There was a brief, uncomfortable look at her … analysis, of the financial situation. The situation that involved two second generation immigrants whose main source of repute had been a man tried and hanged for murder. They were lucky contacts had taken pity on them still.

This was what lucky looked like. This lucky was only possible with a low profile.

“I will keep that in mind, Nisa,” he said instead. “You are very wise.”

Then, he resumed chewing his porridge mechanically.

Nisa watched him as she ate slowly. She said nothing else the rest of the meal and it seemed she was not happy though she had no more complaints for the moment.

When her bowl was empty, she expected him to leave immediately. "I have a coat for you by the door. Do not use the other, I'm letting it air out." She said simply and stood to began to wash. She refused to let the dishes sit until the maid was available for the day.

"I will look into this embroidery group brother. And if you have too much trouble, I..." She finally frowned, and her brow creased as something terrible and uncomfortable settled in. "May have to look into getting a job as well."

Aslan paced his eating to match Nisa’s, finishing his bowl within the same second.

“Certainly,” he answered, clasping his hands before himself under the table and watching her through the spoon’s reflection rather than directly.

Just as well. He avoided dead men’s jackets by daylight – Baba’s aside.

If Aslan believed for a second that she actually meant some sort of work – as a governess, perhaps, or something that didn’t involve rampant murder – then he might have felt differently about those words. Work was for middle class men, and in her head they were still seated with their peers.

He stood, pushed in their chairs. Kept his body facing her, even if he watched her from the side more than front-on.

“A woman of your class, and your beauty, should not have to resort to work,” Aslan said, leaning in the doorway and crossing his arms.

Her neurotic vanity was an asset on the marriage market, he knew that much.

“Beg my pardon, but … what would you think of a widower? It is your age men of wealth prefer, and it could be an ideal arrangement for both of you.”

‘You’ll have an excuse for his untimely death,’ he meant.

Nisa looked towards him at his compliment and smiled, though most kind words between them felt more out of habit than for anything substantial. "You are very kind to me."

She was prepared to do some work around the place to keep herself busy when he spoke again. She turned to him and slowly approached him before he could leave the house. A hand reached out, and slowly rest on his shoulder and a serene smile came upon his face. "If you find a man that is to your standard for me, brother... I shall consider it. Nothing less will do. And you see many more people in a day than I do. I trust your judgement. Now, do not keep the constable waiting. I will see you when you get home."

Whenever that would be.

Aslan hugged her, half to show he still loved her and half so he didn’t have to see that haunting smile.

As she seemed blissfully distracted, Aslan did as she bid – including collecting his own coat and bowler hat since she seemed preoccupied. Locked the door behind himself and sprinted on already exhausted legs.

When he made it to the constable’s, he peered through the window first to see if it looked to be him manning the desk.

The porridge had not been poisoned, and Elijah was at the desk. Maybe Aslan's luck was turning around.

The man was filling out papers, some of it was things that had gotten behind from his long vacation. He looked up feeling eyes on him, and gave a small smile and wave.

"Come in." He said and gestured with his hand in case the detective didn't hear him.

Aslan felt his stomach on the walk, mildly surprised to find it still there.

He waved from the window as if he weren’t being strategically creepy, and let himself in.

“Hello, good to see you Crane.”

He shut the door behind him, and glanced to and fro for what ears might be eavesdropping.

“I overheard something that isn’t an official case yet, but – better safe than sorry. Is this a good time, or should I come back later?”

Elijah was more than welcoming for a distraction. While Elijah liked to think of them as friends, he knew it was all simply professional. He was more than grateful for every clue or tip the younger man could toss his way.

"Always a pleasure." He said politely and nodded.

He waved him to sit and smiled. He rest his hands neatly on the table and looked to Aslan. "It is fine, I'm not that busy and there is no one else here. So feel completely free to talk." He leaned forward at the slightest angle, listening whatever it was that was about to be shared.

Nisa had made eye contact with Crane. He thought of that half the times he’d seen him since.

“More post-mortem questions,” Aslan said, apologetically. “Can you recall any tampered with deceased who had more than their heads missing?”

That was a morbid one, but he rattled it off like he was asking about clogged rafters. Then, he paused.

“Actually, do you know the most likely place to dig up those decapitation files these days? I think I copied them down individually and put them in a folder a few months back, but I haven’t seen them in a while.”

The question did not bother Crane particularly. The man before him kept things appropriate as much as the subject allowed. He tilted his head though curiously.

"What do you mean tampered? Like, the body was messed with after the head was removed?"

He nodded in thought and rubbed his chin. 'I can get them, may take a few minutes, if you don't mind waiting?" He didn't want to stand and get started if Aslan meant to return. "I can always simply copy down any details you need, if you'd prefer to not have to do it yourself here." He couldn't let the man walk out with the papers, but he was sure Aslan was busy. He didn't want to make the man spend more time there than necessary.