The Disgrace of Kitty Grey (19 page)

Betsy looked at me and I shook my head to say that no, they were
not
going to be lovely. Despite missing our bread allowance yesterday, neither of us was hungry, for I had discovered that having a loathsome stench permanently in your nostrils quite took your appetite away, although both Martha and Mrs Goodwin assured me that this would pass.

One-ear paused and nodded to a row of stone steps going downwards. ‘Down them stairs are the condemned cells.'

I stared down the cold stone passage and shivered.

‘They're putting up the viewing stands in the square right now. Three poor blighters – two women coiners and one footpad – gettin' ready to do the Newgate jig!'

‘What's the Newgate jig? Is it a special dance?' Betsy asked, then luckily noticed two rats slinking around a corner and went down on all fours in order to see them better.

‘What's a coiner?' I asked One-ear, for I had never heard this term before.

‘Oh, 'tis a very popular crime in Newgate. The felons take a gold coin, see, and scrape a little from all around the edge of it. Then they pass off the coin as whole, and sell the gold dust to a jeweller.'

‘That is a capital crime?'

‘Certainly it is,' he said stoutly. ‘It bears the King's head and whether he is a mad King or no, 'tis classed as a crime against him and therefore treason.'

The governor's office was a surprise. Betsy and I followed One-ear up a flight of stone steps, through a heavy door and found ourselves in a well-dressed room, both light and bright with paintings, framed certificates and polished brass lamps. With its green-painted shutters and heavy mahogany desk it looked, to me, very much like the estate manager's office at Bridgeford Hall. The governor, Mr Hallet, was also a surprise, for whereas the turnkeys all seemed to be thin and weaselly, their faces dull through lack of sunlight, Mr Hallet was rotund and florid-faced, his demeanour suggesting good living – and much of it. I later found out that the post of governor was one that could be bought by the highest bidder and could be the means of making one's fortune; it had little to do with whether or not a man was suitable for the position.

I curtseyed, then sat Betsy on a chair at the back of the room and told her not to move or speak, for I had to talk to someone who was very important.

The turnkey announced, ‘Kitty Grey,' and left the room. I curtseyed again, murmured good morning and Mr Hallet looked up at me.

He took a book from a drawer. ‘Kitty Grey,' he said. ‘Are you a new prisoner?'

I nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I came in yesterday.'

‘He leafed through the book and must have found my name. ‘Arson, is it?'

‘Please, sir, 'twas not arson. I merely burned a few sticks in the grate to keep myself and the child warm.'

‘And the chickens? Roasted them on the fire, did you?'

‘I never saw any chickens. I wouldn't know what to do with chickens,' I said earnestly. ‘I only burned –'

‘Keep your pleas for the court,' he said. He peered at Betsy. ‘How old is your child?'

‘She is not my child, sir.'

‘Not yours? Then what is she doing here?' he asked. ‘Have you kidnapped her?'

‘Indeed I have not! I brought her to London so that we could find her brother, for she has no other close relatives.'

‘Then she has no business being here and taking up valuable space. We already have three times the number here that we should have. Why, if everyone brought in children from the streets there would be no room for prisoners.'

I was completely taken aback. ‘Then . . .'

‘Then she must go to an orphanage.'

I heard a little squeal from Betsy. ‘I don't . . .' she began, and then came a muffled sob.

I thought quickly. ‘Sir, I must throw myself on your mercy,' I said. ‘I confess she
is
my child. I didn't want to say so, for I thought it would go against me.'

He looked at me sternly. ‘And where is your husband?'

‘I have no husband. She was . . . was born out of wedlock.'

‘Yes, I thought that would be the case,' he said drily.

‘I said what I did about her because . . . because I did not want to gain a certain reputation.'

‘In here, everyone has a reputation.'

‘So may she stay with me? If it pleases you, sir,' I added humbly.

‘She may stay for the present, until the court decides what your sentence should be.' He ran his fingers down a line of figures. ‘Ah, I see someone, a Mr Holloway, has offered to pay your garnish.'

I must have looked mystified at this because he added, ‘Mr Holloway, a cow-keeper, has offered to pay the daily charge for your bread and meat. Is he the father of this child?'

I felt myself go pink with embarrassment. ‘No, sir, he is not. I have only known him a matter of days.'

‘Indeed?' It was all too plain what he was thinking. ‘What a kind gentleman he must be then, because for some reason of his own he wishes to help you.'

‘Then I am very grateful to him,' I said, and indeed I was, for it had not occurred to me I would have had to pay for my food. ‘But can you tell me when my case is likely to be heard, sir?'

‘With luck, within a week,' he said, ‘for they are trying to clear all straightforward cases by Christmas and allow us a little breathing space in the gaol.'

I hesitated. ‘And have you any idea what my sentence might be?'

But as I had nowhere near enough money to admit me to the Master's Side and so help line his pockets, he seemed to have lost interest. He closed the accounts book and poured himself a drink from a glass decanter. ‘It depends whether you catch the judge before dinner or after it. And if someone has moistened the jury's throats with a swig or two of gin. But arson is bad. Arson could go either way.'

‘It really was not arson, sir.'

‘It's not me you need to convince, girl!' he retorted, then nodded towards the door. I curtseyed deeply, picked up Betsy and went out.

‘You said you borned me, didn't you?' Betsy asked, whispering in my ear.

‘I did.'

‘So shall I call you Mummy now?'

‘If you want to,' I said, sighing, and then looked at her poor little grubby face and tried to smile. ‘Of course you can, if you'd like to.'

‘But even if you are my mummy, we'll still look for Will, won't we?'

‘Of course.' I nodded, but my heart wasn't in it. I had realised by then that it would be near impossible to find Will in London.

One-ear was waiting outside and escorted me back a different way through the tunnels and corridors so that I had several more glimpses of the fine life that could be led in gaol if you were rich: I saw a cell which was more like a shop and sold all manner of things, a busy tavern, a private dining room and a laundry room where a maidservant sat sewing. I also glimpsed, through a window, the scaffold being erected for the following day's hangings, and gave more than one thought to the sorry creatures who were to receive this punishment.

Chapter Eighteen

 

 

The prison population went into a frenzy about the hangings. These were scheduled for eight o'clock in the morning, and by four o'clock, when it was still dark as fury outside, all of the gaol inmates were awake and banging on the floor or at the metal bars of the cells with tin cups, spoons or any other implements they could find.

There was a small barred window high up in the wall where the scaffold could be glimpsed in the square outside, and here stands had been erected with seats at one shilling in order that the wealthy might see the better. About six o'clock, as it grew lighter, one tall young woman amongst us climbed on another's shoulders to report what was happening.

‘Scores of people are coming every minute,' she said excitedly. ‘Men, women and children, peddlers, hot-piemen, sellers of baked chestnuts and men on horseback. You should just see them!'

As time went on and it grew closer to eight o'clock, other women took her place and continued the commentary in turn. Even if you didn't want to hear it, you could do little to escape, for each sentence uttered by the seeing-woman was repeated by others and the words spread outwards across the cell like ripples on a pond.

‘Someone's family have arrived . . . there is a man weeping piteously.'

‘A woman is prostrate with grief at the foot of the scaffold.'

‘I see a thief picking the pocket of a fellow in a greatcoat!'

‘Someone is shouting that a reprieve will come from the King.'

I found it hard to know what to say to Betsy about what was going on, for how could I explain the fearsome concept of death? I did not want her to think, either – oh, let it not be true! – that such a punishment might befall me. I kept her close by my side, therefore, and just told her that there was a big meeting outside and some people were very cross about it, and some very excited. Mrs Goodwin said that I should tell her the truth; that knowing what happened to thieves and highwaymen might keep her on the path of righteousness in later life, but I did not agree as I deemed her far too young.

At ten minutes to eight there was a poignant sigh from the crowd outside which seemed to seep through the very walls of the gaol and settle over us. We all looked around at each other uneasily.

‘One of the women has appeared and it has quieted the crowd,' said the girl now viewing the scene. ‘I believe 'tis Eliza Branning.'

‘What does she have on?' several voices asked eagerly.

‘A lilac bonnet and her hair is up. She is wearing a pretty muslin gown with white lace.'

There was another sigh, from the women inside this time, for we were all wearing the very worst and filthiest attire and most of us would have given a great deal to be dressed in a muslin gown and lilac bonnet. Looking around, I realised that most of the women were wearing oversized men's clothes: heavy jackets and waistcoats, for, of course, these were warmer and probably proved more durable inside a prison.

‘And what is happening now?' came the cry from around me.

‘The cleric has arrived and is speaking to Eliza. She is kneeling to pray . . . Ah, now she is standing, removing the bonnet and passing it to someone in the crowd. The hangman is fitting a hood over her head.'

‘They always dress up nicely to be hanged,' Martha whispered in my ear.

‘But what if they have no good clothes to wear?'

‘Then someone will lend them something suitable – I believe the governor has a trunk of such things. Men often dress as bridegrooms.'

I asked why.

‘They want to be looking their best in case a tavern buys their outfit and exhibits it on a replica of them afterwards,' she explained. ‘They do this if the felon is a famous highwayman or someone else loved by the people.'

I marvelled very much at this.

‘But the last hanging here was most distressing, for 'twas of a woman who mounted the scaffold still feeding her baby,' Martha said. ‘They had to take it out of her arms to put the noose around her neck.'

‘Tell me no more!' I begged, and turned away.

I had, I realised, changed my opinion about those who were commonly called thieves, for I knew now that for many of them taking a loaf from a market stall was the only way they could ensure their children received any nourishment. Many so-called paupers could only receive Poor Relief if it was claimed within the parish they had been born in, so hardly any of that great number who came to London to find work received aid.

I took Betsy and her friend Robyn over to the furthest corner of the cell, and here we invented a game which involved throwing a corn dolly into a circle we had made out of gravel. Thus we managed to occupy ourselves through the banging and stamping and cries of ‘Shame!' which accompanied the deaths of the three poor souls. No reprieves arrived for them, which I thought a great pity.

 

Following the hangings and the raising of the black flag outside, it took a day or so for the gaol to simmer down. I went on as before, trying not to antagonise anyone (for some of the women there would attack another for an imagined slight or sideways glance), endeavouring to keep Betsy amused and taking our incarceration minute by minute. I tried not to think too much about what might lay ahead.