Three quarters of an hour later, Utena found herself following Anthy along Aldgate in what she considered an extremely ill-fitting dress.
"Anthy," she said, "I'm not sure about this."
"It's perfectly suitable for the occasion," said Anthy,
"But when I walk, people can see my..." she hesitated at the forbidden word. "...ankles."
Anthy's only response to this was a decidedly ungenteel laugh, and Utena hurried along behind her. She had a queer feeling, as though she were falling into something she was unprepared for.
They slipped down a knife-narrow alley and into a disreputable-looking tavern. Inside, the air was foul, not only with the smoke and breath of its denizens, but with all manner of curses and blasphemies, the like of which Utena had never heard. Her head swam and her eyes watered. Anthy seemed unaffected. She walked up to the bar and ordered two gins.
"Anthy, I thought we were going to see your home."
Anthy pulled, from a most unlikely place, a pocket watch on a slender gold chain. "We've plenty of time yet."
"Is that my father's pocket watch?"
Anthy gave her a look of mute innocence. "Well, you don't want us to be late, do you?" She looked about her and made a face. "Oh lord. It's Saionji. --don't look! Just ignore him and he'll go away."
A drunken young man in disheveled clothing and a dusty, caved-in bowler lurched towards them. He put one reeking arm around Utena's maidservant, grinning at her with an incomplete smile. "Come 'ead, darling. 'Ave a drink wiv me."
She pushed him away. "Gerroff."
He stumbled, then righted himself and examined the heiress herself. "And oo's yer friend, then?" He leered. "Not much to look at, but I'm sure she's got it where it counts, eh? 'Ow'd yeh like teh see somethin' what grows when yeh eat it?"
"Sir! Whatever you are suggesting, let me be the first to say it is improper and ungentlemanly for a...a *person* of low class such as yourself to make such a proposition to a lady! Furthermore, you smell strongly of drink, and your apparel is in a state of disarray the likes of which I have never seen. You should make a poor husband to any girl so unfortunate as to make your acquaintance, and I bid good day to you, sir."
He cocked his head, confused. "Wot's she sayin'?"
Anthy rolled her eyes and finished off the second gin. "She called you a bloody git and told you to go to hell."
Blood blossomed in his cheeks. "Oh, too good for the likes a' me, eh? Well, sod off, yeh pair of doxies!"
Before her friend could deliver another cutting remark, Anthy grabbed her slim wrist and propelled them both through the door and into the street. "He's an angry drunk," she explained, at her mistress's protestations.
"Well," said Utena, "I certainly hope the next place we visit won't be peopled by men of such low character."
"Oh, don't worry," Anthy replied. "I'm sure you'll find them of the highest character there is."
The two girls tripped off down the street, deeper into darkest Whitechapel.
"Anthy," she said, "I'm not sure about this."
"It's perfectly suitable for the occasion," said Anthy,
"But when I walk, people can see my..." she hesitated at the forbidden word. "...ankles."
Anthy's only response to this was a decidedly ungenteel laugh, and Utena hurried along behind her. She had a queer feeling, as though she were falling into something she was unprepared for.
They slipped down a knife-narrow alley and into a disreputable-looking tavern. Inside, the air was foul, not only with the smoke and breath of its denizens, but with all manner of curses and blasphemies, the like of which Utena had never heard. Her head swam and her eyes watered. Anthy seemed unaffected. She walked up to the bar and ordered two gins.
"Anthy, I thought we were going to see your home."
Anthy pulled, from a most unlikely place, a pocket watch on a slender gold chain. "We've plenty of time yet."
"Is that my father's pocket watch?"
Anthy gave her a look of mute innocence. "Well, you don't want us to be late, do you?" She looked about her and made a face. "Oh lord. It's Saionji. --don't look! Just ignore him and he'll go away."
A drunken young man in disheveled clothing and a dusty, caved-in bowler lurched towards them. He put one reeking arm around Utena's maidservant, grinning at her with an incomplete smile. "Come 'ead, darling. 'Ave a drink wiv me."
She pushed him away. "Gerroff."
He stumbled, then righted himself and examined the heiress herself. "And oo's yer friend, then?" He leered. "Not much to look at, but I'm sure she's got it where it counts, eh? 'Ow'd yeh like teh see somethin' what grows when yeh eat it?"
"Sir! Whatever you are suggesting, let me be the first to say it is improper and ungentlemanly for a...a *person* of low class such as yourself to make such a proposition to a lady! Furthermore, you smell strongly of drink, and your apparel is in a state of disarray the likes of which I have never seen. You should make a poor husband to any girl so unfortunate as to make your acquaintance, and I bid good day to you, sir."
He cocked his head, confused. "Wot's she sayin'?"
Anthy rolled her eyes and finished off the second gin. "She called you a bloody git and told you to go to hell."
Blood blossomed in his cheeks. "Oh, too good for the likes a' me, eh? Well, sod off, yeh pair of doxies!"
Before her friend could deliver another cutting remark, Anthy grabbed her slim wrist and propelled them both through the door and into the street. "He's an angry drunk," she explained, at her mistress's protestations.
"Well," said Utena, "I certainly hope the next place we visit won't be peopled by men of such low character."
"Oh, don't worry," Anthy replied. "I'm sure you'll find them of the highest character there is."
The two girls tripped off down the street, deeper into darkest Whitechapel.