The Grace Stories Read online

  ‘Don’t give up,’ she said to herself. ‘If I just wait here, he’ll come.’

  Finally, in the distance, Grace saw an old white horse pulling a small carriage along the cobblestones. It was Pegasus at last!

  ‘Get up there, boy!’ said the cab driver, and slapped his whip down across Pegasus’s rump. Grace flinched as if the whip had come down across her own back.

  The cab driver approached the rail where another cabbie stood waiting for a passenger. As the cabbie climbed down from the cart, he fumed and puffed as if it were him who had pulled passengers across London all day.

  ‘Get more for you if I sold your lazy hide to the slaughterhouse,’ he grumbled at the horse.

  ‘Looks like you’ll be needing a new nag – that one’s about ready for the knife,’ said the other cab driver, laughing.

  The two men leaned against the rail and lit their pipes. A third cabbie joined them from the alehouse opposite, holding mugs of beer.

  Grace slipped out from behind the pillar. She wanted to stroke Pegasus’s hot damp sides and soothe the cuts across his back with a cool wet rag. Sold to the slaughterhouse. Is that what the cab driver means to do with my horse? Grace wondered. Pegasus looked so thin and hungry. If he had food in his belly, perhaps he would have the strength to pull the cart. That way the cab driver wouldn’t take him to be butchered.

  She crossed the road, dodging carts and carriages and men pushing barrows, back to the man selling fruit. Without waiting to make sure his back was turned, or his attention elsewhere, she grabbed three apples, tossed them into her kettle and dived back into the traffic.

  As she ran she heard a man shouting, ‘Stop! Stop!’ She turned and saw the fruit seller running towards her. He was chasing her! It was her he was shouting at! ‘Stop! Thief!’

  She stumbled and her kettle dropped from her hands, spilling the apples out across the cobblestones. Now there were more men chasing her and more shouting. ‘Stop, thief! Catch her! Catch the thief!’

  When Grace reached Pegasus she threw her arms around his chest, then she grabbed hold of his leather traces and pulled herself onto his back. His coat was warm against her skin.

  Grace leaned down onto his neck, gripping his mane in her hands. ‘Pegasus!’ she said, ‘My Pegasus! Let’s go!’

  She was dimly aware of men running towards her, shouting at her, scattering the crowds. Grace squeezed her thighs against Pegasus’s sides and he wheeled away from the rail, lunging forward into the traffic, pulling the carriage behind him.

  For an instant, it seemed to Grace as if the whole world was behind them: policemen, fruit sellers, cab drivers, Joe Bean, Uncle Ord, mudlarks, thieves, beggars and gentlemen – all trying to catch them as they galloped away. In truth, the old horse was so crowded in by people and other carriages that he only got a little way past the rail. But to Grace it was exactly as the gypsy had described it; it felt as though they were flying over the world, all the way to where thunder was made.

  GRACE screamed as men grabbed at her legs. She heard whistling and shouting and then she fainted as she fell, half-dragged, into the arms of a runner.

  When she came to, the policeman hauled her into a cart. Grace didn’t need to ask where she was going – she already knew. To the gallows to be hanged. She brought her hands up to her face; she could still smell Pegasus on her skin.

  The cart stopped and the policeman pulled her out onto the street in front of a tall stone building. Gentlemen in long black gowns came in and out in a great hurry.

  ‘Where am I?’ Grace asked, dazed.

  ‘Bow Street Magistrates’ Court,’ the police­man answered. ‘Next stop – Newgate Prison.’

  If the policeman had not held her up as he dragged her to the door of the court, Grace would have fallen to the ground.

  Once inside the courtroom the policeman handed Grace over to two of the Bow Street Runners.

  ‘Little beggar thought she’d try stealing a horse,’ he said.

  ‘Steal a horse in broad daylight, eh? What were you thinking?’ The runners pushed Grace towards the magistrate.

  The courtroom was crowded with people. The way they jeered and gasped and cheered when each charge was read out reminded Grace of a sideshow.

  The court runners placed her before the magistrate who told her that she had been charged with theft. ‘What do you plead?’ the magistrate asked her, his eyes on the papers in front of him.

  Grace wanted to plead for Pegasus to be freed. How could she ask? Was there anything the magistrate could do for an old horse?

  ‘Guilty or not guilty?’ The magistrate glanced up at her. ‘Hurry up and answer the charge. What do you plead?’

  ‘Guilty,’ she said. There was no time to explain to him how the gypsy woman had told her that Pegasus was her horse, and how if she didn’t find him food he would be taken to the slaughterhouse and butchered. The magistrate wouldn’t understand about their ride over London when the whole world couldn’t catch them.

  ‘You will be placed in Newgate Prison where you will await trial,’ the magistrate said, glancing back at the papers on his desk.

  Two runners took Grace into a yard surrounded by a high spiked fence where a small group of women stood with chains around their ankles and wrists, and iron collars around their necks. A runner locked the same chains around Grace’s ankles, wrists and neck – the chains were cold and so heavy she could hardly lift her arms.

  An icy rain began to fall. Grace knew she was shivering, but she could barely feel it. She knew she was starving, but she wasn’t hungry. She knew she would face the gallows, but she wasn’t scared. Instead she was numb.

  The women around her talked amongst themselves. But no one spoke to Grace.

  At the end of the day, a court runner led the group of female prisoners, all chained together, out of the high-walled yard behind the Bow Street Court, and onto the street. The women were ordered to climb into a cart that stood waiting for them. A runner sat at each end of the cart and watched over the prisoners as the cart rumbled through the busy streets on the way to Newgate Prison. The heavy chains cut into Grace’s ankles. The iron collar around her neck was too big, and dug into the skin on her shoulders. When the cart stopped and the prisoners climbed out, Grace lifted her head and saw the high grey walls of the prison. This was the place where Uncle Ord had watched a boy being hanged for stealing shoes – soon it would be her.

  When they reached the entrance, one of the runners hit the large iron knocker on the gates. The gates were swung open and the runners left the women to the prison guards.

  Two guards led the prisoners down a dark corridor. Grace wished she could put her hands to her ears so she could block out the sound of shouting and crying and screaming, but the chains on her wrists made it impossible.

  Men crawled out of the darkness to whistle and jeer. The stench was terrible, as if something had been rotting for years in the ground on which the prison stood and the rot had risen up and filled every part of the building. There was no light, and the air was so thick and rank, Grace found it hard to breathe.

  When the group came to the female ward Grace was unchained, separated from the group and put into a cell with five other women.

  Grace covered her nose to block out the foul smell of the privy. She could hardly see the other women in the early evening light coming from the single narrow window set high up in the wall, but she could see that all of them were filthy and dressed in rags. Some of them had their hair shorn close to their heads. Will they do that to me? she wondered.

  As soon as the guard left, the other prisoners grabbed Grace, pulled her hands open and tore at her clothes as if she might be hiding some treasure. Grace was too frightened to resist. When the women realised that she had nothing they could steal, they left her alone.

  Grace sat down on the cold stone floor, her body stiff and aching. A woman moaned and coughed, and another two fought over a blanket. Grace heard muffled shouts and screams coming from somewhere outside the
cell. Eventually the dim light faded and night fell. Grace lay down and curled into a small ball. She had never felt so alone.

  Something rustled close to her head. She saw a pair of tiny eyes blinking at her in the darkness – rats.

  Grace put her arms up over her face and closed her eyes. It was cold, too cold. Maybe I’ll freeze to death, she thought, just like Tommy Cross. Tommy Cross had lived in Water Lane until his father died and he didn’t have anywhere to go. A dustman had found him on the street: dead from the cold, hard as ice.

  She imagined that her blanket was over her head and that she was lying in the warmth of her own breath. She heard the thundering of hooves against the earth. Closer and closer the hooves came until all she heard was their powerful rumbling. She saw Pegasus galloping toward her; he was going to carry her away on his broad back. Grace reached out to him. His white wings beat against the night sky. He was going to take her to the place where thunder was made. Grace felt herself slipping away.

  ‘Here now, come close and get under me blanket – this place is colder than the devil’s own heart!’

  Grace opened her eyes. Somebody was speaking – to her.

  ‘Quickly, or you’ll never make it through the night, and I might not either. Climb under.’

  ‘What is it?’ whispered Grace. ‘What do you want? I’ve got no money for you. I’ve got nothing.’

  ‘Come on,’ said the voice. ‘It’s blooming freezing. Climb under. You’re shivering enough for six. And your chattering teeth won’t give me no peace.’

  The woman pulled Grace under the blanket and flung an arm around her. Grace immediately felt the warmth coming from the woman’s body.

  ‘Oh, you are a little one, aren’t you? Barely anything to you but bones.’

  Grace inched closer to the woman, letting the meagre heat under the blanket warm her frozen body. She closed her eyes. In her dreams she lay close to Pegasus. Heat came from his shining coat and the straw beneath them made a soft bed. The stable was so warm and safe Grace could sleep forever.

  ‘UP and out, you lot!’ a prison guard ordered, unlocking the cell gate.

  It was morning – a faint light came through the high window. Grace was alone on the stone floor. Whoever had kept her warm in the night was gone. Or had she been dreaming? The other prisoners shoved at each other, eager to be out of the cell. Grace stumbled after them into the exercise yard.

  All around her, the other prisoners – men and women, children and adults – fought and embraced and shouted. It was noisier and more crowded than any rookery or market she had ever seen. Starving dogs and cats roamed about, crammed in with the prisoners. Somewhere a rooster crowed. Men pulled at her clothes and pushed against her. Grace was very scared. Why didn’t the magistrate send me straight to the gallows? she wondered. Why am I here?

  On the other side of the yard she saw the women from her cell lining up for food. Grace joined the end of the line. When it was her turn a prison guard handed her two small loaves of bread and a bowl of oatmeal gruel. Grace shovelled the gruel into her mouth. It was the first time she had eaten since she had stolen the apple.

  Grace saw one of the women from her cell on her hands and knees groping at the stones in front of her where her bread lay, just beyond her reach. Three boys came towards the woman, whispering to each other. They’re going to take her bread! Grace thought. She must have dropped it.

  Grace darted forward and snatched up the loaf. The boys stopped in front of her, and she stiffened, ready for a fight, but they were even thinner and smaller than her and they walked away in the other direction.

  Grace held the loaf out to the woman. She didn’t take it, continuing to run her hands over the stones in front of her.

  ‘Your bread, ma’am,’ Grace said.

  When the woman turned her face towards Grace, she saw that a milky layer covered both her eyes. Grace took the woman’s hands and pressed the loaf of bread between them. ‘Ma’am, your bread.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ the woman said. ‘I was sure somebody had blagged it.’ Grace recognised the voice. It was the same woman who had shared her blanket the night before. ‘That’s what happens when your lamps don’t work right – somebody will always try and take what you got. Flaming beggars.’

  ‘Is something wrong with your eyes?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Oh, I can see some things all right. Big things – prison walls, judges, gates, gallows and the like. And I can see that you’re only a child. But I can’t see little things, like the bread in front of me bleeding face.’

  The woman took a bite from her loaf, speaking with her mouth full. ‘It’s not often somebody helps around here. Maybe never.’

  ‘But, ma’am . . . You . . .’ Grace faltered. ‘You helped me.’

  The woman stopped chewing her bread. ‘I helped you? When did I ever? Doesn’t sound like me.’

  ‘You put your blanket over me in the night.’

  ‘Ooooh . . .’ She nodded her head slowly, remembering. ‘You’re the little newcomer who came in yesterday, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace.

  ‘I was trying to keep myself warm,’ said the woman, taking another bite. ‘Two bodies is better than one. I didn’t know you was a child.’ The woman grinned. ‘My name’s Dorothy – Dorothy Wiseman. At least, I was Wiseman when I was a married lady. Now I don’t know where the bludger is, so maybe I’m just Dorothy now. I’m not sure.’ Dorothy laughed. ‘Who are you, child?’

  ‘I’m Grace.’

  ‘Grace who?’

  Grace didn’t want to say her uncle’s name. She was an orphan who only belonged to Pegasus. ‘Just Grace,’ she said to Dorothy.

  ‘Well, just Grace, what are you in for?’

  ‘I – I took a . . . I tried to steal . . .’

  ‘Didn’t we all?’ Dorothy winked. ‘What did you blag?’

  Grace hesitated. She didn’t know how to explain about Pegasus. She didn’t think Dorothy would understand. It was better if Pegasus stayed safe inside her. ‘Apples,’ she answered. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Well, you don’t make a very good prig if your eyes are no good. I tried stealing back the rent from my landlady. She caught me on the floor with her big broken jar of pennies rolling around me feet. It was straight to the beak for me. I’m awaiting trial. Every day me bleeding lamps are getting worse. I won’t be able to see at all by the time I go to court. Be the gallows for old Dorothy, I suppose. Won’t be much use transporting me to some blooming land in the south. I’d fall in the sea the minute they put me on the boat!’ She laughed again.

  Grace didn’t understand what Dorothy meant about the land and the boat, but she liked the way the older woman laughed.

  Dorothy and Grace leaned against the prison wall and finished their bread. Later, when it was time to go back to the cell, Grace let Dorothy hold on to her arm so she wouldn’t stumble. On the way, Dorothy asked Grace to take her to one of the guards.

  ‘What for?’ asked Grace. She could see two of them in the corner of the exercise yard, beating a man with a stick, and she didn’t fancy getting closer to one then she had to.

  ‘Never you mind, Grace. Just take me to a turnkey. I need to have a word.’

  Grace led Dorothy to one of the guards, then stepped back. Dorothy pulled something from the inside pocket of her dress and handed it to the man.

  That night, Grace slept on a straw mattress with her very own blanket that the same guard brought in to the cell at nightfall.

  ‘That’s for helping me today, Grace. I hope you sleep like a bleeding angel,’ Dorothy said, her back warm against Grace’s own.

  The next morning, Grace helped Dorothy out of the cell, making sure she didn’t trip over the privy bucket, or spill any of the precious water the guards left each night.

  ‘Take your blanket with you, if you know what’s good for you,’ Dorothy told her. ‘Else it’ll be blagged from this place quicker than lightning.’

  Grace wrapped the blanket tight around h
er shoulders before leaving the cell to face the exercise yard. The other prisoners scared her. She was always being watched. It felt as if all the most dangerous, violent and sickest parts of London had come together to live in this dark place. Everybody was hungry and they would do anything for food or money.

  There was always a fight somewhere or prisoners being beaten by guards. Some of the prisoners looked sick – coughing and pale and struggling to breathe. Grace remembered what her uncle had told her about consumption – how it killed slowly with a terrible hacking cough that wouldn’t go away, and how it spread from person to person just like the fleas that lived under everyone’s clothes.

  But the hardest thing for Grace about being in Newgate Prison was that she could no longer see the Fleet Street horses – no longer see Pegasus.

  Grace avoided the other prisoners as much as she could. She could see that many people tried to take advantage of Dorothy, in particular, because of her blindness. They knocked her around and tried to steal from her.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ she said to Dorothy. ‘I can be your eyes. ’

  She made sure the older woman got her food and kept her blanket, and she steered her away from the gangs of thieving boys.

  One afternoon, Dorothy’s brother came to visit, wearing a top hat. He stood in the visitor’s box, which was behind iron bars at the end of the exercise yard. Grace watched as Dorothy crossed the yard to talk to him through the bars. When she returned, she opened her fist to reveal a shiny penny.

  ‘He gives me money when he comes to visit. That’s how I got the blanket for you. That’s how this place hasn’t killed me yet – me with my broken lamps. He pays extra to the guards sometimes, to make sure I don’t get a chiv in me ribs. You can buy anything in this evil place, Grace. Anything at all. There are some who live here like kings. I’m not lying, I swear. They sleep on feather beds and eat beef every night and they might be the worst crims in London. Half the time my brother’s money is stole before I get the chance to spend it. I shouldn’t be telling you this. You’ll most likely rob me!’