"The Soft-Hearted Widow is jingling her collecting tin along the queue for the theatre. When she sees your fine clothes, she rattles the tin loudly enough to distress the horses pulling nearby hansoms. Don't you recognise her from somewhere?"[1]
The Soft-Hearted Widow is a well-known philanthropist, offering shelter to newcomers in the city.[2] She provides them with three hot meals a day and initial lodgings—whether a spare guest-room,[3] bedroom, or whatever space she can borrow.[4] Often seen collecting donations, she tirelessly supports her charity for the homeless.[1]
Over the years, the Widow has taken in more than a few unusual tenants. One such lodger was an August Travel-Writer, who vanished without explanation, leaving her to wonder if she had somehow offended him. In truth, the Writer was being hunted by The Admiralty, and when he spotted an officer in the Widow's company, he knew it was time to disappear.[5] Another of her tenants who left suddenly without notice was the Fidgeting Writer, a restless soul haunted by three mysterious figures.[6]
Yet, the Widow’s past holds secrets of its own. When Knife-and-Candle was still legal, the Widow had a very different role that ran counter to her charitable efforts. She once worked as a signaller for players of the deadly underground game of intrigue, discreetly informing them when to make their moves.[7]
↑Charm your way into someone's home, Fallen London"Are you a replacement for a child she lost? Or is her interest in you a little more carnal? Either way, you become the Soft-Hearted Widow's guest.You deserve somewhere better, of course. But this will keep you out of the cold. […]"
↑A Spare Bedroom, Fallen London"The guest-room of a soft-hearted widow. Three hot meals a day and a real feather-bed go some way towards compensating for the weekly, and noisy, hymn-singing sessions in her parlour."
↑A Confession of the Soft-Hearted Widow, Fallen London"The Widow has written of an August Travel-Writer she took in; better heeled than her usual lodgers, but insistent – his plight must have been desperate indeed.He kept odd hours and was often away, but on chilly evenings they shared tea and spoke of the prior Sunday's sermon. Until one November morning, when she found his room empty, and her lodger gone.How had she offended him? She speculates frantically. Was her tea bitter? Her mushroom scones dry? Should she have invited him to dine with her guest – an old friend from the Admiralty – when he visited that week?"
↑Track down the Fidgeting Writer, Fallen London"A Soft-Hearted Widow shows you the leaky garret he used to rent. The worst holes are plugged with discarded poem-fragments, the words ruined by the rain. Honey-scent clings to the rafters."I do miss him," she sobs. "It was an accident. I'm sure it was an accident. When he wrote I wouldn't see him for days on end – I thought he was at his work. I didn't know he..." she can't continue."
