by Mary Hooper
‘Oh, I live here,’ Charity said. ‘I’ve got no one to buy me out and they don’t think it’s worth transporting an old body like me, so I’ve made my home here. I’m street-bred, see, never had a place of my own, so whenever I’m freed, I just steal something else and come back in.’
Eliza looked at her in disbelief.
‘’Tis better than the workhouse,’ Charity said, seeing the look on her face. ‘There you have to work to get your food, stitching or rolling twine. Here you get bread every day and if you want a scrap o’ meat you catches yourself a rat. It don’t take much more than that to fill an old body like mine. If I gets hungry I go outside in the yard and beg stuffs from passers-by.’
Eliza gestured towards where the noise was coming from. ‘Is that what they’re doing out there?’
Charity nodded, and then bent over the rat again, whispering endearments and, finding a tiny shard of something to eat in the folds of the rags she wore, pushed it through the wire of the rough cage.
Eliza put her hand to her face again, feeling the lump on her forehead. Her head still ached, and her limbs too, and she had a longing to stretch them out and breathe some air that was fresher than the fetid stench within the cell. Carefully, for she felt weak and strange, she got to her feet and felt her way along the wall, weaving her way in and out of the women lying around. The ground beneath her bare feet was damp and gritty and, feeling something crunching as she walked, she stopped to investigate and saw, to her great horror, that the ground was covered in lice, dead and alive. She also saw a woman who appeared to be wearing Eliza’s own shawl, but she looked to be such a poor, pale, stick of a person that Eliza didn’t have the heart to take it back.
She passed through a doorway and, still hugging the wall closely, edged her way along a dark passageway towards the light. She would try and recover herself, she decided, and then work out how she was going to survive.
In the crowded yard she blinked and strained to see around her, for the sun was high and it was so bright compared to the cell that everything appeared blurred. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the light she could see that there were as many as two hundred men and women in the yard. They were standing in groups talking or arguing, sitting alone crying, parading two-by-two around the edge, or – as most of them were doing – gathered at one end of the yard where a barred window was set high into the prison wall.
The yard, Eliza realised, was set below street level, for suddenly two pairs of legs appeared in the opening and stopped. Immediately the group of prisoners closest to it set up a wailing and a shouting. ‘Spare a coin, kind sire!’ ‘Six mouths to feed, sire!’ ‘May God bless you for your kindness, sire!’
The owners of the legs bent down, revealing heavy white lace and velvet, and a few coins were thrown. Those who were lucky enough to catch these were elbowed roughly out of the way by those behind, so that they might take their place in front of the opening.
One of the girls who’d managed to get a coin came towards Eliza, smiling and holding up a coin. ‘A penny,’ she said. She bit it. ‘’Tis not much, but ’tis real, and will buy me three good red herrings for my tea tonight.’
Eliza managed to smile back at her, though she was feeling so odd and faint – from hunger, she supposed – that she found it difficult to make her lips move. The girl seemed about her age and looked friendly, however, and, although she was wearing a dress so faded that its printed flower pattern could hardly be seen, wasn’t filthy by any means.
‘You’re newly come, aren’t you?’ the girl said. ‘I saw you yesterday, but you were asleep.’
‘I’ve a lump on my head and think I must have slept a good while,’ Eliza said, ‘for I don’t remember arriving here at all. When I woke I didn’t know where I was.’
‘I’ll wager you know now.’
‘Only too well,’ Eliza said ruefully.
The girl looked down. ‘They took your shoes off you for garnish,’ she said.
Eliza looked at her, puzzled.
‘For your keep. You have to pay to be in here, you know. And if you haven’t got money then they take your clothes instead.’
‘How will I get on without shoes, though?’
‘Oh, you’ll find some in time. Earn ’em or steal ’em!’
Eliza shrugged. At that moment she had other, more pressing needs. ‘When do we get some food?’
‘We had our bread at midday – were you still asleep?’ the girl said, and, on hearing that she was, went to one of the several burly turnkeys standing around and spoke to him in a bold and forthright manner, pointing several times to Eliza. After a while she came back with a hunk of greyish-looking bread, which, despite it not looking at all appetising, Eliza fell upon, stuffing it into her mouth with as much relish as if it was roast goose.
The girl looked at her and laughed. ‘If you stay close I’ll let you have one of my herrings later.’
Eliza smiled gratefully, but did not stop chewing.
‘And … and I’ve long felt ’twould be good to have someone of my own age to rub along with, so if you’ve a mind to, we two can be friends and share what little else we have.’
‘With all my heart,’ Eliza said, and was mightily relieved to have found her.
Chapter Two
The girl’s name was Elinor, and she thought she was sixteen.
‘For I remember that about four years ago Ma had my brother George on my birthday,’ she said that evening, ‘and she told me that I was twelve years old on that day.’
‘How many of you are there?’ Eliza asked.
‘Six dead and seven living,’ Elinor said. ‘Ma always said she’d had a baker’s dozen.’ She hesitated, then went on, ‘She died last Mayday with what would have been our fourteenth babe. The maypoles were up and folk were wearing their Sunday best and dancing in the streets, but we were all set to crying.’
She put a hand to her eyes and turned away. Eliza pressed her shoulder sympathetically and the two girls fell silent for a while.
The prisoners had been brought in from the yard by then and locked up for the night, and the women’s quarters were full to overflowing. The cell was so full, in fact, that there was barely enough space for everyone to lie down, although some tired-looking straw had been provided for that purpose. Elinor, and those others who could afford to, had hired rough bunks from a turnkey and now guarded their precious bed space jealously, not allowing anyone to sit on a corner of their wooden pallet nor even rest a bundle of possessions there. The only space that no one wanted to use was that which ran alongside the dug-out channel. Periodically, after using one of the buckets that stood in the corners, someone would dip the same vessel into the barrel of river water standing nearby and attempt to flush the channel clear. It hardly worked, however, for it seemed that the whole of the sanitation service for the prison ran through the women’s cell and thence outside and down into the Thames. There was no way of washing or keeping clean, so it was no little wonder, Eliza thought, that the women stank so badly, had skin that was grey with hardened-on grime and hair as frowsy as birds’ nests. To judge from the continual scratching that accompanied their every action, their bodies were running with fleas and lice.
‘You haven’t been in here that long, to judge by your appearance,’ Eliza said to Elinor gently, when she felt it appropriate to speak. She hesitated, then made bold as to say, ‘For you’re far cleaner than a lot of the girls.’
Elinor smiled wanly. ‘I’ve been here two weeks. But I’ve been hiring this bed to sleep on of a night, and a blanket, and have eaten well, for I knows the value of a merry smile to a gentleman and I seldom gets less than two pence a day from standing by the grille.’ She patted her hair, which was tied back with string. ‘I keep my hair tight to my scalp, too, and always wear a cap, day and night, for I fear that having it loose attracts the fleas.’
‘But what happened to you?’ Eliza asked, twisting back her own hair again. She was conscious that she had no cap nor covering, and couldn�
��t help but imagine a chain of fleas ascending it in a long, straggly line. ‘What did you do to get imprisoned?’
‘I stole from my mistress – but it was only what I was owed!’ Elinor put in quickly. ‘I was maid to her for two years and she paid me just once in all that time, so when she was abroad I took a bolt of cambric to sell. She has so much in the way of linens and stuffs lying around that I never thought she’d notice.’
‘But she did?’
‘The man I sold it to, told on me,’ Elinor said indignantly. ‘The double-crossing villain went straight round to my mistress and told her.’ She swore under her breath. ‘May the hatched-faced rogue die a horrible death!’
Eliza nodded fervent agreement. ‘But how long must you stay here? Have you been sentenced?’
Elinor shook her head. ‘And I don’t even know when I will be, for the judge sits as and when it pleases him.’
‘And what sort of punishment do you think you’ll get?’
She shrugged. ‘The judges punish according to whether or not their bellies are full. If I can make a case for saying I was only taking something that was due to me I may get off light. But what of you?’ she asked Eliza.
‘How did I come to be here? I was hungry and stole a pasty, that’s all. And I was more hungry than careful, for the shopkeeper saw me and called the constable.’
‘And how is it that you’re here, in London?’ Elinor asked. ‘You have a country accent. Is it Somersetshire that you’re from?’
Eliza nodded. ‘From a village called Stoke Courcey,’ she said, then hesitated.
‘Don’t tell me a thing if you’d rather not,’ Elinor said. ‘And take no notice of all my questions, for my brothers say my tongue runs on wheels.’
Eliza smiled at her. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, ‘I don’t mind saying. I’ve come to London to try and find my father.’
‘Did he run away from your ma?’
‘No, he came to the City to get building work.’
Elinor nodded. ‘London’s full of tradesmen just now, since the Fire. Is he a woodworker?’
‘He’s a mason,’ Eliza said. ‘There was no work at home, so he answered the call to come to the City and help rebuild it.’ She hesitated, putting her thoughts in order, knowing that Elinor was waiting for the rest of the story. ‘I’m looking for him because, once he was out of the way, my stepmother told me that I was no longer welcome in our cottage.’
‘Well, there’s a fine thing!’ Elinor said indignantly.
‘I want to find him, then have him take me home and tell her she has no right to turn me out.’ She looked at Elinor, who nodded at her to go on. ‘Like you, I’ve no mother now. She died some years back … she was swept away crossing the river. She nearly drowned, and then caught a fever and died.’ She sighed. ‘We managed by ourselves for a while, then our father was married again to a woman from the village. Once she began having babies of her own, she didn’t seem to care about me and my brothers.’
‘And did she make them leave home too?’ Elinor asked.
Eliza shook her head. This had puzzled her. Still puzzled her. Why had Richard and Thomas and John, who were several years older and certainly more able to fend for themselves, not been asked to leave at the same time as she had?
‘She did not,’ she said.
Elinor thought for some moments. ‘Perhaps you look like your mother, and your stepma don’t like to be reminded of her.’
‘No,’ Eliza said, shaking her head again, ‘it’s not that. My real mother had fair hair and light colouring and was small and round. I don’t look like her at all.’
‘Well,’ Elinor said, pondering the matter further, ‘maybe you’ve shown unkindness to your stepmother’s own babes.’
‘I never have!’ Eliza said, shocked. ‘I’ve tended them with care from the moment they were born, just as though they were my own true sisters.’
‘Well, then!’ Elinor said. ‘Having heard all about her I can only conclude that your stepmother is a selfish, vexatious and ignorant wretch who deserves to be horse-whipped!’
Eliza, astonished and rather pleased at this character assessment, forgot her surroundings and laughed. There was something else she hadn’t said, of course. Something concerning the last conversation she’d had with her stepmother … but she would think on this later.
As the girls continued to talk, sometimes straining to be heard above the shouting, singing and screaming of the other prisoners, a turnkey came in and began to distribute the food that had been sent out for: herrings, pigeon pies, hard-boiled eggs, oysters and rice puddings. As Eliza and Elinor ate their fish, the prisoners who’d had no money to order any food set up a wailing and (those who still had both shoes and energy) a stamping, and after a time a steaming cauldron was brought into the cell and hot water poured into the iron mugs which were chained to the walls. Elinor told Eliza that the water also held some oatmeal, although this was such a pitifully small amount that Eliza could neither see nor taste it.
As the women who were manacled to the walls sought to ease their aches and pains by rubbing at their chafed legs, Eliza saw that one of them, as well as being chained, was also wearing a strange contrivance on her head.
Elinor said it was a scold’s bridle. ‘It’s fixed on her head with a spur which goes down into her mouth so that she can neither speak nor hardly breathe, just take a little water,’ Elinor said. ‘She’s been here for six days, and will be released tomorrow.’
Eliza stared in horror at the woman, immobile in her iron head cage.
‘Her husband had her put in here,’ Elinor went on in a whisper. ‘He said he hadn’t slept for a year because of her constant grumbles.’
Eliza gasped, for she had never heard of such a thing before, and the girls exchanged glances and quickly averted their eyes.
Almost as soon as the cups which had contained the gruel were drained dry, a turnkey came around the cells ringing a bell and calling nine o’clock. Several of the tapers which lit the cell were now extinguished, leaving the place in semi-darkness.
Eliza, looking around her, began to feel frightened. Where was she going to sleep? It looked to her as though the only space left was alongside the sewer, and who knew what rats or other creatures might come swimming along this in the night? Trying to hide her fears, however, she thanked Elinor kindly for the herring, and prepared to take her leave.
‘Oh, you needn’t go,’ Elinor said immediately, taking her hand. ‘Stay here on my pallet and share my blanket if you wish.’
Eliza hesitated.
‘Really you must!’
‘I’ve nothing to give you in return,’ Eliza said, sitting down again nonetheless.
‘It’ll be your turn to pay another day,’ said Elinor. She put out her hand to touch Eliza’s hair. ‘And I warrant that if you put your hair down, pinch your cheeks into some colour and go and stand before the yard grille, you’ll pay your way through Clink before you know it.’
Eliza turned to her. ‘Can you buy anything here, then?’
‘You can,’ Elinor asked, unfolding her blanket. ‘You can buy food, warmth, clothes – you can buy a room of your own and a servant too, if you’ve a mind to, and if you really come into money you can pay to get out.’
Eliza’s attention was suddenly taken by the threadbare blanket which Elinor was offering her a share of. It was stiff with grease and smelt of the hundred unwashed prisoners who’d used it before them. She touched it and couldn’t help but recoil at its feel.
‘I know,’ Elinor said, pulling a face, ‘it’s horrid and beastly. But it gets cold in here at three in the morning.’
Eliza, allowing the blanket to partially cover her, couldn’t help but think of the feather bed and soft linens of home. Was she still able to regard that cottage in Somersetshire as home, though?
‘And we must pray it doesn’t rain,’ Elinor added.
‘What happens then?’
‘The river rises, so the water going into it from that ch
annel runs back into the prison. Those who haven’t got themselves on to pallets will find that they’re lying amongst dead dogs and offal which have floated back up here from the butchers’ shambles!’
Eliza shuddered.
‘But it doesn’t look like rain,’ said Elinor, ‘so your bath can wait until another day.’
Eliza, thankful to have fallen in with Elinor, managed to smile.
Chapter Three
‘’Tis not begging,’ Elinor said, ‘but just like working.’ She looked down at Eliza in exasperation. ‘’Tis what you have to do in here. You’ll starve otherwise!’
Eliza sat on a corner of Elinor’s pallet, feeling tearful. The previous night had been dreadful, despite the dubious comfort of Elinor’s blanket. A woman lying nearby had sobbed the whole night through, another had sung a tuneless and continual dirge, while others had let out sudden piercing screams at intervals as if they’d only just realised what a hell-hole they were confined to. People had risen to relieve themselves in the buckets, sometimes falling over in the dark and swearing loudly, and the turnkeys had walked in and out, jingling their keys loudly or calling the time. What with the smell, the noise and the strange and unwholesome surroundings it had been impossible to sleep.
‘’Tis monstrously foul here!’ she said to Elinor. ‘I don’t know how you stand it.’
‘You stand it because you have to,’ Elinor said, ‘but – doubtless you won’t believe this – you’ll get used to it a little. In time.’
Eliza burst into tears. ‘I never shall!’
Elinor fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a comb. ‘You must start planning what you’ll do when you get out,’ she said. ‘Now, where will you go to first to look for your father?’
Eliza shrugged hopelessly. She’d just thought to come to London; no further than that.
‘As he’s a mason, you can go to his trade’s hall and seek him there.’ Elinor removed her cap and untied the piece of string which held back her hair. ‘But have you thought of what you’re going to say to him?’ she asked. ‘And are you sure that he’s not going to side with your stepma?’
