Ok, this is my first hetalia fic so I don't know how it's going to go! As it is set in Victorian London, I have included some slang common at that time. I have included the meanings but if there is anything that confuses you, don't be afraid to ask me what the hell is going on XD

The fog rolled in over the Thames (1) covering the dirt ridden streets of London, sending the inhabitants into a premature twilight, the darkness irregularly broken by the gentle glow emitted by the infrequent oil lamps.

The streets were far from quiet; a loud brawl could be heard occurring inside an illuminated tavern, the sound rising momentarily when the landlord opened the door to throw a particularly rowdy drunk out onto the cobbled streets. Two men looked around their surroundings shiftily before ducking into an inconspicuous looking building that nonetheless had had a notorious reputation for being a cab (2). A group of beggar children were huddled together on the street corner chaunting lay (3) before a couple of rozzers (4) sent them on their way with a clip round the ear and the lingering threat of being sent to the Lump Hotel (5).

Amidst the events occurring, a group of people made their way to a relatively small house; situated a fair distance away from the shadier areas of the street. An elderly man spearheaded the group and took charge, knocking upon the wooden front door with three sharp raps. The small group didn't have long to wait before their host opened the door and ushered them inside.

There were six of them, all sitting in a circle around an oval table that was covered by a dark green slightly moth-eaten tablecloth, a single candle standing in a tarnished silver holder situated in the centre. The soft orange glow illuminated everyone's faces. An elderly woman wearing black lace sat watching the flickering flame, a threadbare handkerchief crumpled in the palm of her right hand. She was known simply as Madam and was the owner of a rundown dollyshop (6) in Whitechapel (7). Next to her sat a younger woman, her mousy brown hair pulled back in an unflatteringly tight bun. She clasped hands with a young boy aged around seven. The woman was on the verge of destitution and through selling her few personal valuables, she met Madam. Her name was Sally Brown and the boy was her son Timothy. The older man who had taken charge earlier that evening occupied the seat on the opposite side of Madam. He had steely grey hair and the beginnings of a wispy white beard covered his relatively weak chin. Madam ignored him with clear disdain. It was a well known fact that William Carpentar was a retired jack (8) and so was disliked by those who took part in activities that were considered to be situated within the greyer area of the law.

Next to the young boy Timothy was Francis Bonnefoy. Francis was a blonde Frenchman with striking blue eyes, the hint of golden stubble gracing his chin and cheeks. Francis had only been in England for several months but was swift in gaining a reputation as a frequent romantic and was often seen entertaining one to several women around London. He was here due to a direct invitation from his host, whereas the others had arrived when hearing about the meeting through rumours and gossips. Francis relaxed in his seat and smirked over at his friend, their host, Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur was a twenty-three year old male with dirty blonde hair and glittering emerald eyes set under a pair of distinctive eyebrows. He had little family with which he had regular contact with but his father gave him an adequate annual allowance so that he would be able to survive; with which he paid the rent on the modest lodgings in which he was entertaining his guests.

Arthur was different to other men his age. He didn't seek out women to woo or court, he seldom took part in questionable activities and he only made time to attend Sunday mass once a month (9). However, the thing that set Arthur apart from most men his age was also the very reason why they had all gathered today.

Arthur Kirkland was a medium and possessed the ability to communicate with the dead. Every other Thursday, Arthur allowed a small group of people to enter his home and he would attempt to contact their deceased loved ones. Spiritualism had found immediate popularity in England when American mediums migrated once the spiritualist movement officially began in 1848 at the New York home of the Fox sisters. However, the English upper classes turned spiritualism into a social pastime. Fraudulent mediums latched onto this new hobby of the rich and set about conning their unwitting clients out of as much money as they could by creating elaborate 'hauntings'.

Arthur was not a fraud and so refused to participate in the more popular tricks of the 'trade'. This meant he was often overshadowed by the crooks and con-artists, resulting in his own séances being poorly attended.

The flame on the candle flickered violently as the clock chimed to signal it had turned 5 o'clock. Arthur steeled himself and cleared his mind of all thoughts, mentally searching for any spiritual presence.

"Arthur? Mr Kirkland?" A small waif of a girl stood next to Arthur's chair, pulling on the sleeve of his jacket. Her dark blonde hair lay in lank clumps over her shoulders, her hazel eyes locked with Arthur's green ones. "Can you tell mama and Tim that I said hello?"

"And what's your name child?" Arthur asked the girl, his guests jumping at the sound of his voice, the first part of the conversation they were privy to. Their eyes never left their host who appeared to be participating in a conversation with an empty patch of air to his right.

"Miss Brown, Timothy?" Arthur turned to Sally and her son who were on the edge of their seats in anticipation. "Lydia is here and she's saying hello and-yes? Yes, ok, I'll tell them. She says that you shouldn't worry about her, she isn't scared. Ok, I'll say it-She also wants you to look under her bed and find her teddy, Patches. She kept all the money that she earned at the textiles factory hidden within the stuffing. Lydia wants you to have it."

Sally burst out into tears with cries of "Lydia! My baby!" while her son grasped her hand tightly, shocked at both Arthur's words and his mother's reaction. "T-Thank you. Thank you so much!" Sally stammered between sobs. Arthur smiled gently at her before another spirit entered his consciousness.

"WHY IS HE HERE? Has he NOT remarried YET?" A stern looking woman stormed into the room, pointing at William Carpentar. "Tell him that he's RETIRED now! He needs to MOVE ON!"

"And you are?" Arthur questioned relatively hesitantly, slightly intimidated by the loud woman.

"Edith, Edith Carpentar. That sentimental old fool used to call me Edie though."

"Mr Carpentar" the elderly man snapped to attention at Arthur addressing him.

"Yes, Kirkland?"

"Edie is here. She's…wondering why you haven't remarried yet."

"People will start to talk, has he not thought about that?" Edith added despite William not being able to hear her.

"She's worried about gossips." Arthur conveyed Edith's message across.

"Tch, she should know nobody could replace her. Daft old bag."

"YOU SILLY FOOL!" Edith shouted, causing Arthur to wince slightly.

"She's shouting, isn't she?" William asked Arthur who nodded in reply.

"Edie, you're giving our host a headache. Just tell me the truth and say you're happy I didn't remarry."

"…Mr Kirkland, please tell that fool I'm glad he didn't remarry and for him not to die too soon. It's quite relaxing without having him retell his days as the 'great detective' every two seconds." Edith requested with a soft smile directed towards her husband. Arthur relayed the message, causing William to guffaw loudly. "Ha! Well I'm enjoying not having to hear her moaning all the time! Silly baggage!" Arthur smiled at the pair who were still able to argue despite the very obvious barrier of mortality.

The first male presence of the evening made itself known by rapping loudly on the table in front of Arthur. The noise reverberated throughout the room, heard by all inhabitants, making them jump. He was a tall man with stark raven hair. He wore a traditional frock coat and even as a spirit, held onto the aura of complete authority that he obviously had in life.

"Kirkland, is it? Good man! Now tell that woman over there that her nephew is here to talk business." He stated, pointing out Madam as his aunt. Arthur told Madam it was her nephew to which she replied, "Damian? What the hell does that blighter want?"

"Kirkland, I'll be swift so try to keep up. That ol' dollyshop of hers will end up being nothing but trouble. She'll end up wearing the broad arrow (10). Tell her to get a jerryshop (11) away from the East End, I don't want to have to see her serve a drag (12). Arthur disliked the patronising tone the spirit was using but admired the fact that he was still looking out for his aunt, even in death. Relaying the message to Madam, Arthur was shocked to see the normally stoic woman burst into tears. She was comforted by Sally seated next to her.

Arthur suddenly felt a sharp pain burst through his skull, causing him to gasp and hold his head in his shaking hands. He had kept the gate open to the spiritual world for far too long and it had started to take its toll on his body.

"Mr Kirkland, are you ok?" Madam's inquiry fell on death ears as Arthur fell forward and hit the table in a dead faint.

"Well, that went well." Francis muttered upon seeing Arthur awaken with a groan and a grimace. A grimace which worsened upon seeing the Frenchman standing in front of him.

"Urgh, why are you here you bloody French bastard?" Francis chuckled softly upon hearing the expected reply coming from the disgruntled Englishman. "Come now Arthur, is that any way to talk to someone who so graciously looked after your guests and saw them off the premises when you wouldn't?"

"Hey, it's not wouldn't, you dolt! I was unconscious!"

"You're welcome Arthur." Francis stated in good humour. Arthur resisted the urge to give the Frenchman a smile and instead settled for a small smirk. He went to stand up but was hit by a sudden wave of nausea and had to sit back down. Francis was suddenly at his side, "Tch, you overdid it. Again." Arthur groaned in reply.

Francis snapped to attention, "Right, I guess I'm going to have to show you how to perform a real séance! I'm holding one in my parlour room Saturday evening, come round about seven. It should be fun!"

"They're not meant to be fun. And you don't have any paranormal abilities!"

"Get with the times Arthur! People want a show with tricks; not ghosts. Not really."

"Tch, whatever."

"There's even some American journalist attending. Alfred something."

"If I agree to attend, will you leave me to get some sleep?"

"Oui, mon cher! I'll see myself out."

"Bye you French toff (13)" Arthur teased in friendly banter. Upon hearing Francis leave through the front door, Arthur steeled himself before standing and staggering across to the ornate drinks cabinet and poured himself a large measure of whiskey. Grasping the cool crystal glass in his hand, he resisted downing the amber liquid in one and instead took it with him to his bedroom.

He sat on his bed and stared at the glass in his hands. He stiffened as the sound of melodious laughter echoed throughout the house. The spectre of a small blonde haired boy skipped into his room before turning and vanishing through the opposite wall. Arthur downed the amber liquid, trying to forcefully shut his connection to the spiritual world through the inebriating effects of alcohol. Without even bothering to remove his clothes, Arthur fell back onto his firm mattress in a restless sleep.

Alfred F. Jones stepped down from the raised platform of the pony-cab and thanked the driver before unloading his luggage. Looking at his surroundings, Alfred grinned with the unconcealed joy of being in a completely new place. Picking up his satchel, Alfred headed in the direction of a recommended hotel with a spring in his step.

1 Due to increasing pollution, London was often shrouded by a thick fog referred to as the London Particular

2 Cab=Brothel

3 Chaunting Lay=street singing, often for money

4 Rozzers=police

5 Lump Hotel=Workhouse

6 Dollyshop=unlicensed pawn shop

7 Whitecahpel was a very shady area of London near the open markets of the East End. It is most famous for being Jack the Ripper's murder ground

8 Jack=detective

9 Victorian England was a deeply religious country. A great number of people were habitual church goers and would go to church at least once, probably twice, every Sunday.

10 Wearing the broad arrow=being in prison. The arrow refers to the design of the prisoners clothes.

11 Jerryshop=A legal pawnbrokers

12 Drag=a three month gaol sentence

13 Toff=stylish gentleman