She smiles a friendly smile back at them! If people seem really bothered by the sword she could put it sheath and all in the bag of holding, but she'd rather not, and it wouldn't actually make her much less dangerous, just less dangerous-looking. 

She wanders around looking for a temple or a tavern, those being the best places to go to get oriented.

Here's a temple, high-roofed and clean with a golden symbol over the door of a man hanging from a cross! Across the street is a tavern with a free-swinging sign depicting a suckling boar!

Hmm. That's a kind of concerning holy symbol. How are people in the area reacting to the temple? Are they stopping by to chat with the priest, or passing it hurriedly on the opposite side of the street, or something in between?

The people mostly ignore it, but some enter or leave, with only a few looking particularly shifty, unsavory, or self-conscious.

Probably a Good or Neutral god with a perfectly logical explanation for the holy symbol she just hasn't thought of yet, then. She'll stick her head in and see if there's anyone who looks like they wouldn't mind answering a foreigner's questions.

There's a bald man in black robes with a white collar, sitting near the door and reading a book. He's got a golden symbol hanging over his chest which isn't identical to the one over the door (no man on it), but is similar (still distinctly cross-shaped). When Samora enters, he looks up and frowns. "Do you need help, miss?"

He has a fairly strong Evil aura.

She's never encountered an Evil cleric in a city instead of a dungeon and relatedly never encountered one who didn't immediately attack her. She is very briefly wrongfooted by this.

"Nope never mind goodbye." 

What's in the tavern?

His frown deepens as she goes, but he doesn't try to stop her, because that would be an absolutely bizarre thing for a priest to do.

The tavern contains a mixture of honest workmen, threadbare artists, and twopenny cutthroats. The laborers drink cheap beer and sing bawdy songs; the artists drink cheaper wine and sing sentimental songs; the criminals drink slightly less cheap liquor and don't, as a rule, sing anything.

If they take weird foreign copper she'll buy a beer, largely as a social prop, and either way she'll strike up a conversation with one of the more sober workmen. She's new in town and wants to hear the news, see.

The bartender will, actually, take a weird foreign copper piece. The low-level economies of London are by no means dominated by fiat currency.

The workman is sufficiently amused by this that he'll humor her in turn! "Well, there's this nightmare of a dragon going 'round," he says. "The taxes on love stories are worse than ever, t'hear the Bohemians tell it. And, speaking of taxes, I'll tell you summat really interesting: a mate of mine in Spite, he said there was a diamond, somewhere 'round the city, the size of a bloody cow. Probably honey-mazed, t'tell the truth, but wouldn't it be something!"

"Hah, no way. Whoever had it would have cut it up and sold it. Or made themselves king of the world. Unless magic is different here than where I'm from. But it sure would be something."

"The Masters don't like people like us gettin' our grubby hands on diamonds, but I've never heard it's 'cause of magic. Seems like it'd lead to even more smuggling than there already is." Thoughtful swig of beer. "And the zailors say there's a whole mountain that's all diamond down to the gravel, somewhere out there. That it's the light from her that keeps us living when we ought to be dead."

"Ought to be dead? Of what?"

He gives her a strange look. "...of anything. Of burning t'death, of a bullet t'the head, of a knife in the throat. Y'haven't heard, how Death's a stranger in London? We die and we rise, sure as the sun don't down here."

"Good heavens! I suppose it might take a mountain of diamond to do something like that." (It's not the most efficient use of that much diamond, she thinks with self-aware presumptuousness.) "And it's only in London that it works that way, as far as you know?"

"All through the Neath. –the big cave we're in. We're in a big cave, case you missed it. S'got room for an ocean, and a couple of continents."

"Huh, the parts of the Underdark I'm used to are more cramped than this. And what are the things that look like stars, if they're not the stars?"

"False-stars," shrugs the workman. "They glow like the real kind, but they move without any cycle. In a year half of them'll be new."