Avery & Blake 02 - The Infidel Stain (32 page)

She put her arms around him again and I knew she wished none of us were there. Then she pushed him away.

‘Pen, you knowed I said something would turn up? Well, these three fine gentlemen – one of them’s even a lord! – have come to see you today to find out if there’s anything to be done. To try and help you.’

He looked up at us once again, this time more in astonishment than fear.

‘Pen,’ I said, ‘my name is Captain Avery. This is Mr Mayhew – he is a journalist and is interested in your case – and this is Lord Allington and his sister, Lady Agnes. They have been kind enough to come and hear your story.’

The boy stared in wonderment at Allington, then glanced at Matty.

Allington looked at him with great seriousness.

‘Now, Pen, speak up. You must tell me the truth in all things. What is the prison like?’

The boy looked back at his warder, then at Allington. He seemed lost for words.

Matty nudged him. ‘His Lordship knows Mr Dearlove, who runs the ragged school. No need to be afraid of him.’

‘I’m too small for the shinscraper, sir,’ the boy said, in a voice barely above a whisper, ‘so I pick oakum instead. Most every day. They give us gruel and hard bread.’ He was nervous and his breath came in gasps.

‘The shinscraper?’ said Lord Allington.

‘The treadmill, sir – I mean, Your Lordship,’ murmured Matty.

Allington leant forward, took Pen’s hand and patted it. The gesture seemed to calm the child.

‘Until I take the boat,’ the boy said, ‘they let Matty see me each week. The worst thing is the not talking. I got into trouble for talking and they docked my rations. And I’m alone in my cell all night and there’s no light and it’s so dark, and if you’re frightened you’re not to cry out, but even if you do, they carn hear you.’

I fancied that the warders were touched by this. Even Lady Agnes seemed softened by the child’s cruel situation.

‘How old are you, Pen?’

‘Twelve, I think, sir.’

‘Well, Pen, now I want you to tell me what happened on the day the police took you. But it must be the truth, for God will know if you lie and we shall not be able to help you.’

The boy looked at Matty. ‘Mr Taylor what’s got a shop in Wych Street, he said I thieved from him but I never. Not that day. I never took the finny.’

‘He means five pounds, sir,’ said Matty.

‘What did happen?’ said Allington.

‘I was standing outside his shop and he asked me in. Honest. He said did I want a tart, because he’d seen me in the street and knew I was hungry. I said yes. I was always hungry.’

‘So you already knew this man?’

Pen looked up suspiciously. ‘Yeah.’

‘Why was that? Had you stolen from him before?’

He hesitated. Then he nodded his head. ‘Only small things. There was never enough to eat. Matty, she tries really, really hard, but sometimes there’s nothing. I get so hungry.’ He looked away as if he knew he had let his sister down.

‘Stealing is a mortal sin, Pen.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So it is to be little wondered that you were not on the best terms with the shop owner, Mr Taylor.’

‘No. But that day, he seemed kind. He’s got a whole shop. I reckoned that with a whole shop you wouldn’t miss a small thing.’

‘So you went in.’

‘I went in and he got it out. A penny tart with jam in it. He said, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” And I said I would, but I had no money. He said there was no charge, he could see I was really a good boy and if I’d promise not to thieve from him again I could have it. I said yes, I promised, and asked if there was anything he wanted me to do. He said, “There,” just like that. I picked it up and said thanks, and that my sister would bless him, and I walked out of the shop. And I walked, like, a little way down the street, eating my tart, and he comes out of his shop shouting, “Stop, thief!” And
there’s a copper with him, one what’s chased me once or twice before, and they’re pointing at me. And this man I never seed before, he takes hold of me. I didn’t understand what was happening. And Mr Taylor comes up to me with the copper and he says, “See what this little thief has taken.” And he lifted up my jacket – it’s a brown jacket that Matty got me and it’s got big pockets – and the copper puts his hands in my pockets and he says, “And look, five pounds.”

‘I swear, I never seed that money before. I never took it. He says to the copper, “Took it off the counter.” He said I’d come in begging for a bit of food and when his back was turned I took the tart and the finny, “calm as you please, and strolled out of the shop”. And all these people gathered round and the copper said he’d have me up before the beak, and Mr Taylor said who would come and bear witness? And the man that had stopped me said, “I will, I caught him red-handed.” They took me to the beak’s and they said all this had happened. And I swore it wasn’t true and I hadn’t never seen the money – I’d never stealed money.’ By now fat tears were sliding down his cheeks. ‘But no one would believe me. And they said it was larceny, and the copper said that given my previous – I’d been caught once or twice: food mostly, but once for some boxes – it’d be transportation this time.’ His voice faded away.

‘Now, Pen, what are your circumstances? I mean, who do you live with?’ said Lord Allington.

‘When I was free, sir, you mean?’ He wiped his nose with his sleeve. ‘With Matty, my sister. My ma died when I was a baby, and my pa when I was nine. My pa was ill and when he died we was on the street, but Matty looked after me. She learnt me reading and sent me to Sunday school and kept us out of the pan.’

‘The pan?’

‘The workhouse, Your Lordship.’

‘In the pan they separate you and they work you till you die, then they doan bury you prop’ly,’ volunteered the boy. ‘I doan never want to go there.’

‘All right,’ said the boy’s warder. ‘Time’s nearly up, I’m afraid, Your Lordship.’

‘May we see the boy’s cell?’ said Mayhew, looking up from his notes. The warder said no, but Lord Allington announced that he too would like to inspect the place, and so we set off, the boy clutching his sister’s hand all the way and occasionally wiping his face on his sleeve, and the rest of us following after.

We walked down a long stone passage, lined on one side with small windows on to the yard below, and on the other with narrow wooden doors secured by bolts and bars. It was the last door and dark. The warder drove a key into the old lock. The door, barely wide enough for a man to walk through, slowly swung open with a wretched squeak. The boy thrust himself into his sister’s arms again. Mayhew, meanwhile, ducked quickly into the cell. There was barely room for more than two and so I waited until he had emerged to take my look.

The room was entirely unlit save for the light that came in from the passage through a grating above the door, and so it took a moment for me to make it out. It was, I should say, six foot by nine foot, and very cold, its sole furnishings a hammock in which was folded a blanket; a three-legged stool – on which I judged the boy had to climb in order to get into the hammock – and an evil-smelling bucket. On the wall was pinned a piece of card on which one could make out the words ‘
CONTEMPLATE THY SINS’
. On the cold stone floor there was a Bible, but it was too dark to read.

Lord Allington followed me in and out.

‘Is there any light or heating in these cells?’ Mayhew asked, notebook at the ready.

‘No.’

‘What, not even in midwinter?’

‘No.’

Mayhew and His Lordship looked at each other. Their expressions hardened perceptibly.

When the boy had been returned, weeping, to the oakum sheds, we retraced our steps. Matty hid her face, mopping it with a rag. We averted our eyes.

At the prison entrance Lord Allington’s coach awaited. Mayhew
put away his notebook and pencil, bobbed a dutiful goodbye to the Viscount and his sister, and took my hand.

‘I must thank you for asking me to come,’ he said. ‘I do not know if there is anything I can do for the poor child, but I can at least write about this dreadful system.’

I said that Blake and I would attempt to verify the facts of the case, and that we would keep him apprised of our discoveries. Then he shook Matty’s hand and strode off south-west in the direction of Ludgate Hill.

‘Miss Horner?’ His Lordship’s voice was melodious, confident – such a contrast from the day before.

Inadvertently, I met Lady Agnes’s eyes and felt sure she was thinking something not dissimilar. Matty, somewhat overcome, gave me an anxious look. I nodded reassuringly. She approached His Lordship and curtseyed.

‘Miss Horner, I should like to know about your own circumstances. Captain Avery speaks well of you. I understand life has not been kind to you?’

‘Well, Your Lordship, I do all right …’

‘Miss Horner, I believe that in your hour of need you felt yourself alone. But the Lord never abandons us. My sister and I should like to do what we can to help you. We may be able to find you somewhere more suitable to live, and perhaps in time a position.’

She gripped her shawl about her.

‘I don’t want nothing – I mean, anything – for myself, but if you could do something for Pen …’

‘My dear child, the theft of five pounds is a serious matter – the law is very clear on this. And it was not his first time. Personally, I believe that the transportation of children for such offences is excessive, just as I believe that the incarceration of children in prisons built to punish grown men is wrong. There are others who think as I do, but I fear our views will not change the system in a day.’

She looked crushed but spoke up anyway.

‘Sir, Your Lordship, I know that Pen didn’t take that money. I know it. Mr Taylor, he’s a tartar, we all know that round our way. He’s not to be trusted.’

‘But it comes down to a matter of your brother’s word against that of the shopkeeper and his witnesses. And he was found with the items on his person. It will be very hard to disprove.’ He spoke gently. The disappointment on Matty’s face was painful. Allington took her hand in his and brought his other hand upon it. It was clearly meant as a gesture of comfort, but I did not like it.

I said, ‘Blake and I will look into the matter, and perhaps we may come up with something.’

‘In the meantime, Miss Horner, I should like to do what I can to help you,’ said Allington. ‘I am on the boards of several homes and charity schools where orphans are given an education and found respectable positions. I think we may find you a place. I have been impressed by your perseverance and your loyalty.’

‘I had planned to escort Miss Horner home,’ I said.

‘It is very cold,’ Allington said doubtfully, his hand still upon hers. ‘I think perhaps it would be better if we drove Miss Horner in my carriage. Lady Agnes will act as a chaperone. My secretary Mr Threlfall will take her particulars.’

Matty gulped. She gave me a dazed look, as if seeking my permission.

‘That is very generous, Your Lordship,’ I said, suppressing a surge of something – disappointment, unease, I could not tell.

‘Yes, Your Lordship,’ Matty said, still staring at me. ‘Thank you, Your Lordship.’

He put his other arm around her shoulder and walked her to the carriage, where the footman opened the door and Mr Threlfall helped her in. Lady Agnes, who had volunteered not a single word, followed after.

‘Captain Avery,’ Allington said, ‘we all owe you a debt of thanks. Myself, perhaps, most of all. Your kindly and charitable instincts do you credit. I know we have other business. I will give it my attention tomorrow and send you word on my decision.’

The carriage rumbled away and I was left alone on the steps of the prison.

The gates locked behind me, I contemplated the gloomy whistling emptiness of Coldbath Fields. It was now dark and there were no cabs to be seen and not a figure upon the road, so I set off in the direction in which I had seen Henry Mayhew go. I believed it to be a south-westerly course, and reckoned, with my new-found confidence in my orientation around the capital, that I should eventually be certain to stumble upon some part of the city which I would recognize. But as I walked a fog got up, making it hard to deduce my position and muffling all sound. The chill gave a charge to my steps and I kept up a brisk pace for the best part of three-quarters of an hour, getting colder by the minute. I came to a large road which I was informed was High Holborn, but it was so jammed from one end to the other with unmoving carts and vehicles that I foolishly thought it better to continue on foot, though I was now damp through as well as cold. The fog deepened. I tramped across an expanse of mud and grass, and found a solitary wanderer who told me it was Lincoln’s Inn and that the Strand was not far south and west. Joyfully I continued, taking a small lane due west that gradually became narrower and twistier and meaner, while the fog grew white and thicker, until I cursed myself for a fool and knew I had lost myself entirely, suspecting I had stumbled into a rookery – probably the very same that Blake had brought me into to meet Gentleman Joe.

A few sorry bundled-up figures had pressed themselves into the sides of the lane in quest of a little shelter. I stopped by a couple and asked for the way to Drury Lane. The answers were so muddled that after fifteen minutes I was more lost than I had been before and I seemed unable to shake off a couple of ugly-looking coves in ragged coats and became convinced they were following me. I accosted a couple more street dwellers, this time mentioning the Cock o’ the
Hoop tavern and palming them a sixpence. The answers were almost as bad as the previous ones, but I did what I could to follow them and at length was pleased to find myself before that very hostelry. There was already a crowd drinking and fighting outside, and I plunged in, hoping I might lose my attendants. I was at once assailed by the odour of old beer and herring and it was plain I was by far the most prosperous-looking person in the place and the rest of the customers had noted it. I looked about for Gentleman Joe – I remembered his warning that I might on this occasion not leave with my boots – but he was not to be seen. I made out the beefy, red-faced woman who had served us beer on our previous visit barging her way through the carousers, two large jugs in her powerful fists. I detained her, saying I had been in a few days before with Jeremiah Blake – I had no great hope that she would remember – and had spoken with Gentleman Joe, and had returned in the expectation that he had left a message for us. She shook her head witheringly, so I asked her to find someone to lead me to Drury Lane – a request I would have given a good deal not to make – saying there would be a reward at the other end. She landed her two jugs on a table and nodded for me to follow her to the counter, where she muttered to the man serving beer. No message, she said. Then she pulled from the counter a disreputable-looking creature in a bent hat who agreed to take me to Drury Lane, but demanded a small payment in advance, on which point the woman supported him. I had no great hopes that he would not either abandon me or try to rob me at the first opportunity, but I needed to get home and there seemed little to be done except hope that I might overcome whatever might be thrown at me.