Bryce Courtenay - The Potato Factory

Then, as sudden as this surprising outburst, her voice dropped to a loud whisper. 'Ya bastard, ya piece of crud, who is this Mary, this whore ya give a 'igh-class brothel to?' Her expression had changed to a snarl. Then, stepping back, she slapped the seated Ikey so hard across the face that his head was thrown against the wall of the cell, and for a few moments he thought he would lose his wits completely. 'Ya shit, you will pay for this!' Hannah spat, though none of her furious invective carried much above a hoarse whisper.

Ikey pulled his legs up onto the stone shelf that served as his bed and backed himself into the furthermost corner, his hands protecting his face. After a few moments he parted his fingers and peeked at Hannah, who stood with her arms folded, nostrils flared, snorting like a bull halted at a turnstile.

'Please my dear, don't 'it me!' he whimpered. 'It were business, that be all it were! Business to our mutual benefit, my dear,' Ikey wailed plaintively.

'Ya fucked her, didn't ya? Ya fucked that shiksa bitch!'

Ikey looked genuinely alarmed. 'Shhsssh! No, no, my dear, not ever, not once, not possible, you knows me, it were business, it were no more,' he lied.

'Humph!' Hannah snorted, then added, once again in a rasping voice, 'Well the whore got what she 'ad coming to 'er, at least there be some justice in this world!'

'We's in shtunk, my dear. I've been blowed and planted,' Ikey said, hoping to change the subject.

'What! Who blowed ya? Planted? What with?'

'Soft, two fives.' Ikey reached down and pulled at his coat and pointed to the tear eighteen inches up from the hem. 'Young tooler planted 'em in there, Bob Marley were the blow!'

'Marley?' Hannah, feigning surprise, shook her head. 'Nah! Not 'im, not Bob Marley, 'e's family!'

'E done it, couldn't 'ave been no one else.' Ikey shrugged. '

'E were the only one what got close enough and knowed about the longtails, 'im with the kid what did the plant.'

'E wouldn't 'ave told no kid, not Bob Marley! Too careful. It must o' been someone else.'

'No, my dear, it were 'im. Kid would 'ave thought the bills were genuine.'

Hannah was, of course, thrilled. Ikey did not in the least suspect her. It had turned out exactly the way she had hoped. She took a kugel cake from her basket and handed it to Ikey who absent-mindedly broke a piece off and handed the remainder back to Hannah.

Ikey then told Hannah about the case he thought he could mount with a good barrister and her heart immediately sank. Although Hannah despised her husband, she had never underestimated his cunning. If Ikey should prove himself innocent of no more than being the negligent landlord of the premises in Bell Alley, he would receive only a short sentence, at most a stretch. In twelve months he would be out and her plans for the future of herself and her children would be in tatters.

'I must escape, it be a matter o' the utmost importance, I must get out of 'ere!' Ikey suddenly declared.

'Get out? Escape?' Hannah looked puzzled. 'But ya jus' said – ya jus' told me yer a good chance to beat the rap?'

Ikey then proceeded to tell Hannah about the letter of credit and asked her to visit Marybelle Firkin at the Pig 'n Spit and retrieve it. He also asked her to have Reuban Reuban and his son Abraham come to visit him. Then he carefully outlined the plan for his escape. As he spoke he pushed tiny lumps of the cake into his mouth, so that by the end of his lengthy instructions the piece of cake he'd broken off seemed to be much the same size as when he'd started.

'Whatsamatter? You ain't 'ungry?' she said, trying to collect her thoughts.

Ikey shook his head. 'Your father must be standin' exactly where I said, on the exact spot what I told you outside the Pig 'n Spit. A hackney what can take four, doors both sides o' the cabin.'

Hannah nodded, though her head was in a whirl. She thought Ikey's plan too far-fetched to succeed, but on the other hand she wanted him to lodge the letter of credit. It represented a great deal of money, enough in itself to set her up in America even without the contents of the Whitechapel safe, though it was unthinkable that she would not have this as well. In her mind she too began to formulate a plan.

Ikey's plan was based on the writ of habeas corpus, that is, the right of every Englishman to apply for bail to be granted until his case came up for hearing. In order for this to happen he would need to appear before a judge at the King's Bench court at Westminster, where he would be granted a hearing. This would entail being escorted by two turnkeys to the court and would allow him to travel outside the confines of the gaol.

It was standard procedure for two turnkeys to escort a prisoner by foot to the Court of King's Bench, which was situated not more than a mile from the gates of Newgate, though it was not unusual for a prisoner with funds, wishing to keep his identity and his shame from the passing crowd, to offer to pay for a carriage to be escorted in privacy to the courts.

Ikey had applied for bail the moment he had been bound over at Lambeth Street and the hearing was set for two days after Hannah had visited him. Reuban Reuban and his son Abraham, alerted by Hannah, had arrived during that afternoon. Ikey had spoken to them at length and Abraham had taken several measurements of Ikey's person.

At half-past nine on the morning of the hearing two turnkeys marched Ikey through the gates of Newgate. It was the custom for turnkeys who had been on duty to take the extra duty of escort to court hearings so that the day staffing would not be disrupted. This was an unpopular rule, as it attracted no extra stipend for working, at the least, half of the day shift, or even more if the court was delayed. The two men who escorted Ikey were therefore tired and somewhat dulled from the frequent tots of cheap gin and Spanish brandy they had received from prisoners during the night and were not inclined to treat him with respect.

The King's Bench in Westminster was a steady half an hour's walk from Newgate and was scheduled to commence at half-past the hour of ten o'clock. It was a week before Christmas and while no snow had fallen during the night a chill wind blew in from the North Sea. It brought with it a light fog which, added to the smog caused by the winter fires, made the streets as dark as the night itself. Moreover they were packed with Christmas shopping crowds and the smoking flares carried by the coaches and brandished by messenger boys dodging through the crush of people and between carriages added to the general annoyance and difficulty of conditions on foot.

It seemed almost a miracle when a hackney coach appeared through the gloom and appeared to be empty.

'Shall I 'ave the pleasure, gentlemen, of offerin' you a ride?' Ikey asked. He silently congratulated Hannah's father, Moses Julian, for his expertise in having the coach so 'fortuitously' available. Ikey's two escorts needed no further persuasion and he hailed the hackney with a sharp whistle.

'Where to, guv?' the coachman called down to them.

'Westminster!' Ikey called back. 'King's Bench!'

'We'll 'ave to go 'round back way, guv, through Petticoat Lane. Coaches jammed tight as fiddlesticks from 'ere to Westminster. It be the bleedin' fog,' he pointed his whip into the barely visible crowd milling along the pavement, 'and them bleedin' Christmas shoppers.'

Ikey glanced questioningly at the senior of his two escorts, a coarse looking man with a bulbous nose to rival that of Sir Jasper Waterlow, upon the tip of which resided a large wart not unlike a woman's nipple in appearance. It was therefore truly astonishing that his name was Titty Smart, though it may be supposed that this was a sobriquet and not his Christian name. He was also the senior of the two men, much experienced and seventeen years in the prison service, and he now grunted and frowned saying gruffly, 'Mr Popjoy and I accepts.'