Starvecrow Farm

  CHAPTER XXIII

  IN KENDAL GAOL

  Bishop, in his corner of the chaise, made his burly person as small ashe could. He tried his best to hide his brown tops and square-toedboots. In her corner Henrietta sat upright, staring rigidly beforeher. For just one moment, as she passed from the house to thecarriage, under a score of staring eyes, a scarlet flush had risen toher very hair, and she had shrunk back. But the colour had faded asquickly as it had risen; she had restrained herself, and taken herseat. And now the screes of Bow Fell, flecked with snow, were not morecold and hard than her face as she gazed at the postilion's movingback and saw it not. She knew that she was down now without hope ofrising; that, the prison doors once closed on her, their shadow wouldrest on her always. And her heart was numbed by despair. The burningsense of injustice, of unfairness, which sears and hardens the humanheart more quickly and more completely than any other emotion, wouldawaken presently. But for the time she sat stunned and hopeless; dazedand confounded by the astonishing thing which had happened to her.To be sent to prison! To be sent to herd--she remembered his verywords--with such vile creatures as prisons hold! To be at the beck andcall of such a man as this who sat beside her. To have to obey; and tobelong no longer to herself, but to others! As she thought of allthis, and of the ordeal before her, fraught with humiliations yetunknown, a hunted look grew in her eyes, and for a few minutes sheglanced wildly first out of this window, then out of that. To prison!She was going to prison!

  Fortunately her native courage came to her aid in her extremity. AndBishop, who was not blind to her emotion, spoke.

  "Don't you be over-frightened, miss," he said soothingly. "There'snaught to be scared about. I'll speak to them, and they'll treat youwell. Not that a gaol is a comfortable place," he continued,remembering his duty to his employer; "and if you could see your wayto speaking--even now, miss--I'd take it on me to turn the horses."

  "I have nothing to say," she answered, with a shudder and aneffort--for her throat was dry. But the mere act of speaking broke thespell and relieved her of some of her fears.

  "It's the little boy I'm thinking of," Bishop continued in a tone ofapology. "Captain Clyne thinks the world of him. The world of him!But, lord, miss!" abruptly changing his tone, as his eyes alighted onher wrist, "what have you done to your arm?"

  She hid her wrist quickly, and with her face averted said that it wasnothing, nothing.

  Bishop shook his head sagely.

  "I doubt you bruised it getting out of the window," he said. "Well,well, miss; live and learn. Another time you'll be wiser, I hope; andnot do such things."

  She did not answer, and the chaise passing by Plumgarth began todescend into the wide stony valley. Below them the white-washed wallsand slated roofs and mills of Kendal could be seen clustering aboutthe Castle Bow and the old grey ruin that rises above the Ken river.On either hand bleak hills, seamed with grey walls, made up alandscape that rose without beauty to a lowering sky. There were fewtrees, no hedges; and somewhere the cracked bell of a drugget factoryor a dye-works was clanging out a monotonous summons. To Henrietta'seye--fresh from the lake-side verdure--and still more to her heart,the northern landscape struck cold and cheerless. It had given her buta sorry welcome had she been on her way to seek the hospitality of theinn. How much poorer was its welcome when she had no prospect beforeher but the scant comfort and unknown hardships of a gaol!

  The chaise did not enter the town, but a furlong short of it turnedaside and made for a group of windowless buildings, which crowned asmall eminence a bow-shot from the houses. As the horses drew thechaise up the ascent to a heavy stone doorway, Henrietta had time tosee that the entrance was mean, if strong, and the place asunpretending as it was dull. Nevertheless, her heart beat almost tosuffocation, as she stepped out at a word from Bishop, who hadalighted at once and knocked at the iron-studded door. With smalldelay a grating was opened, a pale face, marked by high, hollowtemples, looked out; and some three or four sentences were exchanged.Then the door was unlocked and thrown open. Bishop signed to her toenter first and she did so--after an imperceptible pause. She foundherself in a small well-like yard, with the door and window of theprison-lodge on her left and dead walls on the other sides.

  Two children were playing on the steps of the lodge, and some linen,dubiously drying in the cold winter air, hung on a line stretched fromthe window to a holdfast in the opposite wall. Unfortunately, the yardhad been recently washed, and still ran with water; so that thesehomely uses, and even the bench and pump which stood in a corner,failed to impart much cheerfulness to its aspect. Had Henrietta'sheart been capable of sinking lower it had certainly done so.

  The children stared open-mouthed at her: but not with half as muchastonishment as the man in shirt sleeves who had admitted her. "Eh,sir, but you've brought the cage a fine bird," he said at last. "Yourservant, miss. Well, well, well!" with surprise. And he scratched hishead and grinned openly. "Debtors' side, I suppose?"

  "Remand," Bishop answered with a wink and a meaning shake of the head."Here's the warrant. All's right." And then to Henrietta--"If you'llsit down on that bench, miss, I'll fix things up for you."

  The girl, her face a little paler than usual, sat down as she wasbidden, and looked about her. This was not her notion of a prison; forhere were neither gyves nor dungeons, but just a slatternly, dampyard--as like as could be to some small backyard in the out-offices ofher brother's house. Nevertheless, the gyves might be waiting for herout of sight; and with or without them, the place was horriblydepressing that winter afternoon. The sky was grey above, the wallswere grey, the pavement grey. She was almost glad when Bishop and theman in shirt-sleeves emerged from the lodge followed by a tall,hard-featured woman in a dirty mob-cap. The woman's arms were bare tothe elbow, and she carried a jingling bunch of keys. She eyedHenrietta with dull dislike.

  "That is settled, then," Bishop said, a little overdoing thecheerfulness at which he aimed. "Mother Weighton will see to you, and'twill be all right. There are four on the debtors' side, and you'llbe best in the women-felons', she thinks, since it's empty, and you'llhave it all to yourself."

  Henrietta heaved a deep sigh of relief. "I shall be alone, then?" shesaid. "Oh, thank you."

  "Ay, you'll be alone," the woman answered, staring at her. "Very muchalone! But I'm not sure you'll thank me, by-and-by. You madams arepretty loud for company, I've always found, when you've had your own abit." Then, "You don't mind being locked up in a yard by yourself?"she continued, with a close look at the girl's face and long greyriding-dress.

  "Oh no, I shall be grateful to you," Henrietta said eagerly, "if youwill let me be alone."

  "Ah, well, we'll see how you like it," the woman retorted. "Here,Ben," to her husband, "I suppose she is too much of a fine lady tocarry her band-box--yet awhile. Do you bring it."

  "I am sure," Bishop said, "the young lady will be grateful for anykindness, Mrs. Weighton. I will wait till you've lodged hercomfortably. God bless my soul," he continued, screwing up hisfeatures, as he affected to look about him, "I don't know that one'snot as well in as out!"

  "Well, there's no writs nor burglars!" the jailor answered with agrin. "And the young folks, male nor female, don't get into troublethrough staying out o' nights. Now, then, missis," to his wife, "noneed to be all day over it."

  The woman unlocked a low door in the wall opposite the lodge, but atthe inner end of the yard; and she signed to Henrietta to enter beforeher. The girl did so, and found herself in a flagged yard about thirtyfeet square. On her right were four mean-looking doors having aboveeach a grated aperture. Henrietta eyed these and her heart sank. Theywere only too like the dungeons she had foreseen! But the jailor'swife turned to the opposite side of the yard where were two doors withsmall glazed windows over them. The two sides that remained consistedof high walls, surmounted by iron spikes.

  "We'll put you in a day-room as they're all empty," the womangrumbled. She meant not ill, bu
t she had the unfortunate knack ofmaking all her concessions with a bad grace.

  Thereupon she unlocked one of the doors, and disclosed a smallwhitewashed room, cold, but passably clean. A rough bench and tableoccupied the middle of the floor, and in a corner stood a clumsyspinning-wheel. The floor was of stone, but there was a makeshiftfireplace, dulled by rust and dirt.

  "Get in a bedstead, Ben," she continued. "I suppose," looking abruptlyat Henrietta, "you are not used to chaff, young woman?"

  The girl stared.

  "I don't understand, I am afraid," she faltered.

  "You are used to feathers, I dare say?" with a sneer.

  "Oh, for a bed?"

  "What else?" impatiently. "Good lord, haven't you your senses? You canhave your choice. It's eight-pence for chaff, and a shilling forfeathers."

  "I don't mind paying while I've money," Henrietta said humbly. "Ifyou'll please to charge me what is right."

  "Well, it's cheap enough, lord knows; for since the changes there's nogarnish this side. And for the third of the earnings that's left tous, I'd not give fippence a week for all!"

  The man had dragged in, while she talked, a kind of wooden trough forthe bed, and set it in a corner. He had then departed for firing, andreturned with a shovelful of burning coals, for the room was as coldas the grave.

  "There's a pump in the yard," the woman said, "and a can and basin,but you must serve yourself. And there's a pitcher for drinking. Andyou can have from the cook-shop what you like to order in. You'll haveto keep your place clean; but as long as you behave yourself, we'lltreat you according. Only let us have no scratching and screaming!"she continued. "Tempers don't pay here, I'll warn you. And forswoonings we just turn the tap on! So do you take notice." And with asatisfied look round, "For the rest, there's many a young woman that'snot gone wrong that's not so comfortable as you, my girl. And I'd haveyou know it."

  Henrietta coloured painfully.

  "I shall do very well," she said meekly. "But I've not done anythingwrong."

  "Ay, ay," the woman answered unconcernedly, "they all say that! That'sof course. But I can't stay talking here. What'd you like for yoursupper? A pint of stout, and a plate of a-la-mode? Or a chop?"

  Henrietta reduced the order to tea and a white loaf and butter--if itcould be got--and asked meekly if she might have something to read.

  The _Kendal Chronicle_ was promised. "You'll have your meal at five,"Mother Weighton continued. "And your light must be out at eight, andyou'll have to 'tend service in chapel on Sunday. By rule your doorshould be locked at five; but as you're alone, and the lock's on theyard, I'll say naught about that. You can have the run of the yard asa favour and till another comes in."

  Then with a final look round she went out, her pattens clinked acrossthe court, and Henrietta heard the key turned in the outer door.

  She stood a moment pressing her hands to her eyes, and trying tocontrol herself. At length she uncovered her eyes, and she lookedagain round the whitewashed cell. Yes, it was real. The flagged floor,the bench, the table, the odd-looking bed in its wooden trough--allwere real, hard, bare. And the solitude and the dreary silence, andthe light that was beginning to fade! The place was far from her crudenotion of a prison; but in its cold, naked severity it was as faroutside her previous experience. She was in prison, and this was hercell, that was her prison-yard. And she was alone, quite, quite alone.

  A sob rose in her throat, and then she laughed a little hysterically,as she remembered their way with those who fainted. And sitting limplydown, she warmed herself at the fire, and dried two or three tears.She looked about her again, eyed again the whitewashed walls, andlistened. The silence was complete; it almost frightened her. And herdoor had no fastening on the inside. That fact moved her in the end torise, and go out and explore the yard, that she might make sure beforethe light failed that no one was locked in with her, that no onelurked behind the closed cell doors.

  The task was not long. She tried the five doors, and found them alllocked; she knocked softly on them, and got no answer. The pump, theiron basin, a well scrubbed bench, a couple of besoms, and a bucket,she had soon reviewed all that the yard held. There was a trap orJudas-hole in the outer door, and another, which troubled her, in thedoor of her cell. But on the whole the survey left her reassured andmore at ease; the place, though cold, bare, and silent, was her own.And when her tea and a dip-candle appeared at five she was able toshow the jailor's wife a cheerful face.

  The woman had heard more of her story by this time, and eyed her withgreater interest, and less rudely.

  "You'll not be afraid to be alone?" she said. "You've no need to be.You're safe enough here."

  "I'm not afraid," Henrietta answered meekly. "But--couldn't I have afastening on my door, please?"

  "On the inside? Lord, no! But I can lock you in if you like," with agrin.

  "Oh no! I did not mean that!"

  "Well, then you must just push the table against the door. It'sagainst rules," with a wink, "but I shan't be here to see." Andpulling her woollen shawl more closely about her, she continued tostare at the girl. Presently, "Lord's sakes!" she said, "it's a queerworld! I suppose you never was in a jail before? Never saw the insideof one, perhaps?"

  "No."

  "It's something political, I'm told," snuffing the candle with herfingers, and resuming her inquisitive stare.

  Henrietta nodded.

  "With a man in it, of course! Drat the men! They do a plaguey deal ofmischief! Many's the decent lass that's been transported because ofthem!"

  Henrietta's smile faded suddenly.

  "I hope it's not as bad as that," she said.

  "Well, I don't know," scrutinising the girl's face. "It's for you tosay. The officer that brought you--quite the gentleman too--told us itwas something to do with a murder. But you know best."

  "I hope not!"

  "Well, I hope not too! For if it be, it'll be mighty unpleasant foryou. It's not three years since a lad I knew myself was sent acrossseas for just being out at night with a rabbit-net. So it's easy doneand soon over! And too late crying when the milk's spilt." And oncemore snuffing the candle and telling Henrietta to leave her door openuntil she had crossed the yard, she took herself off. Once more, butnow with a sick qualm, the girl heard the key turned on her.

  "Transportation!" She did not know precisely what it meant; but sheknew that it meant something very dreadful. "Transportation! Oh, it isimpossible!" she murmured, "impossible! I have done nothing!"

  Yet the word frightened her, the shadow of the thing haunted her.These locks and bars, this solitude, this cold routine, was itpossible that once in their clutch the victim slid on, helpless andnumbed--to something worse? To-day, deaf to her protests, they hadsent her here--sent her by a force which seemed outside themselves.And no one had intervened in her favour. No one had stepped forward tosave her or speak for her. Would the same thing befall her again?Would they try her in the same impersonal fashion--as if she were athing, a chattel,--and find her guilty, condemn her, and hand her overto brutal officials, and--she rose from her bench, shuddering, unableto bear the prospect. She had begun the descent, must she sink to thebottom? Was it inevitable? Could she no longer help herself? Sick,shivering with sudden fear she walked the floor.

  "Oh, it is impossible!" she cried, battling against her terror, andtrying to reassure herself. "It is impossible!" And for the time shesucceeded by a great effort in throwing off the nightmare.

  No one came near her again that evening. And quite early the dipburned low, and worn out and tired she went to bed, only partiallyundressing herself. The bedding, though rough and horribly coarse, wasclean, and, little as she expected it, she fell asleep quickly in thestrange stillness of the prison.

  She slept until an hour or two before dawn. Then she awoke and sat upwith a child's cry in her ears. The impression was so real, so vividthat the bare walls of the cell seemed to ring with the plaintivevoice. Quaking and perspiring she listened. She was sure that it wasno dream
; the voice had been too real, too clear; and she wondered ina panic what it could be. It was only slowly that she remembered whereshe was and recognised that no child's cry could reach her there. Norwas it until after a long interval that she lay down again.

  Even then she was not alone. The image of a little child, lonely,friendless, and terrified, stayed with her, crouched by her pillow,sat weeping in the dark corners of the cell, haunted her. She tried toshake off the delusion, but the attempt was in vain. Conscience, thatin the dark hours before the dawn subjects all to his sceptre, beganto torment her. Had she acted rightly? Ought she to have put the childfirst and her romantic notions second? And if any ill happened toit--and it was a delicate, puny thing--would it lie at her door?

  Remorse began to rack her. She wondered that she had not thought moreof the child, been wrung with pity for it, sympathised more deeplywith its fears and its misery. What, beside its plight, was hers?What, beside its terrors, were her fears? Thus tormenting herself shelay for some time, and was glad when the light stole in and she couldrise, cold as it was, and set her bed and her cell in order. By thetime this was done, and she had paced for half an hour up and down towarm herself, a girl of eight, the jailor's child, came with a shovelof embers and helped her to light the fire--staring much at her thewhile.

  "Mother said I could help you make your bed," she began.

  Henrietta, with a smile said that she had made it already.

  "Mother thought you'd be too fine to make it," still staring.

  "Well, you see I am not."

  "I am glad of that," the child answered candidly. "For mother saidyou'd have to come to it and to worse, if you were transported, miss."

  Henrietta winced afresh, and looked at the imp less kindly.

  "But I'm not going to be transported," she said positively. "You'retalking nonsense."

  "There's never been any one transported from here."

  "No?" with relief. "Then why should I be?"

  "But there was a man hanged three years ago. It was for stealing alamb. They didn't let me see it."

  "And very right, too."

  "But mother's promised"--with triumph--"that if you're transported Ishall see it!" After which there was silence while the child stared.At last, "Are you ready for your breakfast now?"

  "Yes," said poor Henrietta. "But I am not very hungry--you can tellyour mother."