Jane was thrown into the same gaol chamber as the other girls from Beaumont's. She was the last to arrive.
The chamber stank of sweat and the sour rot of too many bodies pressed together. A small barred window sat too high in the wall to offer anything useful.
The girls turned at once. They rushed her, coming at her with panic in their eyes, skirts muddied, hair undone, faces pale from hours of not knowing whether they were being held for questioning, or the hangman.
"Jane!"
"What happened?"
"How are you here?"
"What did we do wrong?"
"Are we to be tried?"
The questions rose in a chorus, each girl trying to climb over the other's fear to reach an answer first.
Jane shoved through them, breathing hard, her own terror turning quickly into anger. Her wrists ached from where the constable had gripped her. "Will you just keep quiet, all of you!" she snapped.
The chamber fell into startled silence. Jane glared at them, her heart was thundering.
