I can't believe I started writing this in 2014! Though I have no idea if I'll be able to finish the story, this week I really felt the need to rewrite this chapter. This story is born out of my two loves - historical romance and Sailor Moon, and this is my first attempt at an original plot. Hope you enjoy it for now :)

You know that I don't own Sailor Moon ;)


Prologue

London, July 1879

The first drop of rain fell on her cheek just as her foot landed on the dark alley's muddy ground. She stopped negotiating the various debris around her and lifted her head to look at the sky instead. The ominous black clouds that had threatened during early morning had disappeared shortly before noon, only to return with a vengeance after sundown. They had darkened the night sky and made the city sombre and quiet, hiding all sorts of secrets behind the steady patter of rain on the thin rooftops.

The quietness was only an illusion, of course, as working men and women were returning to their homes in seemingly neat rows. She turned to stare at the figures that were passing her by completely ignorant of the fact that they were being carefully observed. Unlike her, they were all hurrying to take shelter. She remained motionless and watched them until the raindrops fell so hard that flow of people became a blur. Then she raised her face to the sky again and simply released the smile she had been keeping tucked deep inside of herself.

Smiling had never been easy for her, and her heart throbbed for the simple joy of it. A shiver went down her spine, but she stayed still for a moment longer while she savoured her smile, the cold rain and the sombre city. She knew the pouring would soon disperse the friendly pea soup fog. Well, friendly for a woman in her profession, if one could call it that.

She shook her head once in a mocking motion, then took a deep breath to calm her wild heartbeats. She stepped forward to blend in with the mass of bodies on the street. Her unassuming demeanour always hid her in plain sight. Tonight was no different.

As she walked, she mentally pictured the events of the evening, an exercise that all the members of her group had to practice before they assembled at the shop. Her mind worked like a living chronophotography, recording even the tiniest details and motions in her memory. She started by visualising her day backwards, from the first drop of rain, and then carefully retraced it step-by-step, until she got the image of the house clearly in her head.

Mrs. Hyacinth Appleby was one of the ton's few grande dames who preferred the country life to the excitement of the city. Her noble blood could be linked back to the Conqueror, though she only lorded the fact to the social upstarts who offended her tender sensibilities. Her elevated social standing was evident in the splendour of her town home, beautifully nestled in the heart of St. James. While the other homes in the square presented the tidy, symmetrical elements of the classical Georgian style, Mrs. Appleby was the fortunate possessor of the last baroque house, a sprawling building decidedly domestic in its nature.

The nature of the house reflected its owner. Mrs. Appleby was reputed to be a lenient employer, her generosity stretching so far as to give her servants a half day off every week. She had even been called upon the urge to extend that to a whole day on any number of occasions. Unknown to most, today was one of those special occasions and the servants had taken the chance to go to the Wimbledon Championship. While it was unlikely that they would be able to see the games, they would entertain themselves by gawking at the other, more delicate games played by people of quality - the game of society about.

The knowledge that Mrs. Appleby's house would be manned by a skeleton staff came to her quite by accident, and in the most obvious of places - a tea gathering. Her reaction to the news had to been to add an extra dollop of milk to her cup, while the workings of her mind were set in motion and a plan started forming immediately. She had one day to polish it.

Her mission had been unexpectedly easy. All she had to do was walk. She didn't walk as herself, but as a young man hurrying to take shelter from the wind. Her hair was hidden underneath a cap and a large scarf covered her face. A large, battered coat hid the shape of her body all the way to her knees, where a pair of serviceable trousers showed. Her shoes were well worn and polished to the shine that only a person in service could properly achieve. Under the fading light, she could pass for anyone's footman.

She walked to the servant's entrance, then stopped and casually looked around. Two maids were chatting on the doorstep three houses away. They were not yet looking at her, so she took a cigarette and matchbox out of her pocket and veered as if to find a more hidden place to smoke. The hidden place was somewhere across Mrs. Appleby's back garden, next to the wall adjoining the neighbouring building. The gate between the properties had not been used in years and could not be budged when she tried it. Instead, it served as a conveniently placed ladder. She put her right foot on the grill and hauled herself up. Going over proved to be more difficult, but she managed it without impaling herself or tearing any of her clothes. She dropped lightly on the other side and started making her way to Lord Ivery's terrace.

The terrace itself was all Grecian imitation, with two tall columns framed by large Mediterranean plants. She wound her way through them, careful not to disturb the pots, until she reached the doors. For a moment, the Moon illuminated the glass panes and she was struck by an irrational sense of calmness. Her hands and breathing steadied.

The knob turned silently. She took a step forward, turning slightly to push the door into place. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness after a few minutes, during which time she tried to make out the shapes in the room. The library was appointed with all the conveniences a man in his prime might need. The large wood desk, with its leather chair, faced the terrace, while two visitors' seats were arranged at an angle in front of it. A chaise was placed to their right, turned away from the hallway door, towards the bookshelves. Rows of leather bound books covered an entire wall.

She started touching books lightly until her hands found a texture that was slightly different. Five thick volumes were bound together. Had it been daylight, she was sure she would not have even noticed. As it was, the compactness of the structure underneath her fingertips drew her attention. She carefully pulled them out and set them onto the floor. It was only then that she allowed herself to take out a small candle from her coat pocket and light it to see the safe. She carefully turned the lock clockwise, taking comfort in working the numerical combinations until she heard a satisfying click. The contents of the safe were quite boring - documents, money and jewellery stuffed together in the cramped space. She found what she wanted after rummaging through them. The safire set was beautiful, though not extremely valuable. In its stead, she left a plain visiting card with a silver crescent moon engraved.

She closed the safe and blew her candle before rising to her feet. She had to stay still for a moment until she could see in the dark again, then made her way to the terrace door and exited. She knew she couldn't go back the same way, Mrs. Appleby's servants would have returned by now. So she turned her head until she spotted the vines climbing the wall. It took two tries until she found one that was sturdy enough to support her weight, as light as that was. Carefully, in measured grabs and pulls, she reached the rooftop. Then she walked again.

She wanted to run, she wanted to defy heights and man made architecture, she wanted to have her blood flow warm and fast in her veins. Her world had been so cold of late. She did none of these things and continued taking measured steps until she reached the end of the tiles. A coil of rope was swung from a chimney top, left by a sweep in her associate's network. She tied it around her torso, then slowly lowered herself down until her foot landed on the dark alley's muddy ground.

She was still out of breath as she became part of the crowd. As simple as the mission had been, she couldn't escape the prickling feeling that someone was watching her. It was the feeling that he aroused every time they were in the same room. It was the shiver he caused every time he whispered something in her ear. She knew her thoughts were groundless, altered by excitement and foolish dreams. He wasn't capable of suspecting her, of divining her hidden depths. Just like the rest of the ton, he would pick up the morning's paper and read about Lord Ivery's missing jewels.

She took the precaution of walking a circuitous route to her destination, a building next to the Soho Bazaar. She looked for the golden sign hanging above the door, with its playful letters spelling "The Arcade". In the daytime, it invited people to peek and be charmed. In the night, a subtle change in the sign's placing was how they shared their code. Tonight, it stood straight and faintly gleaming. She could enter. The door made no sound when she unlocked it, though she had trouble inserting the key in the dark. She went inside and hung her coat by the entrance, then secured the door with the thick wooden bar. By the number of coats and hats hanging on the knobs, she was the last one to arrive. She made her way to the back room.

"You're late!" The gently chiding voice was more friendly than not. She looked around, taking in the faces looking at her expectantly. In the pale lamplight, the interior's vivid colours were muted, reduced to bleak shadows. Even so, her world was suddenly much, much warmer.