Death may be the greatest of all human blessings.

[Nellie Walker]

Nellie Walker had come home from Harry Watson’s, the man who had murdered her husband, having made promises, bargains and had in return received something, she wasn’t hundred per cent sure as to what yet, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had sold her soul to another devil. A devil that scared in a way her husband never did, because she knew what her husband was capable of. Harry Watson was an enigma with a façade of goodness, which caused her guilt to even think of betraying him. But her heart was so filled with hate for the man, as he had taken the one person who had looked after her away.

She was lost. Lost in a world she knew everything about, but had little power to control.

As she entered her own home, she sat, staring at the plate on the draining board. The plate she had washed and placed there, before Harry Watson had decided to play his threatening games. She wasn’t sure how long she had simply stared, but her eyes had begun to fill with tears and she let them fall.

Once she allowed them to slip slowly down her face, she couldn’t stop. She was hunched over the table, silently sobbing, so her stomach hurt with the pain of it and bile slipped up her throat. Her breath hitching over and over as she tried to calm herself. When that didn’t work, she placed her head on the table. The exhaustion and utter sadness seemed to seep out of her, making the house dull and lifeless. The room felt like all the air had been sucked away and once again she could not catch her breath. Instead she laid her head against the cold wood of the table, and cried herself to sleep.

She opened her eyes slowly. Hoping for a moment the night before had been a nightmare, that it was a figment of her cruel imagination. Instead her mud stained skirts and her dirty fingertips, caused her breath to hitch the memory of it all, causing her heart to shatter once again.

Her eyes sticky with tears, she stood moving away from the kitchen. She had no idea how long she had rested, but she was rapidly overcome with a feeling of dirt and disgust. Swiftly making her way to their bedroom she put on another dress, very similar to the one that lay on the floor, this a faded navy colour, the last a mud filled brown that she had used as her every day dress, she wasn’t sure she could touch the material again, worried of whatever else may have seeped into the cotton.

As she left, she turned back. Happy she hadn’t slept in her bed the night before, the room had a coldness to it now Albert had gone, all his possessions neatly by his side of the bed. Whatever hadn’t been in his pockets at the time…No she refused to let herself remember, or even speculate on what had happened to the man she had loved. But it seemed bare without his lazy form sleeping for far too long, missing important meetings simply because he liked his Sunday mornings. She placed the ball of her hands over her eyes, rubbing until it hurt.

Newly freshened, she decided then what she had to do. She couldn’t just leave it as it had been. The cemetery was only a short walk from here. She would go beg her husband’s forgiveness for the promises she’d made and for her lack of strength in sticking up to his murderer. There was little point in asking forgiveness of god, she had always supposed he had given her soul to hell many years before. But with Bertie’s forgiveness for accepting Watsons offer, well maybe she could do it more comfortably; maybe the niggling feeling of betrayal that would not leave her conscious thought alone may perish.

Leaving her house, she found it to be dusk outside. She had slept all day more or less which was understandable, a lot had happened.
The cemetery gates creaked and rocked in the wind, as she walked past them, entering instead the way she had the night before, once again the feeling of utter repulsion seemed to settle within her stomach.

[Silver Skull]

By day, he had kept to the rooftops. His quarry had gone to ground not long after sunrise and had not re emerged. A few schillings spread around the neighborhood boys allowed him to sleep, certain his investment would produce a shrill whistle as per his instructions.

'When a woman leaves tha' 'ouse, give us a whistle, 'ey?' he had explained to the small clot of small boys, up early this Sunday to steal and sell. He doled out to each of them a good days take, making sure they had no need to seek anything anywhere else. They had taken his coins and disappeared as cleverly as he himself might have. But, they stayed close, he learned. Thrice today, he had been awakened by a shrill tweet. And three times, it was the wrong woman leaving the indicated address. But, that was okay. The boys earned their pennies by remaining alert and doing exactly what he had paid them to do.

When the dark came on, he was sure he had lost his watchers, but he had slept enough to maintain his own vigil now. He was surprised when he saw a woman leaving the tenement across the way, a whistle sounded sharply below him. Even still, at least one lad maintained his post. So, before clambering down, he dropped a few silvers down, exciting a gasp and giggle from his invisible agent.

"Good work," he hissed from above. "Now to 'ome wif ya. You earned yore rest."

Only then did he see the small shadow leave the alley, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. But, he no longer watched the boy. He watched the woman. His woman. It was time to move.

He had to leave the rooftops eventually, but he was forced to maintain a greater distance than he might have. His quarry was alert to the point of paranoid, but not much more than any other East Ender. Or any other East End girl at night. Women represented sixty three percent of the victims of violent crimes in this precinct. [He enjoyed his mathematics.] They had cause to be paranoid. Still, it kept him too distant to quickly respond if she should fall into a spot of bother.

Before long, he had guessed, and not long thereafter realizing he had guessed correctly, she was moving toward Highgate. For a moment, he believed he might have guessed incorrectly when she passed the unlocked gates into the massive graveyard. but, no. He recalled his notes. Her husband had been a digger here. She knew another way in. Another less obvious way. She entered through a grounds keeper's shed. He moved south a little ways before making a run for the wall, leaping, grabbing and springing over as silently as a squirrel might. In seconds, he was crouching in the shadows of the wall, watching her head west.

He was able to follow more closely now. Her obvious anxiety seemed to make her more focused on her intentions and less concerned about intruders. The Cemetary after dark was as quiet as a... well... it WAS a graveyard, after all, wud'n'it?

She slowed in her pace as she neared the Potter's field, hardly casting about. She seemed to know precisely where she was going. So, he paused when she paused and seemed confused as she seemed... confused.

Her intention had been a specific grave, but upon achieving it, she cast about. She moved to stand before another grave, bending to lift up a stone. He took the opportunity to glide quietly closer. The stone, squarish.... brickish... was scratched with a crude cross. The woman dropped the brick on what was obviously a recently filled grave and moved forward, past it, to another recently disturbed grave, where she found another such block of stone, scratched with a cross. She dropped it and looked around. So did he.

There were, perhaps, a dozen such graves, obviously freshly turned, each marked with a brick and a cross. He found himself standing before the grave his quarry had originally come to. There was a length of pipe and a heavy hammer in the grasses near a statue of the angel Gabriel, but no stone marking this grave.

He rose up to look around, to see what it might have been that she sought.

Well, that was a mistake. Whatever it was she sought, she was distracted from. What she found, was.... him.

"Oh, uh... hallo," he offered, his voice distorted and hollow behind his silver mask. He almost waved, but stopped himself.

[Nellie Walker]

The cemetery had been the last place albert had been, the last place he had been alive. Rather fitting considering this where he spent quite abit of his time. She weaved her way through the gravestones, not bothering to pick her skirts out the mud. She did not have the energy for such trivia as keeping her dress clean.

She stood still for a moment staring at the many newly covered graves. It was vast space of grass and mud, and her tired brain could not work out which one Albert had been buried in. She picked up the bricks that crudely marked the unnamed graves. What horror for no one to claim you in death, for no one to care she thought as the picture of the great statue came to settle in her mind’s eye.

She remembered the angel, the massive statue that seemed to stare down at her as cried her heart out to Edward. She did not want to remember the boy’s face as she accused, as she guilt tripped him into running away.

She hugged herself close as she searched for that statue.
What she found was a man in a mask. A man In a mask that she had seen before, in the newspapers, described in detail by gossipers. For a moment she just stared at him, before she took a few steps closer.
Oh, uh... hallo," he offered, his voice distorted and hollow behind his silver mask.

Nellie screwed up her face in annoyance. She ignored the awkward greeting. “You were following me?” She didn’t bother questioning it, there was no one else in the cemetery for as far as she could see and not many came to pay their respects in a mask associated with murder. “Why?” Her voice was dead, void of emotion, as her eyes looked up at the mask.

She stared down at the grave between them, with a pipe and hammer thrown carelessly onto the grass, she stared at that as she spoke her thoughts outloud.

“You know Its this place” She pointed outside of the cemetery. “It sucks the life out of ya before ya even end up here. You have to prove ya strong enough, prove you can cope, that ya better than the rest, else you fall beneath the hoofs and end up with no fink. I came from nothing, but his reputation, was what he had. Fear is what he had. Something has to make you feel powerful. I suppose for you it’s that mask.”

Only now did she look back up at the mask. “Do I know you?” She questioned, her heart pounded a little faster, but it was like her body had ran out of adrenlin ran out of the ability to care to respond to this threat.

[George Kostner]

"... Something has to make you feel powerful. I suppose for you it’s that mask.” Nellie said, looking back up at the mask. “Do I know you?”

The figure in black might have started to turn to go, but Nellie saw indecision in his posture. He stilled then and nodded with conviction. He reached up with a black gloved hand and removed the mask as he pushed back the cowl that kept it shadowed.

He might have been a hack driver. Or a lamplighter. Or a laborer. His face was at once mature and boyish. His hair was pale and close cropped and the thin mustache and goatee was hardly a pale fuzz. Still, in his eyes she saw the years that had gone by. She imagined they could not have been easy years.

"Ya don' know me," he told her in a low voice. "Bu' we 'ave a common friend. I wuz follerin' ye cuz 'e tells it tha' there are them wot would harm ye if ye wuz about an' alone. I aim t' prevent tha'.

"An' I canna ken how ya fink anyone can feel powerful ina place like this," he said, looking at the black on black skyline of London at night. "Nah, the bes' any could hope is t' feel safe fer a bit. The mask don' make me feel powerful.

"It makes me feel... safe," he shrugged. "But, I don' need it now. I don' do... this t' make me feel powerful, neither.

"I do it t' make ya feel safe," the man nodded and spread his hands as if to show he held no tricks. "An' I don' need a mask t' do it.

"My name is George."

[Nellie Walker]

Once he took the mask off, he looked like any other man. His appearance was that of someone she passed everyday although she didn’t recognise him, he looked extremely normal , considering he paraded around with a mask on. Nellie wasn’t sure what she had been expecting but the man before her wasn’t it.

"Bu' we 'ave a common friend. I wuz follerin' ye cuz 'e tells it tha' there are them wot would harm ye if ye wuz about an' alone. I aim t' prevent tha'.

“Watson.” She mumbled, with a slight crease to the brow and a roll of the eyes. “’e just cant keep ‘is brain outta ma business ay.” She added, sighing lightly.

“Make me feel safe.” Nellie repeated, a fake amusement entwined her words, an eyebrow lifting. “a man in a mask is supposed to make me feel safe?” She shook her head, the wind catching her hair and blowing the loose strands behind her.

“Tis lovely ta know tha’ the man who is following me ‘as a name.” She smiled over at him, as if to show that there was no hard feelings. She couldn’t be bothered anymore to care that Harry had decided to give her protection even when she didn’t want it. Not know anyway.

“But I don’t trust ‘arry as far as I can throw ‘im. So I don't trust ya either. Ya aint so good at following as well. No offence. So ya probably putting me in more danger...'arry don't know what's best.”

“But I suppose it’s nice ta meet ya George.” She nodded her head in greeting. “I’m glad ya aint gonna kill me, I’ve ‘ad enough drama for today thankya.”

[George Kostner]

“But I suppose it’s nice ta meet ya George.” Nelli Walker nodded her head in greeting. “I’m glad ya aint gonna kill me, I’ve ‘ad enough drama for today thankya.”

George just stood there and blinked a few times, unsure how to react to the number of left handed, under handed, and glad handed remarks that came out of the tiny little woman. Each time he opened his mouth to speak, she added a new dimension to her either good natured, spiteful, or tired teasing. It quite caught him by surprise, all around.

"Wull, uh, it warn't the mask what's sposed t' make you feel safe," George explained in a half hearted way. "it's the, uh, the man.... me.

"'S'truth," he insisted with a nod. "An' not killin' ya. Also very... importan' to the whole sense of... ah... y'know... security.

"An' I'm inclined t' distrus' 'arry's motives at times," he offered as he walked toward her, stepping over the graves or around them. Not on them. "Fer instance, 'e tol' me ye wuz a pretty an' sweet li'l missus 'oo 'elps 'ungry children an' ol' ladies 'cross th' street. 'e never mentioned tha' y' might make fun o' me and my sneakin'.

"If ye wuz a bad'un," George tried to stand taller and look bigger. "Ye'd be quiverin' in ye britches at th' sight a' me, I'll tell ya wot!

"An' 'ow d'ya know tha' y' don' need pertection?" George was emboldened to speak. "Maybe I foiled six 'r seven attempts on y' life a'ready an' y' don' even know it, on accounta oim so... stealfy?"

When he saw the unconvinced raising of her eyebrows, George frowned and shrugged.

"Maybe 'arry don' know wha's best," George admitted, sliding his hands into his pockets and shrugging. Then, he smiled and added. "Y'know... 'e's no bigger' n you. 'Struth! I's tha' giant pole up his arse tha' makes 'im look seven feet tall."

George laughed a little, not sure if his audience was receptive right now.

[Nellie Walker]

"Fer instance, 'e tol' me ye wuz a pretty an' sweet li'l missus 'oo 'elps 'ungry children an' ol' ladies 'cross th' street. 'e never mentioned tha' y' might make fun o' me and my sneakin'.

He walked towards her carefully, Nellie watched his steps. He was respectful she would give him that.

“I suppose I should say sorry ta ya. But I’m guessing I want supposed to see ya.” Her voice was gaining a little more tone to it, it was no longer completely dead. “Anyway I am sweet, just not when people follow me inta a cemetery at dusk…”

She looked up at him, “I see well it’s a good job I aint no bad’un then ay.” She shrugged her shoulders.

Maybe I foiled six 'r seven attempts on y' life a'ready an' y' don' even know it, on accounta oim so... stealfy?" She raised an eyebrow at that, but Nellie stopped with the snarky comments.

"Y'know... 'e's no bigger' n you. 'Struth! I's tha' giant pole up his arse tha' makes 'im look seven feet tall."

Nellie couldn’t help but join in with the laughter, even if it was a chuckle. But she did grin at him.

“Is ‘arry ya boss then? Is tha’ why ya given up ya day to follow me?”

[George Kostner]

"'arry's not my boss," George answered immediately and defensively. "'e dudn't tell me wha' t' do.

"'e asked me fer 'elp," George explained flatly. "Tha's wha' Oi do. Oi 'elp.

"An' it idn't jus' my day, neither," he went on to add, a touch more gravity in his voice. " 'Slong as i' takes. Oi don' get paid an' Oim not tryin' to save moi soul from goin' t' Hell.

"'arry tol' me wha' yore up against," George scratched his fuzzy chin and then put his hand back in his pocket. "An' Oi feel Oi can 'elp. An' wif' all due respect t' yer independan' nature, y' gonna need someone to watch yore back. Alber' and Charlie... yeah, I knew'em bofe... they never made no friends 'cept each other.

"So, ere's wha' Oim finkin'," George removed his hands from his pockets and clasped them comfortably before him. "Seein' as 'ow yore about t' become the Mistress o' th' Spirit's Coop, ye take me on as a tapper an' Oi'll be able t' make sure yore... secure... an' 'ave a natural reason t' be there.

"It'll be easier t' see' um comin' if we got our backs t' th' wall," George agreed with his own idea, nodding. Then, as if only just realizing where he was, he stammered. "Y'know. This is really a very poor toime f' me t' be badgerin' ya wi' strategies and wha'no'.

"Maybe Oi should go back t' blendin' in th' shadows an' let ye be," he mocked himself a little as he took a careful step backward.

[Nellie Walker]

Nellie just hummed an understanding as he defensively stated that Harry Watson was not his boss. She guessed that Watson thought he was everyone’s boss. “As long as It takes?” Nellie repeated, “That’s a commitment love.” She smirked. “Aint all of us going ta hell?” She questioned not expecting an answer, simply shrugging her shoulders.

Her eyes narrowed at the mention of her deceased husband and his equally deceased friend. “I am well aware ‘hu my ‘usband dealt with sir. The issue is, there well aware that I know.” She shrugged her shoulders again before tightening her shawl across her shoulders.
His strategy made sense, the complete wrong time and place. The man before her blatantly had no tact, but he seemed alright she supposed. She heard him and his little plan out.

"Maybe Oi should go back t' blendin' in th' shadows an' let ye be,"

“If ya aint gonna go away completely then I’d rather you were in my sight. It gives me the shivers ya just watchin’ me. If ya serious about this ‘following me’ fing, then well... If you want ta be a tappa at the spirit, I’ll admit it would make me feel more…secure.” Using his words, “and anyway if it means ya aint simply sat in the shadows numbing ya brain watchin… then why not.” She chuckled lightly.

She started to walk back along the way she came, using a gesture of her hand for him to walk with her. “I aint gonna be able to say what I was gonna say with you in the shadows so come on I could do with a drink.”