Fanny (31 page)

Littlehat brib’d his Guard with a Shilling to leave us alone with Lancelot for a Time, and tenderly, my Heart breaking with the Pain of seeing him in Circumstances so much Reduced from his former Glory, I sat down at his Bare Feet and held ’em in my Hands, chafing ’em warm, e’en tho’ Rats scurried nearby and Vermin crawl’d. Ne’er had I been indiff’rent to Vermin before, but Lancelot’s Plight engaged my whole Heart and made me forget my wretched Surroundings.

For a Moment or two, he scarce acknowledged my Presence.

“They have been hard on him,” Littlehat said, “fer they fear his Influence upon the Prisoners due to his Miraculous Escape upon the last Occasion, an’ tho’ they permit the likes of me to walk about at will, they saw him be stripp’d naked by the Prisoners fer Garnish an’ would not give him Freedom of the Rules.”

“Garnish?” I askt. “Pray what is that?”

“’Tis the Pay the Convicts expect from each new Prisoner. O, Madam Fanny, there are a thousand little Fees in Gaol—Payment to the other Convicts, to the Turnkey, to the Cook who dresses the Charity Meat (e’en tho’ most Convicts ne’er see, much less taste it), to the Swabbers (e’en tho’ the whole Place is Filthy as ye see an’ not once swabb’d in twenty Years), an’ e’en to the Hangman, who, in Former Times, did seethe the Limbs of Traitors all Day long in Pitch, an’ now dispatches the better Part of these Poor Wretches at Tyburn Tree. Some innocent Prisoners are freed at the Old Bailey only to be thrown back into Gaol because they cannot pay their Fees!”

“What will it cost to get Lancelot Freedom of the Rules?”

“More than ye have, I fear, Sweetheart. Fer they would make an Example of him, break his Soul, as ’twere, upon the Wheel, as they could ne’er break his Body.”

“And where are the others,” I enquir’d of Littlehat, “the Merry Men?”

“Black Paul, bless his Pyrate Heart, escap’d, taking his Latin Learning with him—where, we know not. An’ Mr. Twitch was kill’d upon the Thames, God rest his Soul. Likewise poor Sotwit an’ gentle Mr. Thunder. Puck Goodfellow an’ Francis Bacon made off, too, an’ presently I hope fer Word of ’em. Sir Fopling an’ Beau Monde are here as well, tho’ Fop is grievous ill with Gaol Distemper, an’ as fer the others, I cannot say. God bless ’em all.”

“Who turn’d you in?” I askt. “Who was that Traitor?”

At this, Lancelot came to Life, and Fury lit his wretched Face like Fireworks in the black Night Sky: “The Wretched Captain o’ the
Hannibal
turn’d me in an’ took the Swag an’ the Price upon me Head as well! I trusted him, I did, an’ swore he ne’er dealt in Human Flesh. Alas, what a Fool was I!”

And with that he slump’d back down again and moan’d, whereupon Littlehat whisper’d in my Ear: “I’ve ne’er seen our belov’d Lancelot so cast down. Pray, Madam Fanny, can ye beg or borrow Guineas enough to get him Freedom of the Rules? Fer they mean to make him suffer more than the common Lot of Convicts an’ I fear fer the Soundness of his Mind.”

“I’ll try, good Littlehat, good Friend,” said I. But i’faith, I knew not how I could relieve Lancelot when I could not relieve myself.

Just then Lancelot came to Life again, lookt up with a Wildness in his Eyes, and cried, “Why hast thou forsaken me?” ’Twas not e’en clear he recogniz’d me, but the Look of Betrayal upon his haunted Face was unmistakable. Now I, too, fear’d for Lancelot’s Sanity and understood Littlehat’s Concern.

“They sold me Soul fer thirty Pieces o’ Silver!” rav’d Lancelot. Then he sank down again, moaning like a Woman in Travail.

“Pray go,” said Littlehat, “an’ try not to despair. When he is quite himself he says he loves ye best in all this World. He raves now an’ he hath forgot his Golden Tongue, his Faith in God an’ Robin Hood—fer the Betrayal by the Captain of the
Hannibal
went hard with him. Friendship’s all to Lancelot, an’ Honour amongst Thieves was all his Creed; now he sees his Confederate Thieves in as harsh a Light as all the Great World of Lawyers, Statesmen, an’ all such respectable Rogues. ’Twas e’er thus with Lancelot—one Minute high upon his Fancies an’ his Words, as if on Rum, the next Moment cast down, as if he were a raving Bedlamite. Go, Madam Fanny. Tell me where to send fer ye.”

I gave the address of Coxtart’s House in the West End, praying Littlehat would not know ’twas a Brothel. Then I threw my Arms around his Neck and kiss’d him, bent again to Lancelot and kiss’d his chilly Cheak, and fled from the Depths of the Prison like Persephone fleeing Hades to shelter in the Arms of her Mother Demeter in Blossoming Spring.

But sure Coxtart was no Demeter (and perhaps I was no Persephone), yet I would find a Way to rescue Lancelot, I vow’d—if I had to be deflower’d ten thousand Times! O I would study Devious Ways to cheat that sly old Coxtart out of Guineas that I had sweated for upon my own (poor but honest) Back; and if I was bound to be a Trollop for a Time, at least ’twas in the sweet Name of Loyalty to Lancelot, and (dare I say it?) Love.

CHAPTER V

Fanny’s Flight thro’ London; Dissension in the Body Politick, and a most amazing Revolution, which Whigs will applaud but Tories may grumble of; after which our Heroine learns sev’ral important Lessons, which we hope will help her her whole Life long, but ne’ertheless is mov’d to an Act of great Desperation which causes her untold Anguish and Agony.

I
FLED THRO’ THE
Streets of London then, as if Pluto himself (or indeed the Grim Reaper) were pursuing me. The Soles of my Feet felt each Stone thro’ the worn Leather of my Shoes, and the Sweat ran down my Face like Raindrops down a Window Pane. The Day was clear and hot; the Sun shone strongly. My Stays were fair to bursting from my heavy Breathing and the Strain and Exertion of running. Perhaps I shall run so hard, I shall lose this Babe, I thought; for the Treachery of my Body against my Mind in conceiving a Babe at this worst of all possible Times was ne’er far from my Thoughts.

In Fleet Street, I glimps’d a Clock and saw that ’twas already half past Eleven! I had miss’d my Meeting with Kate and doubtless won her Enmity for Life! I ran harder now, along the Length of Fleet Street, then thro’ the Temple Bar, adorn’d with the Figures of Kings and Queens below, and the horribly rotting Head of a Traitor upon an iron Spike above. As I ran thro’, a ragged-looking Man offer’d me the Use of a Spying-Glass for a Ha’penny so that I might better see the grisly Traitor’s Head; but I shook my own Head with Distaste and Dislike—for what could be the Joy in feasting my Eyes upon this gruesome Relick?—and ran furiously onward.

The Streets were crowded now, and ’twas not always easy to make my Way. People stood aside with Wonder at the Fury of my Running; but oft’ an unruly Chairman took special Delight in pinning me ’gainst a Wall, or hitting my Back with the Poles of his Chair. I near upset a Fruit Peddlar’s Cart at one Turning and became so distraught with the Lateness of the Hour, sheer Weariness, and Despair that I compleatly lost my Way in some filthy back Alleys and had no Notion whatsoe’er of how to return to the West End.

My Clothes reekt of the Prison; my Hair flew about my Face like a Madwoman’s; and finding myself lost, late, doubtless in grievous Trouble with both Kate and Coxtart, I began to weep with Self-Pity for my Plight.

What had I hop’d for when I went to Lancelot? Had I hop’d for his Aid in my Perilous Predicament? If indeed I had, ’twas clear as Crystal that he could not help me in his present State. I would have to draw upon whate’er Reserves of Strength I had and be his Saviour instead! Friendship and Love both demanded it; and tho’ I did not feel myself to be equal to the Task, I would have to learn to be stronger than I had e’er been in the Past.

I stopp’d and leant ’gainst a Wall to catch my Breath. I mopp’d my fever’d Brow and daub’d my moist Eyes with the dirty Hem of my Petticoat. Just then, there came the Cry of “Gardy-loo!” above and I darted out of the Way scarce in Time to avoid being drench’d with the unlovely Contents of someone’s Chamber-Pott! ’Twas all I needed in my Mood of Dark Despair, and the sheer Absurdity of it stopp’d my Tears as they sprang and made me laugh where I had previously cried.

Very well, then, Madam Fanny, said I to myself, since Fate herself hath decreed that you would miss the Contents of the Chamber-Pott, ’tis clearly an Omen you will survive! Nay—survive and prosper. If Lancelot cannot save you, you’ll save yourself and save him into the Bargain. Onward, Fanny! Onward, Fanny Hackabout-Jones!

Thus I began to run again (tho’ whither, I knew not); and as I ran, I trusted but I should meet some kindly Soul who would direct me to the West End, and I remember’d, all in a Jumble, as if in the Moment before Death, the Losses of the last Weeks: the Loss of my Childhood Home at Lymeworth, of my Step-Mother, Lady Bellars, of my Faith in First Love (so cruelly betray’d by Lord Bellars); I remember’d, too, the dastardly Murders of the Good Witches, the Loss of Lustre, the Loss of my Great Epick Poem (yet in its Infancy), the Loss of my Friends the Merry Men, and worst of all, the Loss of Lancelot—or, dare I say it, the Loss of Lancelot’s Mind!

But just then Lines from the Witches’ Prophecy came back to me, I know not how. “Your own Father you do not know,” I remember’d. “Your Daughter will fly across the Seas. Your Purse will prosper, your Heart will grow. You will have Fame, but not Heart’s Ease.” What could it mean? Clearly, whate’er the Meaning, I must not now throw myself headlong into the Thames. “From your Child-Womb will America grow,” the puzzling Prophecy continu’d. “By your Child-Eyes, you will be betray’d”; well,
that
had already occurr’d with Lord-Bellars’ wretched Letter! “You will turn Blood into driven Snow.” Puzzling, puzzling in the extream. Whereupon the last Line echo’d in my Ears as if spoken by the strong Voice of Joan Griffith herself: “By your own strong Heart will the Devil be stay’d!” ’Twas hopeful, hopeful indeed! I might become strong if only I could believe myself so! I might prosper if only I could conquer my Terrors! I might save Lancelot if only I could save myself!

By the Time I found my Way back to Mother Coxtart’s (after many wrong Turnings and the well-meaning Assistance of a poor Half-Wit, who claim’d to know the Way but knew it e’en less than I did), the whole House was frantick with my Absence. Mother Coxtart had cruelly lockt Kate in the Cellar for her Deviltry in setting me free; the Butler she had threaten’d to flog within an Inch of his Life for his Laxity in letting me escape (tho’ i’faith, she
knew
he’d lain abed with her); and the other Girls were also trembling in Terror of her Wrath.

This was the unhappy Scene into which I return’d. Since ’twas clear that neither Lyes nor Demonstrations of Submission would avail me of any Mercy whatsoe’er with her, I made the Decision to brazen it out—to stand upon my Honour and Dignity rather than upon my Knees!

“Well—you wretched Baggage!” Mother Coxtart exlaim’d. “Where have ye been that ye dare return here smelling like the Fleet Ditch itself after all my Kindnesses to ye!”

“Madam,” said I, “I know not the Kindnesses of which you speak. I have workt hard and been paid nothing. I have been ravish’d and disgraced only to enrich your Pockets. I have borne the Indignity of having my Dishonour watch’d by Swains who paid you for the Privilege. And tho’ I did not rebel at this, I must now declare that I am a Free Woman, not a Guinea Slave, and I’d sooner starve upon the Streets than have you treat me like a common Cur to be chain’d at your Back Door!”

At this Speech, the other Girls gasp’d in Awe, and Coxtart herself was stunn’d, for ne’er before had one of her Wenches dar’d to stand up against her Authority. I’faith, I knew not where I got the Courage for it; ’twas as if some Spirit possess’d me and spoke thro’ my Lips.

“Filthy Baggage!” were all the Words Coxtart found upon this Occasion. “How dare ye address me with such Impertinence?”

“Madam,” said I, “I mean no Impertinence to you. I mean only to assert that I’ll be treated like a Woman, not a Slave! If I work hard for you, I will be paid some Share of it; if I must leave this House upon Errands of my own Concern, I’ll not be question’d like a Criminal. I’faith, Madam, I ask only for the Rights that all the Great Philosophers assert belong alike to ev’ry Human Soul! For are we not, as the Third Earl of Shaftesbury says, ‘Rational Creatures who crave Generosity, Gratitude, and Virtue as we crave Life itself? Are not the twin Senses of Right and Wrong as native to us as Natural Affection itself?’”

At this, Mother Coxtart was mute with sheer Perplexity. Her Mouth hung open as if ’twere a Trap for Flies, and she presently began to sputter and shake like a Tea Kettle o’er an open Fire.

“Fie on yer Impertinence, Strumpet! If ye have such a fine Protector in this Mr. Chaffberry, why doth he not keep ye then?” But ’twas clear to see I had fought her with Weapons beyond her Reach and she was as puzzl’d as she was enraged.

Meanwhile, the other Wenches, beginning to perceive that perhaps some Good might come from this for them as well, harken’d to me e’er more attentively.

“Madam,” said I, “I demand that each of us be paid each Time she entertains a Swain, that we be treated like reasonable Creatures and not unthinking Beasts, that our Keep be tallied in a Book of Accounts open for all to see, and that it not be more than you yourself must pay for the Provisions.”

“Trollop!” she scream’d. “Ye mean to ruin me! Out with ye into the Streets again. I’ll not tolerate such Impertinence! I take the Risques and pay the Landlord here, I feed yer ungrateful Mouths and clothe ye like the Ladies ye are not! Why should I countenance such Mutiny? Damn yer whoring Eyes! Begone!” Whereupon she dramatically opens the Front Door and stands, Arms folded, with a curt Nod of her hennaed Head, bidding me go.

Panick reigns in my Breast then. Merciful Heaven, I think, have I gone too far, stretch’d the Limits of her Endurance quite to the Breaking Point? But I dare not show my Indecision nor my Turmoil. With Chin held high and my stinking Skirts trailing in my Wake as if I were the Queen of Mudpyes and Chamber-Potts, I make ready to depart, with all Mock-Dignity.

I advance towards the Door, trembling within and calm without, pause a Moment to bid Farewell to the other Wenches who stand agog at my unwonted Courage, and say: “Gentle Ladies, thanks for all your Kindnesses to me. I wish you well,” whereupon I turn upon my Heel, step across the Doorjamb mincingly, as if ’twere a Basket of Eggs, and out the Door.