Mathilda Viola
Penrose

Mama’s beige cloak swishes beneath me, as I make my way through these old clogged streets.
The people walking here change almost everyday, but almost all of them have a similar story in their lives. A story to make best of a meager living.

Though what many people ignore to notice is the raven perched on top of these dim roofs. A raven with a single silver feather.
Its caw seem is the only thing  audible for me.
The raven wrings its wings, almost daring me to follow it.

Instead, I walk to the opposite direction.
The route in this direction may be longer for the dress shop I work at, but I am not in mood to have a taunting bird lead me anywhere else.

The cloak of smog lessens to a mere hanging while entering the central parts of the city. Though it retains its mist throughout, especially next to the police station nearby.

But what catches my attention is not the gargoyle staring down from the roofs.

It’s the Head Constable walking side by side with someone having a golden haired halo.

Is that him…

My brows furrow, as I move into a narrower lane to get a better view.
The golden haired man looks sideways when I turn.

But then Matthew stills when the Head Constable says something to him. He stares at the gargoyle above, while the constable remains lost.

I don't know how or why, but the constable's words echo in my ears, even from my distance,
“Goodbye, nephew.”

Before seeing anything else, I turn to the east with all sorts of questions furling and unfurling in front of me. One though is far more louder than the rest:

Why does this raven always lead me to you, Matthew?

Someone coughs, diverting my attention towards him.

I hold back a sigh upon finding out it is Thomas Page, a man with whom I danced with during Jacob Trevor's engagement.

“Hm, I thought women acted differently when praised about their beauty.” Thomas Page takes a step ahead, while I take to the side.

My lips iron into a thin line.
“You seem to have more experience of being a woman than me, Mr Page.”

He's been tagging along the entire evening. How do I get rid of him...

Thomas Page shakes his head, suddenly realising the slip in charm.
“Oh no, that is not what I meant.” He smiles.

I look behind me at Susan Weathers, nodding at someone talking about work.
An idea presents itself at overhearing the conversation.

Taking out a folded piece of parchment from skirts’ pocket, I smile at Thomas Page.
His shoulders relax when I hand him the paper.
“I apologise for the trouble, but could you please deliver this to Mrs Brownlow's shop?”

His eyebrows rise.
“Now?”

“Yes, please.” I keep the smile on my face.

Sighing, he drags the parchment from my hand. With a bow, Thomas Page turns around and gets lost among the several people gathered in this small plot.
And my shoulders trickle down with relief.

From her seat, Susan looks at me with a tilted gaze. Her fingers count the loose strings of her cloak, her past companion gone.
“I thought you worked at Ms Maylie's shop?”

A small line of lilacs line the edges of the plot. Someone comes into my mind, while approaching my friend.

“I never told Page I worked at Mrs Brownlow's. He just assumed it.” I shrug.
“I only asked him to deliver a worthless piece of paper to get rid of him.”

It wasn't entirely useless.
I kept it around in case I figured a plot point of a particular chapter I'm stuck at.

A small smile caresses her features before fading away again.
Something that happens often these days.

After coming back from the shop, I found a few men and women gathered around the spare plot of land behind our home.

Mama told me everyone wanted to celebrate someone named Crimley getting arrested.
Two constables from the police station will retell the tale, since he lives nearby.
Naturally, that led to Mama requesting me to go there with Susan. She’s rarely been anywhere besides work since Jacob Trevor's… passing.

Coal black raven shrouded by a single silver feather.
Golden locks of hair paired with curious blue eyes.

A boy comes forth with a tray of diluted beer for everyone sitting here, waiting for the story.

A frown envelops my features, while I shake my head. Susan answers the same. Though without any frown, only a neutral expression.

I turn to her,
“Are you sure you're all right?”

She looks up, wrapping her arms around her loosely fitted waist.
“I'm fine, Tilly. Though I probably won't leave the house now in these last months.”
Susan pulls her hand back and her sleeve falls, revealing the purple bruise on her arm. A purple bruise left there by her brother when he found out about the pregnancy.

I open my mouth to say the same thing I always have.
“You know Mrs Trevor would always--”

But Susan fervently shakes her head.
“I would’ve asked Mrs Trevor to raise the child if Mr Trevor was alive.
A child needs to have a married father for honour, you know that.”
Her eyes shut tightly.
“At least Crimley can’t blackmail my family anymore.”

Before I can say anything else, a man with a patched coat-- Robert Peterson-- suddenly stands up.
“All righ’, fellars!”
The boy at his side steadies him as he almost topples over. Mr Peterson coughs,
“A big round o’ applause for Head Constable Granville for arresting that scum called Crimley!”

Roars and waves of clappings echo. My hands can’t help but faintly give in to the noise.

Crimley's arrest; a raven nearby; sudden elation along with someone's haunted face...

I look over at Susan and the same expression I wore moments ago crosses her face for an instant.
I put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. Susan nods.

“And now, some drinks in Constable Harvey and Constable Fagin's name!”
Peterson claps both the constables’ shoulders. Harvey blows a breath, while the younger one-- Fagin-- beams.

Susan and I shake our heads as a boy nearly topples over the drinks coming towards the constables.

Harvey will barely be able to sit steadily in his seat if he takes another sip.
Meanwhile, a few boys surround Fagin, listening to the tale of chivalry and marvel. Though it seems more like a caricaturist opera.
“You see, laddies. The Lord works in mysterious ways. He may let folks frolic around, thinking they're the Lord.” Constable Harvey scoffs through his bleary eyes; Fagin continues,
“But then He has them thrashed down their throne as if they were there in the start!”
He waves his cup and another applause echoes.

I only dimly nod; Susan gives a lifeless clap.

One of boys at Harvey's side says,
“But sir, what happened there? How did that Crimley got arrested after so long?”

Peterson glares at the boy, but Harvey doesn't take note.
Instead he grips his seat, almost falling onto Peterson,
“While we greatly respect the public's opinions, the law needs evidence. And evidence against such a character is always difficult to find.”

Maybe, the law ought to be updated.

Fagin whirls around, his drink shaking.
“But then a man came, one of our very best.” He puts a finger on his mouth, but quickly removes it.
“He had all the evidence. All the proof we needed in Crimley’s own handwriting! As if Crimley had written his own death sentence!” Harvey takes another sip and holds onto a boy for support.

“Like a golden haired angel come to slay the devil. Please give an applause for our Detective William Sterling!”
Fagin throws his hand up, spilling his drink all over.

Another uproar follows me, one that makes my ears bleed.
But the rest passes in vague glimpses and hints. In pittars and patters otherwise hidden. In tides and waves out of my reach.

Granville calling Matthew nephew; golden hair.
Death sentence by Crimley’s own hand; Matthew's indignation at finding out about Crimley’s truth...

Him being able to copy handwritings…

“Tilly?” Susan shakes my shoulder.

A sliver of distorted faith resounds like unwelcomed drops of blood. The raven claws its nails into the branch with each booming cackle.
As if it finds this entire situation utterly hilarious.

Hullo my friends ♥️
(I may or may not have forgotten today was update day oops)

Anyways, WE HAVE TILDA'S POV NOW WHOOP!

Also, just an FYI, a woman couldn't really reject a man's offer of dance unless she had already promised some other bloke.

And hm... looks like Tilda also doesn't know what's all this about a raven :0

But how does she know Matt can copy handwritings when he's never told her? 🤔

I leave y'all at that ;)

Have a great week!
Love,
MS Zame