Ashes to Ashes: North London, 1890

"Oh, honestly, Nathaniel! You can't be serious!"
Why not, my dear? The little fellow clearly needs a home."
"Children aren't like stray dogs, Nathaniel. You can't just take him in and let him eat table scraps. Think about what everyone will say when it all comes out!"
"Emily, the boy's parents are dead. Any life he may have had is gone, is burned. If not us, it's an orphanage, then most likely a workhouse and a short brutal little life that would mean nothing. With us, he has a chance. We can afford it, my dear. Even...even if there are more to come...We can certainly afford to keep him and raise him for some profession. You can't really want to send him away, can you?"
She stared at the small figure in the thin blanket for several silent moments.
"He's not my son."
"No, he isn't. But he was someone's son. He was Claridge's son, and out of respect for him, I think the least we can do is to make sure his only son is provided for."
"Oh, but Nathaniel, look at him."
"What about him?"
"Well, he's odd, isn't he? I didn't think baby's eyes were supposed to be so dark! Aren't all babies supposed to have blue eyes when they are that young?"
"Well now, you can't really blame him if his eyes are the way they are? I admit, they are a trifle strange, but I would already guess he's seen enough with them to turn them that dark. I don't know how he managed to survive that fire. In any case, it's nothing to signify." These last words were spoken more to the infant in his arms, who blinked up at him with those odd black eyes.
"Well, if you really feel that strongly about it..." She bit her lip in obvious disapproval.
"I do. The lad was clearly preserved for some sort of greatness. The least we can do is give him a chance to claim his destiny."