“Of course. Or did you think it costs nothing to eat and lodge and give birth to a baby?”
She unlocked the drawer where her ledger was kept, took out a neatly written sheet and handed it to Amber who stood for a moment staring at it, nonplussed. She did not know what it said, for she had never been taught to read or write, but she was horrified to think that none of the money she had helped to steal was hers. For those expenses Mother Red-Cap had mentioned were not ones she had ever expected to pay. She felt that she had been cheated, and it made her angry. After a moment she looked up, her mouth opened to speak, and saw Mother Red-Cap just removing her cloak from the peg where it hung beside the door; she put it on and went out.
“Here!” Amber thrust the bill at Black Jack. “Read it to me!”
He took it and read the items slowly. At each one her scowl intensified. Now she was in a fine pickle! Instead of being less in debt she was deeper than ever. A violent despair filled her.
The bill was carefully itemized.
“Lord!” cried Amber furiously. “I’m surprised she doesn’t charge me for the use of her pot!”
Black Jack grinned. “Never mind. She will.”
Amber was as angry with Black Jack as she was with Mother Red-Cap. For he could have paid her bill—and the debt too—at no hardship to himself. She was so resentful over his refusal that she had lost all sense of gratitude at being out of Newgate. She would have pawned some of the jewellery he had given her, but it was not enough to clear the full debt and if part of it disappeared she knew that she would get no more. It seemed to her that she would be in Whitefriars forever.
And so when Michael Godfrey came the next afternoon and asked her again to go away with him she agreed without hesitating an instant.
“Wait here and I’ll be right down. I want to get my cloak and I have a new gown—” She was already out of the room.
Michael called after her: “Let it go! I’ll get you another!”
But she pretended not to hear him and ran on, for there were several things she wanted to take with her—a, lace fan, a pair of green silk stockings, the imitation gold ear-rings, and her parakeet. She rushed about the room—the house was empty and she wanted to get away before someone should return—flung everything into a sheet and hastily tied it. “Come on,” she said to the parakeet. “We’ve had enough of this damned Sanctuary.” And with the cage in one hand, the tied-up sheet in the other, she hurried out and down the stairs. Halfway to the bottom she stopped with a gasp, for the door swung open and Black Jack Mallard stood there, his great frame blocking out the light.
She gave a gasp of dismay. “Jack!”
It was dark down there and she could not see the expression on his face, but his voice was deep and hoarse. “So you were going to scour!” Slowly he started up the stairs toward her, and she could only stand there helplessly, watching him and waiting. All at once she was afraid of him; she had seen him lose his temper with Bess and knew that he could be violent. “You ungrateful little bitch, I should break your head for this—”
Amber’s courage came back with a rush. “Get out of my way!” she cried. “I’m leaving this filthy place! I’m not going to stay here and hang with the rest of you!”
He was just below her now and she could see his face, the thin upper lip drawn tight against his teeth, his eyes dark and glittering. “You’ll stay here as long as I want you to stay. Go on upstairs now. Go on, I say!”
For a long moment they stood staring at each other. Then suddenly she kicked out at his shins and threw herself against his arm, trying to break through.
Suddenly Black Jack laughed. He picked her up with one arm, threw her over his shoulder, and started back up the stairs. “Michael!” he repeated contemptuously. “What good d’ye think that jack-straw could be to you?” He laughed again, a thunderous roar that echoed up the narrow stairwell, and he seemed scarcely to notice that Amber was screaming furiously, kicking and beating at him with her fists.
When he reached the bedroom he set her down, so forcibly that the jar went from her heels up into her head. She recovered quickly.
“God damn you, Black Jack Mallard!” she yelled at him. “You’re trying to kill me,
He reached out a hand and caught her as she would have gone by, jerking her to him as easily as if she were one of the dolls bought at Bartholomew Fair. “Stop it, you little fool! You gabble like a magery prater! You’re not going out of the Friars —not while I’m here. When I’m gone, do what you damned please—but I didn’t give three hundred pound to get you out of Newgate so some other man could have the use of you!”
