Chronicles of Mystery

Amongst London's streets

Lucy was running through the streets of London. The cobblestones were still wet and slippery from recent rain, sparkling in the sunlight that had just emerged from the clouds like gold coins. The air was cool and smelled of the wet grass of London's gardens. The sky was the color of a young, new blue, freshly washed by the recent downpour and showing its best colors for the townspeople to enjoy a bit of a clearing before the next downpour. The coaches passed by her, without her caring in the least. It was quite a commotion in this big, crowded city. Like a boiling anthill. There was not a second of hesitation, everyone continuing to move forward without interruption. A veritable mob rushed through the streets, a tornado of wheels, of horses swallowing the cobblestones one by one as they marched through the wide and healthy avenues, like well-established women, displaying in a pride of madonna their roads bordered by shops and opulent buildings like jewels.

Dozens of people walked on the sidewalks. Ladies dressed in the latest fashions, dresses with frills and high collars, umbrellas in their hands or small bags, the bustle they wore making their garments look very flat in the front and very voluminous in the back, with a succession of ruches and trimmings. Multiple draperies decorated their skirts, transforming their trains into flows of braid and ornaments. Frills cheerfully unfolded their silk fabric similar to the thin wings of a butterfly. Their hats were marvels of feathers, flowers and convoluted shapes, rising above their heads like little pieces from a dream world, an invitation to travel through these extravagant headgear that changed the landscape of the heads of London into a colorful and disordered field in a sort of battle to see who would have the most conspicuous sunbonnet. They carried with them accessories, watches that hung on their wrists, useless and abandoned, the time they displayed learnedly ignored while only the gleaming of their cover was admired. Gloves covered the slender hands of all this female population, in mother-of-pearl for these delicate ivory sculptures. Small lace decorations, which had become very popular in recent years, were added around the collar, as well as ribbons, the bustier adopting a delicate hourglass shape, as was the most recent use. The sleeves of these beautiful ladies were swollen and inflated, as well as hot-air balloons. Gentlemen, in suits with briefcases to accompany them, a dignified and distinguished look on their faces, proudly displayed their ties tied in a bow tie. Their long black jackets were shiny, the velvet glowing with a gleam of opulence. They all sported high-waisted pants and shiny boots that seemed to tell from their brave leather that this foot they contained was destined to walk on the entire capital. Their mustaches blooming like busheslush showed their dignity as well as their top hats which made them all nobly taller. Like all important men, they were in a hurry and they moved forward without stopping, sometimes giving Lucy who was passing them a sidelong glance. The young lady indeed did not wear the traditional outfit befitting a girl of her age, showing everyone her origins too modest to share the same sidewalk as them. Her skirt was not held in a certain shape by any crinoline. No hat came to cover her unruly hair and the only accessory she allowed herself was her usual satchel which had nothing elegant and seemed to be several decades older than its owner. Her figure was hopelessly devoid of any decoration, displaying a large open space, not unlike the wide blue sky stretching above them.

But the girl didn't notice. Her brown boots hit the ground at regular intervals, producing a kind of music, her heels clicking against the cobblestones as she raced down the streets. She was light and airy, her toes barely touching the ground, as if dancing with the air as her partner, floating in the atmosphere. Her satchel bumped against her thigh, tossed about by her running, letting out several papers that had been hastily stuffed into it.

Arriving at the intersection of one avenue, she fell in front of a cart loaded with parcels. Leaning on one hand, she jumped over it nimbly to fall on the other side, under the protests of the driver, without worrying much about the image she gave.