The Lost Daughter by Iris Cole

The Lost Daughter by Iris Cole

Author:Iris Cole [Cole, Iris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-21T22:00:00+00:00


Chapter Thirteen

That night, Clary walked despondently through the crowded streets of Manchester, where carriages clattered along the roads at breakneck speed, without a care for those on foot, and every face she saw seemed to reflect the exhaustion and starvation of her own.

There were children trying to scrounge dumped cheese rinds and vegetable peelings from the gutter, some of them cheering triumphantly when they found a carrot top with some actual carrot attached. Meanwhile, mothers watched them absently as they sipped from ceramic jars; the women’s eyes glassy and distant.

I’ll freeze to death if I can’t find a place to sleep tonight, she fretted, pulling her woollen cloak tighter about herself. She had already tried at least six boarding houses, but they had all given her similar responses.

“We’re full.”

“We don’t want your sort in here.”

“Try the one down the road.”

“What are you—a lad or a lass? Either way, we’ve no rooms for the likes of you. You look like trouble.”

Clary knew she might have fared better if it had not been for the bruising upon her face, and the fact she was now wearing her dress over the top of the boy’s clothes for additional warmth, but there was little she could do about either.

If she wanted to survive her first night here, she needed to prevent herself from succumbing to exposure. And it was already so bitterly cold; the icy wind whipping under her skirts and biting through the fabric of her trousers. Though that was not the only thing that was likely biting her. Her skin felt as though it was ablaze, prickling and itching uncontrollably, until she had half a mind to rake her nails across every part of her flesh, tearing herself to ribbons as long as it made the itching stop.

At last, feeling as though her dignity had taken enough of a battering for one day, she found a somewhat sheltered doorway and sat herself down. Here, at least, she could rest her aching legs for a while.

Huddling into the shadows, she settled her chin into the dip between her raised knees and tried not to shiver too much as the wind whistled past. She stared out at the street beyond while she massaged the chicken-like skin between her thumb and forefinger, in an attempt to stave off her growing hunger.

Dolly had always taught her to do that when her stomach was rumbling, though she had no idea if it actually worked, or if it was merely a distraction technique.

Dolly? Bill? Can you hear me? She did not expect them to speak back, but it comforted her to think she was holding a conversation. What do I do if I can’t get home? What do I do if I find myself stuck here?

She supposed the answer was obvious—she would have to find work of some kind and try to create some kind of life for herself here, until she could find a way to get home. The notion terrified Clary.

No-one would take her seriously as a nurse or a healer, looking the way she did, and she had no experience of any other kind of work.



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