Emily tried to fit in, to find work befitting a qualified doctor but it was difficult. The hospitals pooh-poohed her Canadian qualifications, dismissed her with a wave of their collective hands and she was left wondering how she was going to pay her way in London. It had been Lilian's dream to join the suffragette movement and for a time it was hers. She found the ideals were behind that of her native Canada and it frustrated her, or was it that she could only secure a post as a nurse, rather than a doctor, and a room in the nurse's home. Still at least she had a roof over her head but she missed her independence and the intelligent conversations in the morgue.

The other nurses regarded her as something of an oddity. They were always on the lookout for a single doctor and gossiped about other nurses while she would sit reading medical texts, the latest discoveries in the clinical field and out of date copies of the Toronto Star that she had shipped over. Over the months she realised she was always looking for news of the latest goings on at Station House Four, Detective Murdoch and Constable Crabtree.

She missed George. She tried not to, but she missed him.

It was looking as if it was going to be a damp and dull Christmas. She missed the crisp cold of Canada and the snow, it just rained in England, at least that's what it seemed to her, and the damp seeped into her bones and made her joints ache.

It was an incident in the morgue that had her make her decision: she had accompanied a body down to the coroner and handed over the details of the woman's illness and subsequent passing. She got this duty often as none of the other nurses liked going to that part of the hospital and it suited her, gently pestering the doctor to at least let her observe. He generally refused, imagining her fainting the moment he opened up the body.

"Patient is Mrs Mildred Askham, aged thirty-eight years," she read, "brought into the hospital having been found collapsed in the street."

"Another drunkard," the coroner, Dr Wardman, muttered.

"Actually, no," Emily looked up, "found to be heavily bruised ..."

"Thank you, nurse, I can read," he huffed, holding out his hand for the notes.

She sighed and handed over the papers and made to leave. Emily was certain Mrs Askham was murdered or at least her death was suspicious. A man, claiming to be her husband, had visited her and demanded to know when she would be returning home, the house needed tending to and the children needed their mother. Mrs Askham had looked terrified at the prospect and Emily was certain it was he who had inflicted such injuries upon her. However, she should not have died, her injuries whilst many and painful were not life threatening. So what had happened?

Mrs Askham had died during one of his visits, behind the curtains he had drawn round her bed. No member of the nursing staff had questioned this though curtains were only drawn when a patient was being attended to by a nurse or had died and was being prepared for either the morgue or for the funeral director, but at the end of visiting, when the curtains were drawn back Mildred Askham was dead.

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"It is not our duty to question how Mrs Askham died, Nurse Grace," the sister in charge of the ward had grumbled, "now go and change the bed."

Emily frowned but, as she could not afford to lose her job, she went to strip the bed of its soiled linen and clean down the mattress. The pillows were piled up on the chair and as she took off the second pillow slip she noticed staining, from saliva she guessed, in the middle, a tear in the slip and the pillow itself - to her eyes, fairly well practised from her time with Julia Ogden and William Murdoch, Mrs Askham had been smothered. She put the pillow on top of the laundry and wheeled the hamper to the lift and took it down to the laundry room. She lifted the pillow and thought about what she should do next. At home she would have gone to Julia who would have called Detective Murdoch who would have immediately set out for the home of the Askham family and probably arrested Mr Askham on the spot. To her it seemed like a cut and dried case. However, she needed to know if there was evidence of suffocation on the body and the only way she could find that out was by going down to the morgue and checking the mouth for a feather. With the tear in the pillow there was bound to be one. She headed to the morgue in the hope that Dr Wardman had left for the day.

He hadn't but she had come this far and confronted him.

"Did you determine how Mrs Askham died?" her voice was all innocence, her face not quite so.

"Natural causes," he harrumphed, "heart gave out."

"Oh," she thought for a moment, "just, I wondered, her pillow, signs of suffocation ..."

Twaddle," he sneered, "how could that happen in a hospital ward?"

"The curtains were drawn round the bed when her husband visited," she shrugged, "he could have done it."

"Now you listen here, young lady," he stepped right up close and she could see the open pores on his nose and smell his stale breath, "she died of natural causes, her husband will take the body and have it buried, nothing to do with us."

"Can I ..." she moved to the cabinet where the bodies were stored.

"No!" he pushed her out of the morgue, "and stay out!"

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She stood outside the nearest police station, the pillow in a bag and chewed her lip. Finally deciding this was the only thing she could do to find out the truth she pushed open the door and stood by the desk.

"Now then, Miss," a sergeant smiled gently at her from behind the desk, "what can we do for you?"

He reminded her of Inspector Brackenreid, right down to the sideburns and moustache. He had a twinkle in his eye, too, and she felt that she may be able to get some retribution for Mrs Askham. She introduced herself and smiled then told him the story and showed him the pillow.

"Well, Miss," he nodded, "I don't know, but let's see if our detective can make something of it."

Of course she didn't expect Detective Murdoch, but neither did she expect to be dismissed quite so unceremoniously as she was.

"I just wanted Mrs Askham to be treated fairly," she muttered as she was led out by the kindly sergeant.

"It wasn't," he looked at her, "Mildred Askham, was it?"

"Aha," she nodded, "thirty-eight years of age, three children, I think, one much older than the other two ..."

"I know a family by that name," he mused, "Jed Askham - supposedly god fearin' but beats his wife something chronic, and as for the little 'uns ... well ..."

"Sounds about right, Mrs Askham always worried about a little boy she called Peter and a little girl, but I don't know her name," Emily stopped and looked at him, "what do I do now?"

"You still on duty?" he asked, frowning.

"No, not until tomorrow, now. Why?"

"I get off in an hour, can you wait for me?" he could see she wasn't one to give up easily. "There's a tea shop around the corner ..."

"Alright," she felt a little jolt of hope.

"Good, I'll meet you there."

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An hour was long enough for the sergeant, Bert Green, to decide he had to do something about Mrs Askham's death. He knew Jed from his frequent stays in the cells, usually drunk and often with bruised knuckles. Mildred sometimes fought back. He knew the kiddies, Peter and Ruth, grubby little urchins that would hide behind the couch in terror when their father was in one of his rages.

"Good," he smiled as he stepped inside the tea shop, "you waited." He sat down and the waitress brought him his usual cup of tea and toasted tea cake as he told her what he knew of the Askham family. She was right when she said one of the children was older than the other two, she was twenty and worked as a scullery maid in one of the large houses in Belgravia, an affluent area of town.

"She gets one Sunday afternoon a month off and rarely used it to go and see her family. Jed is her stepfather, which may be the reason she doesn't visit." He sipped his tea, "it's the little 'uns I feel for," he continued, "the workhouse for them, Jed can't look after them."

Emily shuddered, she had heard stories of the workhouses and didn't like what she heard, "so what do we do?"

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What they did was rash, and worked to a degree.

Bert took her to the run down area that the Askham's lived in. The house was a terrace, with dirty windows and peeling paint on the door. Bert knocked and in his best policeman's voice shouted, "Jed Askham! Sergeant Green, open up!"

While they waited Emily tried to see in through the grimy window. She thought she could see shadows, small ones but there was a definite flicker of movement. She went back to stand with Bert.

"I saw something, but too small to be Mr Askham," she whispered, "one of the children?"

"Pete?" Sergeant Green leant against the door, "Peter lad, can you open the door?"

There was a scrabbling at the door and a click and the door was opened a little and a big blue eye blinked in the half light. Bert bent down and smiled gently.

"Hello, Peter, can I come in? I've brought a friend with me."

Peter opened the door and stepped back into the gloom of the hallway staring at the floor and pushing his small sister behind him, coppers calling meant trouble.

"Your dad in?" Bert asked, always keeping his voice low and soft. Peter nodded towards the back of the house. "Right," Bert nodded, "this here's Miss Grace," he indicated Emily standing just behind him, "she's a friend."

Emily was not used to children except those she treated in the hospital but she bent down and smiled. "Hello, Peter," she held out her hand, "so pleased to meet you, is that," she looked behind him, "your sister?"

Peter nodded and swallowed. He took her hand and pulled the little scrap from behind him, "'s Ruthie," he whispered.

"Hello Ruthie," she murmured, "aren't you a sweet little thing?" And in truth she was; tiny, matted dirty fair hair, a tatty pinafore over a faded blue dress and pale grey eyes as big as the moon, but underneath it all still sweet.

The little girl stepped from bare foot to bare foot and stuck two dirty fingers in her mouth as she observed the lady looking at her.

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In the only other downstairs room Bert found Jed Askham in a drunken stupor and hauled him to his feet.

"Git up!" he grunted, "Mildred ..."

"Wha ...? " Askham blinked and swallowed, "bloody nag."

"She's not coming back and you know why," Sergeant Green held him up.

"Wouldn't shut up," Jed mumbled, "nag, nag, nag ..."

"So you shut her up, eh?"

"What of it?"

"Jeez, you take the biscuit you do, not content with beating her you then smother her to death and you think it doesn't matter. You're for the rope," Bert turned him round and put his handcuffs on him, this was a confession.

As he pushed him to the front Emily pulled the children to the side. "What about Peter and Ruthie?" she whispered, "we can't leave them here, on their own."

"Any neighbours you can go to, son?" he looked down at Peter whose fear showed on his dirty face.

Peter shook his head, all the neighbours avoided them like the plague. One had tried to intervene when Mildred was being beaten but had got the same treatment, and now everyone steered clear of them.

"Best bring 'em with us," Bert sighed.

Emily looked down at them, Peter had a torn shirt and trousers on, a pair of old boots on his feet, he would freeze outside.

"Have either of you got coats?" though she doubted it and Peter confirmed her suspicions. "Shawl, blanket?"

Peter left them for a minute and returned with a shawl that must have been his mother's. Emily fastened it round him and picked up Ruthie, wrapping her in her cloak and holding her close. With bare feet she couldn't expect the child to walk.

Peter didn't ask where they were going or what had happened to his mother, perhaps he knew. His life had been a series of beatings, watching his mother get beaten and little food or love, but Emily still didn't like the idea of him and Ruthie going to the workhouse.

Bert had similar thoughts as they marched Jed Askham to the station and to his ultimate fate. He didn't struggle or argue, just seemed to accept that this time he wasn't going to get away with his crime. There was nothing else for it, they would have to come home with him. He lived with his sister, neither had married but shared the house their parents had lived in. It was large enough and oftentimes they had wondered about taking in lodgers but never got round to it. He didn't know how Adelaide felt about children, he wasn't sure how he felt about them either - they would just have to see what worked.

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In the station the children were set on a bench and given sweet tea, cooled down by the addition of plenty of milk, while their father was questioned about the death of his wife. Another sergeant was sent, with Emily, to the morgue to look at the body.

"Don't take Wardman's word for it," the Inspector huffed, "it was easier to say natural causes," he looked at Emily. "You say you've done this kind of work before?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded, "in Toronto, I was the coroner for a while."

"Right," he drew his brows together, "well, go to it."

"I'll be back, Peter," she assured the little boy, "just got to do something for the police."

"'s mum, ain't it, Miss?" he sniffed, "'e done 'er in, din't 'e?"

"I'm so sorry Peter," she patted his head, "but we'll take care of you and Ruthie, somehow you won't got to the workhouse, I promise."

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"You mean that," the sergeant nodded back at the station as they headed to the morgue, "that the kiddies won't go to the workhouse?"

"Over my dead body," Emily harrumphed, "even if I have to take them on myself." The decision she had made earlier would have to be put on the back burner, so to speak.

He could see she wasn't a woman to be trifled with and any woman who could work in a morgue was pretty strong, in his eyes.

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Wardman was wiping his hands after closing up the body of a man who had been stabbed in a bar fight. He glared at Emily, "I told you to stay out!"

"Dr Grace is helping the police with their inquiries," the sergeant stepped forward, "we should like to look at the body of Mildred Askham," he stared at Dr Wardman and waited.

"Over there," he nodded in the direction of the cold storage and went on with whatever he was doing - trying to look busy, Emily thought, so he could listen in on her conversation.

They pulled the gurney out with Mrs Askham's body on and lifted the sheet off her battered face.

Emily gently pulled the jaw down and peered in. "Torch please," she held out her hand. The sergeant looked round and found one on the bench. He placed it in her hand and watched as she shone it into the mouth.

"Aha," she hummed, "tweezers," she held out her hand again and smiled as she felt the police officer place them firmly in her palm. She handed him the torch and asked him to hold it steady while she poked the tweezers into the mouth and carefully retrieved a feather.

"As I thought, sergeant, Mrs Askham was smothered by the pillow. She must have fought back, struggled, because she tore the case," she held up the feather almost triumphantly.

"Murder then, doctor," he grumbled.

"Indeed, and Mr Askham has confessed," she placed the feather in his palm while she covered the face up again and pushed the body into the storage.

"Seems you were a bit lacking in your examination, Dr Wardman," the sergeant addressed this remark to a blushing doctor, "should have listened to Dr Grace here."

Wardman blustered and glared at Emily, but had nothing to say.

"Best re do the death certificate," Emily suggested, "for the records, you know."

With a new, and correct, death certificate and the feather tucked in an envelope and stored in the policeman's pocket the two investigators headed back to the station.

While they had been gone Jed Askham had tried to wriggle out of his confession but in the end Sergeant Green 'persuaded' him to admit it. He was led away to the cells to await a trial, though the Inspector thought it would be a short one. The feather and death certificate were added to the file and attention turned to the two children, now asleep on the bench.

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"Not the workhouse," Emily looked at Bert, "please, surely there's something else we can do, isn't there?"

"Well, their sister don't want 'em," he replied, "but," he heaved a sigh, "I rang my sister. We share the house our parents had, it's a bit big for the two of us and she has agreed to give it a go, have the kiddies, at least until something else can be worked out ..."

"There's a 'but', isn't there, Sergeant Green?" Emily sat down.

"Neither of us is in the first flush of youth, miss, and we know nothing about children save we were kids once," he smiled, "Adelaide has suggested that you take one of the rooms too, as a lodger, make sure we do it right." He sat opposite her and waited. HIs sister had said it was the only way she would agree to have children in the house, she would look after them when Emily was at the hospital but when she was off duty they would be her responsibility.

Emily thought about this offer. She thought she understood what Miss Green meant and she would at least be able oversee their health and well being. The other side to it was she didn't really like living in the nurse's home and perhaps taking lodgings would be more comfortable, at least she thought conversations would be more interesting.

She agreed.

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Adelaide Green was a small, bird like woman with a twinkle in her eye like her brother, Emily took to her immediately. She had spent the time between the phone call and the arrival of the 'lodgers' sorting out bedrooms. She put the children in a room together as she didn't think separating them just yet would be a good thing to do. How she had moved the extra bed neither Emily nor Bert could work out, but she had and it stood opposite another in the room, clean linen and warm blankets were ready for the children to snuggle under. Emily's room was next door, light and airy with a double bed, chest of drawers and wardrobe that she would never fill in a month of Sundays!

Throughout all this Peter had kept quiet just watched and waited, and Ruthie sucked her fingers.

"First things first," Miss Green stiffened her shoulders, "baths for these two."

"Excellent," Emily looked down at the children, "what do you think, Peter? A nice warm bath."

Peter had never had a bath, nice and warm or otherwise; a cold flannel over the face occasionally was all they got, so he wasn't actually sure what she meant.

He was pleased to find it wasn't too bad, not too bad at all. Miss Green hadn't put too much water in the bath and she was gentle when she washed him while Miss Emily saw to Ruthie who remained steadfastly silent. Once they were clean the only thing to be dealt with was the rampant head-lice so after discussion and with heavy hearts the two ladies decided they would have to cut or even shave the hair from their little heads.

"It will grow back, doctor," Adelaide gave her her proper title, "quite soon, I'm sure."

"True," Emily nodded sadly, "well, we need to reassure Peter that, and Ruthie."

"Is she quite alright?" Adelaide pursed her lips, "she hasn't said a word, or cried ..."

"She does react to noise, so I am sure she isn't deaf, perhaps she just needs time, perhaps she was punished for making a noise, of any kind."

"Hm, well, we'll see," Adelaide shrugged.

"You see, Peter," Emily crouched down in front of him, "if we are to rid you of that dreadful itching on both your heads we need to get rid of the hair. It will grow back and if we keep it clean you shouldn't have any more trouble."

"'n' Ruthie's?" he frowned.

"All her curls will grow back, she'll be as pretty as a picture," Emily smiled.

"Ok," he sighed, "best do me first, then she won't be frit."

"Good boy," she stood up and guided him back into the bathroom.

They cut the hair then Adelaide used Bert's razor to shave both their little heads exposing little scabs and scars from the constant scratching. Emily sighed and picked up Ruthie, wrapping her in a soft towel; she was so tiny, undernourished and probably smaller than she should be for her age, whatever that was. She turned to Peter.

"Peter, do you know how old you are?"

He shrugged, "no, me da'll know."

"I'll ask Sergeant Green to check tomorrow, then," she smiled, "but for now I believe Miss Green has some soup ready for you and then to bed."

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With the children in bed and a decent hot meal inside them, the adults sat in the parlour with a sherry for the ladies and a beer for Bert and discussed what they needed to do next.

"I don't expect anyone will be worried about two orphans from the wrong end of town," Bert mused, "they rarely are."

"Could we be appointed as guardians?" Emily hummed, "or one of us, anyway."

"You'd be best for that, Miss," Adelaide sighed, "y' got youth on your side ..."

"A single woman ..." she raised her eyebrows.

"We're all single, girl," Bert reminded her, "I wouldn't say anything about it, just let's keep the kiddies until someone notices.

"Well, at least we're saving the workhouse or children's home money by taking them in," it was an offhand comment, but ...

"You could have something there, Miss," Adelaide nodded, "they're always crying out for money, claiming folk like this is a drain on society."

"Well, let's try that then, if they come calling," Emily sipped her sherry and wondered about the legality of the whole situation.

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Emily didn't get a proper night's sleep, wondering and worrying about the enormity of the situation. The only support in this 'endeavour' was a police officer and his sister who she barely knew. She was kept awake by the thought of all the things she had to do, clothes she had to buy, their education, who she was to them, and through it all she had to earn enough to keep the three of them, so now she really had to keep her nursing post.

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Nothing was said to Emily the following day when she arrived for her shift on the hospital ward. Nobody remarked they hadn't seen her in the home the previous evening, or that the police had spoken to the ward sister about Mrs Askham so for the time being she was able to relax. However, as the days following the murder passed she noticed a cooling to a positively frosty air every time she appeared on duty. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

During the day, when Emily was at the hospital, Peter and Ruth spent their time in the house with Adelaide. She had rooted out a few old toys, a rag doll, some toy soldiers and a whip and top that could be used in the small back yard. She also gave them paper and pencils to draw with and decided that at least Peter could be taught his letters and numbers. Bert had discovered the ages of the children by questioning their father. They were around seven and four, Ruthie having been born the day of Queen Victoria's funeral and Peter was three at the time - so he mumbled in the police cell.

Emily had bought them some clothes: new undergarments and nightwear, trousers and shirts for Peter and dresses for Ruthie. She bought them just enough for the time being, until they knew what was going to happen, if they would be allowed to be guardians, or more precisely, if she would be allowed to be a guardian to them, if anybody cared.

She noticed that loud noises made both of them jump and Ruthie would hide behind her brother until he reassured her that she wasn't about to be beaten.

"'S'ok, Ruthie," he would hug her, "we're safe here. Miss Green and the Sergeant, and Miss Emily, they want to help us so you don't need to be scared."

Emily thought he was very wise for one so young.

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As the trial approached, Bert told Emily she would be required to appear and give evidence.

"Oh," she gasped, "must I?"

"Most likely you'll be called," he nodded.

She stood firm in the court. Gave her answers to the questions as to how she found the evidence that showed, or seemed to show, that Mrs Askham had been smothered, denied she had an axe to grind towards the hospital or to Mr Askham, just that she thought there was more to Mrs Askham's death than first appeared, and when she spotted the saliva stain and tearing in the pillow she thought it needed investigating.

"You have some interest in such things?" the judge asked, intrigued.

"I was, for a time, the coroner in Toronto, Canada, your honour," she nodded, "I helped in the investigation of cases with the police there."

The judge raised an eyebrow and made a note.

The ward sister was called to answer questions about the running of the ward and the likelihood that a patient could be murdered right under her nose.

"The curtains were drawn round the bed," she muttered, "I couldn't see what was going on."

"And is it usual for curtains to be drawn round a bed during visiting times?" she was asked.

"Er, well, no, we don't encourage it."

"So, Mr Askham didn't ask for that privacy to talk to his wife, then?"

"He didn't, and I wouldn't have given the permission either," she huffed.

"Yet you let it happen, you did not go and pull the curtains back?"

She shook her head. "Maybe you should ask that Nurse Grace," she snapped, "pushing her nose into things that don't concern her."

"Sister," the judge looked down his nose, "Dr Grace is not in charge of your ward."

It did not go unnoticed that he referred to Emily by her correct title. Sister pursed her lips in annoyance.

"And it concerns every citizen if they know of wrongdoing, it is right that she brought it to the attention of the police."

As she left the court room she wondered how easy it would be to get rid of Emily Grace.

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Christmas was fast approaching and there was some excitement in the Green house. Adelaide had arranged for a tree to be put up in the parlour which had Peter stand open mouthed. She sent Bert up into the attic to retrieve the decorations they had used as children and while Emily was at the hospital and Bert was at the station one day, she and the children decorated the tree. Even Ruthie became more animated.

It wasn't exactly neat or considered, the decoration, but it was done by the children and was perhaps a representation of their new found freedom and happiness. They were happy, of that Adelaide was sure, but they were happiest when Miss Emily was there, particularly Ruthie. When Adelaide or Bert played the old piano and Emily sang Ruthie would climb onto her lap and cuddle in close. Emily's arms would instinctively wrap around her and she would kiss the new growing curls, tight to her little head. Peter would stand close and listen, and if it was a song he knew, he would tentatively join in.

Adelaide did know, however, that Emily wasn't happy in her role as a nurse. She knew this because instead of taking the tram home each day she would walk off her temper so as to be gentle with the children. She had confided in both of the older people that she was sure Sister was trying to find a way to have her dismissed.

"You'd go back to Canada, wouldn't you?" Adelaide asked, one evening when not even the walk home had soothed her completely.

"That was my plan before all this happened, now, I don't really know what to do," she blew her nose, "I can't leave Peter and Ruthie, not now, but I don't want to take them away from you. I couldn't have done this without you, but without a position I won't be able to pay for us to stay here. I've saved enough for my passage home and I will probably be able to afford to take the children with me, but ..."

"Wait until after Christmas," Adelaide patted her hand, "the children are looking forward to it."

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It was decided not to spoil the children but on Christmas morning, before Emily headed to the hospital for a half shift, they opened their gifts. Peter was given books with more pictures than words in but he loved them all the same, and Ruthie gasped at the soft toy rabbit Emily had purchased for her. She went shyly over to Emily and hugged her and whispered in her ear:

"Thank you, mama."

Emily nearly burst into tears at the soft breath of the child's voice and knew that she was forever tied to both of them.

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Sister glared at her as she rushed onto the ward, in time, as usual. She noticed the brighter eyes and happy smile as she tended to each patient and wished each and every one the compliments of the season and a safe and healthy new year. Most of the other nurses had begged for the day off to spend with their families but Nurse Grace hadn't, just agreed to work for the morning. Why would a single woman, far from her home, be happy about working for half the day? Why wasn't she content to spend the whole day with the patients? Where did she have to go, who did she have in the city to spend her time with? Courting was frowned upon? Sister determined to follow her after she left.

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Adelaide had already started preparing the day's special meal and good smells were coming from the kitchen as Emily left so she was looking forward to an afternoon with the children and a fine meal with her friends. She didn't notice Sister following her, lost amongst those heading home from Christmas day services at the churches.

She watched her walk up the short path to the front door of a villa where two children watched from one of the windows. As Emily approached the door the children moved away from the window quickly and were there as the door opened.

"Miss Emily!" Peter flung his arms round her as Ruthie raised her arms to be lifted and held.

"Here I am, children!" she greeted them just as happily, "have you been good this morning?"

The little girl, Sister noted, nodded her head enthusiastically, and the boy laughed. They were well dressed and appeared well fed but if Emily Grace was a single woman and the woman that had appeared behind the children was past, well past, child bearing age, who were they? Surely the 'sainted' Emily wasn't hiding secret illegitimate children. Sister strode up the path and barked her name.

"Nurse Grace!"

"Sister!" Emily wheeled round still holding Ruthie.

"What is going on? Who are these children?" Sister demanded.

Emily placed Ruthie gently on her feet, "they are the Askham children, not that you care," she put her hands on her hips and stared defiantly at her.

"And why are they here?"

"Because they have nowhere else to go," Emily wasn't going to tell anything but the truth, "and because I love them."

"Well, there is a perfectly good workhouse ..."

"Never!" Emily all but stamped her foot as Peter's face clouded behind her. Ruthie took her hand and stepped almost into her skirts.

"You have no right!" Sister reached down and grabbed Ruthie's hand. Peter stepped forward but not before Ruthie had aimed a foot at her shin and kicked her good and hard.

Sister yelled and raised her hand to strike the child but Emily was too quick for her and caught her by the wrist.

"Don't you dare," she warned, "they are staying here and there is nothing you can do about it."

"We'll see about that," Sister snarled back and stormed down the path. Emily's shoulders slumped as she walked back into the house, Ruthie held firmly on her hip and her other hand on Peter's shoulder. There was a battle ahead, she knew it, and it was one she was determined to win. For now, it was Christmas Day and she was not going to dwell on it. Tomorrow she would have to deal with it, but not today.

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With the warm glow of a happy Christmas day in her heart Emily headed to the hospital on Boxing Day. Even knowing she was about to walk into trouble she could not keep the smile off her face - Peter had called her 'mum' as she tucked him into bed. True he was half asleep, but, to Emily it settled things, and even if she had to do a midnight flit, as Miss Adelaide had suggested, they were her children, now, and nothing Sister could cook up was going to change that.

For a week she worked on the ward under Sister's eagle eye, always wondering when she would be called to answer for her decision.

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It was just into the New Year when the call came.

Before she had finished tying her apron she was summoned to the Hospital Board. She stood outside the room and smoothed down her apron and patted her hair, checking her cap was set correctly, then knocked and waited to be admitted.

There was a chair in front of a long table behind which sat five worthy persons. Two women and three men; one of the women was stony faced and elderly, the other was younger, perhaps in her forties and trying not to smile. Of the three men two were perhaps in their fifties and the last slightly younger, all looked stern but not unfriendly. They all had papers in front of them which Emily was sure contained details of the Askham case and probably Sister's opinion of her, which would be personal and likely judgemental.

They came straight to the point, and that point was that she had kidnapped two children. She strenuously denied that it was kidnapped and they allowed her to tell the story of how she came to be caring for Peter and Ruthie. She told them she didn't think it was right they should be consigned to the workhouse if there was someone prepared to take them on and care for them as if they were their own.

"And that person is you?" one of the ladies raised an eyebrow.

"The children seem to think so," she smiled a little, "I was prepared to be appointed guardian, if I could find out how that would be done, Ruthie has started calling me 'mama' and last night as I tucked him into bed Peter called me 'mum'."

"And during the day, when you are at the hospital?" one of the older men asked.

"Miss Green looks after them, she is teaching Peter his letters and sees they are fed and are comfortable." She looked along the table at the questioning faces. "Miss Green is the sister of the police officer who investigated the case, he knew the family."

"I see," he hummed, "there is a children's home near here, you know," he linked his hands together and placed his elbows on the table.

"Quite crowded, I believe," she and Bert had momentarily thought about the home but after looking into it decided against it, "another two mouths to feed ..." she let the implication hang in the air.

"Their parents, I see, are dead. The mother murdered by the father, a crime you uncovered."

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"A little above your area of responsibility, isn't it?"

"It was a wrongdoing, sir, and, according to the judge, it is my duty to report such things," she sat up straighter, "if he was prepared to kill his wife, what was he prepared to do to the children? I didn't set out to uncover a crime, I just used my knowledge and experience when I saw something I didn't think was right."

"Knowledge, experience?" the younger of the women who had spoken before, raised her eyebrows and her voice went up a tone.

"I was the coroner in Toronto, for a while. In that role I had to work with the police, at least do the autopsies, report my findings ..." she tipped her head and thought of those seemingly far off days.

"Yet you work as a nurse," the other, older lady noted with a sniff.

"I couldn't find work as a doctor or coroner," she shrugged, "nobody seemed to take me seriously. Nursing gives me an income, a way to support myself, and the children."

"Did you apply here?"

"Your coroner, Dr Wardman, dismissed me, said he wouldn't have females in his morgue."

"And then you go and turn his finding upside down and prove it was murder, I don't expect you have endeared yourself to him at all, now."

"No, I don't suppose I have," she admitted with a sigh.

"You still plan to care for the children?"

"Yes, if I can," she sat forward. "Don't you think they deserve a chance of a better life? I do, and if I can give them that life ..."

"What if you decided to return to Toronto?"

It was the one question she hoped they wouldn't ask, because it was the one thing she had turned round in her mind so often it made her dizzy. She drew herself up, "then I would take them with me. I have friends there," at least she hoped they were still friends, George, Detective Murdoch, Julia, Henry, Inspector Brackenreid ... "I would have support and I would be able to practice as a doctor."

"Would you wait outside, please."

It was a sudden stop to the interview but she supposed there was little else to say.

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While she waited she made plans, Plan A and Plan B: Plan A was she was allowed to keep the children and formal means would be put in place to do that, then she would think seriously about going home. For that she would have to write to George, or Julia to put things in place, she would need a home suitable for two children and a nanny/housekeeper. On a salary there she could afford it. Plan B was she stayed in England with the children, carried on nursing and living with the Greens, not an unpleasant proposition, but she would still strive to find a position more suitable to her training and qualifications. She watched Sister approach the door and enter the board room.