A/N: I apologize for waiting so long to finish this story. Life and a bit of writer's block got in the way. Now, I hear that the upcoming episode with Eliza and William as teenagers will take place a bit earlier than I've written, but still, it's been fun to imagine what might have been. I can't wait until January 7th (or sooner, if they try to surprise us for Christmas). At any rate, I hope you enjoy what I've done here. Thank you for reading.

Chapter 2: "Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man." *

Eliza was able to restrain herself from weeping uncontrollably as William took her deceased pet away in her father's carriage, a small, lifeless bundle in her father's old horse blanket. When William left with reassurances that he would be the one to get to the bottom of this mystery, she allowed a few tears to fall unabated, before sniffling and wiping her eyes and nose with a lace handkerchief.

"Buck, up, Eliza," she said out loud. Then, straightening up to her diminutive height, she purposefully strolled over to the picket fence that separated the Scarlet garden from Mr. Collins's. Both properties were fully landscaped, with lush hedgerows, trees, and other plants along the fence line. As she walked around the small garden, she looked closely at the place where she'd seen Mr. Collins feeding Skip days before. Perhaps there was some evidence of the poison he might have used. She stooped down to look to get a better look, and it was then that she noticed a terrier-sized hole in the bushes leading toward Mr. Collins's garden.

She parted the opening wider, and, sure enough, there was a hole in the wooden fence that had been gnawed by canine teeth and scratched and splintered by canine claws. Skip had also dug a hole in the ground, the better to crawl beneath the fence. She shook her head.

"That little scamp," she muttered to herself, partly in annoyance, but mostly in admiration at the little dog's determination.

Something had compelled him to get into the neighboring garden, and she had every intention of finding out what that was, Scotland Yard constable or no. She looked hastily around, and, not seeing Ivy's face in the kitchen window, or any sign of Mr. Collins, she waded through the dense vegetation, cursing under her breath in a very unladylike manner as rough stems tore at her dress and scratched her hands. Finally, she was able to touch the fence, and with a determination equal to Skip's, managed to awkwardly swing one leg over. But her skirts caught on a picket, and with a disturbing tear, she fell, landing unceremoniously on her bottom in a dormant flower bed. The wind knocked out of her, but after catching her breath, she looked up at her skirt, tugging it free from the picket with a hard yank, leaving behind a generous hunk of fine blue wool. There was definitely going to be hell to pay with Ivy.

She stood now, brushing off what was left of her mangled skirts, and skulked toward the garden house on the far side of Mr. Collins's garden, brain clicking over to detective mode. Thankfully, the door was unlocked, and cringing as it squeaked, she managed to slip inside unseen. She looked around the dim little shed, noting the gardening implements, bags of soils and fertilizers neatly arranged on hooks or shelves. She peered closer at a row of boxes and tins until she spied what she suspected she might—a can of rat poisoning. Carefully opening it, she saw that it was half-full.

"Et voila," she said in satisfaction. "I have now found what I suspect is the means in carrying out the murder. Mr. Collins had motive—silencing my dog—and opportunity—living next door with an eyewitness account of his feeding the deceased. William the Great can have nothing to say of my suspicions now, given how the three tenants of a criminal investigation have been satisfied."

She carefully returned the suspected murder weapon back to the shelf, hastily wiping her hands on her skirts before sneaking back out of the shed. She ducked down and hurried back along the fence line, but had she not been hyperaware of her surroundings, she might have missed another piece of evidence in her path: a dead rat. Swallowing back bile at the sight and stench, she stuck out one booted toe and nudged the dead creature, forcing herself, as she had done earlier with her dog, to fully examine it with a dispassionate eye. It appeared to be missing a ragged chunk that had been torn from its torso, and around its tiny, bewhiskered mouth, was the telltale dried foam of arsenic poisoning. She gasped when she realized that she had seen other dead rodents—squirrels, rabbits, and the occasional rat- in similar conditions in her own back yard on more than one occasion, had seen Skip nearly run mad in the chasing of them. They had all been victims of Skip's rodent hunting, terrier nature, although this was the first she'd noticed signs of the animals having been poisoned.

And then it all fell into place for Eliza. Only the hope of catching a rat or other such creature would have compelled Skip to claw and bite his way through a fence. And she suspected now, with a sinking heart, that were the dead rat to be tested alongside Skip, a coroner would find that the rat too had suffered the same fate. And her dear little dog had partially eaten the rat. This, she realized, was how Skip had been poisoned—by his own hand—er—paw.

She had been wrong about Mr. Collins, at least about his motives, and it was only Skip's trespassing that had caused the tragedy. She sank to the ground, her skirts billowing around her, and cried into her handkerchief, great, bereft sobs that shook her body.

"Miss Scarlet," came the sudden, disapproving tones of the garden's owner. Caught, she sprang to her feet. "Whatever are you doing on my property?"

"I apologize, Mr. Collins. I—I was only searching for—for something I had lost."

He raised a white, overgrown eyebrow. "Oh? And how might something of yours be found amidst something of mine?" he demanded pointedly.

His accusing words stiffened her spine, and, wiping the last of her tears from her cheeks, she stood bravely before him. "It would seem, Mr. Collins, that my dog, Skip has eaten one of your arsenic laden rats, and has fallen victim to the same fate as your rodent." She toed the dead rat for emphasis.

Mr. Collins's face fell. "No," he said in dismay, his rheumy blue eyes going from the body to the fence, as if looking for the other victim to appear at any moment. Her eyes widened at his genuine reaction of...sorrow? "But how?" he asked.

She walked back over to the fence and pointed to the means of Skip's emigration.

"Why, that little rascal," he murmured, in much the same admiring tenor as she'd used herself upon the discovery.

"I apologize for the damage. Naturally, I'll see that my father reimburses you for the fence."

He ignored her offer. "You've been doing your own bit of investigating, haven't you, girl?"

She blushed. "Yes," she replied. "I'm sorry that it led me to trespass. I was only following the clues…"

To her surprise, the old man grinned. "Just like your father."

"Perhaps," she replied coyly.

He nodded, then gruffly cleared his throat. "Those rats have been getting into my house and terrorizing my housekeeper no end. The poison was a last resort…I can see now I might have had more luck getting a ratter like yours."

"Oh, yes. Skip is the best at capturing rodents. He would be able to—He would have been able to rid your house of them, and have great fun doing it. You need only have asked." To her dismay, her eyes refilled with tears.

"I'm that sorry about your little nipper," he said then. "My Nan had a pup like that when she was a girl."

"You have a daughter?"

"She's been dead these past twenty years. Consumption. I gave away the dog, after…" A faraway pain clouded his eyes even more.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said sincerely. "I had no idea."

"She was gone before you were born."

"I thought you didn't like Skip. I know he barked too much…"

"He was a reminder, that's all. But now, you'd best be getting home, girl. That Ivy will be looking for you. She has eyes like a hawk, that one."

Eliza smiled in wholehearted agreement. "Yes, she does."

Mr. Collins eyed her torn dress. "You'd do well to use the front gate."

Eliza found herself oddly reluctant to leave. She's never had a grandfather, and despite the old man's gruff ways, she realized that his long-standing grief had led him to his curmudgeonly ways. She sensed in him a kind of kindred spirit; odd after so many years of dreading the sight of him.

She followed him to the side of his house, where a tall wooden gate opened smoothly as he held it for her. "Along with you now," he said. And before she could reply with a kind goodbye, he'd already shut the gate. She sighed, shaken now over so many revelations in so short a time.

Let this be a lesson to you, Eliza, she said to herself. You must not be so quick to judge people or circumstantial evidence in future.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of her day was spent mourning her dog, allowing Ivy to pamper and coddle her as she stared forlornly at Skip's empty basket by the fire, or held the ragged poppet chew toy Eliza had sewn for him, the stuffing already coming out of its seams. She'd written to her mother in Bath, informing her of Skip's passing in the long-winded, melodramatic words of a teenaged girl. It made her feel better to express herself on paper, and she knew her mother would be suitably sympathetic to her loss.

Her father returned home at dinner, and she greeted him at the door wh another burst of grief, reveling in his there-theres and his warm embrace that never failed to make her feel safe and loved. When at last she pulled away, it was to see that William had hung back in the foyer, awkwardly watching the spectacle. Embarrassed, she excused herself to wash up for dinner.

When she emerged again, hands and face washed, hair patted back into its neat bun, William and her father were already at the table. They both rose at her arrival, their laughter dying down at the sight of her.

"Don't stop your enjoyment on my account," she said, as Ivy brought in their first course, a lovely pea soup. "I'm quite all right." The men regained their seats and settled in to their supper. "What were you laughing about?" she asked curiously.

Her father shook his head. "One of William's fellow constables was assaulted by an old woman on the street who thought he was a masher trying to make off with her reticule. She'd dropped it, and he'd picked it up to give it to her. She gave him a black eye with it. I wish I could have been there to see that." The men chuckled again.

Eliza smiled. "Was he not in uniform?"

"He was," answered William, "which is what makes it even more ridiculous."

"That poor man," said Eliza, just to be contrary. It was an amusing story, but something about William always brought out the rude side of her nature.

"Yes, quite so," said Henry Scarlet, eyes narrowing on his daughter. He was all too familiar with this back-and-forth between them.

"What did the coroner find out about Skip?" Eliza asked.

"Lizzie, that doesn't strike me as appropriate dinner conversation."

Eliza sighed. "Please, Father, you know I'm not missish in the least, nor, I suspect, are either of you."

William looked to his superior officer, who nodded his permission in resignation. "I took the dog to a veterinarian, where he performed the Marsh test. You were correct, Eliza; he was poisoned by arsenic."

"As I suspected," she said, although her heart had clenched a bit on hearing it confirmed. "We can safely rule out Mr. Collins for any wrong-doing. It was completely accidental." She went on to detail the morning's incident and conversation with Mr. Collins.

William lowered the spoon of soup he'd almost ladled to his mouth. He tried valiantly to keep his voice measured, when inside, he was seething mad. "And how, pray tell, did you stumble across this bit of news? Did I no tell you that I was the chief investigator on this matter, that you were not to interfere unless I asked your help?"

She looked to Henry. "Father, I merely did a little investigating of my own. I know how busy you have been, and how you also keep William busy, with whatever it is he actually does, and it was a simple matter of following the clues—"

"Eliza, William is an officer of the law. I assigned him to take care of this. He was to look into the matter on my behalf. You're too close to this. It's difficult to investigate the loss of someone—or something-close to oneself. William was the best choice in this case."

"Well, I saved you both the trouble, now didn't I?" She resolutely took a bite of her soup. "The case can be officially closed. Now, where is my dog? I would like to give him a proper burial."

"Burial?" began William, incredulous. "Why he's just a mongrel who—"

Henry raised a forestalling hand to both of them, as if trying to diffuse a bomb before it exploded.

"I laid poor Skip by the garden gate. We'll have a simple funeral after supper before it gets too dark."

"Thank you, Papa." It was very difficult to restrain herself from sticking her tongue out at William when her father's attention returned to his soup. William frowned and ate his soup, although it no longer tasted as good as it had before.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest…"**

Eliza finished her funeral speech, dramatically tossing a handful of dirt into the grave before William shoveled dirt on top of the small bundle at the bottom of the hole he'd dug at her direction, (after digging and refilling the first hole, which she'd promptly reconsidered for the current site) near the far garden wall beneath a dormant rose bush. Had his boss not been there watching the solemn event, William might have openly rolled his eyes at her melodramatic use of Shakespeare's lines from Hamlet to send the mutt to wherever dogs went in the Hereafter (though William had serious doubts the bothersome animal deserved any place good).

Ivy drew Eliza to her side, holding her hand and comforting her. It was in that moment that a constable arrived, who, having knocked on the front door with no reply, heard talking in the back yard as he passed by the gate.

"Chief Inspector," he called. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the night sergeant sent me to collect you, sir. There has been a break in the case, sir."

Henry looked guiltily at his daughter. "I'm sorry, Lizzie, but this could be very important. William will stay and finish the interment, won't you, lad?"

William gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Ivy, could you please fetch me a clean shirt. Something tells me I'll be at the Yard very late tonight."

"Of course, Inspector Scarlet," the housekeeper replied dutifully. With a quick hug and a kiss to Eliza's temple, she followed Henry back into the house.

The sun was just setting as William resentfully continued his job, muttering under his breath while Eliza stayed and watched him, no doubt to make sure he did it to her satisfaction. He glanced up to see the pink and gold rays lighting up her face and hair like an Angel of God, and the sight of her beauty only made him angrier.

How have I been reduced to canine gravedigger? I'd rather be back in the workhouse than doing this for some spoiled, termagant lass who has nothing better to do than play at detective, a most important job that she is making a mockery of…

He harumphed to himself, continuing his mental diatribe as Eliza looked on.

Finally, he shoveled that last bit of dirt on top of the dead dog and stood to his full height. He wiped the sweat off his brow with one rolled up shirt sleeve—it was warm for November—and planted the shovel in the dirt. He looked to Eliza, expecting terse criticism, but he was surprised to see that she was looking upon him in pure…gratitude?

"Thank you, William," she said tightly, trying valiantly to reign in her emotions. Her eyes were luminous in the falling light, and he couldn't tear his gaze from hers.

"Uhh…Dinnae fash," he replied.

And suddenly, she was no longer the overindulged daughter of his superior, but a lovely young princess who was looking at him as if he'd slain a dragon for her. Later, he would console himself with the thought that there wasn't a man alive who could have resisted her in that moment. He took a few steps toward her, and she didn't back away, captured by his nearness, by the warmth of his body, and the glint in his eyes as he looked at her.

He reached out, brushing a stray whisp of hair that had fallen around her face. Something was happening here. Her vulnerability this day had softened her—had softened both of them despite all their outward bickering. Today, her tears had made him see she was truly becoming a woman, and not the burgeoning young harpy he'd shied away from, and his reaction to this was with the compelling idea that he'd like to be her partner—in the Biblical sense. He could no longer deny his strong attraction to her, his strong desire to pursue this glimpse of the woman she would someday be.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss, Eliza," he said softly, his hand lingering at her soft cheek. He was surprised to admit to himself that it was true.

"He really was a good dog," she whispered, touched by his sudden sincerity, heart pounding at the feel of his fingers on her skin. Without realizing it, her eyes dropped to his firm bottom lip, then hastily climbed to his eyes again, yet still she didn't move.

William could find no clearer invitation, and he lowered his mouth to hers. She gasped, and he gently moved his lips over hers, the lush fullness of which made his legs as unstable as a newborn colt's. In the back of his mind he understood that she was inexperienced, that he didn't want to frighten her, or take advantage of her grief, but she was too sweet to resist, and he lingered there, waiting for her to respond, learning the shape of a mouth that tasted of the jam tart they'd had for dessert. He couldn't help the moan that rumbled in his throat when at last she kissed him back, and for a brief moment he forgot himself, and his tongue tentatively touched her gently parted lips.

This, he realized in hindsight, was absolutely the wrong thing to do.

It was like she'd suddenly awakened from a dream or a daze, and she tore her lips from his.

"Eliza, I—"

But before he could finish his hasty apology, the sting of her slap cut him off and he jerkily stepped backwards, managing to trip over the newly dug grave in the process. He righted himself at the last moment, but by then she was marching back to the back door of her house without a backward glance. His entire body was trembling, and he unconsciously raised his hand to his inflamed cheek where he could still feel the outline of her small hand. He moved his jaw experimentally, but it didn't relieve the shock, or the embarrassment.

What the bloody hell was I thinking? She's ma supervisor's daughter, ya eejit! It can never happen again.

Inside the house, Eliza paused in the empty kitchen, grasping the edge of the table, breathing heavily against her stays. Her lips still tingled where William's mouth had been, and she touched them with shaking fingers.

I've just had my first kiss, she said to herself, in shock. And it—it was from…William!? I've just wasted that most treasured moment in a girl's life on that arrogant, insufferable…handsome, exciting, arousing—gah! You idiot! He works for your father. It must never happen again!

And it didn't. Well, not for some time, anyway.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

10 years later…

"Now, William, it was only a tiny bit of trespassing." She emphasized this by putting her finger and thumb a quarter-inch apart. He had the wild desire to bite those pretty fingers off. "No one will ever know, unless you tell them."

"Eliza, ye've gone too far this time! This was the Chief Inspector's house ye broke inta. I'm telling ye right now, I'll no vouch for ye if yer discovered, not if it means ma job! Bloody hell, woman, what were ye thinkin'!?"

His Scottish brogue became more pronounced when he was very, very angry, but rather than be frightened by his puffed up display, she was always the most attracted to him when he was like this, her heart skipping beats left and right.

"It was like the Mr. Collins incident all over again! You made a fool of me in front of yer father then, and I fear I'm about to be put in that very place again. How many times must we go through this same infuriating scene?!"

Mr. Collins? Aw, yes, the day Skip died. The day I solved my first case. The day I had my first kiss. With him. She ignored the familiar tingle when she thought of that day.

"Oh William, this was nothing like that at all," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Of course ye'd say that," He bellowed mockingly. "It's happened so frequently, I maself have trouble keepin' track!"

She stepped toward him where he stood in her office at Nash and Sons, hastening to hush him, attractive or not.

"Would you mind not roaring like a lion in here," she hissed. "It's my place of business, William, and I don't want the others to—"

"Ha! That's rich! How does it feel, now the shoe's on the other foot? And I won't be silenced on this, Eliza. It's high time ye were taken to task for all yer risky, selfish behavior. Like it or no, what ye do affects others."

He advance toward her, determined now to settle this once and for all. She stood her ground, however, which only further infuriated him and—God help him—aroused him too. He'd only recently realized he was in love with her and had been, pretty much since the day they'd met. Keeping those feelings at bay had become increasingly difficult of late, especially when she pulled things like this.

"Taken to task, William? And what do you plan to do, clap me in the stocks? Or is it to be the gallows—" She'd made the mistake of idly straightening his cravat while she mocked him, her knuckle brushing his throat like she'd struck a match, the sudden flame igniting him further.

Before he could think it through, he grabbed her slim upper arms and captured her mouth, effectively shutting both of them up. Unlike the hesitancy of long ago, this time, William was a grown, experienced man, while Eliza (no doubt still innocent in the ways of love) was worldly in other ways. There was no longer a father to worry about. He did not hold back; indeed, he was tired of doing so.

His anger turned into a different kind of passion, and he kissed her as he'd always longed to, his tongue finding hers, plundering the sweet, hot depths of her mouth. She did not pull away, and he felt her body melt into his, her hands sliding up to his broad shoulders to steady herself.

In the long years since he'd last kissed her, Eliza had had occasion to kiss another, so she knew what to expect, knew the sensuality of deep, arousing kisses. Or so she'd thought. Stolen kisses in the moonlight after her come-out ball had once been the height of excitement and titillation. But Francis Wickham had not been William Wellington. And William was not a boy, not by any means. His manly beard against her cheeks was soft, adding another layer of sensation—and his lips were firm and giving and single-minded. He seemed to know instinctively what would draw from her the greatest pleasure, and she kissed him back without thought, without fear, realizing the rightness of his mouth against hers. His large hands, now splayed across her back, holding her safely, surely in place, were the very things she had been missing in her lonely life.

"Eliza," he muttered in wonder, when breathing became an issue, "Eliza…" Her name was like a benediction, and she felt her eyes fill with sudden tears. She gathered him closer and kissed him, her fingers sliding into his short hair, his answering moan at the touch of her tongue causing her to tremble against him.

What had begun ten years before had been leading to this moment, and neither of them could deny the inevitability of it. They still had things to work out between them, still had issues to resolve. It would not be easy.

But it would be worth it.

The End

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this and leave kudos. I hope you enjoyed it. Merry Christmas!

*Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene I, Mercutio

**Hamlet, Act V, Scene II, Hamlet