The women in the Black Horse seemed greatly satisfied with Eliza’s suggestion and, in a babble of excited conversation, they hurried towards the door, where they instinctively paused like deferential serfs to the lord of the manor, allowing Eliza to take the lead.
An exhilaration, that rendered her oblivious to the piercing coldness of the night, swilled through Harriet’s veins, as she followed the throng of women towards the Priory Bridge. The pace of their march was such that Harriet quickly lost her position in her mother’s shadow, and was now struggling to keep up at the back of the line.
The women trooped wordlessly but resolutely through the alleyways, their path illuminated by the pale offerings from a low fubsy moon. The wind brought to the women’s ears tantalising yet unintelligible scraps of the discord occurring near to the bridge.
The party suddenly slowed, almost coming to a halt, and Harriet’s eyes widened as she fully took in the scene before her. The silhouettes of twelve men on horseback, just a shade darker than the stark hills which rose behind them, stood in a defensive, military-like line with their truncheons raised, as if ready to surge forward into battle. In their other hands, each man carried a muted lantern. Before them, shouting a cacophony of furious tirades, were dozens of men of the Priory Ground, their number having grown since leaving the gin palace.
Eliza extended her arms to either side, bringing her party of women to a complete stop. They stood, watching undetected as the verbal battle continued between the two groups of men.
Suddenly, one of the men on horseback raised his hand into the air. Harriet realised what he was holding at the exact moment that the pistol fired; the cracking sound ripped through the bitter confrontation that surrounded him and the Priory Ground sunk into an unnatural silence.
‘Savages,’ the man jeered, stepping his horse forward a pace.
Harriet, focussing intently on the man, quickly passed around the back of the other women, drawing closer to him, as his oration continued.
‘The lawlessness of this condemned hole ends tonight. The licentiousness and the wickedness all ceases,’ the man bellowed. ‘We, the Corporation of Hastings have come to make arrests. We mean to commit felons to the Watch House, to be put before a magistrate and tried in a court of law. I have with me all nine of the Hastings constables, such is the seriousness of your criminal depravations.’
‘And what charges do you be a-bringing?’ Joseph Lovekin called.
The man tossed his head, searching the crowds for the dissident and, as he did so, the pallid moonlight illuminated his face and Harriet recognised him immediately: it was the gentleman that she had first seen at the Priory Stream and then again in the Black Horse on the night of her ordeal.
‘Drunkenness, prostitution and gambling,’ the man answered sourly. ‘Though I’m certain that charges relating to the illegal settling of this land and the evasion of duty will be forthcoming in due course.’
‘What a load of old balderdash!’ Joseph cried. ‘I be a-telling you now, we won’t be druv. Now be getting on your way, you ain’t taking none from here.’
A cheer in support of Joseph rang out from the Priory Ground men.
Harriet stared, captivated by what was taking place in front of her. Her chest tightened as she watched the man on horseback lower his pistol and aim it at her father’s head.
‘You, Mr Lovekin and your den of iniquity are to be blamed for much of the evil that takes place in these parts. And your daughter, a common prostitute, is one we have come to arrest.’
Harriet gasped then tugged her shawl up to cover her mouth. Had she heard correctly? Did the man say that he meant to arrest her? She sank back into the shadows and noticed then that her mother and all of the other women had gone. Vanished. Her heart began to pound as she realised that she had been abandoned, that the weak women had taken themselves off to hide somewhere, presuming that she was still among them. The vulnerability and helplessness that she had felt on the night of her attack suddenly returned.
‘Is that you, Miss Lovekin,’ the man called down, thrusting his lantern forwards. ‘Show yourself.’
More than two dozen faces turned in her direction.
‘You be staying where you are, Hattie,’ Joseph instructed. He turned back to the men on horseback. ‘I won’t say it again, you ain’t welcome here.’
The man laughed a scornful, mocking laugh. ‘Common prostitutes, like your daughter, Mr Lovekin, will not be tolerated—now hand her over to the constables before we are required to use the full force that the Corporation has bestowed upon us.’
Harriet shrank further back and a circle of men from the Priory Ground gathered around her like a protective fence.
‘We don’t be recognising no Corporation!’ a female voice suddenly yelled.
Harriet, at once knowing that the voice belonged to her mother, peered through a gap between two of the men’s heads and saw that the entire group of women—plus a few other newcomers—had returned. Each of them was holding a bucket and an implement of some kind, which they brandished in the air.
‘We be an independent land and we don’t be wanting nothing from you,’ Thomas Waters, the sawyer yelled.
‘That be right—we be independent—like what happened in America,’ Joseph Lovekin added. ‘No need for no Corporations, nor kings, nor taxes.’
The gentleman on horseback grinned. ‘That, Mr Lovekin, is treason talk.’ He turned around to the constables behind him. ‘Did you hear that? These disgusting vermin are refuting the authority of His Majesty. Mr Blythe, I request that your constables begin making arrests!’
Harriet watched incredulously
