Behind the Sun (7 page)

‘She nearly got you,’ Friday teased as Harrie eased herself down on wobbly legs, her back against the wall again.

‘Please, Friday, don’t even make a joke of it. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do if it was just her and me.’

Friday patted Harrie’s knee placatingly. ‘Don’t worry yourself, love. It’s never going to be just her and you. I’ll strangle the bitch myself before that happened.’

Vaguely mollified, Harrie turned her attention to Rachel, who was looking more alert now, gazing at the women sitting in small groups in the exercise yard playing cards, standing around stamping their feet, or trudging in a never-ending circle, wearing a track in the dirty slush.

‘Back from the dead, are we?’ Sarah remarked.

Harrie shook her head. ‘Don’t be mean, Sarah. Rachel, we have to talk about this ring of yours. It’s causing trouble. Friday and Sarah didn’t get any sleep at all last night.’

‘I don’t like it here,’ Rachel said.

‘No, neither do we,’ Harrie agreed. ‘But you could make things better for yourself by selling that ring. You could buy food and a
basin and spoon and a blanket and we could even get you things from outside.’

‘All right,’ Rachel said abruptly. She slid the ring off her finger and handed it to Sarah. ‘What do you think you can get for it?’

There was a short, stunned silence as Friday, Harrie and Sarah stared at her.

Friday said, ‘You were screaming blue murder about giving it up last night! You said it was your last link to your fiancé!’

‘I know, but it isn’t really.’ Rachel pushed a muddy strand of hair off her face. ‘He didn’t give it to me; I stole it from Mrs Begbie. She was such a trollop, accusing me of pledging her tatty linen.’

‘You little cow!’ Sarah exclaimed, and slapped Rachel’s leg.

‘Ow! What was that for?’

‘For lying to us!’ Sarah replied, then added quickly when Rachel’s face crumpled, ‘Oh for God’s sake, don’t start that again.’

Rachel swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘I
wanted
it to be from Lucas, but he said there wouldn’t be enough money for a ring after he paid for my lodgings. That Begbie woman said it all had to be paid in advance or I couldn’t stay there.’ Her voice took on a note of defiance. ‘It was a nice lodging house and I refused to stay in a hovel.’

Friday slid her skirt up her leg and inspected a boil developing on the inside of her knee. The area was swollen, red and hard and, as soon as pus appeared, she was going to attack it with something sharp. It would hurt like buggery, but the poison would be far better out than in. They were all getting sores: Harrie had one on the corner of her mouth and Sarah cursed every time she sat down.

‘Well,’ Friday said, pressing the swollen lump and wincing, ‘you’ve ended up in one anyway.’

Sarah, thoughtfully examining the ring, said to Rachel, ‘If you stole this off the Begbie woman, why have you still got it?’

Rachel shrugged. ‘How should I know? Perhaps she hasn’t missed it yet.’

‘So you weren’t arrested for stealing this?’ Harrie said, confused.

‘No, I
told
you, she accused me of pawning her sheets.’

‘And did you?’

‘No, but she told the watch I did, to get rid of me so she could keep the money Lucas had given her and let my room to someone else. Wait ’til he finds out!’

‘So when did you steal the ring?’ Sarah asked.

‘When she was out fetching a constable. I didn’t know what she was up to but I had a funny feeling and I thought I might need some insurance.’

Sarah gave Rachel a look that was nearly but not quite one of admiration. ‘We’ll have to go outside to get the best price for this. Do you want to fence it or sell it to a private buyer?’

‘Which is quicker and which will get me the most money?’

Not so silly after all, Harrie thought.

‘A fence would be quicker, but you’ll get a better price privately.’

‘A fence then. It’s money for nothing anyway, isn’t it?’

Friday and Sarah exchanged sour glances, recalling the sleepless night they’d endured protecting Rachel’s precious ‘nothing’.

‘But how can you get it out?’ Rachel asked. ‘What about the turnkeys?’

‘It’ll go out like everything else comes in and goes out,’ Friday said. ‘With a visitor. Sarah, do you have anyone in mind?’

‘I do. I’ll have to get a message to her. She’ll collect it, fence it, then probably be back with the money the same day. The day after tomorrow, perhaps?’

Rachel clapped her hands, which made her look about ten years old. ‘I’m going to buy a comb and some soap. I want to look my best when Lucas comes.’

Harrie’s heart felt as though it were being squeezed. What a strange girl — half child, half woman. ‘Sweetheart, you don’t think you should be writing to your family? They’ll be desperate to know where you are.’

Rachel’s pretty, mud-smeared face clouded over. ‘No! I said no and I meant it.’

‘Do you have a favourite pig on your farm?’ Friday asked kindly. ‘Won’t it be missing you?’

Harrie stared at her. What an odd thing to say.

‘It’s dairy, not pigs,’ Rachel replied, scowling. ‘Still stinks, though. All that shite! You can just about smell it from Guildford!’ She held her nose.

Harrie, suddenly catching on, said, ‘Really? You can smell it in Guildford?’

‘Well, no, probably not. Only if the wind’s coming from the north. I do miss my dog, though. He’s called Shannon. It’s Irish and it means ancient river, though he’s only six years old. I didn’t want to leave him but Lucas said I had to.’

‘What regiment is this man of yours with?’ Friday asked.

‘The 31st East Surrey.’

Friday nodded: the Huntingdonshire — they were fairly local and not uncommon on the streets of London when they were at home. ‘And you don’t know where he is?’

‘No. But there isn’t a war on, is there? He can’t be far away.’

‘He’ll be as far away as he can get by now,’ Sarah whispered to Harrie.

Rachel heard. ‘He will not! He had to go back to his regiment! He wouldn’t have left me if he didn’t have to! Don’t be such a harpy. I don’t think I want to talk to you any more.’

‘Good,’ Sarah said, getting up. ‘Because I don’t want to listen.’

Sarah’s neighbour Rosina fenced Rachel’s ring for enough money for Rachel to pay the garnish Becky Hoddle demanded, buy the basic things she needed and, to their collective surprise, give Friday, Harrie and Sarah a half-sovereign each for helping her. She also purchased a pack of cards, telling the girls she intended to make regular contributions to the kitty with winnings from the card school held in the exercise yard.

Sarah and Friday laughed, though Harrie didn’t, worried about hurting Rachel’s feelings.

But as usual she seemed immune to insults. ‘I’m good at cards. Watch this.’

Shoving her sleeves up to her elbows, she shuffled the new pack with lightning speed, cut the deck and somehow recombined the two halves with just a flick of her thumbs, then raised the pack high in one hand and let the cards fall in a perfect, continuous cascade into the other.

Friday and Harrie grinned with delight, but Sarah said, ‘Very clever, but it’s not broads, is it?’

Rachel pulled a particularly childish who-cares-what-you-think? face. ‘Come and watch me play, then.’

They trooped out into the exercise yard after her and waited until she’d found enough women to start a game, which wasn’t difficult.

‘If she really can play cards, why didn’t she do it before?’ Harrie asked.

Sarah replied, ‘Well, if she actually does know what she’s doing, which I doubt, she probably didn’t want to play with someone else’s deck.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’ll be marked, so the owner can cheat.’

‘Oh. Are Rachel’s cards marked?’

‘I hope so.’

They gathered around as Rachel and three other women, sitting cross-legged on the ground, began to play. The game was Twenty-One, and it soon became obvious that Rachel really did know how to play cards. After an hour she had won five games, taken the entire pot of four pounds, two shillings and four pence — thus cleaning out her opponents, who were left confused and not a little irritated by having been taken in by Rachel’s initially naive and somewhat vacuous demeanour.

‘Where did you learn to play like that? Did you cheat?’ Sarah asked, deeply impressed in spite of herself, as Rachel handed her the entire winnings. ‘No, not all of it. Keep some for yourself.’

Rachel took a few shillings. ‘No, I didn’t cheat. I’ve been playing cards with my da and brothers since I was five years old. Not in front of Ma, of course; she thinks cards are the devil’s work. I can play better than all of them now.’

‘You could make a good living at that,’ Friday remarked.

‘I said that to Ma once and she whacked me with the wooden spoon.’ Rachel tucked the shilling coins down her front. ‘I was supposed to be wedding the son of the farmer who owns the fields next to ours, then spending my life shovelling shit for him and having babies. I told Ma I’d rather go out in the world and earn my own money playing cards than do that.’ She smiled a little sadly. ‘I said to myself when I turned twelve, that’s not the life for me. I
want pretty things and lovely dresses and cakes and a fine house with a garden full of flowers.’

‘Well, that won’t happen now, will it?’ Friday said. ‘Not now that you’ve run off with a soldier.
And
you’re a canary-bird.’

‘Lucas won’t mind about me being a canary. He’ll know it was because of Mrs Begbie.’

Will he? Friday thought; he obviously hadn’t noticed the Begbie mot was crooked. And he
will
mind about her being a canary. ‘Rachel, what if you’re found guilty?’

‘I won’t be because Lucas will get me out before then,’ Rachel said matter-of-factly.

Friday felt her patience leach away. ‘This bloody Lucas cove of yours! How’s he going to do that, eh? Look, love, no one gets out of Newgate unless they’ve served their time, or they’re on their way to a transport somewhere, or heading for the gallows. And if he actually does come looking, and he won’t — I’m sorry, love, but I’m willing to put money on that — he could be standing outside those gates for a bloody long time. Do you honestly think he’ll wait for you?’ Rachel looked so dismayed Friday immediately felt horribly mean-spirited. ‘I’m sorry, really, but trust me, I know what men are like. Once they get what they’re after they’re gone.’

Rachel rallied. ‘Not my Lucas.’

Friday gave up. ‘What will you spend your money on?’

‘Not going to.’ Rachel patted her hidden winnings. ‘I’m saving it to bribe my way out of here.’

‘I’m not sure that’s going to work,’ Friday said, laughing.

Rachel gave a mock scowl. ‘Damn it to hell. I was sure it would.’

Friday laughed even more uproariously. ‘Did your brothers teach you to curse as well? You’d better not say that in front of your ma when —’ She shut her mouth. Sod.

‘When what?’ Rachel demanded, her lovely face suddenly ratty with suspicion. ‘When
what
, Friday?’

Friday sighed. ‘We wrote to your family and told them where you are.’

‘But you don’t know where I live!’

‘We sent it care of Winters’ dairy farm, north Guildford.’

Stamping her foot like a child, Rachel shouted, ‘You bloody cows! You had no right to do that! That’s
my
business! I
told
you I didn’t want them to know! I especially asked you
not
to!’ She glared at them a moment longer, then turned on her heel and marched off.

Harrie and Friday gazed after her. Eventually Harrie said, ‘I don’t think it’s that she doesn’t want to see
them
. I think she’s frightened that they won’t want to come and see
her
.’

But they did. Mr and Mrs Winter arrived at Newgate Gaol a week later. When the turnkey passed on the message that Rachel had visitors, she asked Harrie to go with her. As soon as she saw her mother and father beyond the railing of the visitors’ passage she burst into tears.

Mrs Winter, Harrie observed, was a small, fair woman with a sweet face that had probably been close to beautiful before she’d married a man who’d asked her to raise a family of five, run a house and tend cows in all weather for the next twenty-five years. Mr Winter was taller than his wife, broad in the shoulders and a little bandy, though still a reasonably fine figure of a man. His cheeks were as ruddy as his side whiskers. They both wore good, plain clothes, if not their Sunday best, which made them stand out from the other mostly ragged visitors. They were small-scale but no doubt hardworking farmers and, if they did have money, Harrie suspected, it wouldn’t be much.

‘Ah, Rachel, me love, what have you done to put you in here?’ her father asked, sliding his hand through the rail to grasp hers.

The turnkey saw but looked away: if there was contraband being passed she would make sure she got her cut later.

So Rachel told him her story, becoming increasingly animated the more she realised he wasn’t going to drag her through the bars and beat her senseless. All the while her mother hung back, the hands clutching her reticule white about the knuckles and her lips pressed tightly together.

Finally, ignoring Harrie, she stepped forwards. ‘What were you thinking, child? Moses Stemp will never have you now, not after you’ve thrown yourself at the first redcoat as trotted past. And we never even met him! You just ran off. Why?’

‘You could have met him, Ma!’ Rachel retorted.

Mr Winter said, ‘Keep your peace, Flora. I know you’re bothered, but we’ve more to worry about than that now. Rachel, have you had the indictment yet?’

Rachel looked at Harrie, back at her father, then at Harrie again. ‘I don’t know. Have I?’

‘Who are you?’ Mr Winter demanded.

Harrie thought he was being quite rude, even if she was on the wrong side of a set of prison bars. ‘My name is Harriet Clarke,’ she said in her best voice, ‘and I’m a friend of your daughter’s.’ She stuck her hand through the railings.

Mr Winter regarded it suspiciously for a moment, then shook it. ‘Edgar Winter, Rachel’s father.’ He cocked his head. ‘Her mother, Flora.’

‘We’ve not seen a bill of indictment yet, Mr Winter,’ Harrie said. ‘But she’s been here ten days now, so it should be soon.’

Flora Winter clutched her husband’s arm, hope illuminating her face. ‘Then we’ve still time to speak to the governor!’

‘Bugger the governor, beg pardon, girls,’ Mr Winter growled. ‘If there’s been no indictment yet, I’m off to talk to the Begbie woman, see if she’ll take money to withdraw her prosecution.’

Rachel and Harrie shared an uneasy glance; Mrs Begbie surely would have discovered that her ring was missing by now.

Mrs Winter tugged on her husband’s sleeve. ‘Edgar, please, can we not deliver our letter first? He might give her a reprieve anyway. Or he might let her out on bail. I don’t know how these things work. But we can try, can’t we?’

Mr Winter looked down at the tears blurring his wife’s tired, swollen eyes. ‘Aye, you’re right, we can try.’

‘Have any letters come for me?’ Rachel asked hopefully.

‘Who the hell from?’ Edgar Winter exploded.

‘Lucas. He might have written to me at home if he didn’t get an answer from the lodging house.’ Rachel stared at her father, who glared back, his face a picture of irate exasperation.

Rachel had the sense to lower her gaze first. ‘Is Shannon missing me?’

‘Been moping from sun up ’til sun down,’ Mr Winter said with a deliberately cruel edge. ‘Lying under his tree not earning his keep.’

Rachel blinked hard. ‘And the boys?’

‘Roger and Noah are minding the cows, and I’ve sent Nathaniel and Peter out to look for lover boy. The 31st are still at home, far as I know. He got you into this mess; he can marry you. No one else will now.’

‘You don’t have to look, Da. He’ll be coming back.’

March 1829, Newgate Gaol

Sarah was convicted of picking pockets and sentenced to seven years’ transportation to New South Wales. Rachel was indicted for pawning two bed sheets that didn’t belong to her, that is, the property of Mrs G Begbie of Marchmont Street, London, and of stealing a pearl, diamond and enamel ring from same. The Grand Jury decreed that the bill was true and Mrs Begbie’s counsel was expected to be ready to assist his client in her prosecution by the April sessions. Edgar and Flora Winter continued to campaign for their daughter’s release, but their hopes were fading at approximately the same rate as their funds and they began to
talk about when Rachel ‘came back’, not ‘when they got her out’. Neither hide nor hair of Lucas Carew was seen by anyone and the 31st East Surrey moved out of the area for training exercises. The only positive news during the freezing and dismal months of winter was that it appeared Rachel had avoided becoming pregnant during her brief time with her lover.

They were sitting on the ground outside their ward, waiting for their supper to arrive. The stink that had built up inside over the coldest months was only to be borne when absolutely essential and the late afternoon was cool but fine. They’d spent the hours after the midday meal in the courtyard anyway, standing around while one of do-gooder Mrs Fry’s ladies led them singing hymns, which almost everyone enjoyed. Rachel certainly did; she loved singing and knew she had a pretty voice.

Halfway through a song she’d felt a familiar tugging sensation low in her belly. Hoping it might just be a guts ache from the breakfast stirabout she went inside to check, but when her finger came away smeared with fresh blood she knew her courses had started. She wondered whether she was sad or relieved. She was very disappointed for Lucas, who had mentioned several times his desire for children. She had nothing with her so she’d had to ask Harrie, who had given her some strips of cloth. Now her rags, too, would be added to the line of stained and tatty little flags flapping across the courtyard.

It would have been nice to have Lucas’s baby and he’d have been delighted, she knew he would. But Newgate Gaol — what a place to be expecting! Not for long, though. Her mother and father hadn’t been able to get her out, but she knew when he came back, Lucas would.

She wished she knew where he was. Some days lately she was starting to wonder if she’d imagined him, but she couldn’t have, because if she had, she wouldn’t be here in gaol, would she? That first ever time she’d seen him he hadn’t seemed real he’d been that
lovely, just like an angel or a prince or a knight, or perhaps all three together. The day had been cold and foggy and she’d had her woollen scarf tied over her head to cover her ears, trudging along the side of the road on her way to see if the berries were out yet on the mistletoe growing on the poplar tree halfway along the ditch. It had been at the behest of her mother, who had decided it would be a good idea if Rachel were to be standing under some mistletoe when the Stemps arrived to pay their Christmas visit in a few weeks, so she hadn’t been in a very good mood.

As usual Shannon had been with her. It was useful having four older brothers because they spoilt her, but often they treated her as though she were a silly little girl. Shannon didn’t; he never told her to grow up. Well, he couldn’t — he was a dog. When she wasn’t busy with her chores she would go for long walks across the fields with him and talk to him about everything. He knew all her secrets and dreams. He was supposed to be a farm dog and had a kennel outside under the big tree, but sometimes she sneaked him upstairs to her attic room and he slept on her bed, though not that night because he’d rolled in a dead hedgehog.

Someone on horseback had come trotting down the road behind them, the mount’s hooves squelching in the muddy gravel, and she’d stepped aside to avoid getting splattered. But as the rider had passed she’d looked up just as he had glanced down and, when their eyes met, she felt a jolt of something so strong her knees had almost given way. He’d reined in, whirled his horse around and touched his hand to his shako in
such
a dashing manner. Vanity had made her slip the scarf from her head so her hair swung free. She knew of course from his uniform he was a soldier, but it was his beautiful face that snatched her breath away. Oh, he’d been so handsome, his red jacket making such a bright splash in the grey day, his blue eyes sparkling and his black horse tossing its head and snorting clouds of vapour.