The Urchin's Song [antikvár]

Prologue 1890 The night was bitterly cold, but the big blowsy woman who was just about to enter the Mariners' Arms on Custom House Quay was well padded against the icy mist rising off the river. Not so the two little girls huddled in front of the wooden barréis standing on the filthy, muck-strewn cobbles. In spite of the raw winter chili, they wore only dirty ragged dresses, with tattered strips of sacking round their thin shoulders passing as shawls. Their legs and feet were bare and they wore no underclothes, but the eldest one, a little scrap of nothing who looked to be about five or six, managed to speak despite her wildly chattering teeth. 'Spare a farthin', missus?' Her tone wasn't hopeful. She knew from experience the regulars of the riverside pubs were more generous when they left, normally heavily intoxicated and merry and therefore inclined to throw the odd coin or two her way. 'Ee, this is no night for baims to be out.' The child sank back against the questionable protection of the barreis; she recognised a refusai when she heard one. But then, instead of the 'You get yerself home now, lass,' she saw the plump face peer closer, and the voice was softer when it said,