Wow! I can't believe this story already has a few people interested! Thank you so much! I really do appreciate it when people review and follow the story, and it's already some people's favourite already! You're so sweet! But yeah, I thought I'd prioritise the next chapter since the prologue was just… well, a prologue. Here's the first official chapter, and I hope that you enjoy it!

1: The Body in the River

London, 1888

Tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap.

A young girl of eighteen groaned and turned over on the floor, squinting her eyes even more tightly shut as she attempted to fall back asleep. It felt much too early to wake up. Surely she had only closed her eyes just a few seconds ago? It could not be time to get up already.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

Ice blue eyes snapped open before glaring at the partially boarded up window that was covered by a torn and tattered curtain, its pattern and colour no longer apparent. The small room was empty apart from an old desk and a stool. So it wasn't her master who had decided to use an unconventional way of waking her up this morning. But of course it wasn't; it was much too early!

However, the noise seemed to have finally stopped, but the girl still kept her eyes locked on the window where the sound had previously been coming from. She was sure that she hadn't imagined it, and whatever it was, it had thankfully gone away. Feeling relieved, she settled herself further into the thin fabrics she used to cover one corner of the room as an improvised mattress. The bitterly cold air leaking through the window caused her to shiver, and she pulled her woollen cloak tighter around herself. Her eyes gently drifted shut once again, hoping for at least a few more hours of sleep.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

Icy eyes snapped open once again, the irises steeling up like a frozen glacier, and delicate eyebrows furrowed in anger before the girl stormed towards her window. She barely paid any attention to the cold as the heat of her anger took over. She yanked the curtain back from the window before staring at nothing but pitch blackness from the world outside – well, what could be seen through the moderately sized gaps between the wooden boards anyway.

The girl squinted her eyes, trying to see if she could see anything in the dark void below. Her eyes adjusted slightly, and she could finally make out the shapes and outlines of the houses behind her own. No lights were on, but she could just about see the faint glow of some streetlamps down to her right side. The light reflected off the misty and smoggy London air, creating an eerie halo around the wider street at the end of the tight alleyway.

Apart from all of that, there was nothing.

Squawk! Squawk!

Feeling her heart almost leap out of her mouth, the girl twisted around to her left to see two beady eyes staring right back at her as the sound of flapping wings also filled the night air. The girl then sighed in relief upon realising it was just a crow. The creature seemed to have built a nest in the gutter just next to her window. It settled down when the girl did, not seeming too bothered by the close proximity. That must have been what the tapping sound was. She didn't realise she had a new roommate. Perhaps her master would allow this one to stay around? It had to be better than keeping a mouse, right?

She sighed sadly as she thought back to her old companion that she had been forced to give up a few weeks ago. She had found the little creature rummaging through some litter in the alley, and decided to give him some of her stale bread. Falling in love almost instantly, she had all but kidnapped the little rodent and hid him in her room, which turned out not to be a good idea since there were all sorts of cracks and holes in the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. The little guy found his way onto the shop floor, much to her master's dismay. Valuable customers had been scared off, and she had gotten into so much trouble over it. She had been forced to release her little friend, leaving her feeling pretty lonely once again.

"Don't you realise what time it is?" the girl asked rhetorically as she leaned against her window frame.

The crow just looked at her, tilting its head from side to side as it tried to get a better look at her.

"Neither do I actually, I just know that it's time to sleep," she kept talking, turning to stare off into the night. "You must be new around here since I'm pretty sure that nest wasn't there yesterday. But it will be nice to maybe have a friend again. My name is Flora," she introduced herself. She then looked back at the crow again to see it had sunk further into its nest, looking cosy and ready for sleep.

"A lot of people don't like crows, but you don't have to worry about that with me. You can stay here as long as you like – rent free, of course. You'll just have to hide whenever the landlord comes to visit," she warned before sighing and backing away from the window slightly, deciding to let the crow get some sleep, though he hadn't extended her the same curtesy.

Flora stared down at the pile of fabric – her bed – and instantly knew that there was probably no way she was going to get back to sleep now. She was fully awake. By the time she got back to sleep, it would be time to get up again. She had a feeling that it was some time in the morning. After all, she had been up quite late finishing some drawings for her master. She wondered how he was doing for materials. They'd run out of coal a few days ago, she knew – or rather felt – that fact.

Perhaps it couldn't hurt to make use of her time by doing some scavenging. Maybe if she was lucky, the tide of the River Thames would be low. She just hoped that the river had dropped some good stuff for a change. The last time she went, it had been a complete waste of time, and the crowds of people nearly gave her a heart attack. But with it being a Sunday, most people will hopefully be heading to church as soon as they woke, so that should mean a bit more peace and quiet for her. Her master would kill her, but if she could bring back some decent stuff, it would be worth it.

Mind made up, she pulled her cloak tighter around herself, ensuring it was fastened by the old button as securely as possible. Flora never thought she would be grateful for not having a growth spurt since she was thirteen. Finding clothes for her tiny stature was always pretty easy, and although most stuff was big on her, at least it came in handy in the winter months when she needed the extra fabric to keep her warm. Her once dark green dress (that was now dirtied and torn in several places) fell down to her ankles, and her dirt and paint stained greying apron covered her from her shoulders to her knees. Black leather boots protected her feet, and her legs were kept warm by thick black stockings. Her cloak was made of a thick brown wool that she took great care in looking after.

Flora then made her way towards her desk and grabbed her much-too-large-for-her gloves, slipping them into her apron pockets as she caught sight of herself in the tiny mirror that lay down on the desk. She groaned, running one hand across her pale skin that was stained with charcoal smudges. Her dirty blonde hair hung in twin messy braids, and now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember the last time she removed them and attempted to brush her hair. At that thought, she tried to bring her fingers up to comb through the very ends of one braid, before growling to herself as her fingers became caught in a knot that was beginning to feel more like a matt. Great. She couldn't even find the cords she used to tie the braids as they had somehow become tangled deep in her thick locks. It looked like someone had dumped a pile of straw on top of her head.

Giving up, Flora slipped on her gloves and wasted no more time in leaving the rickety old building through the shop entrance. The cold air smacked into her like thousands of tiny sharp pieces of glass, prickling her skin and making her instantly pull the hood of her cloak over her head. Her breath came out as grey wisps in front of her, blending into the foggy air that prevented her from seeing more than a few feet in front of her. Streetlamps floated as orange orbs in the distance, and frost and ice covered the ground in a deadly blanket. Flora would have to be very careful, so her steps were smaller and a lot more cautious than usual.

The streets were otherwise quiet, with hardly anyone about. There were a few factory workers getting ready and heading out for their early shifts, so Flora knew it had to be a few hours before sunrise. Though they probably wouldn't be seeing much of the sun today, due to how low the smog hovered above the city. Flora coughed into her glove covered hands, but tried to ignore how it tickled her throat and lungs. It reminded her of the time just before she met her master when she had almost been employed in an asbestos factory. The air in that place had been almost impossible to breathe, and she had been coughing and choking for days afterwards.

Thank god for her master though, or John, as he preferred to be called. He always saw Flora as more of a daughter than an apprentice. After all, her mother had been neighbours with him for a while, and they had always helped each other out when one of them was struggling. Flora had known him since she was a baby until she had lost contact with him for a few years after her mother died. Luckily, fate had been on her side for once and allowed them to find each other again just before Flora was about to starve to death on the streets.

Flora quickly brushed those thoughts away. She hated thinking about her past, especially her childhood, in any shape, form or fashion. Instead, she tried to focus on the sounds of her boots clicking against the cobbled ground. Every now and again, the odd carriage would pass her, but it was nowhere near as busy as it usually would be in the middle of the day.

The walk to the river only took half the time it normally would, thanks to the streets being so quiet. But soon, she knew they would be jam packed with people, so she better get this over with as quickly as possible. Picking up her skirt, she climbed over one of the iron fences that looked over the dark brown, almost black river water. As Flora had hoped, the tide was low, and piles of rubbish littered the shoreline. She climbed down the steps and began rummaging after tying her skirt into two knots on both side to keep as them out of the filth as much as possible.

The smell was unbearable, but Flora was almost used to it at this point. When you briefly lived in a neighbourhood that was in the middle of a cholera epidemic, most smells tended not to bother you too much anymore. Flora just tried to mainly breathe through her mouth rather than her nose. She kept searching and managed to find a few good chunks of wood. They were slimy and wet from the river, but could no doubt be made useful somehow. As usual, she never found any treasures. She was honestly starting to not believe the rumours that sometimes there was gold and jewels to be found in the river's waste.

Flora stayed well away from the few other people that had come to scavenge the river's edge. They drifted more towards Tower Bridge, while she stayed closer to the more deserted docks just beyond her hometown of Whitechapel. There wasn't much ship and boat activity due to the low tide, which was a shame as Flora always loved watching them all.

What Flora had been really hoping to find was some coal, but alas, luck was not on her side. She really didn't want to have to result to stealing from the coal depot; she liked having her neck in one piece. But it was said that this cold weather was only meant to get worse. Freeze to death, or risk being arrested? The police already had a pretty good description of her thanks to her occasional pickpocketing escapades, so that further steered her away from the idea. The peelers knew every trick in the book.

Sighing to herself, Flora kept on searching in vain. She had a pretty good stack of wood, so maybe she could convince John to allow them to burn some of the pieces. A few of the doors in the building had already been sacrificed, and she didn't want to lose the little protection that she had across her window. It was a shame that they couldn't afford glass. The windows had been smashed and broken long before she had moved in.

A shiny object soon caught Flora's attention, though. Everything else was simply rubbish, but this surface, partially buried under all the grime, had a smooth surface like those boxes that held rings, necklaces and other jewellery. Slowly, Flora bent down to pick it up, brushing off some of the mud to get a better look. It did indeed look like a small jewellery box. It easily fit in the palm of her hand, but what intrigued Flora the most was it looked like it had been carefully sealed shut. Instead of a normal clasp, the parting area of the box looked like it had been fused together with metal. Whatever this was, someone really didn't want anybody else to get inside.

Thinking it must be something of at least some value, Flora quickly pocketed it before picking up her pile of wood. The air was starting to get lighter, though there was no sign of the sun in the smog filled London sky. The banks of the river were now starting to get slightly busier, and no doubt the tide would be coming in again soon, so this was probably the best time to make her escape. She climbed back out the way she came, beginning the walk back to St. Bartholomew's Parish. The streets were getting busier as businesses began to open and people prepared for a long day of hard labour. Church bells rang, though they were hard to hear over the sound of hooves on the cobbled roads, and the occasional shouts of a drunk vagrant.

As usual. Flora kept as far away from other people as possible, turning off Whitechapel Street and into the narrow maze of the alleyways that only the local residents knew how to navigate; Flora herself knew them like the back of her hand. She jumped over the boggy puddles of god-knows-what, before she froze at the tell-tale sounds of someone vomiting behind the wall next to her. Endless splashes of liquid could be heard, followed by a few pained cries and the wailing of babies.

Oh no…

Another resident, who had been leaning against the other entrance to the right while drinking a bottle of gin, also began doubling over in pain. He vomited up a pale grey bile, causing Flora's icy blue eyes to widen even further in alarm. She had seen this before. She heard of a few parishes further away being effected, but this was the closest case yet… Cholera…

Gasping in fear, Flora turned and sprinted down another narrow street, away from the man who was still retching. The sound of the gin bottle smashing behind her spurred her on even more. Her heart felt like it was about to leap out of her chest as tears stung her eyes. Soon, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the heels of her boots against the wet cobbles.

The familiar slums of St Bartholomew came into view again, much to her relief. By now, she could feel her energy giving out on her, the sensation of knives scraped against her lungs as she coughed, and she could swear that she tasted blood. That seemed to happen sometimes when having a bad coughing fit. At first she feared it had been tuberculosis, but after years of nothing happening, Flora just figured it was just a normal thing her body did on the odd occasion.

Flora slowed back down into brisk walk as she approached Somerford Street, the familiar tiny shop emerging through the fog, and a warm light now glowing from the downstairs windows. The streets were even busier now, and Flora was relieved when she finally slipped back into the building and allowed the wood she had collected to slip from her grip and land in a small pile just next to the door. She sniffed and rubbed her cold, runny nose against her sleeve before pulling her hood back down and rubbing her gloved hands together.

"Just a minute!" A male's voice called from the back of the shop, causing Flora to smile and shake her head.

"It's only me."

The face of a small man peered out from behind the doorframe to look at her. Though the man was only in his late thirties, he looked much older than that; hardship had prematurely aged his skin. As well as being wrinkled, his skin was also pale and shallow with hardly any fat to be seen. It was a look that most shared around these parts. Dirt and soot stained him like it did Flora and the others. He had a scruffy brown beard that was greying in some areas, and a black flat cap covered most of the hair that was left on top of his head. His eyes were a warm brown, and his chapped lips curled up into a friendly smile.

"Who are you and what have you done with the real Flora?" John teased her.

Flora rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, master, but I'm not quite sure what you mean."

John laughed as he finally fully emerged, tying an apron around his waist as he prepared himself for a hard day's work.

"It's not like you to be up and about this early in the morning. When did you sneak out? I was just about to go and wake you. I hope you didn't get yourself into trouble." His tone morphed into a friendly scolding one.

Flora sighed as she pushed herself away from the door to come further into the shop. It was still cold, but it was a hell of a lot warmer than it was outside right now. She could feel herself breathing easier again, and she managed to calm herself down from her previous adrenaline rush when finding herself in that disease ridden neighbourhood. Speaking of which…

"It's reached Christ Church," Flora mumbled.

John froze for a moment, his smile falling from his face as his expression grew more serious. "Are you certain?"

Flora nodded.

John then sighed and adjusted his hat before going back to his work, shuffling through the various designs that his young apprentice had provided him with. All Flora could do was watch glumly, fighting back the memories that had long haunted her since she was a little girl. The grey and white bile… the coughing… the vomiting… the diarrhoea… the groaning… Each sight, sound and smell was coming back to her in gruesome detail, and she couldn't prevent the shuddered that travelled through her body. Her mother's delirious shouting echoed around her as if she was right there in the room with them this very second. Her grey skin sunken inwards, her whole body dry and drained of any liquids, and her blood becoming a thick pus-like substance that warned of the miasma in the air all around them.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. I doubt there will be another outbreak around here again," John tried his best to reassure her, but it didn't work.

"But what if there is? I don't care if I catch it, but what if you do? Then I'll be all on my own again."

John turned back around, looking sympathetic, but also very stern. "Flora, that's not going to happen, okay? I promise you. I swore to your mother that I would look after you, and I don't intend on ever breaking that promise. We'll just have to be extra cautious and keep our eyes and ears open. If need be, I have a friend who could put us up for a few days if it reaches this parish."

Flora took a deep breath before finally nodding.

John smiled again. "Now then, why were you up so early anyway?"

"I couldn't sleep," she sighed out in response. "A crow woke me up tapping on the wooden boards."

John's eyes widened and he looked panicked before Flora laughed and interrupted him before he could say anything.

"Don't worry, he's living on the roof, I haven't brought him into the house." Flora giggled.

"Good." He rolled his eyes and went back to work, however, he still maintained conversation with her. "Just make sure it stays that way. We're already in enough trouble with the landlord as it is."

Flora frowned. "Why?"

"Because we burned the doors. It's not just us though, he's upset with everybody around here. This winter has been the coldest that we've had in a while, so I don't know what he expected," John explained.

All Flora did was huff in response. She hated their landlord. He was a fat, creepy old man with roaming fingers. Though he tried to keep it a secret, everybody knew that he was a frequent customer of the local prostitutes. He didn't count on the fact that everyone knew everybody's business around here. Prostitutes were always dishing the dirt on their clients, and it always entertained Flora to listen in on the conversations. However, some of the things she overheard did cause her to blush a bright red. Needless to say, Flora much preferred to stay out of his way. There was only so much 'accidental' groping that she could handle, and John knew this.

"By the way, he'll be coming for an inspection at some point today, so you might want to make yourself scarce soon. It's a Sunday, so I'll be able to handle things here. Perhaps you should attend church?" he offered, but Flora was already shaking her head, causing John to sigh through his nose. "You know your mother wouldn't be too happy with that."

Almost unconsciously, Flora reached up to stroke the silver necklace she kept hidden away around her neck, deeply buried under her dress where no one else could see or touch it. The familiar feel of the small metal object comforted her, just like it always did, however, it did nothing to ease the guilt she was feeling. Surely this was emotional blackmail? John was right though; her mother had always been devote. But Flora wasn't too sure. Plus, she could be making better use of her time, and surely God would understand that she needed to go scavenging to survive? Flora never saw a penny out of that church's charity box, and everyone knew that it went towards providing for the priest's lavish lifestyle. Of course the evangelicals saw this and used it to their advantage to mock, or even attack them. Flora really didn't feel like dealing with all of that drama today.

"We desperately need some coal though," Flora tried to explain herself. "It was freezing last night, and the word is that it's meant to get even colder."

John frowned, but Flora could tell he knew that she was right.

"I just hope that you're not going to steal any," he warned, knowing how light-fingered the girl could be sometimes when she was feeling desperate enough. "Stealing is a sin, you know."

"I know…"

"And especially don't steal any from the coal depot. The last thing I want is to be watching you on the gallows," John continued, his voice growing sterner. His brown eyes watched Flora carefully, using them to silently plead with her not to do anything stupid. However, his behaviour did warm Flora's heart. He was so overprotective of her sometimes, and even though it could grow annoying, she really did appreciate that he cared about her so much. He really was like a father to her.

"I won't, I promise." Well, there went that idea.

"See if you can get some soot from the chimney sweepers or something. They're always looking to make an extra bob or two. You still have those shillings from your wages?"

"Ummm… yeah…"

John's eyes narrowed. "Flora…?"

The girl looked away, biting her lip between her front teeth, unable to look her master in the eye. She knew that he wouldn't approve, and that's why she had tried to keep it from him. Usually, he very rarely found out, not caring about what she did with her money. That is until she did something stupid with it, and John would definitely consider what she had done with her previous wage as stupid. But she just couldn't help herself.

"I thought you would want me gone before the landlord gets here?" Flora tried to speed up her escape.

"A few more minutes won't hurt," John sighed out before glaring at her. "Now, what did you do with those shillings?"

Flora sighed in defeat. There was just no way she was getting out of it. "I spent it."

"On what?"

Flora remained silent for a few seconds before she lowered her head and quietly admitted, "I spent it on food…"

John's glare relaxed. "Oh… well that doesn't sound –"

"For some cats," Flora quickly finished, bracing herself for impact.

"You did what?!"

"But sir, she was starving! She had tiny, little kittens and she needed to feed her babies!"

"Flora!" John groaned, removing his cap and running his hands through his hair.

"If you saw their faces when they were looking in the bakery window, you would have done the same!" Flora continued to plead her case. She could never get their little facial expressions out of her head. The poor mother and kittens were nothing but skin and bone. Their fur was matted and scruffy looking. Their cheeks were sunk inwards, and their eyes were dull and lifeless. They had been so happy when Flora had brought them a hot cross bun. Flora just wished that she could have kept them and looked after them afterwards. But she had had to quietly slip away since a peeler was looking at weird.

"Flora, I know you had good intentions, but you can't keep doing things like this whenever you see an animal. You need to prioritise your own health and survival. I'm sure those cats would have been fine and found food eventually. I'm starting to think that being an apprentice designer isn't your calling and rather I should send you to work on a farm!" John yelled in exacerbation.

Flora's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"No." John looked unamused. "You'd smoother the poor things to death."

Flora huffed, but decided not to retort this time. As fun as the idea sounded, she knew she wouldn't last five minutes on a farm. Her small, skinny frame wasn't really built for hard labour. She would soon pass out. Plus, she'd miss John, and she loved drawing too much to give it up.

"Now," John interrupted her thoughts, "you best make yourself scarce before he gets here. I don't want another repeat of last time. There's some bread on the table out back. I suggest you take it since you spent all of your money on helping some scraggy cat."

Flora looked away awkwardly before doing as she was told and heading to the back, catching John shaking his head in disbelief out of the corner of her eye. She just hoped that he would be alright alone with the landlord. Then again, they stood a better chance of staying in the place if Flora kept well out of the way. Last time, she had panicked when he tried to make a grab for her and she threw a chair at him. That didn't exactly go down very well. Besides, it wasn't like she could politely tell him 'no'… He knew that and he took advantage.

Releasing her lip from between her teeth, Flora picked up the small, hard loaf of bread that had been left for her on top of the wooden table before the mildew could get to it. She slipped out of the back door and into the tight alley behind the building. The neighbourhood was mostly quiet with people either being at work or at church. There were a few older women who remained, washing clothes and hanging them up to dry in the frigid temperatures. Flora kept on walking towards the docks, thinking maybe she could pass some of the time by watching the boats on the river. She took the back route like she always did when daytime was upon the city. Luckily, people barely looked at her anyway. In this city, people like her were usually invisible. And Flora was just fine with that.

After a half an hour walk, Flora finally reached the edge of the river again. The tide had returned inward, once again covering most of the muck and rubbish under the disgusting brown waves. The other side of the river was barely visible due to all of the smog. All that could be smelled in the air was burning coal as well as the bodily fluids of animals and humans that stained the streets. A few posher carriages were now out and about, and rich men in suits with pretty women in large dresses went about their day.

Flora sat herself down on the edge of the river, dangling her feet down over the wall as she pressed her chest against the metal bars of the barrier. She watched the boats just like she had planned, but soon grew bored and opted for people watching instead. Feeling well hidden in her little corner by the river, Flora picked at her bread before nibbling at the small amount she had plucked off. It felt more like she was eating chalk than bread. It turned powdery in her mouth and stuck to the inside of her cheeks and the roof of her mouth, almost making her choke. Just where did John get this bread from? But Flora supposed it was better than nothing.

Fighting back her gag reflex, Flora swallowed as best as she could, shuddering as she did so. To fill her stomach up some more, she continued to force her way through the chalky bread, but soon, even her starving stomach couldn't take it anymore. If she forced one more bite, she was going to throw up. With a look of disgust, she threw the remainder of the bread into the river, thinking maybe the fish could get some use out of it.

However, a commotion to her right soon caught her attention. There had been a crowd of people near the bridge before, and Flora had thought nothing of it, but now it was becoming clear that something indeed was going on. More and more people were gathering, almost as if they were trying to get a better look at something. Flora could hear the peelers blowing their whistles and trying to usher people away from the scene. But of course, people just had to be nosy, and Flora wasn't really much of an exception. She stayed where she was, but ended up craning her neck to try and get a better look. Whatever it was they were all looking at, Flora would never be able to see it behind the huge crowd. Some people looked excited, while others looked troubled, and one woman even seemed to faint at the sight before her.

"The poor soul," she heard one woman gasp.

"A suicide?" a man contemplated.

"Murder?" said another.

"Ladies and gentlemen, enough! Please give us some room to work!" a smartly dressed man shouted, and Flora instantly recognised him as a member of Scotland Yard. She had seen him around these parts before, especially during the Jack the Ripper case. He had even nearly caught her stealing a few times, so his presence nearby had always been a thorn in her side. Though he didn't seem too bright, he was at least dedicated to his work and took his job seriously.

Instinctively, Flora found herself shuffling further away in the hopes that he wouldn't spot and recognise her. Feeling slightly more hidden, Flora continued to look around, hoping to maybe catch onto some more information. By the sounds of things, a body had been found in the river. But that was nothing new. Bodies washed up in the city all the time. What made this one so special?

It was then that Flora caught sight of what looked like a young boy walking towards the Scotland Yard detective. This immediately caught Flora's attention. What would a young aristocrat be doing in a scene like this? Surely someone like him should be out in the countryside with his governess and private tutors or something. London's east end hardly seemed like an appropriate place for someone like him. The young girl couldn't help but wrinkle her nose in slight disgust. Everything about the boy screamed the word pompous. He was well dressed in a dark blue suit with a warm cloak draped around him. He wore a black top hat and even carried a cane with him. Though Flora could only see the side of his face, it looked like his expression was forever frozen in a permanent scowl. There was a crushing air of superiority around him that Flora instantly didn't like. But then again, she felt that with most aristocrats she saw – not that she had seen many.

A weird feeling suddenly washed over the girl, and she shuddered, almost as if a giant insect had been crawling up her back. Something tingled deep within her, and Flora wasn't sure if she liked the feeling or not. Regardless, it scared her, and she had no idea where it came from. She was sure she had never felt anything like this before. Was she sick? Had she caught something? Her heart began beating rapidly in her chest and she had no clue why. It all just happened out of nowhere. This made Flora panic even more.

In the hopes of distracting herself, Flora paid more attention to the scene before her. The boy and the detective appeared to be arguing, and that's when she caught sight of a man behind the noble who seemed to be shadowing his every move. His father? No, he looked too young to be his father. His guardian? Chaperone? Servant? Butler? Whatever he was, he sent off a wave of intimidation that Flora had never felt before. There just seemed to be something… off about that man. But Flora couldn't quite place it. Was it the fact that he appeared to be unnaturally pale? Or perhaps it was because he was dressed in all black? Maybe it was his wild black hair that did not match his otherwise neat looking persona. Or maybe it was his eyes that, while often appearing to be brown in colour, occasionally looked red at certain angles.

The man's expression remained neutral as he watched the scene before him, though Flora couldn't help but notice one of his eyebrows twitch every now and again. He almost appeared irritated, like something was bugging him. No doubt the boy's attitude, Flora thought to herself. He did appear to be giving the detective a good telling off which was weird. Who was he to shout at a detective? What did any of this have to do with him anyway? Unless he knew the victim. That was the only explanation that Flora could think of.

Intrigued, Flora found herself wanting to be closer. There was a pull on her chest that was so strong, that Flora almost believed that someone had actually wrapped a hook around her torso and was reeling her in. Unable to deny her instincts, she slipped closer before she could stop herself. There was a stone statue nearby that she ducked behind, finally able to somewhat hear the transpiring conversation.

"I will have officers comb the banks of the river," the detective said, looking increasingly flustered.

"How could you have let the thief get away?" the noble boy barked, trying to look intimidating despite his short stature. "Her majesty is very displeased at having such a valuable item stolen."

Her majesty? He knows the Queen? Then again, given how rich he looked, she supposed that she shouldn't be surprised.

"I can assure you Earl Phantomhive, Scotland Yard can handle this, and her majesty has no need to worry," the detective appeared to huff before stomping away back towards the crime scene.

The boy, an earl of all things, groaned slightly before turning to the man dressed in black. "What do you think?" he snapped.

The man in black raised a hand to his chin as he furrowed his eyebrows in thought. The feeling in Flora's chest grew even more painful as she watched him, and once again, the man's eyebrow twitched before he closed his eyes in annoyance. Again, he looked rather uncomfortable as he attempted to concentrate, and this did not go unnoticed by the young earl, who frowned at him – if it was even possible for him to frown any more than he already was.

"The victim was on the run from somebody, and something tells me that it wasn't just Scotland Yard he was running from," the man in black explained. "This man didn't fall and drown, I could clearly see a gunshot wound on the back of his head. I don't doubt an autopsy will reveal this."

"This gives us a head start at least," the earl grumbled.

Flora had heard enough. Whatever was going on, she was going to be staying well away from it. She didn't even understand why she had to get closer and listen in in the first place. This wasn't like her at all. But it was like a magnet had drawn her in. The force of the pull was much too powerful to ignore. But now, Flora was determined to leave, no matter how much the unseen forces worked together to force her to stay put. She had things to do. This was none of her business.

Sparing them one last glance, Flora was about to turn around when the man in black seemed to stiffen, and Flora didn't know how, but she just seemed to know that he was about to look her way. Panicking, she quickly dove further behind the statue, making sure that there was no way he could see her. Why had she done this? She supposed it didn't matter if he saw her or not. She was just a random person on the street who technically wasn't up to anything. Why did she feel the need to hide from him?

It was like her instincts were torn in two. Part of her, rather alarmingly, wanted to come out of her hiding spot and wrap her arms around him as tightly as she could so that he could never shake her off. She wanted to feel his arms around her in return, holding her in place. That pull in her chest begged her to do just that. He was a stranger, but he didn't feel like a stranger. She felt drawn to him. Was he that magnet that had been pulling her in?

However, the more rational side of her won over, keeping her well-hidden. As soon as she looked away from him, she felt herself become partially free of his spell. The aching in her chest got worse, but she ignored it. Something about these two screamed danger. Especially the man in black. Flora was pretty sure she wasn't just imagining things when his eyes would sometimes appear red. There was something very very very wrong with this odd duo. Flora couldn't explain it. It was like she sensed it. This part of her begged her to stay away. To run. To stay away and avoid them at all costs, especially the man in black.

"What is the matter with you today?!" she heard the earl snap again. "You've been very distracted."

There were a few moments of silence as Flora held her breath.

"It is nothing to worry about, my lord," the man finally answered. "I just thought I sensed something, that's all."

The earl scoffed. "Well, if you're quite finished with the dramatics, I would like to get this case closed as soon as possible and have the item returned. According to the queen, this item is very valuable and not to fall into the wrong hands. As much as I loathe to admit it, Scotland Yard might be right when they say they believed the object to be in the river. The shot was to the back of the head, meaning the victim was possibly still fleeing at the time before falling into the river. Or perhaps the victim had even thrown it into the river purposefully. But why go through all of that trouble to steal the item just to throw it away?"

"I am afraid I am not sure, my lord," the man replied. "But I have no doubts that if we find the object before the killer does, then most of our questions may be answered."

It sounded like the two of them were distracted enough. Flora seized her chance and fled back in the direction of Whitechapel, leaving all of this silly craziness behind her.

Fun fact: Somerford Street is actually a real place in the east end of London near Whitechapel. It used to be a poor area of the city filled with slums. Nowadays the slums have been cleared and it's now just a normal, average neighbourhood I think. Big thanks to the Booth map for helping me out here. If you're fascinated by Victorian/social history, feel free to check it out, it's quite interesting. It was certainly a big help during my coursework over the years. Also, 'peelers' was Victorian slang for the police.

Thank you so much for reading the first chapter, and I hope that you enjoyed it. I'm not too sure when my next update will be as I have been drafted in for even more overtime at work. I just desperately wanted to get this chapter out before then. I hope that you have a nice Easter if that's what you celebrate. Stay safe out there and see you again soon!