‘Both.’ Sarah grins. You can see the light growing in her eyes.
‘All right then, so we shall,’ you agree. ‘If you have any of your sentence left to serve, we’ll tell that damn Governor, or whoever’s in charge, that you’re to be assigned to me, and we’ll live together as sisters. Our horses will be famed throughout the colony, and we’ll send the extra money to your ma and the little ones. My da will be free by then too. He can join us.’
Sarah’s laughing and shaking her head. ‘Don’t you disbelieve me, Sarah MacBride,’ you scold her. ‘That’s exactly how it will happen, wait and see.’ You reach out and squeeze her hand, and then you whisper, ‘I promise with all my heart that no matter what happens, you’re family to me.’
Sarah kisses your cheek. ‘And you to me,’ she replies.
ANOTHER MONTH LATER, you and Sarah are sitting in the quadrangle near your cell with the sewing circle you’ve recently joined, each of you working on sewing a quilt made from fabric scraps brought in by a charitable visitor called Miss Townsend, who’s today’s helper, here to teach you to sew. It’s spring now, not so cold, but you’re still looking forward to having a second blanket to call your own.
A clanging door and heavy footsteps cause everyone to lift their heads up from their sewing. A guard enters the room and calls your name. You slip, and stab your fingertip with the needle.
Feeling your stomach flip, you put down your quilt and stand. This is it. It’s your turn to be taken away for sentencing at the courthouse.
A circle of worried and sympathetic eyes look up at you.
‘Be brave, dear,’ says Miss Townsend. ‘Remember, they can take your freedom away, but never your dignity.’
A few of the other prisoners snort under their breath. Everyone here except Miss Townsend knows what it feels like to be stripped of dignity. You look at Sarah. She gives you an encouraging nod and a strong smile that says: You can do this.
Led by a chain attached to iron cuffs on your wrists, you are taken deep into the tunnels below Newgate. One of these tunnels leads to the Old Bailey courthouse, where a judge will pronounce your fate. This day has been hanging over you for two months now. I don’t want to die, you think desperately. I want to live. I want to see Da again. Please.
At the end of the tunnel is a flight of stairs. You pause at the bottom, your stomach churning. Fear has made your whole body so weak that suddenly you’re not sure if you can even manage to climb them.
The gaolor gives your chain a yank. You take a deep breath, and dig down inside yourself for some courage. Then you begin to climb, one foot after the other.
THIS IS IT: the moment you’ll find out if you will live, or die at the end of a rope.
The judge looks down on you from the bench. He has a large red nose covered with little red veins, a horsehair wig, and very tired-looking eyes. From time to time, his fingers slip under his wig to scratch at his head.
You suddenly wonder how you must look to him. While you’ve awaited your sentencing in gaol, you’ve become weak and withered from lack of sunlight and decent food. You feel so thin that you almost fancy there wouldn’t be enough weight on you to pull down the noose and hang you: you might just slip from the rope and float away, like an autumn leaf.
Still, you remember that where there’s life, there’s hope, and that you aren’t hanged yet.
You’ve heard that judges sometimes show mercy to young people who show regret for their crimes. You look up into this judge’s face and will your voice not to wobble.
‘I’m truly sorry for what I did, sir,’ you say. ‘I know it was wrong. I’ve learnt my lesson, sir, please believe me.’
The judge sighs. He shakes his head solemnly. You don’t know if he is disappointed in you, or sorry for you, or simply fed up with his job.
He rubs his brow. ‘I see criminals come before me day in, day out,’ he muses, almost as if to himself, ‘and they seem to be getting younger and skinnier by the week. How old are you?’
‘Thirteen, sir,’ you whisper.
The judge harrumphs. Then he nods. ‘I don’t believe there is any lesson to be learned in hanging one whose life has barely begun. Better to give some of you young ones a chance to prosper in a new place, where you can prove yourself with some hard, honest work. You are hereby sentenced to be transported for seven years beyond the seas.’
There’s a knock of the judge’s hammer, and a murmuring and shuffling of feet as a guard leads you from the room. Your mind is whirling, and relief floods through you. Seven years beyond the seas! You’ve been given the shortest term possible for transportation. So, you’re not to die … but to be blown like a leaf to another world.
‘I wouldn’t be looking so happy if I were you,’ scoffs the warden who leads you out of the courtroom. ‘You’re going to the end of the earth – full of naught but thieves and murderers. Now get a bloody move on.’
As you are led back down the tunnel to Newgate, the tapping of your hem against your leg reminds you of the bracelet, still sewn securely inside.
You remember the feeling of courage you had on the
