Chapter 52: Child Thief
March 1896.
This winter was unseasonably warm and dismal.
Foolish spring flowers, deceived by the mild weather, cautiously poked out their heads and opened their buds, only to freeze in the bitter cold that arrived the very next day. As this erratic weather persisted, the already depressing London streets took on an even more desolate atmosphere with their carpet of rotting flower buds.
The flowers weren’t the only victims of the capricious weather.
On the rare days it snowed, all of London seemed to fall ill. Snowflakes never reached the ground intact, always arriving half-melted, turning into damp clumps that mixed with mud and horse manure to form revolting brown masses.
It resembled filth falling from the sky rather than snow, and the young street sweepers, their workload doubled by this new nuisance, labored with glum faces from before dawn until nightfall.
The heavens, it seemed, were staunch Tories.
Little wonder, since they had imposed their own version of the Highway Act restrictions. Coachmen, terrified their horses might slip on the frozen ground and injure themselves, couldn’t pick up speed, while motorcars couldn’t advance because carriages clogged the roads ahead.
I was forced to leave home a full 30 minutes earlier than usual just to barely arrive on time for my lectures. The tip of my walking stick remained perpetually damp, souring my mood before the day had properly begun.