London England, 1829
Early Autumn
The city of London was bustling, the gray fog of the early morning doing little to hide the quick moving figures within the train station. It was poorly erected, still under construction and serving in unorganized, temporary function. Men and women who could afford it purchased tickets headed in and out of town. Trains were becoming less of a novelty and more of a necessity, but the fact failed to erased the excitement flushing the cheeks of the patrons.
The city population had expanded greatly in the last decade, and there was no sign of stop. Slums were erected and filled, and much of the poor found jobs working in the railroad or in factories. Those poor could be seen now, keeping away from the patrons of the train station and working busily. They were dirty and wore less fashionable attire, consisting of homespun clothes passed on from other family members. Unattended children ran inbetween the workers and the patrons, ducking beneath tools of the trade and women's lace parasaols.
The high pitched scream of a steam whistle broke the air, and the railway was cleared of pedestrians as a dark train jutted to a stop before the station.
A dark suited worker swung from the engine compartment, heavy boots landing on the stoned ground and hat low over his eyes. He undertook crowd control as people exited, gathering their luggage and stepping off the machine. Men helped the ladies down and took their bags. Children flew off in energetic leaps and unruly cries of excitement.
A young woman peered through the trains windows as members shuffled through the aisle and off the train, the beginnings of a smile tugging her mouth. She wore a gown of the latest fashion, green fabric tight around her waist and legs, the long sleeves of her matching coat ending with laced ruffles and embroidery. Her hair was long, even for the era, much of it was bunched up in braided knots above her ears, the rest hung down her back in golden ringlets, pooling in her seat as she stood. An elaborate hat of matching hue to her gown and coat perched above her piled hair, wide and piled with flowers made of twisted fabric. Her hands twisted nervously in front of her, and in poor habit she pulled a glove off and bunched it in her fist.
She was young, in her early twenties, and unwedded, much to her family's disappointment. Hailing from a German province, she had been sent to London to stay with her aunt, who was determined to find her a husband. Whether the woman wanted this or not was difficult to say, she spent far too much of her time reading, filling her head with romantic ideas of the foolhardy bohemians.
Nervous to leave the train but excited to travel and experience something new, she remained rooted to her spot, staring anxiously out the window.
Most of the passengers had left, and the dirtied workers flooded the train, some rushing to clean the compartments and others checking the mechanical aspects, some bravely climbing atop and beneath the machine. This she watched with awed delight, having never been around the laboring class before.
She caught movement in the crowd of patrons outside, a stern looking woman with dark hair and deep wrinkles, a red sash tied tight about her slender waist. There she was, Aunt Gothel.
The young woman signed and blindly stepped away from the window, reaching above her to grab her bag. It was too heavy, due to the large amount of reading material she had brought. Pulling it down sent her reeling backwards, as she toppled over she crashed into another person. Clumsily she fell, hat flying into the air and books flying.
She blinked and sat up, hands pushing against the floor and the shoulder of the man she had brought down with her. He was caught partly beneath her, her hat somehow landing on his head and covering his face from view. The young woman felt her face flush with embarrassment, and covered her mouth in surprise, letting out a squeak.
"Es tut mir leid!" She cried, forgetting where she was in her embarrassment. She tried to push herself up and away from him, but hit her head on one of the chairs, hissing and plopping back down.
The man began laughing, grasping her hat with pale, soot stained hands and removing it. For a moment she was captivated, having never seen a person with his features. His eyes were powder blue and his hair was stark white, but his skin strangely was wrinkle free, the only creases being those from his wide smile.
Still chuckling, he set her hat improperly back on her head, scooting backwards to stand and remove himself from beneath her legs. The action brought her blush back full force, and she grabbed the seat behind her, trying to pull herself to her feet. Her skirts prohibited free leg movement, and she struggled to bend her knees and stand.
The stranger hadn't stopped his laughter, much to her ire, but he did reach down and grasp her arm, pulling her to her heeled feet. "Are you okay ma'am?" He asked, and she couldn't place his accent.
She nodded, and pulled her arm from his hand. "Oh! My books!" She gasped, then bent at the waist to retrieve them. To her surprise the stranger helped, placing her belongings neatly in the seat. Together they refilled her heavy bag and clasped it shut.
"Thank you, sir." She mumbled, anxious - for her aunt was still waiting - and embarrassed at the fuss she had caused. She smoothed her hair and avoided eye contact, itching to abandon the encounter.
The stranger placed the heavy bag in her small hands, then took a step back, drawing her gaze. The mirth from earlier had died, but a smile still tugged his mouth. "You may want to leave ma'am, the train'll be moving soon. Unless you're expecting to assault other railroaders?"
To her surprise, she smiled. He was charming, in a humble yet self assured way. "No," She said, turning towards the exit. "Just you."
Her aunt was still waiting outside, and would likely be vexed.
She heard him laugh, a different kind of sound than before. It was filled with a surprised delight, and she felt her face warm.
"May I ask your name?" He called, just as she reached the steps.
The blonde woman opened her mouth to respond, only to feel a strong hand grab her arm, yanking her unattractively from the train. It was her Aunt, whose dark, graying hair was pulled tightly in a knot atop her head. She tried to pull back, but the grip was firm, and as soon as the woman's skin met hers all of the comfortable ease she had felt before vanished.
"Dumb girl," Her aunt scolded, dragging her away at such a pace Rapunzel - that indeed was her Christian name - forgot to look back, focused on being obedient. "You should have more sense than to stand alone in a train. People have schedules to keep, and you would do well to remember that."