asked, and was surprised to see tears in Rose’s eyes.
“Harry’s got married. Lady Mary Savage.”
“Oh.” Nell hardly knew what to say. Of course Rose knew as well as she did that gentlemen like Harry would never marry girls like them, however much they enjoyed their sport and company. But knowing didn’t stop the hurting.
“Hard luck, that is,” she ventured. Rose nodded, turning her head aside and wiping away tears.
“I was a fool to let myself care for him as I did,” Rose said.
“No,” said Nell. “You can’t help how you feel, Rose, any more than you can stop the rain from falling. He don’t deserve you anyway. You’ll soon find someone that treats you far better, I warrant.”
Rose tried to smile, and hugged Nell to her.
“Oh, sweet girl, what would I do without you?”
ONE MORNING IN FEBRUARY, NELL AND ROBBIE WERE AWOKEN EARLY by a pounding at their door. Jane, breathless and red faced, rushed in past Robbie.
“Oh, Nell! Rose has been taken up for theft!” She choked out her story between sobs. “The shoulder clappers came at dawn. They had a gentry cove with them claimed she’d pinched his larum.”
“Oh, no,” Nell gasped. The punishment for the theft of something as valuable as a pocket watch was the gallows.
Nell was so terrified she could not think, but Robbie was cooler.
“Where stands the matter now? What’s been done?”
“Madam’s gone to Whitehall to see can Harry help.”
“And Rose?”
“Clapped up in Newgate.”
Newgate. The name alone evoked darkness and despair. Nell knew that debtors rotted there in misery for years, as her father had languished in prison in Oxford. And all London knew of the regular pageant of death, when condemned prisoners were led from the prison to be driven in carts through jeering crowds and pelted with offal on their way to Tyburn Tree, the enormous three-sided gallows that could accommodate twenty-four nooses, and the resultant twenty-four swinging corpses.
“I must go to her!” Nell cried.
“No,” Robbie said harshly. “You can do her no good.”
But Nell would not be deterred.
“’Tis no place for a girl,” Robbie said, grim faced, shoving his hat onto his head.
“No, and no more is it a place for Rose than it is for me,” Nell retorted, stamping with impatience to be gone. Robbie had no answer to that, and they set off, Nell racing along in front of him.
The winter morning sky was leaden gray, the wind blew bitter cold, and a light shower of snow fell icy wet.
When they arrived at the gates of the prison, Nell’s stomach tightened with fear. The ponderous stone walls towered before her, broken only by narrow slits. The enormous ironclad portals led into a cobbled courtyard, crowded with the morning’s desperate traffic—prisoners in irons shuffling through the doors that led into the depths of the prison; guards and soldiers, grim and armed; the usual London rabble of beggars and urchins; legions of wives, lovers, mothers, sisters, and friends. A foul stench permeated the air, a noxious mixture of human and animal waste, vomit, blood, rotting food, and the unmistakable odor of death. A grizzled guard stopped them.
“If she was shopped this morning, trial might be tomorrow,” the guard shrugged when Robbie explained their errand. “Or mayhap the day after. No way of knowing.”
Robbie turned away, but Nell stayed where she was.
“Can I not see her?” she asked.
“That thou cannot.” The guard ran a tongue over his chapped lips and wiped his nose with the back of a dirty hand. Nell stared at him with hatred, taking in the broken and rotten teeth, the rough stubble on the heavy cheeks, the purple nose running in the cold air. She darted past him through the door. She was young and fast, but his stride and his reach were much longer than hers. He grabbed her by the hair and flung her down. She scrambled to her feet and, in a rage of humiliation and helplessness, ran at the man before Robbie
“Harry’s got married. Lady Mary Savage.”
“Oh.” Nell hardly knew what to say. Of course Rose knew as well as she did that gentlemen like Harry would never marry girls like them, however much they enjoyed their sport and company. But knowing didn’t stop the hurting.
“Hard luck, that is,” she ventured. Rose nodded, turning her head aside and wiping away tears.
“I was a fool to let myself care for him as I did,” Rose said.
“No,” said Nell. “You can’t help how you feel, Rose, any more than you can stop the rain from falling. He don’t deserve you anyway. You’ll soon find someone that treats you far better, I warrant.”
Rose tried to smile, and hugged Nell to her.
“Oh, sweet girl, what would I do without you?”
ONE MORNING IN FEBRUARY, NELL AND ROBBIE WERE AWOKEN EARLY by a pounding at their door. Jane, breathless and red faced, rushed in past Robbie.
“Oh, Nell! Rose has been taken up for theft!” She choked out her story between sobs. “The shoulder clappers came at dawn. They had a gentry cove with them claimed she’d pinched his larum.”
“Oh, no,” Nell gasped. The punishment for the theft of something as valuable as a pocket watch was the gallows.
Nell was so terrified she could not think, but Robbie was cooler.
“Where stands the matter now? What’s been done?”
“Madam’s gone to Whitehall to see can Harry help.”
“And Rose?”
“Clapped up in Newgate.”
Newgate. The name alone evoked darkness and despair. Nell knew that debtors rotted there in misery for years, as her father had languished in prison in Oxford. And all London knew of the regular pageant of death, when condemned prisoners were led from the prison to be driven in carts through jeering crowds and pelted with offal on their way to Tyburn Tree, the enormous three-sided gallows that could accommodate twenty-four nooses, and the resultant twenty-four swinging corpses.
“I must go to her!” Nell cried.
“No,” Robbie said harshly. “You can do her no good.”
But Nell would not be deterred.
“’Tis no place for a girl,” Robbie said, grim faced, shoving his hat onto his head.
“No, and no more is it a place for Rose than it is for me,” Nell retorted, stamping with impatience to be gone. Robbie had no answer to that, and they set off, Nell racing along in front of him.
The winter morning sky was leaden gray, the wind blew bitter cold, and a light shower of snow fell icy wet.
When they arrived at the gates of the prison, Nell’s stomach tightened with fear. The ponderous stone walls towered before her, broken only by narrow slits. The enormous ironclad portals led into a cobbled courtyard, crowded with the morning’s desperate traffic—prisoners in irons shuffling through the doors that led into the depths of the prison; guards and soldiers, grim and armed; the usual London rabble of beggars and urchins; legions of wives, lovers, mothers, sisters, and friends. A foul stench permeated the air, a noxious mixture of human and animal waste, vomit, blood, rotting food, and the unmistakable odor of death. A grizzled guard stopped them.
“If she was shopped this morning, trial might be tomorrow,” the guard shrugged when Robbie explained their errand. “Or mayhap the day after. No way of knowing.”
Robbie turned away, but Nell stayed where she was.
“Can I not see her?” she asked.
“That thou cannot.” The guard ran a tongue over his chapped lips and wiped his nose with the back of a dirty hand. Nell stared at him with hatred, taking in the broken and rotten teeth, the rough stubble on the heavy cheeks, the purple nose running in the cold air. She darted past him through the door. She was young and fast, but his stride and his reach were much longer than hers. He grabbed her by the hair and flung her down. She scrambled to her feet and, in a rage of humiliation and helplessness, ran at the man before Robbie
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