The Triumph of Grace (3 page)

H
as ye naught to give to recompense me fer yer keep, then?" the jailer demanded of Grace. " 'Tis me wot kin make yer life at Newgate easy or hard, miss. But ye can't expect me to do nothin' fer ye unless I gets me rightful pay."

Grace stared at the expressionless face of the grizzled jailor.Obviously he managed to secure enough pay from the prisoners to keep his belly plump and round. She looked from him to the grated window in the locked door. On the other side Grace could see the prison cell. And a dismal sight it was, too—hoards of wretched men and women in dirty rags, all crowded together without so much as a bench to sit on.A smattering of the prisoners, their hands and feet bound in heavy chains, sat fettered in chairs bolted to the floor. "Are they all slaves?" Grace asked in confusion.

"Criminals they be, same as ye," the jailer snapped. "All waitin' fer trial, too. Now, I asks ye again—Is ye goin' to pay fer yer keep, or does I toss ye in with the rest of the refuse?"

"I have no money," Grace said.

The jailer turned his key in the lock and pulled the heavy door open.

"In with ye, then!"

The jailer shoved Grace inside and banged the door shut behind her.

Grace ducked in time to avoid a man throwing wild punches into the air. But in her effort to stay clear of him, she stumbled into two women huddled together on the floor.

"Watch yerse'f!" snapped the younger woman. Much younger, as a matter of fact. She looked to be hardly more than a child. "Don't be tryin' to take over our space."

"Ye kin take yer daily mail elsewheres," added the older, more disheveled of the two. Grace realized with a start that the older woman was probably no more than her own twentysix years.

Grace stared at the woman. Her words made absolutely no sense.

"Daily mail?" Grace asked.

"Don't ye know nothin'? Yer stories and tricks, o' course!" came the impatient reply. "Liar's tale, is what it be . . . Daily mail!"

Grace pushed past the two. She forced her way around an old man who chanted incomprehensibly at the bare wall. She pressed through a knot of men and women huddled around a couple of ragged children. Choking in the terrible stench of the packed room, Grace lifted the hem of her skirt and pressed it against her nose and mouth. Even so, she could only breathe in short gasps of the foul air.

"Wot crime has ye done?" asked a pale woman with straight hair that hung wild and undone to her shoulders. With shaky hands, the woman grabbed up the two ends of a brightly colored scarf draped around her shoulders and tied them at her neck in a knot.

"I did nothing," Grace answered. "I am no criminal."

"Ha!" the woman laughed. "Jist like the rest o' us in this place. We all be innocent, we do!"

A man in chains threw his head back and laughed wildly."That be me! Innocent is what I is! I took the iron bars off the cellar window of a rich man's house and robbed the bloke blind, I did. But no one's the wiser because I nailed them bars back on like I found them. The poor little maid went to the gallows for me crime."

"But . . . but you are in prison, and in chains," Grace said.

"Me mate, he picked a rich man's pockets. When the constable grabbed him, he grabbed me too, though I never picked a pocket in me life."

"So ye be innocent on both sides," said the woman in the bright scarf. "But ye will hang from the gallows all the same!" The irony of the man's predicament struck her as so funny that she laughed uncontrollably.

At the far wall, a man with no teeth moved away from his place and stumbled toward the water jug in the front of the room. Quickly Grace slipped away from the laughing woman and into the vacant spot, where she sank down onto the filthy floor. Shivering in her still-damp dress, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

Could it be that just outside these dismal walls life continued as usual? That peddlers still called out their wares, that people continued to whistle in the lanes, that children yet laughed? Was it possible that outside Newgate Prison, hope lived on and people still dared to dream?

"Up! Up wi' ye now!" The jailer punctuated his order with a stiff kick to Grace's side. "It's to the court fer ye, missy."

Back to stand before the magistrate, Grace supposed. But instead of heading to Magistrate Francis Warren's house, the jailer led Grace across the street to the Old Bailey, into a room packed with people. Fine people they were, too—mostly men dressed in silk frock suits, elaborate waistcoats, and white silk stockings, their heads covered with powdered wigs. But there was also a smattering of women in lovely dresses, proud to show off their towering hairstyles. After a night on the filthy floor of Newgate Prison, Grace—looking every bit as wretched as she felt—was led up to the dock and left to stand alone to face a solemn judge. The room fell silent.

Sir Geoffrey Phillips—Grace recognized him immediately.He was seated on the front row. Sir Geoffrey had treated her kindly that day at Lord Witherham's estate. In fact, Grace recognized many of the men on the front row with her accuser.They were all his friends. What Grace could not know was that each one of them had received an engraved invitation to the trial a full week before the two miscreants had ever banged on the door of the Foundling Hospital looking for her.

Grace scanned the room for Lady Charlotte, the one person who could vouch for her, but she was nowhere to be seen.Certainly she was not seated beside her husband.

Lord Reginald Witherham sat quite comfortably in the chair nearest the Lord Judge as the clerk read the charge.

Grace stood straight in the dock and listened to the proceedings in bewilderment. So totally excluded was she from the verbal exchange that shot back and forth between Lord Reginald and the Lord Judge that it quite alarmed her to hear the Lord Judge suddenly demand:

"To the charge of theft, Grace Winslow, how do you plead?"

Lord Judge Aaron North, squat and flush- faced, looked as though he had long ago wearied of hearing complaints and excuses.

Grace stared back blankly.

"Come, come!" Lord Judge North said impatiently. "What do you plead, guilty or not guilty? Speak up!"

"Not guilty!" Grace said.

"Not guilty, you say? Well, we shall soon see about that."

Not a line of compassion creased Lord Judge North's hardened face. This was simply one more trial for one more thief on one more long and tiring day. Criminals such as Grace Winslow came before him in a constant stream, often twenty in a day. Sometimes as many as twenty-five. All were felonies, of course, although not all were found guilty. Still, by the time the sun set, many who passed before Lord Judge North that day would face the gallows. With a criminal code that listed two hundred forty offenses punishable by death, the law of the Crown was uncompromising. So was his Lordship, Judge Aaron North.

"Lord Reginald Witherham," the judge said, "would you be so kind as to describe the location of the theft you suffered, as well as the manner of the crime committed against you? Also, please describe for the court the goods stolen from your estate.Place an approximate value on your loss, too, if you will."

Slowly, purposefully, Lord Reginald rose from his seat. As he turned to face the assembled crowd, he assumed the singular pose he had so carefully practiced in front of his own full-length mirror. For this most important of occasions, he had donned a striking embroidered velvet waistcoat of a deep scarlet hue. Because he'd had this garment specially made for the purpose of dazzling the court, he had carefully rehearsed his speech complete with flamboyant gestures, each one timed to accent the clever turn of a phrase or to emphasize an important point he intended to make.

In a forceful voice, Lord Reginald Witherham began: "On the fifteenth day of May, in the year of our Lord 1792, a slave, brought to London by my faithful employee, Jasper Hathaway, did escape. My poor Mister Hathaway was at the time suffering a most compromised state of health, yet with no regard for him—or for any of us who had gone to great lengths to see her safely to this blessed country—she callously forced herself onto the grounds of my estate and into my private residence.The guilty person of whom I speak is the very same disreputable woman who now stands in the dock before your Lordship, one Grace Winslow."

Here Lord Reginald paused in order to gesture dramatically to Grace.

"This escaped slave managed to completely confound my poor wife, Lady Charlotte, who most regretfully has not been of sound mind for some time. Once in my house, Grace Winslow proceeded to toss about wild accusations that not only caused me severe humiliation, but completely distracted and confused my invited guests. Several of these selfsame upstanding men have been good enough to accompany me here today."

Lord Reginald nodded to Sir Geoffrey Phillips and the others seated with him on the front row.

Pacing across the front of the courtroom, Lord Reginald continued, "Out of kindness, I did not order the intruder out of my home, though I am certain that few would have blamed me had I done so. Rather, with tolerance and patient forbearance, I attempted to entreat her to leave of her own free will.So confused and upset was my household by the outrageous actions of this slave, that it was not until later I ascertained my loss. Only then did I realize she had taken advantage of the disturbance she herself had caused to steal valuable items from my home. I am absolutely certain she accomplished this feat by concealing the objects amongst her skirts."

At this point, Lord Reginald paused, plucked his handkerchief from the pocket of his elegant waistcoat, and dabbed dramatically at his eyes. For good measure, he sighed deeply and patted at his brow as well.

"Being the generous gentleman I am, I have waited with exceptional patience for this woman to return the goods she stole from my estate. I am only here today because I now acknowledge, to my great distress, that this is not to be. Most certainly, my valuable belongings have already been sold for a pittance at the rag fair. I have no doubt but that many other unfortunates have also suffered a similar loss at the hands of this heartless thief."

"You have evidence for your account of the matter, Lord Reginald?" Lord Judge North inquired.

"I most certainly do, Your Lordship," Lord Reginald replied with a deep bow.

From his chair he picked up the same handkerchief he had displayed before Magistrate Warren the day before. Lord Reginald held it high for all to see.

"It would seem that this . . . this
slave
woman . . . was not able to release her grip on this one fancy—a valuable laceedged handkerchief, embroidered with a fine and steady hand. Therefore, it remains behind to testify against Grace Winslow!"

"I see," Lord Judge North said thoughtfully. "But, if you please, what evidence have you that the thievery of the accused reached beyond your own estate? Or that she did indeed sell any of your belongings?"

"Most certainly she sold my belongings!" Lord Reginald snapped. But he quickly recovered himself and continued in a much more gentle voice. "I have with me witnesses prepared to testify to that precise fact, Your Lordship. And as to the question of further thievery . . ."

From underneath his chair, Lord Reginald produced a wrapped packet. He untied the string and unwrapped the papers in a most dramatic fashion. First he pulled out a newly sewn man's shirt, which he held up high for all to see. A crisp new pair of breeches followed.

"Both are items of men's clothing, as you can well see, and both are sewn with a fine hand," Lord Reginald proclaimed."Most assuredly these are not garments expected to be found in the possession of a wretched slave girl . . . or even, of a
servant
girl. These items of clothing—along with leg stockings, cap, and shoes—were retrieved from a hiding place in the wall of Grace Winslow's cell at the Foundling Hospital. They were so carefully hidden away behind a loose brick at the rear of her cot that a good bit of investigation was required to locate them."

Whispers and murmurs arose throughout the courtroom.

"No!" Grace protested. "Missus Peete made those clothes for me—"

"Silence!" the judge ordered. "You have no right to speak in this court, madam. You are not under oath, nor shall you be."

"But Missus Peete—"

"Silence! Everyone here can clearly see clothing found in your possession that could not possibly be yours. I caution you, miss: do not make your situation worse than it is already."

A satisfied smile danced at the edges of Lord Reginald's fragile mouth.

"Does Your Lordship desire to see further evidence of the fruits of this woman's thievery?"

Without waiting for an answer, Lord Reginald triumphantly held high an embroidered silk purse.

"I ask you," he boomed to the entire assemblage, "is there any legal way that a wretched servant, such as the one you see before you in the dock today, could honorably obtain so fine a silk purse?"

He opened the flap and turned the purse upside down. One by one, Grace's hard-earned shillings clattered to the floor.

". . . Filled with thirty-eight shilling coins?"