Stop 'im

No Place Like London?

Penelope's POV

The feeling of an immense headache slowly emanated as I drifted into wakefulness. I was all too aware of the stampede of footsteps nearby, making me feel worse. A loud groan escaped me as I shifted in my uncomfortable position. My clothes were wet, I was cold, and what ever I was lying on was killing my back!

I shifted again, raising one hand to my throbbing forehead, I tried to soothe the pain as I eased myself up. Still with my eyes closed, I could tell that I had been sleeping on the ground. Outside. In the rain. The concrete was wet and hard. How did I sleep on this? Come to think of it, why? Where the hell was I?

At this thought I opened my eyes. I had expected the sun to blind me, I'd been asleep for hours. Instead i was met with bleak clouds that smothered the sky like thick black smoke. Grime covered walls limiting my view of my surroundings. That's when I remembered I was in an alleyway. That woman! Had she mugged me?
Quickly standing up, I checked for my bag that I had been carrying. I couldn't see it, which sent me into a panic. Then I realised, as I was searching frantically, that it was still hung from my shoulder. I am such an idiot. I checked inside, and found that nothing had been taken. My purse and phone were still there and I still had my money. I tapped the screen on my phone to look at the time, but it wasn't right. It said it was nine am, but it was so dark. I went into the settings to refresh the location so that the clock would sync to the correct time. It said I was in London, but I refreshed it anyway. After I had tapped the screen, I waited watching the buffering icon. Then a message alerted me that there was no signal. So I got up off the dank floor and made my way to the exit of the alley.

As I was holding my phone up in the air to get a better signal, I bumped into a large disgusting figure. "Watch it, harlot! Or it'll be a whipping for ya" snivelled the grotesque man. I stared in shock at him. Rat like features made his face. His eyes were beady as he narrowed them at me, looking down his long prominent nose. As he looked down at me, he bore his teeth, revealing a set of crooked yellow tomb stones. His disgusted expression was exaggerated by his fat cheeks and jowls. He had an overall dirty appearance, even though he wore a fine suit and hat. They just masked his ugliness, but his greasy hair broke the facade he was trying to create.
With a "hmf" he strolled away with a brass club which he extended into a cane. I was confused at his whole outfit. It was all vintage, he looked like a hipster.
Ignoring my encounter with him, I focused my attention back on the problem at hand, my phone. However, as I was going to look at my phone I was made aware of a much bigger problem. Where on earth am I?

I looked around and saw more (more like everyone) in vintage victorian era style clothing. Is thiis some sort of convention? I thought. I also noticed that I wasn't in the same place as when I was made unconscious, or rather it was but it looked different. The buildings that I saw only yesterday were gone, replaced with small stores selling shoes or food. And there was even a church where there wasn't one before.
I wondered further from the alley and was pulled by a current of people, down the street. Putting up a struggle, I pushed past the crowd until I found a space among the throng of people. I kept turning in place, trying to find a sign to tell me where I was. That's when I bumped into another large figure. The heavy set woman caught my arm as I nearly fell, and hauled me up. "Good heavens, girl! Why are you dressed like a man?" She questioned flabbergasted.
Opening and closing my mouth in an attempt to respond, I couldn't find the words to express my confusion. But I'm sure my expression give it away because the woman's stern face softened as she spoke "Come with me, love. I'll sort you out." She didn't give me chance to respond. Instead she dragged me into a bakery near the church.

She forced me to sit by pushing me into a wooden chair. Taking a seat at the other end of the table, she planted her quizzical eyes on me. "So what's your name? Don't want to be calling you girl all the time"
I hadn't spoken yet that day, so my voice was hoarse as I said, "Penelope."
"No last name?" The woman pestered.
I responded with a simple shrug.
"Another one from the work house" the woman muttered. "I'm Mrs Mooney. This is my bakey." She gesture for me to look with her arms. There were a few tables that were empty, a messy counter, and a small black oven at the back. I looked back at her, not saying anything.
"Poor thing. You look malnourished. Too small for a growing girl. They don't feed ya' right at that workhouse. Breaks my heart." She rambled on.
"I'm twenty-five years old" I stated.
The woman smiled at me and stood up "Theres always time to grow a few more inches. How about a lovely meat pie?" She came back to the table and placed a plate with a pie on it in front of me.
Giggling I asked jokingly "Is there any cat in it?"
Her expression suddenly turned dark as she shouted at me, "Who told you that? I bet it was that tramp across the street!"
Flinching away from her, I tried to lighten the situation. "I was kidding. It's from the Sweeney Todd movie" I smiled at her showing that I was being sincere. She looked bewildered as if every word I just said was from a foreign language. Taking the pie away, she asked me to leave in a quiet voice.

I backed out of the shop, even more confused than before. Having no clue of what to do now, I started to just walk the streets aimlessly. I ended up going in circles, so I took refuge in the church. Sat at a pew, I contemplated the reasons that could explain where I was and how I got here, but they were all too bizzar. My thoughts we interrupted by the priest who tapped me on the shoulder.
"Poor child, come with me. Let God's servant help you."
I was hesitant, but no one else had been any help to me thus far. The priest brought me to a room at the back of the church. I was going to run away when I saw a bed, but he reassured me with food and clothes. Wen he left, my panicked thoughts dissipated. I sat on the small bed and ate the soup and crust of bread, just realising now how tired walking around all day had made me.

I slept in my clothes that night. When I awoke I washed myself from the bowel of water by a mirror in the corner of the room. Theb I dressed in the clothes the priest gave me. Looking in the mirror felt like I was looking at a reflection of the past. I looked like a real victorian woman. The clothes were old and worn (no doubt from the donations to the church) but they fit with the era. They were plain, a dull blue colour, and they weren't finely patterned. But now I don't stick out like a sore thumb.
I found the priest to thank him. He had truly been kind to me, an maybe he could answer some of my questions.
"Thank you, sir. You've helped me a great deal. But I was wondering if you could help me again. You see, I don't know where I am."
He hushed me by raising his hand and smiled, "you're in London, my child. On Fleet Street to be exact."
"But nothing's the same." I said to myself.
He looked at me as if I was mad. Then I realised that none of what I had seen was an act. This was London.
Victorian London.
"I mean" I went on to explain, "I haven't been here for so long. Everything's changed." I lied through my teeth. Hopefully the priest would buy it. "Anyway, thank you again." I shook his hand, but he kept hold of it when I tried to leave.
He stroked it with his thumb making me shiver in disgust. "I know how you can thank me, my child." At that gross remark, I yanked my hand from his and ran for the only place I knew around here.

As I barged into Mrs Mooney's bakery, she looked up and rushed toward me. Grabbing my arms she pulled me into the back on the shop to interrogate me. "How did you know about the cats?" She whispered.
"So it's true?" I asked.
"Yes, but how did you know?" She asked again.
Another realisation hit me, Mrs Mooney was real. I thought she was just part of the Sweeney Todd story; and that's just urban legend, right? But if Mrs Mooney is real, it means the story is real and... Oh God! My mind went back to what the beggar woman had said "stop 'im". Did she mean Sweeney? Stop him murdering people? Maybe. If this was real.
Mrs mooney brought me back from my thoughts with her persistant and curious look. "I just knew." I explained. "No one told me."
She continued to stare at me, looking to see if I was telling the truth. It seemed that she was satisfied, otherwise she wouldn't have suggested what she said next. "You must be some sort of fortune teller or something. All knowing." Even as I objected, I saw the lightbulb above her head. "Maybe not a real one, but they don't know that. And whose to say you aren't; you knew about the cats." She was addressing me, but she might as well have spoken to the wall, because that's what she was facing as she stared off into space.

"What do you mean?" I asked.
She turned back to me, and I could see she had hatched a plan; and I was part of it.