(It is spring 1763. Charles Huntingdon and his friends have discovered that Danielle d'Autun, a French lady whom they know, and who may know some important information, has been sentenced to death for theft. They decide to visit her in prison)
A few days later, the pair joined me again, Wandescote having discovered that Danielle was held in a prison known as the Coldharbour.
“It is greatly feared by Londoners,” he reported with a certain relish, “The
gaoler is a certain Hugh Bennet, but is known as ‘the Cracker’. He is a far
greater villain than those unlucky enough to be entrusted to his tender care.
These wretches, or their relatives, have to pay for everything: for food, for
bedding, for candles. Those who refuse may find themselves chained in some
noisome dungeon until they see reason. Happily, the man is infinitely
corruptible. I know the place: would you wish me to introduce you to the famous
Mr Cracker?”
Darnwell intervened to say, “I had the honour to be the guest of this
man not so long ago, following a regrettable incident in the street, and my
father left me in his care for a few days, in order to teach me a lesson, I
suppose, before bailing me. But others I met there did not have such good
fortune. During my brief spell under his roof, I met unfortunates who had
served their sentences, or had even been acquitted at their trial, but whom he
refused to release unless they paid him for the privilege! I tell you: should I
ever be elected to Parliament, I would demand a full enquiry into the state of
the nation’s prisons!”
We decided to pay the Coldharbour a visit that very day.
The first thing I noticed as we approached the
notorious establishment, which sat like a grim fortress from an earlier age,
was not the gates, strong and oppressive though they were, but the number of
little bags and baskets dangling on strings from the upper windows. My
companions explained that the unhappy inmates were not provided with sufficient
to sustain life, but a lucky few were permitted to employ this means to beg
from any benevolent persons who might pass by, and could then purchase food or
bedding from the gaoler. By these means the great Hugh Bennet was believed to
have accumulated no little wealth.
I
distributed a few small coins among the hanging receptacles, which were
immediately hauled up, to the accompaniment of blessings and cries of gratitude
from the windows above. Then we rang a bell at the gate, doing this several
times before we managed to rouse the porter. He was a surly fellow, who deeply
resented our disturbing his repose. He carried a club, and a timorous person
might well have turned and fled, for he looked indeed as if he might attack at
the least provocation, but he hesitated when he saw that we were all gentlemen.
Wandescote was undaunted.
“Greetings, Grumbling Jack!” he said cheerfully. “Just be a good-natured
fellow and let us in without delay, will you? We desire to speak to your lord and
master. Here’s silver for your troubles!”
The porter pocketed the proffered money, but continued with his muttered
comments as he locked the door behind us and led us down a corridor and into a
courtyard which was crowded with both men and women. Some were seated carousing
on the dirty cobbles, with bottles being passed around, and many were obviously
drunk. My friends whispered that it was very easy to obtain gin from the
gaolers, provided the necessary money was forthcoming. Some shouted from a safe
distance obscene insults at our guide, who kicked out of his path those who
were prostrate and insensible. Then we were taken to the mighty tyrant of this
kingdom: the famous Hugh Bennet, the Cracker.
The face of the tyrant who ruled this fortress would have struck
immediate fear into his unwilling subjects. An old wound on his left cheek
caused his upper lip to curl into a permanent sneer. He wore no wig, and his
hair was cut so short that he appeared almost bald. His chin was unshaven and
dark, and his blue eyes malevolent and cunning. He was short and squat, but
with powerful-looking forearms and shoulders. His clothes were of the cheapest,
and none too clean. Ignoring the porter entirely, he demanded of us what we
wanted. He recognised Wandescote as a frequent and no doubt well-paying
visitor, and listened while he explained our request to interview Danielle
d’Autun. Darnwell added that I was a Member of Parliament and thus a person of
influence.
Bennet did not bother to ask why, but instead named his terms, which
were not for silver, but for a golden guinea! When I gave him one, the rogue
weighed it in his hand, examined it closely and even bit it, as if he suspected
that I might have passed him a forgery! But no doubt he had dealt with many
forged coins in his time.
He did not deign to accompany us to the cell himself, but instead
clapped his hands to summon one of his menials. This fellow, in contrast with
his master, was as thin as a lath and walked with a long, loping step; his
mouth bore but a single tooth, long and yellow like a fang, and his eyes had an
evil glint to them. I instinctively felt pity for any defenceless wretch who
came under his care. He was given a few brief instructions, too low for us to
overhear, and then he lit a lantern and led us on our way into the nether
depths of the celebrated Bastille.
We approached a heavy door, which the disgusting turnkey, having
selected a key from an immense, jangling ring that he carried, proceeded with
evident reluctance to unlock. The door emitted an ominous groan as he pushed it
open.
At first I could see nothing, for inside it was almost lightless. I drew breath, and almost choked, for the air was putrid and foul. I heard voices and the movement of bodies, and discovered that the cell, though small, contained many prisoners. Some of these now came crawling on their knees towards us. But the turnkey ignored them, except when they got in his way or clawed at his breeches, begging for succour, when he pushed them aside with a curse. He led us to a corner where we found Danielle lying on filthy straw, with a chain on her leg. She sat up with a start, and the lantern caused her to shade her eyes from the sudden glow.
“You want to be alone with her?” the turnkey asked, giving us a
lascivious wink.
“This place will do for the present”, I answered, “But first, be good
enough to unchain her, and bring us sufficient food and wine, and candles too,
and a chair to sit on”.
He demurred at this, and I was obliged to part with yet more coin before
he would agree to my requests.
“And I shall go too”, said Darnwell,
“and guard the door, lest this rogue should dare to lock us in, and then demand
money to release us. And if I find that he fails to bring us sufficient
victuals on his return, then he shall answer to my boot!”
After the turnkey had departed, still cursing, I regarded the
unfortunate woman before me. Wandescote stood watching and said nothing. The
light was very dim, and had I not known it was Danielle, I doubt if I would
ever have recognised her, for the passing years, added to her present miserable
situation, sat hard upon her features. Ever since our night together I had
often, when I was alone, remembered what we had done together and lusted after
her in my imagination; but seeing her now haggard, dirty and half-starved I
could feel only pity mingled with disgust. I doubted whether she would remember
me at all, for she had no doubt had many lovers after our encounter. She had the
expression of a frightened hunted animal as she looked at me: who was this
stranger, and was he here to inflict yet more sufferings?
“Pray do not be alarmed”, I said, “We shall help you if we can”.
“I am innocent!” she wailed, “It was an unjust accusation, by my wicked
landlord!”
“That does not concern me now”, I replied, “I merely wish you to answer
some questions about another matter. My name is Charles Huntingdon. I met you
once, a few years ago. I am a friend of Sir James Wilbrahim, and I am a Member
of Parliament, but I have no connexion with the present ministry, and anything
you say I shall treat in strictest confidence. Let us wait until the gaoler
returns to free you from your chains and bring you food, after which we can
talk. And if it is my power to save your life, I shall do so”.
We waited, the silence broken only by a few sobs from her. At last the
turnkey appeared with a younger assistant, bearing a broken-backed chair
together with a basket and a bottle. With much muttered grumbling he lit two
candles and then unlocked the chain from her ankle, which she proceeded to rub
vigorously, and then seated herself on the chair. When the man had left I
opened the bag, which contained a loaf, a mutton pie and a black bottle of
cheap wine. Nothing was clean; but neither this nor the dubious smell of the
wine prevented Danielle from gobbling at great speed. She was ravenous with
hunger, though she shared some of the food with a miserable-looking old lady
who lay near her.
When they had finished every crumb and every drop, I requested that she
recount to me everything she knew concerning Sir James Wilbrahim and the
Jacobites. I soon discovered she was understandably suspicious of me, and would
not tell me anything of interest. After much fruitless questioning I
decided I had had more than enough of the noisome dungeon, so I rose from my
chair and prepared to leave.
I hoped that, given time, Danielle might be willing to reveal more, so I told her, “I am leaving now, but I shall return. Until then, please
reflect. If you tell me truthfully what you know, I shall do my utmost to help
you, and save you from the gallows if I can.” She had a wild look in her eyes,
but said nothing.
We found Darnwell waiting for us outside. “Well?” he asked me, “What did she tell you concerning old Wilbrahim?”
“Nothing”, I told him, “I suspect she thought I might be a government
spy. But I’ll try to get her moved to a better cell, where she can live on her
own, and eventually she may come to trust me”.
“As your legal advisor, I would have to caution you against believing a
single word she said!” he laughed.
As I prepared to depart that dreadful building, I told Bennet, “I shall
return soon, by which time I shall expect to find her in a decent room with
proper bedding. If you do this, and allow me to speak to her again, you will be
paid. If not, I promise to make life exceedingly difficult for you.” He made no
reply, though I heard him spit on the ground once my back was turned.
I wondered whether I could trust Bennet at all. Wandescote advised me that
I could, provided I paid him enough to satisfy his cupidity, and, more importantly, let him expect
even larger payment in the future. This proved correct at least for the moment,
for next day I was informed that Danielle was now being held in his best room,
part of his own quarters in the prison, and fed from his own table, and all at
a rent, payable by me, not significantly less than what I paid for my own
London lodgings.
I was eventually able to have many conversations with Danielle. At the
start she revealed nothing, and I believe that she never fully trusted me. I
did not raise the question of my night with her which ended with the theft of
my belongings, but eventually she must have remembered the incident herself,
for without any prompting she told me, “I am sorry that I abandoned you that
night. I had another urgent task to fulfil before morning. But I never stole
from you. That villain Yarrow, whose house it was, must have crept into the
room when you were asleep. Later he learnt my secret and vowed he would expose
me unless I followed his orders, and when I would not satisfy his filthy lusts,
he informed on me to a magistrate. What could I do?”
I told her that this incident was no longer of any importance to me, and
that I had entirely forgiven her for the part she had played there. Instead I
wanted to know about her links with the English Jacobites, and especially what
she knew of events in Brereton when the Scots Jacobite rebels had passed
through there in 1745.
She told me many stories about her adventurous life, whether truthful or
not I could not say. She denied ever having met Sir James Wilbrahim, of which
fact I was already certain, and I stressed that he was a friend; that I meant neither
him nor any other inhabitants of the town any harm, but that I was asking out
of curiosity only, as concerning the place where I now lived.
I did
not attempt to write anything down in Danielle’s presence, lest she become
suspicious, but instead attempted to piece her accounts together back at my
lodgings. But I was not always able to do this until the day after, or even
later, for I had other claims. Here, therefore, is my attempt to reduce
everything she told me to a continuousnarrative, whilst correcting the
occasional mistakes and strange phrases in her English. Even if only partially
true, what a novel of adventure and romance it would make!
………………………… …………………
Danielle’s
story
“My father was French, but my mother was a Scot, from an ancient family
driven into exile for their support for the Stuart cause, and she taught me to
speak English. They both died when I was young, and I was left under the care
of my uncle, who was a friend of the Comte de Maurepas, the Minister of Marine.
When war was looming with England after 1742, he sent me to England to contact
Jacobites there and prepare for a rising and a French invasion. I was little
more than twenty years old, and eager for adventure.
“I was sent to the English Midlands, taking letters from your friend Sir James Wilbrahim and many
Jacobite gentlemen in Staffordshire and Shropshire and other counties, and
passed them on to our chief agent: Butler was his name. When the Prince
advanced through Lancashire, I travelled to meet him, and we became lovers. Oh,
he was so handsome, and so charming in his manner!
“When we reached Stanegate in December, Wibrahim was not there, but we
were received by his wife. She was a proud lady and a lifelong supporter our
cause. She knelt on the icy ground before the Prince and kissed his hand, welcoming him to her
house as the representative of her true sovereign; and he most gallantly raised
to her feet and thanked her with all his heart. Then the next morning we
marched onwards.
“I was present at the meeting in Derby a few days later, when all the
Scottish chieftains told him he must retreat, since he had received no letters
from France and not a single English lord or gentleman had joined them. And
that was true, for many, like Wilbrahim, had run away to London, Sir Watkin
Williams Wynn in Wales made not a move, and in Staffordshire Lord Gower
committed the greatest betrayal, for he changed sides and joined the
government!
“The Prince was very angry, but could do nothing. If we had continued to
London, who knows what would have befallen? I joined him in the retreat. His
mood changed: he became morose, with bursts of anger. I do not think he ever again spoke to Lord Murray, who was his best commander.
“When a garrison was left at Carlisle to cover the return into Scotland,
I felt sure they would all be caught and hanged, so I fled. I knew of nowhere
safe to go, and I almost starved in the snow as I walked, but near Penrith a
kind farmer found me and took me in. Ralph Patterson was his name, a Catholic,
and I lived in his home for a while, paying for my living by teaching his
children. Eventually I was able to make my way back to France.
“Years later, I was in Rome, and there I met the Prince again. But oh,
how he had changed! He looked an old man now, he was often drunk, and then he
would beat his wife and his mistresses. When I mentioned Scotland to him, he burst into tears. I felt sad for him.
“Of my life in those years I shall say nothing. But then, a few years
ago, with the war against your country going badly for us, monsieur le Duc de
Choiseul, our chief minister, thought he should try for a new Jacobite revolt
and invasion, so I was sent to England again, with the promise of money, to see
what could be done. For this purpose I would approach the noblemen and
gentlemen, like yourself, to see what I could discover concerning their
thoughts about the war and the restoration of the true king. But I soon found
that my mission was futile, and M. de Choiseul knew it too, and the money I was
promised never came, and I was left in London, penniless and friendless! And
now I am in the prison, with nothing to look forward to but the gallows!”
I begged her to have confidence; that my friends and I would do our
utmost to gain her a reprieve. Henry Darnwell had drawn up his petition, in
what he said was proper legal form, respectfully begging His Majesty to
exercise his Royal prerogative of mercy. I persuaded Sir Anthony
Pardington to head the list of signatories. Those of my friends who were
currently in London signed, and so did Mr Boswell and Charles Churchill. Lord Staines signed, but
warned me on no account to approach his father for a signature. Finally, with
some caution, I sought Mr Braithwaite. He read the petition and sighed.
“Do you not know”, he said, “that His Majesty is resolved to suppress
vice and immorality? His very first proclamation from the throne was to that
effect. A woman with this kind of reputation is exactly the sort of person he
wishes to eradicate from his capital. Even his tender-hearted Queen might draw
the line here. And the fact that the woman is French does nothing to help her
cause.
“Why should you and your friends be exerting yourselves on her behalf?”
I
told him that I had spoken to Danielle, and that I believed she held important
information on the late Jacobite revolt in my part of the country, that I
wished to discover.
“And
what would be the purpose of such an enquiry, pray?” he asked. “Such
regrettable episodes should not be raked over: it does no good. We live in a
new reign now, and may, I hope, look forward to happier times. As far as His
Majesty is concerned, the Jacobite troubles are buried in the past and best
forgotten; and I must say that I am in full agreement with him there.
“May I suspect that your reasons are more personal?” he continued, “You
surely do not believe she is a lady of spotless virtue, do you? Has she in
fact performed certain services for you, which you prefer not to describe?”
I did not reply. Mr Braithwaite’s voice had faded away to nothing, his
eyes bore a faraway look and there was the ghost of a smile on his usually
austere face. It was as if his mind was recalling the adventures of his youth,
thirty or forty years ago. He was silent for a while and then sighed before speaking.
“Well, I shall sign your petition. Proceed with your attempt if you wish,
but do not live in any great hope of its success. I have some influence with the new ministers: I shall see if I can contrive to obtain for this
woman of yours at least a stay of execution for the moment; or I can recommend
her for transportation to the American colonies. But do not expect any more
than that!”
He added his signature, and it appeared I could only hope that he was wrong in his predictions. There were further questions I wished to ask Danielle, but I found these must wait, for I now received news of a most alarming nature from back home.
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