The fog clung like a shroud over London, dulling the senses, creating strange shapes in the light from street lamps.
In the shadows, a man waited. The silence was broken by the tapping of footsteps in the distance.
Closer and closer the sound came, the noise echoing along the cobbled streets, until the fog parted and into the the light stepped forth a gentleman dressed in a black coat. At the corner of Hall's Place, he dipped his hand inside his coat and pulled out a fob watch. He dropped it back into his pocket and disappeared around the wall.
The man in the shadows smiled, then stepped out into the light, following.
Soon, a heavy door was being opened, the clunking of an iron key twisting heard as the door scraped open. The well-dressed man stepped inside.
"Good evening, Mr Wilberforce," a stout middle-aged man spoke.
"Indeed?" came the reply.
"I would have thought it so, with parliament suspending the 1679 Habeas Corpus Act," the older man replied.
"Mr Canton, that was the last thing on my minds these past weeks. Surely a man of your intellect knows the struggles I have gone through!" Wilberforce retorted.
Mr Canton shrank into the shadows. "Sorry, sir, I meant no offence, I just..."
"None taken," Wilberforce sighed. "The lack of political success on this rather pressing matter seem to have got the better of me; my apologies for my overreaction. Now, is Mr Pitt in?"
"Yes. He's been waiting in the Portrait Rooms. If you'd follow me."
"Much obliged."
In the darkened corridor of the building, the echoes of their footsteps on the marbled flooring seemed to go on forever. At the great wood-panelled doors at the end of the corridor, they stopped.
"Mr Pitt is inside," Canton explained.
"Thank you."
After stepping inside the high-vaulted room, the door closed, and Canton left.
Wilberforce let his eyes range around the room, taking in the details. The wood paneling stretched into the corners, the walls lined with portraits of stiff-necked gentlemen with serious faces. At the far end of the room stood an imposing fireplace; the flames flickered, shadows dancing around the room. In front of the fireplace, a large-backed, ornately embroidered chair stood. It was in the direction of this chair that Wilberforce headed.
"Mr Pitt. Good evening. I hope you are well?" Wilberforce spoke confidently as he stepped into the warm glow of the fire, and turned to face Mr Pitt.
Mr Pitt didn't respond, and didn't move. He was breathing, but the breathing was shallow.
"He won't be easily woken, Mr Wilberforce. At least, not yet!" The voice stepped into the light. The speaker was a young, athletic-looking man, oddly dressed in a scruffy brown pinstriped suit, his hair spiked wildly, as if he had just rolled out of bed. The man smiled, and Wilberforce felt at ease.
"Mr Wilberforce, the pleasure is all mine," the man spoke with great enthusiasm, extending his hand for Wilberforce to shake. "Always wanted to meet you sir, what a man! Anyway, won't keep you long, just wanted to say everything's is sorted. He'll find he's signed the necessary papers when he wakes."
The young man pointed towards Pitt, then ruffled his hair. "Look at him sleep! While you change the world! Just tell him he'll be feeling better soon. The Doctor just called to check."
And with that, he was gone, leaving Wilberforce with his thoughts, the documents and a strange, grating, groaning noise in the distance.
Based on 'A Light In The Distance' by Phil Irwin
