Remember Me - Lesley Pearse [151]
Mary’s heart ached at the number of young girls in the yard. They reminded her of herself at the same age – the same fresh complexions, that same curious mix of innocence and courage. They were too busy flirting with the more gentlemanly prisoners to talk to her. Perhaps they thought the elegantly dressed fops would take them with them when they bribed their way out of Newgate.
Mary knew better. The girls would have lost their innocence after a week or two in here, and their courage would fail them on the transportation ships. A few years out in Sydney and they’d look like her. A bag of bones, all hope and spirit gone.
They had all been in Newgate for over a week when Spinks came to the cell and told Mary a gentleman wanted to see her.
Mary had struck up a wary kind of friendship with Spinks. She couldn’t really like him, he was too wily, always on the lookout for a way to bleed money out of the prisoners. Yet when he’d found out about her children dying he’d shown real sympathy. He often came along when she was alone, sometimes bringing her a mug of tea or a piece of fruit, and for these there was no charge, he just wanted to chat for a while. Perhaps he was as lonely as she was.
Spinks found her alone more often than not, for after seeing a stabbing on her second visit to the yard, she had decided the gloomy cell was a better place to be. She was alone that day too, for the men were all down in the yard.
‘Who is this gentleman?’ she asked. Spinks called all men with money ‘gentlemen’.
‘By the name of Boswell,’ he replied with a smug grin. ‘’E said ’e’s a lawyer.’
‘You mean he’s from outside Newgate?’
‘Well, we don’t get many lawyers staying in ’ere,’ Spinks retorted, and laughed at his little joke. ‘Now, do yer want ter see ’im or not? Makes no difference to me.’
Mary sighed. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but someone from outside might distract her from her melancholy. ‘Bring him up,’ she said wearily.
‘That’s my girl,’ Spinks said affectionately. ‘Now, why don’t you comb that pretty ’air of yours while I’m gone? Look, I’ve brought you a ribbon fer it too.’
He pulled a red satin ribbon from his pocket, thrust it into her hand and was gone. A lump came up in Mary’s throat as she ran it between her fingers, remembering her father. He always brought her and Dolly ribbon when he came back from sea. She’d been such a tomboy then, and she never really appreciated it. But she did appreciate this one; she needed something bright and feminine to cheer her.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Bryant!’
Mary spun round at the sound of the melodious voice. She was so engrossed in tying the ribbon at the nape of her neck that she hadn’t heard the man coming along the landing.
Spinks was right for once, this one was a gentleman. Perhaps fifty or so, very stout with a red-tinged face, of middling height and wearing very fine clothes – a dark green three-cornered hat trimmed with gold braid, and a coat made of fine brocade. He was also out of breath and wheezing from the stairs.
‘I’m known as Mary Broad now,’ she said sharply, glancing down at his spotless white stockings and shoes with fancy buckles. ‘Why have you come to see me?’
‘I want to help you, my dear,’ he said, and held out his hand. ‘Boswell’s the name, James Boswell. I am a lawyer, though better known for my book on Dr Samuel Johnson, my dear departed friend.’
Mary recognized his accent as being Scottish, for there had been a couple of officers in Port Jackson who spoke just the same. But the part about his book on his dead friend meant nothing to her. She was more impressed by his gold watch-chain and extravagant silk waistcoat. She thought even the King couldn’t be dressed so well.
She shook his hand, and was astounded by any man having one so soft. It felt like a piece of warm dough. ‘I’m beyond help,’ she said. ‘But it’s kind of you to offer me some when I am unable to even offer you a chair.’
He smiled, and she noticed his eyes were large and almost luminous