Amber stared at her for a long moment, frank skeptical distrust on her face, but finally she decided that it would be worth the ear-rings to have a friend who understood this strange place. She slid the pearls from her ears and dropped them into Mrs. Turner’s outstretched palm. Moll tucked them into the bodice of her gown, somewhere between her stringy breasts, and turned to Amber.
“Now, my dear, how much money have you got?”
“Not a farthing.”
“Not a farthing? My God, how d’you intend to live? Newgate ain’t run for charity, you may be sure. You pay for everything you get here, and you pay dear.”
“Well,
Amber’s matter-of-fact tone sent Moll into another fit of violent coughing, but at last she straightened, running her fore-arm across her wet mouth. “Don’t seem like you’re old enough to be out of the house alone, sweetheart. Where’s your family—in Essex? My advice to you is to send to ’em for help.”
Amber stiffened at that suggestion, defensively lowering her black lashes. “I can’t. I mean I won’t. They didn’t want me to get married and I—”
“Never mind, my dear. I think I know your plight well enough. You found yourself with child and so left home. Now your keeper’s left you. Well, in London we don’t give a damn —we’ve got troubles enough of our own without worryin’ ourselves with our neighbours—”
“But I
“Yes, yes. Lord, my dear, I don’t care if you’re married or whore to forty men. I was myself, in better days. Now I’m so peppered a man wouldn’t have me upon a pinch.” She smiled faintly and shrugged, then stared off into space, forgetting her promise as she began to recall the disappointments of her own life. “That’s the way I began. He was a captain in the King’s army—a mighty handsome fellow in his uniform. But my dad didn’t like to see his daughter bringin’ a nameless brat into the family. So I came to London. You can hide anything in London. My boy died—more’s the mercy—and I never saw my captain again. But I saw other men aplenty, I’ll warrant you. And I had money for a while, too. Once a gentleman gave me a hundred pound for one night. Now—” She turned suddenly and looked at Amber, who had been staring at her with fascinated horror, finding it almost impossible to believe that this ugly emaciated sick creature had once been young and in love with a handsome man, just as she was. “How old d’ye think I am? Fifty? No, I’m thirty-two. Just thirty-two. Well, I’ve had my day, there’s no denyin’ that. I suppose I wouldn’t trade it for something different—”
Amber was beginning to feel sick, seeing herself several years hence in Moll Turner. Oh, God! Oh, God! she thought frantically. It’s just like Aunt Sarah said. Look what happens to a bad woman!
And then all of them started at the sound of a key in the lock; the great iron door began to swing open. Moll, putting her hand to her mouth, muttered quickly: “Sell that ring for whatever she’ll give you.”
A woman, perhaps fifty years old, came into the room. Her hair, almost white, was lifeless as straw and screwed into a hard knot high on the crown of her head. She wore a soiled blouse, a dark-blue woollen skirt with a long red apron tied over it, and slung about her hips was a leather thong to which were attached several very large keys, a pair of scissors, a wallet and a bull’s pizzle—a short heavy wooden cudgel for maintaining discipline. She carried a candle stuck into a bottle, and before turning around to look at them she set it on a shelf.
A huge grey-striped cat followed her in, pushing against her legs, arching its back, giving out a low satisfied rumble. And then all at once it caught sight of Amber’s parakeet and moved swiftly forward. But Amber, with a little scream, jumped to her feet and, holding the cage at shoulder-level, kicked out at the cat with one foot while her parakeet fluttered and clung terrified to the bars of its cage.
“Good-morning, ladies,” said the woman now, and her shrewd pitiless eyes went over them quickly, resting longest on Amber. “I’m Mrs. Cleggat—my husband is the Jailor. It’s my understanding that you are all ladies of refinement who naturally would not care to take up your abode in a vault set aside for thieves, parricides, and murderers. I’m happy to say that from here you may be removed to a chamber the equal of that in any private house and there you’ll be furnished with the best of conversation and entertainment—for a consideration.”
“There’s the rub,” commented Moll, sprawled out with her arms crossed, her legs stretched before her.
