Victorian Nocturne

It was late when Fox started to make her way home from the pub, and she waved farewell to her companions as she started off towards home. Her pay packet was tucked into the inside of her coat, a bit lighter than it had been at the start of the evening. There had been drink and darts, and her step was a little loose-limbed as she passed under the streetlamp.

Her right hand was holding a truncheon, and it rattled along the fence near the curb as she walked. She'd taken to carrying it at night because London after dark could be a dangerous place, and even in her current mode of dress she was vulnerable. Mr. Cullen had always told her, Better safe than sorry. It was advice she constantly took heed of. The street was quiet otherwise, the only sound that of metal striking metal as the cosh ticked off the fence posts.

There would be bed soon, after she'd done her nightly ablutions and prayers. She wasn't drunk by any means, but she was a little tipsy. Hopefully she could reach her room without rousing the house.

( There are still some decent people in London. )