A Place Called Freedom

by Ken Follett

Lizzie heard herself scream: "No!"

  The cart jerked and moved off.

  The hangman lashed the horses again and they struggled to a trot. The cart was drawn from under the condemned people and, one by one, they fell to the extent of the ropes: first the drunk, already half dead; then the two Irishmen; then the weeping boy; and at last the woman, whose prayer was cut off in midsentence.

  Lizzie stared at the five bodies dangling from the ropes, and she was filled with loathing for herself and the crowd around her.

  They were not all dead. The boy, mercifully, seemed to have broken his neck instantly, as did the two Irishmen; but the drunk was still moving, and the woman, whose blindfold had slipped, stared out of open, terrified eyes as she slowly choked.

  Lizzie buried her face in Jay's shoulder.

  She would have been glad to leave, but she forced herself to stay. She had wanted to see this and now she should stick it out until the end.

  She opened her eyes again.

  The drunk had expired, but the woman's face worked in agony. The rowdy onlookers had fallen silent, stilled by the horror in front of them. Several minutes went by.

  At last her eyes closed.

  The sheriff stepped up to cut down the bodies, and that was when the trouble started.

  The Irish group surged forward, trying to get past the guards to the scaffold. The constables fought back, and the javelin men joined in, stabbing at the Irish. Blood began to flow.

  "I was afraid of this," Jay said. "They want to keep their friends' bodies out of the hands of the surgeons. Let's get clear as fast as we can."

  Many around them had the same idea, but those at the back were trying to get closer and see what was happening. As some surged one way and some the other, fistfights broke out. Jay tried to force a way through. Lizzie stuck close to him. They found themselves up against an unbroken wave of people going the other way. Everyone was shouting or screaming. They were forced back toward the gallows. The scaffold was now swarming with Irish, some of whom were beating off the guards and dodging the lunges of the javelin men while others tried to cut down the bodies of their friends.

  For no apparent reason the crush around Lizzie and Jay eased suddenly. She turned around and saw a gap between two big, rough-looking men. "Jay, come on!" she shouted, and darted between them. She turned to make sure Jay was behind her. Then the gap closed. Jay stepped forward to push his way through, but one of the men raised a hand threateningly. Jay flinched and stepped back, momentarily afraid. The hesitation was fatal: he was cut off from her. She saw his blond head above the crowd and fought to get back to him but she was stopped by a wall of people. "Jay!" she screamed. "Jay!" He shouted back but the crowd forced them farther apart. He was pushed in the direction of Tyburn Street while the crowd took her the opposite way, toward the park. A moment later he was lost from sight.

  She was on her own. She gritted her teeth and turned her back on the scaffold. She faced a solid pack of people. She tried to push herself between a small man and a big-bosomed matron. "Keep your hands to yourself, young man," the woman said. Lizzie persisted in pushing and managed to squeeze through. She repeated the process. She trod on the toes of a sour-faced man and he punched her in the ribs. She gasped with pain and pressed on.

  She saw a familiar face and recognized Mack McAsh. He, too, was fighting his way through the crowd. "Mack!" she yelled gratefully. He was with the red-haired woman who had been at his side in Grosvenor Square. "Over here!" Lizzie cried. "Help me!" He saw her and recognized her. Then a tall man's elbow jabbed her eye and for a few moments she could hardly see. When her vision returned to normal Mack and the woman had vanished.

  Grimly she pressed on. Inch by inch she was getting away from the fracas at the gallows. With each step she found it a little easier to move. Within five minutes she was no longer squeezing between tightly packed people but passing through gaps several inches wide. Eventually she came up against the front wall of a house. She worked her way along to the corner of the building and stepped into an alley two or three feet wide.

  She leaned against the house wall, catching her breath. The alley was foul and stank of human waste. Her ribs ached where she had been punched. She touched her face gingerly and found that the flesh around her eye was swelling.

  She hoped Jay was all right. She turned around to look for him, and was startled to see two men staring at her.

  One was middle-aged and unshaven with a fat belly, the other a youth of about eighteen. Something about their stares frightened her, but before she could move away they pounced. They grabbed her by the arms and threw her to the ground. They snatched her hat and the man's wig she wore, pulled off her silver-buckled shoes, and went through her pockets with bewildering speed, taking her purse, her pocket watch and a handkerchief.

  The older man shoved the spoils into a sack, stared at her for a moment, then said: "That's a good coat--nearly new."

  They both bent over her again and began to pull off her coat and matching waistcoat. She struggled but all she achieved was to rip her shirt. They stuffed her garments into a sack. She realized her breasts were exposed. Hastily she covered herself with the shreds of her clothes but she was too late. "Hey, it's a girl!" cried the younger man.

  She scrambled to her feet but he grabbed her and held her.

  The fat one stared at her. "And a pretty girl, too, by God," he said. He licked his lips. "I'm going to fuck her," he said decisively.

  Seized with horror, Lizzie struggled violently, but she could not shake off the young man's grip.

  The youth looked back along the alley to the crowd in the street. "What, here?"

  "Nobody's looking this way, you young fool." He stroked himself between the legs. "Get those breeches off her and let's have a look."

  The boy threw her to the ground, sat on her heavily and started to pull off her breeches while the other man watched. Fear flooded Lizzie and she screamed at the top of her voice, but there was so much noise in the street she doubted whether anyone would hear her.

  Then, suddenly, Mack McAsh appeared.

  She glimpsed his face and a raised fist, then he struck the older one on the side of the head. The thief rocked sideways and staggered. Mack hit him again, and the man's eyes rolled up into his head. Mack hit him a third time, and the man slumped and lay still.

  The boy scrambled off Lizzie and tried to run away but she grabbed his ankle and tripped him. He measured his length on the ground. Mack picked him up and threw him against the house wall, then hit him on the chin with a punch that came up from below with all his weight behind it, and the boy fell unconscious on top of his partner-in-crime.

  Lizzie got to her feet. "Thank God you were here!" she said fervently. Tears of relief filled her eyes. She threw her arms around him and said: "You saved me--thank you, thank you!"

  He hugged her closely. "You saved me, once--when you pulled me out of the river."

  She held him tight and tried to stop shaking. She felt his hand behind her head, stroking her hair. In her breeches and shirt, with no petticoats to get in the way, she could feel the entire length of his body pressed against hers. He felt completely different from her husband. Jay was tall and supple, Mack short and massive and hard.

  He shifted and looked at her. His green eyes were mesmerizing. The rest of his face seemed to blur. "You saved me, and I saved you," he said with a wry smile. "I'm your guardian angel, and you're mine."

  She began to calm down. She remembered that her shirt was torn and her breasts were bare. "If I were an angel, I wouldn't be in your arms," she said, and she made to detach herself from his embrace.

  He looked into her eyes for a moment, then gave that wry smile again and nodded, as if agreeing with her. He turned away.

  He bent and took the sack from the older thief's limp hand. He took out her waistcoat and she put it on, buttoning it hastily to cover her nakedness. As soon as she felt safe again she began to worry about Jay. "I have to look for my husband," she said as Mack h
elped her put her coat on. "Will you help me?"

  "Of course." He handed her the wig and hat, purse and watch and handkerchief.

  "What about your red-haired friend?" she asked.

  "Cora. I made sure she was safe before I came after you."

  "Did you?" Lizzie felt unreasonably irritated. "Are you and Cora lovers?" she said rudely.

  Mack smiled. "Yes," he said. "Since the day before yesterday."

  "My wedding day."

  "I'm having a wonderful time. Are you?"

  A sharp retort came to her lips then, despite herself, she laughed. "Thank you for rescuing me," she said, and she leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the lips.

  "I'd do it all over again for a kiss like that."

  She grinned at him then turned toward the street.

  Jay stood there watching.

  She felt terribly guilty. Had he seen her kiss McAsh? She guessed he had, by the thunderous look on his face. "Oh, Jay!" she said. "Thank heaven you're all right!"

  "What happened here?" he said.

  "Those two men robbed me."

  "I knew we shouldn't have come." He took her by the arm to lead her out of the alley.

  "McAsh knocked them down and rescued me," she said.

  "That's no reason to kiss him," said her husband.

  19

  JAY'S REGIMENT WAS ON DUTY IN PALACE YARD ON the day of John Wilkes's trial.

  The liberal hero had been convicted of criminal libel years ago and had fled to Paris. On his return, earlier that year, he was accused of being an outlaw. But while the legal action against him dragged on he won the Middlesex by-election handsomely. However, he had not yet taken his seat in Parliament, and the government hoped to prevent him doing so by having him convicted in court.

  Jay steadied his horse and looked nervously over the crowd of several hundred Wilkes supporters milling around outside Westminster Hall, where the trial was taking place. Many of them wore pinned to their hats the blue cockade that identified them as Wilkesites. Tories such as Jay's father wanted Mikes silenced, but everyone was worried about what his supporters would do.

  If violence broke out, Jay's regiment was supposed to keep order. There was a small detachment of guards--too damn small, in Jay's opinion: just forty men and a few officers under Colonel Cranbrough, Jay's commanding officer. They formed a thin red-and-white line between the court building and the mob.

  Cranbrough took orders from the Westminster magistrates, represented by Sir John Fielding. Fielding was blind, but that did not seem to hinder him in his work. He was a famous reforming justice, although Jay thought him too soft. He had been known to say that crime was caused by poverty. That was like saying adultery was caused by marriage.

  The young officers were always hoping to see action, and Jay said he felt the same, but he was also scared. He had never actually used his sword or gun in a real fight.

  It was a long day, and the captains took turns to break off from patrolling and drink a glass of wine. Toward the end of the afternoon, while Jay was giving his horse an apple, he was approached by Sidney Lennox.

  His heart sank. Lennox wanted his money. No doubt he had intended to ask for it when he called at Grosvenor Square but had postponed the request because of the wedding.

  Jay did not have the money. But he was terrified that Lennox would go to his father.

  He put on a show of bravado. "What are you doing here, Lennox? I didn't know you were a Wilkesite."

  "John Wilkes can go to the devil," Lennox replied. "I've come about the hundred and fifty pounds you lost at Lord Archer's faro game."

  Jay blanched at the reminder of the amount. His father gave him thirty pounds a month, but it was never enough, and he did not know when he could lay his hands on a hundred and fifty. The thought that his father might find out he had lost more money gambling made his legs feel weak. He would do anything to avoid that. "I may have to ask you to wait a little longer," he said with a feeble attempt at an air of superior indifference.

  Lennox did not reply directly. "I believe you know a man called Mack McAsh."

  "Unfortunately I do."

  "He's started his own coal heaving gang, with the help of Caspar Gordonson. The two of them are causing a lot of trouble."

  "It doesn't surprise me. He was a damned nuisance in my father's coal mine."

  "The problem is not just McAsh," Lennox went on. "His two cronies, Dermot Riley and Charlie Smith, have gangs of their own now, and there'll be more by the end of the week."

  "That will cost you undertakers a fortune."

  "It will ruin the trade unless it's stopped."

  "All the same, it's not my problem."

  "But you could help me with it."

  "I doubt it." Jay did not want to get involved with Lennox's business.

  "It would be worth money to me."

  "How much?" Jay said warily.

  "A hundred and fifty pounds."

  Jay's heart leaped. The prospect of wiping out his debt was a godsend.

  But Lennox would not readily give away so much. He must want a heavyweight favor. "What would I have to do?" Jay said suspiciously.

  "I want the ship owners to refuse to hire McAsh's gangs. Now, some of the coal shippers are undertakers themselves, so they will cooperate. But most are independent. The biggest owner in London is your father. If he gave a lead, the others would follow."

  "But why should he? He doesn't care about undertakers and coal heavers."

  "He's alderman of Wapping, and the undertakers have a lot of votes. He ought to defend our interests. Besides, the coal heavers are a troublesome crowd, and we keep them under control."

  Jay frowned. It was a tall order. He had no influence at all with his father. Few people did: Sir George could not be influenced into coming in out of the rain. But Jay had to try.

  A roar from the crowd signaled that Wilkes was coming out Jay mounted his horse hastily. "I'll see what I can do," he called to Lennox as he trotted away.

  Jay found Chip Marlborough and said: "What's happening?"

  "Wilkes has been refused bail and committed to the King's Bench Prison."

  The colonel was mustering his officers. He said to Jay: "Pass the word--no one is to fire unless Sir John gives the order. Tell your men."

  Jay suppressed an anxious protest. How were soldiers to control the mob if their hands were tied? But he rode around and relayed the instruction.

  A carriage emerged from the gateway. The crowd gave a bloodcurdling roar, and Jay felt a stab of fear. The soldiers made a path for the carriage by beating the mob with their muskets. Wilkes's supporters ran across Westminster Bridge, and Jay realized that the carriage would have to cross the river into Surrey to get to the prison. He spurred his horse toward the bridge, but Colonel Cranbrough waved him down. "Don't cross the bridge," he commanded. "Our orders are to keep the peace here, outside the court."

  Jay reined in. Surrey was a separate district, and the Surrey magistrates had not asked for army support. This was ridiculous. He watched, helpless, as the carriage crossed the river Thames. Before it reached the Surrey side the crowd stopped it and detached the horses.

  Sir John Fielding was in the heart of the throng, following the carriage with two assistants to guide him and tell him what was happening. As Jay watched, a dozen strong men got between the traces and began to pull the carriage themselves. They turned it around and headed back toward Westminster, and the mob roared its approval.

  Jay's heart beat faster. What would happen when the mob reached Palace Yard? Colonel Cranbrough was holding up a cautionary hand, indicating that they should do nothing.

  Jay said to Chip: "Do you think we could take the carriage away from the mob?"

  "The magistrates don't want any bloodshed," Chip said.

  One of Sir John's clerks darted through the crowd and conferred with Cranbrough.

  Once across the bridge the mob turned the carriage east. Cranbrough shouted to his men: "Follow at a distance--don't t
ake action!"

  The detachment of guards fell in behind the mob. Jay ground his teeth. This was humiliating. A few rounds of musket fire would disperse the crowd in a minute. He could see that Wilkes would make political capital out of being fired on by the troops, but so what?

  The carriage was drawn along the Strand and into the heart of the city. The mob sang and danced and shouted "Wilkes and liberty!" and "Number forty-five!" They did not stop until they reached Spitalfields. There the carriage drew up outside the church. Wilkes got out and went into the Three Tuns tavern, followed hastily by Sir John Fielding.

  Some of his supporters went in after them, but they could not all get through the door. They milled about in the street for a while, and then Wilkes appeared at an upstairs window, to tumultuous applause. He began to speak. Jay was too far away to hear everything, but he caught the general drift: Wilkes was appealing for order.

  During the speech Fielding's clerk came out and spoke to Colonel Cranbrough again. Cranbrough whispered the news to his captains. A deal had been done: Wilkes would slip out of a back door and surrender himself at the King's Bench Prison tonight.

  Wilkes finished his speech, waved and bowed, and vanished. As it became clear that he was not going to reappear, the crowd began to get bored and drift away. Sir John came out of the Three Tuns and shook Cranbrough's hand. "A splendid job, Colonel, and my thanks to your men. Bloodshed was avoided and the law was satisfied." He was putting a brave face on it, Jay thought, but the truth was that the law had been laughed at by the mob.

  As the guard marched back to Hyde Park, Jay felt depressed. He had been keyed up for a fight all day, and the letdown was hard to bear. But the government could not go on appeasing the mob forever. Sooner or later they would try to clamp down. Then there would be action.

  When he had dismissed his men and checked that the horses were taken care of, Jay remembered Lennox's proposition. Jay was reluctant to put Lennox's plan to his father, but it would be easier than asking for a hundred and fifty pounds to pay another gambling debt. So he decided to call in at Grosvenor Square on his way home.

  It was late. The family had eaten supper, the footman said, and Sir George was in the small study at the back of the house. Jay hesitated in the cold, marble-floored hall. He hated to ask his father for anything. He would either be scorned for wanting the wrong thing, or reprimanded for demanding more than his due. But he had to go through with it. He knocked on the door and went in.