They sent her back to Cascades. Back to her solitary cell, where her only visitors were wardens. I knew from my time in Newgate that no one else would talk to her, not even the dreadful women from the crime class. There was the ordinary criminal, like them, and then there were murderers, like Miriam. No one wanted to speak to a murderer.
The trial is starting tomorrow. Miriam has been given a lawyer to put together a defence, but I doubt whether he can help. She has already confessed to killing the reverend. Apparently, she wants to change her story now, and say she didn’t kill him, after all. She was just exhausted and confused, and wanted to escape from the questions, so she thought the easiest thing was to say she’d done it. She hasn’t mentioned me. We discussed what we both ought to say the night the reverend died.
I should think her chances of being found not-guilty are slim.
I went to see her for the first time yesterday, even though she’s been there for several months now. I have been busy in the nursery, consoling dear John Sutton over the death of his father, and making plans for the future. If they decide to hang Miriam, which is likely, I expect them to give me her baby. I have made it clear to the authorities that I am happy to take it, to nurture the convict stain away.
Miriam looked at me and said, ‘Don’t let them sell it, Rose.’
I took her brown hand in mine and held it. ‘They won’t. Your baby will have a good life with me, Miriam. They’re shutting the nursery down, you know, and re-opening it somewhere else – a bigger, warmer, more modern building, which won’t have years of damp and dirt in its walls. The board have asked John to reconsider his decision not to take it over. He has agreed and said he’ll do it, and I’m going to help him. We’ll run it together, Miriam, so I can look after the baby from the day it’s born. Next year, I’ll get my yellow ticket, and I can adopt it and make a life for it with Arabella, too. I have money, Miriam. My father has seen to it.’
She said, ‘You sound like you want me to get hanged Rose, like it’d make all your dreams come true.’
I laughed lightly. ‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘Of course not.’
She was silent for a while, then said, ‘I know you could give it a better life than what I ever could.’
‘Your child would want for nothing, Miriam,’ I assured her. ‘Nothing. It would always have food and never feel the cold. There would be a roof over its head, clothes and toys and luxury. And there would be love, too, if I were to be its mother.’ I was repeating everything I’d said to her the night the reverend was killed. I knew my words were powerful to a Gypsy girl who had known nothing but poverty.
She nodded slowly. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know. And I couldn’t never give it nothing much.’
I continued to hold her hand.