Remember Me - Lesley Pearse [170]
Nat had seemed suspect when she first met him. She had noted the shine on his hair, the smooth flesh on his bones, and guessed how the pretty boy had survived the Neptune. It saddened her to think she had judged him for that. It was no different to what she did with Lieutenant Graham.
Sam hadn’t had the looks to trade his way to comfort on the Scarborough. He’d been close to death when she gave him water on the quay. He’d fought to live, just as he’d fought the elements with her to get them to safety.
As for Bill, she’d been impressed by his toughness when he walked away from his flogging, but she hadn’t actually liked him until after they’d escaped. But time had proved there was a kind and decent man under that rough exterior.
She couldn’t even claim that any of them had burst into her life like a fire cracker. They were just four seemingly unremarkable men who through desperation had become like her brothers. Every aspect of their characters was etched in her heart, she would hold each dear face in her mind forever.
‘I love you all,’ she said softly, her eyes filling with tears again. ‘Please don’t any of you break the law again, I want you to be honest and happy.’
She fled then, tears streaming down her face.
‘I have found rooms for you in Little Titchfield Street,’ Boswell said as he settled her into a hansom cab. He had noted her tearstained face, and guessed she was upset at parting from her friends. But he felt the separation could only be a good thing. He wasn’t entirely convinced that the men would become honest and hardworking on their release, and he wanted no bad influences around Mary now she was free.
‘Now, I have money for you,’ he said, taking a notebook from his pocket to show her. ‘Over forty pounds, a princely sum. I shall pay for your lodgings from it, and you will need clothes too. But for now you must just enjoy your freedom.’
The sadness at leaving her friends behind was eased by the excitement of freedom and seeing London. Boswell pointed out that the view of it she’d seen before when brought from the docks to Newgate was a rather squalid part of the city, and she was now going to a respectable area.
Mary could only stare in silent wonderment. It was a bright, sunny spring day, and the streets were crowded, forcing the cab driver to slow the horses to a mere walk. The iron-rimmed wheels on heavily laden carts, cabs and carriages made a racket on the uneven road surface. Sedan chairmen nimbly bypassed the many piles of horse dung, and wove in and out of the heavier traffic.
Ladies out shopping were wearing gowns and pretty bonnets in every colour of the rainbow, men in frock coats and hats like Boswell’s hurried as if on urgent business. Street traders yelled out their wares in strident voices. There were thin little flower girls with baskets of primroses, small boys selling newspapers, and burly tradesmen unloading goods from carts or carrying everything from ladders to pieces of furniture.
But it was the buildings which took most of Mary’s attention. Whether private houses, banks or other places of business, they were all so grand. Marble steps, pillars, stone carving such as she’d only ever seen on churches before, so many different designs, pushed up together as if the builders had been short of space, yet each one striving to outshine everything around it. Some places looked very old, half-timbered buildings that leaned out precariously into the streets. Then there were elegant new ones, three or four storeys high, with splendid long arched windows.
There were many smart carriages too. Some had dashing scarlet wheels, on others the graceful horses wore feather plumes, some even had footmen resplendent in gold and red livery.
Boswell pointed out things he thought might interest her – men carrying sides of meat coming from Smithfield