by Jean Plaidy
“I believe we could trust Marcus.”
“I wonder. Once a thief … I only thought that if that was his first offence…”
“But … could you not explain to your master? Perhaps he would be willing to help. If you knew the whole story, you would realize as I do that Marcus would be saved.”
“You know his story then.”
“He told me last night. He came here to see me. I… I told him outright what we had seen.”
“You mentioned me?”
“I… I don’t think I did.”
“That is well. It would have embarrassed us both.”
“He told me a little,” she said, ‘about losing his money and coming to London, and falling in with terrible people, and then being caught and sent to Newgate and Botany Bay. He says that, if I meet him outside the shop at three o’clock today, he will tell me more.”
“When you meet him, do not speak of our conversation. I would prefer to make sure that I can help before telling him so.” She seized his hand and looked into his eyes. Why had she thought them cold?
“You are so good!”
“I am trying to do something worth while, that is all.”
“I shall always be grateful to you.”
“But if I am unable to help him?”
“Then I shall remember that you tried.”
“Do not tell him of this at three o’clock, remember.”
“Of course I will not.”.
He stood up and laid his cup upon the table.
“No,” he said slowly, ‘of course you will not.” He walked to the door.
“Thank you,” said Carolan. She stood at the door, watching him go up the street. He did not look back; he was so intent upon his thoughts. A good man! He trod softly, like a cat, but that was because he had to work all day in a dark office; and he probably walked quietly in order not to disturb his superiors.
“I have misjudged him somewhat,” said Carolan to herself. She would be careful not to mention this to Marcus, for it was a secret and she must guard her tongue. Impetuosity was a grave fault of hers; and so eager would she be to impart good news!
Poor Marcus How wonderful if she could do this for him, put him on the right load before Everard came for her! Then she would know there was some meaning in life. All she had endured at Haredon would have led her to the saving of Marcus. It would be like a pattern; it would give her a great faith in life and living. In spite of her cultivation of serenity, she was full of eager excitement as the hands of the grandfather dock crept up from the half-hour to three o’clock. On the stroke of three she opened the door and looked out into the street. There was no sign of Marcus. She stood there at the open door while the clock ticked away the minutes. Ten minutes past three! Fifteen minutes past. Twenty minutes past. And at half past he had still not come.
Kitty peeped round the door of Carolan’s room.
“Ah! Not ready yet? I declare you take longer than I do.” Carolan turned from the mirror, before which she had been sitting for the last ten minutes, without being aware of what she saw there. She had fallen into a reverie from which her mother’s knock at the door had aroused her.
“I am ready, Mammal’ “I am glad to hear it. I should hate not to arrive for the start.” Kitty sat on the bed and eyed her daughter appraisingly.
“You look very charming, my child. And how does it feel to be going to the play the real play for the first time in your life?”
“Very exciting,” said Carolan.
“We have good seats, and the carriage will be here at any moment. I could wish that we had another gentleman escort. Mamma, papa and the young daughter! It is not quite as exciting as it might be. What do you think?”
“I like it very well,” said Carolan.
“And what,” demanded Kitty, ‘has become of friend Marcus these last days, I should like to know?”
Carolan would have liked to know too, but she was silent, for she could very well guess. He had left the Grape Street area. Had she not gone to the rooms he occupied, and boldly asked for him! A slut with hair that hung about her shoulders like black snakes, and a coarse mouth, had whispered that she did not know what had become of her lodger. He had been there, and he had gone … disappeared, owing a week’s rent. Tenants did not usually owe just one week’s rent; they more likely owed ten, for such was what a poor honest woman had to put up with. He had left in a great hurry, indeed he had, and if the lady were a friend of his, could she see her way to paying a poor woman who needed it. that one week’s rent? Carolan explained that she had no money, and with that was quickly made to understand that her presence in the lodging-house was redundant.
Yes, it was only too obvious to Carolan what had happened to Marcus. He had no intention of giving up his life of crime. He was probably under suspicion, so he had moved to a fresh district. There was no real good in him. He was a thief and a liar. Perhaps the story he had told her had had no truth in it. But he had charmed her oddly; but then, the perfidious often had the power to charm. She would forget him as soon as she could. But often during the week she had dreamed of his calling out to her because he was in trouble, and once she dreamed that she saw him on the platform outside Newgate prison, and that the hangman was putting the rope about his neck.
If only she could have seen him once, have told him that Jonathan Crew was going to give him a chancel She had seen Jonathan only once in the past week; that was the day after Marcus had failed to keep his appointment.
“You have no idea what can have happened to him?” asked Jonathan.
“I can guess.”
“Ah! A life of crime can only lead to one end, Miss Carolan.” She had lost her temper then.
“Oh, it is easy for you to talk! How can you know what he had suffered, what temptations came in his way?”
“You are too sympathetic towards the rogue, Miss Carolan; too sympathetic by a long way.”
She had felt really angry until she remembered all he had tried to do for Marcus; then her anger vanished as quickly as it had come.
“Perhaps you will see him again one day,” said Jonathan. She shook her head.
“Very soon I shall be leaving here. My affianced husband is coming for me very soon.”
Then Kitty had come in and chatted brightly about the play which Darrell had promised them they should see. And now here they were, ready to set out for it.
“Now, tell me how I look,” said Kitty, turning round and about to show her gown.
“You look very lovely,” said Carolan.
“And what a handsome brooch!”
Kitty dimpled and put a finger to her lips.
“Does it not match the blue of my gown?”
“Admirably, Mamma. I have not seen it before.”
“Indeed you have not! And I still have to get your father’s permission to wear it.”
“Ah! You have taken it from his stock of valuables!”
“This afternoon, while he was out. I found he had left the key I of his precious storeroom behind. My dear, this gown called out for an ornament. The neck does not fit with that elegance with which it should. An ornament to hold it in position was a necessity; but it had to be the right ornament. So into the storeroom I went, and in a case there I found this brooch. Now, tell me, is it not the very thing?”
“Indeed it is! And how it sparkles! It is a sapphire … of so near it that it might be taken for one. Mamma, you will be a grand lady tonight! Listen! Is that the shop bell?”
“I do believe it is!” Kitty’s eyes were twinkling wickedly.
“Now, who in the world…”
They were silent, listening. Carolan went to the door and looked out onto the landing. She could hear a rumble of voices below.
“Your father is down there,” said Kitty, ‘so we need not worry ourselves. Come. Put on your cloak. Let me see how you look. My dear, how glad I am that you can wear that shade of green. So few can. but on you it is mightily becoming.”
Millie was coming
up the stairs.
“Millie!” called Carolan.
“Millie… just a moment, Millie.”
Millie came in. Her lips sagged open at the sight of the grandeur of their costumes.
“Millie,” said Carolan, ‘who is down there?”
“It is Mt. Crew.”
Carolan looked at Kitty, and saw the demure expression, the downcast eyes.
“Oh, Mamma, did you tell him we were going to the play?”
Kitty went to her dressing-table and peeped slyly at her reflection in the mirror.
“I may have mentioned it.”
“A mention which was an invitation, I expect!”
Kitty said: “Listen! Is that the carriage? I declare, we are doing things in style tonight. Millie, you had better go and open the door.”
Without a word Millie went.
They heard a scream from below, Millie’s scream. Carolan went to the door and listened.
“I do hope the girl hasn’t fallen down and broken her leg,” said Kitty.
“It would be very inconvenient.”
Carolan started downstairs. There was the sound of raised voices now, a scuffling, the noise of heavy furniture being overturned.
She rushed into the shop parlour, from whence the noises came. Her father was lying on the floor and Jonathan Crew was kneeling on him with his hands about his throat.
“Father!” shrieked Carolan, and ran to him.
“Keep off!” shouted Jonathan Crew.
Carolan flew at him; it was like a crazy nightmare, for she knew suddenly that she hated Jonathan Crew and always had distrusted him without realizing it.
Her father’s eyes were on her; they looked too large and protruding, unlike his eyes. His lips said: “Carolan … Carolan.”
With a slight movement of his arm, Jonathan Crew threw Carolan off; she fell, striking her head against the table, and the blow had the effect of stunning her slightly so that the room whirled round and the sounds in it were confused.
Darrell was lying very still on the floor. Jonathan Crew got slowly to his feet. His eyes were now on Kitty, who was standing there, ashen-faced and trembling. There was a hammering on the shop door.
Jonathan Crew went to Kitty; he dragged her into the room.
Roughly he seized Carolan and in a second he had them handcuffed to each other.
“In the name of the law,” said Jonathan Crew, “I arrest you on a charge of receiving stolen goods.”
Kitty screamed: “Darrell… Darrell… my love! What has he done to you?”
Jonathan Crew had turned from them and seized the frightened Millie. He pushed her towards Carolan and Kitty. Then he touched Darrell with his foot.
“He is dead, I fear,” he said.
“Then you killed him!” cried Carolan passionately. And she knew that he had waited long for this moment, had planned it, had thought of nothing but it ever since he had first met her in the street.
“He tried to resist arrest,” said Jonathan Crew coldly.
Carolan stared down at her father’s misshapen hands, now still, lifeless. He would never look at them again; he would never reach that peaceful country home for which he had schemed and longed.
Kitty said in a surprisingly cool voice: “It was blood-money you were after then, you rogue! You pig!” And great hot tears rolled down her cheeks, tears of sorrow and humiliation.
“My love!” she moaned.
“What will become of us now?”
Carolan was not thinking of the future but of the past. Words rushed into her mind, words that evil man had spoken; she began to tremble, for now she was seeing dearly what had led to this. She had brought her parents into this. She was responsible for the death of her father, for the betrayal of Marcus for now she knew without a doubt what had happened to Marcus; and she wished, in that moment, that it was she who lay dead on the floor in place of her father.
Jonathan Crew opened the door and two men came in.
“Here are the prisoners,” he said, and they were taken out to the waiting van.
Oh, why had she not fought him as he bent over her father! Why had she not picked up a knife from the table and plunged it into his wicked heart!
He sat opposite her. his eyes alive, amused.
“Ah! How beautiful you played into my hands. Miss Carolan!” he seemed to say, and black misery was in Carolan’s heart as the jolting van carried them through the streets of London to Newgate Prison.
Dazed, bruised, with the taste of blood in her mouth, and the permeating, inescapable and foulest of all smells in her nostrils, Carolan lay on the hard platform which was her bed. Around her, women breathed noisily in sleep, snoring, sighing, groaning, muttering, cursing. Carolan lay still, saying over and over to herself: “This has not really happened to me; I shall awake in a minute, Please God, let me wake now!”
Kitty was beside her; Kitty’s beautiful hair hanging matted round her face; Kitty’s voluptuous body naked beneath her torn cloak; blood on Kitty’s face, mingling with tears and dirt. Kitty was not quite conscious now. Carolan could almost say “Lucky Mamma!”
Millie was there, sleeping with her hand curled round Carolan’s foot. Millie’s clothes hung about her, tattered and torn, for Millie had fought for her clothes, fought and become exhausted; and, like an animal, as soon as she had laid herself on the floor beside Carolan, she had slept. Perhaps Carolan could say “Lucky Millie!”
Carolan tried to raise herself on her arm, but so bruised was she that this proved too painful. There was an itch about her body which was beginning to madden her. She buried her face in her hands to shut out the dark shadows about her, to try to free her nostrils from that sickening smell. Impossible! One could shut one’s eyes, but whatever one did, the smell remained. Unclean human bodies, foul air, slop pails, the evil-smelling breath of diseased women.
High up in the wall were two barred windows through which came scarcely any light or air. On the window-sills whale-oil lamps burned. A small child was creeping silently towards Carolan. A little girl? A little boy? She did not know. It was more like a dark little animal … or a scarecrow. Tiny hands were feeling for her pockets, very deft hands, and very, very small.
“Go away!” hissed Carolan, and the small figure darted back whence it had come, and was lost to her in a maze of sleeping bodies.
Carolan, remembering what had gone before, began to cry softly. Anger and bitterness were a pain that constricted her throat so that she breathed with difficulty. She would have sobbed with rage, with fury, had she not known that she, and she alone, was responsible for their being here. She it was who had had Millie leave her home and come to live at the shop, and, but for her, poor half-witted Millie would be sleeping in the crowded room with her family and her drunken father; it had seemed horrible enough when Carolan had first heard of it -now it seemed paradise indeed.
I brought Jonathan Crew to the shop! I betrayed my own father, my own mother, and poor little Millie. I… with my folly!
The knowledge of her weakness sustained her; it was rough justice somehow. Folly was as deserving of punishment as crime.
She went over it all, from the moment that odious, that wicked man had slipped the handcuffs on her wrist and had dragged her and her mother, who was half-fainting, into the van which had come to take them to Newgate. She had struggled, she, Carolan, for wild, reckless, impossible thoughts of escape had filled her mind; and one of the men had struck her on the side of the head so that she became semi-conscious for a while, until she was shaken roughly and told to get out.
It was an imposing building that loomed up before her, and she had stepped into the filth of the gutter and been angry because her shoes were splashed. Absurd … when Newgate was I opening its doors to her! Queer things one noticed in moments of distress; she remembered the French cap of Liberty and the overflowing horn of Plenty. Queer things to see at Newgate’s door; like a horrible joke! And then the design over the porch, of fetters and chains, explaining maliciously t
hat the joke was done with. Newgate did not look out on the street; the windows showed only her narrow, filthy courtyards, as though she were ashamed that the world might look beyond her imposing facade and see into her evil soul. And the first thing that rushed to greet one was the stench that Newgate smell which made one retch in those first moments, and wonder how one could live for an hour in its company.
What courteous treatment they had received from the guards! And why not? thought Carolan in her innocence. Their guilt was not proved. They were no criminals.
How anger had surged up in Carolan then! Jonathan Crew, that sly murderer, should hang by the neck. She would appeal to the squire, to Everard. And these people should see that gentlefolk could not be clapped into the prison in this manner!
But the courteous treatment of the guards was dispensed with when it was found they had no money.
“Receivers of stolen goods,” wrote the turnkey slowly and laboriously, in the book of records. Carolan protested, but a man with a horrible, blue-tinged face and ugly red hands leered at her, and told her to be silent while their irons were adjusted.
“Triple irons,” said the guard, and then resentfully: “Ladies and gents buys off their irons … all, barring the one lot. One lot of irons is comfort, ladies, compared with three.”
Carolan said stonily: “We have no money for such luxuries!” and the guard murmured, disbelievingly and hopefully, that there were many who came to Mother Newgate protesting their poverty, but the old lady had a way of worming the coin out of their pockets.
They went, clanking their irons through corridors and down dark staircases, Carolan supporting Kitty on one side, as Millie did on the other. Perhaps it was well that she had Kitty to think of.
Kitty was moaning, crying, not fully aware of what had happened. Poor Mamma! Carolan kept thinking of her at Haredon, sitting by her mirror with Therese twittering about her. There is nothing so frightful in this world as poverty, thought Carolan.
But the most horrible moment in that night of horror was when the guard unlocked a door and they were face to face with the companions with whom they were to live in the closest intimacy during their sojourn on the Common Side of Newgate Jail. What were they? thought Carolan in horror. Not people? Not women? They shrieked unintelligibly, like untamed animals. They could not be women … not our own species. Their eyes were too dull, too cunning, too lacking in intelligence. Their hair was not like human hair; it hung matted over their faces like the manes of wild animals. Surely these were not human beings! So degraded, so vicious, so cunning, so sly, so lacking in everything that lifted man above the level of the lower animals!
