47My worn, tattered, brown leather shoes were hardly much shelter for my feet that cold winter of 1859 as I walked on the cobblestone streets of London. My dirty blond hair looked more brown than any color, for I hadn't washed it in months. It was oily enough to fry bacon on my head on if it were a hot summer day
My dress was long, full, and a dark green color, but with stains from waste, dirt, dust, blood, and who knew what else on it, it was turning brown. With hoops, it probably had once been quite fashionable, but when I found it in the trash bin, it was dirty and hoopless, perfect for me. Ay sixteen, I was nothing but a beggar girl.
My face was thin and bony with plenty of freckles from being out in the sun with no bonnet or parasol. The rest of me was thin too, from lack of food. I found scraps here and there, and even stole a bit, but my stomach was never satisfied.
The skin on my hands was not that of a lady's, but was dry from the cold and blistered from doing odd jobs for food, such as mopping floors. I could never pass for a lady, though, not in a million years, even though I could read and write as my mother taught me before she died when I was nine. But reading and writing sure as heck didn't get me anywhere.
One January day I was walking along a cobblestone street, minding my own business, looking carefully at the ground below my feet for cast off valuable items which I could pawn. I was looking to the side of me and not in front of me when the street I was on came to a cross between another street. I walked right into a gray haired, sideburned, mustached man who looked about forty-five years old. He was dressed in a fine coal colored polyester suit with an expensive looking hat on his noble head and gold tipped black cane in his right hand. He looked startled when I bumped into him, and then stared at me for a while, giving me the creeps and making me shiver.
"Sorry, gov'ner," I said, pulling my faded red wool scarf tight around my neck and trying to sound as much like a street urchin as I possibly could so he'd leave me alone.
"Annabelle?" He finally spoke in sheer shock. Puzzled, I began to walk away but then he grabbed me by the shoulders, turned me around, and looked at my face, holding me at arms length.
"Let me go, sir!" I screamed, frantic. "I've done nothing to you! I said I was sorry for running into you!" I twisted and turned in my struggle to get away.
"Don't you remember me?" He asked sadly, looking deeply into my gray eyes. "Your Father?"
I stopped struggling and stared up at him, into his sad green eyes. He thought I was someone else! His daughter, in fact! Why, if I could play along with this, I might be able to get a free meal or two and perhaps even a new dress, for this man seemed to have great wealth.