* * *
In the tavern, I could feel George Campbell’s eyes on me. The big man drained his tankard, crossed the room and indicated with his chin that the serving wench should follow. When he sat opposite me, the stool creaked under his great weight.
He placed his tankard on the board between us and the wench appeared. ‘Leave the jug, Popsy, my new friend here is feeling generous.’
I flushed, but nodded at the plump doxy. She put down the jug and I passed some coin to her. ‘And two tots of your best whisky.’ It never hurt to oil a reluctant man’s tongue.
The big man took a draught of his ale. ‘What fetches you to my corner of the world, friend? I’ve seen you at the trials. What presses you? Guilt? Or are you one of those men who thrills his horn from hurting maids?’
I spluttered and almost choked on my ale. ‘Neither! I’m simply a man of God, who has lately pledged his life to becoming a pricker to help eradicate this dread scourge of witches.’
He raised his newly arrived tot. ‘Then, here’s to you who would be a pricker.’
I raised my whisky and drank. The pricker emptied the remains of the ale jug into his tankard and took a draught before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
‘Admittedly, it’s well-paid work and fondling the queans is a harmless enough boon. But why would I encourage another onto my patch to halve my income?’
I smiled. ‘You’ve no choice, Campbell. You must furnish me with a pricking implement because I’ve taken the time to discover your dark secret. If you prove unwilling to assist me, then I need only drop a word in the crowner’s ear.’
The pricker paled beneath his elegant beard and then recovered, leaning forward so his mouth was within kissing distance of my face.
‘You dirty weasel, I ought to tear the slanderous tongue from your head. You’ll see no crowner until you’re flat on his table, when it’ll be too late to tell your tales.’
My face twisted into a humourless smile. ‘You’ve no cause to threaten me, Campbell. And should any harm befall me, word’s been left behind and the sergeants will know where to come knocking. What say you to setting our differences aside and coming to terms? There’s surely enough trade to serve us both, eh?’
While the big man pondered, my heart raced as I wondered whether he’d been fooled by my ploy. Finally, the pricker conceded and handed a blade to me.
‘Take this one, you conniving wee thief. I can soon fashion another. But this will be the last you get from me, sergeants and crowners, or none. Now, be gone and leave me to my cups.’
22
Jane
A Fallen Woman
‘Bill, is that a sergeant trudging up our hill?’ I put Gyb down and he wound his way through my legs. ‘What could he possibly want here with a stout stick and a coil of rope?’
Bill put down his spade and dusted his hands. ‘It’s hard to say, but he looks like trouble.’
The air was very still in the morning heat and sweat pricked my oxters. As the man drew near, I smoothed my pinny.
‘I’m Sergeant Bell from Durham. Jane Chandler? Is that your name? It’ll go better, maid, if you own it straight away.’
I looked to Bill, but saw only fear in his eyes. ‘Yes. That’s me, Jane Chandler.’
The sergeant looked me up and down. ‘And is it true that you’re a fallen woman?’
Bill answered in my place. ‘What do you mean by that, sergeant?’
‘Simply that. Jane Chandler is a fallen woman. Her condition is clear to any man with half an eye in his head. The maid has loosened her bodice, she’s not wed and has a bellyful of bastard.’
The blood drained from Bill’s face and his hands clenched into fists. I stepped forward, placing my hand on his arm.
‘It’s true that I have a bellyful. My child’s father was pressed by the navy and taken aboard The Durham.’
‘A convenient arrangement, certainly. You’ll find there are many foolish maids in the same condition where you’re destined.’
The sergeant was a man who liked his drink, judging by his red face, veined nose and bloodshot eyes.
‘Me and Tom were to be married, but he was press-ganged and then his ship …’ The words wouldn’t come out.
Bill patted my shoulder. ‘Aye, sergeant, that’s true. My son and the lass were betrothed.’
The sergeant spat at Gyb and grinned at me. ‘For a maid in such a parlous condition, your faith is touching. Not much to rush back from sea for, though. A mousy maid and one with low morals to boot.’
‘Look here, sergeant. Jane was set to wed my son, but his ship went down. He won’t be coming back. And that can hardly be blamed on him, or the girl.’
The sergeant sized Bill up. Bill was a gentle man. But who could tell what any man might be capable of if subjected to enough provocation?
‘Sergeant, it’s true. My Tom was spirited to sea just before our wedding. Plenty of babies are christened less than ten moons from the wedding day, so my condition isn’t unusual. A promise of marriage is the same as marriage, is it not, in the eyes of the law?’
‘A clever little slattern, aren’t you, Chandler? But it’s not me you’ve to convince. I have my orders from the Justice of the Peace. And since Tom Verger lies at the bottom of the sea, he’s hardly able to make an honest woman of you, is he? So there’s no choice in the matter.’
The child moved within me then and my hand flew to my belly to rest over her. The quickening. Nothing more than a fluttering of tiny limbs, a heart no bigger than an onion seed beating inside me. Joy raced through me. Tom’s child was alive and well. But the sergeant interrupted my joy by reaching forward and gripping me by the upper arm, all the while grinning lewdly at my belly.
‘Jane Chandler, maid of Mutton Clog near Shotley Bridge, I’m charged to punish this lewd behaviour by taking you to Elvet.’
Bill turned from me to look at the sergeant. ‘You mean to take Jane to Elvet? I don’t understand.’
‘It’s very simple, old man, she’ll go to Durham’s house of correction at Elvet.’
Bill frowned. ‘But it can’t be, the house of correction is for cutpurses and nightwalkers … jades and sturdy beggars.’
‘Aye, that’s right. And lewds like young Chandler here.’
‘Bill, please find Mam and Reverend Foster.’ I turned to the sergeant. ‘Please unhand me, as there’s been a mistake. You can’t take me to Elvet. I was to be wed. I’m as good as wed. I had a promise.’
The sergeant leered at me. ‘Well, maid, let’s see whether this promise holds water from beyond the grave. The justice will be the judge of it, not you. Come.’
He pulled my arms in front of me, slipped the coil of rope from his shoulder and lashed my wrists together.
Bill turned to the sergeant. ‘You intend to lead the lass? Like a beast?’
‘Aye, for fear the slippery maid should escape her righteous justice.’
‘Have pity, man, look at her. And in this heat.’
The rope was already biting into my wrists. When I moved them to gain a measure of comfort, the flesh of one wrist tore at the other, so tightly were they lashed. Tears stung my eyes. The thought of walking to Durham in this heat was bad enough. But it was worse to think beyond the walk to what might happen at the house of correction. Who could have informed the sergeants? The only person outside the family who knew was Andrew Driver, and he would have no reason to report me. I looked at the sergeant, hoping to appeal to his better nature.
‘Please let me walk unbound, Sergeant Bell, you have my word that I’ll not try to escape.’
The sergeant sneered. ‘I’d be a rich man and a poor sergeant if I had a groat for every prisoner who promised me that. Come, enough of this whingeing.’
Bill held up his right hand. ‘Wait. You can’t lead a girl in her condition, she’ll lose her child.’
‘Then that will be an end to her trials, won’t it? You, maid, get moving, unless you want to travel by dark.’
The se
rgeant aimed his foot at my right ankle and a searing pain shot up to my knee, causing me to buckle. Gyb hissed at him and sprang onto a ledge out of harm’s way.
‘Don’t fall, maid. I’ll drag you to Durham, if necessary.’
The man looked as though he meant it, so I righted myself, taking the weight on my left foot. When we started walking, Bill looked to be praying. Oh, Bill, save your breath, for praying will not help me.
The sergeant had long legs and he didn’t shorten his stride, so I had to trot to keep up. At least the sergeant hadn’t paraded me through the village, but we’d no doubt travel through the hamlets outlying Durham on our way. During the long climb to Berry Edge, my thighs burnt and the speed of the sergeant’s walking gave me a stitch.
‘Please, sergeant, please stop! The pain in my middle is bad and my child must be suffering.’ I panted the words out, my throat already parched.
The red-faced sergeant stopped and glowered at me. ‘Five minutes only.’
Sweat haled from the man’s brow. So we hadn’t stopped for my sake, but for the sergeant’s, as he panted more than me, even though I had a great belly and a sore ankle. Down in the valley, the heat haze shimmered across the pale pastures and the dark woods. There was too much sweat running in my eyes to blink away, so I raised my bound hands to my face to wipe it away. The rope reeked of horse. Any horse would surely be better treated and at least allowed to stand in a cool beck and drink his fill. The thought of drinking cool water crazed my parched throat. Hopefully, the sergeant had a flask, or we might stop at a well soon.
‘Come, Chandler, no dallying. We must press on. Our next stop will be Lanchester.’
My heart sank. It was five miles to Lanchester.
* * *
My body yearned for water. The sun had reached the crown of the sky and there was little shade on the long path, which was straight and unforgiving. To either side was woodland, cool and inviting. I closed my eyes and imagined myself there. No longer were my feet pounding this hot track; instead, they were immersed in the cool mud, my head shaded by a canopy of oak trees. There were many small burns in the woods and it would be heavenly to scoop up cold water with free hands, pour it into my dry mouth and splash my dirty face so the salt was cleansed from my skin.
‘Please, sire, can we stop? My throat is as dry as dust and my belly is heavy.’
The sergeant shook his head, tightening his grip on the rope over his shoulder. ‘Keep walking, maid.’
‘Well, might we at least walk in the woods for a while?’
‘And be troubled by footpads and cutpurses? Keep walking. And no more of your brassy lip, maid, unless you want to feel the back of my hand.’
With that, he yanked the rope, which caused me to pitch forward and forced me to stagger to stay upright.
I hung my head and tried to think only of putting one foot in front of the other and not of the heavy weight in my belly, the dryness of my mouth and the throbbing pain in my ankle.
We stopped for water and a brief rest at Lanchester and again at Witton Gilbert. The humid heat made walking hard. As we approached Elvet, the sky blackened, casting the vast cathedral and castle into shadow. Fat drops of rain began falling and I turned my face to the heavens. The sergeant held me tightly until a door was answered by a woman whose face was the size, shape and colour of a side of beef.
‘Evening, Mistress Avice. Here’s a new one needs correcting. Let me take back my rope and she’s all yours.’
‘Another hour, sergeant, and my doors would have been shut to you.’
‘Aye, well, it’s kind of you to keep them open for me.’
The sergeant untied the rope. Because my wrists had swollen with the heat, the binding and the chafing, they were red and bloody. As soon as the rope was off, the feeling flooded to my wrists and hands, sickening me with the sudden pain. I wanted to lick my wounds, but had no moisture in my mouth to spare. I closed my eyes instead.
‘Thank you, sergeant. You, girl, never mind standing there asleep on your feet, unless you want to be punished for idleness as well. Follow me.’
The woman ambled through the wooden door, with her hips swaying and her grubby grey gown sweeping the floor as she went. I stumbled as my eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. There was a smell of damp earth, which must come from the river.
‘I’m the keeper of the house of correction. You’ll call me mistress. Name?’
‘Jane. Jane Chandler.’
‘From?’
‘Mutton Clog near Shotley Bridge.’
‘Transgression?’
I closed my hands over my middle and said nothing.
‘As if I need ask. I can see your condition. One that might be described as delicate, but not by me. You’ll find no favour here, and you’ll work just as hard as the other girls brought low by similar means.’
There was not a single sign of kindness in this woman’s face.
‘You’ll work for your keep, Chandler. Providing you work hard, you should be able to earn enough to keep your belly lined decently, if not tastily. Your dietary allowance being a quarter loaf per day and as much of Adam’s ale as you can draw. That will cost you a shilling a week.’
‘I’m not a great eater, mistress, but if I might just have some water, as it has been such a hot day and a long walk.’
The woman put her hands into the clefts above her hips and gave a barking laugh. ‘Water, she asks, as if this were a gentry inn. You’ll draw your own water in the morning. You’ve missed the day’s meal, so you must make do until the morrow.’
The inside of my mouth was rough with dryness. I hardly dared rest my tongue on the floor or the roof of my mouth lest it stick there.
‘There are several works for girls like you. What are your skills?’
‘The usual sort of skills for a midwife. Keeping house and garden, growing and mixing herbs, helping the sick and attending birthing mothers.’
The woman sneered. ‘Always an amazement to me, that these girls who need no assistance whatsoever to get the baby into them, make such a creation getting it out of them. Well, there’s plenty here in your condition, so you’ll be kept busy. But that will be an offering to the greater good that you’ll perform on top of your normal duties. You’ll start by beating hemp for ten hours each day. The rest of the day should be spent on prayer and exercise in the airing yard. But the airing yard is too pleasant and the walls not high enough, so all exercise is taken inside the house. You’ll need to make ready for an early knock. But before that, give me your clothes. All of them.’
‘But, mistress, the clothes I stand in are all I have.’
‘Don’t back-answer me, girl. Strip. Your rags are fit only for the fire.’
The keeper looked towards the flames. ‘Look lively, Chandler, you’ve nothing new under God’s sun.’
I turned my back. First, I loosened the bindings of my bodice and pulled my frock over my head. Underneath was a thin chemise, and when this was off, I was standing naked. Beneath the keeper’s gaze, it felt as though my tight, round belly had grown to occupy the whole room.
‘You do right to look ashamed, Chandler. Sit on that cracket and remove your coif while I attend to your hair.’
As I unwound the soiled coif, my hair hung down my back. ‘My hair?’
‘Aye, your hair. Can’t let a mane like that loose in here – we’re jumping with lice as it is.’
‘But, mistress, I don’t have lice. I’m clean.’
I sat down anyway. It was too hard to argue without even the paltry armour of a chemise to protect me.
The keeper reached into her pinny and fetched out shears. I folded my arms across my breasts and hunched my shoulders. The keeper took a shank of hair in one hand, close to my skull, and yanked hard. Little pains shot through my nape, down my shoulders and back, making my eyes water.
I screwed my eyes shut and vowed not to cry, not even when the heavy shears started hacking so close that the cold iron was against my skull. My hair fell in long
tresses to the ground. The keeper stepped in front of me to admire her handiwork. Then she replaced the shears in her pinny pocket and produced a pair of tongs. With these, she picked up my clothing, carried it to the fire and threw it in.
My frock. What would Mam say when she found out? The wool made a terrible stink when it burnt and the black smoke stung my eyes, finally releasing the tears I’d vowed not to cry. The keeper scraped my hair into a pile with her clogged foot and then she grabbed it with the tongs and fed it to the fire.
‘Nearly done. Though at this time of night, a body shouldn’t have to be bothered with these tasks. Stand there, with your back to me.’
I stood up and faced the smoking fire. The keeper raked around behind me; there was a clanking of metal against wood and then my whole head and body were drenched in icy water that smelt of the river. Even though parched, I was careful not to take any water into my mouth. I’d heard enough tales of the River Wear to know better. All the short hairs on my body stood on end. My scalp and skin felt as though they were shrinking and becoming too tight to fit my skull and skeleton. The baby fluttered, perhaps woken from a sweet sleep. I put one hand to my belly. Please don’t let my child be hurt. Please protect my child.
‘Wave your arms till you dry. Then put on your new frock.’
There was an off-white linen in the keeper’s hands.
‘Thank you, mistress. I’m dry.’ I pulled the frock over my head. It would fit a woman twice as tall and half as wide, and it pulled taut across my belly. ‘But might I exchange it for something more fitting?’
‘More fitting?’ The keeper laughed, her sour breath blasting me in the face. ‘What could be more fitting in a house of correction than being reminded constantly of why you’re here?’ She shook her head, as if to remark her disbelief. ‘Quite the jester, you are, Chandler. Follow me and let’s see if we can rid you of the sanguine humour.’
Widdershins Page 17