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ready!’ Then he lumbered off.

    That night, her fifth in the King’s Bench, was the longest Betsy had endured since she had arrived. Then, she expected as much – though she had not expected the silence.
    The death of a prisoner was hardly a rarity – but cold-blooded murder was, especially by daylight.
Trust no one
, Venn had told her; the sentiment had bitter currency now. Presumably the murderer was still within these walls – was that why the place was eerily quiet? There had been no further news since the discovery of the body; nor were there whisperings along the passage this night. Apart from Sarah’s coughing there was no sound in her cell either, save for the rustling of straw. The death had stunned them all, but through the evening nobody spoke of it. Even Dyer and his younger companion, whose name was Gorton, barely addressed each another. Instead they had lain down, huddled on their pallets against the walls, each seemingly busy with his own thoughts.
    Venn’s pallet had been taken away, his corner left bare. Those in the cell shunned the spot, as if the ghost of the dead man might haunt it. But after dark, Sarah, who had heard the grisly news without comment, spoke to Betsy.
    ‘It happens in here,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘There’s nowhere to hide. Them with grudges or scores to pay off – they can always take their revenge, if they’ve a mind.’
    The two of them sat against the wall, pressed together for warmth. Betsy was on edge, and could not help flinching when Sarah’s hand sought hers in the dark. But she took it, feeling its coarseness, and the bony fingers that closed about her own.
    ‘I’ll be next, my duck.’ Sarah’s voice was thick with phlegm. ‘There’s doom in this cell. So listen to me: don’t keep ’em waiting any longer, or they’ll come for you.’
    ‘For me?’ Betsy echoed. ‘Who do you mean?’
    ‘The turnkeys,’ was her reply. ‘You’ve stretched your luck, girl. They won’t wait for ever. Lift your skirts …’ Sarah coughed, her voice weakening. ‘You can get yourself took to a better room. You’ll have food, fresh linen – I told you, anything you want …’ She began wheezing, which prompted a curse from across the room.
    ‘Shut your mouth, you vile heap of rags!’ Dyer spat his venom through the dark. ‘Let me sleep, can’t you?’ Angrily he turned on his pallet. From Gorton there was no sound.
    After a moment Sarah withdrew her hand, but before letting go, Betsy squeezed it. She was moved, more than she could have foreseen. This dying woman, whose crime Betsy never learned, had been her only comfort. She would have like to tell Sarah that she
was
getting out – this very night, if Crabb was as good as his word. Instead she touched her companion on the shoulder, bidding her lie down. Then she settled back to wait.
    It was an ordeal, of course. As on her first night in the cell she did not sleep, tired as she was. Doggedly she remained by the wall for hours, until finally, with the men snoring, she judged the moment was right to move. Carefully she rolled off the pallet, shivering at the touch of cold stone. And after that, she crawled.
    She had no difficulty in finding her way, for like the others she knew every square inch of the room; every mark on the walls, each crack in the flagstones. Soon, with only a little rustling of straw, she had manoeuvred herself to a place besidethe door. And there she sat, hunched in her gown, hands clasped about her knees.
    That last hour, she decided, was the worst. Yet she withstood it, strengthened by hope, until she sensed that dawn was approaching. At times she had to fight despair, thinking of all that might go wrong. Could she be certain Crabb would arrange everything as he’d claimed? Could she even trust him? She pictured the big man as she had first seen him, bearing down upon Venn – which brought the latter’s words back:
You know no more of him than you do of anyone else here
….
    She