Orphan of Angel Street Read Online Free PDF Page B

threadbare that patches of the wooden floor could be seen through it. However much they felt obliged to fête Mr Hanley for his generosity, money was nevertheless tight in this establishment.
    The sky outside was so thick with cloud that the room was almost dark and there was no fire in the grate, although it was viciously cold.
    ‘But—’ Miss Eagle tried to find a way of protesting this madness without sounding thoroughly impertinent. ‘Mercy’s, well – she’s . . .’
    ‘A damn nuisance, so she is,’ Miss O’Donnell butted in with no hesitation, hands on her staunch hips. ‘She’s a flaming little wildcat and now’s our chance to get shot of her.’
    ‘We thought boarding out might be the way to settle her down,’ Miss Rowney said, attempting to sound a little more professional. ‘I mean, heaven knows we’re hardly beseiged with requests for foster children. It ought to be a good chance for her. The lady asked for a girl of Mercy’s age – well, perhaps what she meant was a little older, but no matter, Mercy’s nearly twelve. And she seemed firm enough of character. She has a respectable address in, let’s see—’ She picked up a sheet of paper and held it at arm’s length, squinting through pince-nez. ‘Handsworth. Husband employed in a whip factory, I understand. No children. We’ll have the place inspected of course . . .’
    ‘We should’ve packed her off to Canada with the last lot.’ Miss O’Donnell strode over to the window and stood looking at the murk outside. It was beginning to rain. ‘Heaven knows, I shouldn’t mind going to Canada. See a bit of grass and some trees for a change instead of this filth-ridden hole with its strikes and its wife murderers.’
    Last year’s execution of a Dr Hawley Harvey Crippen who’d deposited his slaughtered wife’s body under the floorboards was still playing on Miss O’Donnell’s mind as a sign of England’s depravity. Even the lavish Coronation of King George V had not persuaded her she was any better off living in the heart of the Empire.
    Miss Rowney ignored her. ‘We can get this settled as quickly as possible. As for the inspection – I’ll have to do it myself. We’re not Dr Barnardo’s after all – doctors for this and inspectors for that.’ She tutted. ‘We’re short enough this week, with Dorothy Finch taking bad.’ Suddenly she waved her hand at the other two women. ‘All right, all right, you can go. I’ll sort it out.’

    The children stood with faces pressed against the railing of St Philip’s playground.
    ‘Look!’ a little boy shrieked with excitement. ‘It’s coming – it’s getting closer!’
    In the road outside a horse clopped slowly past along the cobbles, pulling a dray loaded with barrels. But behind, gaining on the stately pace of the cart, was the object of their excitement.
    ‘’Ark at it go!’ the boy shouted.
    ‘Look at them wheels!’
    ‘Ain’t it beautiful? Oi – give us a ride, mate!’
    The Austin motor car bowled past, bodywork gleaming even in the dull light. The wheels were like small cartwheels coated in rubber, and the the two behatted men sat high above the road. They kept their faces turned to the front, not heeding the children’s cheers and claps as they leant on the railings straining to get the last views of the automobile before it turned the corner.
    ‘Eh – who’s that shovin’? Pack it in!’
    There came a jostling and a very forceful pushing from the back of the tangle of children, and one of the smallest girls, all sharp elbows and knees, forced her way to the front, supple as a fish.
    ‘Who d’you think you are, Mercy?’ One of the boys pulled her arm, trying to force her back. ‘Barging in – we all want to see.’
    The boy found the girl’s strange, catlike eyes turned on him and a second later received a kick on the shin so hard it brought tears to his eyes and he doubled up to rub his leg. ‘Oi, ’er kicked me, ’er did!’
    ‘’Ere—’ The