking out into song.

She must have seen clearly a glimmer of his feelings, for she looked away uncomfortably. He smiled self-consciously, and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"I'll uh, see to our train tickets. We'll leave this afternoon if you're up to it."

"I will be."

"I hope so. You're still looking a wee peely wally." Her paleness changed to rosy pink in a moment. That was more like it.

"I was just shot, you know."

His lips quirked. "Yes, I was there. My men are guarding your doors. I'll be back in two shakes."

She watched him leave and found that a wave of tiredness had washed over her, and she relaxed again into her pillow. There was something different about William today, she mused. Maybe it was seeing her nearly die that had turned him more tender, despite his earlier furious outburst. She knew he cared for her in his way, and they had been friends a long time. But he was with Arabella now, and Eliza would never be the kind of woman to steal away a man. She wouldn't even know how to do it. She'd never been a flirt or willing to put herself out there to attract a man's attention. She'd allowed herself to be put firmly on the shelf, but she wondered sometimes if she'd done so because she had always had William in the back of her mind. As a younger man, he hadn't moved in the same circles, given that her father had once been the Detective Inspector and William had been a lowly constable trainee. Eliza hadn't cared a fig for high society, and her father thankfully hadn't pressed her to. Perhaps he too had expected that she and William would end up together one day. By the time William had made a name for himself at Scotland Yard, and had been invited to the fashionable balls and parties, Eliza had already lost interest in husband hunting. Simply no one else measured up to her ideal: her father and William.

Eliza sighed. It was too late now, she thought rather sadly. She had made too many mistakes in putting William off while taking for granted that he would always be there waiting for her, if she finally decided to marry. Arabella was just the woman for him, and Eliza would do well to start thinking that way. She would have her career to keep her warm. She vowed she would have no regrets.

Ivy brought up the tea and toast and she made herself eat under Ivy's hovering, though the after effects of the chloroform made her feel slightly nauseous.

"We're going to the sea," she told Ivy. "A cottage on the Isle of Wight."

"My, doesn't that sound fancy," Ivy commented. "And romantic…"

Eliza's eyes narrowed in warning. "Ivy, William is with Arabella now."

"Not for long, I expect. I saw the way the inspector was looking at you today." Ivy busied herself laying out Eliza's traveling clothes.

"He was concerned for my welfare. We're friends—"

"A man doesn't look at a woman that way if he merely wants to be friends. I'm just saying."

Eliza rolled her eyes, then closed them, hoping to end this trying conversation with a nap. It must have worked, for the next thing she new, Eliza had fallen fast asleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She woke up to Ivy, nervously pacing the floor with a slip of paper in her hand that Eliza recognized as a telegraphic dispatch. Such things generally meant urgent, and often troubling news.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Ivy said. "I wanted you to get as much rest as you could before your journey."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's—it's my mother. She's had an apoplexy. Her neighbor who looks in on her for me says she doesn't think she has long."

"Oh no! I'm so sorry! Of course, you must go to her."

"But our trip. You'll need me to go as a chaperone."

"I'll hire someone," said Eliza. "A temporary lady's maid. Don't worry about a thing. You can go to the train station with us."

Ivy looked torn. "I don't know. I'll ask the inspector what he thinks."

William had returned, and knocked on the halfway opened door. Eliza sat up. He took in the general agitation of the two women.

"What is it?" he asked.

Eliza explained the situation, and William readily agreed that Ivy should be with her mother. "We'll manage, though we might not survive without a cook." He avoided Eliza's eyes for fear she might throw a pillow at him. At Ivy's wringing of hands, William hastily stepped over to her, taking her cold hand in his. "I'm teasing. Being a bachelor, I'm fairly handy about the kitchen. Don't you worry. Eliza will be fed well enough. You see to your mam."

Eliza's eyes watered at his gentleness with the woman that was like her second mother.

"Well, if you're sure…" Eliza hedged.

"Yes, Ivy," insisted Eliza. "We'll be fine." She turned to William. "Can we exchange Ivy's tickets for Hackney?"

"I imagine so. Now, we should get a move on. We'll go out the back door and cross behind the house to the next street . A carriage will be waiting for us there."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thirty minutes later, and they arrived at the Duke's hired hackney. He'd felt it wise not to use his own carriage, in case any of Rothschild's henchmen might be watching. Still, William kept his revolver handy, his eyes scanning their surroundings in search of possible threats. Eliza had been so slow going on their escape that William had threatened to carry her again, but she persevered and they made it without incident. Near the parked carriage, a familiar figure stepped out of the shade of a red oak tree: Moses. William frowned, but didn't even question how the scoundrel had discovered his careful plan. Even having worked with him, William still didn't completely trust the man, but he knew in his gut that Moses wouldn't wish any harm upon Eliza. He suspected Moses was a little in love with her; who could blame the sleekit bastard?

Moses's eyes swept over Eliza in such a concerned manner that even William didn't take offense.

"I'm happy to see you're still with us," he said in his musical Jamaican lilt.

"Reports of my death were an exaggeration,"*** she paraphrased, and Moses grinned.

William glanced around to see if there was anyone nearby who might be listening, and lowered his voice. "What do you know about who might have done this?" He might not completely trust Moses, but the Jamaican seemed to miraculously know information before most coppers or detectives did.

"Well, it's common knowledge that Lord Rothschild is wanting de lady out of de picture."

"My thoughts too. I'm taking Miss Scarlet away for safe keeping. I'll pay you double your usual fee if you find proof of his involvement."

"How do I send word?"

"You can't," said William, clear warning in his tone. "We'll be back in time for the trial next week. Tell me then what you find."

Moses stuck out his hand, and William hesitated before taking it, the two men having a brief contest of strength in their grip, before Moses allowed the inspector to win. He smiled and then turned to Eliza and Ivy, tipping his hat before he disappeared back into the shadows of the trees.

"Let's get a move-on," said William, beginning to feel anxious about standing so exposed on a public street.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxx

At the train station, after Ivy exchanged her ticket, Eliza and William parted ways with her, the two women hugging and wishing each other well on their separate journeys. William and Eliza found their way to the train heading to Ryde Pier Head station on the Isle of Wight. Once they were settled in the beautifully plush first class train carriage, William looked across the table between them at Eliza's tired face.

"I can get you a sleeping berth if you like," he offered.

She smiled at him gratefully, but said, "It's just a few hours' trip. I'll be fine, especially in this expensive carriage. I can't believe Scotland Yard would have paid for this."

William shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "They didn't, but I thought you should travel in comfort, given your recent injuries. Besides, I wanted to be sure no one knows where or how we're going in case Rothschild has greased some palms. And as far as the commissioner knows, I'm taking some personal leave time. Everyone assumes, given our well-known friendship, that I'm spending time with you as you recover."

Eliza stared at him, oddly touched. "You paid for this yourself?"

He nodded, then he reached across the table for her right hand, trying to be as gentle as possible with her injured arm. He looked up and met her wide blue eyes, feeling suddenly shy. "There's something else I must ask of you. To help keep the dogs off, I bought our tickets under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Burns."

He slid her mother's golden ring off her finger. "It would go a long way toward our cover story if…if you would wear this ring on your left hand."

He paused, holding the ring, and his mind flashed back to that jewelry store, and the memory of his off-the-cuff, rather sappy proposal. His heart picked up speed, just as it had that day, for although this was no more real than it had been then, it felt surprisingly real to William. He prayed she wouldn't laugh, wouldn't refuse him, just as if he were really slipping his ring upon her finger.

For her part, Eliza felt shaken to her core. She too thought of the romantic proposal he'd concocted on the fly, how it had moved her, how the thought of it had kept her awake all that night, even while she knew it was not in the cards for them. Arabella would be the one that would wear his ring for real. But for now, and for the days they were about to spend in a sea-swept cottage along the shore, she could pretend.

"All right," she said solemnly. Her cheeks flushed as he took her other hand, finding the finger whose vein ran directly to her heart. She watched in awe as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her ring as if she were the Queen herself, his lips firm and smooth, his beard tickling her hand. Trying desperately to cover how much she was affected, she made her voice sound light as she said: "So what are our first names, Mr. Burns? We should probably keep close to our real names just in case one of us slips. How about…Lizzie for me, and…Bill for you."

He frowned. "Bill? That's what me father went by."

"Oh," she said. "I didn't know that. What's your middle name then?"

He grinned suddenly. "Robert."

She laughed. "So you'd be Robert Burns, like the Scottish poet. How fitting, William."

He grinned, not revealing he'd chosen their surname precisely in honor of his countryman. Then he had an inspired thought. "What about…Henry?"

The moment he said her father's name, he realized that that might not have been the best idea, for her eyes grew misty with unshed tears. Much to his surprise, however, she squeezed the hand that still held hers. "That's a lovely idea, William," she whispered.

A/N: More coming up soon. Thanks so much for reading! This story is also posted on AO3.

*from "To a Mouse," by Robert Burns

**from "The Golden Legend," by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

***quote from Mark Twain upon the mistaken release of his obituary