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When he finally dropped off to sleep, he did so with a smile playing about his lips.

Next morning, he rose early, dressed in his black suit, and set off for Mrs. Napps’ rooms. To his surprise, his knock on the door was answered by a harassed looking Lizzie. She was pale and drawn, and her hair was not yet neatly pinned in a coil at the nape of her neck. Instead, it hung loose about her shoulders, thick and waving like pale gold.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, Lizzie colored and stepped back to allow him to enter. “I’m afraid you find me at sixes and sevens this morning, Mr. Toomes. I’ve been up all night finishing my share of the dress shirts,” she said wearily. “They had to be finished for this morning.”

Benedict entered the room, glancing about. “Where is everyone?” he asked.

“Mrs. Napp has taken the shirts to her supplier, and the other girls are still sleeping,” she told him, glancing at the door to the next room. “I was going to try and join them and get my head down for an hour or so, but I suspect they’ll be rising soon.”

“I doubt you’d sleep now the sun’s up in any case.”

Lizzie gave an unladylike snort. “I could sleep on a window ledge right now!” she retorted. “If I ever see another shirt, I swear I’ll scream.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “You’re not finding it to your tastes, then? The slop work?”

Lizzie’s face went blank. “I daresay I shall get to grips with it eventually,” she told him bravely, but he could see at least a dozen tells that she was scared out of her wits at the prospect. From the nervous way her fingers curled into her palms to her red-rimmed eyes, she was a mass of nervous agitation.

“How’s your money lasting?” he asked with a faintly malicious edge as he walked over to the window and gazed out onto the street below. People were just starting to appear on the cobbles, scurrying off to their places of work.

Lizzie swallowed. “Not terribly well,” she admitted. “I had to buy my share of the candles to work by and coal for the fire. Then there’s jugs of beer for everyone to drink and my share of the food … It all adds up,” her words trailed off despairingly. “I was wondering,” she asked awkwardly. “If you would be willing to take my spare dress along to the pawn shop for me. Just to tide me over.”

“You’ll end up with just the clothes on your back at this rate,” he said coolly, glancing her over.

Lizzie bridled a moment before her shoulders slumped. “After all, what does it signify?” she said hopelessly. “I have more pressing needs right now than a change of clothes.” He shrugged as though acknowledging the truth of this statement. “How – how do you find everyone at Sitwell Place?” she asked with a slight tremor in her voice.

“As firm in their belief of Reverend Milson’s innocence as ever,” he replied dryly. “They are immovable on that subject.”

Lizzie nodded, but her gaze skittered away. “I see,” she whispered, her eyes gazing blindly over his shoulder.

“Betsy and I have broken our engagement off,” he said without expression.

Lizzie started at his words and stared at him. Her lips moved for a second before she found her voice. “Over Reverend Milson?” she asked faintly.

He shrugged. “I refuse to join my lot in life with someone whose mind is so closed; they cannot accept plain truth when they hear it.”

Lizzie gaped. “But – but – ”

“Which brings me to my next point, he said ignoring her interruption. “You’re someone who doesn’t flinch from hard facts.” For once, Miss Anderson seemed lost for words. When his interrogative stare told her he wanted a response, she nodded dumbly. “How do you fancy the job, then?” he asked softly. “Think yourself equal to it?”

“Job?” she looked bewildered at the turn the conversation had taken.

As well she might, he acknowledged to himself wryly. “In short, I have need of a wife,” he said briskly. “You have shown yourself to have a backbone, and believe me, any wife of mine will need one.”

She blinked. “Am I to understand – ” She raised a hand waveringly to her forehead and pressed it there. “I think I must be sleeping right now,” she muttered.

“Is it such a dream of yours to receive an offer of marriage from me?” he asked.

That was a step too far, even for a Lizzie Anderson who was quite crushed in spirit. She dropped her hand smartly. “Hardly!”

He smirked. “You’re in a fix and so am I,” he responded. “Why not help one another out, to our mutual benefit?”

“Just what kind of a fix are you in, Mr. Toomes?” she asked with a flash of her old suspicion.

Benedict shrugged. “My family expect me to show up with a new bride in tow. I’ve avoided them since my release. A fresh marriage will ward off unwanted questions and spare me any embarrassment over wasting two months in fruitless courtship.”

“So, you have need of a wife?” she repeated slowly and gave her head a quick shake as if trying to dispel a fog.

“I do,” he agreed smoothly. “And you have dire need of a paying occupation and a roof over your head. I think you’re honest enough to admit this situation isn’t really working out for you.” He glanced around the shabby, overcrowded room.