by Bonnie Leon
“If I may be so bold . . . you look to be in need. And I would be pleased to accommodate that need.” He touched a strand of hair that had fallen free of its pins.
“Sir!” Hannah pulled back.
“You’re a handsome one. And spirited.” A smiled played at his lips. “I’d pay well.”
Hannah pressed a hand against her empty stomach; it ached with hunger . . . and she was already tainted. “No. Leave me.” Before the need of sustenance made her do something despicable, she stepped around the man and hurried down the street. Dear Lord, help me, she prayed. For a moment she’d considered the offer. I am indecent. No respectable woman would have entertained such an idea.
She stopped beneath a lantern. Grabbing hold of the pole, she gripped it tightly as if its stability would secure her. God, can you not see past my shame and provide a way for me?
Across the street a prostitute sauntered up and down the lane. She rolled her hips back and forth and made no effort to conceal rounded breasts pushing out of a tawdry gown. Her lips were painted red, and she’d piled her hair on top of her head in an effort to look like a lady. The attempt failed.
Rather than being repelled as she had been in the past, Hannah felt ashamed of her previous judgments against such women. She’d always assumed they’d chosen their professions and didn’t deserve pity. Only now did she understand how life’s circumstances sometimes foisted unseemly choices upon people. Could she make such a choice? There had been a time the answer would have been a fervent no. Today, with hunger gnawing at her, she was no longer certain.
The prostitute leveled a gaze on Hannah. Then with a quick glance up and down the lane, she strode boldly toward her. “On your way. This is me corner. I’ll not share it with the likes of you.”
“But I’m not—”
“Get. Away with you.”
Staring at the cheerless, angry eyes, Hannah knew it would do no good to explain. “I’m sorry,” she said and moved on.
She stopped outside a pub and gazed in through a window. It was brightly lit inside and appeared warm. Sounds of laughter and songs rolled out onto the street. She never thought that a pub would entice her, but on this night it seemed welcoming. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a puff, she pushed against the door. Just as she did, it shoved back and nearly knocked Hannah off her feet.
A disagreeable-looking man stumbled out and pushed past her. “Out of me way!”
Hannah stared after him, and then gazed inside the crowded inn. It was raucous and smelled of ale and smoke. She didn’t belong there. Disheartened, she let the door close and walked away, moving along the shadowy streets, uncertain where to go.
Finally, unable to continue longer, Hannah stepped into the shadow of a doorway. It was a business establishment and not a home, so she was reassured she’d not disturb anyone’s sleep. She squatted down and pressed her back against the door. Pulling her cloak tightly about her, she stared out from her tenuous shelter.
Here, the world felt inhospitable and deserted. She cupped her ice-cold hands over her mouth and breathed into them. Her breath steamed the air. Pulling the cloak over her head, she bundled deeply within its folds. The cold crept in, and she shivered.
Perhaps tomorrow will bring good fortune, she thought. Hearing approaching footsteps, she peeked out from beneath the cape and pressed deeper into the shadows. A man walked by without noticing her. How many times had she done the same? The destitute and needy had been invisible to her. Lord, forgive my indifference, she prayed and vowed that if ever she found her way out of this horrid predicament, she’d never again overlook the poorest of society.
Exhaustion swamped her. She closed her eyes, hoping for sleep and praying for a miracle. But even as she prayed she didn’t believe. God hadn’t protected her thus far. Why would he begin now? Perhaps he was done with her.
In her desolation she heard her mother’s voice. “God loves all people, especially those without hope. He loved even the lepers.” She’d spoken the words during one of their evening chats. Now, Hannah wondered if her mother could have been mistaken. What if God doesn’t love the sullied? If not, then I must be a stench in his nostrils.
Her mind carried Hannah back to the basement room at the Walker estate. She could feel Charlton Walker’s hands on her, and again shame consumed her. Had she tempted him? Could she have fought harder? She stared out at the empty streets, thankful that no one could see her. In the light of day would her shame be evident? Would people know her secret just by looking at her?
Exhaustion finally rescued Hannah from her thoughts, and she slept.
A sharp, cramping pain in the middle of her stomach awakened Hannah. Morning light was beginning to reveal the littered street. The prostitutes and drunkards were gone, but doorways and alcoves housed others like her who had sought shelter.
Shocked anew at her circumstances, reality swept through Hannah. What am I to do?
She straightened cramped legs and pushed to her feet. Stretching her arms over her head, she tipped slightly to the side, hoping to work out unyielding muscles.
At least it’s not raining, she thought, gazing at the sky. Pink touched the gray canopy. Perhaps today would be sunny and warmer.
Running her hands over tangled hair, she thought, I must be a sight. Removing her hair clasps, she worked her fingers through the snarls and then repinned the hair. Opening her cloak, she gazed down at her wrinkled gown and let out a sigh. How will I ever find work? I look like a vagabond.
She considered her other dress, but it had been packed in her satchel. Undoubtedly by now it was in worse condition than the one she wore.
Her stomach growled and hunger knifed through her. She needed to eat.
Sunlight brightened a clear sky and cast shadows along the street. With determination, Hannah headed for the market. Maybe she could find work or something to fill her hollow stomach.
A coffee shop door opened just as she approached. A man swept away dirt from his porch and then moved back inside. The smell of coffee and baked goods lingered. Hannah moved to the door and gazed inside, watching while the owner set out a display of sweet rolls. Her mouth watered.
Stepping just inside the doorway, she asked, “Sir. Perchance, do you have need of help? I can do most anything.”
The man looked at her, his eyes taking in her disheveled appearance. “I’ve no need for the likes of you. This is a proper establishment.”
“Sir, I am a proper woman. I’ve only recently fallen on hard times.”
He still looked doubtful. Hannah searched for something she could say that would convince him. “I’ll do anything.”
The man stormed toward her, forcing Hannah to step back onto the porch. “Your kind’s not welcome here.” He slammed the door shut.
Hannah stared at the door. Tears burned the back of her eyes. She wanted to defend her honor. But what good would it do? And in truth, she had none to defend.
She stepped backward onto the street. The ground beneath her feet shook, and she turned to see a team of horses charging toward her. She leaped away to avoid being trampled, lost her footing, and fell into a mud puddle at the side of the road. The horses and coach flew past. The driver didn’t even slow down.
Pushing to her feet, she stared after the carriage. Passersby gaped, but no one offered assistance. Holding muddied hands away from her body, Hannah gazed down at her soiled dress. Now she’d have to use her other gown. She surrendered to hopelessness. How would she convince anyone that she was a decent sort and could be trusted?
She blinked back tears. Lord, couldn’t you spare me a little dignity?
Three adolescent boys walked up to her. The tallest gawked openly. “Yer a bit old for a mud lark.” He pointed at her. “Eh, we got a mud lark, ’ere.” He grinned and made a goofy face.
“Mud lark. Mud lark. Mud lark,” the boys chanted as they skipped away.
Hannah bit back a retort. She wouldn’t resort to fighting with children. And she had to admit that she
looked like one of the children who waded in the muck of the Thames, scavenging for pieces of coal and wood and other treasures.
She headed toward the wharf, hoping to find a place where she could exchange her dirty gown for the clean one.
When Hannah came upon a small bridge with a darkened footpath beneath it, she ducked into the shadows. Quickly pulling out her clean dress, she stripped off her soiled one, glancing about to make sure no one would find her in such undress. She stepped into the clean gown and quickly buttoned it. Her hands shook; she didn’t know if it was more from cold or hunger.
Trying to keep her mind on practical things, she held up the dirtied dress. “You need a good washing,” she said matter-of-factly, as if speaking in an ordinary tone would make life normal. Bundling it beneath one arm, she picked up her satchel and continued on toward the river.
She found a trail that led to the river’s edge and followed it. Setting aside her satchel and cloak, she crouched beside the river and pushed her muddied dress into the water. Unspeakable sludge swirled around the gown, but Hannah scrubbed anyway.
When she felt the gown was as clean as she could get it, she wrung out the excess water and then hung it over a tree limb. Brown fog had blocked out the sun, so it would take many hours for the dress to dry. She would have to wait. At any rate, she had nowhere to go.
Pulling her cloak about her, Hannah sat on the bank and watched the river. A flatboat carrying cargo quietly slid past. She wondered where it was headed, and then decided she really didn’t care. She was too weary to be concerned about such things.
Bundled inside her cape, she rested against the trunk of a tree. Her eyes felt heavy, but she forced them open and looked about to make sure there were no vagrants nearby. In the end, she decided she didn’t care. What did it matter if she were murdered in her sleep? There were worse things than death. Besides, her mother and father awaited her in eternity.
Sleep covered Hannah in its safety and she dreamed of better days. She’d been only six when her father was killed in a riding accident, but she remembered him. His eyes radiated joy and contentment. At the end of each day when he’d return home, he’d stride into the house and embrace Hannah’s mother and then turn to Hannah and hold out his arms. She could feel joy in his embrace. He tossed her into the air and she squealed with delight.
“Papa,” she called. “Papa . . .”
Hannah left her dream and realized she’d been sleeping. She didn’t want to awaken. Had she heard something?
Pushing up on one arm, she could still feel the dream and had to force herself to focus on her surroundings. Her eyes went to the tree where she’d hung her dress. The gown was gone. She let out a loud breath. “Oh no. Someone’s gone off with it.” She looked about. Her satchel was also missing. While she’d slept, someone had relieved her of what few possessions she’d had. Her hand went to her mother’s necklace that hung around her neck. She was thankful she’d been wearing it.
Sorrow seeped into Hannah. Lord, how can you have so completely forsaken me?
Hannah cried until she had no tears left, but pitying herself served no purpose and she forced her mind toward sensible thinking. She must do something to remedy her situation.
She stood, smoothed her gown, and then closed her cloak at the neck and set off for the market. It was the end of the day and someone would need help. Perhaps there would be a generous merchant who would offer leftover produce to the poor.
The marketplace was quiet; most vendors had already closed their stands. Hannah moved toward a man who had a variety of vegetables left. “Sir, I was wondering if you might need someone to cook or to clean for you.”
He looked at Hannah and she thought compassion softened his gaze. “Sorry, but I got no need.”
Hannah gazed at the carrots and potatoes and considered asking for some. She couldn’t bring herself to beg and moved on.
Just beyond, a man sat on the edge of the street, legs crossed and a cup in front of him. When he saw Hannah, he picked up the cup and held it aloft. “Money for the poor,” he croaked. “I’m crippled and can’t work.”
She glanced inside the tin. There were two coppers resting in the bottom. Hannah couldn’t bring herself to speak; she simply shook her head and walked on.
She approached a woman loading apples into a cart. “Have you any work for me?” she asked. “I’m strong and will work hard.”
“You look puny to me. I need someone with a strong back.”
“I’m much stronger than I look.”
The woman studied Hannah for a long moment, then said, “Nah. I need someone who can be of real help. Besides, I got no money.”
“I . . . I’ll take a bit of food in trade.”
The woman hesitated, and then shook her head. “No. I can sell these tomorrow.” She turned her back on Hannah.
Drawing in a disappointed breath, Hannah’s desperation grew. She felt faint with hunger. Her eyes landed on a display of baked goods. There were several loaves of dark bread. She could walk by quickly and grab one and stuff it beneath her cloak. No one would see. What is one loaf to him, anyway? she reasoned.
Apprehension grew inside Hannah. She’d never stolen anything before. What choice have I?
With her eyes on the prize, she picked up her pace and walked toward the cart. Too frightened to actually take the bread, she walked past and remained empty-handed. She stopped several yards up the street, then turned and looked back. I must do it. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to build her courage.
Again, she ambled toward the stand. This time when she moved by, she grabbed a loaf and quickly concealed it beneath her cloak. For a moment, she felt triumph. She could nearly taste her prize.
“Thief! Thief!” shouted the vendor. “There! Get her! She’s there!”
Hannah didn’t think. She ran. Holding the bread against her stomach, she sprinted away. She heard footsteps and shouts of “Stop! Stop!” She glanced over her shoulder and what she saw terrified her. Two constables were chasing her. Where had they been? Why hadn’t she seen them? An image of the gallows flashed through her mind. People were sometimes hanged for stealing.
Frantically searching for a way of escape or a place to hide, she ran faster. She gulped in lungfuls of air. A sharp pain cut into her side and her heart hammered. The steps behind her were close!
Someone grabbed her arm. She wrenched free. But the constable managed to seize her cloak. Hannah slipped out of it and kept running. She didn’t know what hurt more, her lungs or her legs. She fought for breath.
Lord, save me, she cried desperately and turned into an alley.
“Stop! Stop, I say!”
Hannah kept running, the pounding of boots close behind. Someone grabbed her hair and yanked, wrenching her backward. She fell and her head cracked against the cobblestone street. Dazed, she lay still, sucking air into her lungs. They had her.
“Get up! On your feet!” the constable shouted, dragging her upright.
“Please, sir. I was hungry. I tried to find work, but no one would hire me. I’ll return the bread.” Her eyes found the dark bread. It had fallen out of her hands and lay in a puddle.
“No one’s going to want it now.”
“I’ve never stolen anything before. I’m telling the truth, sir. Please believe me.”
“The law’s the law.” He pushed her toward another constable. “It’s prison for ye. The magistrate will decide yer punishment.”
“I can’t go to prison.”
He steered her toward the main street. “Ye should ’ave thought ’bout that before ye pinched the bread.”
Ashamed, Hannah walked head down through the market. As they passed the baker, she glanced at him. “I’m sorry. Truly I am.”
People stared. Hannah was utterly humiliated. She no longer blamed God for having nothing to do with her. She’d been sullied and now she’d further dishonored herself.
8
Hannah sat in the far corner of a large prison cel
l. There were bars across the front and a gaoler sat just outside. He never spoke and showed no emotion. She pressed her back against the wall and pulled bent legs close to her chest. Since being arrested she’d kept to herself. No one in this place seemed agreeable to socializing, and that suited her.
The first morning she’d been given a small portion of porridge and water and then stale bread and broth later; it had been the same for three days. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but at least she was getting something to eat.
She caught the eye of a woman sitting against the opposite wall. The prisoner stared at Hannah through strands of filthy hair and squinty eyes. Frightened, Hannah wondered if she was insane.
Fighting back tears, she considered her mum. She’d be so distressed if she knew of her predicament. For the first time since her mother’s death, Hannah was thankful for her absence. At least she couldn’t see what had become of her.
Hannah scratched her leg and then studied a red welt. There were dozens just like it covering her body. The prison cell was infested with fleas. Hannah couldn’t get away from them. She tried not to scratch, but sometimes the itching was so intense she couldn’t refrain. Most of the time she rubbed at the bites with the palm of her hand, but the sores still bled.
She watched a tiny flea burrow into the fold of her elbow. Revolted, she brushed it away, but it simply bounced to another part of her arm. She brushed at it again and then she saw another and another. The little beggars were everywhere, even in her hair. Frantic, she jumped to her feet and slapped at the pests. She ruffled her skirt, hoping to dislodge the insects and then tipped her head upside down and shook her hair. It was more than she could stand. She wanted to scream.
With her arms folded over her chest, she walked the length of the wall, then turned and walked back again. Lord, help me. Please hear my prayers. Save me from this place.
She paced for several minutes, then stopped and leaned against the stone wall. The room was crowded with women and children. A couple of women tended to infants. Hannah felt a pang of sympathy. How much more difficult must this be for those with children.
