She stood on the narrow pavement, taking in her surroundings while Perry paid the cabby. They were very close to St Katharine’s Dock, and from the end of Nightingale Lane she could see a forest of ships’ masts and tall cranes. The noise of barrels rolling over cobblestones, the rattle of chains and the hoots of steam whistles accompanied the shouts of men working on land and on the water. She wrinkled her nose as the noxious smell of raw sewage rose from the river mud, competing with the pleasant aroma of roasting coffee beans and molasses. Nightingale Lane itself was lined with a jumbled assortment of warehouses, cottages, pubs and ships’ chandlers. Ragged children, some little more than babies, played in the gutter, despite the through traffic of horse-drawn vehicles and handcarts. The street was crisscrossed with washing lines hung with dripping undergarments, aprons and sheets, all flapping idly in the light breeze. A window above them opened and a woman emptied a bowl of dirty water into the street, narrowly missing Kate.

‘Come on.’ Perry took her by the hand and led her to a house that was squashed between a pub and a small iron foundry. The noise of hammering was deafening and sparks flew out of the open door like a firework display. Kate kept close to Perry, wondering what would be thrown at them next.

He rapped on a door, the panels of which were splintered at the base as if attacked by someone wearing hobnail boots, and it was opened just far enough for a young child to peer at them suspiciously.

‘It’s me, Nellie. Uncle Perry.’

‘Ma, it’s Uncle Perry.’

‘Good morning, Aunt Ivy.’ Perry stepped inside and Kate followed him. She had to blink to adjust her eyes to the dim interior, and the rank smell of a tallow candle made her hand rise instinctively to cover her nose. The small room was sparsely furnished with a moth-eaten curtain draped over the cracked windowpanes, and damp patches formed interesting patterns on the walls, as if nature had decided to decorate the dreary surroundings. The bare floorboards were scrubbed clean, but lacked any kind of rug to add colour or comfort.

‘Have you got any news? Is Ted coming home?’ Seated by the empty grate, a woman with a baby suckling at her breast attempted to rise, but sank back on the seat. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d brought a guest.’

‘Please, don’t mind me,’ Kate said hastily.

Perry bent down to pick up a golden-haired toddler. ‘You’ve grown since I last saw you, Charlie.’

‘Who are you, miss?’ Nellie asked, fingering the fine woollen cloth of Kate’s skirt.

‘Nellie, that’s rude.’ Ivy shot a wary glance at Kate. ‘I’m sorry, miss. We don’t get many visitors.’

‘That’s all right,’ Kate said gently. ‘I’m sorry to intrude, ma’am.’