Remember Me - Lesley Pearse [163]
In a way the sight of the onlookers was even worse than what Jack was planning to do to her. The light from the lantern was dim, but she could still see the malicious glee on their faces clearly enough. Her terror grew into fury at their depravity and made her all the more determined not to give them the kind of entertainment they wanted.
Mary had always been observant, and over the last seven years this had become even more finely honed out of necessity. She had noticed empty bottles lying on the floor when she’d been here before. It was too dark to see if there were any there today, but she stretched out her free arm and swept it quickly across the floor until she felt one.
Jack had now got his breeches unfastened, and his penis stood out like a purple-tipped barber’s pole. He lunged towards her again, his belt in his hand, and she guessed his intention was to choke her into submission and silence.
She screamed again to divert him, squeezing her legs together so he would be forced to let go of one end of the belt to prise them apart. He faltered, not quite knowing which end of her to attack first. Mary seized the opportunity to tap the bottle sharply against the floor, leaving a broken jagged edge, then with one swift movement she thrust it into his neck, just below his ear, with as much force as she could muster.
Jack let out a bellow of pain, jerking up on to his knees, his hands going to his neck. Mary leaped up off the floor and stood with her hands on her hips, panting from the exertion, looking contemptuously down at her attacker.
The tap-room fell silent. Jack was still on his knees, blood spurting out between his fingers. His eyes were rolling fearfully, and he was making a horrible gurgling noise in his throat.
‘Let that be a lesson to you,’ Mary said between her teeth, and kicked out at him so he keeled over.
She turned to the rest of the crowd, the broken bottle still in her hand. They moved back a step or two, assuming by her bared teeth that she was going to attack them too. For a moment she wanted to, but they reminded her of the rats in the hospital in Batavia. Like them, these people all had sharp features and a furtive manner. They preyed on the weak too. They were despicable and beneath her contempt.
‘If any one of you even thinks of touching me again, I’ll kill you,’ she snarled at them. ‘Now, get help for him. And James, you come with me.’
The other three men were not back in the cell, even though it was nearly dark now. James, who had been apologizing profusely all the way up the stairs, slumped down on to the straw, drew his knees up to his chin and lowered his head on to them.
‘You look as if you think I’m going to hit you,’ Mary said sharply. ‘Perhaps I should, for keeping company like that.’
‘What if he dies, Mary?’ James bleated out, his face chalk-white in the gloom.
‘Do you think anyone will care?’ she exclaimed as she lit a candle. ‘He’s a murderer and due to be hanged. But he won’t die from what I did, it was only a flesh wound. If it keeps you out of the tap-room for a week or two, I won’t have done it for nothing.’
James was silent for some time. Mary sat down and leaned her back against the wall. She felt very cold and shaky now, aware it was rather more luck than strength or superior intelligence that had enabled her to overpower Jack.
‘Do you hate me?’ James asked after a little while, his voice quavery and weak. Mary thought the shock had sobered him up.
‘Now, why should I hate you?’ she retorted. ‘It wasn’t you that tried to rape me.’
‘I should have found a way to stop him. I let you down.’
‘All men let me down,’ Mary said, and suddenly she was crying. She hadn’t once resorted to tears since they’d arrived in Newgate. She had told herself that after losing her children, nothing could make her cry. But once again she had been forced to fight