The night had not fully descended, leaving a streak of orange-red afterglow in the sky, as Covent Garden Square was shrouded in a thin layer of gaslight and mist.
In the square, audiences trickled out of the Royal Opera House, gentlemen cloaked in black capes, holding carved canes, conversing softly with the ladies beside them. The hems of their skirts brushed over the cobblestone pavements, with heels clicking crisply and rhythmically on the stone slabs. At the street corner, several boys in tattered clothes weaved through the crowd, deftly avoiding the patrolling police while seizing the chance to peddle the latest newspapers and shadowy pamphlets.
Near the garden, a few restaurants and taverns had lit their orange gas lamps, with warm light spilling through the window grilles onto the damp streets.
