What Family Means
Jul. 9th, 2016 03:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
barefoot_bardTitle: What Family Means
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: The character Punchy Wright belongs tosharpiefan . All others belong to me.
Story summary: Hard times strike a small family, with grave consequences. Chatham, 1785/86. Part One of Three.
Author's Note: Any factual errors that occur within are my own.
When her sister appeared at the door not long after dawn, Polly Carter knew something was not right. Nancy was a regular visitor to the Carters' lodgings but never at this early hour. Nor, on a Friday, was she expected. Ten year-old Tommy was the first to the door in answer to his aunt's call, with Polly close on his heels. It almost needed no words for Polly to know there might be trouble, or at least something seriously amiss.
"Pour your aunt a tot, Tommy," Polly told the boy, who at once scampered into the other room to do as bidden. She bundled up the sleepy-eyed Dan after the one year-old came tottering in from that same room and with her free hand waved her sister toward the only functional seat in the main room. This seat was a sagging old settee that Tom had acquired somehow, not long after his return from the West Indies. It took up half of the narrow room but was a very necessary piece of furniture.
Tommy reappeared with a chipped glass brimming with rum, which he carefully passed to Nancy before scuttling back a couple steps to watch in wide-eyed fascination as his aunt cradled the glass in her lap with both hands. There was to be no eavesdropping for him, however. His mother passed Dan to him and banished him to the other room, then without a further glance at either child dropped down to sit beside her sister.
"Has George been here?" Nancy asked, before Polly had a chance to pose a question of her own.
"No. Not since he and Tom was here yesterday noon."
"Christ. He's not been home, an' Benny Spanker says he seen him leavin' their pub a bit after ten. Him an' Tom both. Where he's got to since, I don't know, an' can't guess at."
A frown creased Polly's brow. "That ain't like him."
"It ain't. It's why I came 'round, in case he stopped here." Nancy lifted the glass of rum to her lips, took a sip, then lowered it back to her lap. "I know Tom can't stay over nights here but maybe he knows where George's got to."
"He might, but he's got duty at the Dockyard. Gettin' to him to ask will be a trick." Which was not at all to say the attempt would not be made. Polly tried to remember what Tom had said about the duty roster for the week. He had the duty at the Dockyard today, which she knew was a twenty-four hour affair, but she could not recall when he was due to leave the barracks to begin it.
Nancy was on her feet, the glass of rum set aside and forgotten on the floor. "It's worth the findin' out, Poll. You ain't gotta come along, 'cause you got the nippers, but - "
"Course I'm comin' along," Polly interrupted. This was a family matter, after all. "Tommy's more'n fit to mind his brother. You hear that, Tommy? You're to stay here till we're back, an' no lettin' Dan near me sewin' box again!"
The expression on her sister's face told her the choice was the right one, but the thought of staying behind was one she wasted barely a heartbeat on. This was an unusual circumstance after all, and during the years of Tom's absence, Nancy and George had been tremendous supports for her. The least she could do was to go round the barracks with Nancy. She fetched a worn old bonnet and shawl from the other room, where Tommy was busy amusing his brother by reflecting early morning sunlight onto the grubby wall with a broken hand-mirror, and then the two women were off.
The walk to the Marines' barracks was not especially long, despite the increasing busyness of the streets. If Nancy had not come by that morning, Polly would be one of the people hurrying to work, though in her case, the barracks would be her destination anyway. It was as much simple good luck as not that she'd gotten a job cleaning the men's barracks rooms, she knew. It was the main reason she had been able to keep the two tiny rooms that were her home.
Ahead, she could see the main gate. The sentries turned out to be men she knew and the taller of the pair called out a greeting when he spotted her approach. It surprised her to be relieved by this but then she supposed it meant not having to endure any awkward questions. Today was not the day for it, at least where Marines were concerned.
"Mornin', Dand," she said in reply to the Marine's greeting. "The Dockyard guard gone out yet?"
Dand Budge shook his head. "Nae. Got an hour yet. They're on p'rade in a bell, mind. If you's lookin' for Tom, take a peep round the galley. S'round the time for breakin' fasts."
"Aye, right. Thanks."
The two women carried on past the gate without a further word to the young Scotsman. It was best, Polly knew, to say as little as possible until they found Tom. Marines were incurable gossips in their own way and she had no desire to give them any shred of suspicion that anything was amiss. For all she or her sister knew, there was nothing at all in George's unusual absence that morning, which meant it would not do to create a fuss over it. Even as she told herself this, she heard a little voice in the back of her head warning her not to get her hopes up.
She glanced sidelong at Nancy, keeping pace beside her, and wondered at her sister's thoughts. Her expression gave nothing away but she had always been good at concealing her feelings. Better, perhaps, than Polly herself. Other than the unease she'd briefly shown on her arrival at Polly's doorstep, there was no trace of whatever she must be feeling, though Polly knew her more than well enough to recognise concern. If Nancy was worried, there had to be cause for it, said that little voice, insistently.
"Poll!" Tom's voice calling out to her caused her to look away to the right. He was coming toward them with Sam Lachlan in tow, each of them carrying a lump of bread. "You're come in early," Tom went on as he got closer. "Wot's doin'? Is somefin' amiss wiv one of the nippers?"
She shook her head, not sure about the wisdom of broaching this subject with anyone nearby. But Sam Lachlan was a devilishly discreet fellow, she knew, and anyway, if she did not speak, her sister surely would. "No, the boys are fine. It's... it's George. He ain't been to home since yesterday. D'you know where he mighta got to?"
Tom frowned. "He ain't? When I saw 'im last, he was headin' off 'ome. Reckon that was 'bout... ten of the evenin'. He said he'd stop round ours today to sort out that table. Wot d'you mean he's adrift?"
"Just that," Nancy said. "He ain't come home an' nobody's laid eyes on him since he was wiv you."
"We left The Monkey's Blood an' went off diffrent ways. Nuffin' seemed wrong."
"But somethin' is, 'cause it ain't like him to go wanderin'."
"Aye, I know. I dunno wot I can do, though, Nance. I got duty at the Dockyard till tomorrow. It ain't somefin' I can just - "
Sam Lachlan cleared his throat. "Ye're furgettin' me. I ain't got duty t'day. Et'll t be nae trouble t'goo lookin' aboot fur yer George."
"But you ain't - "
"D'you know where The Monkey's Blood is?" Tom asked, interrupting his sister-in-law before she could form the obvious question.
"I've heard o' et," was Lachlan's reply. "Be easy 'nuff to find et, aye?"
"Aye. It's over in Black's Lane. If you goes - "
This was getting out of hand, Polly felt, so she cut in with, "We can go there well enough our own selves, Tom. We only wanted to know if you'd seen George goin' off anywhere in particular."
Tom blew out a sigh, looking casually around before answering. "If there is somefin' not right, it's better to 'ave a good lad wiv you. That can't be me but you ain't gonna come out worse for havin' Sam wiv you instead. You knows wot it's like down there. Havin' a scrapper on side's only smart an' all."
What rankled, she realised, was that her husband was correct. She glanced at Nancy but saw no indication of agreement there. Nor was there any sign of disagreement either. If anything, she seemed to be holding herself in tightly, to Polly's own eye. That pessismistic little voice must be plaguing her too, surely?
"All right. C'mon, then. Nothin's served by waitin' around."
"I needs a pass frum Cap'n Pendry, but tha'll nae tak lang. Bide ye a minnet here." Lachlan took himself off at a swift march, leaving Tom to turn his frown on the two women.
"It's a long way from Black's Lane 'ome to Smiffield Bank," he pointed out. "If somefin's happened, it ain't likely anyone'll know of it."
"Don't think I don't know it," Nancy retorted sharply, only to grimace at her own tone. "I'm sorry, Tom. This ain't - "
He waved his hunk of bread in the air dismissively. "It's a'right. It's more likely that he's tucked up in one of 'is sail lofts, really. Safest place to kip in the whole Dockyard an' all. I'll take a turn round there today, see if I can turn 'im out."
That was a comforting thought, but Polly could not bring herself to place much faith in it. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced George had run into some manner of trouble. It was not at all like her brother-in-law to fail to return home after an evening's drinking, whatever the distance or the hour, and they all knew it.
On the parade ground, a drum began beating and Tom swore. "Warnin' for parade," he said. "Guard relief's goin' out in a bell. I gotta get me kit an' all. Sammy'll be wiv you in a mo', though. Send 'im round direct whatever you finds out, aye?"
"Course. Thanks, Tom."
He drew Polly in for a brief hug, then gave Nancy's hand a squeeze. "Everyfin'll be fine. I knows it. There's Sammy now. I'll stop round home tomorrow, soon's we're relieved."
They watched him trot away, stuffing the bread into his mouth as he went. Polly sighed. His optimism felt flat to her, yet even so, she wished she could share it. Even a show of hopefulness was better than the doubt she felt churning in her stomach. She looked at her sister again and on impluse slipped her arm through Nancy's. Whatever Polly herself was feeling, it had to be nothing at all set next to her sister's carefully concealed emotions.
"Black's Lane, then," Lachlan said once he was back with them. He seemed cheerful enough but Polly noted that he was now wearing his bayonet. Tom certainly knew how to pick his friends, at least. Nothing was said as the trio set off, making their way back through the barracks gate and thence toward Black's Lane. These were places Polly did not venture to often, as much because she seldom needed to as because this part of Chatham frightened her. It was, she admitted, just as well Lachlan was with them.
It took nearly three hours to finally hunt down the answer to George's whereabouts. When at last the truth was learned, none of them expected it to be what it was. In the small room at the back of the White Horse, sitting uncomfortably on a rickety stool, George Owens had lifted his manacled hands to clasp Nancy's and the whole story had come flooding out. A watchful parish constable stood near the doorway, keeping Lachlan and Polly safely at a distance, until the allotted ten minutes were up. The trio were then politely but firmly ushered out of the pub.
Her head felt full to the point of bursting and her heart ached. George had been arrested for murder. The constable had grudgingly told them that much before finally agreeing to allow Nancy ten minutes' conversation with him. Murder, though.... the very idea was abhorrent. Who in their right mind could believe George capable of such a thing? Never mind to accuse him of it. Yet... that was the charge and his accuser, they were told, had been very clear about the crime he'd witnessed. It helped not at all that George himself confessed that he had little good to say of Punchy Wright, though he could not imagine why Wright should claim such a thing about him.
The constable would not tell any of them who the poor soul was, whom George had supposedly killed. That information would come out in due course at the summer assizes. Further meetings with the accused would have to be held in Maidstone, for Geroge was to be taken to the county gaol that very day. The weight of all this grave news all but flattened Nancy, who strove to show no hint of distress. Polly could tell, however, that getting her home again was of the greatest urgency. She sent Lachlan away to the Dockyard to find Tom, knowing that he would be needed.
Only once the safety of the Carters' tiny lodgings was reached did Nancy's composure crack. Polly guided her to the sagging settee and there sat with her, arms wrapped tightly about her shoulders. Tommy and Dan, despite having no idea why both their aunt and mother were crying, joined them on the sette anyway and tried to offer what comfort they could. George, taken up for murder - the harsh shock of it robbed Polly of any words. Not that words could do anything to ease the hurt, or the surprise, or the disbelief. This was not at all how she had imagined this day would go.
Tom arrived inside an hour, red-faced and out of breath. He must have come straight from the Dockyard at a run, for he still wore his crossbelts. "It ain't - true - !" He managed, after banging through the door. Polly looked up at him, taking in the disbelief on his face, and felt her eyes begin to dampen again.
"It is," she said, and told him, as steadily as she could, everything they knew. It didn't take long. "He's off to Maidstone gaol today. We won't see him again. Not until the assizes - but... but I don't know how we'll swing that."
"I got - " Tom sank to his knees and took several moments to regain his wind. "I got prize money. We'll get there."
"We?" The question came from Nancy, who lifted her red-eyed gaze to meet Tom's.
He took her hand with a slightly trembling nod. "Aye, we. D'you fink I'll do nuffin'? Not a chance. George ain't done this, I know he ain't. You know he ain't done it neiver. So we gotta go an' speak for him, an' all."
It was easy to say that but less so to actually do, Polly thought, though she loved Tom for saying it all the same. She curled her own hands around Tom's and Nancy's and tried to believe there was a chance this could yet turn out well. "We don't even know who he's supposed to have killed."
"Leave alla that t'me," said Tom. There was a glint in his eye that she recognised all too well, and a thrill of fresh worry went through her. He could be ruthless in the right mood, she knew. With as great a cause as George's life to act for, she knew he would happily take on the world, whatever the consequences might be. She thus had little doubt he'd be the next one in trouble if he wasn't careful. It was selfish of her to be afraid of losing her own husband but she could not help it - despite that it was not even yet certain that George was doomed to the gallows.
"Tom - "
His fingers tightened around hers. "Ain't nuffin' to worry about. There ain't a fing in this charge an' we all knows it. Anyway, George's family an' I ain't gonna let him down, am I?"
"You do what you gotta," Nancy told him in a thick voice. "He ain't done this an' I won't see him swing for it."
Lord God, thought Polly with a sinking heart. Was it not bad enough that George was in such a bind without encouraging Tom toward landing himself in a cell as well? She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat but could not summon any words. Instead, she gripped their hands and tried to reassure herself that no further ill could befall them. Tom was a fly lad, just as George was honest. As the last to see George before this supposed crime, surely his word would carry weight, whatever he did on George's behalf before the trial? She had to hope it would. But hope alone was not enough, was it?
"Tom - " Polly began, then hesitated. The words she wanted to say threatened to stick in her throat. This was family, though. Tom was quite right on that point. So she drew in a breath, looked her husband in the eye, and said, "Punchy Wright. He's the one said that George did murder. You oughta see about him first."
This was family, she told herself, and you did what you had to do for family.
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: The character Punchy Wright belongs to
sharpiefan . All others belong to me.Story summary: Hard times strike a small family, with grave consequences. Chatham, 1785/86. Part One of Three.
Author's Note: Any factual errors that occur within are my own.
When her sister appeared at the door not long after dawn, Polly Carter knew something was not right. Nancy was a regular visitor to the Carters' lodgings but never at this early hour. Nor, on a Friday, was she expected. Ten year-old Tommy was the first to the door in answer to his aunt's call, with Polly close on his heels. It almost needed no words for Polly to know there might be trouble, or at least something seriously amiss.
"Pour your aunt a tot, Tommy," Polly told the boy, who at once scampered into the other room to do as bidden. She bundled up the sleepy-eyed Dan after the one year-old came tottering in from that same room and with her free hand waved her sister toward the only functional seat in the main room. This seat was a sagging old settee that Tom had acquired somehow, not long after his return from the West Indies. It took up half of the narrow room but was a very necessary piece of furniture.
Tommy reappeared with a chipped glass brimming with rum, which he carefully passed to Nancy before scuttling back a couple steps to watch in wide-eyed fascination as his aunt cradled the glass in her lap with both hands. There was to be no eavesdropping for him, however. His mother passed Dan to him and banished him to the other room, then without a further glance at either child dropped down to sit beside her sister.
"Has George been here?" Nancy asked, before Polly had a chance to pose a question of her own.
"No. Not since he and Tom was here yesterday noon."
"Christ. He's not been home, an' Benny Spanker says he seen him leavin' their pub a bit after ten. Him an' Tom both. Where he's got to since, I don't know, an' can't guess at."
A frown creased Polly's brow. "That ain't like him."
"It ain't. It's why I came 'round, in case he stopped here." Nancy lifted the glass of rum to her lips, took a sip, then lowered it back to her lap. "I know Tom can't stay over nights here but maybe he knows where George's got to."
"He might, but he's got duty at the Dockyard. Gettin' to him to ask will be a trick." Which was not at all to say the attempt would not be made. Polly tried to remember what Tom had said about the duty roster for the week. He had the duty at the Dockyard today, which she knew was a twenty-four hour affair, but she could not recall when he was due to leave the barracks to begin it.
Nancy was on her feet, the glass of rum set aside and forgotten on the floor. "It's worth the findin' out, Poll. You ain't gotta come along, 'cause you got the nippers, but - "
"Course I'm comin' along," Polly interrupted. This was a family matter, after all. "Tommy's more'n fit to mind his brother. You hear that, Tommy? You're to stay here till we're back, an' no lettin' Dan near me sewin' box again!"
The expression on her sister's face told her the choice was the right one, but the thought of staying behind was one she wasted barely a heartbeat on. This was an unusual circumstance after all, and during the years of Tom's absence, Nancy and George had been tremendous supports for her. The least she could do was to go round the barracks with Nancy. She fetched a worn old bonnet and shawl from the other room, where Tommy was busy amusing his brother by reflecting early morning sunlight onto the grubby wall with a broken hand-mirror, and then the two women were off.
The walk to the Marines' barracks was not especially long, despite the increasing busyness of the streets. If Nancy had not come by that morning, Polly would be one of the people hurrying to work, though in her case, the barracks would be her destination anyway. It was as much simple good luck as not that she'd gotten a job cleaning the men's barracks rooms, she knew. It was the main reason she had been able to keep the two tiny rooms that were her home.
Ahead, she could see the main gate. The sentries turned out to be men she knew and the taller of the pair called out a greeting when he spotted her approach. It surprised her to be relieved by this but then she supposed it meant not having to endure any awkward questions. Today was not the day for it, at least where Marines were concerned.
"Mornin', Dand," she said in reply to the Marine's greeting. "The Dockyard guard gone out yet?"
Dand Budge shook his head. "Nae. Got an hour yet. They're on p'rade in a bell, mind. If you's lookin' for Tom, take a peep round the galley. S'round the time for breakin' fasts."
"Aye, right. Thanks."
The two women carried on past the gate without a further word to the young Scotsman. It was best, Polly knew, to say as little as possible until they found Tom. Marines were incurable gossips in their own way and she had no desire to give them any shred of suspicion that anything was amiss. For all she or her sister knew, there was nothing at all in George's unusual absence that morning, which meant it would not do to create a fuss over it. Even as she told herself this, she heard a little voice in the back of her head warning her not to get her hopes up.
She glanced sidelong at Nancy, keeping pace beside her, and wondered at her sister's thoughts. Her expression gave nothing away but she had always been good at concealing her feelings. Better, perhaps, than Polly herself. Other than the unease she'd briefly shown on her arrival at Polly's doorstep, there was no trace of whatever she must be feeling, though Polly knew her more than well enough to recognise concern. If Nancy was worried, there had to be cause for it, said that little voice, insistently.
"Poll!" Tom's voice calling out to her caused her to look away to the right. He was coming toward them with Sam Lachlan in tow, each of them carrying a lump of bread. "You're come in early," Tom went on as he got closer. "Wot's doin'? Is somefin' amiss wiv one of the nippers?"
She shook her head, not sure about the wisdom of broaching this subject with anyone nearby. But Sam Lachlan was a devilishly discreet fellow, she knew, and anyway, if she did not speak, her sister surely would. "No, the boys are fine. It's... it's George. He ain't been to home since yesterday. D'you know where he mighta got to?"
Tom frowned. "He ain't? When I saw 'im last, he was headin' off 'ome. Reckon that was 'bout... ten of the evenin'. He said he'd stop round ours today to sort out that table. Wot d'you mean he's adrift?"
"Just that," Nancy said. "He ain't come home an' nobody's laid eyes on him since he was wiv you."
"We left The Monkey's Blood an' went off diffrent ways. Nuffin' seemed wrong."
"But somethin' is, 'cause it ain't like him to go wanderin'."
"Aye, I know. I dunno wot I can do, though, Nance. I got duty at the Dockyard till tomorrow. It ain't somefin' I can just - "
Sam Lachlan cleared his throat. "Ye're furgettin' me. I ain't got duty t'day. Et'll t be nae trouble t'goo lookin' aboot fur yer George."
"But you ain't - "
"D'you know where The Monkey's Blood is?" Tom asked, interrupting his sister-in-law before she could form the obvious question.
"I've heard o' et," was Lachlan's reply. "Be easy 'nuff to find et, aye?"
"Aye. It's over in Black's Lane. If you goes - "
This was getting out of hand, Polly felt, so she cut in with, "We can go there well enough our own selves, Tom. We only wanted to know if you'd seen George goin' off anywhere in particular."
Tom blew out a sigh, looking casually around before answering. "If there is somefin' not right, it's better to 'ave a good lad wiv you. That can't be me but you ain't gonna come out worse for havin' Sam wiv you instead. You knows wot it's like down there. Havin' a scrapper on side's only smart an' all."
What rankled, she realised, was that her husband was correct. She glanced at Nancy but saw no indication of agreement there. Nor was there any sign of disagreement either. If anything, she seemed to be holding herself in tightly, to Polly's own eye. That pessismistic little voice must be plaguing her too, surely?
"All right. C'mon, then. Nothin's served by waitin' around."
"I needs a pass frum Cap'n Pendry, but tha'll nae tak lang. Bide ye a minnet here." Lachlan took himself off at a swift march, leaving Tom to turn his frown on the two women.
"It's a long way from Black's Lane 'ome to Smiffield Bank," he pointed out. "If somefin's happened, it ain't likely anyone'll know of it."
"Don't think I don't know it," Nancy retorted sharply, only to grimace at her own tone. "I'm sorry, Tom. This ain't - "
He waved his hunk of bread in the air dismissively. "It's a'right. It's more likely that he's tucked up in one of 'is sail lofts, really. Safest place to kip in the whole Dockyard an' all. I'll take a turn round there today, see if I can turn 'im out."
That was a comforting thought, but Polly could not bring herself to place much faith in it. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced George had run into some manner of trouble. It was not at all like her brother-in-law to fail to return home after an evening's drinking, whatever the distance or the hour, and they all knew it.
On the parade ground, a drum began beating and Tom swore. "Warnin' for parade," he said. "Guard relief's goin' out in a bell. I gotta get me kit an' all. Sammy'll be wiv you in a mo', though. Send 'im round direct whatever you finds out, aye?"
"Course. Thanks, Tom."
He drew Polly in for a brief hug, then gave Nancy's hand a squeeze. "Everyfin'll be fine. I knows it. There's Sammy now. I'll stop round home tomorrow, soon's we're relieved."
They watched him trot away, stuffing the bread into his mouth as he went. Polly sighed. His optimism felt flat to her, yet even so, she wished she could share it. Even a show of hopefulness was better than the doubt she felt churning in her stomach. She looked at her sister again and on impluse slipped her arm through Nancy's. Whatever Polly herself was feeling, it had to be nothing at all set next to her sister's carefully concealed emotions.
"Black's Lane, then," Lachlan said once he was back with them. He seemed cheerful enough but Polly noted that he was now wearing his bayonet. Tom certainly knew how to pick his friends, at least. Nothing was said as the trio set off, making their way back through the barracks gate and thence toward Black's Lane. These were places Polly did not venture to often, as much because she seldom needed to as because this part of Chatham frightened her. It was, she admitted, just as well Lachlan was with them.
It took nearly three hours to finally hunt down the answer to George's whereabouts. When at last the truth was learned, none of them expected it to be what it was. In the small room at the back of the White Horse, sitting uncomfortably on a rickety stool, George Owens had lifted his manacled hands to clasp Nancy's and the whole story had come flooding out. A watchful parish constable stood near the doorway, keeping Lachlan and Polly safely at a distance, until the allotted ten minutes were up. The trio were then politely but firmly ushered out of the pub.
Her head felt full to the point of bursting and her heart ached. George had been arrested for murder. The constable had grudgingly told them that much before finally agreeing to allow Nancy ten minutes' conversation with him. Murder, though.... the very idea was abhorrent. Who in their right mind could believe George capable of such a thing? Never mind to accuse him of it. Yet... that was the charge and his accuser, they were told, had been very clear about the crime he'd witnessed. It helped not at all that George himself confessed that he had little good to say of Punchy Wright, though he could not imagine why Wright should claim such a thing about him.
The constable would not tell any of them who the poor soul was, whom George had supposedly killed. That information would come out in due course at the summer assizes. Further meetings with the accused would have to be held in Maidstone, for Geroge was to be taken to the county gaol that very day. The weight of all this grave news all but flattened Nancy, who strove to show no hint of distress. Polly could tell, however, that getting her home again was of the greatest urgency. She sent Lachlan away to the Dockyard to find Tom, knowing that he would be needed.
Only once the safety of the Carters' tiny lodgings was reached did Nancy's composure crack. Polly guided her to the sagging settee and there sat with her, arms wrapped tightly about her shoulders. Tommy and Dan, despite having no idea why both their aunt and mother were crying, joined them on the sette anyway and tried to offer what comfort they could. George, taken up for murder - the harsh shock of it robbed Polly of any words. Not that words could do anything to ease the hurt, or the surprise, or the disbelief. This was not at all how she had imagined this day would go.
Tom arrived inside an hour, red-faced and out of breath. He must have come straight from the Dockyard at a run, for he still wore his crossbelts. "It ain't - true - !" He managed, after banging through the door. Polly looked up at him, taking in the disbelief on his face, and felt her eyes begin to dampen again.
"It is," she said, and told him, as steadily as she could, everything they knew. It didn't take long. "He's off to Maidstone gaol today. We won't see him again. Not until the assizes - but... but I don't know how we'll swing that."
"I got - " Tom sank to his knees and took several moments to regain his wind. "I got prize money. We'll get there."
"We?" The question came from Nancy, who lifted her red-eyed gaze to meet Tom's.
He took her hand with a slightly trembling nod. "Aye, we. D'you fink I'll do nuffin'? Not a chance. George ain't done this, I know he ain't. You know he ain't done it neiver. So we gotta go an' speak for him, an' all."
It was easy to say that but less so to actually do, Polly thought, though she loved Tom for saying it all the same. She curled her own hands around Tom's and Nancy's and tried to believe there was a chance this could yet turn out well. "We don't even know who he's supposed to have killed."
"Leave alla that t'me," said Tom. There was a glint in his eye that she recognised all too well, and a thrill of fresh worry went through her. He could be ruthless in the right mood, she knew. With as great a cause as George's life to act for, she knew he would happily take on the world, whatever the consequences might be. She thus had little doubt he'd be the next one in trouble if he wasn't careful. It was selfish of her to be afraid of losing her own husband but she could not help it - despite that it was not even yet certain that George was doomed to the gallows.
"Tom - "
His fingers tightened around hers. "Ain't nuffin' to worry about. There ain't a fing in this charge an' we all knows it. Anyway, George's family an' I ain't gonna let him down, am I?"
"You do what you gotta," Nancy told him in a thick voice. "He ain't done this an' I won't see him swing for it."
Lord God, thought Polly with a sinking heart. Was it not bad enough that George was in such a bind without encouraging Tom toward landing himself in a cell as well? She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat but could not summon any words. Instead, she gripped their hands and tried to reassure herself that no further ill could befall them. Tom was a fly lad, just as George was honest. As the last to see George before this supposed crime, surely his word would carry weight, whatever he did on George's behalf before the trial? She had to hope it would. But hope alone was not enough, was it?
"Tom - " Polly began, then hesitated. The words she wanted to say threatened to stick in her throat. This was family, though. Tom was quite right on that point. So she drew in a breath, looked her husband in the eye, and said, "Punchy Wright. He's the one said that George did murder. You oughta see about him first."
This was family, she told herself, and you did what you had to do for family.