doorway.
“Mariah!” said I.
“You!” said she, quite simultaneous.
Then nothing for a moment as we regarded one another in surprise.
“You look ver’ gran’ today,” said she.
She spoke with uncertainty, in such a way as to suggest that she spoke another language better than English. That, too, agreed with my memory.
“These are my good clothes,” said I, “indeed they are my best.” Then I added, hoping basely to impress her: “I am on my way to Bloomsbury Square to deliver a letter to the Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench/’
“You work for him?”
“No, Sir John Fielding is my master. He is Magistrate of the Bow Street Court.”
“Ah, I have heard of him. He is a big man, yes? He send everyone to Newgate.”
“No, he sends them to the Old Bailey for trial. Then they are sent to Newgate — or to Tyburn.” Would she understand such a distinction?
“Mmmm. Tyburn!” She grabbed her throat, closed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue. “I go there once to watch them hang. Never again! It’s ‘orrible.”
“I’m sure it is. I’ve never been.”
Then an awkward moment. My mind went utterly blank as I looked upon her. Her hair shone lustrous black in the afternoon sun. Her eyes were near as dark. They seemed to narrow a bit. Was it suspicion, or was she merely reassessing?
“I was mean to you before. I am sorry.”
She did seem sorry, it was true, though she offered no explanation for her conduct. I wanted to ask the identity of the fellow she had sent to block my way. I wanted to ask why she had done so. But I asked neither. I simply nodded, as if to say that I accepted her apology.
“There is something I wished to ask you.”
She smiled most pretty. “And what you wish to ask?”
“I’ve had the feeling since first I set eyes upon you that I had met you before — and in a sense I believe I did. Tell me, when you were younger, did you work with a trouf>e of tumblers … acrobats?”
”Saltimbancos? Acrobati? Si! — yes, they were my brothers and my father. They… they go back to Italy.”
“And they left you here?” The very idea seemed quite monstrous to me. They had, in effect, orphaned the girl, one of their own blood.
Yet as I thought these dark thoughts, her face underwent a sad and remarkable change. It seemed to crumple before my very eyes. She turned away, but I saw that she was weeping. It quite broke my heart to see her so. I dug into my pocket and found the kerchief Annie had washed for me. I pressed it into Mariah’s hand. It took a minute or two of dabbing and blowing, but she managed at last to gain control of herself.
“No, not so,” she said. “I was to blame. I was ver’ foolish. I said I would not go to Italy. I would stay in England. They said I must do what they say — but the night before they left I ran away and hid with those I thought were my friends.” Then she added most bitteriy, “They prove’ to be false friend.”
“When was this?” I asked. “When did all this happen?”
“A month pas’.”
“And you have been on the streets ever since?”
“No, first I was in a house — you understand? I escape’. Even this is better.” Then, of a sudden, she pulled away and forced a smile. “But we talk about this after, yes?”
“After?”
“What a beautiful coat this is!” She fingered the material tenderly. “That Sir John, he mus’ pay you well for you to have such a coat. But I tell you, because I like you and because you remember me from before, I give you a good price — two shillings only. Come. I have a place near. We go, eh?”
“No,” said I firmly. “As I told you, I have a letter to deliver lo the Lord Chief Justice.”
“Ah, yes, the famous letter.” Which was said a bit ironic. “You do that after, eh?”
“No, I must go.” But, reaching deep into one of the capacious pockets of the coat, I pulled out a shilling and put it in her palm. “Take this for your time. Perhaps we can talk
“Mariah!” said I.
“You!” said she, quite simultaneous.
Then nothing for a moment as we regarded one another in surprise.
“You look ver’ gran’ today,” said she.
She spoke with uncertainty, in such a way as to suggest that she spoke another language better than English. That, too, agreed with my memory.
“These are my good clothes,” said I, “indeed they are my best.” Then I added, hoping basely to impress her: “I am on my way to Bloomsbury Square to deliver a letter to the Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench/’
“You work for him?”
“No, Sir John Fielding is my master. He is Magistrate of the Bow Street Court.”
“Ah, I have heard of him. He is a big man, yes? He send everyone to Newgate.”
“No, he sends them to the Old Bailey for trial. Then they are sent to Newgate — or to Tyburn.” Would she understand such a distinction?
“Mmmm. Tyburn!” She grabbed her throat, closed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue. “I go there once to watch them hang. Never again! It’s ‘orrible.”
“I’m sure it is. I’ve never been.”
Then an awkward moment. My mind went utterly blank as I looked upon her. Her hair shone lustrous black in the afternoon sun. Her eyes were near as dark. They seemed to narrow a bit. Was it suspicion, or was she merely reassessing?
“I was mean to you before. I am sorry.”
She did seem sorry, it was true, though she offered no explanation for her conduct. I wanted to ask the identity of the fellow she had sent to block my way. I wanted to ask why she had done so. But I asked neither. I simply nodded, as if to say that I accepted her apology.
“There is something I wished to ask you.”
She smiled most pretty. “And what you wish to ask?”
“I’ve had the feeling since first I set eyes upon you that I had met you before — and in a sense I believe I did. Tell me, when you were younger, did you work with a trouf>e of tumblers … acrobats?”
”Saltimbancos? Acrobati? Si! — yes, they were my brothers and my father. They… they go back to Italy.”
“And they left you here?” The very idea seemed quite monstrous to me. They had, in effect, orphaned the girl, one of their own blood.
Yet as I thought these dark thoughts, her face underwent a sad and remarkable change. It seemed to crumple before my very eyes. She turned away, but I saw that she was weeping. It quite broke my heart to see her so. I dug into my pocket and found the kerchief Annie had washed for me. I pressed it into Mariah’s hand. It took a minute or two of dabbing and blowing, but she managed at last to gain control of herself.
“No, not so,” she said. “I was to blame. I was ver’ foolish. I said I would not go to Italy. I would stay in England. They said I must do what they say — but the night before they left I ran away and hid with those I thought were my friends.” Then she added most bitteriy, “They prove’ to be false friend.”
“When was this?” I asked. “When did all this happen?”
“A month pas’.”
“And you have been on the streets ever since?”
“No, first I was in a house — you understand? I escape’. Even this is better.” Then, of a sudden, she pulled away and forced a smile. “But we talk about this after, yes?”
“After?”
“What a beautiful coat this is!” She fingered the material tenderly. “That Sir John, he mus’ pay you well for you to have such a coat. But I tell you, because I like you and because you remember me from before, I give you a good price — two shillings only. Come. I have a place near. We go, eh?”
“No,” said I firmly. “As I told you, I have a letter to deliver lo the Lord Chief Justice.”
“Ah, yes, the famous letter.” Which was said a bit ironic. “You do that after, eh?”
“No, I must go.” But, reaching deep into one of the capacious pockets of the coat, I pulled out a shilling and put it in her palm. “Take this for your time. Perhaps we can talk