"A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step."
Tessa stepped off the boat and took in the first breath of english air and immediatley wanted to get back on. The air was thick as slop. The streets were covered with unwashed men and women, the pavement layden with muck. The shouting of sailors and the scream of steam engines made the whole thing mad. She stepped onto the road carefully avoiding the heap of menure and carriages that threatened her with their imposing wheels. Many whistles came flying her way as she cut deeper into London. London, the central place for sophistication. Clearly.
She had no trunk, and hardly any money. Her uncle had said that he would send someone to meet her. Clearly they were delayed. She waited for hours. Watching the flow of youngins begging aristocrats for money. The shady dealings in alleyways. The lovers bidding goodbye and setting sail. When she got hungry she paid a small plump gypsy women a ha'penny and sat chewing on her sweets. The flavours were like nothing she had ever tasted in America. Evenually, as the sky got darker and the workers headed home, Tessa gave up hope of finding Mr Dobson and decided to use what little money she had to rent a room for the night. She had some small coins in her pocket and some notes sewn up in the hem of her dress.
As she walked along the streets, merry music could be heard playing inside the many pubs that lined the streets. She peered in the window to see a postcard view of sin and sinners. She looked away in disgust and headed further away from the safety of the dock and open space.
As the sun threatend to go below the horizon, she noticed in her view, a shady looking man, with dark overalls on and a ragged hat skulking in the shadows. His face was hidden by darkness but she could make out his hands in the small light left. They were scarred and not just from working. These were thick grooved scars that seemed to line everybit of his hands. The wound round his fingers like snakes. As she pulled in a breath of air and prepared to run, he backed into the shadows and was away as quick as he had come. Her brow was oily with sweat and her boots sodden. Miserable as she was she trudged on until she came to a church.
The supposed church had imposiong Wrought iron gates and she guessed that they would have locked them. When she asked a passer by whether they were likely to be shut, he looked to where she had pointed and gave her a confused look, before giving her a kind piece of advice to stay away from ale as it did terrible things to the mind. As it so happened there were many beggars and vagabonds who did not even glance at the church in all its warmth. Not one person looked at it nor spoke a word about it.
She gingerly approached the gates. They stood tall, taller than a full grown man. She didnt see a chain stopping her so she assumed that there was still someone in there. The lights of the church were off and the halls silent. Although Tessa felt guilty about knocking so late at night, she had no place else to go and was frightened after the man in the alleyway.
She pushed on the gates and with a whine they swung inwards, scraping along the stones underfoot. The vagabonds and drunkards rubbed there eyes as if what she was doing was crazy. They had a wild -eyed look upon them. Tessa was unable to see much at this point but what she did feel was that someone else was watching her. The man in the alleyway was standing but 100 metres from her. Watching her everymove.
She crept up the pathway of stones, that was marked with large areas of green lush grass. No building or small houses stood upon this area, which was very unusal Tessa thought as almost everybit of available space had been claimed and used by one family or another.
The stone wall looked less inviting than they had earlier. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, something about this church didnt add up. The huge wooden doors had no knockers, no bell and no conceviable way of alerting whoever was inside to her presence. As Tessa turned to look around the chruch her boots caught the hemline of her dress, sending her flying down the stones, as she looked at her hands, blood ozed out of them. Her eyes stung and filled with tears. She pulled out a stone and with in minutes they had completely healed, all she could do was look in amzement at what had just happend. As she stood in silence with blood still evident on her hands and clothes, parts if her dress ripped on the ground. She realised what was wrong. It was too silent, no noise at all seemed to have penetrated the depths of the chruch. She was in the middle of London at night. "The city always alive" as her uncle called it and yet there was no sound of drunken sailors, not singing from the pubs, no screams of laughter rising from the streets.
