step as he strode out amongst the teeming dockside.
The immigration building was airless and the rank odour of unwashed bodies made her breathe through her mouth. Rows of tables lined the far wall, and she spied other members from the ship in the snaking lines.
“I have to get back to the ship, Miss.” Jones deposited her trunk on the floor inside the building. “You’ll be all right now?”
“Oh yes. Thank you again.”
Jones grabbed a boy who lingered by the doorway. “You, mind this lady’s trunk until she comes back and you’ll get ha’penny for your troubles. Yes?”
“Aye, mister.” The boy promptly sat on the trunk and picked at his dirty chipped fingernails.
“Here. I think you need this more than me.” Jones opened her hand and placed a half crown in her palm. “Good luck, Miss Douglas. I hope you’ll be happy.” He slipped away before she could thank him once more.
Staring at the half crown, emotion welled. There were kind people in the world. The First Mate had been particularly nice to her the whole voyage and often sought her out to chat in the evenings. He said she reminded him of his sister, whom he sorely missed back home in England. Generously, he had spent time with her and supplied information about the new country she’d be calling home.
She tucked the coin into her skirt pocket and took out a farthing from her own meagre supply in her reticule and handed it to the boy. “You’ll get another when I come back. I’ll be watching, mind! So don’t try anything.”
“Yes, Miss.”
As Nicola joined the queue she felt Jones’s half crown against her leg. It would be her talisman for the future. She would never spend it...unless she was desperate, but hopefully it would never come to that. The line surged forward and she turned back to watch the boy, but he was busy scratching his head and paying no attention to anyone. Unlike the urchin on the wharf, he seemed happy to earn his money truthfully and she relaxed a little.
Around her families huddled, some complaining, some smiling in open relief to have made the voyage intact. A few foreigners talked in whispers, clutching everything they owned. A woman slipped her hand through a young man’s and he gazed down at her with devotion. The feeling of being alone once more hit her. Had she been mad to make this journey, to leave England? After another glance back at the boy, she stepped forward as the line moved ahead. Eventually she stood in front of a desk and a young clerk, with a large Adam’s apple bobbing above his starched white collar, asked for her papers. “Name, Miss?”
Some of her spirit re-emerged. A new beginning. She had to be strong. Straightening her back, she raised her head with dignity. “Miss Nicola Matilda Douglas. Spinster. Twenty-five years of age from Wakefield, Yorkshire, England.”
Chapter Two
Nicola kept her head down against the cold wind. Scattered raindrops fell against her and she hurried along the street, eager to be back in the hotel. She laughed inwardly at the thought. The hotel room wasn’t worth the money she spent on it, but having no other choice she tolerated the peeling wallpaper and squeaking bed, the cheerful but slatternly landlady and the noise of the public house next to it. At least it was cheaper than the old Governesses Home, saving her three shillings a week.
At the end of the street she turned right and headed up the slight incline towards the shops at the top. She wished the post office was closer to the hotel to save her this walk, but still, it got her out of the oppressive room and also gave her a chance to become familiar with her surroundings. After four weeks of living in the area, she now knew all the street names between the hotel and the post office and where to buy the few supplies she needed.
Passing the small glass fronted shops, she nodded to one shopkeeper outside fixing his sign that seemed in danger of being blown down the street. “Nasty day, isn’t it, Mr Price?”
“Indeed, Miss Douglas. Not one to be out in,” he called back. “Been to the post office again, have you?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Any luck yet?”
“No, but I’ll keep trying.”
“No luck on selling your drawings so far, I’m sorry to say.”
“Thank you anyway, Mr Price.” She waved and walked on. The sale of one of her drawings displayed in Mr Price’s shop would be