For the prisons of that day were not the prisons of to-day. There was no separation of one class of offenders from another. There were no separate cells, there were rarely even separate beds. Girls awaiting trial were liable to be locked up with the worst women-felons. Nay, the very warders were often old offenders, who had earned their places by favour. In small country prisons, conditions were better, but air, light, space, and cleanliness were woefully lacking. Something might be done, no doubt, to soften the lot of a prisoner of Henrietta’s class; but indulgence depended on the whim of the jailor—who at Appleby was a blacksmith!—and could be withdrawn as easily as it was granted.
Suddenly the clerk looked up over his glasses. “The full name,” he said, “if you please.”
“Henrietta Mary Damer.” It was Clyne who spoke.
The clerk added the name, and rising from his seat offered the pen to the magistrate. But Hornyold hesitated. He looked flurried, and something startled.
“But should not——” he murmured, “ought we not to communicate with her brother—with—Sir Charles? He must be her guardian!”
“Sir Charles,” Clyne answered, “has repudiated all responsibility. It would be useless to apply to him. I have seen him. And the matter is a criminal matter.”
The girl said nothing, but her colour faded suddenly. And in the eyes of one or two she seemed a more pitiful figure, standing alone and mute, than before. But for the awe in which they held Clyne, and their knowledge of his reason for severity, the chaplain and Long Tom Gilson, who was one of those by the door, would have intervened. As it was, Hornyold stooped to the table and signed the form—or was signing it when the clerk spoke.
“One moment, your reverence,” he said in a low voice. “The debtors’ quarters at Appleby, where they’d be sure to put the young lady, are as good as under water at this time of the year. Kendal’s nearer, she’d be better there. And you’ve power to say which it shall be.”
“Kendal, then,” Hornyold assented. The name was altered and he signed the committal.
As he rose from the table, constraint fell on one and all. They wondered nervously what was to come next; and it was left to Nadin to put an end to the scene. “Landlord!” he said, turning to the door, “a chaise for Kendal in ten minutes. And send your servant to go with the young lady to her room, and get together what she’ll want. You’d best take her, Bishop.”