The photographer

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The following weeks went by fast, faster than Sweeney had ever believed possible in the absence of his wife and daughter. He still missed them of course, missed their walks together, playing with his daughter and the peaceful calmness that invaded the house when they were in it. Because the two weeks previous to the trial had been anything but peaceful. His business was booming, surpassing all his expectations. Not Nellie's though. When his parlour's grand opening proved to be a moderated success, she went up to him with a bottle of Malaga to celebrate and she told him with no uncertainty in her voice that this was just the beginning, his parlour would become a London staple in a jiffy. A pleasant warmth had spread across his chest upon hearing the undisguised pride in her voice. For all her faults, she had always believed in him and unsurprisingly, her predictions came true in spades, with his clientele growing by the day thanks to his clients recommending him to their peers and Nellie's own incessant word-of-mouth publicity to anyone who would listen. Even though his earnings were not much loftier than in his original timeline, he was busier than ever. Because instead of having Nellie shamelessly steal the heavy purses off the fallen, he was now earning every penny, charging their patrons a reasonable price but thriving every time they rewarded his excellent service with a generous tip. He would never have believed it months ago, but it felt surprisingly good to make an honest living.

Just like months or even days ago, he wouldn't have believed that having Pirelli as his apprentice could be a good idea. But Collins worked with diligence and had a skill that if properly trained would rival his own. The two also got along surprisingly well, for his trademark cockiness had shifted into deference to his master. Sweeney even raised his pay after only one week, to reward his hard work and hopefully get him away from crime once and for all. The lad had a brilliant future, he didn't want him to ruin it. However, when Eleanor began sharing her delicious meat pies with the whole London, Collins made it a tradition to have them every evening for dinner after both their businesses closed, Sweeney began to regret hiring him. He would watch from his landing how attentive she was as she served him, how they occasionally shared a bottle of gin or just ale and laughed as if they were the best of friends or perhaps something more was budding... and it made him feel uneasy. She would usually go to bed shortly after, likely too tired to do anything else, too tired to go upstairs and disturb his tranquillity with her non-stop blabbering, a bottle of liquor and her warm smile. And yet she always made time for Collins, even though she had already closed. Rationally, Sweeney knew he could join them if he wanted to, he would be welcome. Eleanor would happily offer him a pie that he had to admit sounded heavenly when his stomach rumbled after a hard day of work and a cold drop of ale to better endure the summer heat, and they could swap stories about their days, he could be the one making her laugh... his heart screamed for him to join them but his feet wouldn't budge. He could only watch them from his landing, the uneasiness turning into something akin to anguish before retiring to the loneliness of his room.

Eleanor and Albert's joint business was also booming, he could tell by their moods. The butcher was friendlier, even to Sweeney and didn't threaten to raise his rent again. As for Eleanor... she simply glowed. He found himself looking forward to walking his clients to the door so he could catch a glimpse of her, serving pies with her characteristic grace; she was in her element and he was enchanted. But he wasn't stupid, he knew what it meant, his evergreen desire to watch her, his new found craving of her company. In the absence of Lucy, the witch was once again making her way into his heart. Well he wouldn't let her, he was stronger than that. So he resolved to kept away from the landing and did his best to focus on Turpin, on Lucy and Johanna when thoughts of her began infiltrating his mind. He didn't miss the fact that it was his baby girl who got his heart clenching in the most painful way when he thought of them. She was just a babe, an innocent creature who spent her childhood locked up in a golden cage with the man who destroyed her family. He could not fall for Eleanor, he couldn't, because he knew that if he did, he would once again ruin her childhood. That, as well as recalling her painful lie in his other timeline, almost always did the trick. Eleanor stopped at nothing to get what she wanted, him, she betrayed him and fooled him into beginning to fall for her and Lucy ended up paying the price. He should never forget that Eleanor was a self-serving woman who didn't hold a candle to his beautiful golden-hearted girls. She didn't deserve him sparing her a single thought. But when in the middle of the days the loud screams of passion which she tried and failed to muffle that signalled she was again becoming intimate with her husband and actually seeming to enjoy it this time caught his attention, there was little he could do to push her off his mind. It made his blood boil, but so did other regions in his body. That whore...

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