Tonight in Newgate it would be bitingly cold, and he could hardly bear to think of Mary trying to sleep huddled on straw. Yet she never complained about the conditions, in fact she showed gratitude that she had been spared the common side of the prison. It was only when she recalled her native Cornwall that he saw a hunger in her eyes for fresh air, the majesty of the pounding sea and the wildness of the moors.
His own trip to Cornwall had made sense of some of Mary’s traits. While he had in the main found it a wet and cheerless place, with worse poverty in some areas than London, when the sun came out and he had seen the spectacular scenery, he had felt humbled.
The way the tiny fishing villages had insinuated themselves into the shelter of the cliffs spoke reams about its natives’ tenacity. They fished, went down mines and farmed. However poor they were, the Cornish didn’t kow-tow to the wealthy landowners. James had a sense all the time he was there that the common folk had the heart and the courage to rise up and take back what was rightfully theirs, if they so chose. Mary was Cornish through and through, sturdy and wild as a moorland pony, as tenacious as the limpets in rock pools, and often as deep as its pit shafts.
But last week he’d thought she was sinking, that she was unable to take much more of everything she’d endured so stoically. He was afraid that her low state would make her vulnerable to infection, and she’d have no strength left to fight it.
Perhaps he had initially looked for glory by defending her, but he certainly cared nothing for that now. He wanted so much to lead her from that dreadful place, to watch her blossom with good food, pretty clothes and freedom.
A friend had teased him recently by asking if there weren’t enough whores in London to satisfy him, without rescuing a convict. Once he would have laughed off such a remark, and in the past his ultimate aim would have been to bed the woman once she was free. But Mary had touched something deep inside him that had nothing to do with lust. It stung that his friends didn’t see this.
Mary, he believed, was his chance to redeem himself for past carelessness with women. He had truly loved his wife Margaret, but he had neglected her and been unfaithful many times. All those scores of whores, serving maids and often innocent young women he’d bedded! He wasn’t guilty of callousness, for many of them had engaged his heart. But he had been like a butterfly, sipping nectar here and there, moving on as soon as the sweetness faded.
He wasn’t going to lose interest in Mary, though – for once in his life he intended to see this through, whatever the cost to him. His aim went beyond getting her and her friends pardoned, he was going to help Mary on to a secure and prosperous life as well.
He swallowed the last of his brandy and reached out for the decanter to pour himself some more. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to plead for Mary. For the past three years, the whole country had been in a state of unrest. The poor had good reason to feel bitter, the Enclosures Act forced many of them off the land into the cities, and craftsmen were finding that their skills were no longer needed as new manufacturing processes came in. They voiced their discontent in huge riots, and with men like Thomas Paine inciting rebellion with his belief that the monarchy should be abolished and the working classes rise to take control, the government was running scared.
Rioters were being arrested, charged and transported before they had a chance to infect others with their inflammatory views, and although Henry Dundas had originally agreed that the five returned transportees should be pardoned, quite recently, when James asked him to fulfil his promise, he had denied making it and accused him of having a vivid imagination.
Boswell had gone to Evan Nepean, the Under Secretary of State. This man had been responsible for organizing the First Fleet of transport ships, and it was said he had been appalled to hear so many convicts died on the ships of the Second Fleet. There was no doubt that Nepean did care in general about the welfare of convicts, but he took the view that the government had already been lenient in not hanging these five, and saw no reason why they should be pardoned.
James felt a little ashamed now that he’d allowed Mary to believe Henry Dundas was an old and close friend. Their only connection was that they’d been at school together but they hadn’t even liked each other. He would contact him yet again tomorrow, though, and write to Lord Falmouth too.
‘I cannot, will not give up,’ James muttered to himself. ‘Right must triumph if I remain persistent.’
As James dozed later that evening in front of his warm fire, Mary was lying awake in the dark, her face wet with tears. She was so cold she could no longer feel her toes or even shiver, and every bone in her body ached.
She could hear someone wailing in the distance. It was a cry not of pain but of sheer hopelessness, and the sound echoed her own feelings. She was so weary of fighting that once again death looked desirable. She could no longer remember why survival had once been so important to her. What was there to live for?
Chapter twenty
‘What’s the date today, James?’ Mary asked, turning on the crate she was standing on to see out of the cell window. She couldn’t see anything more than the roof of the part of the prison opposite and the sky beyond, but it was infinitely better to look at the clouds and birds than at the cell walls.
James was sitting on the floor writing. He stopped at her question and looked up. ‘The second of May,’ he replied. ‘Any special reason you want to know?’
It was mid-morning and they were all in the cell, Sam whittling an animal from a piece of wood. Nat busy sewing a patch on his breeches, Bill laboriously plaiting straw into fancy shapes. He called them ‘corn dollies’, and said that in the Berkshire village where he grew up they were considered fertility symbols. James had more than once joked that if there was a sudden increase in births in the prison, Bill would be responsible.
Since the attack on Mary in the tap-room, they all spent much less time there. Jack had survived his wound, but he was hanged for his crimes just a couple of weeks later. Since then Mary had found herself treated with extreme caution by the existing prisoners. But there were new arrivals every day, and many of them were even more dangerous than Jack, so the men had taken Mary’s advice and kept out of the way.
They had all become adept at finding ways to fill the daylight hours. Mary was knitting a shawl, they played cards, they visited other prisoners in their cells, on fine days they went out into the yard. They also reminisced a great deal about New South Wales and their escape, as James was finally writing his book about it. When they did visit the tap-room it was only for a couple of hours in the evening.
‘The second of May!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘Then it was my birthday two days ago, and we’ve been here nearly eleven months.’ Her birthday meant little to her other than it came the day before May Day, which had always been special in Cornwall. No one had even mentioned that in here, so perhaps Londoners didn’t celebrate it.
‘It seems we’ve been here a whole lifetime, and they say it’s bad manners to ask a lady’s age,’ James said with an impudent grin.
‘You’re older than me,’ she retorted, and jumped down from the crate to sit on it.
‘I have difficulty keeping track of years now,’ Bill said thoughtfully, scratching his bald head. ‘I’m not sure if I’m thirty-two or -three.’
‘I’m still the youngest at twenty-five,’ Nat chipped in.
Mary was loath to admit she was now twenty-eight. It seemed so very old. But then she felt old, and she’d been in Newgate for so long that almost everyone she’d met when she first came here had been hanged, died of fever, or been taken away for transportation.
‘Someone’s coming,’ Sam said, looking up from his whittling.
He was right, they could all hear brisk footsteps coming along the passageway. It wasn’t Spinks, who had a kind of shuffle, and the other prisoners walked slowly. Mary had found that odd at first, until she discovered herself doing it. What was the point of rushing anywhere when you had a long, empty day to fill?
/> The footsteps stopped outside their cell, and the door was pushed open. It was one of the guards from the gate, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a pock-marked face. They had seen him on their arrival here, and when they had been taken to court.
‘Mary Broad!’ he said, looking to her. ‘You are wanted below.’
Mary exchanged a puzzled glance with the men. Normally when a visitor arrived for one of them, Spinks came to tell them.
‘Maybe it’s the King,’ James said, and laughed at his joke.
Mary picked up her shawl and followed the guard down the stairs, across the outside yard and into the small office she had come through on her arrival.
‘Mr Boswell!’ she exclaimed when she saw him waiting there. He looked even grander than usual in a dark red jacket trimmed with black braid, and he had a cockade of red feathers in his three-cornered hat. ‘I had expected something bad. Why didn’t the guard tell me it was you?’
‘Because this is an official visit,’ he said, glancing at the guard, then suddenly his face broke into a joyful smile and he pulled a sheet of paper from behind his back. ‘This, my dear, is your pardon!’
Mary was too stunned to respond. She blinked, caught hold of the edge of the desk for support and just stared back at Boswell.
‘Well, say something,’ he laughed. ‘Or won’t you believe it till I read it to you?’
He cleared his throat, made a sweeping bow as if about to deliver a proclamation to royalty, then held up the sheet of paper.
‘Whereas Mary Bryant, alias Broad, now a prisoner in Newgate,’ he read aloud, and paused to smile.
‘Go on,’ she whispered, afraid she might faint with shock.
‘Stands charged with escaping from the persons having legal custody of her before the expiration of the term which she had been ordered to be transported, and whereas some favourable circumstances have been humbly presented unto us on her behalf, inducing us to grant our Grace and Mercy on her and to grant her our free pardon for her said crime.’
Boswell went on reading and finished up by telling Mary that the letter was signed by Henry Dundas at His Majesty’s command. But she could barely take it in: the only two words which really meant anything to her were ‘free pardon’.
‘Oh, Bozzie,’ she gasped as he finished. ‘You did it! I’m free?’
‘Yes, you are, my dear,’ he beamed. ‘As from this very moment. You can walk out through the gates right now with me. You have spent your last night in Newgate.’
She rushed to hug him, kissing both his cheeks.
‘You are a wonderful, wonderful man,’ she said joyfully. ‘How can I ever thank you enough?’
Boswell’s face was always so red it was hard to tell if he was blushing, but he caught hold of her two hands and squeezed them hard, and there was an emotional tear in his eye. Mary had never kissed or attempted to hug him before, and he had expected her to take the news with her customary coolness. To see her so moved by joy was enough thanks for him.
‘You can thank me by getting your things quickly and then we’ll go off to celebrate,’ he said.
Mary took two steps towards the door, then stopped sharply and turned to him again. Her smile had gone, replaced by a look of extreme anxiety.
‘What about the men?’ she said in little more than a whisper. ‘Are they pardoned too?’
This was the moment Boswell had been dreading.
‘Not yet,’ he said carefully, afraid she might not want to leave without them. ‘But they will get one in due course. I am promised that.’
She hesitated.
‘Mary, they will be freed,’ he insisted. ‘I am sure they will be glad for you. You can do more for them on the outside than by sticking here with them.’
She left then, but walked away slowly, her head bent as if in thought.
Mary blurted out her news from the cell door, and began to cry when she got to the part that the pardon was only for her, and they’d have to wait a little longer. She thought they would be angry, hurt and resentful, and covered her face in expectation of a volley of verbal abuse.
James was stunned, but as he saw her gesture he felt ashamed that she anticipated jealousy at her good fortune. She deserved her freedom more than any of them, for her losses had been so much greater.
‘That’s all right with us, ain’t it, boys?’ he said, giving them a warning glance not to say anything mean-spirited.
‘But I wanted us all to go together,’ Mary said, tears running down her cheeks. ‘How can I leave without you?’
As one, the four of them leaped to their feet, each man moved by her unswerving loyalty to them.
‘Don’t be a numbskull,’ James said. ‘We always expected you to go first, so bugger off and enjoy it.’
‘You deserve it more than any of us,’ Sam said, his warm smile softening his gaunt features. Nat patted her affectionately on the shoulder, while Bill gave a whoop of delight and punched the air.
Mary wiped away her tears, touched that they could be so joyful for her and hide their own disappointment. ‘We’ve been together for so long I don’t know if I can manage without you,’ she said.
‘Get away,’ Sam said, waving her to the door in an exaggerated gesture. ‘We’ll be glad to be rid of your nagging.’
‘We’ll turn the cell into a midden, we’ll drink all day, and we’ll invite whores up here,’ Bill growled, but his lips were trembling.
‘I’ll take your blanket,’ Nat chirped up. ‘It’s thicker than mine.’
Mary looked at their faces with tear-filled eyes. Four brave smiles, four warm hearts, each one so very dear to her for a thousand or more different reasons. They had seen one another at their best and their worst. They had fought, laughed and cried together. Now she had to leave, and learn to live without them.
‘Don’t get drunk or fight, and James, you finish your book,’ she said weakly, falling back on motherly advice because she knew that if she tried to tell them how much she loved them she would break down. ‘I’ll be back to see you, and we’ll all celebrate together when you get your pardon too.’
She slipped off her old dress and put on the blue one Boswell had given her, then, tipping the straw out of the linen sack which she’d brought from the Gorgon and had been using as a pillow, she put her few belongings into it.
James came up behind her and fastened the buttons at the back of her dress, then turned her round to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. ‘God bless you, Mary,’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion. He kissed her cheek, then held her close. ‘It’ll surely be a lucky man who gets you.’
Wordlessly, Mary broke away from James to kiss and hug the other three, lingering just a little longer with Sam. ‘Don’t go wrong again,’ she whispered to him. ‘And find a woman worthy of you.’
She paused at the door, taking one last look at them. She could remember how disreputable and ugly she’d thought James was when she saw him marching off to work with Will from the Dunkirk. He was the last link with that stinking hulk, yet through his ability to charm ladies, he looked more like a gentleman now than a convict.
Nat had seemed suspect when she first met him. She had noted the shine on his hair, the smooth flesh on his bones, and guessed how the pretty boy had survived the Neptune. It saddened her to think she had judged him for that. It was no different to what she did with Lieutenant Graham.
Sam hadn’t had the looks to trade his way to comfort on the Scarborough. He’d been close to death when she gave him water on the quay. He’d fought to live, just as he’d fought the elements with her to get them to safety.
As for Bill, she’d been impressed by his toughness when he walked away from his flogging, but she hadn’t actually liked him until after they’d escaped. But time had proved there was a kind and decent man under that rough exterior.
She couldn’t even claim that any of them had burst into her life like a fire cracker. They were just four seemingly unremarkable men who through desperation had become like her brothers.
Every aspect of their characters was etched in her heart, she would hold each dear face in her mind forever.
‘I love you all,’ she said softly, her eyes filling with tears again. ‘Please don’t any of you break the law again, I want you to be honest and happy.’
She fled then, tears streaming down her face.
‘I have found rooms for you in Little Titchfield Street,’ Boswell said as he settled her into a hansom cab. He had noted her tearstained face, and guessed she was upset at parting from her friends. But he felt the separation could only be a good thing. He wasn’t entirely convinced that the men would become honest and hardworking on their release, and he wanted no bad influences around Mary now she was free.
‘Now, I have money for you,’ he said, taking a notebook from his pocket to show her. ‘Over forty pounds, a princely sum. I shall pay for your lodgings from it, and you will need clothes too. But for now you must just enjoy your freedom.’
The sadness at leaving her friends behind was eased by the excitement of freedom and seeing London. Boswell pointed out that the view of it she’d seen before when brought from the docks to Newgate was a rather squalid part of the city, and she was now going to a respectable area.
Mary could only stare in silent wonderment. It was a bright, sunny spring day, and the streets were crowded, forcing the cab driver to slow the horses to a mere walk. The iron-rimmed wheels on heavily laden carts, cabs and carriages made a racket on the uneven road surface. Sedan chairmen nimbly bypassed the many piles of horse dung, and wove in and out of the heavier traffic.
Ladies out shopping were wearing gowns and pretty bonnets in every colour of the rainbow, men in frock coats and hats like Boswell’s hurried as if on urgent business. Street traders yelled out their wares in strident voices. There were thin little flower girls with baskets of primroses, small boys selling newspapers, and burly tradesmen unloading goods from carts or carrying everything from ladders to pieces of furniture.