Winsor, Kathleen (23 page)

Amber
stiffened at that suggestion, defensively lowering her black lashes. "I can't.
I mean I won't. They didn't want me to get married and I—"

"Never
mind, my dear. I think I know your plight well enough. You found yourself with
child and so left, home. Now your keeper's left you. Well, in London we don't
give a damn —we've got troubles enough of our own without worryin' ourselves
with our neighbours—"

"But
I
am
married!" protested Amber, determined to have the credit of a
respectable woman since she had gone to such length to be one. "I'm Mrs.
Channell—Mrs. Luke Channell. And here's my ring to prove it!" She stripped
the glove from her left hand and thrust it beneath Moll's nose.

"Yes,
yes. Lord, my dear, I don't care if you're married or whore to forty men. I was
myself, in better days. Now I'm so peppered a man wouldn't have me upon a
pinch." She smiled faintly and shrugged, then stared off into space,
forgetting her promise as she began to recall the disappointments of her own
life. "That's the way I began. He was a captain in the King's army—a
mighty handsome fellow in his uniform. But my dad didn't like to see his
daughter bringin' a nameless brat into the family. So I came to London. You can
hide anything in London. My boy died—more's the mercy—and I never saw my
captain again. But I saw other men aplenty, I'll warrant you. And I had money
for a while, too. Once a gentleman gave me a hundred pound for one night.
Now—" She turned suddenly and looked at Amber, who had been staring at her
with fascinated horror, finding it almost impossible to believe that this ugly
emaciated sick creature had once been young and in love with a handsome man,
just as she was. "How old d'ye think I am? Fifty? No, I'm thirty-two. Just
thirty-two. Well, I've had my day, there's no denyin' that. I suppose I
wouldn't trade it for something different—"

Amber
was beginning to feel sick, seeing herself several years hence in Moll Turner.
Oh, God! Oh, God! she thought frantically. It's just like Aunt Sarah said. Look
what happens to a bad woman!

And
then all of them started at the sound of a key in the lock; the great iron door
began to swing open. Moll, putting her hand to her mouth, muttered quickly:
"Sell that ring for whatever she'll give you."

A
woman, perhaps fifty years old, came into the room. Her hair, almost white, was
lifeless as straw and screwed into a hard knot high on the crown of her head.
She wore a soiled blouse, a dark-blue woollen skirt with a long red apron tied
over it, and slung about her hips was a leather thong to which were attached
several very large keys, a pair of scissors, a wallet and a bull's pizzle—a
short heavy wooden cudgel for maintaining discipline. She carried a candle
stuck into a bottle, and before turning around to look at them she set it on a
shelf.

A
huge grey-striped cat followed her in, pushing against her legs, arching its
back, giving out a low satisfied rumble. And then all at once it caught sight
of Amber's parakeet and moved swiftly forward. But Amber, with a little scream,
jumped to her feet and, holding the cage at shoulder-level, kicked out at the
cat with one foot while her parakeet fluttered and clung terrified to the bars
of its cage.

"Good
morning, ladies," said the woman now, and her shrewd pitiless eyes went
over them quickly, resting longest on Amber. "I'm Mrs. Cleggat—my husband
is the Jailor. It's my understanding that you are all ladies of refinement who
naturally would not care to take up your abode in a vault set aside for
thieves, parricides, and murderers. I'm happy to say that from here you may be
removed to a chamber the equal of that in any private house and there you'll be
furnished with the best of conversation and entertainment—for a
consideration."

"There's
the rub," commented Moll, sprawled out with her arms crossed, her legs
stretched before her.

"How
much?" asked Amber, keeping an eye on the cat which now sat patiently at
her feet, wide-eyed and flicking just the tip of his tail. If she could sell
her wedding-ring she would have
money enough to buy very good quarters—and she was
convinced that she would be out within a day or two.

"Two
shillings six to get out of here. Six shillings for easement. Two shillings six
a week for a bed. Two shillings a week for sheets. Six shillings six to the
turnkey. Ten shillings six to the steward of the ward for coal and candles.
That's all for now. I'll have one pound ten from each of you ladies." As
they all looked at her and no one either moved or spoke she said briskly,
"Come, now. I'm a woman of affairs. There's others here too, y'know."

Moll
now lifted her skirt and from a pocket in her petticoat produced the required
sum. " 'Sblood, it seems I only steal enough to support myself in
prison."

Amber
looked around, waiting for one of the others to speak, but they did not and so
she pulled the wedding-ring from her finger and extended it toward Mrs.
Cleggat. "I haven't got any money. How much will you give me for
this?"

Mrs.
Cleggat took it, held it to the candle and said, "Three pound."

"Three
pound! But I paid twelve for it!"

"Values
are different here." She unbuttoned the wallet, counted out several
shillings, handed them to Amber and dropped the wedding-ring into the leather
pouch. "Is that all?"

"Yes,"
said Amber. She did not intend to part with the string of pearls Bruce had
given her not long before he sailed.

Mrs.
Cleggat looked at her sharply. "You'd better give me whatever else you've
got right now. If you don't I promise you it'll be stolen before you've been
here two hours."

Amber
hesitated a moment longer and then, with a heavy sigh, she unfastened the clasp
and drew the strand out of her cloak. Mrs. Cleggat gave her six pounds for them
and promptly turned her attention to the other women. The Quakeress stood up
and faced her squarely, but as she spoke her voice was soft and meek.

"I
have no money, friend. Do with me as thou wilt."

"You'd
better send out for some, Mrs. Or you go into the Common side which, though I
say it myself, isn't fit for a baboon."

"No
matter. I can get used to it."

Mrs.
Cleggat shrugged and her voice was contemptuously indifferent. "You
fanatics." (A fanatic, in the common understanding, was anyone who
belonged to neither the Catholic nor the Anglican Church.) "Well enough
then, Mrs. Give me your cloak for the entrance fee and your shoes for
easement."

Out
of doors it was almost warm for the winter had been a strange one, but in there
it was chill and damp. Nevertheless the girl untied her cloak and took it off.
Amber, looking from her to Mrs. Cleggat with growing indignation, now suddenly
made up her mind.

"Here!
Keep it on! I'll pay for you! You'll fall sick without it!"

Moll
glanced at her scornfully. "Don't be a fool! You've little enough for
yourself!"

But
the Quakeress gave her a gentle smile. "Thank thee, friend. Thou art
kind—but I want nothing. If I fall sick, it is the will of God."

Amber
regarded her dubiously, then extended the coins toward Mrs. Cleggat. "Take
it for her anyway."

"The
girl will be a damned nuisance to me if she's made comfortable. Keep the money
for yourself. It'll go quick enough." She turned to the housewife, who
admitted that she had not so much as a farthing. Amber looked at Moll to see if
she would not offer to share the woman's expenses with her, but Moll was
glancing idly about the room and whistling beneath her breath. "Well,
then—I'll pay for her."

This
time the offer was accepted and the woman thanked her profusely, promising to
repay her as soon as she was able— which would apparently be never if she was
to be kept in prison until her debt was cleared. And then a man came in to put
on the lighter shackles. They consisted of braceletes which fitted loosely
about the wrists and ankles with long chains stretching between, and though
they were awkward and clanked dismally they did not seem to be otherwise
uncomfortable.

"Take
the fanatic to the Common Felon's side," said Mrs. Cleggat to the man when
he had done. "Come with me, ladies." They trooped out of the room
after her, first Moll, then Amber holding the bird-cage on her shoulder, and
then the housewife.

Mounting
a dark narrow stairway they reached a big room where the door stood open; above
it was nailed a skull-and-crossbones. Mrs. Cleggat went in first with her
candle and as they followed they could see two large flat beds, covered with
flock mattresses and some grey rumpled bedding, a table, scarred stools and
chairs, and a cold fireplace above and beside which hung some blackened kettles
and pans and a few pewter mugs and dishes. Certainly there was nothing in this
barren dirty room to suggest the luxurious quarters Mrs. Cleggat had painted.

"This,"
she said, "is the Lady Debtors' Ward."

Amber
looked at her in angry astonishment, while Moll smiled. "This!" she
cried, forgetting her manacles and giving a sweep of one arm. "But you
told us—"

"Never
mind what I told you. If you don't like it I can take you to the Common
Side."

Amber
turned away, disgusted, and Mrs. Cleggat prepared to leave with Moll, who would
go to the Lady Felon's Quarters. Oh, she thought furiously. This nasty place! I
won't stay here a day! Then she swung around.

"I
want to send a letter!"

"That'll
cost you three shillings."

Amber
paid it. "Are we the only prisoners?" She could still hear the
voices, the incessant sounds that seemed to come from the very walls, but they
had seen no one else.

"Most
of the others are down in the Tap-Room. It's Christmas Eve,"

The
letter, written by an amanuensis, was sent to Almsbury, and she was very
confident that he would have her out of there within twenty-four hours. When
she got no immediate reply she told herself that since it was Christmas Day he
had very likely been away from his lodgings. Tomorrow, she promised herself,
he'll come. But he did not, and the days passed and at last she was forced to
realize that either he had not received the letter or was no longer interested
in her.

The
Lady Debtors' Ward was the least crowded one in Newgate, but even so she and
the housewife, Mrs. Buxted, had to share those scant accommodations with a
dozen other women. In many wards, however, thirty or forty were crowded into
the same space and there were more than three hundred prisoners in a building intended
for half that number. It was impossible for everyone to lie on the beds at once
and they had to use cooking utensils and dishes in turn. Usually these were
merely scraped off between meals, for water cost money and was always stale and
stinking and afloat with vegetation and specks of sewage. This encouraged them
to spend what they could on ale or wine.

The
entire prison lay in an eternal half-gloom, for the windows, deep-set and
narrow, opened only upon dark passages. Links and tallow-candles were bought by
the prisoners and they burnt all day long. Large ugly cats and numerous dogs,
half-naked with mange, roamed the hallways and contested with the rats for
every shred of refuse; Amber had to keep a constant eye on her parakeet. The
smells were thick and almost palpable, product of the accumulated rot of
centuries, and sometimes there was another strange and sickening odour which
she learned came from the heads being boiled by the hangman in his kitchen
below their ward. She had not been there an hour when she started scratching
furiously. She caught the plump lice between her fingers, squashing them like
boiled peas.

Newcomers
were automatically assigned the duties of chamber-maid. The first morning Amber
and Mrs. Buxted carried the slop-jars down the hall and emptied them into the
cesspool below. The stench of the heavy fumes made Amber almost faint. After
that she paid another woman two pence a week to do the job for her.

The
prison was considered to be a place of detention, not of correction, and from
eight o'clock in the morning until nine at night all inside doors were opened
and each was free to follow his inclination.

Those
who had been arrested because of their religious beliefs were now permitted to
hold services, make what converts they could, or preach sedition. Whoever had
money usually spent it in the Tap-Room, drinking and gambling. Well-to-do
inmates
sometimes gave large entertainments attended by people of the first quality,
for some criminals enjoyed considerable popularity. Visitors were admitted to
the Hall and swarmed there by the hundreds. A man might have his wife and
children to keep him company—sometimes for years—or if he preferred and had the
price, he could take his choice of the prostitutes who daily came from outside.