As a young girl, her feet had skipped along these cobbles as she sang prettily and sold flowers, only occasionally adding to her day’s take with colourful hankies swiped from gentlemen’s pockets. A few years on and Nell’s steps were slower and her attempts to look appealing were more studied and specifically aimed at the male population. By the time she was in her late thirties with a string of financially rewarding, although ultimately doomed, relationships behind her, she had accrued much of what she desired and could afford to hire hansom cabs. Yet, it was to the streets she always returned in the end. Through poverty or wealth, joy or sorrow, friendship or loneliness, Nell had always wanted, above all, to be seen. She wanted the world to envy her, admire her and notice her. Ghosts received no tip of a gentleman’s hat, nor jealous glances from wives. Ghosts were invisible to the living. So Nell sought attention from other spirits. She had liked Mr Lapsewood a great deal. He had been a proper gent, asking her to do up a button.
