CHAPTER XI

LAVINIA'S PILGRIMAGE


It was past nine when Lavinia turned into the Old Bailey. The chief
trade done by the coffee house was in the early morning. After market
hours there were few customers save when there was to be an execution at
Tyburn the next morning, and those eager to secure a good sight of the
ghastly procession and perhaps take part in it, assembled opposite the
prison door over night. Mrs. Fenton in the evenings thought no more of
business, but betook herself to the theatre or one of the pleasure
gardens in the outskirts of London.

Lavinia remembered this and hoped for the best. At such a time Mrs.
Fenton with her love of pleasure would hardly stay at home.

Lavinia hurried past grim Newgate and crossed the road. The coffee house
was on the other side. Hannah was standing in the doorway in a cruciform
attitude, her arms stretched out, each hand grasping the frame on either
side. She was gossipping with a man and laughing heartily. Lavinia
decided that her mother must be out. If at home she would never allow
Hannah this liberty. Lavinia glided to the woman and touched one of the
outstretched hands. Hannah gave a little "squark" when she felt the
girl's cold fingers.

"It's only me Hannah," whispered Lavinia.