A Place Called Freedom (1995)

“I can’t write that down,” Sir George snapped. “What is your real name, child?”

“Peggy Knapp, sir.”

“And the woman’s name?”

“Cora Higgins,” said Cora.

“Pocket picked, by Peggy Knapp, accomplice Cora Higgins. The crime witnessed by …”

“Sidney Lennox, keeper of the Sun tavern in Wapping.”

“And Captain Marlborough?”

Chip raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’d rather not get involved, if Mr. Lennox’s evidence will suffice.”

“It surely will, Captain,” said Sir George. He was always polite to Chip because he owed Chip’s father money. “Very good of you to assist in the apprehension of these thieves. Now, have the accused anything to say?”

Cora said: “I’m not her accomplice—I’ve never seen her before in my life.” Peg gasped and stared at Cora in disbelief, but Cora carried on. “I went for a walk with a handsome young man, that’s all. I never knew she was picking his pockets.”

Lennox said: “The two are known associates, Sir George—I’ve seen them together many times.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Sir George said. “You are both committed to Newgate Prison on charges of pick-pocketing.”

Peg began to cry. Cora was white with fear. “Why are you all doing this?” she said. She pointed an accusing finger at Jay. “You were waiting for me in Archer’s.” She pointed at Lennox. “You followed us out. And you, Sir George Jamisson, stayed up late, when you should be in bed, to commit us. What’s the point of it all? What have Peg and me ever done to you?”

Sir George ignored her. “Captain Marlborough, oblige me by taking the woman outside and guarding her for a few moments.” They all waited while Chip led Cora out and closed the door. Then Sir George turned to Peg. “Now, child, what is the punishment for picking pockets—do you know?”

She was pale and trembling. “The sheriff’s collar,” she whispered.

“If you mean hanging, you’re right. But did you know that some people are not hanged, but sent to America instead?”

The child nodded.

“They are people who have influential friends to plead for them, and beg the judge to be merciful. Do you have influential friends?” She shook her head.

“Well, now, what if I tell you that I will be your influential friend and intercede for you?”

She looked up at him, and hope gleamed in her little face.

“But you have to do something for me.”

“What?” she said.

“I will save you from hanging if you tell us where Mack McAsh is living.”

The room was silent for a long moment.

“In the attic over the coal yard in Wapping High Street,” she said, and she burst into tears.

22

MACK WAS SURPRISED TO WAKE UP ALONE.

Cora had never before stayed out until daybreak. He had been living with her for only two weeks and he did not know all her habits, but all the same he was worried.

He got up and followed his usual routine. He spent the morning at St. Luke’s Coffee House, sending messages and receiving reports. He asked everyone if they had seen or heard of Cora, but no one had. He sent someone to the Sun tavern to speak to Quick Peg, but she too had been out all night and had not returned.

In the afternoon he walked to Covent Garden and went around the taverns and coffeehouses, questioning the whores and waiters. Several people had seen Cora last night. A waiter at Lord Archer’s had noticed her leaving with a rich young drunk. After that there was no trace.

He went to Dermot’s lodgings in Spitalfields, hoping for news. Dermot was feeding his children a broth made of bones for their supper. He had been asking after Cora all day and had heard nothing.

Mack walked home in the dark, hoping that when he arrived at Cora’s apartment over the coal yard she would be there, lying on the bed in her underwear, waiting for him. But the place was cold and dark and empty.

He lit a candle and sat brooding. Outside on Wapping High Street the taverns were filling up. Although the coal heavers were on strike they still found money for beer. Mack would have liked to join them, but for safety he did not show his face in the taverns at night.

He ate some bread and cheese and read a book Gordonson had loaned him, a novel called Tristram Shandy, but he could not concentrate. Late in the evening, when he was beginning to wonder if Cora was dead, there was a commotion in the street outside.

He heard men shouting and the noise of running feet and what sounded like several horses and carts. Fearing that the coal heavers might start some kind of fracas he went to the window.

The sky was clear and there was a half-moon, so Mack could see all along the High Street. Ten or twelve horse-drawn carts were lumbering down the uneven dirt road in the moonlight, evidently headed for the coal yard. A crowd of men followed the carts, jeering and shouting, and more spilled out of the taverns and joined them at every corner.

The scene had all the makings of a riot.

Mack cursed, it was the last thing he wanted.

He turned from the window and rushed down the stairs. If he could talk to the men with the carts and persuade them not to unload, he might avert violence.