"And I daresay she was a bit surprised!" Mrs. Horcrest hitched her laundry basket up on her hip as she navigated her stout body up the narrow staircase. She didn't bother looking back as she spoke but her voice carried. "Poor thing a week out of the country, and at her age!"

"And the fire? I did hear there was a fire. Kitchen girl, the nerve!" Molly picked up a dropped stocking after her. "Spilt candle or something, wasn't it?" A snort. "Burned a hankie, I heard," she added.

"Oh, no!" The matron shifted her massive hips and the movement was filled with amused disapproval. She looked back and gave a rueful grin. "That were no accident, though find one honest man who'll say so!"

"T'weren't?" Molly giggled.
The old laundress's eyebrow went up. "Well. C'n you imagine any man pointin' a finger at Missy Kendall's servin' girl?"

Molly giggled again. "No mum, not any man pointin' a finger."

-----------------------------

Anne-marie Thorsten smiled shyly into her white dress. "What kind of pearls were they, Martie?" The sun made her eyes squint even under her pretty bonnet.

"Pink!" The boy made a face and shook his tow head and stuck his tongue into the gap in his teeth. "An' shinin', like you spit an' polished' em!" he gave her a grin that showed the gap where he'd recently lost a tooth (which had been all her fault any road!). "Wrapped round...one...two....three time..." lazy motions with his hands went with the words as he lay back into the grass and kicked his feet up in the air. "An 'y'neiver saw a 'ting so pretty as they was they say."

"Eeh!" The girl squealed happily at the image. "An' her dress? I bet it was pink too, with lace an' flowers! I didn't know pearls came in pink," she mused. But the thought was so very pretty!

"Dress....dress..." for a moment Martie's coal dust smudgy face screwed up in thought. "...'ad flowers on...an...ribbon...an..." and then he seemed to tire of the game and vaulted to his feet with a flip of his sturdy little body. "Go t' the Serpentine.." he dared "An see 'er yerself! I dare!"

She squealed again, this time in chagrin. "Nanna wouldn't let me go," she said, heartbroken. "But you hafta tell me more! Please, oh please!" Annie twisted her dress around her fingers. "Pleeease, Martie, pleeease?"

The boy looked up and rubbed at a smudge of soot on his cheek. That only made it
worse. "...y'can sneak 'way." he muttered. And then because she was pretty and *clean*....he reached out a hand with stubby fingers (only one was missing!) and soot caked on to her as he blushed furiously. "...I'd'e take yeh..."

"Aww Martie!" She squealed again and a mischievous gleam entered her eye. "But... Nanna!" but already she was reaching out to take his hand....

------------------------------

"I say! It nearly worked! The engine almost clicks with the clockwise motion of the pendulum and..." A dusty-haired man of the Academy stood back a bit from the street lantern that had spurred this conversation. "Well, it started smoking," he amended, "But otherwise it would have been quite enlightening."

Charles Bromley folded his arms and managed to look hopeful and unimpressed at the same time. "Yes..." he remarked and then looked over at his companion. The fellow was a genius, he knew it! If only he could make things that...worked. "I say, have you read the latest Penneforth papers? There's a bit on friction might help a touch." but he wasn't thinking about that. He was thinking about home, and a good hot bath, and.....

"Penneforth papers? Oh, those." Mr. Phillips put on a scornful expression, frowning. "I wouldn't put much store in those, involving friction or not. Hardly helpful." He walked around the lantern, inspecting it from a different angle, and stroked his mustachen.

"I say." and now the younger man scooted a little closer and lowered his voice. "You know...we needn't put in these new lamps before they're ready, or worry about it atall if someone could just get Something Done about..." he made a motion indicating Phillips would know what he was talking about. "Break too often, and crown's cost to put in new..."

"Well, if it wasn't for that blasted dual current..." Phillips wiped a fleck of dust off his suit. "And those mice," there was a careful emphasis on the word, quite delicate, "that got into the wiring... terrible mishap there, I do say."

"Terrible indeed." Bromley let his eyes slide over his companion and go back up to the lamp as he stood back and put his hands carefully into his pockets. b Mice, indeed! They both knew what was breaking the delicate wiring and costing the Empire a fortune. But expecting the Empire to listen...

--------------------------------

"Well, what did Mrs. Cater say 'bout it?" Cass let out a little laugh as the train carriage's doors slid open and she hopped off the train and flipped a thick braid of dull brown hair over her shoulder. The dull anabaric lights in the stairwell washed her out and shone off her rouged cheeks and she gave the conductor a saucy smile. "I'd say ye'were lucky to get outter there with yer life, not t'mention a shilling or too. I've heard tell the bullies a'tha house, they don't play quarters."

"Maybe 'at's the case, love," Fredrick said, offering her a hand down but withdrawing it once he saw it wasn't needed. "Whot I took it for was a success. Maybe when we get home we'll break a bottle to the victor, eh?" He grinned roguishly at her. "Still though, a man might say it was..." he shivered suddenly. "Nah," he said, smile back. "More'n luck, I like to think."

The girl paused and gave him a canny look. The walk home found her in unaccustomed thought. Three years since she'd left Shoreditch bundled into a wagon at midnight, and she still counted herself lucky. Still....sometimes she got the feeling she was just a mouse between a cat's claws. No...not cat. Some other animal. She looked at the fellow narrowly when they reached her door. "More'n luck, or less then accident, you mean." Another pause as she fished around in her dingy skirts for the string with her key tied on. "...'aven't got a bottle." she added by way of distraction.

Frederick's face fell a little, and he swallowed, made a vain attempt to keep his cheer. "O'course," he said, "Luck's luck, but I'd like to think it was me wot got away with it..."

"Or got let to." There, she'd said it. First time in three years, and it gave her a shiver to say. "Y'went to a five pound house but wiv one inyer pocket." a derisive snort. "An' came back with every little finger. And toe? Lesse yer feet." but she laughed or at least tried to and concentrated at pulling his collar loose instead.

"Got... let to." Frederick didn't say it very loud, it was more of a pondering whisper. He grinned but it was a sad attempt at one, and suddenly it didn't seem so important anymore to follow Cass inside. "Yeah..." A blink and he was back. "Naw," he said again. "Naw, I got all me fingers 'n toes, love. And I'll leave it to you to check the rest."

Cass tried not to think about it. With Fredrick not thinking was easier than usual. Every swish of cloth and press of skin was one more good reason to stay mindless. And it wasn't until much later that the girl (now without any rouge or powder) propped her chin up on her hand and poked him in the side. "Fingers an' toes." Well, she reflected, it wouldn't hurt to be optimistic. "Lucky man."

"Of course you heard about Sal Evan's girl." the girl wrinkled her turned up nose and sniffed. "Tell me you have, and know what a bit of poppycock it is!"
"No!" Bessie leaned forward, her mouth open in shock. "Never a thing!'

"Well, it's all radish talk. You have t'member that part." and as she spoke the girl's face became animated and she added in gestures. "And then, according to her mother, the mysterious people dragged the girl off into the night!"

"Oh, please," and she sat back again, snorted. "I thought you were gonna tell me something real."

"Well, that's the thing." an now for the first time the older girl felt a serious tone creep into her voice. She felt silly for looking behind her back but she did it all the same. "Drunkard through she is...you wouldn't think old Sal the type to tell stories. Would you?"

Bessie shivered, completely unexpectedly. It was stupid, 'cause she didn't believe this... did she? "When she's had enough, 'course," she said, briskly. "Everyone tells tales in their cups."

A pause. "Yer right, a'course." a sniff. "An' her girl just ran away. I mean. Had to've. You *saw* that boy hangin' about..." and any shiver of fear there may have been was forgotten as the two girls made their way down the steps.


---


"Read this t' me," Tom Foster grunted, shoving the paper at his wife. "Boy said summat 'bout jobs." He settled himself in his chair and looked up at her expectantly.

But Flossie Foster wouldn't read it to him at all, not until she leaned over and gave him a sound kiss on the mouth! "Would it kill ye," she tutted "T'have a little manners with your darlin' wife? Eh, Tom?" but she didn't mind really and she winked at him so he would know that as she took the crumpled paper from his fingers and pushed a steaming bowl of soup over to him. She squinted at the paper. "Work...work...oh, here 'tis!" a smile. "London Met...met...met-something Railway. They want men."

A tiny smile crossed Tom's lips at the kiss; he really did love Flossie, he just wasn't given much to displays. "Yes, dear," he murmured, and listened intently to her words, taking a drop or two of soup. "What d'ye think?" he asked, when she was finished. "Bit o' work'd be nice."

"Be nicer'n sendin' you off to the Docks in mornings." she suppressed a shiver. He was a hard worker and plenty good enough for ship work...but she liked to know that he was coming home to her at night. Another squint. All that extra taken in sewing really was ruining her eyes... "Oh, here! They're t'ave a..a..a somethin'. Looks like you show up, and you get work. Well, that sounds nice!"

Tom patted her hand in silent commiseration, and frowned. "They say aught 'bout pay? I'm not leaving good work for naught."

Another look, as she took his hand and drew it close. "Pay...oh! Yuss. Looks liek three pee a day more than you're gettin', and...oh! A bonus, after two weeks!"

"Ah!" he said, very pleased. Flossie wouldn't have to work no more; money like that he could keep her in the style she deserved. He said as much, and added, "Nice to stay here at night, like."

An arch look...and then her look softened and she inched toward him as she sat on the table. "Nice t'ave ye all to meself, and no sendin' ye off before dawn, neiver."

He thought a moment, to himself, and then smiled. "Y'know, Flossie m'gel, your soup's got powerful restorin' powers." He set his hands on her hips and smiled up at her.

Another scoot and she fell with a soft thump into his wide study lap. "Does it now!?" and her fingers that were still red and pricked from sewing deftly plucked the news clipping out of his hand and let it flutter to the tabletop. "I know somethin' else what does, too."



- - -



"If you can manage Saturday..." said Lady Bourneville as she turned to set the gilted note on a lovely glass-topped table "I daresay we'de just love to have you. If, that is, you can manage. My husband mentioned that you're dreadfully busy of late..."

"Oh yes, but never too busy for you, my dear," Lady Shafton said, waving her fan gently. "I could never skimp your company. You always have the most delicious stories."

"Do I?" An Lady Bourneville blinked and gave a small rather curious smile as if she wasn't at all aware that she occupied a very secure throne as the matriarch of London's social scene. "I'm afraid I haven't any today...I've been entirely too busy entertaining our...delightful new Chinese Ambassador to practice your beloved sin of gossip and calumny."

"Oh?" Lady Shafton sat forward eagerly, her eyes alight with malice. "Do tell! I'm certain she must be endlessly interesting."

"Oh, well. You know." a careless wave of the fan and then the Lady sat forward as well. "The poor thing, you know she's been so dreadfully free on time since she came." Of course not a family in town had wanted to be associated with her...but that garden party had changed all that. Especially as it carried her implicit approval... "Nothing to do but take rides with the Shulster boy..." a repressed shudder.

"Oh, the poor thing." Lady Shafton made a moue of disgust. "I do feel sorry for her. The cream of London society Artie Shulster is not."

"Oh, darling." and one hand was laid over another. "Let's not hold the boy responsible. After all, look at his upbringing."

"Oh, yes." A sigh, another flutter of the fan. "I don't blame him, but the lack of blame never obligated one to like someone."

"And thank goodness." as Lady Bourneville looked out the window she seemed overcome by a somewhat melancholy air as she murmured "Don't see how one could bear walking out the door, otherwise."



- - -



"Did you hear!" Molly said, breathlessly, tugging on her employer's sleeve. "There's been another sighting of the ghost!"

"Ha!" No silly ghost story ever scared Mrs. Horcrest. Not that she didn't believe. She did. She just wasn't scared. "Which ghost was this/ Th' one that sucks all the fluids from a body, or th' one that moans, or clanks chains, or Marley an' Marley, shufflin' up an' down in the old Opera 'ouse ruins, or.." as her reddened hands shoved up to the dimpled elbows in hot sudsy water she grinned. Nobody could say she didn't know her ghosts! "Not a new one, is it/"

Molly sighed. "No, it's a new one. They say 'e walks at night in Seven Dials, and sometimes 'e stops and stares, like 'e can see your soul!" She widened her eyes dramatically on the last word, hoping Mrs. Horcrest would appreciate the drama properly.

The old laundress was...less than impressed. "Oh, is that all!" she crowed and flicked a handful of grimy water at the girl. "Wonder what you've got teh worry about, then! What'd 'e see, just a silly girl all aflutter for that dirty Patteran boy Brick Lane way!"

"I am not!" Molly said, and threw her hands in the air, spattering water everywhere. "Ooooh!"

"You tell a better story, then!"

"Oh hush, girl." a superior look. "N 'sides. The Dials're full as a ten-penny pail of ghosts, I 'magine. Burnt up alive in their beds, poor souls... " and she wasn't Catholic, but her husband, rest his damned Papist soul, was so she crossed herself. "Roight. Yeh 'member that little sweep we met. Sara th' charwoman's boy."

"Course I do," Molly said, somewhat sulkily, and plunged her hands into the water, hauling out clothes and dumping them in the baskets for the trip to the drying lines.

"Then you know 'ow he was stol'n away, for filchin' a bit of engine bearins."

"Knew he was gone," she said. "Di'n' know why. What's so 'portant 'bout engine bits anyhow?"

"Don't you know?!" a laugh. "I 'eard that there's bangin, clankin' at night, under the ruins of that ol mansion. Men goin' in and out. You know the man what built that airship lived there, the traitor! Made it wi' the devil engine, an' that's what they put that poor boy to, y'can bet yer last shilling."

Molly waved a hand airily and splattered more water about. "Bet 'e's just gone an' put to sea," she said. "Send a bit o' money home to 'is mum. 'e's a good boy like that. Now, Will what's Edith and Joe's boy, you know, what lives down the street, there's a one'd get himself caught."

"I tell ye, they 'ear 'im cryin at night!" but Molly never did one thing and that was listen! "Will." the woman's huge arms crossed and she thought for a moment. "E's the type end up joinin' up with them dodgy types what wear black about."

"Probably," the younger girl agreed brightly. "'S'long as they let 'im swing a stick 'e'd not care what they did."
"Still." a pause. "Y'ever wonder 'who they are, like? Show up, send all the gawk's 'ome, disappear, like...y'ever wonder?" something about it didn't seem right. An army here in London, but without any proper uniforms she'd ever seen...


But a moment later the older woman shook her head. 'Well, ne'er mind. You'll have me woolgatherin' bad as you yet, girl!" after all why worry about mysterious black clad men and young ghosts when there was work to be done?