At Bournemouth House:

Abberline *returns to Bournemouth House alone, but sees soon that he will remain alone.  There is no one in the house.  He sits by the kitchen table, smokes and stares out of the window, trying to figure out which would be the best course to take, wait, or search for her at The Apparition - where else could she be - wishes he could ask Manouche about advice, knowing that he can't contact her in any way now.  She would know what to do.  Not able to reach any decision, he goes upstairs to his study where Godley has piled the photos of Victoria on the desk.  He picks one of them and remembers what Daphne said.  She's right.  Victoria is plain compared to Kat.  For the first time it seems to him that he can look at her pictures without feeling anything else than a little sting of wistfulness.  She smiles sweetly at him and he smiles back at her and feels suddenly light, like the shackles that have bound them together are finally falling off.  He puts the picture down, goes to the kitchen, takes his jacket and heads for the Apparition*

On The Apparition:

Abberline *walks carefully to the deck; it seems like the Apparition is preparing to sail off*  Kat?  Is Kat here?  *he asks from the first man he sees.*

*The man turns toward Abberline.*  Aye, captain’s below.  But I warn ye iffen ye be lookin' for a berth.  This crew ain't seen a payday in much too long.  There’s been talk among a few that there may be a change in the wind iffen we don't soon see a bit o'shine.  And given the temper she's in, she be not exactly inspirin' devotion.  Savvy?

Kat:  BLOODY 'ELL! WHAT BE IT NOW.  CAN YE SCUM NOT 'ANDLE E'EN THE SIMPLEST OF TASKS??  *Flings open the door, sees Abby.  Nervously steps back.*  State yer business.

Abberline *steps in, closes the cabin door*  I just wanted to say to you that my life's worth nothing without you.  That's all.  I can't prevent you from sailing away but I just wanted you to know.  *opens the door to leave*  And I can't handle even the simples task on my own.  *closes the door behind him not looking at Kat and leaves the ship*

At Bournemouth House:

Kat *Glaring at the door of Bournemouth House.  Turns away several times before finally pounding on it.*

Abberline *sitting again at the kitchen table, smoking, looking out the window but seeing nothing, in deep thoughts, finally opens the door, surprised at seeing Kat*  I thought I wouldn't see you anymore.  *raises his hand but lets it fall*

Kat:  Is it yer intent te drive me insane?  If so ye be doin' a bloody bangup job of it!  What is it ye really want from me, eh?  Spell it out plain if ye please, after all I'm bein' only a simple pirate.  But be warned this time if I be stayin' and ye go channel surfin' on me again, I'll do Lorena Bobbit proud and ye'll be livin' the simple life.  A French one, but simple none the less.  Do ye savvy that or should I be more clear?

Abberline:  What I want from you?  I want you to stay with me.  I'll keep Bobbit on the mind, and you are free to come and go as it pleases you.  As long as you don't wear that dress on the boat … er ship, and you don't slip on the deck.  Agreed?

Kat:  Why do ye want me to stay?  Tell me that, I gotta know.  I wanna please ye luv and I'll do my best and work at not shamin' ye but I am what I am and e'en a pirate's 'eart can only take so much breakin'.

Abberline:  Why are you always so suspicious of me?  Isn't it enough that I married you and ... *stops himself in time, looks closer at her, in the eyes*  It's true that I married you for my daughter, but … *hesitates*  Kat, I want you to stay because despite all odds I want us to be together.  We are destined to be together, I did not understand that when we met in Fiji but I understand it now.  You want to hear the real reason I want you to stay.  I – I love you Kat.  *smiles*  There, I said it.  I do.

Kat *Softly*  If that be true, then naught else matters te me.  Not the ship, nor the crew, not e'en bein' a pirate.  *Moves closer to him looking in his eyes for a clue.  Lightly touches his face*  I've loved ye since Fiji.  I've 'ad te fight it with e'ery breath I took e'er since.

Abberline *Looks her straight in the eyes*  I am a fool, am I not, for not understanding anything.  I thought that you hated me because of what I did to you.  I didn't even realize that you loved me then, I was too steeped in my own problems.  And that it was the memory loss speaking in you when you said you loved me.  Kat, you can be whatever you like, I love you just the way you are.  Pirate …  *takes her in his arms and kisses her deeply and gently*

Father Connolly:

Little Ardmore, Ireland

Father Connolly: *is in the kitchen of his small cottage; holds a book in one hand and reads while opening and closing cupboards finding a tea-cup and saucer, tea-bag, scones and marmalade. He puts the tea-bag into the cup, adds sugar all while still reading. He finally puts the book down when the kettle begins whistling. He turns off the gas burner and pours hot water into the tea-cup. He finds a tray on which he places his tea and scones; puts the open book under his arm and balances the tray into his study. He takes a seat by his desk and begins putting marmalade on his scones when he realizes he forgot the milk for his tea; sighs* The memory is the first to go *rises and goes to the kitchen, returns with the milk-bottle; pours a bit of milk into his tea* Here we go.  *takes a sip of tea followed by a bite of a scone; picks up the book again and continues reading, forgetting all about his tea and scones. He feels warm and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a tattoo on his lower arm a heart with the word SOUL*

Corso:

Corso *reads his notebook, finds two names to try in Ireland, takes his phone and makes a call* Mullogan, that you? Hello. Biddy... Haha, just fine, not at all... I bet you are drinking that Guinness in your lousy pub watching the rain pour down on your snakeless green island... Me? Spanish wines in the sun in a castle, mate...*looks at the apartment and grins at the white lie* Listen, Biddy, I got something for you. I think I found an earring  you have been looking for, that Frenchy thing from the lost set.. Yes, it has an inscription. . let's see..can't make it ...Frances, yes I think it does say Frances indeed. Interested? I thought so... Information, buddy. what else would I be wanting from that peat bog country... Yes, a priest called Father William Connolly, a village priest of about 60...Yes, I know there are lots of them, but look out for someone with anything special about him. Like what? I don't know. Something that puts him apart from the rest of those bloody Paddy priests. You'll know when you find the right one. I know you'll make it.*puts down the phone and takes a closer look at the earring, looks for a place where to engrave the letters on - and to his great ashtonishment he really finds the letters Frances engraved on it* Remember, Dean, coincidences don't exist... Got to get hold of that redhead...

At From Hell Court:

Manouche *sprawled out on the bench in the opium den, stirring slightly, floating uneasily from the drug, mumbles as visions slide in and out of her mind’s eye.  She sees herself and Blake watching Raven play on the beach, Blake’s arms around her, saying “It would’ve been a shame to waste this sunset.”  *Vision fades, melts into her and Kat, in hiding on The Libertine Trailer, Kat telling her about a child that Nate is holding captive.  Manouche asking her how she knows the child is a boy; Kat replies tearily, “I just know, that’s all.  Does it matter how?  If he dies, it be my fault.”  *Everything goes dark for a second, then there’s a small sulphuric flash as Manouche, in Marchand’s tower, lights a match and sees Raven for the first time, gazing at her warily with his large, dark, solemn eyes.  Then she and Blake are on The Libertine Trailer, celebrating Valentine’s Day, toasting with wine; she murmurs the words aloud, though none of the addicts around her take notice:*  Deux coeurs, une âme, notre monde.  *She sees herself at another time, bringing Willy home to Madame, having talked some sense into him after the couple had had an argument; Manouche and Willy are roaring drunk, but Willy is complacent, and Manouche has helped him write a love song for Madame, which significantly redeems them both in Madame’s eyes.  She then sees herself and Kidd, standing over the dead body ... the locket, Kidd’s tattoo ... heart and soul ... she feels a hand grip her arm tightly, but it’s not real, it’s another vision:  Abberline, arresting her, talking about the locket:  “I know you have it, Manouche.  And Commander Portsmith will soon figure it out too.  The Security office can be distracted for awhile but they are no fools.  Perhaps you could accompany me to Chez Roux.  I'll get you some absinthe in exchange for a story about faraway Fiji.”  *She mumbles and turns onto her side, then hears Abberline’s vague thoughts in her head.  It’s the present … he’s troubled, he’s wanting Kat to come back to him … he’s wishing he could ask her, Manouche, for advice.  She smiles a sad smile, speaks out loud*  I’ve always been glad fer any assist I’ve been able to offer ye, mate.  But truth be told, ye don’t need me fer this’un.  Jus’ search yer heart, savvy?  Ye’ll know what t’ do.  *She opens her eyes, lids feeling very heavy, sees a customer has paused to listen to her.  She gazes at him, emotionless; he moves on.  She closes her eyes, brings a hand up to her forehead, and the visions continue … *

*She sees something that confuses her for a moment ... then it becomes clearer, and she recoils, moaning, as she realizes she’s back on the tiny island near Fiji, many years ago.  She’s young, still new to the pirate trade, and has been captured after making a very serious mistake, resulting in a very serious and vengeful enemy.  The jungle is dark, the air steamy and humid, a large bonfire burns close by.  She’s tied to a tree after having been badly beaten by the pirate captain whose wrath she had incurred so badly.  The stakes had been high, she’d gambled, and she had lost.  She sees him coming toward her, eyes filled with disgust.  She’s trembling, in terrible pain, sweat stinging her eyes; but she holds her own, returns his gaze with a defiant glare.*

Captain:  So, then, Roussel …

Manouche:  Captain Roussel …

Captain *sneers*  Captain Roussel, then, blast ye!  Will ye now be givin’ me th’ names o’ me own crew members who were in cahoots with ye?

Manouche *shakes her head*  I’m afraid I can’t be doin’ that.  So do yer worst.

Captain:  Oh, that I intend te do.  I assume yer acquainted with th’ sayin’, there are worse things than dyin’?

Manouche *swallows, nods slightly, maintains defiance*  Aye, reckon I’ve heard of it …

Captain *smiles a very unpleasant smile*  Good, then we won’t need t’ be wastin’ time on explanation.  Now, as ye know, these islands are full o’ myths an’ legends, an’ all manner o’ mystery.  *He circles her slowly, moves closer, speaking sweetly*  So after a bit o’ contemplation, it come te me that the best thing t’ do with a troublesome piece o’ gypsy trash such as yerself, is te make sure there are never any more like ye t’ come down th’ line.  *leans in close, practically whispering in her ear*  In other words, th’ Roussel bloodline stops ‘ere, tonight.  Savvy?  *he turns, waves a hand at one of his crew members, who nods, turns, leaves the clearing and soon returns with a short, swarthy man with piercing eyes, a powerful build, and long, black hair.  There is nothing particularly of note about the man; he’s dressed simply, he carries a large batik cloth bag, and he doesn’t say a word.  But the minute his eyes rest upon Manouche, they don’t leave her.  And the look in his eyes makes her blood run cold.*

Captain *smiling congenially, places a hand on the man’s shoulder, looks at Manouche*  Captain Roussel, ‘ave ye ever heard of a Tagati?  I suppose ye could say it’s a sorcerer, in a manner o’ speakin’.  Now, this Tagati ‘ere, he’s come equipped with all the necessary accoutrements to perform a wondrous spell on ye -- one of a permanent, lifelong nature, so I’m assured.  It cost me dear, but I said, spare no expense!  It shall be done.  I’m told th’ process takes no more than an hour.  I’m also told that it’s exceedin’ly painful, like th’ devil ‘imself workin’ his way outta yer insides.  Just think of it, my dear … *he moves to Manouche’s side, grasps her hair, pulls her head back against the tree, leans in so she can feel his breath on her neck* … a mere hour o’ discomfort, an’ after that, ye’ll never be plagued by womanly complaints, ever again.  *hisses*  Say goodbye te yer childbearin’ years, Captain.  *he releases her hair, nods at the Tagati*  Let’s not argue with th’ lady’s request, mate.  Do yer worst.  *He stands back, and the Tagati moves toward Manouche, his eyes still fixed on her as he reaches into the bag … *

Manouche *eyes fly open, she finds herself in the opium den, drenched with sweat.  She slowly sits up, looks around, breathing heavily, waiting for her heart to stop pounding.  She soon starts to calm down, then hears a commotion from the far back of the den.  She stands up, a little shaky, and slowly makes her way toward the noise.  She sees a room she’d never noticed before – not that she’d ever spent much time in the den, usually no more than the time it would take to try to help Abberline.  She approaches the room’s entryway, to see what’s going on … *

Corso (not sure where this takes place!)

Corso *appears from the bedroom with a phone in his hand*  Britt!  *takes a step towards her and stops to stare at Patrick with distaste*  Excuse, me what's that?  Can't you put it into the corner for a while, I've got something important.  I need a big favour from you.

Britt *Patrick starts crying*  He was on our porch step.  And I have some sense in taking him in, and not selling him.  Ok, you can get my favor if you just sit.  *pushes him down on the couch, fixes his arms a bit, puts Patrick in his arms.  He hesitates, looks disgusted*  It's ok, Corso.  Shhh  *she shushes Patrick*  This is Patrick.  *he's about to give him back immediately*  No Corso, please.  *she puts her hand to Corso's face, caresses his cheek, runs her fingers through his hair, her hand goes to his neck and on his shoulder.  She squeezes his shoulder gently*  All I want, is for you to hold this baby, just for a moment.  *Patrick grabs a hold of his finger*  You see, he likes you.  He's stopped crying and he isn't destroying anything.

Corso:  But it's going to be whining soon again, they always do, and it's soon going to wet itself and … *loses his thread of thoughts as he feels her hand in his hair, tries to shake his finger loose, he holds it at arms length from himself*  Er ... can I put it down now?  Please take it.  *Leans in on her and puts the baby back resolutely*  Wait, that's fine, you are just like a Renaissance Madonna with a child on her knee.  The kid has some uses after all, you two look beautiful together.  *smiles wickedly*  But fortunately, you aren't a madonna, Britt.  *runs his hand along her arm to the neck*  Or are you?  *leans to look her in the eyes*

At From Hell Court:

Manouche *pushes her way into the smoky, crowded room, and sees two men seated across from each other at a table, a gun on the table between them – classic Russian roulette.  A crowd encircles them, observing, placing bets on which will survive.  She watches as the men go through one turn each … then as the first contestant is about to take another turn, she cries out*  ‘Ang on, mate, that’s th’ live round!  Don’t do it unless yer ready t’ meet yer maker.  *a hush falls over the room, and the player freezes, still holding the gun to his head.  Everyone turns to look at her*  Blimey … a-apologies, mates … dunno what come over me.  It ain’t me affair …

*A rough man standing near her grabs her by the collar, growls*  No, it bloody ain’t!  *He pulls her toward the door to throw her out*

Player *stands up*  Wait!  *he looks at the pistol, points it away from him, pulls the trigger.  Sure enough, the gun fires.  All eyes slowly turn toward Manouche*

Man *still grasping her collar, looks at her suspiciously*  How’d you know that?

Manouche *shrugs*  I – I dunno, mate … I … I jus’ know things sometimes …

Man *pulls her to the center of the room, to the table.  He scowls at the player who fired the gun*  Sit back down.  He grabs the gun from him, turns away from them, loads the gun again with one round, spins the cylinder.  Sets the gun back on the table, looks around at the crowd*  Place your bets, gentlemen.  *turns to Manouche scornfully*  Let’s see you do that again.

Manouche:  I’ll 'ave a bash.  *watches as the first player aims, pulls trigger; nothing.  Passes gun to second player; she raises a hand*  That’s th’ one.

Player *looks at her, points gun away, pulls trigger; gun fires.  All eyes stare at her again.*

Man *trying to hide his amazement*  Ahh, it’s a trick.  *pushes her aside, turns to the crowd*  Let’s get back to the game.  *Voices are raised in protest*  No, we want to see more of what she can do!  Let her try again!  *the voices increase, now talking about betting on Manouche’s predictions instead of which contestant will lose the game.  Man stares at them, surprised, sees the hands full of money waving in the air, then shrugs*  Doesn’t matter to me, long as you’re payin’.  You can bet on Portsmith’s next boring speech, for all I care.  *turns to Manouche, looks her over contemptuously*  You’re a Gyp, aren’t you?

Manouche *indignant, shakes his hand off her collar*  I am o’ Romany descent.  An’ I’m somethin’ else, mate … I’m fer hire, I don’t work fer free.  That were a sample, but I ain’t yer trick monkey to be trotted out to entertain th’ masses while ye line yer pockets.  There ‘as t’ be somethin’ in this fer me, or no deal.  Savvy? 

Man *glares at her, but the loud voices are overwhelming.*  Right.  Twenty-five percent.

Manouche *laughs loudly*  Try eighty.

Man:  Forty.  *Manouche rolls her eyes, examines her nails*  All right, FIFTY.  Split down the middle, now that’s fair.  This wouldn’t have come about at all if my game hadn’t been established in the first place.  Is it a deal?  *holds out his hand*

Manouche *looks at him, shakes his hand*  We ‘ave an accord.  *the man nods toward the crowd, the voices start up again, money changes hands.  Two new players sit down at the table, someone in the crowd suggests they try it with a different gun to see if that will fool the Gypsy.  Another man in the crowd passes his revolver to the table.  A round is placed in it, the cylinder is spun, and the game begins.  At the second player’s turn in the third round, she speaks up*  There, that’s th’ one, mate.  *she nods, slightly bored, as the crowd cheers when she’s right once again.*

At From Hell Court:

Manouche *leaves the tavern after closing, counting the significant amount of money she received for her fortune-telling, of sorts.  Finishes counting it, then pockets it; looks up and sees Malachi standing at the end of the street, watching her*  Malachi ... cheers, mate …

Malachi:  What the hell were you doing in there?

Manouche:  I’m a sensation, luv.  Fooled them blokes with what amounts to a simple parlor trick.  Well, it’s a simple trick to me, anyway.  *she still can’t quite muster a smile.  She reaches into her coat, brings out cigarettes, lights one, offers him one*  Should'a seen 'em.  They ate it up with a spoon.  That bloke what runs th’ game, Ivan’s his name … he wants me back tomorrow night.  Th’ way I see it, I’m savin’ lives, fer one thing.  Th’ crowd is more interested in me predictions than they are seein’ one o’ the players blow his brains out.  Fer another thing … it … gives me somethin’ to do, somethin’ to pass th’ time.  *pats her pocketful of money*  An’ we can all use a bit more brass, ay?

Malachi *looks at her suspiciously*  I suppose.  They stroll slowly, leaving town behind, headed toward her house*  But … why don’t you go back and help Willy and Madame?

Manouche *quietly*  I … I ain’t ready fer that, luv.  I … I can’t bring meself to do it.  *pauses, trying to think of the right words to explain*  It’s … it’s too much a part o’ … what he an’ I were together, savvy?  An' me darkness is palpable.  Wouldn't dream o' foistin' that on them innocent babes.  Alifi is a much better choice fer th' time bein'.  I will go back, don't misunderstand me.  'Course I’ll go back, an’ I’ll go back soon.  But … I need a bit o’ time … time t’ do somethin’ mindless, somethin’ where I can be on automatic pilot … time where I don’t ‘ave to ‘ave any personality at all.  *Waves her hand back toward From Hell Court*  I can walk into that bloody den, an’ I can spout off me predictions, an’ they can all yell an’ cheer, keep tryin’ t’ come up with ways t’ fool th’ thievin’ Gypsy – ‘cause that’s exactly what they all think o’ me, mate, they ain’t foolin’ me fer a second – an’ I can leave with a bit o’ profit.  An’ as an extra bonus … the effort I put forth concentratin’ on the cylinder o’ that gun were jus’ enough work that … I think I may actually sleep tonight.

Malachi *stops, puts a hand on her shoulder, gently turns her to him, looks at her, sees the misery in her face.  He puts his arms around her, pulls her close, speaks softly*  Okay, sweetheart.  I’m sorry.  I … I was just worried, when I came back to the house and you were gone, that’s all.

Manouche:  Ch-cheers, mate.  Never meant t’ worry ye, ‘specially after ye been so good t’ me through all this …

Malachi:  Don’t worry about it.  Do you want to be alone tonight, or do you want me to stay with you?

Manouche:  It may sound strange, luv, but … I think I want t’ be alone.

Malachi:  Not at all.  There’s no wrong or right way to feel, savvy?  You feel what you feel, and that’s what you should act on.  *kisses the top of her head*  It’s late, I’m gonna get back.  You sure you’re all right?  *she nods*  Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow.  May as well get used to me being a pest.

Manouche:  Wouldn’t ‘ave it any other way, mate.  *she squeezes his hand, turns and walks the rest of the short distance to her house.  He watches her for a few minutes, deeply concerned.  He sighs, turns and goes back to his apartment*

Manouche *enters her house, locks door behind her, takes off her coat.  She leaves all the lights off, lights a few candles instead.  Goes into the bathroom, starts a bath.  Returns to the living room, finds a bottle of absinthe, digs in her coat for a small package; brings both items into the bath, sets them on a small table next to the tub.  When the water is ready, she takes off her clothes, carefully climbs in, and after a few minutes of soaking, she reaches over, opens the package, takes out the laudanum she purchased earlier.  The package also contains a supply of opium, which she plans to dip into after her bath.  She prepares the absinthe and laudanum, leans back, drinks, thinks to herself*  Aye, we can all use a bit more brass … especially when we’re takin’ on expensive habits fer th’ time bein’ …

At Bournemouth House:

*After a moment, Kat and Abberline become aware that someone is looking at them as they stand in the doorway.  Abberline releases Kat and sees that it's the mailman Mike*  What do you want?

Mike *grinning*  Wouldn't want to interrupt you, but you got a letter.  Seems to be from the Old Continent.  *peers at the envelope closer, looking at the coat of arms printed on it*  Blimey, nice drawing, that.  Wonder what there is inside.  Fancy envelope that, thick cream coloured paper .... *voice trails off under the stare of Abberline*

Abberline: Why can't you deliver the letters in the mailbox?

Mike:  Service, sir.  We got service. *waits eagerly for Abberline to open the letter*

Abberline *wraps hands around Kat's shoulders and slams the door shut on Mike*  I don't understand what it can be.  It's from London.  *concerned, goes to the living-room and finds a paper knife, then starts to read loud*

Dear Brother,
 It is with deepest regret that I have to inform you that Dear Mother is no more. For all I know you may not even care but there is a reason I am writing to you. She passed away a fortnight ago and I wish I could say that she died in peace. For some reason she repeatedly asked for you since she became mortally ill, but we were unable to comply to her last wish and locate you in time.   Despite your deep and most appalling ingratitude to Dear Mother, I have been searching for you. After her death, we discovered a sealed chest with your name on it. I understand that it was the reason she wanted to see you, to give it to you personally.

You are the only son and therefore it should have been your duty to support and take care of her. During all these years you have not written a single letter to Dear Mother nor let us hear about your whereabouts. It was finally Cecil who found Mrs. Godley and got this address. How very ironic that you have named your residence Bournemouth House.

Mrs. Godley also told me the utterly surprising news that you have considered it proper to marry again which astonishes me to no end. Dear Victoria's parents were also greatly upset by the news. I visited the grave of poor Victoria and I have to say that the stone you let erect on her grave looked quite cheapish to me and the grave was unattended and overgrown with weed. How can you forget her so quickly?  I hope that you have chosen your new bride with care. For some reason Mrs. Godley didn't disclose any further details, which makes me suspicious of your choice. You have brought enough shame on our family as it is, first becoming a policeman and then dragging the family name to dirt with that extremely unpleasant incident with Victoria trumpeted in every newspaper. But I am willing to forgive you even if I was deeply hurt by your disappearing and taking Dear Grandmother's heritage with you despite it legally belonging to all of us.

Since I know that you are so much like late Dear Papa, as cold and heartless as he was, I can't rely on getting a reply from you. I have therefore decided to deliver this mysterious chest to you in person. Enclosed is the information about the train I will be on. I expect you to meet me at the station.

Your loving sister
Lady Cynthia

ps. Cecil was finally knighted for his unselfish services to the crown in arms industry.

Kat:  Abby, luv?  What's this bein' about?  I'm not too sure I be likin' the sound of it.

Abberline *frowning*  Neither do I.  I don't want her here.  But on the other side, we could always hope she gets a fit if she sees you in your pirate gear.  I am not going to meet her.  *Tears the letter in half*

Kat:  Are ye sure luv.  She is yer sister after all.  Mayhap ye could make peace with 'er.  I 'ave no doubt she'd ne'er approve of me but if ye want I could stay outta the way long 'nuff for ye to try.

Raven *stands before front door of Bournemouth House; hesitates, finally rings bell.  Speaks quietly, almost as if rehearsing what he's going to say*  Mother ... Father ... I'd like to come home, please ...

Abberline:  I have no intention to make peace with that snotty witch and I don't care a damn whether she approves of you or not ... *stops*  Someone's at the door, will you get it?  If it's that mailman again ...

Kat *Sighs and opens the door.  Smiles*  Raven sweet, I'm so glad te see ye.  Bring ye self on in.  This be yer 'ome fro now on.

Raven *smiles, hugs her*  Mother, I’m so happy for you and Father, an’ that we can all be together.  *follows her into living room, looks at Abberline shyly*  Hello, Father.  *approaches him, hugs him*

*While Abby is distracted by Raven, Kat retrieves the letter containing the train information; quickly hides it.*

Kat: *Watches them for a few minutes and smiles* Abby my love, I really should go o'er and check on Dora. I was a bit upset and left 'er pretty much 'angin'. I want to let 'er know all's well, thank 'er and pick up a few thin's. I'm sure ye two would enjoy some time together. I promice luv tonight we elebrate.Savvy? *Smiles*  *Takes her leave. Once away she checks the letter for the train arrival time. Thankfully there's plenty of time. She first heads for From Hell Court. Stops in front of two establishments both not yet
open.She enters one of them Spots Vick. He smiles and comes toward her. She immediately puts up her hand to stop him* Don't e'en think 'bout it, savvy.

Vick:*Shrugs* Yer gettin' te be no fun at all luv.Well what do ye think? Isn't it grand? Another day or two and this place and our place next door will be ready to open for business. 'ere I 'ave the signs already. This one o'course be for this place*Indicates a large gaudy sign with the name "BADONKADONK" on it. Grins* Yer a genius, that's bein' a grand name for a male strip club and look the other *A sign with The words "WOO HOO BAR & GRILL" *LAUGHS* What else would the ladies call a place where the all male staff be wearin' naught but thongs? We be goin' te make a killin' for sure luv.

Kat *Sighs, wonders what she should do.  Wishes she could ask Manouche’s advice but knows she's got troubles of 'er own.*  Yeah, yer doin' great.  I'm kinda in a rush.  *Walks out feeling guilty.  She still has to decide what to do about Abby's sister.*

Manouche *heading for the tavern at From Hell Court, is surprised to see Kat; approaches her*  Kat?  Blimey, what brings ye ‘ere, mate?

Kat:  Manouche?  I thought ye would be at 'ome.  *Glances back at the club and bar,sighs*  Ye 'ave troubles 'nuff without mine, mate.  Ye shouldna be wanderin' 'bout on yer onsies mate.  It might be dangerous, eh?

Manouche *shrugs*  I told ye, I ain’t worried.  We all know there’s worse things than dyin’, mate.  After what I seen ... nothin’ much scares me now.  I feel like th' worst has already happened t' me.  *pauses, looking past Kat for a moment, then snaps back to attention*  Anyway, I’m ‘ere because o’ gainful employment, as it were.  I ‘ave a little gig at th’ tavern jus’ down th’ way.  Sucker born every minute.  But … what’re ye doin’ ‘ere?  Do ye need a drink, luv?  Might help ye t' talk.

Kat:  Best not mate, Abby wouldna like it.  But then there be a lot 'es not goin' te be likin' whe 'e finds out and I don't know what to do 'bout it.  Then there's this business with 'is sister comin' te town.

Manouche:  Abby wouldn’t like it?  Ye tryin’ to tell me he would disapprove o’ ye ‘avin’ a drink with a mate?  Since when?  Blimey, at his most Victorian, I never known him t’ not understand that’un.  *looks at her*  His sister’s comin’?  Oh, by th’ powers, that can’t be good.  What’s bringin’ her ‘ere, when’s she comin’?

Kat:  No mate not of ye but the drinkin' with the babe, savvy?  Then there's them new business dealin's I've gotten into of late.  As te his sister, read for yerself.  *Hands over the letter*  'e's refusin' te meet 'er train.

Manouche *winces*  Oh, bloody ‘ell … apologies, luv.  *looks down, eyes misty; murmurs*  I jus’ might be truly losin’ me mind … *looks up*  ‘Course, the babe.  Y-ye been feelin’ all right, then?  An’ Chiana, she’s sound?  An’ all this talk about Abby … I take it yer not leavin’ after all, ye decided t’ make a go of th' marriage.  That’s grand news, mate, I’m happy fer ye both.  *takes letter, reads*  Blimey ... Reckon I can see why he’s less than enthused.  I’ve heard about his family … Sergeant Godley told me a lot about ‘em one time.  A force t’ be reckoned with.  He can ignore her train, but from what I’ve heard, she’ll look him up an’ find him regardless.  Th’ pair o’ ye’ll ‘ave to leave town to avoid ‘er, from th’ sound of it.  *puts a hand on her arm*  S’nothin’, though, mate.  Yer Abby, he loves ye.  She’ll come, state ‘er business, no doubt be dashed unpleasant, an’ then it’ll be over.  Ye could make yerself scarce, but … he’s yer husband now, so it’s best ye stand by ‘im.  ye can stand tall with th' best of 'em.  Ye got nothin' to be ashamed of, savvy?  *tries to smile*  We’ve faced Nate an’ Marchand, luv … I reckon ye can face Lady Cynthia.