At this time of day, a flock of students exits through King's College arch. The few female students are wearing everyday academia style with white high-collared blouse, dark-colored tea length skirt and scholarly tie. It is easy to locate Fiona in a sea of monochrome students, she is the one with the bright auburn hair.
The bells strike one and at once the students disperse with swift goodbyes. Fiona mounts her bicycle and travels east to make a delivery.
Fiona is a secretary for hire by publishers and their clients. She is able to take shorthand without listening too carefully, which is helpful when certain clients drone on without even trying to complete a sentence. The typewriter, like her bicycle and education, are the means for her freedom. Fiona, similar to her mother, possesses an independent streak which is a rarity in 1911. The suffrage movement divided England and according to Fiona's mother all will end well but at the cost of one too many lives.
Fiona has determined, based on her classmates' reports of their home life, her mother is not the norm. Her mother is constantly talking about the future "post Donahue and Oprah" society of empowered women. It seems their dinner table chit-chat would make most guests uncomfortable. It is probably one of the reasons Fiona and her mother do not host parties or socialize regularly. When Fiona was younger she thought her mother shy, as she grew older it became evident that her mother's outlook is not not a conventional 19th-century woman.
Fiona's mother does share one trait with all Edwardian mothers: her need to ensure her daughter's future.
Fiona rides her Raleigh all steel bicycle down Paternoster Row London after completing her deliveries to the various publishers. The bike chain breaks off in the middle of the street. She quickly dismounts and drags the bicycle fifty yards huffing and puffing up the pavement in front of house number 13. Fiona gets down and re-attaches the chain herself, conscious of her audience, nervously getting grease everywhere. She quickly pulls back a strand of her red hair leaving a grease smudge from brow to ear.
She hears a laugh coming from inside the house.
The response causes Fiona to smile. Finally, an opportunity to dialogue. She cleans her glasses with her shirt, only to create two black lenses. The woman behind the lace laughs louder. Now Fiona is temporarily blind and blushing skin turns to dark auburn matching her hair. Her confidence is waning, she feels like a fool. A second or two later she hears the doors opening and can make out a white flag being waved by a gloved hand. Fiona trips towards the door seizing the cloth while catching herself and thanks the veiled woman.
"You are welcome, um ..."
"Yes?" as Fiona cleans her glasses.
"I want you to know that I have watched you go by on your bicycle for the past few weeks, Do you live nearby?" She points to Fiona's brow, "You have grease on your forehead."
"Thank you," Fiona looks at her reflection in the window to clean her brow. She asks in a whisper, "You've been watching me?"
Veiled woman nods.
"I have been ..." Fiona catching her breath, "I work for publishers nearby as a secretary for hire. I dictate, type and deliver each section for editing."
"Sounds fascinating."
"Honestly, no. Very few have beautiful words to share with the world. I mostly work for narcissists."
The women share a chuckle.
"I am so sorry, but I must head home to study. Would you be open to correspondence? I would like very much for that to happen. I am busy between studies, classes, working …"
"That would be most appealing."
Fiona smiles and reactivates her blushing face, "Have a wonderful evening. I will return this as soon as possible cleaned," as she holds up the now greasy handkerchief. She starts walking to her bicycle promptly spins back around and trips again, "My name is Fiona."
With a faint titter, "Hello Fiona, my name is Alaya."
Fiona hops on her bicycle, waves and pedals away.
Alaya watches Fiona ride off until she is a blur.
"Made a friend?"
Alaya whirls around, light on her feet, Mother Jennyis down the hall while Mother Vastra is on the stairs top landing glancing down.
Alaya, "Maybe" grinning. Her attention is to Mother Jenny, "Did you hear?" No reason to ask Mother Vastra as her excellent hearing, something Alaya inherited. "I depend on your intuition with humans. Do you believe I am safe talking to her? Will she reject how I look? Do you think she will be the type of human that will view me as a freak?"
Mother Vastra, from the landing, "The difficulty is knowing when to open yourself. But, I sense no dishonesty or malice. I sense curiosity, playfulness including cautiousness."
Alaya turns back to look down the road wistfully, "Thank you both," she can't help but aspire to have a friend, that is not from another time-line and nearer to her age … yes, it would be pleasing.