London
Tom awoke as the coach came to a stop. Looking through the window, he could see the city streets of London. Here at last, he thought while slowly making his way from his seat, still half asleep. He looked around at all the delight of the city he had once loved so much. As a young man it was his playground. He had caused such trouble in his youth, something of which had given his uncle a great deal of embarrassment. Whores and gambling. He laughed at himself, in disbelief that he had ever acted in such a way. His reputation had certainly followed him to Hampshire, when he had met Jane. Because of this she had wanted nothing to do with him for some time. Proper ladies never found themselves having affections for a man with a reputation.
He took a big breath of the crisp night air before turning and heading up the stairs to his home. It was suddenly so cold and empty. For just a moment, he had half expected to find his wife inside, chatting away with one of her woman friends about nothing in particular while stopping briefly to acknowledge his presence. "Hello, dear." She would say it in the same manner one might speak to a dog. And then, she would continue on with her conversation as if he weren't worth speaking another word to. And now, so quickly she was gone. Although it hurt him so to see his dear daughter without a mother, he didn't seem to find much other sympathy regarding the woman. She had always been very cold, and unfeeling toward him. It was her mother, God rest her soul that had pushed her to marry him, promising her that someday they would have great fortune, and perhaps learn to love one another.
She was fairly kind to him, always performing the tasks of a wife. But never would she care to show any affections toward him, unless provoked by alcohol or pressure of the society in which they lived. But how she had loved their daughter, always doting on her and praising her accomplishments, however large or small. The pair of them had remained inseparable always. But in the end, the thing for which his wife had the most affection, would be alcohol. She had always drank some, here and there or with a meal. Slowly though, she began to drink a little more until it was all that consumed her life. And to even mention the possibility that she might wait until a little later into the evening is something one dared not to do. He found himself growing accustomed to his wife this way, and some nights when she would fall asleep after drinking three quarters of a bottle of brandy, he would slip out quietly and go on a walk.