“No, none. None that can give me any assistance. Those I know are as poor as myself.”
“Now, then, prisoners, this way!” shouted out a man in the lobby in a stentorian voice. “This way for prisoners.”
Peace bade a hasty farewell to his wife, kissed his infant daughter, and was conducted to the “Black Maria,” which was standing at one of the side doors of the Court-house.
Mrs. Peace returned home in a very wretched frame of mind, as may be readily imagined. She did not know how to eke out a living for a short time after the conviction of her husband.
She kept a little shop in Long Millgate, Manchester, but before long she went back to Sheffield, and got employment in charing, and in the bottling department of a wine merchant. There were some few who took compassion on her, and strove to put something in her way.
She was an industrious frugal woman, who did her best under most trying and disheartening circumstances.
At first she lived in Prippet-lane, but afterwards in Orchard-street, where Peace’s mother lived.
In 1865, shortly before leaving Kenyon-alley, there had been a son—John Charles—born, but he did not live to see the return of his father.
Peace was taken to Wakefield gaol. The usual formalities were gone through, which were much the same as those described in some of the earlier chapters of this work.
Peace, as we have observed, was a handy man enough, and this was soon found out by the authorities of Wakefield prison.