Some men are wise. Some men are cowards. In dangerous times, both stand back and think hard before they act. A coward would have let Kitty stand up to Acton alone and swallowed down the shame of doing nothing. A wise man would have realised that Kitty didn’t need his help – all she was trying to do was catch Henry before he witnessed a bloody, violent act no child should see.
Prison taught me many things about myself, and here was my first lesson, something I had not suspected. I could not stand back and let things happen. I had to act, no matter the consequences. Those few steps from the coffeehouse into the yard sent a pulse through my life and nothing would be the same again. I had moved out of the audience and taken my place on the stage. Or on the gallow steps. Perhaps that is a better way to put it.
Every eye in the prison was upon us.
Little Henry was only a few short steps away from Acton, who was still bringing his whip down hard on the boy as Cross watched. Kitty shouted for Henry to stop, to come back inside and play with her, but he just carried on toddling towards them, chattering to himself, his feet pattering on the cobbles.
Kitty would never reach him in time. I leapt forward and snaked my arms about her waist, dragging her away. She gave a scream and kicked at my shins, beat my arms with her fists. ‘Let me go. Let me go, damn you!’
‘Close your eyes,’ I whispered hard in her ear. ‘Don’t look.’ She slumped against me, defeated, but she didn’t turn away.
I was close enough to see Acton clearly now. This was not a man to reason with. He was beating a child to death, and yet there was no expression on his face, no malice, no pleasure, just the dogged concentration of a man doing his job.
Henry tottered closer, then stretched out his arms. I held my breath.
‘Papa!’
Acton spun round, whip raised high in his fist. For a moment I thought he would bring it down upon the little boy. But then his face transformed, brightening with pleasure. ‘Henry!’ he exclaimed. ‘Bless my soul! Where did you spring from?’ He tossed the whip to the ground and swung his son up into the air, setting him firmly on his shoulders. Henry squealed and laughed, grabbing at his father’s wig with chubby fingers.
‘That’s his son?’ I whispered.
Kitty bowed her head. ‘I didn’t want him to see,’ she whispered.
‘He’s too young to understand. He won’t remember this.’
‘I pray to God you’re right.’
I took her hand and backed away quietly towards the coffeehouse.
