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If you have to choose – and by all accounts, you must – then it must be speed. After all, attempting to make it to the Coaching house without a single set of eyes laying themselves upon you will grind grist and make meal of many minutes, and if – if! – you can manage it, you still will need to make yourself known once you arrive at the house to conclude your business there … unless you are intending on stealing stage, and team, and bill and Patent – which you for a surety, you are not. So what sense is there in any skulking and slinking, if there are going to be witnesses no matter how diligently you avoid – no, wait, there already are witnesses! You have already been seen at the Landward Walls today, and in the Coaching house and dressmaker's besides. It … perhaps it might be far afield from a comfort to think on how many must have seen you in this … remarkable garment already, but on the opposite face of the talent, a question that has an obvious and easy answer is a blessed thing, especially when one is otherwise in a dearth of them, as you have found yourself.
Mustering as much haste as you can, you pull at the ties of your black riding cloak, not bothering to untie it – just getting it loose enough that you can draw it over your head and toss it onto your burgeoning cart. With the hood off, you then unsling your linen sheet sling – and with a hint more care, you place the swag from the Clerking house on top of the creased and battered black hood. The apron, also burdened, comes off next, followed in short order by your domestic dress and the gifted chemise. Now without a pocket to stow it in, you now have to hold your Wand of Head-Knocking in your hand. You seriously consider lighting a candle – as you doubt the little light filtering into the Closet is going to be enough for you to quickly pull the riding habit on – but you ultimately decide against it. If light can filter in from the streetlamps, then it stands to reason that it may filter out from a candle. You are just going to have to work this out with what light remains to you in here. Besides, they were all rather plainly dressed at the Coach house, so who are they to say that you put the dress on wrong – even if you were to?
As you dig through your swag, you are reminded that with tight sleeves and without any pockets, your riding habit is singularly ill-suited for the Wand of Head-Knocking. You stifle the urge to swear under your breath at the thought, and you stifle the urge again as you pluck the Socketing Needle out of the crook of your left arm – though you manage to not swear, you do let slip a slight squeaky gasp of pain. Belatedly feeling just how naked you are, you hustle to find something suitable to cover up the distressingly large and now bleeding hole in your arm. You seize upon one of the small bundles of rags and win one free.
