Kathy woke early Saturday morning, and ate a leisurely breakfast. The morning edition of the paper did not carry any mention of her activities the previous night, but she didn't really expect it to. Nightmare was sleeping off the nights exertions when she went out to check on him. She shrugged, and left him in the stable, then made her way into town. Her clothing was quite different now. A ragged green jacket over a low-cut, frilly bodice, a long flowing skirt made from home-spun weave and hand dyed with various fruit dyes. Her ensemble was completed with a silk head scarf, her only concession to quality, that kept her hair back out of her eyes. She went barefoot, and carried a large wicker basket with her.<br/><br/>Face smeered with grime, she set up her meagre stall outside the police station, where she knew she would overhear gossip and rumour. "Lucky 'eather, me dears?" She asked anyone who happened to glance her way. A few of the more kindly or more superstitious actually bought the sprigs from her, at thrupence a sprig, or five for a shilling.<br/><br/>She didn't see Annabell arrive, but she watched with interest as the heard of Fleet Street's finest raced off, vying for the few hansom cabs around at this early hour, to get back to their offices to break whatever story they had just learned.<br/><br/>"Lady Mitchell, murdered in her bed!" She overheard one reporter say to another. "Apparently her throat was cut from ear to ear!" Kathy resisted the urge to chuckle at the exaggeration. She had done no such thing. A single thrust with the stiletto, through the larynx, and into the brain. And the bitch had probably deserved it too.<br/><br/>"Any idea who did it?" The other asked.<br/><br/>"No, but with Worthington on the case, they'll have the bounder dangling from a rope in no time!"<br/><br/>A uniformed constable noticed her. "'Ere, 'ere, Now then, Ye can't sit there, miss. Ye'll 'ave te move along!"<br/><br/>"Lawks! Sorry off'cer, Oi'll be on me way, Oi will!" She made a show of hobbling off, and disappeared around the corner.<br/><br/>She chuckled as she made her way home. Worthington was a pompous ass, she knew, having crossed swords with him on a few occasions, so to speak. And yet, his success rate in solving cases had gone up lately. She wondered if it might have anything to do with his pretty young assistant.<br/><br/>Back home, she washed her face and feet, changed into clothing more suited to a Victorian lady of leisure, and prepared for her luncheon date with her fence.