The Curious Case of the Gentleman in The Night

London, 24th of December, 1889

'The Feathers And Keys'. A delightful little pub in which to spend Christmas Eve. It was popular, but never crowded. Busy, but never chaotic. Nobody caused a fuss and everyone would walk home later that evening with a smile on their face, wishing each other a Merry Christmas and other such well-wishes. But that wouldn't be for another few hours, and for now, the patrons were contented to drink, laugh and be merry. A young woman glided between them, sweeping up empty tankards, glasses and bottles with a minimal disturbance to the customers. Retrieving a final tankard and placing it on her tray, the woman in a maroon dress scanned the room, satisfied with another job well done and simply enjoying the view of those celebrating the holiday. Her wavy brown hair fell just below her shoulders, even when half of it was done up. She had a subtle kind of beauty to her. It wasn't the kind of beauty that begs for your attention in a crowd, but one that, if you took the time to look, would make you grateful you did.

"Oi, Clara," the landlord called from behind the bar.

The woman, her name being Clara, navigated her way over, careful not to let her tray disturb the back of anyone's head as she passed.

"Whatcha need boss?" she asked.

"Take those out to Jamie, will you? He's ready for another batch straight away."

"'Course," she smiled, turning to walk towards the back door.

"Oh, and Clara?"

Clara turned to face him once more.

"I'm on ma knees at the minute, what you doing tomorrow?"

"Workin' at The Feathers and Keys, providin' service with a smile and keepin' Christmas merry," she replied reassuringly.

"And that's why you're the best barmaid I ever 'ad," he replied with a sigh of relief. "Tell ya what, since it's quiet 'ere, 'ow about you get those over to Jamie and take the rest of the night off so you're ready for tomorro'. Don't worry, I'll still pay ya. Just means Emma has to pull 'er weight for once."

"You're the best Hank, thanks," Clara replied, before turning, shifting her shawl more onto her shoulders and stepping out into the back-lane.

As she turned from the door, Clara frowned slightly. There, stood on the other side of the lane, was a snowman. She placed her tray down on a pile of crates next to her and moved closer to inspect it. It was very simple, loose rocks from the pavement made up its eyes and mouth, and the body was simply piled up in a messy cone shape. It was rather endearing in its simplicity. The work of a small child no doubt. 

A clatter brought her attention to a bend in the alley. There stood five men, poring over the metalware of the pub.

"Oi! Whatchu doin' with that?" Clara called to them.

The men stopped immediately, turning to look where the noise had come from.

"Oh, just simply admirin' everythin' the pub 'as to offer. Yourself now included o'course," one of the men replied with a wicked grin.

"You just go on your way and leave everythin' alone," Clara replied sternly, backing away slightly.

"You make that snowman?" One of the other men asked, chuckling as he and his friends came towards her. "It's very sweet."

"I ain't sweet mister," Clara told him, hitching her dress up slightly in a show of defiance.

A third man chuckled.

"It's ok sweetheart, we ain't either," he told her, pulling a small clasp knife from his coat.

"Then we're all in agreement then? Nobody's sweet?" a voice called from above them.