The Christmas Rose: The most heart-warming novel of 2018, from the Sunday Times bestseller. Dilly Court

she knew that the money in it would not take her very far. She took out her last silver sixpence. ‘How far will this get me?’

      The man in the ticket office seized the coin. ‘Fenchurch Street, miss.’

      ‘That’s where I’m going,’ Rose said firmly. She had no idea where Fenchurch Street was in relation to Wapping, but she had a dim memory of hearing the name and it seemed familiar. Anything was better than being stuck out here in the cold and dark.

      ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. Good night, miss.’

      She turned to thank the man but he had vanished into the fog. ‘I didn’t even know his name,’ she said out loud.

      The railway clerk handed her a ticket. ‘What did you say, miss?’

      ‘Nothing. Thank you.’

      ‘Platform one, miss.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She made her way to platform one, walking as fast as her cramped and tired limbs would allow. At least it would be warm on the train and she could sit down in comfort, for a little while. But where was Max? Why hadn’t he been there when she needed him?

      She had only been able to afford a third-class ticket, and when the train arrived it was overcrowded, with standing room only, and the passengers were crammed in shoulder to shoulder. After nearly two months at sea, breathing in the fresh salt-laden air, Rose felt that she was suffocating, and the smell of sweaty bodies and unwashed clothing was almost too much to bear. When the train eventually pulled into Fenchurch Street station she was forcibly ejected as her fellow travellers pushed and shoved in their efforts to leave the compartment.

      Standing on the platform, a small island in the midst of a swirling sea of people, Rose had never felt so alone in her whole life. She grabbed the first woman who was about to rush past her.

      ‘Excuse me, please. Can you tell me how to get to Wapping?’

      The pale-faced woman, whose brown eyes were blank with fatigue, pulled her arm free with an angry twist of her thin lips. ‘You should have got off the train at Leman Street.’

      ‘I didn’t know that,’ Rose said humbly. ‘Where do I go from here?’

      The woman pointed vaguely. ‘Head that way until you get to the Minories and then walk down Little Tower Hill and turn into Upper East Smithfield. You’ll have to ask directions when you get there, but keep going towards the river and you’ll get to Wapping High Street. Be careful who you speak to, girl. There’s some odd sorts round there.’ She wrapped her shawl around her head and dived into the crowd without giving Rose a chance to thank her.

      There was nothing for it but to start walking. Rose tried to remember the woman’s hurried instructions, but the fog was even thicker here than it had been in the Royal Victoria Dock, and she had to keep stopping to ask the way. Sometimes her enquiries were met with a helpful answer, but more often than not people ignored her and walked past.

      It soon became obvious that she was lost – the landmarks were obliterated by the fog and her breathing became more laboured with each step she took. She had lost all sense of time, but it felt like the middle of the night. The occasional cab lurched past her, but the horses moved at a plodding pace, and it was not until they were almost upon her that it was possible to gauge how close they were, making it necessary for her to leap out of the way. Rose’s nerves were shredded and she was exhausted and very hungry. Desperation was making her reckless, and, as she felt her way from wall to wall, she was suddenly aware of a shaft of light and the sound of raucous voices. The smell of ale and spirits wafted out of the pub in a cloud of tobacco smoke. Rose was about to go inside when someone grabbed her by the arm.

      ‘I’d steer clear of that place if I was you, dearie.’

      Rose struggled but she was hampered by her heavy carpet bag and the woman had a grip of steel. ‘What’s it to you?’ she said crossly.

      ‘Up from the country are you?’

      Rose dumped her baggage on the pavement. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘I’m a friend, love. But you’re not from round here, are you? You wouldn’t want to go in there if you was up to snuff.’

      Rose sighed. ‘I was born in London, but my pa took me to Australia when I was a nipper.’

      The woman leaned forward to peer into Rose’s face. ‘I’m Cora Smith, and if you’ve got any sense in that noddle of yours you’ll take my advice and move on from here. What’s your name?’

      ‘I’m Rose Munday and I’m trying to get to the Captain’s House on the wharf at Wapping.’

      Cora threw back her head and laughed. ‘There’s lots of wharfs at Wapping, love. D’you know which one?’

      ‘No, but it wasn’t far from the dock police station. I remember that.’

      ‘Well, that’s a start. Come on then. Seems to me this is my night to be a good citizen, for a change.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘My, my, you are a persistent little thing. What did they teach you in Australia, Rose Munday? Didn’t they have women like me, with painted lips and rouged cheeks, what earns their living by any way they can – mostly flat on their backs or—’

      ‘Yes, I understand,’ Rose said hastily. ‘I grew up in a mining town so I know how it goes.’

      ‘Tell you what, Rose. I was going to point you in the right direction, but I don’t want your dead body floating downriver on me conscience. I know this part of London like the back of me hand and I’ll see you safely home. Is someone waiting for you?’

      ‘I hope so,’ Rose said fervently. ‘Max was going to meet me – he gave me his word.’

      ‘Men and their promises.’ Cora tossed her head. ‘Come on, this peasouper ain’t going to clear before morning. Let’s get going.’

      They seemed to have been walking for hours. Rose could feel blisters at the point of bursting on her heels, and she was just beginning to think she would drop from exhaustion when Cora came to a sudden halt. ‘Watch where you go.’

      Slowly and painfully Rose followed Cora down a steep flight of steps, and she was in familiar territory at last. Despite the sulphurous stench of the fog mixed with the smoke from thousands of chimneys, the smell of the river mud took her back to her childhood. In her mind’s eye she could see the run-down boatyard where her father had struggled to make a living. It had been her home and she had forgotten the hardships, remembering only the hot summer days when she had paddled in the shallows and picked wildflowers on the river-bank.

      ‘This must be it,’ she whispered. ‘The Captain’s House can’t be far now and Max will be there waiting for me.’

      ‘I wouldn’t bet on it, love.’ Cora reached out to clutch Rose’s hand. ‘Keep close to me. There’ll be coils of rope, chains and all sorts waiting to trip you up and fling you into the river.’ She paused. ‘Can you hear it? The water is lapping the wharf and that means it’s high tide.’

      ‘Yes, I remember now.’

      ‘Good. Then you know that if you fall in you won’t stand a chance. No one will see you and they won’t hear your cries for help. The current will suck you under and you’ll be a goner.’

      ‘Why are you doing this for me, Cora? Why would you want to help someone you’ve never met before?’

      ‘You ask too many questions. Come on. I’m dying for a smoke and a drink, and the sooner I deliver you, the sooner I can find a nice warm pub.’

      ‘All right. I’m coming.’ Rose tried not to drag her feet as she followed Cora, who seemed to have limitless energy. Then, just as Rose was about to give up, she was aware of a different smell and one that was very familiar. It was a mixture of burning sugar, roasting coffee beans and spices emanating from the warehouses surrounding the docks.

      ‘This