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really don’t need to wear specs.’
    At the top of the narrow staircase there were two bedrooms, of which Dolly’s was the larger, looking down onto the street. Eliza gazed roundthe room with a gasp of pleasure. She had lived in the sail loft for so long that she had almost forgotten what it was like to be in a proper house. The scent of lavender and clean linen brought back distant memories of the home she had once shared with her dad and Bart, and a lump to her throat. One day, Eliza thought, clasping her hands together, I will have a bedroom just like this and all to meself. She made an effort to memorise every detail, from the iron bedstead draped with a patchwork quilt, to the pine washstand with its china jug and bowl, patterned with red cabbage roses. Above the bed there was a framed picture of Queen Victoria, looking rather bored but extremely regal. Floral print curtains hung at the windows and a rag rug made a pool of bright colour on floorboards that had been scrubbed white, like boiled beef bone.
    Seemingly unaware of the emotions that her simply furnished room had stirred in Eliza’s heart, Dolly opened a wall cupboard and had begun sorting through the garments. She selected a cotton blouse that must have once been white, but was now yellowed with age. It was several sizes too large for Eliza, but tied in at the waist with a piece of coloured ribbon, it did not look too bad; at least that was what Dolly said and Eliza was happy to believe her. Having tut-tutted again at the state of Eliza’s bare feet, Dolly said they would have to buy her a properpair of boots. Mr Peck would have to cough up the money, whether he liked it or not.
    ‘Now this will be your room,’ Dolly said, as she squeezed past Eliza. She went out onto the landing and opened a door that led into a boxroom, empty except for a truckle bed. She heaved a sigh. ‘This was to be the room for our babies when they come, but the Lord never saw fit to bless us with children.’
    A wave of dizziness swept over Eliza and she leaned against the lintel, wincing as the wood pressed on her sore back.
    ‘Perhaps you’d better lie down for a bit,’ Dolly said, pointing to the bed. ‘Lie on your tummy, dear, and it won’t hurt so much.’ She felt her way along the wall to the top of the stairs and went slowly down, hanging on to the banister for dear life. Eliza sat on the bed watching her. She couldn’t help feeling that Mrs Peck really ought to wear her specs, or one day she would have a terrible fall.
    ‘Well, what are we to do with you?’ Ted drained his glass of small beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Having finished his supper of boiled bacon and pease pudding, he pushed his chair back from the table. ‘How old are you, Eliza, my dear?’
    ‘Twelve, sir.’
    ‘She’s just a baby,’ Dolly said, reaching out toclasp Ted’s hand. ‘Let me keep her by me for a while? It gets lonely with you out at work and me being a poor invalid, and not able to go out.’
    Ted patted her hand. ‘I know, ducks, but Eliza’s old enough to work and I’m not a rich man. Bragg says he don’t want her back and I can’t afford to keep her if she don’t pay her way.’
    ‘I’m used to working,’ Eliza said stoutly. She had eaten a whole plateful of bacon and pease pudding and, although her back was still smarting and the bruises were sore, she was already feeling much better. ‘I’m used to hard work. I done me bit ever since I left school two years ago, and I studies me books of a night, when it’s light enough for me to see the print.’
    ‘Please, Ted. At least let her stay at home until the cuts on her back heal. I can teach her to sew and together we can make her a new frock; she’ll need some proper clothes if she’s to get a job.’
    ‘It was sewing that ruined your eyes, Dolly.’ Rising to his feet, Ted took a tobacco pouch and a pipe from the mantelshelf. ‘You was the best seamstress in Wapping until your sight