The Wedding Day arrived and passed without incident. In the days following Arthur and Elizabeth left England for an Italian honeymoon with Miss Mason in tow as Elizabeth's companion. Jet took his leave as well for London and the house of Lord and Lady Cox.

The London house the Cox family maintained was substantial, even extravagant in its furnishings and decor. Thick velvet, ornate wall paper, endless mouldings and deeply veined marble, deep cherries and new world woods seemed to surround the visitor with a sense of something beyond opulence; it was pure decadence - a proper reflection of its tenets. Jet arrived at the great limestone edifice that marked the entrance of the house early on a dreary evening three days prior to Christmas. The Footman received him at the door. "Lord and Lady Cox are in the Drawing room with the other guests; they request you join them - at your leisure, of course. Rodgers will take you to your room." Jet followed the servant down a long hallway of ornately carved dark wood panels to a large bedroom.

"You may leave my bags at the doorway." Jet ordered dismissively. The man released the bags as commanded.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" he inquired.

"No, thank you. Tell the Master I shall join the party within the hour." Jet replied stiffly.

"Very good, sir." The footman turned and left to deliver the message. Jet released a sigh, allowing himself to fall backward upon the large four post bed. He lay there for a moment stretched out, his muscles finally releasing after a day of long, cramped travel. Still, he could only allow himself a few minutes of comfort - his hosts were not of the temperament to tolerate lengthy waits once their quarry was within sight. He brought himself back to a sitting position and surveyed the room. The wallpaper was ivory in shade with a green floral pattern arranged in vertical strips. There was a door that led to a small but well appointed dressing room and toilet. He strode over to a large gilded mirror above the dry sink. He took in the image: pale - as was usual - less peakish though, the festivities had added a little flesh to his form, filling those parts that had become sunken. His eyes were dark but that was likely weariness from travel that sleep would easily remedy. He took a moment to fix his hair which had fallen out of place a good deal from the various bumps and turns of the coach. He took a fresh bowtie from his bag and quickly undid the wilted one that hung, limply, about his neck; removing it with a whip-like flourish. He quickly tied the new one, adjusting it smartly and adjusted his coat. He splashed water from the ceramic bowl on his face - it was cold as ice! Still it woke him. He let out a deep breath. He was in no way ready to spend the evening with Lord and Lady Cox, perhaps he should have lied that the coach had come into trouble and spent the night at a public house, but it was too late for such clever plots now. Examining his face one last time, he exited the room for the Drawing Room.

Lady Cox greeted him, waving him in from the doorway. "Lord Moore, please do join us! It has been far too long since we have been graced with your company." She parted her red lips widely smiling as a viper on its favorite prey. In many ways she seemed to be attempting to match the room which had been decorated with red velvet furniture, crimson patterned wallpaper, and dark rosewood wainscoting. Her dress was of a dark burgundy hue cut to best accentuate her natural features, her face rouged, her kid slippers vermilion - she was the devil and this was her domain.

"Lady Cox, it is lovely to see you again." Jet took her hand, pressing it briefly.

"You must meet my friends!" she said dragging him to a small knot of people gathered around a bar. "My husband you know, of course. This is Lord Huntington" she indicated to a fluffy haired man who could be called handsome but for a strangeness about his mouth. The gentleman tipped his head. "and Lady Rutherford, Lady Gesque from the continent, Lord Fullson, Countess-"

"Erlyton. Yes, we met at the ball in -shire. It is a pleasure to see you again." Jet interrupted. Lady Cox made a small pout momentarily but quickly replaced it with that horrible plastered on faux grin.

"The pleasure is all mine Lord Moore." the Countess replied with a sly look.

"And, of course, our guest of honor: Docktor Waxweiler, my personal apothecary. He mixes the most fantastic drinks." she indicated to the man standing behind the bar.

"Danke schon, mien liebe." the man acknowledged her praise with a nod. He was a man of somewhat advanced age. His face was deeply lined which only accented its natural sharply edge tri-cornered shape which only was furthered sharpened by the tight-lipped smile he wore. What was left of his hair was neatly cropped close to the scalp. He had large round glasses which reflected the dancing candlelight in a way that unsettled Jet.

"Come now and sit for a spell, you must be exhausted from your journey!" Lady Cox indicated to a velvet upholstered oaken chair, Jet followed her suggestion. He felt himself sink into the soft cushioning. "I'll have Dr. Waxweiler make you one of his specialties." The lady ran her fingers across his shoulders as she passed back to the bar. The fire burned warmly and he finally began to relax. Perhaps it would not be such an unpleasant experience to take the holidays here - the company was of a decent sort and certainly Lord Huntington would likely serve a welcome distraction for the Lady of the House. He seemed the type that would welcome such... distractions. Lady Cox returned with his drink which he took with thanks. It was a dark brew with an odor reminiscent of pomegranates. He took a sip. It had a mildly fruity taste, smooth, with no deep burn. Jet drained the whole glass in short order.

And then he lost a fortnight.

He awoke hugging the mattress of a bed, feeling quite sore. "Uggh..." he moaned. His eyelids felt heavy and swollen. He sensed a strange burning sensation on his arm but was not yet certain it was worth the effort required to examine the spot.

"Well, it's good to see you're finally awake." Jet's eyes flew open at the sound of the woman's voice at the opposite end of the room, only to be forced into a squint at the bright sunlight streaming in from the window. He glanced painfully about the room, white and gold accented furnishings only reflected the tormenting sun. Seated on a stool before the vanity, running a brush through her long, gleaming hair, sat Lady Cox - seemingly more interested in her own reflection than the young man lying in her bed.

"Ugghhh" he groaned. "What happened?"

"You really don't recall?" Lady Cox replied with a haughty smirk. Jet closed his eyes and tried to focus for a moment. He couldn't so much picture the memories as feel them crawling across his skin, about it, inside just below the surface. The sensation made him suddenly nauseous. In his mind flashed vague images; a face, a limb, a joint, a body of someone but who he could not connect to the part. Colors. He saw the face of Dr. Waxweiler laughing, he saw that dark pomegranate liquid, the world tilted and shifted about him and skewed scenes of a most alarming nature appeared before him, flashed in his memory for a moment, and vanished to be replaced by another. He seemed to be watching himself committing acts disturbing to even his addled brain. He winced to chase the horrors away. "Don't worry, Charles was a bit too preoccupied to join in. It seems only one man holds his attention these days." she finished in mild disgust. Jet looked to her; groping for some sense of time and place.

"Is it Christmas yet?" he moaned. She laughed mirthlessly.

"My dear, Christmas has come and gone, and New Years with it. We are over a week into the new year - you've been asleep for the last two days. Though, that is not surprising, for I don't believe you have slept since you arrived." With every word she uttered Jet felt more and more as though he had lost his footing on the sane world and had entered another realm. He raised himself slightly to take a look at his arm which seemed to still be burning just above the elbow joint. There, glowing brightly in crimson, were two near identical dashed arches forming something of an oval shape. "I believe you have Countess Erlyton to thank for that." Lady Cox informed him with a half smile - her feigned disinterest beginning to break at the force of her sheer glee. He stared in utter shock at the deep bite for a moment. Then a set of short scratches on his forearm caught his eye, when he raised himself to better see those it was then he saw his stomach. His hands ran quickly up his trunk following his eyes until they reached his chest. It seemed every inch was covered by scratches, some short and singular, some long with multiple companions running parallel. A few had scabbed over but many still appeared rather fresh. He felt reason slipping from his grasp. His breath came fast and heavy.

"What did you do to me?!" he cried out, panicked. Lady Cox abruptly put her brush down on the vanity with a sharp rap. She turned to face him.

"Nothing you didn't want. You were quite wild." her voice was one of pure annoyance. Jet felt as though he might faint, or become ill, possibly both. "Really now, I cannot understand you! It's like you've become a completely different person since I last knew you. Perhaps it is because of that little Swedish turnip you've taken such an interest in?" her sweet tone barely concealing the bitterness beneath. "It is of no matter, you shall tire of her in time. Then I shall deliver you from the monotony of matrimony back to the caresses of sensualism. But truly, I am disappointed in you - I had thought you above such inferior concepts." She sighed heavily as though to convey the depth of her chagrin and returned to her brushing. Jet was without response, truly he could have no words - for none exist - to convey his absolute abhorrence for this utterly depraved creature before him. He sat for a moment in silence. Finally, he gathered his wits - for they had temporarily wholly left him - and located his shirt. He quietly pulled his arm through a sleeve, then the other. He exhaled sharply; the pain that came from the gentle brush of fabric upon his back gave him to know his front had not been singled out for excoriation. He dressed stiffly, trying to avoid making an exhibition of his affliction for the amusement of his audience whose face he could see reflected in the vanity mirror - the vantage point from which she could spy upon her badly abused conquest. Her eyes danced with a perverse, hateful glee. Had it only been two seasons past that he had found her so very intriguing? Had he not enjoyed, to the fullest, her appetites? Those cold, shark-like eyes - hadn't he once so admired their detachment from the fatuus emotion of man? Her malignant nature now fully revealed itself in those horrible empty eyes. There could be no other course, this was intolerable.

"I'll send for my things." He stated, fixing his trousers properly about him.

"Oh," she sounded vaguely surprised. "Are you leaving so soon?"

"Yes, I promised I should only remain for the Holidays and I have done so. The Holidays being well passed accomplished I find I need to be about other business in town. Please convey to your husband my thanks for his generous hospitality." There was the sharp rap of the brush on the vanity again.

"We did not expect your departure today; it is most uncouth to leave without even attending a proper breakfast." She stared through him with those icy, penetrating eyes, he felt as if his innards were freezing before them. He mustered his resolve.

"I do apologize but my business is rather urgent and I simply cannot delay it further. Now if you will please excuse me." he made to leave the room when he felt a sharp weight suddenly come into contact with his temple. It did not hurt so much as it surprised him. He looked to Lady Cox who seemed suddenly overly interested in her powder box and then to the ground where the ivory inlaid brush lay near his feet. He plucked it from its resting place and gently lay it on the bed. "I believe you dropped your brush Lady Cox. Good bye." He exited the room with great haste; closing the door fast behind him. As he hurriedly walked down the hall to the main door - eyes set, upper spine tensed, shoulders squared - he could feel the wrath of Lady Cox following behind him, filling the hall parts he had just passed like malignant black shadows. The footman met him at the door. "Please have my things sent to the Great Western Royal." he spoke without even a glance to the man - he could feel himself almost tear through the door, not delaying even to let the man open it for him. He burst from the doorway into the bright light of day, yet he did not stop, he was determined to put as much distance between himself and that house as possible. For an hour he walked without direction or thought until London began to shrink behind him and fields rose about to take its place - only then, when he was fully free from its confines did he slow his pace.

There could be no question: whatever attempt at amends Father had hoped to make with this visit was in shambles. Lady Cox would only forgive such an insult with the humiliating sniveling servitude that could be exacted. And his pride simply would not allow him to debase himself so much further in order to secure her goodwill. The investment of such a house was not worth the price in dignity he would be forced to pay. His rage burned against the woman. He paced the lonely path for some time. It was certainly one thing to choose to debauch himself; he had never been one to deny himself when a morsel was readily offered - still, to lose all sense in the process; to be persuaded to such an animal state, through the lubrication of a drug, that he had fully abandoned his dignity - his humanity! - in the pursuit of physical pleasures galled him. To be encouraged, in that frenetic state, to engage in the most wanton acts by a Lady! No doubt she had enjoyed the show! He spat on the ground. She would know the origin of every mark on his frame, of course - he was her pet! All bought and paid for! Oh! He recalled those eyes on him now; watching him every moment - drinking in every second. He felt the skin of his back crawl as though those eyes were still upon him. No doubt it had all been to remind him of his proper place at her foot as it is with any dog - just in case his dalliances with Miss Mason might have caused him to forget. But in her attempt to secure her position, she had forfeited it. He would have no further consort with that house, nor would any of his household! Nor would Arthur - he would make sure to dissolve that particular connection; Arthur could not have reason to object. He was a man of worldy pleasures - there could be no doubt of that - but such behavior was beyond even his lax standards! Jet surveyed the horizon, hands resting firmly on his hips. It was still only mid-morning. Now it occurred to him that he was wholly unaware of where he was beyond that the city was well behind him. Still, it was only a matter of retracing his steps to find his way back to familiar territory - he could not have been walking more than two hours and the road had been quite straight; at least he did not recall making any turns. A few minutes walk gave him to know how very lost he was; a fork in the road appeared before him. He had not been attending to his surroundings enough to have noted it before and now he was quite at a loss as to which direction he had come. He stood weighing both his options: were he correct, he would soon know it; were he not, it was of little matter, he had no grand desire to be reminded of the consequences of his rash behavior just yet. "Well, perhaps, for once in my sorry life," he declared to no one, for there was no one around to hear. "I shall choose the right."

He walked on for several hours. He had always considered himself somewhat an expert in the cartography of London but he discovered quickly that when lost the familiar takes on such a strange tone as to make itself unrecognizable even to its oldest friends. He was halfway down Lisson Grove before he recognized a local public house he had frequented in his past visits. 'It must be past dinner by now.' he thought to himself, suddenly having grand visions of plump quail and tender shepherd's pie. He had not had breakfast and, if what Lady Cox had said were true, he had not indulged in any meals for two days at the very least. Hunger, previously content to sit quietly as more immediate issues were addressed, now came roaring to the forefront. Jet let himself in, taking a seat near the corner. He had no memory of ever having eaten quite so much as he consumed in that single sitting - he put away a quail, a meat pie, and some old spot sausages with mash, followed immediately by a roasted root soup. By the time he was halfway through a treacle tart he began to finally come back to himself, his mind able to truly think clearly about his current situation. It seemed odd to him, when he considered it rationally, to have thrown away such a beneficial relationship as that one had been - and over what? What reason could he possibly have had to act in such a rash manner? It was true the extent of Lady Cox's perversions had shocked his sensibilities - or was it her absolute indifference? She took no joy but from her pets, as he was, and even that was of a detached variety. Or perhaps it was simply her assertion that he had in some way changed. Had he, it was a change he was unaware of! Looking back of the past few months he could see a string of behavior he had never been inclined to before. It seemed a vein of something strange still occupied a place in his head - that something that confounding woman had awakened and neither drink nor drug nor lickerish pleasure seemed able to wholly conquer. Unconsciously, Jet found himself drawn to the idea of seeing that spiteful little wench again. He pictured himself seeking out the Salvationists - maybe he would even ladle soup from their kettles to fill the wooden trenchers of those poor luckless souls! He chuckled to himself at the ridiculous image. But wouldn't she enjoy seeing him so humble! Oh! She would crow over him like a rooster were he to show his face. The work of God in even his black heart! "Well, God" he said quietly in jest "If you are going to do something do it now; for I shall make no effort to see her otherwise."

Now, full to the point of discomfort, Jet was quite prepared to face the day he had started in a more proper, almost pleasant, frame of mind. Though it was quite cold the sun felt warm upon his shoulders. Any regret he felt in regards to his actions that morning melted away as frost on the green. The loss, though keen, was not insurmountable. Perhaps it would even prove fortuitous - a life of scandal and licentiousness was certain to eventually bear the most bitter fruit and when that time arrived it was best to be known as one who had cut ties before such cuts were socially necessary. His mood elevated by the wisdom of his impetuousness as well as the agreeable weather; he decided to take a detour through Hyde Park. As he approached the edge he noticed a rather large, boisterous crowd gathered around Speaker's Corner. "Oh ho! What is this? Looks like I may be able to take in a show." he quipped. Even from this distance he could hear the crowd's derisive laughter. He observed two women next to him speaking:

"Can you believe it? The idea is simply preposterous!" The one said to the other.

"Women voting!" the other laughed. "Why even bother? A woman will only vote with her husband. And what kind of man would let his woman do such a thing?"

"Not a gentleman!" He heard a man from near the front ask a question,

"The Bible says a woman is supposed to be subservient to man - that's why she was created ya'know, to help man!" Jet could hear murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

"You tell 'er mate!" another male voice encouraged the first.

"So then: why do you think it is okay to go against the very plan of God?" the questioner finished smugly.

"To that I say to you Deborah was a Judge; Anna, a prophetess; and what of the daughters of Zelophehad? I say to you God has never meant for women to be silent servants of man but as servants of God. Think of Esther - had she not been more concerned with God than with her role as wife, then we would have no Good News at all!" Oh no. Oh he knew that voice. He threaded through the audience to see, perched upon a wooden crate before the crowd, Sergeant Major Bertha Smith in all her infuriating glory.

"Damn you." He muttered, glancing up to the sky.

"If the good Lord had meant for women to speak for Him, then why did He tell them to be silent in services?" the man countered.

"That was Paul. And he was speaking about the synagogue - if you look at the way women were treated in the early church, for example Phoebe, Dorcas, Timothy's moth-"

"And how many of them stood on a box in the square demanding the vote?" a chorus of shouts in agreement answered him. She tried to respond but the crowd drowned her out. Still she held herself with her usual arrogant dignity.

"Oh Gawdammit! Button your lip for once in your bloody life!" The crowd stood in silence staring at Jet. He had not fully realized quite how loudly he had said that, though from the general reaction he could guess he had shouted it above the din. That frustrating woman! Even she had stopped speaking and was standing stock still, her mouth slightly parted in some argument that had fallen dead from her lips, looking for the blasphemer in the sea of faces. "That's right, you heard me." he said picking his way through the crowd to the front. "It'll be enough to have to deal with your yammering for the rest of the day on my own, but do leave these poor souls to go about their business." He stepped from behind a man into the open. He doubted he imagined that sudden wide smile that vanished almost as soon as it had broke upon her face; a more familiar expression took its place - lowered eyelids, a haughty smile, an upturned chin - this was the Bertie he knew.

"Oh Mr. Moore. You grace my fair protest with your noble presence. To what do I owe this honor?"

"I would be inclined to blame your God if blame were to be assigned and the presence of the parties were irrelevant." He allowed a taunting smile to dance upon his lips.

"Watch yourself, Mr. Moore, you cut very close to a confession of atheism."

"What I should chose to confess on that particular subject is of little concern to you." He approached Bertie, who stepped down from the box lightly. The two circled each other slowly.

"I should say such a thing concerns me greatly, as it is my mission in life to combat that very ill."

"Then I suppose you may wish to sharpen your sword in case your tongue fails to cut me to pieces as its edge may have been dulled by excessive use." from behind him Jet heard laughter - apparently, he had completely forgotten the crowd who were witness to this entire affair. He smiled and gave a nod of acknowledgement to them. "It seems your audience may agree with my assessment of your arms as they have been subjected to them for some time now."

"And you would divorce yourself from them as well as your God? Were you not watching?"

"I was merely curious about the crowd. I should have figured it would be you at the center of it. I love the dress." Bertie flushed, her hands automatically fidgeting at the waist of mint green calico woolen dress. "I don't think I have ever seen you in anything that remotely resembled proper clothing."

"A soldier wears a uniform for their work, as do I."

"Then why the dress?" He raised an eyebrow.

"This is simply another uniform. I should hate for those who may not support my personal convictions to confuse them with the teachings of the Salvation Army."

"Ah, so they are not in accord with you on this point?"

"Not all, no. But a number are supporters of the cause."

"Well, as it so happens I support neither of your causes." He stretched out his arms magnanimously. "And I have a sneaking suspicion I never shall, nor any other that I may come to know of."

"We will see about that. The day is still young, and you said I had claim to the entirety of it." She slyly smiled.

"Did I?" Jet looked to the crowd with a dashing grin.

"If it'll get her out of here I'll swear on a stack of Bibles you did." A laborer from the crowd answered back. The pair were surrounded by uproarious laughter.

"Well, I suppose I cannot refute such veracity, and a gentlemen never goes back on his word. So my dear," he said with a gallant bow. "I am at your disposal for the day." Bertie looked to the mocking crowd as if deciding. Finally, she gave an exasperated sigh - it was quite clear their serious attention, now lost, could not be regained today.

"Perhaps God has a more pressing plan than my own. Sir, I welcome your company."

The two strolled through the park with no particular direction. "By your own admission, I might guess that you are an atheist." Bertha ventured.

"Now that would be telling! I must leave some mystery between us or you might grow bored of my companionship."

"As far as mysteries are concerned this one hardly requires a detective to solve. But if you are too ashamed to admit to it I shall not push you." She had deftly trapped him. Jet was piqued - either he must confess himself or, by lack of confession, appear to find his unbelief in the ridiculous as something shameful.

"I suppose you have found me out. I take no shame in my unbelief for it is upon reason that I base it. It is you, clever as you may see yourself, who should feel shame for believing in a children's fairy tale for so long when reason stands against it."

"I do not feel reason stands in opposition to God; nor could I take shame for believing in what I know to be true through the testimony of many and my own experience. Why all of nature, the very being of the human, bears witness to the existence of God. If we look back upon the generations of humanity we see people have always felt a need to find God - that alone, by reason, indicates that the existence of God must be considered if even the most primitive tribesman in blackest Africa seeks Him."

"The most primitive tribesman in blackest Africa seeks a "god" not your "God". And then only to explain the things about him that he cannot understand. Why is the mulberry bush red? Because two lovers killed themselves and the gods honored them. Why are the stars in the sky as they are? Because the gods ordered them that way for whatever reason - honor, glory, love. Then he uses that god to justify a system of laws to control others he makes up and calls "morals". When bad things happen he can placate the tribe by saying they did something to displease the god; when good things happen he can say that the god is on his side. He becomes the leader because of his ability to save his people from their god who would otherwise smite them for reasons that before would not have existed. God was created by man to elevate himself above other men - look to Rome if you don't believe me - and it is only through reason that we can see through the deceptions of man and banish these false gods from our civilized society."

"So you do not believe in moral laws?" Bertie queried.

"I believe some moral laws are based on what is most necessary for the running of an ordered society - afterall, we can't have everyone going about murdering others for no reason other than personal inclination - but that such laws, which are easily determined through reason, have nothing to do with morality. Most are merely a means of societal control. When is it right to kill? When the social order is threatened. When is revenge allowed? When not allowing it would cause men's anger at injustice to be such that it would cause the disruption of order. Why can't you marry outside your faith? Because if you do you might come to realize that the laws of the gods are arbitrary and only based upon the culture from which they come and what allows them the best way of controlling their people. And once you see that, how can you take any "moral law" seriously? I have tested most of the moral laws and found no harm to myself from breaking them one. by. one." He bared his teeth in a vicious grin. "As far as I have found God may exist for you but as for me, I can clearly say there is no God." Bertha pondered for a moment.

"I have a friend who doesn't believe in atoms." she said softly.

"And how does that figure? Is it Jim? He seems like the type that would be so willfully ignorant." Jet mocked.

"Who my friend is is not important to the point." Jet couldn't hide his snide smile - it was definitely Jim. "My friend says 'Look at that tree: I can touch it, I can lean on it, were I to run into it I would certainly injure myself - no one can deny it is a solid object. Yet science tells me that this tree is almost entirely made up of empty space - as empty as thin air - so by logic I should be able to pass through it, but I can't.'"

"That is some admirably poor logic. Science clearly tells us-"

"That is not my point." Bertie interrupted.

"Then do make it." said Jet with a slight flourish of his hand.

"My point is that my friend's belief in atoms, or unbelief in them as the case may be, in no way negates their existence. His reasoned - albeit bad - logic cannot for one moment make atoms suddenly disappear as though they had never been. Nor can atoms exist for me simply because I believe in them and not exist for him because he does not. Atoms are not fairies that can suddenly stop existing because he says he does not believe in them. So to with God. If God exists His existence is in no way dependent on our belief. If you were to state with all conviction that He does not exist He would not cease to exist. You may attempt to use logic to reason Him away, but you may find that your reason, based largely on human perception (which we know to be incomplete as we can't even perceive the tone of a dog whistle) is incomplete or faulty. And still, were your logic and science perfect, all the most glorious reasoning in the world could not magik Him away if He exists no matter how thoroughly you apply it." Jet stood for a moment considering her argument. It felt terribly trivial in content and yet he found it difficult to immediately counter.

"I'm sorry, do you mind if I sit for a moment? I've been walking most of the day and my legs are tired."

"Do as you please." Jet practically collapsed on a small grassy mound letting out a theatrical groan. Bertie primly sat herself nearby.

"That is much better!" He stretched his long body out on the cold grass; a sight that caused Bertie to blush and focus her attention on a barren tree across the way. He took out his flask and drank. "Then if your God is real, as you swear he is I posit to you He is a sadist. He crushes the good, murders the young, and rewards the evil. I need not provide examples for you have seen plenty, I am sure, but look at you and I. I live in joy and comfort indulging in every pleasure that strikes my fancy and you... got brained by a paving stone, among other things, while attempting to serve Him." His words seemed to strike Bertie.

"My God has seen millions of men come and go, He has known me from my birth and He knows I would willingly sacrifice my health or comfort or life itself if it meant one more soul might spend eternity with Him - if He chooses to honor my prayers then how may I fault Him? We live in a world that is fallen and sinful in all ways it is a shade of the real. If we find sorrow and pain in it we must draw strength knowing that our time is brief and our lives, which we value so much as to wish to preserve them at all cost (for some, even the cost of the life of another), will end no matter how much we wish to preserve them. That is the law of the earth. We are not guaranteed any set amount of life - to say we should be is extraordinarily presumptuous on the part of any man regardless of their beliefs." She answered.

"Ah, but shouldn't God reward His beloved faithful so that all might see how wonderful He is?"

"He does, but not in the way the world values. A man such as yourself, who has plenty to eat and drink and soft cushions to sit upon; who lives a life of leisure and sin and rejoices in evil - I say to you that I do not envy your lot. For you may have every earthly pleasure now, enjoy it! But you will only ever have that time of pleasure. If there is an eternity you will live forever only with the memories of what you had; and that will only serve to further torment you."

"Aye, and I suppose you and your ilk will be in Heaven laughing at us. You may suffer and toil here on earth but in Heaven you shall wear a crown!" He sneered. Bertie looked at him sadly.

"I should never laugh at you or anyone who was in pain. I can only feel sorrow for such a future. I cannot say how I should see it in Heaven - I wish I could say for certain it would give me some sorrow there as well even though you were the author of your fate, but I cannot. I can say that, while Heaven is a glorious promise in its treasures, the greatest glory it offers me is the closeness it will give me to God, my Savior. I consider myself already so privileged to simply be able to serve Him. To know that the One who made the universe and all these people and animals from the beginning of time is so very interested in each one of us, loves us so dearly, that He is willing to be an active part of our lives - it is a marvel to me! I may speak to the eternal Creator of all things and He will incline His ear to listen. And who am I? Less than a fly in the scope of Everything! When one has such a Master as that I would say merely having the honor to serve Him on earth would be enough for me to die with joy. Were God to ordain that I would still pay the full price for my sin, that of eternal torment, I should still serve Him faithfully simply for who He is. But that is not the case! He has promised that once my time of earthly service is finished I will be able to continue on with Him, my closest companion, for eternity. He bought that future for me and paid the price with His own life! The very idea of that fills me with immeasurable joy. I will not pretend that I do not feel pain, or anger, or sorrow. That I don't sometimes wish for the easier work of a common curate's daughter who visits the parishioners and makes baskets for the widows and infirmed. But who I serve, and the mere fact He deems me able to serve Him in places that would make others faint, I find such an honor that I can only be grateful. And such a joy I cannot help but spread. Heaven is a glorious and wonderful thing for it is the promise that after this time on earth has ended we will remain eternally with our Creator who loves us as His very own." The two sat in silence for a minute before Jet shifted his weight to his left arm and lifted his trunk slightly to look at her.

"Well, that was a lovely sermon." Jet finally said.

"It is what I believe." she replied.

"You know, I used to believe all that stuff too." Jet said lying back down and stretching his arms above his head. He looked up at the slowly graying sky of early evening. "I truly did. My mother taught me everything about the Bible and God and all."

"What happened?" Bertie asked innocently.

"What happened is I grew up. I read the works of Darwin and the philosophers, particularly Nietzsche. I learned to see the world as it was, not as my mother saw it - a place of trial and temptation and shame and a distant God who did as He pleased to test these beings He made - but as a mere sphere inhabited by animals that are born and reproduce and die. What are we but common animals that have learned to adapt ourselves and our surroundings to suit our needs? I see no God in that; only science."

"I believe there is a good deal more to man than that. I think, for all your fine reading, you believe it too - even if you do not wish to admit it - at least some deep part of you does." Bertie ventured.

"Think what you like." Jet said. Rolling up to a sitting position he grasped his calves to stretch. Releasing he looked to his companion. "It's gaining on supper time, is it not? I imagine you must be hungry by now. Would you care to join me for supper?"

"You have been nothing if not extraordinarily familiar with me Mr. Moore." Bertie said. Standing up, Jet flashed her a winning smile and offered her his hand.

"Call it a consequence of living at your bedside for the better part of a week. I have seen the worst of you - and also you ill and unconscious (which, I believe is your best self for it is when you are actually quiet) - and cannot say that does not breed an uncommon sort of familiarity which does not easily allow for a full return to distant propriety. Come now, name the place." He instantly regretted the words even before they had fully left his tongue. Bertie's eyes brightened and a sly smile crossed her lips. "I didn't mean-"

"You said name the place." oh she was grinning from ear to ear. What had he walked into, he thought.

"I don't suppose I can talk you out of it, then?"

"No. I'm sorry, my mind is made up. It will be good for you." She began walking down the path.

"Dear God, no!" he teasingly exclaimed, jogging a few steps to catch up.

"See, we have you praying already." She laughed.

"Now who is the irreverent one?" he raised his eyebrows.

"I firmly believe God must have a grand sense of humor. How else could you explain His plan to continually lead us to find each other?" Bertie was in fine spirits now.

"I do not believe there to be any plan in it at all." Jet answered.

"Then how do you account for it? We have met four times in two cities when it would be more likely we should not have even passed by each other once."

"It is quite simple really. You see: I enjoy watching a spectacle, and you enjoy being one." She gave him a sharp nudge in retaliation. The two walked on, through the park, towards the city.

Somehow, it was just as dreary as Jet had imagined. The huddled masses waited in long lines for a ladle of questionable soup and a slice of rough grain bread. Many of the poorer ones wore blankets as shawls, wrapped around not only themselves, but their family as well. Small fires had been set for the people to warm themselves as they ate. Salvationists stood among them in their immaculate uniforms preaching the Good News. Most of the people seemed far more interested in their soup than salvation. Bertie had left Jet to change from her dress to her uniform. He could not have felt more out of place were he a circus clown at a funeral. The woman ladling soup waved him over. She possessed large dark eyes and a mane of black curls. Her pale face showed the beginning of the soft contours and rosy cheeks of one who was well fed, yet still retained a peaky appearance indicative of a long period of malnutrition. Still, she appeared quite pretty - one of those dark Irish beauties they sometimes spoke of. She took a wooden bowl, emptied a ladle of soup within, and offered it to him.

"Some soup for ye, sir?" she asked politely in that high Irish trill. Jet looked dubiously at the steaming bowl as if doubting it fit his definition of "food". Still, it was hot and he was feeling quite chilled as the sun sunk low on the horizon. He took it gratefully.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Ye may call me Sarah, sir." she replied with a smile. Rather familiar, but he was not one to deny a pretty woman.

"Sarah then." He said. "Thank you." As he ate the soup the young woman watched him quizzically. He raised his eyes from the soup. "Yes?"

"Do ye truly not recognize me?" She asked. He stopped eating and looked her over carefully, taking in her every feature and examining it against the women of his memory as she poured out the soup to the next people.

"No, I honestly cannot say I can recall ever having seen you before." he replied following the thorough evaluation.

"I suppose ye wouldna. It was some time ago and faces are not really important in that line of work." This perplexed Jet, he stared at her trying to puzzle it out. "I brought my children, they're runnin' about somewhere." He stared at those eyes and suddenly the last piece fell into place. He blanched. It was the whore from the opium den! "Ah I see ye've worked it out. But I'm not ashamed. If I hadna been so low I should ha' never been delivered."

"How-how..." Jet stuttered.

"After that night I made my mind up to make a better life for my children. I took Miss Bertha's advice and came to get dinner and Miss Bertha told me that it didna matter what I had done, that God still loved me as His dear child - and all I had to do was come to Him and He would be with me. I had never heard such a thing afore - the things I had done! I thought no one would ever accept me, let alone love me - that I was condemned to die a harlot's death and only be recalled by my children with shame. I used the money to pay off my debts and left that life behind. I came here and now I know there is hope." Jet felt discomfitted to the point of malaise. Finally he collected himself enough to speak.

"I suppose I am glad for you. There is one thing I've always wondered. How did Bertie know you had children?"

"Miss Bertha? Oh. Every woman who has ever carried a child bears stripes from it, over time they fade but they forever remain. Mine were dark for Liam, he's my youngest, had only been born a year ago. As I was largely unclothed she noted them." Jet had gone through a number of colors: pale to green to now a bright shade of red in a very short time. He looked about and saw Bertie coming out from a doorway just across.

"Excuse me.. Sarah. Thank you for the soup." He rushed off to Bertie's side. Never had he, in his entire life, felt a more burning sense of humiliation as though he had been made naked in front of the crowd. There he was! A gentleman! With all eyes noting him, staring, and talking to a prostitute in the open. A woman who knew him carnally, and he her! That woman, whose body had known his for a night, was standing there serving soup with her children! And then speaking to him as though it were a mere trifle! He could not reconcile it. He grabbed Bertie's arm.

"I wish to leave at once." he hissed. Bertie did not seem the least bit perturbed.

"I suppose you have met Miss O'Brian then?" she asked.

"If that is her family name then yes, I suppose I have. Why didn't you warn me!?"

"I told you it would be good for you; I never claimed it would be fun."

"Well that is certainly good for I don't think I could be having any less fun at this moment."

"Sergeant Major! Sergeant Major!" a woman's voice desperately cried out. Jet and Bertie looked up to see a young woman in a worn dress running towards them. From the looks of her she had run from quite a distance yet she refused to stop until she had reached her target. In a moment she was standing in front of the Sergeant Major doubled over, panting heavily.

"What is it, Julie?" Bertie placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, her face deeply concerned.

"It...it's Jerry ma'am!... She's at the bridge... she says she's going to... to jump!" the girl answered through labored breaths. The effect of the words was electric.

"Julie: tell Jim to fetch the Doctor immediately. Have my father organize a prayer group." She turned to Jet. "I'm sorry, Jet, but I believe we will have to cut this evening short. Julie - see to it that Mr. Moore makes it to a coach safely."

"Are you joking? I'm going with you!" Jet argued.

"Jet, I have no time for this." Bertie looked at him exasperated.

"Listen, there is no way I am going to let you run into danger alone. Let me come with you! Perhaps I can be of some good." his eyes shone with determination. Bertie threw her hands in the air.

"Fine! I do not have time to argue about this. Come along if you like but stay out of the way!" she ordered.

"Yes ma'am!" he stood at attention and saluted. Bertie let out a deeply frustrated sigh.

"Follow me!" she called. He did as he was told. The two ran the mile in the deepening darkness to a stone bridge that spanned the river. Standing at the center of the bridge, dressed only in torn, shabby undergarments, was a pale woman with wild black hair whipping in the wind, sobbing and screaming like a madwoman. Bertie slowly approached the woman with Jet close on her heels.

"Jerry! Jerry! It's me, it's Sergeant Major Bertha." Bertie called out. The woman's screaming ceased and she turned her tear stained, small featured, overly rouged face to Bertie. Jet's mouth dropped open in astonishment - it was Miss Foxham!

"Miss Bertha..." the words from that small painted mouth were barely audible over the icy wind.

"Yes Jerry, I'm here, I'm here. Just take hold of my hand and we'll get you up." Bertie stretched out her hand to the fallen lady. Miss Foxham looked at the hand as though considering the offer, then she turned her head away. "Jerry, it's important that you take my hand. Remember, God loves you and we love you - there is nothing we can't get through together." Bertie pleaded.

"God! If He loves me so much why did He do this to me!" Miss Foxham cried out.

"I can't pretend to know the ways of God but I do know-"

"I'm pregnant!" Miss Foxham shrieked. No moment in Jet's life could have ever prepared him for the sound of those horrible screeching hysterical sobs. "I don't even know who the father is!" she screamed. It seemed there was no end to those wordless screams that followed.

"Jerry, Jerry, please hear me. This doesn't have to be the end, we can help you. We want to help you! Just take my hand." Bertie was begging now. Miss Foxham's desperate face turned to Bertie's her hand quivering towards the Salvationist. Suddenly it stopped dead. Miss Foxham's eyes narrowed, her lips puckered - she was no longer looking at Bertie's face but past it, directly at Jet.

"Haven't you helped enough?" She hissed bitterly. Jet stared at the wraith, his face white with terror.

"I didn't know! How could I have known!?" he ejaculated. Bertie looked from one to the other.

"Do you two know one another?" she asked.

"Only for the briefest moment, I swear." Jet defended himself.

"Oh but what a moment it was!" Miss Foxham shouted her scathing accusation.

"What did you do!?" Bertie cried out.

"It was nothing, only words. Miss Foxham please! Be reasonable!" He stretched out his hand to her - he could just barely feel the soft brushing of the ruffles from her dressing gown on his fingertips. "Don't do this!"

"Why should you care?" she spat the bitter words from her tiny mouth as acid. "I am nothing but a six-cent strumpet who should consider herself honored to have known the caresses of a Duke."

Her tiny foot stepped from the bridge.

"No!" Jet screamed grabbing after her, catching the fabric of her dress as it flew up and feeling it slide through his arms like water. Below him the water rose to mark the place where the fallen lady had entered. He felt Bertie grab his waste, heard her plead for him to stop, but her grasp was not strong enough to hold him.

He plunged into the icy water of the Thames. He felt his breath knocked from him, the pain stabbed at him from all sides as though it were a part of his flesh now. He wanted to scream but his mouth seemed frozen shut. Deeper he sank. He felt a limb - an arm! He grabbed at it, pulling with all his strength to the reflected lamplights that marked the water's surface. And then there was air! He gasped at it, the wonderful air. He hoisted Miss Foxham's head above the water. It rolled back lifelessly. He began pulling to the shore. The swim seemed to take no time at all yet it felt as though it had consumed his entire life - that he had lived it all only in those endless strokes to shore. Miss Foxham felt as though she weighed nothing at all as he pulled her along - it was as though he were merely dragging a large stick behind. Finally he reached the shore where the others were waiting. He drug the body of Miss Foxham onto the silt and collapsed beside it. He heard familiar voices all about him but could not seem to attend to them as they were swallowed up by the encroaching fog.

"He just jumped in after her."

"Here! Take his clothes off and get him into these blankets or he'll freeze!"

"Oh my God."

The last voice he heard before the world disappeared was Bertie's gasping softly.

"What happened to him?"