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Against all my natural preferences and instincts I decide to walk home from the club. My carriage stands waiting for me outside the front door of the club. I ignore the carriage’s open door and the inviting soft seats inside and walk past it.

“Sir!” My driver, Joseph Howard, calls after me as I pass him by.

I wave over my shoulder at him, “I think I’ll walk, Howard.”

“Walk?” I faintly hear Howard say in bewilderment as I get father away.

While a ride home would be faster and much more comfortable I’d really rather not. You see, if I took the carriage I’d be home very quickly. I would barely have more than twenty minutes of alone time to myself to sit and think about the events of the past couple of days and my role in them. Then, before I would even know it, I’d be back home and in the midst of the fray. Home is not always a peaceful place.

The streets are practically empty. It is late in the evening and most are at home. Through the thin soles of my shoes I can feel every bump and rock on the ground. I barely even bother to pick my feet up properly. They drag against the ground and pull rocks with them. The rocks squeal as they are dragged along and they scratch into the concrete sidewalk.

I don’t think I’m ready for this. Why should I bother to get married anyway? My life, at the moment, is perfectly adequate. No, wait! It is more than satisfactory. I don’t have to worry about money and I am the heir to my family’s fortune and business. A wife only means more expenses and eventually, children. I shudder at the thought of miniature versions of me with their grubby hands and hungry mouths.

The cool autumn air gives me chills and I pull my thick frock coat tighter around me. It doesn’t make me any warmer.

Do I love Phoebe?

The thought surprises myself. Why shouldn’t I love her? There is so much to love. But does that mean I have to marry her? Must I get married? “That’s the way things are.” They’ll say to me. Boys go to school, become men, get a career, make money, get married and have kids. Is that the life I want for myself? It would be nothing but the same day after day and more responsibility and gray hairs than I’d like to have.

The flickering flames in the lanterns on the street provide little light. Practically everything is in the shadows. I now am the only person on the street. Out of the corner of my eye I see something sparkle. I stop and turn toward the glimmer and see a jewelry store window display. Long strings of pearls are draped around mannequins display necks. Diamonds the size of strawberries are mounted on thin bands of shimmering gold. The sight of the engagement rings make my stomach churn and I turn away quickly.

I’m too far into this now to end it. At least, end it peacefully without any broken hearts. Maybe it won’t be that bad. Lots of people are married. I can do it to.

The realization hits me at the same moment I notice that I don’t recognize a single thing around me. I swear loudly. No one is around to reprimand me for it. The street looks less tended to then the one’s I am used to traversing. Weeds are growing from the cracks in the pavement. Mounds of garbage abound everywhere. My stomach churns from the smell. I turn around and walk the other direction. I hear a woman’s scream in the distance and then I begin running. But I don’t have to run very far to notice that the scenery isn’t changing. I have managed to find myself in the middle of a slum. I look at the sign fixed on the side of a building and see that I am on Plumber Street. Useless. I have no idea where Plumber Street is. I see an intersection ahead and I run towards it hoping to run into a major street so I can figure out where the hell I am.

The sight that greets me as I step out onto the street is nothing less than horrifying. The street is crowded with people; dirty filthy people. Some are wearing rags. I feel like it will be impossible to blend in and disappear with this kind of a crowd. This whole street appears to be littered with pubs. I can see drunken human beings stumble about from behind the foggy, unclean windows. Occasionally I hear the sound of glass smashing. Everything is in disrepair. That house needs a new coat of paint. Those shutters need to be fixed. Good lord, what is that man doing?

The smells of unwashed human beings waft over me. It is all I can do not to retch. A woman in a ragged, astonishingly low cut red dress stumbles toward me.

“Lookin’ for some company, darling?”

I tear my eyes away from her chest, which seems to be unwilling to fit inside her dress.

“Not tonight.” I manage to say.

I feel as if I am in my own personal Armageddon. Everything around me is chaos, utter chaos and destruction. Wantonness and skin are abound. Sin, sin is everywhere! But maybe this is where I belong: Peter Blake, who if I could, would remain a bachelor my whole life with practically no responsibilities.

I look up on the sides of the building and search for the telltale street sign. I see nothing. I look both directions and cross the street and examine the other side. Whitechapel Street.

I swear again. Whitechapel? Of all places I could have possibly ended up in I had to end up here? I need to get out of here. I decide the best decision will be to head south and try to go back the way I came. Hopefully I’ll end up somewhere friendlier. I feel claustrophobic. No one here seems to have any concept of personal space and propriety. Strangers are bumping into me constantly mumbling a quick, “Sorry ‘bout that, govna!” and then stumble drunkenly away.

I notice a man looking at me on the other side of the street. His eyes are narrow and sly. They stare at me unwaveringly. I look at my feet awkwardly. My brain registers the fact that my cufflinks have diamonds in them and my shoes are made of fine leather. My brain then reminds me that I’m in one of the poorest suburbs in town wearing some very expensive clothes. It’s that moment that bone chilling moment, when you feel all alone. I am like a tree; a tree in the midst of a grand forest. Then, suddenly, woodsmen with sharpened axes tromp into my domain. The sunlight glints of the edge of the tampered metal. I see them raise their arms above their heads and then before I can shout out a warning they swing the biting edge of their axe into the wooden flesh of my friends. Then as quickly as it started: it is over. I am now alone with the remains of my friends around me. I stand tall and beautiful above their pitiful stumps. Now, there is nowhere for me to hide, nowhere for me to blend in when less than savory characters come around. I am defenseless. I am that tree.

A group of men surround the peering stranger and they whisper to one another briefly. Then, to my horror, they walk across the street and come towards me.

“You look a little lost there, friend.” He says to me. It is clear from the formation of their stance and his directive behavior that he is the leader.

I shake my head, “No I’m fine, thank you.” I step past them and keep my pace brisk. I hear their footsteps behind me.

“Those are lovely shoes, mister.” He quips.

I ignore him and speed up my pace. “Sure like to have a pair myself.” He continues. He suddenly steps in front of me cutting me off. My eyes take in his worn shoes and I can see some of his toes showing at the tips, ready to burst out.

“I know a marvelous shoe maker.” I say lamely. Like he could afford Anderson’s custom made shoes.

I feel hot warm breath on my neck and the sickly smell of rotting teeth washes over me. I feel their dirty bodies pressing in closely around me. At this point I don’t even care that they’re getting dirt on my coat. The narrowed eyed leader steps up close to me. His teeth are yellowed and one is chipped.

“Sorry, mate.” He pats his pockets dramatically, “Don’t have any cash on me.” His eyes glance at my cufflinks, “Think you could give a gent a hand?”

My heart suddenly is in my throat. Phoebe’s ring is still in my pocket. I have to get out of here.

“Of course, chap.” I plaster a smile on my face, “Let me get my pocketbook.”
I reach for my back pocket but a hand grabs my wrist and stops me.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. My mates here will…relieve you of all your unnecessary possessions.”

There are suddenly hands all over my person. I squirm from the clawing and the pawing at every part of me. Someone rips my cufflinks from my sleeves and pushes me to the ground. I land in a rancid smelling puddle, smack my head on the pavement and the tender skin on the palms of my hands gashes against the gravel. I cry out and before I can even look at my hands to examine the damage someone pulls my right shoe off of my foot. Everything is confusing. All I see is a blur of bodies and hands. I feel someone pull the ring box from my pocket.

“Oh, ho!” Someone shouts, “Lookee here boss!”

“No!” I shout.

They all laugh at my despair. I don’t blame them. I would have laughed at me to.

“Oi!” I hear a high pitched feminine scream, “Leave him alone you lousy maggots!”

My vision is swimming from the impact on the back of my head. Someone pulls me to my feet and drags me away. I am stumbling as I run with this mysterious savior. Is she a savior though? Or is she leading me farther into my doom? The street pavement is uneven and my shoeless foot lands in a pothole and my ankle twists in protest. I howl in pain. I just want to sit down and sleep now. I can’t stand upright. My head is throbbing and find that it’s hard to run like this. The person holding my arm jerks me to my feet, “C’mon boy we gotta keep ahead of those bollywoggen pilseygimps.”

The woman’s words are completely lost on me. I have no idea what those words even mean. I can’t seem to focus. Things are flying by. Colors. I see colors flying by. Red. Black. There’s a flash of yellow. Unfamiliar sounds soar around me. A woman’s hysterical scream. A man’s deep throaty laugh. The kind of laugh that makes you think he is most certainly up to no good.

Then before I know it all the sounds around me have completely vanished. It is then that I register that I am no longer outside but inside a dark and damp building. My eyes blink and flutter as I try to adjust to the sudden pitch blackness.

“Wot you doin out there causing trouble, huh?” The voice asks me, “A lady like meself hasn’t got the time to worry about the likes of you causing trouble in me kingdom!”

I have to stop myself from laughing. This really doesn’t seem like the kind of situation in which laughter would be prudent.

“I’m sorry?” I venture.

“Well you bloody well should be!”

Everything is coming into focus now. I can vaguely make out shapes in the darkness and that is when I see that we are not the only human beings in here. There is a large group of them and they are all moving towards me. I can’t help it; I take a few steps backward in fear.

“Where am I?”

This time she laughs at me. It is an unsettling sound. It is high pitched and cracks. Not unlike a witch’s laugh. “We’re in me castle, you idiot.”

Castle? Everything has come into clearer vision now and I can plainly see that we are in no castle. Rather, we are in the foyer of what was once an office building of some sorts. I can see a grand stair case leading to an upper mezzanine level that wraps around in a circle around us. I see many doors. There are papers strewn everywhere and with every step someone takes they send these papers into a flurry as they rustle about.

“Someone light a fire, me bones are freezing.”

“Aye, your Majesty!”

My stomach turns at their response. Your Majesty? Who are these people? An orange flame suddenly erupts in the darkness. The flame is added to a pile of misfortunate papers and then just like that there is a bonfire burning. I can see more clearly now. This place is a mess. On the eastern side of it all I can see the charred marks and ashen ruins that is evidence to a great fire that once destroyed a part of this place. Most importantly I can now see the face of the woman who dragged me to safety.

She was nothing to look at. Although she might have once been very beautiful it is impossible to tell now. Underneath the layers of oil, soot and grime I can see a faint glimmer of blonde hair. It is long and ragged, having not been cut in months, maybe even years. Her face is pot marked and absolutely filthy. The skin of her lips is dry and flaked and there are only a few teeth inside her mouth. Every part of her is ragged. Her clothes hang off her body in shreds. I can see clearly that she is incredibly thin. It’s ghastly really, I can see her bones clearly protruding from her skin. I wonder, how long has it been since she’s eaten properly?

She walks up toward me, “Tell me your name, stranger!” She demands.

“Peter.” I manage, “Peter Blake.”

They obviously do not know who I am. Their faces show no recognition, no awe or fear. Her ‘courtiers’ if you will, look very much like her. Ragged, hungry and tired. There is a glint of desperation in their eyes.

“Sir. Blake,” She addresses me, “Are you hungry sir?”

I feel as though I should ask her the same thing. For it appears she is the one who is hungry.

“A little.” I admit. I figure it would be rude to not take advantage of their hospitality.

She snaps her fingers and a small boy rushes forward with his palms facing upward and flat. He bends down at the knees and holds his hands out to me. I stare at him curiously. What am I supposed to do?

She answers for me, “Is our food not good enough for you, Sir. Blake?” She snaps angrily.

I don’t understand, “No, no that’s not it. Just…where is the food?”

“He is as stupid as he is handsome.” She declares and everyone laughs cordially. She swipes at the air above the boy’s outstretched hands and holds her hand out to me, “Well take it!” She shouts.

I humor her. I pretend to take whatever it is she is offering me and put it in my mouth and chew thoughtfully, “Mmm.” I rub my stomach contentedly. “Fabulous.” She seems pleased that I like the food they have offered. I decide that now would be the best time to ask about the ring. I do so and she smiles knowingly. From somewhere on her person she pulls the red velvet box out of the folds of her dress and admires the sparkling jewel inside, “I did find your trinket, Sir. Blake.”

“If you would be so kind, your majesty as to return it to me?”

She glances sharply at me, “Return it? You blinker! I rather think I’ll keep. Payment and wot for me hospitality.” Her hand flies to her throat, “Not that I need another jewel.” She admires the invisible jewels around her neck in the palm of her hand, “And this one is smaller than these.” Again, I am forced to not laugh. The ring I chose for Phoebe has the biggest diamond available. Any bigger and she wouldn’t be able to walk.

“I understand, your Majesty.” I am stumbling for words, searching for a substitute fee for her saving my life, “If your Majesty has so many jewels already perhaps she would be pleased if I was to bring her a new dress?”

She closes the ring box with a loud audible snap and looks at me cautiously, “I have many dresses, Sir. Blake.” She grips her skirts in her hands and shakes the soiled fabric at me, “This is me favorite. Blue silk, you see?”

I don’t see. All is see is frayed brown scraps of material.

“Well, do you have a green dress? A green gown with lace?”

I see that the idea is tempting to her. She purses her lips and the dried and cracked skin on her lips pulls apart even farther. “Silk? Silks me favorite.”

I nod my head quickly, “Of course.”

She throws the box at me suddenly. It slips through my fingers and falls on the ground. I bend to my knees and pick it up from the dirty ground and wipe it clean, “I like you, Sir. Blake.”

I start to take a couple steps back, “It’ll take a couple days to get the dress, Majesty.”
She nods, “I can be patient when I want to, sir.” She waves her hand at me, “You may you go.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and she raises a finger at me, “I won’t forget your promise, Sir. Blake.” She reassures me.

But I hope to God she will forget. For I have no intention of returning.