Chapter 14
Tessie had paid her last pennies to the Whitechapel dosshouse. It was all she could do to stop the frost devouring her from the feet up. Though it offered no hearth or fire, no food to share, it was more like a stable, herding the poor in to shelter on hard benches and straw, and paying all they had for the privilege.
Church-like pews had lined the walls, a single rope threaded across them to lean forward and sleep upon. She had lain in a wooden box on the floor with two dozen others, feeling nailed into place with her knees curled up in front of her. The blood had dried hard to her dress and every movement yanked at the swollen stitches as the hard edges of the box dug into her hip. All night she had been restless with the sound of boots scraping on the wood.
It was barely f
