Winsor, Kathleen (24 page)

Thievery
was common and fights went on continually, for discipline was maintained by the
prisoners themselves. Some went mad and were heavily chained, but usually not
segregated. Babies were born but seldom lived long, and the death-rate among
all prisoners was high.

Amber
remained as aloof from the life of the jail as she could; this was one place
where she desired no popularity. She did not go to the Tap-Room and of course
she had no visitors, so that the only time she left her own ward was on Sunday
when everyone was herded up to the third-floor Chapel.

Most
of the women in the Lady Debtors' Ward were the victims of misfortune and all
of them expected soon to be released. They sat by the hour talking of the day
when their debt would be paid—by a father or brother or friend—and they would
go free. Amber listened to them, wistfully, for she had no one to pay her debt
and no reason to hope for freedom, though she continued stubbornly to do so.

With
aching homesickness her memories went back to the Goodegroome cottage. She took
pleasure in remembering many things she had not known she cared for. She
remembered how the dormer windows of her bedroom were wreathed in roses, and
the delicious summer scent they had had. She remembered how the overhanging
eaves were full of sparrows so that every morning she woke to the sound of
their twirring and twittering. She remembered Sarah's wonderful rich food, the
clean-scrubbed flagstones of the kitchen floor and the rows of glossy pewter
lining the shelves. She longed passionately for a sight of the sky, a breath of
fresh air, the smell of flowers and hay new-mown, the sound of a bird's song.

The
holidays were dreary as she had never known they could be.

She
remembered what Christmas had been the year before when she had helped Sarah to
make mince-pies and plum-pottages; she and all her cousins had dressed up to go
mumming; and everyone on the farm had toasted the fruit trees in apple-cider,
according to the old old custom. On New Year's Eve she spent several shillings
of her fast-dwindling supply for Rhenish wine and the Lady Debtors drank it,
proposing a toast to the new year. Just before midnight the bells began to ring
from every steeple in London and Amber burst into lonely frightened tears, for
she was sure that she would never live to hear them ring in another year.

A
week later Newgate was swept with frenzied excitement A rebellion had broken
out in the city, led by a band of
religious zealots, and for three days
and nights they ran riot through the streets. Bellowing for King Jesus, they
shot down whoever opposed them. Inside the prison they heard the bells banging
out an ominous warning, confused shouts and cries and the sound of flying
hoofs. The prisoners gathered anxiously in groups, talking of massacre and
fire, discussing means of escape; the women became hysterical, screamed at the
gates and begged to be set free.

But
the Fifth Monarchists were hunted out, killed or captured, and within a few
days twenty of them had been hanged, drawn and quartered. Their remains were brought
to Newgate. and dismembered legs and arms and torsos lay in the courtyard while
Esquire Dun was at work in his kitchen pickling the heads in bay-salt and cumin
seed. Prison life settled back into the normal rut of drunkenness and gambling,
quarrels and venery and theft,

When
the quarter-sessions were held Amber was brought to trial along with Mrs.
Buxted and Moll Turner and a great many others and—like most of them—found
guilty. She was sentenced to remain in Newgate until her debt had been paid in
full. She had been so hopeful she would be released after the trial that it was
a severe shock and for several days she was sunk in despondency; she would have
been almost glad to die. But gradually she began trying to persuade herself
that her position was not so desperate as it seemed. Why—any day Almsbury might
arrive and rescue her. It always happens, she assured herself, when you least
expect it; and she tried very hard to stop expecting Almsbury.

She
often saw Moll Turner, who wandered in to talk to her and to urge her to come
out and mingle with the others. "Christ, sweetheart, what can you lose?
D'ye want to rot in here?"

"Of
course not!" said Amber crossly. "I want to get out of this damned
place!"

Moll
laughed and went to the fireplace to light a pipeful of tobacco. Many of the
prisoners, both men and women, smoked incessantly for the tobacco was supposed
to protect them against disease. She came back puffing and sat down opposite
Amber, ostentatiously drumming one hand on the table-top.

"See
that?" On her middle finger she wore a large diamond. "Got that off a
lady was here visitin' day before yesterday. We gave her the budge, and when
she caught her balance I had the fambles cheat and somebody else had the
scout." Moll often talked in an underworld cant, of which Amber had begun
to pick up a few words. A "fambles cheat" was a ring and a
"scout" was a watch. "Oh, I tell you, my dear, the Hall's a
mighty profitable place. At this rate I can buy my way out of here in another month.
"Well—" She heaved herself up. "Stay in here if you like—"

Amber,
half-convinced by Moll's tales of facile theft, ventured out into the hallway a
time or two, but she was always
accosted so swiftly and roughly that she would pick
up her skirts and run as hard as she could go for the comparative privacy of
the Lady Debtors' Ward. Moll laughed at this too and told her that she was a
fool not to take advantage of what she could get.

"Some
of those gentlemen are mighty rich. In time I don't doubt you could earn your
way out. Of course," she would admit, with her lop-sided smile, "four
hundred pound ain't come by very quick, and there's a dozen half-crown sluts
they have the pick of any day in the week."

Several
times she brought Amber offers of specific sums from one or another of the men,
but it was never enough that Amber cared to make the venture. Moll's condition
was sufficient warning and she was in mortal fear of being peppered herself.
Nevertheless she would have done anything to get out of Newgate—taken any wild
chance that might keep her baby from being born there.

By
the end of a month her money had dwindled to less than two pounds, for
everything had a price and it was invariably a high one. She had been paying to
have her food sent in—the alternative was to eat the prison-fare, mouldy bread
and stale water, with charity-meat once a week—and she had also paid for Mrs.
Buxted's meals because otherwise the woman would have had none. When a midwife
who shared the ward told her that she was too thin for a pregnant woman and that
the baby was getting all she ate, she decided that she must sell the gold
ear-rings.

Mrs.
Cleggat gave them one scornful glance. "Those things? Brass and
Bristol-stone! They're not worth three farthings! Where'd ye get 'em—St.
Martin's?" A great deal of cheap imitation jewellery was sold in the
parish of St. Martin-le-Grand.

Hurt,
Amber did not answer her. But she had begun to notice herself that the thin
gilt was wearing and showed a grey metal beneath. She was almost glad that they
were too worthless to sell.

At
the end of her fifth week in Newgate Amber sat in one of the boxes of the
chapel, stared at her dirty fingernails, and worried about how she would eat a
month from then. For days she had been trying to find courage to tell Mrs.
Buxted that she could not feed her any longer. But she had not been able to do
it, for every day Mrs. Buxted's daughter came and brought her the youngest
child to nurse. As usual, Amber had not heard a word of the sermon, though it
had been going on for a long while.

Now
Moll Turner gave her a sharp nudge. "There's Black Jack Mallard!" she
whispered. "And he's got his eye on you!"

Amber
glanced sulkily across the room where she saw a gigantic black-haired man
sitting staring at her, and as she did so he smiled. Cross at being interrupted
in her worries, she scowled at him and looked away. Moll, thoroughly disgusted,
nudged her
several times but Amber refused to pay her any attention.

"Oh,
you and your hogan-mogan airs!" muttered Moll as they left the chapel.
"Who d'ye expect to find here in Newgate, pray? His Majesty?"

"What's
so fine about him, I'd like to know?" She had thought him too dark and
ugly.

"Well,
Mrs., whatever you may think, Black Jack Mallard
is
somebody! He's a
rum-pad, let me tell you."

"A
highwayman?"

Highwaymen,
she had discovered, were the elite of the criminal world, though this man was
the first she had seen. She did remember, though, one of that brotherhood who
had hung, a mere clean-picked skeleton, in a set of gibbet-irons at the
Marygreen crossroads, mute warning to others of his kind. And in a slight
breeze the bones and irons had had an eerie clank that sent the villagers home
before sundown to avoid him in the dark.

"A
highwayman. And one of the best, too. He's already broke out of here three
times."

Amber's
eyes opened with a snap. "Broke out of here! How!"

"Ask
'im yourself," said Moll, and went off, leaving Amber at the door of her
own ward.

Staring
dazedly, Amber walked inside. Here was the chance she had been waiting for! If
he'd got out before, he'd get out again—perhaps soon. And when he did— She was
suddenly excited and full of optimism— But all at once her hopes collapsed.

Look
at me! I'm fat as a barn-yard fowl and stinking dirty. The Devil himself
wouldn't have a use for me now.

There
was no doubt her appearance had suffered sad changes during the past five
weeks. Now, at the end of her seventh month of pregnancy, she could no longer
button her bodice, the once pert frills had wilted, and her smock was a dirty
grey. Her gown was stained in the armpits, spotted with food, and her skirt
hung inches shorter in front. She had long ago thrown away her silk stockings,
for they had been streaked with runs, and her shoes were scuffed out at the
toes. She had not seen a mirror since she had been there, nor taken off her
clothes, and though she had scrubbed her teeth on her smock she could feel a
slick film as she ran her tongue over them. Her face was grimy and her hair,
which she had to comb with her long finger-nails, snarled and greasy.

Despair
on her face, Amber's hands ran down over her body. But she was sharply aware
that this might be her one chance, and that made her determination begin to
rise. It's dark in here, she told herself. He can't see me very well—and maybe
I can do something, maybe I can make myself look a little better someway. She
decided that she would do what she could to improve her appearance and then go
down to
the Tap-Room, on the chance of seeing him, though admission there would cost
her a precious shilling and a half.

She
was scrubbing her teeth with some salt and a piece torn off her smock—rinsing
her mouth out with ale and spitting into the fireplace—when a man appeared at
the door, and told her that Black Jack wanted to see her in the Tap-Room. She
gave a start and turned quickly.

"Me?"

"Yes,
you."

"Oh,
Lord! And I'm all unready! Wait a moment!"

Not
knowing what to do, she began smoothing her dress and rubbing her hands over
her face in the hope of taking off some of the dirt.

"I'm
paid to light you down, Mrs., but not to wait here. Come along." He gave a
wave of the link and started off.

Amber
paused just long enough to open her smock low over her breasts, muttered
swiftly to Mrs. Buxted, "Watch my bird," and then picking up her
skirts she hurried after him. Her heart was pounding as though she had been
going to be presented at Court.

Barbara
Palmer was a woman of no uncertain desires or ambitions. Almost from the moment
she had been born she had known what she wanted and had usually contrived to
get it, whatever the cost to herself or others. She had no morals, knew no
qualms, did not trouble herself with a conscience. Her character and
personality were as glittering, as elemental, as barbaric as was her beauty.
And now, just twenty-one years old, she had found what she wanted more than
anything else on earth.

She
wanted to be the wife of Charles Stuart; she wanted to be Queen of England. She
refused to believe that such an idea was absurd.

Barbara
and Charles had met at the Hague a few weeks before the Restoration, when her
husband was sent there to take a gift of money to the King. Charles, who was
invariably attracted to beautiful women, was instantly and strongly attracted
to her. And Barbara, both flattered to be sought by a king and glad of an
opportunity to revenge herself on a jilting lover—the Earl of
Chesterfield—quickly became his mistress. Everyone agreed that Charles, not
surprisingly, was more deeply infatuated than he had ever been during the many
years of his gallantry, and Barbara began to be a woman of considerable
importance.

The
Roger Palmers, who had been married less than two years, lived in one of the
great houses on King Street, a narrow muddy but highly fashionable thoroughfare
which ran through the Palace grounds and served to connect the villages of
Charing
and Westminster. Inns massed the west side of the street, but on the east were
great mansions, whose gardens led down to the unembanked Thames. It was in her
husband's home, at the end of the year, that Barbara began to give suppers
which were attended by the King and most of the gay young men and pretty women
of the Court, his Majesty's closest companions.