Chapter Eleven
The laughter echoed from bow to stern of the coal-barge as wily Sal Tanner merrily hoisted up her ragged skirt and danced a jig on the spot. ‘While their eyeballs is glued ter them there gallows,’ she told one and all, ‘we’ll lighten their pockets an’ be away, afore the buggers know what’s hit ’em!’ Her words were greeted by rapturous applause and raucous laughter, followed by a burst of accordian music and a great deal of ale-supping. After which the women got to their feet and entertained their menfolk with a tap of heels and vulgar show of legs.
‘By! They’re a motley crew and no mistake!’ The bargeman stretched his neck from his place at the tiller and, casting his merry eyes over the live cargo which had made itself comfortable in amongst the mounds of black, shining coal, he laughed out loud, saying to the round, jolly woman by his side, ‘I must a’ been all kinds of a fool to give in to that lot, eh?’
‘Away with yer, our Jack!’ declared his wife, playfully nudging him in the ribs. ‘They might look like the worst villains abroad, but they’re harmless enough. Yer did right in giving them a ride ter Lancaster, ’cause they’re no different from anybody else when it comes to attending a hanging.’ She nudged him again and laughed out loud. ‘But there’s many a one as’ll find their purses gone when this lot departs the scene!’ Whereupon, the two of them laughed all the louder and shook their heads as they began tapping their own feet to the rhythm of the melody coming up from the hold.
Outside in the square, the gibbet was being put in place, and though the event was not scheduled to happen until early the following day, the crowds were already beginning to gather and jostle one another for the most advantageous position.
From her cramped and tiny cell, which was shared by others who awaited transportation, Emma could hear the outer hammering noises which told her that Mrs Manfred’s time was growing ever nearer. She felt strange and disloyal that there was no sadness in her heart; no anger, no bitterness and no prayer for Mrs Manfred. She felt nothing but a cold, numb emptiness within her. And, in these past long hours, when she had lost all sense of time, Emma had come to realize that even the child inside her was still and silent.
When she and Mrs Manfred had first been incarcerated some long, endless weeks before, Emma had made several pleas that both her own and Mrs Manfred’s plight should be brought to her uncle, Caleb Crowther’s, personal attention. When the reply came back that Caleb Crowther and his family no longer considered Emma Denton to be in any way related to them, nor did they intend to intervene on behalf of either of the two unfortunates who had so callously caused the untimely death of another, Emma’s heart had bled more for the child and Mrs Manfred than for herself. Now, there was nothing. She wasn’t even fearful of the unknown journey which awaited her and, may God forgive her, she also appeared to be losing her faith. Her comforting belief in the good Lord had sustained her throughout, but now, because some deep, awful instinct told her that the small, helpless life within her was fast fading, so too was her faith. Emma had always possessed both the strength and compassion to forgive her enemies, but, if that tiny life created by her and Marlow was to be cruelly wasted, then how could she find it in her heart to forgive such a thing?
Now, Emma’s thoughts were overturned as the other prisoners began to make a racket at the approach of a particularly formidable female warden. ‘Watch out, ’ere it comes!’ said one in a loud whisper. ‘Aye,’ rejoined another, ‘’appen the bugger’s come ter march us all ter the gallows!’
‘Enough of that, you lot!’ rapped the officer as she thrust the great key into the lock. ‘Back away from the door, I tell you . . . unless you want swilling down like the pigs you are!’ As a second warden, a great hulk of a man, stood by with a bucket of ice-cold water, the first one beckoned to Emma, calling out her surname and instructing, ‘Get out here. There’s someone wants to see you!’
Astonished that she should be the one singled out, Emma threaded her way forward through those around her. When, harshly, she was pulled through the door to face the warden, it was to be told, ‘Your partner in crime has been given permission to say her goodbyes.’ She reached out a stiff arm and propelled Emma along the corridor, adding, ‘If it was up to me, she’d not have her way, I can tell you. But this new governor’s not yet had time to toughen up. He’s too gullible by half, but he’ll learn soon enough if I know anything!’ Emma hoped not, for in a place such as this it surely wasn’t a bad thing for the governor to show a measure of compassion. As for herself, some little corner of her being had lighted up with the thought that she was being taken to see her beloved friend. Maybe God was listening after all.
When the door to the cell was opened and Emma saw that dear, familiar face watching for her to appear, she was unable to put one foot before the other. Even when Mrs Manfred called out her name she stood rooted to the spot. Of a sudden, she felt engulfed by such pain and emotion that all she could do was to gaze at the older woman, tears tumbling down her face and her arms reaching out towards her.
‘Oh, my darling child!’ Suddenly they were in each other’s embrace, clinging tightly to each other, and so filled with emotion that neither could speak. Presently, Emma felt herself being gently held out at arm’s length, while Mrs Manfred gazed at her with great concern. ‘Oh, child, look at you,’ she murmured, the shock at seeing Emma so emaciated evident on her face. ‘Why, you’re nothing but skin and bone!’
‘I’m fine, Manny,’ Emma protested, not having seen the sorry spectacle she now presented and caring even less. ‘But you, oh, Manny, I’m so afraid for you. And it’s all my fault . . . if only I hadn’t asked you to stay that night.’ Emma thought that if she was given the grace to live a lifetime, she could never forgive herself for what Mrs Manfred must be going through.
‘You must not blame yourself, my darling, for you have brought me nothing but joy in all the time I’ve known you.’ When Emma looked up to see those generous, round eyes looking so softly at her, she was amazed at the peace and beauty there. There were tears also, but they were not self-pitying tears, nor were they tears of anger or bitterness. As those bright, friendly eyes roved over her, Emma felt ashamed.
‘I’m not afraid, child,’ Mrs Manfred said tenderly, thinking how if she was afraid, then it was for Emma and not for herself, because in all honesty she had come to accept the blame for Mr Denton’s death. She looked long and softly at Emma’s ragged countenance and her old heart was moved by it. Though heavy with child, Emma was painfully thin – her cheekbones jutting out from that small, pixie face and those expressive grey eyes deep and large with the pain she had endured. The dress on her back was nothing like the fine gown she had been wearing when they had escorted her from Montague Street; it had been replaced by a plain, ill-fitting brown dress with scooped neck, loose sleeves and limp skirt which was torn and dishevelled at the hem. Oh, there was nothing so despicable as those who took advantage of their authority to strip away anything of value which was the property of those left helplessly in their charge. However, the boots which peeped from beneath were Emma’s own, which unknown to anyone but Emma, still carried her mama’s tiny and precious watch secreted within the ankle-lining. But the biggest shock of all was seeing how Emma’s long, magnificent chestnut hair had been savaged from her head, the remnants of which were left at various jagged and unruly lengths.
When Emma was asked, ‘Will you pray with me, child?’ she had to ask herself how could she possibly do such a thing when, in her heart, she had already begun to reject the very idea that there was a God. As a child and throughout her youth, Emma had been taught to love, respect and fear that special, magnanimous idol who watched over all those lesser creatures below. Now, when His help and mercy was sorely needed, where was He? How could she pray to a God who would let the child die within her and who would allow the innocent life of Mrs Manfred to be taken also?
‘Please, child.’ The older woman had sensed the struggle going on in Emma’s mind and meant to resolve it
in the right way. ‘I need you to pray with me.’
As they knelt down together, to join their voices in quiet prayer, Emma felt her spirit returning and her heart growing stronger. Once more, a kind of comfort crept in to give her hope and when, as she embraced Manny in a final farewell, she was astonished to feel the child within her surge and struggle, Emma asked forgiveness for the doubts which had torn her in two.
Emma listened attentively as Mrs Manfred quietly advised her, ‘When you get to those far-off shores, don’t be afraid. Be careful not to antagonize those who hold the key to your freedom. Work hard, keep your mind busy and the years will swiftly pass. When the day comes that your life is returned to you, use it well. Cherish it, and never forget the things you were taught. Will you promise me that, child?’ she asked now and, before she was returned to her own cell, Emma gave the promise with all her heart. It grieved her to learn how even Manny’s only relative, her sister in Luton, had turned her back when she had been most needed. But Emma was greatly moved by the courage Mrs Manfred had shown in the shadow of the gallows. Both touched and shamed by it, she had cried, ‘I’ll never forget you,’ as she wept in Mrs Manfred’s comforting arms. Nor would she. For Manny had come to be a part of her that she would carry forever.
In the silent early hours of the morning, Emma got up from her crouched position on the floor to tiptoe over towards the metal grill which sliced the growing daylight into grotesque shadows on the wall. Through the window she could hear the soft thud of hurrying footsteps outside, yet she could see nothing, for the window was too high.
‘’Ere, climb aback o’ me, darlin’.’ The whisper bathed Emma’s ear, and the touch of a hand on her shoulder was a gentle one. Emma recognized the girl as Nelly, a cockney waif not much younger than herself. Since being made an orphan by tuberculosis which had taken most of her family, she had wandered from her East London beginnings to tramp the length and breadth of England in search of a better life. Circumstances had driven her to stealing, which in turn had landed her with the same fate as Emma. Together they were banished from the shores of their beloved and familiar homeland, to set sail under guard for some distant and unknown destination. Yet both were strong of heart and they had found a small measure of consolation in each other.
Emma had liked Nelly on first sight. She smiled warmly as she looked on that rather large and coarse face, the features of which seemed peculiarly exaggerated – the nose was too spread across, the chin jutted out a shade too much and the dark eyes were so round and large that they seemed almost bulbous as they stared fondly at Emma. Yet, for all this, there was an aura of such warmth and compassion about her as appeared almost beautiful, and to Emma, Nelly had become a shining example of great fortitude. In turn, with her stalwart and quiet strength of character, Emma gave Nelly a great deal of hope and comfort. In the short time since they had been thrown together, these two young women had forged a friendship which, in the years to follow, would help them to face many terrible adversities.
‘Bless you, Nelly, I can’t use you in that way.’ Emma smiled affectionately at Nelly’s suggestion. When Emma considered how undernourished and weak Nelly was, and she so heavy with child, the very idea of doing what Nelly instructed was unthinkable. Yet, it was a wonderful gesture and Emma was deeply grateful. She gazed fondly at those large ungainly features, noticing how the girl’s blue dress was so tattered that she had been allowed to keep it; even the plain brown shoes on her feet had lost their laces somewhere along the way; and the dingy brown scarf knotted at her throat was riddled with tiny round holes, as though the moths or lice had found it to be a tasteful feast.
When, with a plea in her voice, Nelly protested, ‘It’s all right, Emma, you’ll be light as a feather and I’ve a broad enough back to lift you up to the window,’ Emma reached out a hand to stroke the girl’s untidy brown hair and gently laughed when it sprang back up again as if it had a mind of its own.
‘Happen there are things going on outside that window that neither of us ought to see,’ she told her quietly, whereupon one of the louder, bolder women nearby, offered her own opinion.
‘That’s right enough, young ’un,’ she said, ‘gallows ain’t a pretty sight – not for us to see an’ even worse for them as is set upon it! Keep yer head down an’ thank yer lucky stars it ain’t you as is walking up them wooden stairs this morning!’ Suddenly there was a loud, excited roar from some way off. ‘They’ve seen their first sight of her!’ the woman called out. ‘The crowd’s on their feet!’ At this, every other prisoner in the cell got to their feet, a look of fearful anticipation on each one’s face and an ear cocked so as not to miss a sound.
Making the sign of the cross, Emma sank to the ground where she sat small and still against the cold damp wall, a fervent prayer issuing from her lips in a whisper. ‘Forgive me Lord, if I’ve doubted you, but Manny is so good, and her punishment shamefully unjust. Please, Lord, help her now and take her innocent soul to your arms.’ Emma pictured her beloved friend in the smallest, most familiar detail. She recalled being comforted by that darling woman; she remembered her unceasing kindness and her steadfast love; she thought about the wise and wonderful words which dear Mrs Manfred had often spoken to her; and her heart ached with both regret and bitterness at the way in which the life of such a wonderful woman had to end.
‘I’m afeared, Emma, gal,’ said Nelly, coming to sit beside her, ‘afeared that the buggers can string a body up so easily!’
‘You mustn’t be afraid, Nelly,’ Emma told her, reaching out an arm and drawing the trembling girl towards her. ‘Manny isn’t afraid, and we must learn from her example.’ However, when the crowd outside fell ominously silent, Emma also began to tremble; and when a great, tumultuous roar erupted, followed by loud, hearty clapping, she clung to the other girl for reassurance with the same desperate fear as that frightened creature clung to her. Manny’s ordeal is over, thought Emma, while mine is only just beginning. Suddenly, the child inside her grew restless, thrashing and protesting at being so long incarcerated. ‘Be patient, little one,’ Emma reassured it, but thinking how she felt equally desperate. The idea of attempting to escape had crossed her mind more than once, but Emma knew the futility of that because, even if the officers’ vigilance was relaxed somewhere along the way, she was so heavy with child that before she’d gone half a dozen steps, they’d be on her. Furthermore, it was likely she’d be severely flogged and further restricted for her pains. Yet it filled Emma with despair to think how her unborn child would simply be swapping one prison for another.
After a day of acute discomfort and cold, when the prisoners were roughly disturbed several times for one reason or another, Emma found herself being roused from a restless sleep in the still-dark early hours.
‘Come on you lot! The waggon’s arrived!’ yelled the voice of an officer, as he threw open the cell door. ‘File out one at a time, and don’t get clever, ’cause we’re ready for any o’ your tricks!’ He waved his cat-o’-nine-tails in the air, his face suffused with pleasure at the thought of laying it across some of their backs.
Emma followed the others, shuffling out with Nelly ever close by her side. Already made uncomfortable with her every bone aching from the cramp and cold, Emma prayed that the child inside her might be still for a while, for it seemed unusually agitated and the spasms of pain in her abdomen had become increasingly difficult to bear without crying out. Emma’s anxiety must have shown on her face because, in the lowest and most urgent whisper, Nelly’s voice sounded in her ear, ‘Hold on, darlin’ – it ain’t the right time yet.’
But however desperately Emma tried to contain the upheaval taking place inside her, nature dictated that the child was ready to be born. Outside by the main gate, as Emma and Nelly were pushed towards the cage-topped waggon where a number of prisoners, whose journey had begun some time before, were already squashed inside, Emma felt her ankle being roughly grasped and shackled to Nelly by means of a heavy iron. It was as they were then propelle
d forward that Emma was racked with such a searing pain that it brought her to the cobbled ground and, try as she might, she could not find the strength to pull herself up again.
‘On your feet!’ With the officer’s cry came the sting of leather across Emma’s unprotected shoulders.
‘Leave her be – please. Don’t be so bleedin’ heartless!’ pleaded Nelly as he raised his arm again. ‘She’s giving birth, can’t you see that?’ Whereupon there came a volley of protest from the rest of the prisoners. After safely and swiftly securing the others inside the waggon, the older of the two officers stepped forward to look down on Emma’s small, writhing figure. ‘You!’ he addressed Nelly, who was still held fast to Emma by the shackles on their ankles. ‘Do you know what to do?’
‘Yes!’ lied Nelly, anxious that she and Emma should not be separated.
‘Get on with it, then! We’ve a long way to go and a ship to board! A few minutes, that’s all – then you’ll both be flung in the waggon to do the best you can along the journey!’
Some twenty minutes later, the still-dark air was rent with Nelly’s jubilant cry of ‘It’s a girl!’ A cheer promptly went up from those in the waggon. ‘Oh, Emma! She’s beautiful!’ Nelly said, as she followed the procedure which she’d seen her own mother follow after giving birth to a lusty-lunged boy. That babe had yelled the minute it appeared and Nelly was concerned when Emma’s newborn made neither sound nor movement.
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