Chapter One
The London streets were gray and dreary as they were every day of every week of every month of every year as far back as Ambrose could remember. His old travel worn boots slipped and squeaked on the slick cobblestones of the perpetually wet London streets. The world was gray, London seemed to sap all the color and life out of everything, leaving behind a pale disingenuous corpse where the pests of society burrow and thrive in the stench of the rotting carrion flesh of deceased beauty. Nothing changed here, no one new walked past Ambrose on the streets, no pocket he picked was ever a stranger to him, of course by no means were they his friends, but he had grown so accustomed to them being in their usual spots. By the barber shop, on the corner, wherever it was, it was the norm, routine, ordinary, and for Ambrose it was dreadfully, dreadfully boring. Ambrose had grown up on these streets, racing through them, his tattered boots splashing through the puddle riddled roads as he fled from patrolling policemen who had been altered to the many thefts committed by the abundant orphans that ran amuck along the streets. In those times Ambrose was convinced that there were more orphans than adults that lived in London when he was child, of course that all changed in the outbreak of Cholera. With no homes and the lack of room within hospitals and churches many of the orphans died in the streets, withering in puddles of their own filth and men and women walked on, stepping over them in disgust. Ambrose forgot nothing, the memory of one of his childhood friends dying in his arms as he begged the local baker for help still burned in his mind and haunted his dreams from time to time.
Ambrose leaned casually against the stone was of the small barber shop, the pale sun peeking out from behind the dull gray clouds and illuminating the auburn strands in his soft brown hair. A pretty young woman walking past him caught his eye, she tossed him a shy smile, her eyes scanning him discreetly. Unable to stop himself he tossed her a wink and a small half smile, finding pleasure in seeing the brilliant scarlet of her blush stain her cheeks and neck, it was thrilling for him to use his looks to elicit a reaction from anyone. For him it showed that he had a level of power that went beyond the coins that jingled in his pockets. Just as Ambrose was about to follow the young girl the door to the barber shop opened and a well-dressed older gentleman stepped out on to the street and Ambrose felt himself perk up, he could practically smell the money in his pockets. Show time.
Casually Ambrose followed the older man, hands in his coat to ward of the cold as his scarf whipped around his face. He quickly closed the distance between the two and in one deft motion he tapped the man's shoe with the toe of his boot causing the old man to stumble. Reacting quickly Ambrose caught the old man as he pitched forward stopping him from clattering to the ground below.
"Careful of that step sir!" Ambrose said his strong hand on the man's coat distracted him as his quick fingers slipped into the gentlemen's coat pocket. As his fingers closed around the small coin purse Ambrose couldn't help but feel a twinge of dissatisfaction rush through him, leaving a stale taste in his mouth. The thrill of the steal had long since worn off, dying inside of him like a flame snuffed out by an unexpected wind. He removed his hand from the man's coat as he steady himself again, quietly depositing the coin purse into his own pocket.
"Thank you kindly sir, these eyes must be getting old, I didn't even see that step." The old man said with a good natured smile, patting Ambrose on the shoulder and going on his way. Backing away slowly, Ambrose allowed himself to be washed away by the others on the street, fleeing the scene of his small crime, putting as much distance between him and his latest investor. He chuckled to himself quietly and brushed the soft brown hair from his eyes, far off cry of outrage echoed through the air.
As he scanned the streets for his next customer his eyes caught sight of a couple hurrying across the street ahead of him, huddled close trying to fend off the steeping cold. The woman was dressed in a gown the color of moss that rustled with every step as she walked with a gentleman, her hand on his arm, holding him gently. She turned her face to him, the sun catching the strands of gold in her hair prettily as she laughed at something her escort had said. Ambrose watched in stunned silence as the man took her hand in his own and bent down, brushing his lips over the top of her skin. The way those two looked at each other made Ambrose's heart drop and he quickly turned away from them; his hand twisting the two golden rings on his cold finger obsessively, a nervous habit that had been his for years now. There was pit swelling in the bottom of his stomach, rising bile in his throat and he felt as if he were about to be sick at any moment. Without warning an image burst like lightning from behind his eyes, a young woman with beautiful golden hair braided around her face and a bright smile causing her skin to glow. Ambrose's mind reared from the sudden moment of reminiscence and he gasped in shock before the London streets came back into Ambrose's view. He wanted to get away from the streets, from that couple, the will to filch had cooled in him, leaving Ambrose feeling hallow, more so than usual.
Tossing a quick precautionary look over his shoulder Ambrose ducked into the ally on his right and made his way behind houses and old leaning buildings. After a few minutes of ducking through alleys and bypassing the usual drunk sleeping off the nights spent wages until he came up to a battered wooden door. The black paint was peeling and cracking in several places, the wood warped from years of water damage and abuse. He rapped on the door in a quick succession of taps and waited a heart beat before the door creaked open and he disappeared into the darkness of the old building like a rat skittering out of the light into the safety of the sewer.
The smells of pipe smoke and spilt beer filled the musty hall as a young boy lead Ambrose forward, holding a small lantern in his pale hand. Ambrose fought the urge to wrinkle his nose as he stepped over the sleeping mutt that was sprawled across the dirty matted floor. Looking at the young boy brought back memories of Ambrose's own childhood, the wallpaper peeling from the walls and threadbare carpet spread sparsely over the splintering wooden floor had not changed since Ambrose was a boy first arriving on the step of this so called orphan's house.
A young lad, just a fledging, shivering in the bitter rain with an officer's strong grip on his shoulder. A frayed jacked wrung between two nervous hands, and there were tears that threatened to fall but were held back by the threads of pride a young boy comes by naturally as the door to the battered apartment opened.
"What do we have here?" a sensual voice arose from within the darkness of the door, the suggestive silhouette of a woman could barely be seen in the gloom. The guard pushed the child forward to answer but the boy shrank away in fear, it was the officer's rough shove in the shoulder and a muted growl that finally dislodged the words from the youth's throat.
"M-my name is Ambrose k-Kingsford, m-ma'am." The young Ambrose answered, and thus his fate was sealed with the utterance of that short stuttered sentence.
"This was if you please sir, my lady is waiting." The boy's small voice squeaked like a mouse snapping Ambrose out of his brief moment of reminiscence as he stopped and opened a door for him. As the young man lifted his arm to allow Ambrose to see the door better he noticed that the lantern's light illuminated the hollowness of the young boy's face. His skin had been robbed of its color, ravaged by the hunger that every orphan in London knew all too well. Ambrose felt a pang of pity for the tiny scrap of a kid well up in his throat making it hard for Kingsford to breathe. Placing a hand on the boy's thin shoulders Ambrose kneeled so that he could look the young child in the eye and spoke very quietly, his voice no louder than a whisper.
"Where's your mum boy?" he asked, his voice rumbling low in the quiet of the darkened house. The small boys eyes widened in surprise and his paper-thin lips drew themselves in a grim line.
"I haven't got one sir, she died when I was just a babe. Mistress Haven told me that she bled to death in the bed before I had even screamed my first breath. I never knew me father, probably because he knew what I did to me mum. Been in the work house ever since." The boy said quietly, his luminous eyes watched warily as Ambrose reached into the pocket of his jacket retrieving the pilfered coin purse he had managed to procure just an hour or so before. He smiled a bit at the poetic justice of wrongly begotten goods going towards the wellbeing of an egregiously wronged young man, the entirety of it disturbed Ambrose beyond reason but he said nothing of it. Ambrose dropped a few of the coins from the purse into the young boy's cold palm; the chinking sound of metal clicking together filled the air and returned the stolen purse back to the jacket pocket, feeling the weight of the money rest once more against his breast. The boys face lit up with delight as he looked at the shinning coins now resting in his palm, he examined them turning them over one by one with his fingers in excitement.
"What's your name?" Ambrose asked quietly standing back up
"James sir, James Thompson."
"Well James, go use that to buy yourself a fresh loaf of sweet bread, aye?"
"Thank you sir!" the boys said and dashed back down the hall his delighted laugh, the last thing Ambrose heard before the slamming door enveloped him back into silence.
"Always such a softie Ambrose, well at least on the little ones." A seductive voice called out with a bored laugh. Ambrose straightened his jacket before turning to face the woman who had spoken. Just as they had met that first night she was cloaked in darkness, her silhouette standing out just barely enough to see until finally the woman in the door way took a step into the light. She leaned up against the doorframe, her dark hair hanging free on her shoulders in long, tight curls that glistened sinisterly in the halls dark light. Her body was small and shapely, her curves accentuated by the black velvet dress she wore, it dipped down dangerously low in the front. French, Ambrose mused silently as he watched the woman survey him in a similar fashion, save the carnal hunger that had sparked to life behind her eyes. She was quite a few years older than Ambrose with just as much, if not more, life experience to prove it. Madame Elizabeth Haven married three times in the course of six years, each man quite a bit older and far wealthier than the last. She was the queen of tricksters, of liars and cheats, after all she had made the craft an art form. She was the Da Vinci, and ones like Ambrose, were her Mona Lisa's of the street rat life.
"Elizabeth." He murmured in a low whispered and he saw her chest flutter with and excited breath. She grinned, her teeth flashing like some feral beast about to pounce.
"Ambrose, I wasn't expecting you this evening, what a lovely…surprise." The last word was a hiss as she licked her lips, her eyes scorching him once more but Ambrose ignored it, this just like pick pocketing, was routine.
"I've come to ask for a favor." He said with a clear voice, standing a bit straighter as his eyes followed the lines of the patterned wallpaper just above Elizabeth's head. Elizabeth raised an eye brow in surprise and then grinned wickedly. Stepping forward she placed a hand on his chest, her fingers slipping beneath the collar of his shirt.
"A favor you say?" She game a small chuckle as she started to circle him, her hands running themselves over the tight muscles in his back. "But Ambrose, you know better than most that my favors aren't given, they're bought." Her breath was hot on the back of his neck as she whispered to him.
"Aye." He grunted, fighting to keep the hint boredom from creeping into his voice as she circled back around so that she was standing in front of him again.
"Good." She said in a throaty whisper, taking his chin in her strong claw like hands she crushed her lips against his as she led him back into the dark room; the door shutting with a definitive thud.
End.
- Author's Note -
Going back through my story chapter by chapter is allowing myself to not only find my mistakes (of which there are many) but it is also allowing me to make several tweaks that I would have otherwise not have thought to be either a good or ever relevant additions to the story. Retrospection in the face of writers block is a writers best friend. Do leave your comments either below or in a PM I would love to hear any and all feed back on how you think I did. My goal this chapter was try and give you as the audience a little more insight into Ambrose's childhood and past without plunging right into it, that may or may not come later there are no promises ;) let me know what you all think!