The moment Alfred set foot outside the vast cavern which was King's Cross station he was wonderfully overwhelmed by the bustle of the city, which in actual fact was relatively subdued that day but compared to the country side it was utterly mad – it was wonderfully mad, he thought as he gazed around at the horses and carriages, the restless pedestrians, the permanent fog of smoke from the trains, and the wide open space where the sky emerged above the buildings towering towards the heavens.

"Mr Jones, sir!" Alfred tugged his focus away from the scenery at the sound of his name being called and turned his attention to the gentleman in charge of his luggage. He hastily made his way to follow after his cases when suddenly he found himself accosted by a swarm of young boys.

"Come on sir!" sang one, boring into him with his large brown eyes and soot speckled face.

"Sir, have you got a penny?" called another as he looked up at him with equal imploration.

"Well I—" Alfred began, before being startled at the sudden presence of a small hand in his coat pocket. He turned abruptly to see another young man wrist-deep in his clothing, "Woah!" he exclaimed, equally as startled as the pickpocket who swiftly withdrew his arm with a cry of 'run!' and as quickly as they had appeared the boys disappeared, and the weighty clink of the coins previously in his pocket disappeared with them. A strange sort of grin spread across his face: his first experience of London was turning out to be an eventful one.

He turned to walk again and found himself chest to chest – or rather, chest to considerably over displayed chest – with a woman; she wore her hair in ill-kempt ringlets and a scarlet dress for what he rightly assumed was a scarlet woman. Before he had the chance to apologise she gave him a coy smile and looked him up and down before continuing on her way. Arthur grinned, for regardless of her profession she was rather pretty, but his smile quickly faded when he realised that he had no idea where his bags had gone off to.

Trying not to panic – for in truth those cases now contained his entire life –he thought about his situation logically, and began to make his way up the line of coaches in front of the station surveying the groomsmen to see if they looked like the man with his luggage, but to no avail. He crossed the road, carefully manoeuvring himself around the slow traffic, and managing to avoid the scruffy looking woman enthusiastically selling what he assumed was some sort of cooked pigeon.

Unfortunately in doing so he found himself once again accosted by a trio but this time not of pickpockets but very unfriendly looking men; they were men with coal for eyes and slits for mouths.

"Looking for someone?" one said, as they began to close in around him in a very disconcerting manner.

Alfred stepped back slightly, "Y-yeah, actually, I—"

"Mr Jones," The man who had been in charge of his luggage approached him; Alfred was thankful that he was apparently blurly enough in appearance to sway the trio into moving away to find another target, "If you please sir, we'll be departing now,"

"Sure thing," he replied cheerfully, glad to be out of whatever situation he had been in. He followed after the other man, gazing around at the new scenery as he did so.

"Oh, and Mr Jones?" Alfred brought his attention back for a moment, "Welcome to London,"

. . .

Alfred slept for most of the journey – having travelled all the way from America, covering the Atlantic ocean on an eight day voyage he was understandably tired. The reason that he had come to England was an interesting one.

Back in America, Alfred used to play concerts in the town hall every so often. He'd been taught to play from an early age so of course he was very good. People from all over town and sometimes even a few from elsewhere would flock to the town hall once a month; they would position themselves in the mediocre yet sturdy chairs, remove their hats for courtesy, and they would listen to him play, captivated by the music. It was wonderful to be able to hold people in such a way, to capture their attention entirely.

Usually afterwards one or two people would approach Alfred to complement him on his playing and then he'd wander home, perhaps stopping at an inn on the way for a drink. The sort of people who came up to him were just normal townspeople without exception, so of course Alfred was rather taken aback when he was approached by a clean-cut upper-class man all the way from England. The man, Arthur Kirkland, told Alfred very bluntly that he was wasting his talents on such, as he put it, mediocre clientele, and that if he were to come to London then he would have more success than he could possibly imagine, which Arthur said was probably winning first prize at a pageant against a man playing spoons and a swine in a straw hat.

"Oh no," Alfred said, shaking his head, "I could never afford to go all the way to England,"

"I expected as such," Arthur said, as he lit a cigarette and placed it in his mouth before throwing the match haphazardly over his shoulder, "I will pay for your travel and lodgings."

And that was that. It was an odd turn of events and it seemed even more strange that a complete strange was offering to pay so much money just to be able to listen to Alfred play every once in a while, but how could he possibly decline such an offer? This was definitely the sort of thing that happened only once in a lifetime.

. . .

The coach came to a halt, jolting Alfred out of his much needed sleep, although in truth it was more like a gentle nudge; he was sure that Arthur had planned everything down to the smallest detail, and a courteous coachman might be that detail.

"Here we are sir," the driver said, opening the door to allow him to step out, "Welcome home."

Alfred found himself staring up at the grandest and certainly the largest house that Alfred had ever seen. It was made out of a soft slightly beige stone and comprised of three stories, each of which was marked by several neatly arranged arched windows with carvings reminiscent of Ancient Greece framing them. The door was topped with a large triangular awning with two decorated pillars holding it up, and it was the door that would lead to a great change in Alfred's life. For this house was to be his and only his for the foreseeable future.

"I hope that everything will be to your liking,"

Somehow once he had stepped inside the house seemed even huger. It was charmingly furnished, full of dark wood and highlights of dark green, royal blue, gold and a burgundy so rich that you could practically taste it. If he was younger he would have ran around running his hands over every decadent surface, bounding up the grand staircase and throwing himself into the decadent soft chairs, but not only was he an adult but upon entering the house he had practically been accosted by the butler who apparently was attached to it – again, he suspected Arthur.

Said butler coughed just as Alfred was examining the fire place, catching his attention, "May I prepare some tea, sir?"

"Thank you, Victor," he replied – he wasn't used to having a butler around but through Arthur's correspondence it had been made sure that he knew how to speak and behave when one was around, as Arthur "doubted that he was used to the finer pleasures in life". As Victor turned on his polished heels and quietly exited, finally alone in the room he sunk down into what was possibly the most comfortable chair he'd ever sat in and ran his eyes over his lavish new surroundings.

An odd creaking came from above. Startled, he leaned forwards in his seat and looked up to see what he assumed was a maid looking over the balcony. Hurriedly she picked up her bucket and disappeared out of sight. He sat back in his chair: it was interesting to be treated as if he was better than everyone else, though at the same time he felt it was a bit lonely. The house was so large and with no one else living there apart from himself and the servants, who he could tell already wouldn't be up for much of a conversation. He expected he'd just have to get used to that expensive brand of solitude.

The novelty of the chair began to wear off and so he got up and ascended the gently curving staircase to examine the second floor of his new abode. Again, the maid scurried off upon seeing him; being still of a vaguely childish state of mind Alfred joked to himself that it was because if he looked at her too long she would turn to stone. As for Victor, perhaps his prerogative was to keep him sedated on tainted tea so that he could steal silver wear. Alfred grinned to himself; people spent so much money when they could indulge in such simple pleasures as making up fantasies.

The first thing he noticed when he scanned the room was that there was a large object in the centre of the balcony covered by a white sheet. For a moment he wondered if he was allowed to look underneath, but that was before he remembered that as it was his house he could do as he pleased, and with a feeling of satisfaction he folded back one side to reveal a set of piano keys. He couldn't think of anything better that could have been disguised by the dust cloth and, knowing that this was surely Arthur's doing, tentatively pressed down one or two keys individually before sitting down to play.