Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [129]
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.
11
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.
The other prisoners regarded him with curiosity and hatred. He was the enemy. Were it not for the police, none of them would be here in this prolonged torture, cramped in the narrow, airless cells of the treadmill, endlessly stepping on slats that gave way under them as they struggled to keep abreast in the slow-turning wheel. Fifteen minutes in one of its cooplike stalls with the hot air suffocating the lungs was all any man could bear; then he had to be taken out before he collapsed.
If one were not eager enough at this, there was punishment ever available. For outright rebellion a man could be birched or flogged; for lesser offenses such as insolence or refusal to obey orders a man could be required to do shot drill. It was the third day before Pitt found himself ordered to this, for answering back, laziness, and causing a brawl.
The men were lined up in a hollow square outside in the bitterly cold exercise yard. Each man stood three yards from his neighbor and was given a twenty-five-pound iron cannonball to place at his feet. At the command he must pick it up and carry it to his neighbor’s spot, put it on the ground, and return to his own spot, where he would find a new ball put there by the man on his other side. This senseless passing round and round of shot could be kept up for seventy-five minutes, till shoulders stabbed with pain, and muscles were torn and backs too sore to straighten.
Pitt’s offense had been a stupid quarrel picked by another prisoner, who felt compelled to swagger in front of his companions. Had Pitt been paying more attention to his surroundings he would have noticed the man’s brittle temper, the slight bounce to his walk, his curled fingers.