Anne Perry - Silence in Hanover Close

“I haven’t!” Emily denied fiercely. She certainly did not need that kind of trouble. And it was totally unjust; she had encouraged no one. In fact, she had given the butcher’s boy a flea in his ear when he had smiled at her, impudent creature.

“Yes you ’ave!” Mary insisted. “Scruffy, ’e is, an’ looks like ’e just bin up a chimney! But spoke awful nice an’ polite, an’ if’n ’e were washed ’e could be real nice, I reckon.”

“Well, I don’t know him!” Emily said fiercely. “Tell him to go away!”

“Won’t you even come and see-”

“No! Do you want me to lose my character?”

“ ’E’s awful keen.”

“I’ll be thrown out!” Emily exploded.

“But ’e says ’e knows you!” Mary tried once more. “C’mon, Amelia; ’e could be-Well, d’you want to stay a lady’s maid all your life?”

“It’s a lot better than being out on the street without a character!” Emily hissed back.

“Well, if you’re really sure. ’Is name is Jack suffink.”

Emily froze. “What?”

“ ’Is name is Jack suffink,” Mary repeated.

Emily dropped the iron. “I’ll come! Where is he? Has anyone else seen him?”

“You changed yer mind pretty quick!” Mary said with profound satisfaction. “But yer’d better be sharp! If Cook catches yer, yer’ll be in dead trouble. ’E’s at the scullery door. On wiv yer! ’Urry!”

Emily ran from the laundry room along the corridor, through the kitchen and scullery to the back door, with Mary close behind her, keeping watch for cook’s return.

Emily could hardly believe what she saw. The man standing in the rain on the back steps beside the coke scuttles and rubbish cans was dressed in a dark, ragged coat that came past his knees, and his face was all but hidden by a broad-brimmed hat and a lock of sooty hair that fell over his brow. His skin seemed grimy, as if he had indeed come down a chimney.

“Jack?” Emily said incredulously.

He grinned, showing startlingly white teeth in his filthy face. She was so glad to see him she wanted to laugh, but realized immediately her laughter would turn to tears. It all rushed through her in a torrent so fierce she said nothing at all.

“Are you all right?” he demanded. “You look dreadful!”

Then she did start to laugh, a little hysterically, but stopped herself when she realized Mary could hear her. She controlled her voice with an effort. “Yes, I’m fine. I put a chair under my door at night. But I need to talk to you. How is Charlotte?”

“It’s very hard on her, and we’re not getting anywhere.”

There was a shout inside the scullery and Emily knew someone was back who would betray her, if not Cook then Nora.

“Go!” she said quickly. “I’ll go to the cobbler’s in half an hour or so-wait for the round the corner. Please!”

He nodded, and by the time Nora’s curious face came round the outer door he had slipped up the area steps and disappeared.

“What are you doing out ’ere?” Nora said sharply. “I thought I ’eard you talking to someone!”

“Well, you know what ‘thought’ did!” Emily snapped back, then regretted it; not that she had any compunction about Nora, it was just unwise to antagonize her. But it was too late to retreat now, or it would only make her suspicious. “For that matter, what are you doing out here?”

“Er …” Nora had obviously come to catch Emily out, and now she was confused. She lifted her chin a little higher. “I thought if there was someone ’ere ’e might be bothering you! I came to ’elp!”

“How kind of you,” Emily replied sarcastically. “As you see, there is no one. I came to see how cold it is. I’m going on an errand; I shall need a greatcoat.”

“Of course you will!” Nora said waspishly. “What else do you expect in January?”

“Rain,” Emily replied with growing confidence.

“It is raining! Couldn’t you see that through the window?”

“Not much. I was in the laundry.” She stared at Nora’s handsome bold eyes, daring her to make an open accusation.

“Very well then.” Nora shrugged elaborately; she had elegant shoulders and she knew it. “Then you’d better be on your way, and don’t take ’alf the afternoon about it!”

Emily went back to the laundry room to finish the last apron. She folded it and put away the flatiron, then collected her hat and coat, and after telling Mary where she was going, she set out up the area steps and along Hanover Close towards the main thoroughfare, waiting with every footstep to see Jack, or hear him behind her.

She nearly bumped into him round the first corner. He still looked a sight, and he did not touch her but walked respectfully beside her as if they were both exactly what they appeared: a lady’s maid on an errand and a sweep’s man taking a short time off.

As they walked she told him about the extraordinary conversation she had overheard between Veronica and Loretta, and the only conclusion possible from her discussion with the tweeny.

He in turn told her what little news he had of Charlotte.

By the time that was completed she had Veronica’s boots and was on the way back to Hanover Close. It was raining harder, her feet and her skirts were wet, and the soot was beginning to run in black trickles down his face.

“You look fearful!” she said with a rather painful smile. She was walking less and less quickly. She was dreading going back into the house, not only because this was a moment’s freedom from duty and fear, but, surprisingly sharply, because she would miss Jack. “Your own mother wouldn’t know you!” she added.

He started to laugh, at first very quietly, then more heartily as he gazed at her straight, mud brown coat, her plain hat and sodden boots.

She began to giggle as well, and they stood in the street together streaming wet, laughing on the edge of tears. He put out both his hands and took hers, holding her gently.

For an instant she thought it was on the edge of his tongue to ask her to marry him, but whatever words he had were quickly swallowed back. She had all the Ashworth money, the houses, the position; he had nothing. Love was not enough to offer.

“Jack,” she said without giving herself time to weigh or judge. “Jack-would you consider marrying the?”

The rain was washing the soot off his face in black drops.

“Yes please, Emily. I would like to marry you-very much.”

“Then you may kiss me,” she said with a shy smile.

Slowly, carefully, and very gently he did; and standing there, filthy and cold in the rain, it was exquisitely sweet.

Prison life was unlike anything Pitt had imagined.

At first the sheer shock of his arrest, of being suddenly and violently thrust from one side of the law to the other, had numbed his feelings, robbing him of all but the most superficial reactions. Even when he was taken from the local cells to the great prison at Coldbath Fields, the reality of it was purely sensory. He saw the massive walls and heard the door shut, metal clanging on stone, and the strange sour smell assaulted him, catching in his throat. He could taste it on his tongue, but still it did not touch his emotions.

When he woke the following morning, stiff, muscles tight with cold, memory flooded back, and it all seemed preposterous. Any minute someone would come, full of apologies, and he would be taken out and given a good breakfast, hot, probably porridge and bacon, and lots of steaming tea.

But when someone did come it was only the regular jailer with a tin dish of gruel, ordering Pitt to get to his feet and get ready for the day. Pitt protested without thinking, and was told curtly to obey orders or he would find himself at the crank.