At Bournemouth House:

Abberline *hesitates, with his mind on Raven, then he understands Gili's last words, and he follows him out*  Gili, wait, I am not going to discuss anything with that witch …  *But Gili is already gone; he returns inside, starts to look after Miranda, and first now it occurs to him that the house is so quiet.  Miranda is not in the kitchen, singing happily, clattering with the pans.  There are dishes still on the table, and the food she prepared is still in the oven, dry and brown, on low heat.  He turns it off.  She would never leave it like that.  Puzzled, he looks for her through the house, in every room, but she is nowhere to be found.  And he gets a flash of her scared face, and someone holding her, and though he doesn't discern the features, he knows it is not Crane ... Worried, he knocks on the door of the bedroom, not trying to open it*  Kat, Miranda has disappeared.  I think I'd better take a look and see if I can find her.  Maybe she just left in a hurry to buy groceries, *but he doesn't buy that himself*  but I feel worried.  Don't open the door to anyone while I am gone.  *he decides not to say anything about Raven, listens for a while, but as he hears no answer, he reasons that she is either sulking about the horrid emerald green, or asleep.  He leaves the house and locks the door after him*

At From Hell Court:

Manouche *enters the dark room, almost has to duck her head for the low ceiling, the little building is very damp and claustrophobic.  She follows the robed, shadowy figure who let her in and then locked the door behind her; she's led to a small anteroom, where she sees a very old woman, with long white hair and a daunting, fierce expression.  She’s seated at a large, oak table, shuffling cards*

Robed figure *addressing the old woman*  She insists, Boadicea.

Boadicea *frowning, looking down at a deck of cards, speaks in a voice that sounds like a hiss*  So it would seem.  *doesn’t look up, speaks to Manouche*  Sit down, dreamer.

Manouche *slowly takes the chair in front of the table, watches her for a moment*  S-so, yer keen on th’ Tarot, as well, ay? … *voice trails off as she realizes the cards aren’t the usual Tarot cards, but an ordinary deck*

Boadicea *still not looking at her*  I am “keen” on the Tarot, as you put it … but this time, it’s just a simple game of solitaire.  All work and no play … *she finishes her game, brings the cards together in a stack, sets them down.  She stands up, walks around the table, sits on the edge of it facing Manouche, swiftly grabs a handful of her hair and pulls her head back painfully, Manouche bites her lip to keep from crying out*  Lesson one, shut the hell up unless you’re spoken to.  I don’t go in for idle chat, and anything you think you possess in the way of charm is lost on me.  Savvy?  *Manouche nods slightly, and Boadicea releases her*  Lesson two … there will be no arguments, there will be no quitting once we get started.  This won’t take long, but it won’t be pleasant, I can tell you that right now.  There’s a reason this building is partially underground and has thick, stone walls.  Once we start, don’t waste your energy trying to keep from screaming, savvy?  Scream if you need to, nobody will hear you.  So be sure you want to do this before we start.  *she looks her over, nods*  You’ll be all right, you’ll come through it, if you’re worried about that.  I can usually tell right off the bat whether someone’s cut out for it, and I’ve turned plenty away, I promise you.  Fools, think I can be bought.  They’re just looking for a thrill, they have no idea what they’re doing.  *pauses*  Lesson three … anything you see, hear or experience here stays here.  Now, I’ll need $100, right now, or there’s the door.  *she holds a hand out, blinks as Manouche pulls out the money and gives it to her without hesitation.  She looks at Manouche suspiciously, then stuffs the bills into her blouse*  Very well … now give me what you have to show me.  I believe you have a card, and a drawing.  *holds out her hand impatiently; Manouche tries not to show too much surprise as she pulls out the Tarot card and the sketch of Raven’s ring.  Boadicea snaps her fingers*  Give me the card the way it was shown to you.  Was it reversed?  *Manouche nods, hands it to her in the reversed position.  She examines it for a few minutes, then looks at the drawing, then back to the card, finally nods*  Ahh … I see.  Yes, this we can do.  *she gazes at Manouche for a long time; Manouche is uncomfortable under her cold eyes, but she maintains her posture and eye contact with her.  After a few minutes, Boadicea stands up, walks around behind the table, steps up to a cabinet*  In some ways, this will be a little easier for you than for others.  It might go a little faster.  The process usually can be anywhere from three or four, sometimes six hours.  With you, I think two hours may do it.  *she opens a cabinet, takes out a vial containing a thick, putty-colored liquid, and a syringe.  She comes back to the table, sits down across from Manouche*  Do you know why this is going to be a little easier for you?

Manouche *starts to shake her head, then stops as it comes to her*  Is … is it because I w-were in th’ box?  *her voice is barely above a whisper*

Boadicea *nods*  That, and your powers.  You’re an unusual one, I must admit.  But don’t let it go to your head, that’s the minute you start making a fool of yourself.

Manouche:  N-no worries there, mate, I ain’t always all that chuffed about me powers … *she cuts her words off quickly as Boadicea glares at her*  A-apologies, luv …

Boadicea *sniffs, then looks down as she measures out some of the liquid into the syringe*  This will help you remember.  You have the answer inside you, believe it or not.  You received it while you were in the box.  Don't be surprised that you don't remember.  It would’ve been phenomenal if you’d been smart enough to recognize it at the time.  You had … many distractions … *she squints at the syringe, nods, caps the vial, stands, puts the vial back in the cabinet*  This will bring it out of you.  *leans slightly toward her, holds up the syringe*  You can trust this.  But if you're still unsure and you need something else to help put you at ease, I can tell you that I know Alifi.  She and I have our different ways of doing things, but she’s one of the few good ones.  She’ll vouch for me when you see her next.  I always deliver.  *looks at Manouche pointedly*  The fact that she thinks highly of you goes a long way in your favor.  *She starts away from the table, carrying the syringe, steps toward a door behind her that leads to another room.  She looks over her shoulder at Manouche*  Come, girl, what’re you waiting for?  Let's get started, if you're sure you want to do it.

Manouche *eyes wide, speechless at everything she’s heard, stands up, feels someone behind her, turns to see it’s the robed figure who let her in earlier; at least, she thinks it’s the same person.  It’s impossible to tell, the robe covers the person from head to toe.  She tries to see a face within the shadows of the hood, but she sees nothing but darkness.  The figure places a firm hand on her shoulder, guides her into the next room, which is even more dimly lit than the other two.  The robed figure pushes her down into a chair; she swallows, watches yellowed hands poking through the long folds of the robe as they roll up her sleeve, while Boadicea slowly closes and locks the door*

At Bournemouth House / At From Hell Court:

Abberline: *on his search after Miranda enters Grape's Grocery and spots Gilbert*  Have you seen Miranda?

Gilbert *stops labeling some canned product and looks up, wipes his hair from his face and grins*  Hello, Inspector.  No, she has not been shopping today.  But she was here yesterday and wanted some ice-cream delivered today, for your wife.  What shall I do with the delivery if she isn't there?  Is your wife at home?

Abberline *looks sternly at Gilbert, snaps at him*  No.  She is not at home.  And she does not like ice-cream.  *turns and leaves the store banging the door after him*

Gilbert *goes to the door and shouts after him*  But I could make the delivery myself, she might like our new flavor.  And anyway, Miranda paid for it ...

Abberline *doesn't listen to the fool, continues to the Office, going straight to Crane's room*  Have you been seeing Miranda today?

Crane *looks up from his writings and regards him with indignation*  And what kind of question is that?  I beg your pardon, but she is a consenting adult and you are not her father.  She has the right to be where she wants and be with who she wants.  But to answer your question, no, I have not seen her today.  Yet.

Abberline:  You're a bloody pompous fool!  I am trying to find her.

Crane *his expression changing to worried, paling*  What?  Has she disappeared?

Abberline *shrugs*  So it would seem.  *leaves the Office, walks in deep thoughts through From Hell Court, and as he is lighting a cigarette, he is suddenly pulled by his arm into an alleyway and thrust against the brick wall, with two men holding him by the arms*

At Chez Roux:

Raven *enters Chez Roux, looking slightly bored, glances around the dining room, then takes a quick peek into the bar.  When he’s satisfied he sees no one he knows, he starts up the stairs to the guest rooms, to visit Metrea.*

Malachi *having just come out of the men’s room, glances over, sees Raven going up the stairs*  Now what the hell is he doin’ here?  *he considers following him, but something tells him not to; he returns to his booth, orders another drink, decides to watch the stairs, maybe catch him on his way out*

Raven *reaches the top of the stairs, approaches Metrea’s room, knocks on the door; the ring on his finger catches his eye, and he smiles at it admiringly.  He speaks softly through the door*  Aunt … Aunt, it’s me, Raven …  *he stands waiting for her to answer, hoping she’s in*

At From Hell Court:

Manouche *emerges from the small building nearly two hours later, very unsteady, makes her way shakily down the street.  She wonders what the drug was that they gave her.  She has her answer to what she was wanting to know, but oh, the misery … her throat is raw from screaming, and she knows the sensations caused by the drug will be impossible to describe to someone later.  Boadicea had been surprisingly kind to her when it was all over, speaking softly to her, bringing her some water, helping her get past the horrible nausea as she came down from the effect, assuring her that it would pass soon, she had come through it with flying colors.  Manouche thinks she may have even said Alifi would be proud, but she could have imagined that.  Then after Manouche had recovered a little, Boadicea abruptly returned to form and told Manouche she would have to leave immediately; she doles this drug out in great secrecy, and she doesn’t need anyone flopping around her premises as a living advertisement of what goes on within.  The strange hooded creature had grabbed her with the yellow hands and tossed her out the door, and she barely caught herself, keeping her balance.  Now she makes her way through the Court, pressing her hands against walls when she can, her eyesight still a little dodgy.  But the terrible effects are slowly starting to fade, and she thinks triumphantly to herself, she now has the answer … she at least knows some action to take that may help Raven.  She hopes it works … *

*She rounds a corner, then stops as she passes an alleyway; she ducks down and peeks cautiously around the wall, wondering if she was hallucinating; but she wasn’t.  There they are, two men holding Abberline against a wall.  She’s filled with fury, and she carefully pulls herself up, draws her pistol, steps into the alleyway, cocks the gun, concentrates, manages to keep her hand steady, her voice clear*  Right, let ‘im go, y’ bastards.

*A third person emerges from the darkness of the alleyway, clad in a long trench coat, broad brimmed hat and Armani sunglasses with inset diamonds, holding a small delicate gun, she shoves it against Manouche's back*  Your behavior is very upsetting, threatening my friends like that.  All I want is to have a nice little friendly chat with my dear brother, but this seemed the only way to get his attention.  How very inconvenient that I made the error in asking for your help.  You haven't told him anything, have you?  Some friends my brother has ... Look at you, drunk in the middle of the day.  *eyes her contemptuously*  You are just the gypsy trash Commander Portsmith said you were.  Just the kind that my brother has always had a weak spot for, though I don't wonder about it anymore.  And you, dear Frederick, you do belong here with all the rest of the scum and rabble, not in that fancy and costly house you have.  You are one of them.

Abberline *tries to break free but he gets a sharp elbow in his side and winces with pain*  Tell them to get off me first.

Lady Cynthia:  Very well.  *turns to Manouche*  You can put your gun away, dear.  We are just having a little family reunion.

Manouche *hands raised slightly at the gun at her back, she puts her pistol away, mumbles*  I ain’t drunk … y’ shouldn’t assume, luv.  If – if ye knew what I been doin’, ye’d … *leans over as a sudden wave of nausea washes over her; she leans against the wall, grits her teeth, glances up slightly, bristles as she sees one of the men poke at Abberline*  Leave ‘im alone … *she feels the nausea passing slightly, turns to look at Lady Cynthia*  I sent word to ‘im through Gili … h-his brother in law … *looks at Abberline questioningly, sees from his expression that he’s remembering what Gili had said to him; she turns to Lady Cynthia again, glares*  Don't say that about 'im, he ain't rabble, he ain't scum.  *she looks down for a moment, recovers slightly, looks back up at Lady Cynthia*  I t-told ye it were odd, didn't I?  Askin’ me to help with such a strange errand.  B-but y’ see, I did get word to ‘im.  So … I reckon I can be on me way, an’ leave ye t-to yer talk.  Unless yer brother would prefer I stay, 'specially if them goons o' yers are gonna continue to ... oohhhh ... *she groans, continues to lean against the wall, fears she may faint, she’s sweating profusely, hands shaking; she turns to look at Abberline imploringly*  I – I ain’t drunk, mate, straight up …

Abberline:  She's not drunk!  Can't you see that she is ill?  *he gets punched again with the sharp elbow and grits his teeth*  Manouche, don't care about her words.  What have you been doing?  And you … *turns to Lady Cynthia* … stop insulting her, can't you see she needs help!

Lady Cynthia:  Oh really?  *looks at them both*  Well we can't let her go on her own, can we?  You and I, we are going to that tavern *points with her gun at the nearby shabby tavern, familiar to Abberline* and you can take her with you if you wish so.  Isn't that the kind of place where you love to spend your time, Frederick.  *pokes Manouche with her gun, Abberline tries to free himself seeing it, and Lady Cynthia smiles and turns to talk to Manouche*  It is all the same to me if you are drunk or not.  Maybe you want to sit down for a while with us.  It is so much nicer to sit by a drink, isn't it, than stand here in this alleyway.  That's what you like to do, Frederick, isn't it, drink and drugs?  Just like the dirty scum in this awful place.  I'll promise I buy you some drinks of that abominable stuff they call brandy, of the cheap sort that you are used to.  *to Manouche*  I'll tell them to set him free if you join us.

Manouche *breathing shallowly, is aware of the wave of nausea finally passing, and sighs with relief as she’s able to take a good, deep breath.  Glances at Abberline*  I’m sound, luv, no worries … *she slowly straightens up, glares at Lady Cynthia as she jabs her with the gun*  Lay off, blast ye.  I still don’t see what this has t’ do with me.  *looks at men still holding Abberline*  But … if it’ll make ye call them off, I’ll come with ye.

Lady Cynthia:  You still don't understand it.  *points at Abberline with her gun*  He simply won't listen to me.  That is where I need you.  You will make him talk to me.  Isn't it so, Frederick?  That is what friends are for, helping each other.  *to the men*  You can release him now.  *points to the door*  But let's move in and have a nice little chat.  *Inside the tavern, she looks at the chair, wipes it with a handkerchief and throws the hanky over her shoulder and sits down, gesturing the others to follow her suit, she orders four brandys and smiles pleasantly to Manouche*  How nice that you could join us. 

Abberline *frowns at her and the guys beside him are instantly on alert staring at him intently, ready to grab hold of him if needed*  This is stupid.  Manouche has nothing to do with this.  Let her go.  I don't think our family matters interest her.

Lady Cynthia:  Oh but they do, she confessed as much.  *to Manouche*  Really, my dear, you do seem to know some dirty family secrets that I wasn't aware of until now.  You seem to know very much indeed.  But I could see at once, darling, that you belong to that extremely annoying group of people who love to meddle, and that is why you are useful to me.  You just can't let him be, isn't it so?

Manouche:  I don’t know what yer on about.  I’ve never meant t’ meddle, I’ve only tried t’ help if I thought I could, an' more often than not I've responded to requests for assist, if not from yer brother, then Sergeant Godley, or Kat.  *looks at Abberline sympathetically, frowns at the two men who still hover around him threateningly*  I've obligin'ly kept me distance when I've been told t' sod off.  *turns to Lady Cynthia*  Per'aps ye'll notice that, when I try an' resist meddlin' in affairs that ain't me business ... case in point, this cozy little discussion regardin' family inheritance ... somehow, someone seems t' drag me into it.  So don't go blamin' me.  An' another thing ... if yer wantin’ me t’ play moderator between th’ pair o’ ye, I suggest ye curb yer insults, savvy?  *she pauses, reaches for the glass of brandy before her with a shaky hand, suddenly very glad to have it; she downs it in one gulp, brings the glass down to the table, eyes streaming as the cheap brandy burns her throat, but it braces her a little, too.  She turns to Lady Cynthia*  Go on with yer business with yer brother, if that’s what ye ‘ave us ‘ere for.  *she reaches in her pocket for cigarettes, lights one, notes that Lady Cynthia has removed her trench coat; she now glances at her, studies her figure, can’t resist a jibe*  Ye’d best watch them croissants from now on, luv … that suit ye ‘ave on is quite fetchin’, to be sure, but it’s a bit snug, innit?  *she catches Abberline’s eye, gives him a quick grin, then resumes a poker face*

Lady Cynthia *wraps her coat around her*  Let us keep it civil then.  Like we were in some respectable place and not this rural paradise of misfits.  *She lifts a small box from the pocket of the trench coat and opens it.*  Here are some important legal documents.  Take a look and tell me what it means.  *shoves the papers to Abberline*

Abberline *starts when he sees the documents: two birth certificates for the same date, the other with his name, Frederick George, and the name of his parents, and the second one is a French one, he doesn't understand much French, but he knows what it says.  The same date, but the name spelled differently, it's Frederic, no father's name, and the mother's name as Marie-Claire Vernet.  He looks up in astonishment at Manouche, then his eyes go wide as he remembers his odd visions about the small boy with the big dark solemn eyes ... *  My gods …

Lady Cynthia *snatches the papers from him*  So that is what you are.  A fatherless son of a French servant girl.  And now, let us talk about the inheritance.  *notes Abberline's glance at Manouche*  What are you looking at her for?  Now this explains a lot why you like to hang in places like this and have friends like ... *checks herself in time* … like you have.  I don't think you are entitled to any kind of inheritance from my parents.  *turns to Manouche*  Do you agree?  You are my witness.  You saw these two birth certificates.