A/N- Hey, guys! I am once again so sorry for the long update. I've just been so busy recently. Apparently, I thought it would be a good idea to start another course after completing university, and at the moment, it is taking up a lot of my time. Hopefully, I will have finished it soon though, and then I can put a lot more time into writing for you guys!

But, I hope I can make it up to you with this chapter which is the longest one I have written so far. Although I should warn you, whilst there is some dialogue towards the end, this is a very heavily descriptive chapter, so if you are not a fan of that, I apologise. There will be a lot more dialogue in upcoming chapters though, so please just hold on. I promise we'll get there!

Also, quite a lot is revealed in this chapter, so brace yourselves!

P.S. Well done to Matteney for spotting that the easter egg was Chandler's cat being called Roland after his fake ID name in TOW All the Thanksgivings, however, I never really realised, but Rachel writing the special's on the specials board also works as an easter egg too, especially as I had the line 'I write the specials on the specials board, and err, oh, sometimes Artelle lets me put the little chocolate blobbies on the cookies,' going round and round in my head when I wrote that scene haha!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, and as always, thank you so much for all of your support!

A soft tapping knocked against the windowpane, the dull sound echoing around the room. Monica groaned and cracked her eye open, spotting a bird perching on the ledge outside, which had evidently roused her from her slumber. The small robin pecked its beak against the window three more times before fluttering off into the early morning sky where the sun was still rising from the shadows, casting a canopy of gold amongst the rooftops of the city, beckoning the stars to retreat again until tonight. After another long, freezing cold night, in which Monica had wrapped her bedsheet around her as tightly as possible to block out the chill, the daybreak finally promised glimmers of warmth. She had slept in yesterday's clothes, too cold to change out of them, but thankfully for her, another day had dawned.

Rubbing her bleary eyes, she hauled herself out of bed and stretched her tight muscles following her activities of the previous night. Monica, whose funds were still low, had finally relented and accepted Richard as one of her clients. She supposed it was worth it since he paid a hefty amount for her, sometimes paying over the amount she asked for, but she suspected that was out of guilt. She guessed he was married as he frequently called out the name Barbara during the act, who she concluded must be his wife. Like all of the other times she had been with him – not that there had been many – last night he once again asked to go behind her so that he didn't have to look at her face. Monica deduced that he liked to pretend she was his wife as a way of easing his conscience, and not looking at her made it easier for him to do that.

Either way, today, Monica found herself with double the amount of money than she had yesterday, which was a huge relief. Perhaps this morning, she would take a trip out and treat herself to a new dress.

Bending down, she dragged out from under her bed a large ceramic bowl that sat next to her chamber pot. She then retrieved her makeshift plunger made out of the handle of a wooden spoon and ripped up bed linen, and lifted her dress, squatting over the bowl, which swirled with a mixture of water, alum, and sulphate of zinc that she'd made last night. She dipped the head of the plunger into the solution, completely saturating it, and then attempted to poison, suck out or else destroy any leftover germs or sperm that may have potentially remained inside her from the night before. Of course, she had already done this last night with her first lot of mixture immediately after Richard left, but she liked to do it the following morning too, just in case. She didn't want to take any chances, and it gave her a feeling of reassurance.

She finished up, praying that she had completely purified herself until her next encounter. She poured the stagnant contraceptive solution into the chamber pot and watched as the bacteria of another man's offspring blended with urine. She carefully carried the now full pot over to her windowsill and cracked open the window, allowing a cool breeze to flow into her room. A lot of women would simply toss the contents down onto the street, but Monica found that too repulsive - the street below was disgusting as it was. Instead, she gently tilted the chamber pot forward enough so that the fluids could discreetly seep down the side of the building, knowing that either the sun would dry it out or another flurry of snow would rinse it off.

Now that was done, she could proceed with getting ready for the day. She immediately stripped off yesterday's clothes and changed into a new outfit. Today, she decided to go with a pine green dress and a black corset which she had become adept at tying herself from the back. She finished tying it off at the base, tightly enough so that her breasts were pushed upwards slightly, but not to the point where her breathing would be restricted.

Her tight curls from the previous day had dropped out significantly, and they now loosely framed her face. Using her fingers, she threaded them through her hair and pulled it back into a bun at the nape of her neck, pinning it in place. Grabbing a matching but slightly faded, pine green hat from out of her wardrobe, she placed it on top of her head and then ran her hands down her front, smoothing out any wrinkles.

Happy with her outfit, she grabbed her black woollen shawl and wrapped it around her, then quickly put last night's earnings into her pocket before finally leaving her room. Outside on the landing, all of the candles from last night had burnt out, darkening the hallway. No new ones would be lit until this afternoon when the other girls would start bringing men home, back to their rooms.

Monica trod down the stairs quietly, avoiding the steps she knew creaked. She speculated that she was the only one awake, and sure enough, she found the reception area empty. It was rare anyone else was up before her, not even Estelle, because Monica found it difficult to sleep in, despite having the choice. Once she was awake, that was it. She could never just lie there in bed, not doing anything.

She walked down the hallway and exited through the entrance onto the street. Ignoring everyone around her, she hurried along, keeping her head down and headed off in the direction of The Smelly Cat. She knew an omnibus would be available a few streets away, but Monica didn't want to waste the money she had on transport when she could just as easily walk there. Sure, it took longer, but Monica enjoyed the walk despite the looks and comments she was sure to endure.

Civilisation finally greeted her when she turned onto St John Street, where the shopkeepers were already up, preparing their shop windows ready for opening. Wet rags were being wiped across the windowpanes, removing the film of dirt and soot that had collected there whilst the shutters were pulled back, revealing the shop's goods. There weren't many people about at this hour as it was still very early, but the shopkeepers hurried to open up in case there was even one person whose curiosity brought them to their shop.

She heard one of them call over to her, "Morning, ma'am!"

Of course, almost all of them knew that she was no lady - the fact that she was awake at this hour could attest to that. However, they were not exactly gentlemen of business either, so they could hardly afford to turn their noses up at her if it meant custom. If selling to a prostitute brought them money, then so be it.

Monica ignored them and continued on, trying to dodge the shopkeepers that were shoving trays of flowers and books under her nose as she passed, hoping she would buy something. She did notice the corner of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland poking up in one of the piles, and for a fleeting moment, she was tempted. It was the book her mother had bought her for her ninth birthday, hoping Monica would like it. It was the last gift she'd ever gotten from her, and so the book was very special to her, but unfortunately, Monica's father had made her sell it a long time ago because they were desperate for money.

She hesitated for a split second before shaking her head, shooting an apologetic look at the bookkeeper who thought he was about to get some trade. Not only would it collect dust in her room, but it would also serve as a painful reminder every time she looked at it. She didn't need that kind of heartache.

She did, however, stop off at a clothes shop, the row of mannequins in the front window displaying a variety of different dresses that drew her attention. The bell above the door rang loudly as Monica pushed it open, alerting the shopkeeper to her presence. The woman behind the counter snootily narrowed her eyes, immediately recognising the type of person Monica was but kept her mouth shut, nonetheless. When Monica first began this lifestyle, she used to flush at the derogatory looks and comments she used to receive, feeling completely uncomfortable, but over time, she had learnt to ignore them, and she pretended now as if she hadn't even seen nor heard them.

Monica spotted a beautiful fuchsia dress displayed on a mannequin in the corner of the shop, begging to be bought. It had a low square neckline with a black lace trim running along the edge. Instead of the usual horizontal waist seam, it was fitted with long, vertical tucks and darts, creating what appeared to be a slim fit, accentuating a woman's hips. It was perfect and was exactly the type of dress Monica was looking for. She hoped if she wore a more provocative yet tasteful dress, she would draw the attention of more men, which would hopefully lead to her making more money.

She quickly purchased it from the woman behind the counter who had her nose stuck up in the air, and briskly left the shop. Monica gripped the parcel, which had been wrapped in brown paper and twine, under her arm and walked straight ahead, towards The Smelly Cat.

Around half an hour later, Monica saw the sign of a grey, tattered cat with its paw covering its nose in disgust, hanging from the wall above the entrance. She grinned every time she saw it because it was just so Phoebe.

Pushing the door open, she was welcomed by a comforting, warm heat radiating from the crackling fire at the back of the tavern. It was relatively quiet, and of the seventeen eyes in the room, only five turned to stare at her, most of them too tired to bother looking up from their tankards. It didn't take them long to figure out what she was, but none of them cared and simply turned their heads away, staring back into the depths of their tankards, grumbling about something or nothing. Right now, Monica held no appeal to them, for their heads were too sore from last night's hangovers for them to contemplate any physical activity. It's possible they would lust after her tonight, though.

Monica looked over to the bar and saw a young brunette, wiping glasses with a rag.

"Betty!" Monica called over to her.

The woman looked up, a smile breaking out across her face, "Monica! Oh, my God! How have you been?"

She walked over to the bar, leaning on it as she watched Betty continue cleaning the glasses.

"I've been good. Sorry, I haven't been around lately. I've been busy. You know how it is."

That was a slight lie, but she couldn't bring herself to say that she hadn't had the energy to visit recently.

"Of course! Well, it's great to see you anyway. I know Phoebe's missed you," she smiled.

Great. A stab of guilt shot through her.

Monica smiled remorsefully, "Yeah…" she trailed off.

Betty rolled her eyes good-naturedly, "She's not upset. She's just missed you, that's all. Don't feel bad."

Betty hated to see anyone upset. She was a kind-hearted girl, who had begun working as a barmaid for Phoebe a year ago when Phoebe had first opened up. Phoebe had introduced Betty to her, and the three of them immediately hit it off, but Betty wasn't as outgoing as they were and mostly kept to herself. But she was always there for you if you needed someone to talk to. She was a good soul.

"She upstairs?" Monica asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, just head straight up" Betty smiled as she lifted the end of the bar up so Monica could slip through.

"Thanks, Betty."

Monica headed up the stairs and softly knocked on the open door when she reached the top.

Phoebe, who was sitting on the sofa, twisted round, and her face split into a huge grin.

"Monica!" Phoebe jumped up and rushed over to her, embracing her in a tight hug.

"Oh, my God! How have you been?" she asked as she pulled back, taking a proper good look at her.

"Have you been looking after yourself? Eating properly? Getting enough sleep?" Phoebe fired question after question at her.

Monica started laughing, "Phoebe calm down, I'm fine!".

Phoebe had been her best friend for the past four years, ever since they had first met when Monica was sixteen and Phoebe was eighteen. Due to the slight age difference, Phoebe had always been quite protective of her, not that she minded. It made her feel loved and wanted. She was like the big sister that she never had.

"I'm sorry, chuckaboo. I've just missed you," Phoebe said as she pulled Monica in for a second hug, this time more gently.

"I know Pheebs, I've missed you too!" Monica mumbled into her shoulder.

They separated again, and Phoebe squeezed her hand lovingly.

"You hungry? I was just about to make some porridge."

Monica's stomach immediately grumbled, and they both fell into a fit of giggles. Despite being in their early twenties, they always managed to revert back to children whenever they were together.

"I'll go make us some. Go and sit down, and I'll be back shortly."

"You sure you don't want any help?"

"No, just go and sit down, will you!" Phoebe groaned playfully before heading off into the kitchen.

It was small above the tavern, just a living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom, but for just Phoebe, it was perfect. On the side table sat a grey and white photo of them both, grinning at the camera with dirt on their faces and their wet hair matted to their temples. That had been such a fun day. It was about two years ago, and they had been in Hyde Park eating a picnic when the rain suddenly started pelting them out of nowhere. Instead of rushing for cover like everyone else, they just laughed and danced with each other in the rain because, for the first time in a long time they both felt completely free. A photographer had spotted them and asked if they wanted their picture taken, and of course, they had jumped at the opportunity.

"Here you go," Phoebe announced ten minutes later, carrying out two bowls and sitting down on the other side of the sofa, Monica's parcel resting in between them.

Gratefully, Monica took it from her, immediately swallowing a large helping from her spoon, the porridge warming her insides.

"So, how are you doing?" Phoebe probed as she ate her own porridge.

Monica shrugged and just swallowed another helping.

Phoebe smiled sadly at her. "I know what day it is, you know. You don't have to hide how you feel from me."

Monica bit her lip and looked down into her bowl, willing her eyes not to fill up with tears.

"It's four years today, right?" Phoebe gently asked.

Monica just nodded, looking back up to Phoebe as she swallowed the porridge down past the lump in the throat.

It was indeed four years ago today that Monica's world had crumbled around her. Her brother, who was just a year older than her, and her father were miners, and they worked twelve, long, gruelling hours a day. Monica, who had just turned sixteen at the time, was working as a seamstress when she heard the news of the freak accident. One of the columns had collapsed, causing the roof to cave in, resulting in one of the most devastating mining accidents ever. Monica had suddenly found herself with no family, as her mother had died from tuberculosis when she was just nine years old. Unable to support herself at the age of sixteen, Monica had admitted herself into a workhouse, knowing that it was her only chance of survival.

"I miss them every day," Monica whispered as she pushed the porridge around her bowl.

Phoebe looked at her sadly, offering her a small smile, "I know you do. You'll always have me, though."

Monica smiled at her gratefully, scraping up another dollop of porridge onto her spoon.

It was at the workhouse that Monica had met Phoebe. From what she had heard, Phoebe was an orphan, as both her parents and her twin sister had died when she was very young. This had led to her living on the streets where she often pickpocketed, selling off anything valuable in the hopes that she would earn small amounts of money, just enough to get by. But eventually, it became too much, and she resigned herself to the workhouse, despite the horrors she had heard about them. Thankfully, Phoebe and Monica had immediately clicked, leaning on each other for support, and they had been best friends ever since.

"I know, thanks Pheebs."

Phoebe saw the forlorn look that remained on her face. She had known her long enough now to know that something else was on her mind.

"So, what else is upsetting you?" She asked through a mouthful of porridge.

Monica's eyebrows knitted together, "I don't know what you mean?"

"Oh, c'mon Monica, I know you well enough by now that something else is bothering you. You haven't had a bad experience with a client, or anything lately, have you?"

She shook her head but diverted her eyes to her floor which Phoebe, of course, noticed.

"Ahh, but this is about a client?"

Her face must have betrayed her because Phoebe's eyes lit up, interested.

"You're blushing! Oh, my God, tell me about him."

Phoebe knew all about Monica's lifestyle because, once upon a time, she did it with her. After hearing rumours in the workhouse that being a prostitute paid good money and offered you an element of freedom, they both decided to leave. After all, nothing could be worse than the awful treatment they endured in the workhouse. Phoebe, being older and more brass, earned a lot of money quickly because she was willing to do just about anything for her clients. Anything they asked of her, she would do it, which of course, led to her earning a large amount of money. Eventually, she had just enough to buy this old, abandoned building, which she ultimately turned into the great little tavern it was now.

Monica sighed, relenting, "His name is Chandler."

She quirked her eyebrow, disbelievingly, "That isn't seriously all you are going to tell me, is it?"

"There's nothing else to tell. We met. I thought he was cute. That's it," Monica argued.

"If that's it, then why do you still look so…I don't know…unhappy?"

Monica bit her lip, sighing again.

"I thought he was different. The first time we met, we didn't even do anything. We just talked, and it was great. It was so nice to have a guy who just wanted to talk to me, you know. I didn't realise how much I had missed it. He even…" She trailed off.

"He even…" Phoebe prompted.

"He even asked if I would…you know…teach him."

Phoebe's eyebrows shot up, "Oh…wow. Did you, err, did you agree?"

Monica just nodded as she placed her now-empty bowl on the side table next to the picture of them.

"So, what's the problem?"

"He hasn't been back in three weeks," Monica told her dejectedly. "I don't understand. We met that one time, we seemed to hit it off, I agreed to help him and then…nothing. He hasn't returned or anything. And yes, I know it's stupid because at the end of the day, my clients have no obligation to me, but I just…I just thought he was different."

Monica chewed her bottom lip as Phoebe remained silent.

"I think he'll come back," she finally spoke, "I think he'll come back when you least expect it. Just wait and see. I can feel it."

Monica just rolled her eyes.

"Look, I know you don't believe that I can sense these things, but just trust me on this one. You haven't seen the last of him."

She looked at Phoebe, and whilst she was right – she didn't believe Phoebe could 'predict things', somewhere deep down she hoped, just this once, that Phoebe would prove her wrong.

Because, God, she wanted to see him again. He was all she could think about. He was the only thing she wanted to think about.

God damn, him.

Phew! That was a long chapter, but I hoped you all enjoyed it. If anyone is wondering, in the Victorian era, 'chuckaboo' was a term of endearment for a beloved friend.

Also, I know it is highly unlikely that a woman would own her own tavern in the 19th Century, but for the purpose of this story, I'm going to allow it haha!