First Glimpse, open

[Eleanor Pendergast]

The butterflies in Eleanor's stomach refused to settle... not even the elegant interior of the first class train car could soothe her nerves. She was surprised at herself, Eleanor had not expected to feel so nervous. She would have done anything to leave the strict, stuffy atmosphere of that boarding school- but now that she had, there was trepidation. Did she really want the dullness of endless embroidery lessons instead of the excitement of the greatest city in the world? Of course not. She wished Suzanna were here- no she took it back Suzanna- her best friend who was also coming to take her first season, was flighty and constant chatter would only aggravate Eleanor's already frayed nerves. Perhaps it was best that Suzanna had gone ahead of her- knowing Suzanna she already had a gaggle of admirers and friends.

"Tea Miss?" a steward asked interrupting her thoughts " No thank you". Eleanor said with a small smile. Miss Hattie, her lady's companion, was elbow deep in some sort of intricate tatting work- it looked dreadful boring, Eleanor couldn't see herself doing it. Turning back to the window she saw that the train was entering London proper. A carriage had already been arranged to meet her and the conductor would see to it that her luggage was taken care of, there nothing for Eleanor to do but wait.

Gathering up her skirts with a gloved hand, Eleanor carefully descended the steps of the train and was astonished at the scene before her. More people than she had ever seen in her life, were rushing every which way. The locomotives belched steam and their shrill whistles pierced the air as the trains roared into the station. Throwing her bonnet back and tilting her head , Eleanor marveled at the paneled glass dome above her- here was everything modern and new and bright. A city full of youth and vigor just waiting to be delved into.

"Miss Eleanor we really mustn't linger here." Miss Hattie said disrupting Eleanor's reverie " there are all sorts of ruffians about- and really Miss you must keep your bonnet on!" "we're not in the country anymore you know" she added with a sniff. Under Miss Hattie's watchful eyes, Eleanor reluctantly tied her bonnet under her chin."This way miss" she called out authoritatively, forcing Eleanor to follow along behind her.

[Special Guest]

."This way miss" Miss Hattie called out authoritatively, forcing Eleanor to follow along behind her. And though her body followed obediently, her eyes wandered where they would, She had never really experienced a 'crossroad', and King's Cross was precisely that. The rails that radiated from this place connected the inner most hamlets to the sea. From here, she could go anywhere in the world.

Likewise, the rest of the world could come here.

Though the majority of the bustlers were the Queen's own English citizens, many were there who distinguished themselves as foreign, merely by their head dresses, as they were all that she could see above the crowd, seeing through the press nearly impossible at Miss Hattie's pace.

Eleanor saw the felt berets favored by the French. Turbans representing India, Afghanistan, and a few other North African nations. The fez of the Turkish. The yarmulkes of the Jews. Yet, never once in the whirling mass did Eleanor see a woman's headdress that was not perfectly... ordinary. It was telling. Not that English woman observed conventions as concerns their public appearances. No, what Eleanor noticed was that other cultures did not seem to travel with women.

Before they could reach their waiting carriage, Miss Hattie pulled up short and Eleanor pressed close against her. A cadre of uniformed constables affected a wedge through the press, halting most other's progress to see to their duty. Between them they held confined a man. He was shackled at his wrists and ankles with only short lengths between, making his hurried gate more a shuffle than a walk. His attire was not common in either design or quality. The clothes were cut in France.

The cadre stopped in anticipation of a carriage whistled for in the crowded line-up. Eleanor recognized that, if the constables would allow those carriages already at the fore to receive her passengers and depart, the way would be clear for the rest. The constables did not seem to recognize that. So, for many long minutes, the press could do little save stare at the police and their captive. Their captive could do little else, choosing, though, to keep his back to the wall and his eyes on the paving.

"Don't you fret now, Devereaux," one of the constables standing before Miss Hattie and Eleanor elbowed the captives ribs almost good naturedly. "Ye'll be all tucked away in a brand new proper English prison afore long. Much nicer than tha' Scottish lock up."

"'...the mind is it's own place...'," the man replied in a low voice that Eleanor strained to hear for the familiarity of the words. He was quoting. Reciting. He was not French, either. He sounded American. "'...and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

"'... what matter where...?'" the captive looked up for a moment and found Eleanor's eyes before looking back down. "'...if I be still the same...'"

"Wha's tha' then?" the constable was stricken with curiosity. "The Bible?"

The captive did not seem inclined to explain.

[Eleanor Pendergast]

Eleanor's heart thudded in her chest. The heat and the press of the crowd suddenly made Eleanor dizzy. For just a moment the strange man met her gaze, their eyes locked on each other. In his eyes she saw loneliness and perhaps sadness, but there was determination and fierceness as well. Maybe this explained the fascination she felt with this man- she had felt these things in her own heart. A fierce desire to never allow one's spirit to be broken. Kindred souls a teacher at the seminary had once called it. Imagine that, Eleanor Pendergast heir to the Pendergast fortune and future duchess of Pendergast, kindred souls with a criminal. The idea of such a thing was laughable- but she could not shake off the feeling that it was true.

Miss Hattie's face was pinched and tense. Eleanor turned to the shabbily young man next to her and asked “what’s he done?" A little surprised at her boldness, he replied “A thief no doubt or perhaps a murderer, London's filled with all sorts of dodgy characters." Then a little worried that he had frightened her, he added " No need to worry miss, the constable's got this one all taken care of -on his way to Newgate he is- stick close to the right part of town and a right proper lady like you should nothing to fret about."

At the icy glare from Miss Hattie, the red faced young man slunk back into the crowd. The prisoner was bundled into a waiting carriage and the flow of people and carriages began again. Gripping Eleanor's arm, Miss Hattie led Eleanor into a carriage. "Well Miss Eleanor- something must righted, straight away" Miss Hattie began " I am well aware that you are unaccustomed to the way's of London society- but a proper lady does not speak to a social inferior unless absolutely necessary! And especially not a young man." Miss Hattie's diatribe continued throughout the carriage ride through London, so much so that Eleanor forgot to listen.

As Eleanor stared out the window, the man's words echoing in her head. “the mind is its own place... it can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..." She had heard these words before. Of course! Paradise Lost had always been one of her favorite pieces of literature. Something troubled her mind, and then it dawned on her. How would a thief or a murderer know Paradise Lost? And why would he even be interested in such a thing?