‘All right, Nell,’ you say. ‘If you can get me out of here, I’ll pay you well. But how are you going to do it? What’s the plan?’
‘A promise, a pact, no turning back!’
‘Very well, then, I promise. But what—’
‘Leave it with Nell! And never tell. Don’t whisper a word, little bird, and you’ll see the way to flee very soon.’
She scampers away into the night.
ALTHOUGH YOU CAN’T tell anyone about your escape plan, you decide to talk to Sarah about the idea – without telling her any of the details. You hope that she might want to escape with you.
‘I’d never try to escape,’ she says adamantly. ‘There was a woman in here who tried it once – she smuggled herself out in a basket of laundry. When they caught her and dumped her back in here, they’d beat her so badly that …’ Sarah shudders. ‘We tried to look after her. But she died a few days later.’ Sarah suddenly narrows her eyes. ‘You haven’t been talking to Nell again, have you?’
‘No,’ you lie, and you say no more on the subject.
EVERY NIGHT THAT week, Nell comes back while the other women are sleeping, and the two of you take turns in using a file she brings with her to work away at the stone around the edge of one of the bars in the window. Very slowly, the bar begins to wriggle and loosen. If the footsteps of a guard ever approach, Nell and her file dissolve into the darkness as fast as a wink.
On the tenth night of filing, the bar finally comes loose and Nell yanks you upwards through the hole, onto the street. You stand under the star-filled sky and the air around you feels so wondrously big that you almost burst into tears.
You and Nell begin sprinting down the street. There is not a soul in sight, and the only sound is your footsteps slapping the cobblestones. Laughter wells up inside you. You’re free! You want to shout and dance.
Nell stops to catch her breath, and you throw your arms around her. You even kiss her sunken cheek. ‘Thank you, Nell!’ you cry.
A surprised smile comes over Nell’s weathered old face. ‘Little birdie,’ she chuckles, touching the spot on her cheek where you kissed her. ‘You’re kind to Nell.’
‘Yes, and there’s more,’ you say, reaching down for the hem of your petticoat. You find the lump of the bracelet in the hem and guide it to Nell’s fingertips. ‘Feel that? That’s my greatest treasure – a beautiful bracelet of gold and jewels. When I see my da again, you can have it!’
Nell looks awestruck. ‘Little birdie has another treasure she wants to give to Nell? But Nell can’t tell … She made a mistake. She shouldn’t take …’ She trails off, seeming edgy all of a sudden.
‘Wait a minute, Nell,’ you say. ‘What do you mean, another treasure? What’s the mistake?’
Around a corner is a parked carriage with a strong-looking white horse attached. A man in a suit steps out of the shiny black carriage, takes your arm and, before you know it, hoists you up the step and onto the seat inside.
Nell follows, her face crinkled in worry. The man in the suit leaps in and sits beside her. Then the driver closes the door behind you with a click, and the carriage begins moving down the dark street at a brisk pace.
You’ve never been inside a carriage before – they’re only for rich people. This one has glass windows and padded seats, but you scarcely take in the luxury. Your mind is a whirl of questions.
‘Who are you?’ you ask the man in the suit. ‘Where are we going?’
‘My name is Doctor Giles,’ says the man. His hands are pale and neat. The gold chain of a fob watch trails from his waistcoat pocket. ‘And I believe we’re going to find your father, isn’t that right? But first, a toast. To your freedom!’
He takes a dark-brown glass bottle from his inside pocket and pours a small measure into a little metal tumbler. A strong whiff of rum fills the carriage. He passes you the cup, and you look at it suspiciously.
‘Come now,’ says Doctor Giles. ‘You wouldn’t be so prudish as to refuse a little nip, would you?’
You do want to refuse the doctor’s drink. You don’t understand who he is, why a rich doctor would make a pastime of picking up escaped convicts in the middle of the night, or how on earth he knows Nell. But a cautious voice inside you tells you to play along. You’re in his carriage, at his mercy – best to just pretend to do as he asks, and try to learn what is going on here.
You lift the cup to your lips. The smell burns its way up your nostrils as you tip your head back and pretend to take a big sip. But your lips remain tightly closed.
‘Good girl,’ says the doctor. ‘Drink up, now.’ He reaches below the seat and gets out a dark red blanket, which he spreads over your knee. ‘It’s a long trip. Have a rest, if you’d like.’
You realise that it’s not just rum in this cup – when you lick your lips, you can taste not only the alcohol, but something nastily bitter, disguised with a lot of dissolved sugar. You pretend to drink again and then, with the doctor watching keenly, you make a big show of letting your eyes droop and your head become heavy, until you curl up under the blanket, ready to listen for every clue and plan your next move.
For a while, there is no sound except the drumming of the horse’s hooves and rattle of the carriage. Then Doctor Giles’s voice says: ‘She’s a nice specimen, Nell. Excellent work.’
A shudder runs over your skin. What does he mean by specimen?
Nell’s
