Sir George looked at her. “You must forget all this nonsense about separate lives. You are to be a proper wife to Jay in every way.”

“No!” she cried. “He has betrayed me—how can I trust him? I won’t do it.”

Sir George said: “Then Jay will not plead for McAsh’s life.”

Gordonson said: “I must tell you, Lizzie, that Jay’s plea will be more effective than yours, because he’s the prosecutor.”

Lizzie felt bewildered. It was not fair—she was being forced to choose between Mack’s life and her own. How could she decide such a thing? She was pulled both ways, and it hurt.

They were all staring at her: Jay, Sir George, Gordonson, her mother, and York. She knew she should give in, but something inside would not let her. “No,” she said defiantly. “I will not trade my own life for Mack’s.”

Gordonson said: “Think again.”

Then her mother said: “You have to.”

Lizzie looked at her. Of course her mother would urge her to do the conventional thing. But Mother was on the verge of tears. “What is it?”

She began to cry. “You have to be a proper wife to Jay.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to have a baby.”

Lizzie stared at her. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You’re pregnant,” her mother said.

“How would you know?”

Mother spoke through sobs. “Your bosom has got bigger and food makes you feel sick. You’ve been married for two months: it’s not exactly unexpected.”

“Oh, my God.” Lizzie was dumbfounded. Everything was turned upside-down. A baby! Could it be? She thought back and realized she had not had the curse since her wedding day. So it was true. She was trapped by her own body. Jay was the father of her child. And Mother had realized this was the one thing that could change Lizzie’s mind.

She looked at her husband. On his face she saw anger mixed with a pleading look. “Why did you lie to me?” she said.

“I didn’t want to, but I had to,” he said.

She felt bitter. Her love for him would never be quite the same, she knew. But he was still her husband.

“All right,” she said. “I accept.”

Caspar Gordonson said: “Then we’re all in agreement.”

It sounded to Lizzie like a life sentence.

“Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!” shouted the court crier. “My lords, the king’s justices, strictly command all manner of persons to keep silence while the sentence of death is passing on the prisoners at the bar, on pain of imprisonment.”

The judge put on his black cap and stood up.

Mack shuddered with loathing. Nineteen cases had been tried on the same day, and twelve people had been found guilty. Mack suffered a wave of terror. Lizzie had forced Jay to plead for mercy, which meant that his death sentence should be reprieved, but what if the judge decided to discount Jay’s plea or just made a mistake?

Lizzie was at the back of the court. Mack caught her eye. She looked pale and shaken. He had not had a chance to speak to her. She tried to give him an encouraging smile, but it turned into a grimace of fear.

The judge looked at the twelve prisoners, standing in a line, and after a moment he spoke. “The law is that thou shalt return from hence, to the place whence thou earnest, and from thence to the place of execution, where thou shalt hang by the neck, till the body be dead! dead! dead! and the Lord have mercy on thy soul.”

There was an awful pause. Cora held Mack’s arm, and he felt her fingers digging into his flesh as she suffered the same dreadful anxiety. The other prisoners had little hope of pardon. As they heard their death sentences some screamed abuse, some wept, and one prayed loudly.

“Peg Knapp is reprieved and recommended for transportation,” the judge intoned. “Cora Higgins is reprieved and recommended for transportation. Malachi McAsh is reprieved and recommended for transportation. The rest are left to hang.”

Mack put his arms around Cora and Peg, and the three of them stood in a mutual embrace. Their lives had been spared.

Caspar Gordonson joined in the embrace, then he took Mack’s arm and said solemnly: “I have to give you some dreadful news.”

Mack was scared again: would their reprieves somehow be overturned?

“There has been a roof collapse in one of the Jamisson pits,” he went on. Mack’s heart missed a beat: he dreaded what was coming. “Twenty people were killed,” Gordonson said.

“Esther …?”

“I’m sorry, Mack. Your sister was among the dead.”

“Dead?” It was hard to take in. Life and death had been dealt out like cards today. Esther, dead? How could he not have a twin? He had always had her, since he was born.

“I should have let her come with me,” he said as his eyes filled with tears. “Why did I leave her behind?”

Peg stared at him wide-eyed. Cora held his hand and said: “A life saved, and a life lost.”

Mack put his hands over his face and wept.

25

THE DAY OF DEPARTURE CAME QUICKLY.

One morning without warning all the prisoners who had been sentenced to transportation were told to pick up their possessions and herded into the courtyard.

Mack had few possessions. Other than his clothes, there was just his Robinson Crusoe, the broken iron collar he had brought from Heugh, and the fur cloak Lizzie had given him.

In the courtyard a blacksmith shackled them in pairs with heavy leg irons. Mack was humiliated by the fetters. The feel of the cold iron on his ankle brought him very low. He had fought for his freedom and lost the battle, and once again he was in chains like an animal. He hoped the ship would sink and he would drown.

Males and females were not allowed to be chained together. Mack was paired with a filthy old drunk called Mad Barney. Cora made eyes at the blacksmith and got herself paired with Peg.

“I don’t believe Caspar knows we’re leaving today,” Mack said worriedly. “Perhaps they don’t have to notify anyone.”

He looked up and down the line of convicts. There were more than a hundred, he reckoned; around a quarter of them were female, with a sprinkling of children from about nine years upward. Among the men was Sidney Lennox.

Lennox’s fall had caused much glee. No one would trust him since he gave evidence against Peg. The thieves who had disposed of their stolen goods at the Sun tavern now went elsewhere. And although the coal heavers’ strike had been broken, and most of the men were back at work, no one would work for Lennox at any price. He had tried to coerce a woman called Gwen Sixpence into stealing for him, but she and two friends had informed against him for receiving stolen property, and he had duly been convicted. The Jamissons had intervened and saved him from the gallows, but they could not prevent his being transported.

The great wooden doors of the prison swung wide. A squad of eight guards stood outside to escort them. A jailer gave a violent shove to the pair at the front of the line, and slowly they moved out into the busy city street.

“We’re not far from Fleet Street,” Mack said. “It’s possible Caspar may get to know of this.”

“What difference does it make?” said Cora.

“He can bribe the ship’s captain to give us special treatment.”

Mack had learned a little about crossing the Atlantic by questioning prisoners, guards and visitors in Newgate. The one indubitable fact he had learned was that the voyage killed many people. Whether the passengers were slaves, convicts or indentured servants, conditions below decks were lethally unhealthy. Shippers were motivated by money: they crammed as many people as possible into their holds. But captains were mercenary too, and a prisoner with cash for bribes could travel in a cabin.

Londoners stopped what they were doing to watch the convicts make their last, shameful progress through the heart of the city. Some shouted condolences, some jeered and mocked, and a few threw stones or rubbish. Mack asked a friendly-looking woman to take a message to Caspar Gordonson, but she refused. He tried again, twice, with the same result.